Dystopia Episode 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
(Episode 1)
Welcome to Dystopia! A thriving, lush city prone to apocalyptic events. Today's hero will be facing a local TV Star hungry for more than local shows. He wants the apocalypse!
Will our hero save the day?
(Insert attention grabber here)

Submitted: March 21, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 21, 2017






A short story by Jay Byles


Jerry Maron flopped down on his plush recliner in disbelief, with the radio chattering beside him. He had just been informed that the region-famous actor Buck Money, who occasionally appeared on local television programs, had announced with glee that he was going to (surprise!) bomb Jerry’s hometown Dystopia. A prosperous city set in a lush forest, Jerry had no idea why Buck had decided to bomb the city.

“And lads and ladies, that  was today’s big news! Now for our weather with Willy Wownado!” the radio buzzed. “Willy, what’s today’s forecast?” Someone cleared his throat. “Well, George, today we’ll be facin’ some classic apocalyptic weather, y’know; flyin’ debris, smog everywhere, maybe some mass chaos here an’ there…” Jerry switched off the radio silently.

In a state of shock, he numbly switched on the TV. Buck Money was on there too; on Charlene Chat’s Chatter Channel! apparently being interviewed by the dazzling talk-show host Charlene Chat. Both were sitting, facing each other, on velvet lounge chairs.

“So Mr. Money, what inspired you to prepare this incredible action?”

Buck swept back his mane of grey hair, stuck out his prominent chin, and gave the camera a sleazy smile. “Well, darling Charlene, I just wanted to bring some pizzazz into everyone’s life, you know? I mean, sure, maybe a few million people will die, and maybe I’ll get some bad publicity, but hey, any publicity is good publicity, right?” Canned laughter rang through the room.

Jerry had heard enough. He needed a plan. And nothing helped him brainstorm better than some Quacker oatmeal. So he heated up some of his favorite Quacker variety (Staple and Brown Socks) and sat down. He obviously needed to confront Buck, and he was a fairly good fighter, after all. The problem was, nobody  knew where Buck’s hideout was, and he needed to reach it if he wanted to stop Buck in time.

His train of thought derailed when his mother walked into the kitchenette. Despite her name, Jasmine Sweetie Maron was not exactly…sweet. Put it this way, if she came face to face with an oversized  Tyrannosaurus Rex that was holding a flaming machine gun, it would be the dinosaur that would run home crying, not her.

“Jerry, honey-bunches, would ya do your mama a favor and take out the trash? NOW?!

Jerry, who knew better than to argue, walked moodily over to the trashcan and brought its contents outside. After dumping the smelly stuff into the Hello Kitty® dumpster, he turned around and walked into a large, soft beach ball. Wait, no, it was Rhonda.

“What is it Rhonda?” Jerry asked the rather obese pre-teen.

“You won’ buh-leive dis, Jerry, but Buck-“ started Rhonda.

“I know, I know Rhonda. I’m just trying to think of a plan to save Dystopia. I just wish I knew how…”

“Well, ain’t it obvious? All ya gotta do is call on the ol’ Wizard of Odd! He’ll answer yo questions before you can say, “lens cap!”  An’ I’ll help ya if ya get a quest!”

After a brief discussion with Rhonda Kamikaze, Jerry grabbed two frying pans and a piece of paper and climbed onto the roof of his villa to summon the Wizard of Odd. He grimaced. According to Rhonda, he was supposed to yell out the lyrics to Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes (in the key of Bb), which he had written on the paper, throw a frying pan into the ocean bordering his house, and repeat steps one and two.

Ignoring the valiant protests of his dignity, Jerry did as he was instructed. After what felt like a couple dozen eternities, Jerry finally threw the second frying pan into the ocean, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Now he was worried. Was this all some sick joke? Did he sing that wretched song twice for nothing? A loud ringing filled his ears. Jerry assumed that was his agonized ears, crippled from his awful singing.

As he stared into the churning Serene Sea, the ringing got louder. And louder. Suddenly, a tidal wave formed, and crashed into the beach, depositing a giant…sardine? On it was none other than the ancient, wrinkled Wizard of Odd, ringing a rusty cowbell.

“Oi! Me appeared to be called by some brave soul? Me believes in hospitality! So, troubled soul, come to me for help and a free complimentary lecture on toothbrushing!”

Jerry slid down the sloping roof and ran onto the beach, and stood in front of the Wizard of Odd. The old wizard vaguely resembled a rotten potato having a bad hair day. “Er, Mr. Odd? I-”

“Call me Ernie, m’boy!” What can me do for you, son?”


“Do you like me new sardine, son? He came free with an order of Kelpie-Os!”

“Erm, yes, but I-“ began Jerry.

“Hey, here’s a joke you might like. A triangular sea cucumber walked into an auto repair shop and ran into a-“


The startled wizard never finished his joke, seeing the look on Jerry’s face. And eventually (though not quickly), Jerry was able to steer the conversation to the quest. When he finally achieved this miraculous feat, the Wizard slid off the sardine and demanded to find somewhere to sit. Jerry led the Wizard over to Mrs. Hardscrabble’s deck chairs (which she never sat  on; she kept them there for tax reasons), and the Wizard gave Jerry the directions to Buck Money’s hideout in the form of limericks.

“…so follow the trail,

watch out for junk mail,

and brush all your teeth before bed.”

Thank gosh that’s over! thought Jerry. 120 verses of bad poetry was 120 more than he could stand.

“So, young Barry-“


“Right, Germy. Okee-dokee. Remember, take this odd wand—no, its free; they’re a dime a dozen- and hurry on. Now as for the tooth-brushing lecture…”

But Jerry was already gone.

He hurried inside, dipped the wand (which resembled a paintbrush) in white-grape juice, and set out to find the trail in the woods.

On he way, he passed his elderly neighbor, Ms. Cakey, who called out, “I loved your singing, Jerry! You have such a nice soprano! Would you sing In Your Eyes for me again sometime? It’s so hip!”

Jerry feigned deafness. He could not bear singing again. Off he went into the strange, dark Forest of Norm, his obstacles soon to leap out at him.


`Several long hours later, Jerry took a quick break to devour the sandwich he had brought with him. Jerry enjoyed the familiar feeling of chocolate syrup drizzling down his chin. He mentally noted that his new, experimental addition of pickled platypus tongue was quite tasty, though maybe a bit sour. The massive loads of sugar and whipped cream inside the sandwich combined with his tired legs made him sleepy, and soon he began to drift off.

CRASH! Jerry snapped awake due to the sound of a massive pine tree falling mere feet away from him. In front of him Jerry realized with horror a massive Land Shark was trudging toward him.

A hideous cross between a shark, an alligator, and a box of cereal, the whale-sized shark waddled toward him on its scaly grey feet, singing its war cry that many compare to Hilary Duff’s music. Jerry rolled to his side in the nick of time. The shark stumbled and coughed, spewing Cheerios everywhere. Roaring in fury, it lunged toward Jerry, who jumped to his feet and attempted to climb a tree.

“Hey, get your sausage-y hands of me, human! I just got rained last Saturday, and I don’t want to get muddy!” snapped the rather irritable tree.

Jerry backed against a muddy stone cliff. He was cornered, and the shark was inches from him. Then he remembered. Faster than Donald Trump confronted with spray-on tan remover, Jerry grabbed his odd wand and stabbed the massive beast, which turned into a scaly cucumber.

Panting from exhaustion, Jerry swore to himself not to let his guard down again. He climbed up and traveled back down the path.

Now very alert, Jerry walked on and nearly stepped on a groaning, hypochrondriatic snail, which was whining its shell off. Jerry grabbed it and threw it into the nearby snail asylum. About two seconds later a tin-can robot, rusty from exposure, rattled over and shook Jerry’s leg, and demanded in Recyclablese to see a patient. Jerry, who was fluent in this language, pointed over to the asylum, to which the robot clanked over to. Before Jerry could even take another step, a black blob screaming in an oily pond slid over to him, dripping oil in its wake. Jerry’s patience was thinner than his Great-Uncle Sean’s hair, so he grabbed the Screecher from the Black Lagoon and threw it out of sight.

After encounters with skeletons, disco demons, and a rather unnerving Shrek trick-or-treater, weary Jerry finally caught sight of the colossal, 152-and-3/4-story Money Tower. He walked up to the checkered door and thought about scaling the building when he realized the door was made out of very cheap plastic cheaply painted and covered with Adele decals. So he simply kicked the door down and walked in.

The modern, colorful waiting room was filled with mannequin’s wearing ridiculous suits and sarcastic smiles. Suddenly, a security system somewhere nearby buzzed, “Identification please, Jerry Maron, you 5’8”, unaffiliated-with-Money intruder .” Jerry tore away from the contradictory machine and down the hall. He ended up in an auditorium filled with dollar-bill-shaped robots, Buck’s minions. A painfully-cheesy ‘50s jingle filled the room, and an all-too-familiar person walked onstage. Buck swept back his hair, and grinned. Jerry was paralyzed.

“Robots, today is a proud day, and what a fine one, too. Our first bombing of a suburb is coming; it’ll be such a milestone. Before we begin to annihilate all life in the universe, starting with dear old Dystopia, I’d like to bring up a special guest star: Jerry Maron!”

Jerry knew he had been spotted by the cameras. A robot grabbed Jerry with a sci-fi style beam and brought him up to Buck. Jerry struggled, but it was futile. He was dropped unceremoniously at Buck’s feet. “Ah, my only threat! My horoscope told me that I might run into you! Welcome to my base, my dear enemy!”

Buck gave Jerry a full (and I mean full) blow-by-blow of his preparations, and wrapped up with a loud recitation of a poem too terrible for words. “Now, Jerry, we begin the bombing!”

With the bomb crammed into Buck’s oversized pocket, Jerry’s shirt (including Jerry himself) in one hand, and a vicious-looking ray gun in the other, Buck shot a hole on the side of the building, and flew out with his rocket boots.

Jerry was miserable the whole flight. He had failed to stop Buck at his tower. This would be his final chance. He couldn’t fail again.

Fifteen minutes later, Buck dropped the bomb in Penguin Plaza, and tried to take off again. But Jerry refused to let that happen. He ripped Buck’s rocket boots off with no effort (he figured it was the forces of good helping him; in reality the boots were held on by Velcro), and they both dropped down. “Well, Jerry, I underestimated you! You aren’t as wimpy as I thought! Let’s wrap things up with a duel! Quickly, now, before we’re blown to bits by the bomb!”

Buck pointed the laser gun at Jerry, who dived to the side. Jerry jumped, ducked, dodged, and rolled to avoid the laser. A huge crowd was watching. The bomb was less than a minute from exploding.

Buck cornered Jerry against the Town Hall! “You see, Jerry? There is no place for heroes in this world! I bought my way to success, and I will keep buying my way to omnipotence!”

“I hope you invested in the afterlife,” said Jerry. He threw his odd wand at Buck. It went right through Buck, who screamed and turned into a zero-dollar bill (complete with a winking Barack Obama in the center).

A cheering started, but everyone stopped when they saw the  bomb start to shake. It was over.

Except…it wasn’t. A tidal wave erupted, and the Wizard of Odd flew toward the Plaza on a winged sardine and grabbed the bomb. The waves brought him back to the sea, leaving nothing but a whiff of artichokes. A faint cry could be heard, as the Wizard yelled, “ALWAYS REMEMBER TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!”

He threw the bomb into the exosphere, where it exploded.

The cheering resumed, and six thousand jubilant people hugged Jerry Maron and celebrated.Wild parties followed (with minimal serious injuries), and Rhonda won the famous Benny’s Binge-Eatin’ Contest. Mrs. Maron enrolled in anger-management classes. Peace was restored. Well, for now, anyway… 

© Copyright 2018 jaycbyles. All rights reserved.

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