BS: The New Bulk & Skull Adventures
News streamed from their dimly lit television, audio but no picture broadcast. Newscasters spoke in a distinctive accent called General American that Bulk instantly recognized; every square in a suit spoke with the same authority on TV. The signal had degraded over the last few days, but his dog-eared antennae got the job done, channels were still received – the local ones anyway. He hunched over, listening over that impenetrable wall of snowy white noise.
The shack in Angel Grove Park had previously been a stable refuge, where Bulk’s girth did not stop the pair from experiencing raucous adventure. Bullying was always so much fun, they enjoyed it, and it was their entire lives. Neither of the friends ever found school’s challenges compelling, it was the social side that interested them. Exerting power was the sole desire of the powerless; Skull had told Bulk once, as they ruminated on the nature of High School bullying. Idle minds were poor catalysts for change.
Nothing seemed to change. Bulk fiddled with his television set, plugged into a wall socket in the utility shack. The set was old, smeared with mud and caked in dust. As long as it worked, Bulk was not about to complain. He remembered the shrill shriek of his friend, his father’s switch cracking against Skull’s pale skin. Bulk stood at the open screen door, afraid to knock, afraid to move. He could never speak of seeing that, but every time Skull said the bruises were from sparring at the Juice Bar, Bulk knew it was a lie. Bulk crossed his round arms over his burly chest, the simplicities of kindness almost lost as the world itself fell into disrepair.
“Washington D.C. has been hit; thousands are trapped on the highways as the missiles continue to touch down. We repeat, do not enter any metro zones-“
Just a repeat message, the enormous fires burned all around now. Giant pillars of flame spreading, burning the sky black as night. There was freedom in seeing your death, but still, Bulk had to know when. The bombs still dropped, the beasts from the Moon were wild now, and free with nothing to stop them. They stalked the nights, best to go during the day. Dawn had broken outside, a sliver of light pouring through the hellish fires consuming the Earth. Bulk tested his switchblade, the sharp knife springing ready as it always had. Last night Skull had business, Bulk did not stop him.
Skull’s house was not so far away, an easy walk in the untouched suburban landscape. Trash littered the sidewalks, city workers had long since abandoned their posts, everything seemed abandoned, even the morals that kept society afloat.
Society was afloat, but adrift now, losing way in the violence of a turbulent storm. The porch screen door, the one Bulk had looked through so many years ago as a child; it was just the same then as now. The scene replayed in Bulk’s mind as he filled the door’s frame, looking into the house where Skull had taken so many beatings, for reasons Bulk could never fathom.
Only now, Skull’s father lay on the floor, blood oozing from an open wound. Skull breathed slowly, staring low, tears streaming down his face. Bulk looked in, afraid to knock, afraid to move. As time passed, he faded off and returned to the shack in Angel Grove Park. Skull returned, his blade clean, but hands covered in blood. Bulk shoved Skull, as an old friend does, and spoke. “Got that sparring at the Juice Bar too, huh?”
They laughed, together.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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