THE PROLOGUE: THE INTERPRETER

As 6094 stared into the megaphone; it thought it resembled a severed ear nailed high up on the wall. Blaring out some garbled version

of an old musical number that was often recycled in the waiting room. Oddly, In all the rows of uncomfortable purple shag carpeted

chairs 6094 was the only one wide-awake in the masses of unconscious waiting people; the only one dressed nicely in an un-crumpled

plastic suit. It was also the only one who was late. 6094 was supposed to be here when the Decider read between yellow and green; but

had arrived when the arrows rested on the edge of blue teetering into red. Peering over peoples shoulder occasionally to see their

initiation card. Many of them had a long time to wait.  It did not have one said cards because it was on special call, instead 6094 had a

white piece of paper that had the High Lords symbol in gold paint. It remembered having sat in a similar waiting room in order to

receive it. Immediately after 6094's name was called it had asked the Helper in the front desk “How long have I been waiting here?” With

an impatient glare painted on The Helpers' pasty face; it said, “I wonder when the last time someone asked me that?” tautly breathing

out and handing 6094 the initiation card. Now it was sitting here, outside the chamber of the High Lords. They had reserved seating for

it. Yes it was a very lucky thing to be on special call; they’d probably excuse 6094 for moving up in the rows to find a seat that didn’t

squeak. A thought occurred to it. If the High Lords wanted 6094 so badly why did they have put it all the way in the back with the

snorers or the ones that coughed? After moment 6094 decided it didn’t matter seeking to distract itself by turning over its wrist.

Peeling backs its pink and hair encrusted sleeve to find find a ticking and twirling bundle of gears on its wrist. Parting a strand of blond

hair to peer through its square lenses. On this apparatus were three differently sized circles; each a tone of color; red, blue and yellow.

Always moving; spinning in different directions. It was to 6094's theory that the device was designed to confuse and frustrate the user.

Looking away from the device the young storyteller decided to look at the two high rising pair of crimson doors. Guards posted with

weapons at the ready; their expressions were unflinching masks of attention

“Number 6-0-9-4-would you enter the doors please!” The megaphone suddenly announced before returning to the droning music.

With a quick skip in its step, 6094 rose from the chair and speedily walked to the entrance. It instinctively began eyeing the guards and

then up on the wall. A circular color pallet; with all possible shades; a pair of arrows moving around its edge to decide which one would

appear next. The large doors opened by themselves with a low creak and the young plainly dressed Narrator stepped inside of the

domed hall. Light from the ceiling harshly illuminated the floor below the three podiums. Sitting each were the three High Lords

dressed in white ceremonial robes with gold  decoration. The Middle Lord cleared his throat; “N‘umber 6094949410304, yo’arr l’ate!”

spoke in a booming aggravated voice. Timidly; the guest to the fine hall approached; weakly jerking a thumb in the other direction

“Yah. I ran into a rabbit and he was late too!” and released a nervously loud HA; no one seemed amused “It’s a joke,” it affirmed. After

an awkward silence 6094 mumbled “That one’s usually a killer,” and quickly sat down on chair forming out of the glossy floor. 6094

had started to play nervously with its rather mangled pencil; a bad-chewing habit resulted in there hardly being anything left. “Narrator

6094…” the quick tempered lord paused “…Well, you get the point,” waving away the protocol “Yer’ pref’ormance has be’in ‘ore or less

impressive.” 6094 stood up hurriedly to sound its defense.  

“Well, I do my best,” it politely remarked; only to be stared down by those sitting on the ominous high chairs.  

“-Yo’ill speak en’spoken too!” the Middle, and very rude Lord bellowed, 6094 sat back down slowly.

“What is this story about?” 60494 asked as softly as it could; carful not to show its distress.

“This story is…uh…very complex,” the effeminet Lord, 2014 said between pauses “A very complex story, very high tech and futuristic,”

it finished cheerily cocking its head and smiling.

“To summarize (cough),” said a rather skeletal Lord haltingly; sitting at the left “It’s about a group of hero’s who fight against the

tyranny of alien frogs, (wheeze).”  

“Frogs?” 6094 spat with skepticism, “Well, that’s original." it added under its breath. The three high Lords mumbled amongst each

other. 2013's the veins in its face could be seen pumping fluids“That is what has been given to you, 6094.”

“With all do respect, I could do so much more than what has been given to me,” 6094 adjusted in its chair, trying to avoid the

intolerable shine of the overhead lights “I know I’ve loused up a few in the past but if you’d give me a chance, I could really….” The

Temperamental Lord interrupted with a thunderous bang of its gavel.

"Number something hundred-you do’not noh yer’ place!” 2013 boomed, beat red “We have assi’ned u’a story and oo’ll ‘arrate it weader

ye ike et or not.”

“Why is it up to you?” 6094 stood up once more, legs slightly wobbling with fear you despite its commanding voice “You can’t even

speak properly!” The Temperamental Lord’s eyes lit up with fury and its chin collapsed into a tight frown. The Elder Lord gave a slight

cough and held him back “Young story teller,” wheezed 2012, sounding as though it were a bag of air with a hole in it “We can barley

keep this place alight with the resources we have now…” it said grimly, fermented lungs barely working. “Starting out where you were;

I’ve been through the same.” Remarked the lord reasonably “We have to put up with the stories we’ve been given-ACK-ACK-in order

ICK-UCK- in order to…(WHEEZE)!” The young storyteller waited for 2012 to finish, but it seemed unlikely. 2014 shrugged and continued

in this respect, to spare 6094 any confusion “Its very simple, we have to keep the reality spectrum in check," it said with a plastic grin

"The authors do their part in dreaming up memories; so we must to ours. There has to be a voice to anchor these realities together so

to keep the boarders of our reality contained.”  The Female Lord explained “That means we can’t choose our the stories we tell, and yes;

some of us are less skilled than others,” 6094 detected a slight implication in its voce “But all and all we have to pull together!”

“Yes, but in all fairness…” the young 6094 began; until the voice that of a bullhorn shut him out.

“Th’ouncil is’ott opposed to’bee f’air!” the mean tempered Lord announced “We’elegate oo’goes f’where.” 2013 grumbled something

 6094 could not understand “Besides, I dout’u could’doh any better.”

“Well, actually…” the young storyteller began, but before 6094 knew it 2013 had taken the gavel and slammed it hard on its surface

-WOK-!

“Mea'ting ad'jerned,” leaving 6094 standing in silence, biting its lip in frustration. The Middle Lord scowled the young storyteller “Best

be going now, th'sory appending right now and ‘e can’t av’dat cause den da story will go d’own de toilet.” 2013 gave the brave, young

6094 a sneer before pointing at its feet. Suddenly feeling weightless, it looked down to see that there was no floor for 6094 to stand

on. With a masculine shout it fell through the gaping hole and careened down a seemingly endless black abyss.

***
Apparently it had an end as before Number 6094 could brace itself, the young storyteller felt its entire body fall flat on something

dense and painful. “Baggage claim!” someone shouted, as 6094 dusted its suit off and saw that it was sitting on a pile of assorted

luggage. “Hey buddy, you’re not supposed to be here,” 6094 wearily looked up into the face of small Helper with a cap. The Helper

pulled 6094 onto its feet, unconsciously pointing up. “Dropped you down here, didn’t they?” something hard came down on 6094’s

head.

“Ow!” 6094 rubbed the sour spot and looked up at the several different pipes mouths fixed into the high ceiling, each randomly

spitting out plain suitcases. There was a small tag on it and 6094 picked it up recognizing its number written down on the small piece

of paper. “Its those idiots again, 7025!” 9042 shouted to another small Helper standing by fence that surrounded the area. “Sorry, about

that,” 7025 apologized and led 6094 down to the concrete “They must not like you much to let you ride the express way.” 7025 started

to laugh, opening the gate for 6094 to pass “You’ll be alright, just keep heading that way.” A few others passed the storyteller paying

no mind as 6094 rubbed its sour head, hand feeling for its back, hissing to have found a large bruise “This is torture.” looking at its

suitcase tag. 6094 found the number three crudely painted on the back of it, looking from the storyteller spotted a stranger standing

outside the line of other Narrators. 6094 recognized it as a Helper by its jumpsuit. A sign was held in its hands. The Helper reached and

placed an arm on 94's shoulder, uncomfortable the Narraotr was led away “The High Lords told me to show you to your next gig.” They

walked passed the crowd and moved towards the head of a dimly lit corridor; painfully through the turnstiles as the stranger insisted

they pass through together “So, is this your first time?” 6094 didn’t pay attention as it was too focused on removing the man’s arm

from its left shoulder “Nah, don’t answer that, wouldn’t want you to get nervous,” the Helper giggled obnoxiously “In the short time we

have together I want us to be pals-friends-best buds, you just keep loose and let your little Helper take care of the rest.” 6094 said

nothing but continued to cringe; as the Helper was to close for comfort. Not only from that its uniform had a potent odor. “Okay, where

are you supposed to be?” it asked. 6094 replied with a puzzled shrug “I’m sorry but aren’t you supposed to know that?” The Helper

tried to smile honestly “You got orders from the big guys upstairs, I can’t know something that’s top secret.” instinctively 6094 turned

over the tag on the paper with it number and showed it the number three. “Good-good,” in the middle of the hall there was a set of

stairs with steal bar railings and a small sign above it. Drunkenly 6094 stumbled down the steps, stopping at the third set, of stairs.

“Alright, that’s enough;” the storyteller pulled away. Hurtfully the Helper stood apart from it.

“What do you mean?” it asked; 6094 got a good look at the Helper’s face. Down from its mangy cloth hat to the scar running down form

its glass eye to its upper lip. Down to its mouth partially opened by the oversized sharp tooth jutting from it.

“I…I can handle it from here.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying…” the Helper scratched its head, sensing that they both understood what was really going on.

“No harm done,” 6094 politely smiled, slowly turning down the steps. A great choking feeling was felt around its neck as the Helper

seize 6094 by the collar, turning around to gaze deeply into the Helper's dark marble eyes.

“Come on; give me a break!" the Helper whimpered “Just let me experience it!” the storyteller felt the Helper’s grip become tighter “You

know its like an eternity out here!” suddenly, a loud shrieking whistle turned the Helper in a different direction. “Don’t you see I’m

trying to help yah, that’s my job, now cut me some slack and that way everybody wins…” 6094 pried the Helper off itself; slowly moving

away from the deranged creature.

“If its all the same to you; I’d just like to get to my story now…” the Helper pulled down the zipper and 6094 saw something gleaming

against its shirt

“You ever use one of these?” the piercing whistle echoed again and 6094 tried to see what the Helper was looking at.

“YOU THERE!” somebody shouted “STOP!” 6094 saw a much older Helper running towards them. Accompanied by those who two

Editors, recognized by their Teflon suits and porcelain masks. A squeak alerted 6094 to see the stranger running from the stairs with

the two security officers following him. The old Helper shook 6094’s hand “I’m sorry about that, it seems you were helped by a

stowaway, let me take that.” 6094 watched the older Helper grab the suitcase and carry it down the stairs. Their shadows casting down

on the floor hovering over the words HANGER 3 stenciled in chalk. The old Helper waddled towards the second door and gripped the

valve with two hands; “Do you need some help with that?” 6094 asked noticing its struggle. A few irritated sounds came from the

Helper before the door swung inward. Attached to the walls were suspended control panels surrounding a large smooth bored cone

shaped chamber that expanded in its own privately sectioned off corner. Immediately; the Helper sized the cords and hoses strewn on

the floor and attached them every which way “I don’t blame them for wanting to…” the old Helper began; bending up and down “I’ve

heard most stowaways are actually Helpers themselves.” 6094 aquardly moved further into the room dotingly standing by the chamber

so not to get in its way. “Which makes sense since we’re not Authors; and we’ve never made it far enough to become Narrators.”

Standing still for a moment; checking all the outlets “Since, you know, telling a story is the only real way we can… experience time.”

finally; the old Helper pulled a small tab on the panel nearest the compartment; with a hissing escape of air a circular outline was

revealed around the porthole. “There you are,” it said “Have a pleasant trip,” taking the luggage off the floor and hand it back to the

young storyteller.

“Thank you…” 6094 said quickly and without further hesitation boarded the vessel, climbing into it slowly with one foot at a time.

Sitting at the desk, 6094 placed the suitcase within the space of the control panel; outside it heard the sounds of power drills as the

Helpers sealed the young storyteller inside. After unclasping the locks 6094 opened the suitcase to see a grated microphone reared up

with the control panel. Intricately designed with sized switches and dials to control frequency, and most importantly the large red

button. Once pressing it a sign lit up that read ON THE AIR. Several wires plugged themselves into the outlets on both sides of the

luggage. At its lowest part near the handle, 6094 pulled out two suction cups with long wires and placed them on both sides of its

forehead. “Are you ready 6094?” the voice box shrieked with the Helper’s voice. It began to get darker within the hull of the ship, the

emergency backup lights coming on. “Testing-testing one two three…” 6094 humbly spoke into the microphone. After flipping some

switches, the row of light bulbs began to blip on and off between red, green and yellow. A low tremor took hold of the compartment,

the Helper was shouting something through the hull but third or second word was all 6094 could gather in the garbled nonsense.

Meanwhile the shuttle was about to launch. Reaching around the chair, 6094 grabbed hold of the two secure buckles “At least it has

seat belts this time.” Bringing them together. The capsule continued to shake more rapidly and 6094 took hold of the microphone to

secure itself in the seat. “Here goes nothing!” there was a lurch and the tarring sound of metal as 6094 recognized the cargo doors had

opened beneath the ship. Painful scraping sounds emanated from outside, although the vessel was not gifted with a visor 6094

deduced with its senses that the vehicle was taking off down through the drop shafts. Jolting, pulling, jostling every which way with

incredible speed down through unseen passages and passed unimaginable dangers, 6094 found it to be lucky not to see such things. It

would only serving to aid the nausea plaguing its bowls. That peculiar humming sound was beginning to resonate within the drivers

cabin. It disturbed the young storyteller more than the prospects of the story. It would be a most tedious affair. The young storyteller

had so much impatience for characters, more so than other people in its profession. They never really seem to know where there

supposed to be and rarely do they think logically or see danger coming their way. If it was anything similar to that nursery rhyme it had

to sit through than 6094 would certainly loose it. The High Lords never gave 6094 much to work with. Most of the stories it was given

were so rudimentary they could tell themselves. Rarely was 6094 delivered an epic, that’s all it ever wanted, a story with characters you

could relate to, a story with the essence of life, that can make you laugh and dream. But no, it was simple poems and songs, that’s all

6094 ever dictated. There were a few lines from one in particular that ironically coincided with what he was feeling now.

He was caught and bound in disbelief, and thrown into silver bathysphere,
All uttered words of sound relief, after it plunged and disappeared.

Now this story, this monster, what sort of classic will this turn out to be? It would most likely turn out to be a more busy work. All 6094

was to the High Lords was cannon fodder, one day it was more than 6094 could take, racking its brain over such trivial nonsense. “What

a mess this will turn out to be.” The young storyteller chuckled to keep back the frustration; as it was about to enter the story there was

a low eclectic sound buzzing all around him before a flash of light tore through the porthole. 6094 could visualize the title, mentally

picturing itself passing under the words wistfully. No longer feeling the metal seat beneath him; no longer taking in the fresh plastic

scent that occupied the inside of the cone vessel. 6094 was now astro-physically of a higher state of mind.

THE FROG QUEEN FROM SATURN

“Alright; I can do this….” Said the Narrator; adjusting quiet nicely to the story it was in. Hovering in a bleak, grey sky. “Oh; and theirs

the heading…” The Narrator paused; seeing that if it had read it right “I guess that’s supposed to be cleaver.” Taking a deep breath it

began to tell the tale.