It had changed significantly since last | left it. It used to be blue, and 
now it was painted with a bright purple. There was a bunk bed 
where my single bed used to be — the top bunk was pink, the 
bottom sky blue. There wasn't my old bedside table, or any of my 
book collections. | suddenly felt a strong want for a Dr. Seuss book. 
They must have those, this is a kid's bedroom. No kid's bedroom 
can survive without Dr. Seuss books. | began to search through the 
bookshelf next to the door, and sure enough, there one was. 


Oh the Places You'll Go, by Dr. Seuss. Did they have Dr. Seuss 
back at the Tourist Trap? | hadn't seen any. | might just take that 
back with me. | sat down on the lower bed, set down my umbrella, 
and began to read... 


"You have brains in your head. 
You have feet in your shoes. 
You can steer yourself, 
any direction you choose. 
You're on your own. And you know what you know. 
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go." 


| sure was. | loved these books. They were my childhood. | never 
imagined I'd be a part of Seuss's world eventually — that came as a 
mighty surprise. They found me on the streets, selling some little 


knick-knacks | had made out of the trash in the alleyways. | was 
creative and bubbly and innocent: all the things they looked for. Of 
course, it helped that they were looking for me already. 


"Everyone is just waiting. 
Waiting for the fish to bite, 
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite, 
or waiting around for Friday night, 
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake, 
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break, 
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants, 
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. 
Everyone is just waiting." 


Waiting for the next big product. Waiting for the next big project. 
Waiting for that next promotion, that next holiday, that next hang out, 
that next break through. Waiting for the next night, then the next 
day, then the next... the next whatever comes after that. Months, 
years? Lifetimes? Waiting to meet that one special person, to settle 
down? What was | waiting for? 


"I'm afraid that some times, 
you'll play lonely games too. 
Games you can't win, 
‘cause you'll play against you." 


There was a glimmer in the closet, between the slats in the closet 
door. What made that? Was it — it looked wet, and shiny. It twitched 
and went away. Were those kids? 


"Hello?" 
That was definitely a rustling. | think | caught a "shh". 
"Are you playing hide and seek?" 


| got up off the bed, and began towards the closet at a glacial pace. 
They seemed afraid. What of? 


"What are you afraid of?" 


Opening the closet door, | took a boot to the face. | got knocked 


back, and caught myself on the wall. That was my jaw. Again. | 
resisted my jaw's urge to move sideways, and held it in my hand. 
There was a girl, about half my size, who was holding two little kids 
behind her back. She was heaving, and stared at me, still half in the 
closet. 


"Oh, oh I'm sorry, | must seem weird. | know it's not typical for 
mimes to talk — but, but I'm not actually a mime, | just dressed up 
this way today! | am so sorry for the confusion, can we be frie -?" 


Another kick to the side sent me curled up on the floor. | had the 
wind knocked out of me, and coughed struggling to catch my breath. 
The girl was closer now, and hovering over me. Those kids looked 
very scared. What was it? | told them | wasn't a mime, what 
could...? 


"| wasn't going to take your Dr. Seuss book! | was just looking at it... 
| used to live here, you know. This was where | grew up — | slept in 
that bed — augh!" 


She kicked me in the navel, and saliva spewed out of my mouth. | 
felt some bile coming up. Oh no, | had barfed enough yesterday. | 
can't barf again! | could get stomach problems! What was her 
problem? | wasn't stealing — oh my, is that blood? — and | wasn't a 
talking mime. What else could there be? | looked up at her, and saw 
her angry. She was getting ready to kick me again. Her phone was 
in her right hand, and the children's hands were in her other. They 
looked terrified. They were silently frightened. It couldn't have been 
me, it must have been — they were scared of her. She reeled her 
leg back, but it never hit me. 


| didn't Know | could hit people that hard. 


She was sprawled out on the ground. | had hit her right in the 
temple, and it sent her into the wall and then knocked her to the 
floor. She wasn't moving. The kids were safe. 


"Was she hurting you? Did she harm you? What did she do?" 


The kids only cried, and suddenly the room was very loud. Tears 
streamed down their cheeks, and their mouths were agape in wet 


yelling. 


"Shh, it's okay, she's gone! I'll... I'll uh, I'll give her a stern talking to 
when she wakes up, and uh..." 


What was that noise? | had been ignoring the sirens in the distance, 
because you get used to that when living in an urban environment. 
But they got close, stopped, and then there was a /oud bang in the 
other room. More of them? More of her? 


| leaned down and put my arms around the children. Another couple 
bangs. Those were doors. Those were doors getting knocked down. 
| sweat, what could | do? | fondled around my pockets for the key, 
the key back to the house. Back to Tourist Trap. These kids were in 
danger — | didn't know why, but something bad was happening 
here. | found the key. 


"We have been wanting to travel the world, 
And though we can not find you on any map -" 


A bang. A bang. 


"You've promised some haven to us boys and girls, 
We know you exist -" 


Bang. Bang. BANG. A massive, muscular man blew the door open 
with his shoulder, and pointed a, a gun at me! 


"FREEZE! 

". you're the Tourist Trap!" 

A hole opened up below the kids and I, and | hear a loud pow. 
"Aaaaugh!!" 


A bullet caught me in the ankle while | fell down the rabbit hole, two 
kids under my arms. 


« We Just Make Toys|Vend-a-Friend Hub|! Don't Get It, | 
Functioned Before » 


| Don't Get It, | Functioned Before 


My foot throbbed. | had never dealt with that much blood, and | 
couldn't really move my foot. | was crumpled on the couch, and the 
two kids were playing with the huge tubs of legos behind me. 
Cinnamon buns, warm blankets, some reassuring words, and The 
Aquabats had finally managed to calm them down. | was sure there 
was a med kit somewhere in the house, but | just hadn't the time to 
find it. Worst thing that could have happened was an amputated 
foot, and really, wouldn't that just be interesting? | thought it might 
just be another quirk for me to have. A new nickname, perhaps. 
Footless Fool. Half-a-Calf. Footloose. 


No. No, | was making myself angry thinking of all of those. A 
nickname doesn't define a person, and you never really got to 
choose them, did you? Some bloke would name a trait of yours and 
you would forever be painted with it. Brainy Brian. Was all of me just 
smarts? No, no it wasn't. | was a person. | was a gosh darn human 
being, and | deserved more recognition than Brainy Brian. | was 
Brian Harding. People should have just called me Brian. | liked the 
name Brian. It was tough, but didn't make me sound like a jerk. 
Someone who could stand up for themselves, but didn't take it as far 
as pushing others down. Brian. Strong willed, intelligent, kind. | 
rescued two kids from certain death that day. If it weren't for the 
bullet in my ankle, I'd have been riding high on self esteem. 


The two kids were Joe and Abe. They didn't really know their last 
names. They didn't want to talk about the scary girl who was holding 
them hostage. They didn't want to talk about the blue muscular man 
who shot me in the foot. He was mean, he must have been such a 
mean person. Who shoots someone in the foot? A big hunky 
meanie, that's who. 


It took immense effort to lurch myself over the back of the couch to 
peer at the brothers. What was | going to do with them? | never 
planned on being a parent. | loved kids, but... but | loved them at a 
distance. | loved making toys for them. | loved getting money for it. | 
laid back down. Was | a bad person? | was an employee of 
Wondertainment, and | was a toy maker. It was impossible for me to 
be a bad person. Couldn't be. 


Still, Wondertainment had left a bad taste in my mouth. Polly Gary 
Ashley, getting away with all she did without a scratch. Without a 
scratch, yeah, and | got shot. | wasn't good at biology, for all | knew | 
could have been bleeding out. Not much | could do about it at that 
point. Just put pressure on the wound — like | was always told — 
and sat there. | thought to myself that | should get Joe and Abe to 
their parents... but how? | already asked them, and they didn't know 
the phone number. Tongue usually knew what to do with things. 


Eh... | didn't feel like talking to Tongue. They were my kids. | was 
going to give them the best life they could have. They were going to 
live happy and free and they were going to eat ice cream every night 
and watch cartoons until their heads melted. | was never going to 
cook them broccoli, or spinach, or any other nasty green slop. They 
were going to eat like kings. The kings of candy land. They were 
going to feast on candy canes that | grew in the backyard, and 
lollipops that | picked off of trees. They were always going to get two 
spoonfuls of sugar in their teas. Joe and Abe. Joe and Abe Harding. 
It rang well. It rang true. | could be a mommy too. Whenever they felt 
down, | would be there patting them reassuringly on the back. We 
could play hide and seek, except all over the world! Egypt one day, 
Spain the next, Brazil the third, India the fourth! We could go visit 
ancient temples, maybe Stonehenge, some... skyscrapers? The 
possibilities were endless! 


Just as soon as | could walk! 


| was sick of laying on the couch and thinking about myself. | didn't 
like thinking about myself much anyways. | was going to walk no 
matter how much it ground my shattered ankle pieces together. The 
carpets cleaned themselves anyways. Woah. It was snowing. 
Snowing? What was the weather in this place? | got up and winced 
as | shifted my weight to my left foot. | looked over at the kids, who 


stared at me with wide eyes. They must have still been shocked 
from the experience. It made sense. | don't imagine you get through 
something like that without some scars. They would heal in time. | 
would make sure of it. Had | packed anything healing? | feel like | 
must have. | stumbled into the kitchen, and made my way to the 
back door where | had left my suitcase. | had never unpacked. Fell 
asleep unexpectedly early last night... 


| balanced myself on the walls, feeling the warm liquid drip down to 
the sole of my foot and then follow it to my toes. | almost slipped on 
the tile floor but caught myself on the counter. The first aid kit is 
usually in the kitchen anyways, right? Holding onto the counters and 
leaning at a near forty-five degree angle, | finally arrived at my 
suitcase. | knelt down, and opened it. There were my changes of 
clothes — how did my makeup look? — my pillow, my blankets, all 
my face paint, and... Oh. My risperdal. 


| tripped and fell last night, | must not have taken it then. | missed a 
dose this morning. My heart fluttered. | missed two doses of 
risperdal? Oh no, oh my that was bad. | was told to take a dose 
each morning and each night, and | hadn't missed anything since | 
was thirteen. It had been so long, | didn't remember what was going 
to happen. | started twitching, and picked at the child-proof cap of 
the bottle. What went wrong? What happens when | go off of them? 
What am | like without them? Am | still Brainy? What if | took them 
now? What is the worst that could happen? What if the kids found 
out? What if management found out? What if Tongue found out?! 


| emptied it into the sink. 


| wondered if the car worked. | hadn't checked out the car yet. | 


stepped outside into the snow, and grasped my keys. It was cold. | 
wasn't dressed for cold weather. Wasn't |? | had gone out into the 
rain just... eight? Hours ago. | should have been prepared. | closed 
the door and locked it behind me. Who knows what kids could do if 
they had free roam of the outdoors. They were safer inside. The cold 
felt good, on second consideration. It felt good to be cold. My left 
foot wriggled its toes into the snow, and enjoyed how they felt bitten. 
The tips of my fingers began to feel the same way, just sitting in the 
air and catching snowflakes. The metal tip of the keys felt like ice. 
Same keys that opened the house and took me back to the Tourist 
Trap also ran the car. Wondertainment was efficient if nothing else. 
If nothing else indeed. 


| collapsed onto the shiny pink and white hot rod, had my 
unresponsive fingers fumble the keys into the car door, and then 
clambered into the leather driver's seat. The whole thing felt like a 
fridge. A freezer, really. | shut the door and laid down across the... 
the... the middle bit, between the driver's seat and the passenger 
seat. This thing didn't self clean apparently. | was still leaking? It 
was definitely less now, but | thought it would be none. | turned on 
the car, and started up the heat. My breath shuddered and came 
and went. Well, | sure had done it. Moved myself from my couch and 
into the car. From thinking about myself to thinking about myself. 
What a good job | had done. 


| punched the steering wheel, and heard a satisfying honk. Very 
satisfying, actually. | punched it three more times, before my hand 
ended up resting on it's outer edge. Whew, | was dizzy. Dizzy and 
warm. | felt like myself. | hadn't really ever noticed that | didn't feel 
like myself before. | was feeling fresh and springy. My anger 
subsided and began to replace itself with contentment. | really did 
just need a change of scenery. Up into the wilderness. Up into the 
Tourist Trap. Back to my old house and out again. It's funny how 
much life changes over short spans of time. Just three days ago | 
was in Wonder World!™, and now | was out in the middle of 
nowhere — no, the middle of everywhere, and | had become a 
completely different man. Or maybe | was a different man before, 
and only just now did | get back to being me. 


| was getting very tired. 


| stepped out of a train and onto the sidewalk. It chugged out from 
behind me, off into the blurry nothingness, and left me at the base of 
a large building that was hundreds if not thousands of floors high. Its 
walls seemed to jut out at odd angles, and floors hung in midair 
where they were sure to fall but didn't. The walls were pinks and 
purples and bright baby blues until they reached into the grey storm 
clouds and up and beyond even that. | walked towards the large 
enamored archway, past the black landscape and through a pile of 
dark crates and barrels that surrounded the entrance. Once inside, | 
was able to look up into the dimly lit skyscraper and see that | was 
surrounded by stairs that spiraled up and up and up through 
spacious, wheezing art galleries. | only saw two or three other 
bodies, but they were too abstract to make out. 


| took to the first steps, and marched up them with solemn gait, and 
lazily scanned the bright and bubbly surroundings. Every wall was 
covered head to toe in paintings and explanatory golden plaques — 
you could barely see the wallpaper in some places. There were 
glorious depictions of wars, love, children, sex and music and death 
and merriment and depression and nature and Wonder. Purples and 
yellows flooded over the blues and greens and oranges and reds. | 
kept ascending and noticed more and more sculptures — tan things 
with curves and motions that | couldn't quite make out. They 
seemed to come from all different times and all different styles — 
some were made of marble and others out of paper mache. Some 
were purely realistic and others warped perception itself.