Year of the Dogless Bollocks

The campus fountain groaned and shrieked with the slippery, green water as Franki Button Shoeshine and her invisible friend, Chuck, walked about in the overcast afternoon air.

It had been an interesting day.

It started when the two woke before the sun -- and, boy, was he irate at being beaten to the punch! -- in order to get their early enough to figure out in which room the right classes were to be held, as they'd decided to stalk the downstairs vending machines, instead, last week.

Pulling into the lot, Franki was still mostly asleep, and not entirely lucid on the events of her driving. But she woke up rather quickly, when Chuck screamed, grabbing the steering wheel and lunging the great craft to the right, so as to avoid hitting the creature that had leapt out from behind an oblong shrub. Shrieking, herself, Franki punched Chuck squarely in the thorax, and regained control of the vehicle, just in time to narrowly pull into a spot between a semi trailer and a witch's broom.

Shaking and shocked, Franki and Chuck remained in her car for several minutes after it was shut off, silently staring straight ahead.

"Did I kill it?" Franki finally asked.

"No, I don't think so... Well, maybe... Probably... I don't know."

They found out for sure the next second, as a flash of black jumped onto the rust-rippled hood of Franki's car. It was a cat. A small, lean, scraggly cat with frazzled whiskeres, ears bigger than its head, one of which with a rat-sized bite out of it, and a bald patch in the middle of its tail.

Franki's heart immediately swelled for it. "Poor thing! He looks to be on his last life!"

Chuck was immediatly skeptical for it. "How do you know it's a 'he'?"

"Well, just look -- where have you seen bigger cat-bollocks?"

"I didn't know they even had them."

"Well, you know some of them have to have them. After all, they do keep ... happening..." Suddenly aware of the turn the conversation had taken, Franki blushed and changed the subject just slightly. "We should keep him!"

"How? Carry him from class to class? I doubt they'd let you do that... And besides, we don't need a cat."

"Who needs a cat? I want one!"

"Okay, then we can check out the pet shop when we get back home."

"No, those cats are all whimpy. This guy is perfect! He's tough, he's scrappy, he's got a little kitty chip on his shoulder, and he's -- he's -- gone! Where did he go?"

"With any luck, to the pound. Come on, let's go look for your first class."

Franki's first class was a boring contribution to the money-spending habbits of humans who have it, which was a tad depressing for the girl and the fata morgana who had not. Though, at what would be the hight of disinterest for her other classmates, Franki suddenly found something to amuse her in the worst way. For, you see, accross the room, she spied the one person she truely could not stand to be around; her prclaimed arch-enemy, the only human, she knew of, who could get under her thick and highly-decorated skin; the one person who managed to break through her cloud of confident dignity and introduce a poison of doubt that made her high school experience less than enjoyable.

Teeny Buzzkill.

"No! No! Not here! Why would she be here?" Franki propped up her economics textbook as a shield, whispering to Chuck, who still hadn't quite caught on, "Teeny! I thought she'd gone to a trade school to be a manicurist, or a model, or some such craziness! Why is she in community college? In an advanced class?"

Franki suddenly felt the deep need to hide, be anything but noticable, for fear of being called out by this evil enchantress who had made her so miserable. And, the worst, most discraceful fact of the whole situation was that Teeny, while entirely aware of her own cruelty, was blind as to the exact pain she'd wrought upon Franki's life; in fact, except for a  passing aknowledgment of her strange attire, Franki's existance was barely a blip on her radar.

That fact lasted to make everything worse.

Franki's first class could not have gotten over soon enough, and as soon as the instructor uttered, "See ya in --," she was outa there, and if Teeny Buzzkill had seen her, she didn't appear to notice.

Lunch came after, and Franki did not have six dollars for a ham sandwich, so she went to the best-working hot-beverage vending machine (which she'd been sure to carefully map last week), and got a one-dollar cup of chicken noodle soup, and went out to the empty cafe' courtyard to eat it. It was too early for most students to want to eat lunch, but a more proper luch time for her was occupied by a class, so this time would have to do.

Franki sighed and sipped the boullion-water. "I can't believe she's here. Why would she be here?"

"Who?"

"Teeny Buzzkill!"

"Oh. You're still talking about her? I thought we were on to lunch."

"I can't get my mind off her. The injustice! We graduated over a year ago! I didn't complain when she job-shadowed my mother."

"Yes, you did."

"And I've all but forgotten the time she ran me off the road."

"Actually, you won't shut up about it."

"But, now she's here, of all places! I swear she's following me!"

"Delusion of grandeur. She doesn't even know who you are!"

"You're my invisible friend. Aren't you supposed to be supportive?"

"Says the girl who would fight with herself, just for the chance of opposition. This thing with Teeny is all in your head, and I guarrintee, if you got over it, the whole fued would end. Forget your obsessive-underdog syndrome, and ride the smooth road!"

Franki flailed her arms in outrage. "I do not have Obsessive-Underdog Syndrome! I swear, she really is out to get me!" Her chicken noodle soup went flying, and before it even hit the ground, another familiar black blur also came flying.

"Hey, look, Chuck!" Franki cried, distracted from her internal drama. "It's our friend!"

The scraggly feline smiled up at Franki, his crooked whiskers dripping with soup, and a noodle dangling half out of his mouth.

"Aren't you sweet!" She pet the cat, and the moment the two made contact, a bolt of electricity generated along the cat's fried whiskers, and shot out, just narrowly missing Franki.  Chuck, however, was not so lucky.

"A-hem," Chuck wheezed and coughed. "Stop petting Sparky!"

The cat dropped his noodle, his once-bright eyes cataracted over, as his mind went somewhere else. His back arched, and fangs grew from his mouth, accompanied by a yowling hiss that would frighten a ghost.

"Ix-nay on the 'arky-spay,' Chuck! Try a different name -- like -- um -- Noodle-Puss!"

The cat immediately calmed down, eyes shining once more, and he appeared to be just another near-broken alley-cat that just wanted to be loved. He obviously approved of the name.

"Great. Nice name. But now we have to go to class, and leave Spark-- er, Noodle-Puss -- here."

Franki glanced at her watch. "Ooh, you're right! Bye, Noodle-Puss! Enjoy your lunch!"

It was later in the day, after another class, the pair attended the class that seemed the most relaxing, and most beneficial, as it payed for half her tuition: Chorus.

Music is always helpful for a sane mind (unless that mind is any of those of the famous Masters, who appeared to have gone mad with the music), though, Franki had secretly been looking forward to this class all summer for a different reason.

That reason's name was Trilby Carper.

Franki made sure to wear a fantastic hat on the first day, so that Trilby would recognise her from when they'd connected over hat talk last semester. Though, to her disappointment, if he had recognised her, he didn't come out and say it. And, despite her loud wardrobe, Franki was a tad too shy to go up and start the conversation. So she watched him from afar, all during the class.

He sat in the tennor's section, directly accross from her, in the alto's section (which placement seemed at least a little encouraging), and he was beautiful.

At this thought, Franki had to reel herself back in. There really was not much reason for her to like him, despite his large hands and great taste in millinery; he was rather cynnical, quiet, and often made stupid decisions whose bases lied in the sake of fashion, rather than reason.

They had too much in common, and she wasn't sure she liked that.

Still, when class was over, Trilby stayed after to talk to the director, and Franki stayed in the foyer of the auditorium, feigning fascination with the quilts on display, when she really couldn't care less -- all for just one more glance of Trilby Carper before leaving for the day.

"Just promise me you won't get all obsessed with him, okay?"

"With who? I'm just looking at this quilted, paisley-shaped place-mat."

"Come on. You'd have to be blind not to notice your owl-eye staring at that Carper guy in class."

"Sure, I guess he's cute... Okay, more than cute... But I'm not obsessed."

"Yes, you are! You're always obsessed. It might be with a new thing every day, but there has never been, nor will there ever be, a day when Franki Button Shoeshine is not obsessed. It's just your nature not to half-ass things like that."

"Well... is that a bad thing?"

"Most of the time, no. But the moment you get a crush, then, yeah, it can be."

"Hey, I just admitted he was attractive, nothing more!"

"Do you remember Jonas?"

"Beautiful Ginger-Jonas with the freckles and the feet?... No."

"You wouldn't smuggle your thumb-size spy camera into class just to take pictures of the back of any Jonas' head. And Lance?"

"Smart, word-smithy, public-speaky Lance? What about him?"

"You spent an entire year shoving secret admirer letters in his locker, but never speaking a word to his face. You even stole a lock of his hair."

"Well, how else would the voodoo doll work?"

"All I'm saying is, you tend to get a bit... Stalker-y, when you start liking someone."

"I am not stalker-y! And it doesn't last long, anyway! Six months, at the longest... Shut up! Not a stalker!"

"Franki, we've been standing her for half an hour, staring at the same stupid quilt."

"It's a nice quilt."

"In the perfect position to see when that guy leaves, and have the longest exposure time to his image."

"Coincidence. Anyway, how would you know?"

"Because he's coming right now."

"Eeep!" Franki hid partially behind an Elvis quilt, eyes on Trilby and his guitar case, hand fumbelling blindly for her cell phone and the camera it contained.

"Hey," Trilby waved a single finger at Franki, his head cocked with a half smile and questioningly-raised eyebrow.

"Hennyih..." Franki squeeked out, suddenly frozen.

Trilby made his way through the foyer, down the hall, up the stairs, around the corner, and out of Franki's view. Feeling both pathetic and creepy, Franki groaned and avoided eye contact with Chuck. He was right.

In the parking lot, Franki and Chuck got into her vessel, and drew a collective sigh. Franki glanced left, then popped an ironic chuckle. "Of course!" The license plate on the witch's broom parked beside them read "TEENY1". She dropped her head on the steering wheel, making the horn drone. Her tired dispair was interrupted as a familliar bolt of lightning shot Chuck from the back seat.

"Noodle-Puss!" Franki cried as she looked behind her. "What are you doing in here?"

"Mroaw."

"Do you wana come home with us?"

"Purr-r-rr-r-r-r..."

"Come on up here, kid! Chuck, hold him while I drive. I knew some good had to come of this day!"

The Attack of Franken-Food!!!!

Franki Button Shoeshine and her invisible friend, Chuck, were alone. Parents gone (a blessing, considering her level of cabin fever; her entire adolesence, she'd refused to be the girl who constantly fought with her parents, and now that her body declared adulthood, she wasn't about to start!) and pouring down rain. There wasn't much to do, though. Or to eat.

Halfway through the UK version of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" with added commentary by Richard O'Brien (whom she thought was absolutely beautiful as Riff-Raff) and Patricia Quinn, Chuck could no longer ignore the angry beast who had taken up residence within Franki's internal organs.

"Oh, for Larry's sake! Go get something to eat!"

"Well, I could," Franki lazed, flexing her feet propped against the wall, then shrugging her shoulders hanging off the edge of the couch. "Or, I can make you get me something..."

"Hmmm, you know, I would, if it weren't for this little thing called being 'non-coporial' and stuff."

Franki groaned. "Fine, if you're going to go all physics-verses-perception on me, I'll get it myself." She paused the disc, then dismounted the couch, sticking the landing on her bum,  then headed to the kitchen. Chuck promptly took her spot, as it was the most comfortable in the house. Though, his comfort was disturbed as a blood-curdling scream gouged at his ears.

"Franki! What is it? What's wrong?" Chuck demanded as he zapped into the kitchen.

"...Look..."

Chuck took a gander and growled. "That's you big, frightful emergency? An empty shelf?"

"Not just that! The whole fridge is sparse! Look -- barely a cup of milk! And here -- only one pickle left in the jar! ONE!!! How am I expected to continue with so few vinegar-engorged cucumber bits? Oh, Chuck! It's a tragedy!"

"Well, okay, the refrigerator is somewhat lacking. Try the pantry, or the attic, or the cupbords. You never know, cupbords have actually been known to hold food and other cool items."

"Yeah... but..." Franki guiltily grabbed her shoulder. "All that food is... unprepared!"

" 'Unprep--' Shame on you! You're a cook, for speaking at high decibles!"

"I know. But at a crummly resturant. With a complete collection of needed ingrediants stored at my fingertips. And a very strict chart dictating exactly how much of what goes where. A zombified monkey minion could do it!"

"I can't allow that kind of talk. All that whining is an insult to zombified minions everwhere -- simian or no!"

Franki sighed. "You're right. Okay, let's see what we've got."

The two ransacked the kitchen storage units, as well as the attic, which yielded a slightly smaller selection of breads and fried rodents than had been expected, and gathered up anything that looked delicious, healthy, or physically attractive, in attempt to create a late-night snack fit for an upper-middle-class drag queen.

The first attempt, which included a pudding mix, four strips of bacon, and the last pickle, was somewhat less than desirable.

The second, deemed "Pickle-juice fish fingers, rotisserie style, on a bed of torn-up peta" was a step in the right direction, however that step was taken in stilletto heels that sent the whole expariment toppling.

As Franki cleaned up the soggy fish fingers and now-pocketless bread, she got her inspiration for the third attempt, which was bound to be the charm.

Using a needle with which she was highly skilled, and barely-cooked pasta for thread, she sewed together a dastardly collaboration of assorted nutrition, assembled  according to the food pyramid blueprint; at the foot, two loaves of crunchy bagguettes (after first playing with them, reinacting the Charlie Chaplin "Table Ballet" scene).

Stacked atop the loaves were a pillar of vegetables -- carrots, broccoli, celery, and kimchi -- and one of fruits -- bananas, apples, oranges, and grapes (which were exceedingly difficult to keep in place) -- with a tomato vine to join them at the top, because she wasn't entirely sure where that one should go.

Above that, a large cheese wheel she happened to find hidden in the basement among the Christmas decorations, the jug of little milk, an a heart-shaped container of strawberry cream-cheese which was supposed to be centered, but fell slightly to the right.

Now that it had gotten so tall, Franki decided it was time to add to the sides, so building off the the top, in two opposite directions ("Symmetry, my dear Chuck"), heavy, dangling strings of meat -- fish, chicken, beef, and even Spam, though it was almost a toss-away.

The creation was both T-shaped and incomplete-looking, and so, instead of disrupting the symmetry of her horrible creation, she added to the center part, at the very top, a box of Japanese-imported breakfast cereal, Happy Sugar Pow Yes!

"Only one more thing to add." She muttered to herself.

"What? You cleaned this place out!"

"This!" she brought out a jar half-filled with green liquid, sloshing about, with seeds, and wedged it inside the top of the cereal box.

"What is it with you and pickles, anyway?"

"I like pickles."
Finally, Franki stood back and stared at her creation, and, with rubber-clad fingers tented, demanded that Chuck "Pull the Lee-ver!"

"Lee-ver?"

"You know, the mad-scientist light switch I installed last spring, that no one seems to have noticed, yet. I want to give this moment some ambiance."

"Oh, right!" Chuck stands by the back door, throws the lee-ver, and at that very moment, lightning strikes the house, forcing the electrical appliances to all start at once, lights to flicker, and everything to send out bits of bolts, as if they all wanted to be Jacob's Ladders when they grew up, zapping at the nutritious cacophany resting on the metal-top cutting table.

Franki, who loves when the oddness happens, forgot her hunger, and started cheering and jumping in place, shouting, "Huzzah!"

Seconds later, after everything shorted out, and things were quiet, Chuck decided it was time to make his girl find a flashlight. They searched the house in the dark, and found only a candle and some matches, which worked well enough. Though, upon returning to the kitchen, they found that the cutting table, though a bit stained, was bare.

"Who took my midnight snack?!" Franki searched the room, directing the candle-light as best as she could, but no theif could be found.

Suddenly, Chuck grabbed Franki, hyperventellating in fear. "I think it stole itself!" he whispered, pointing at the trail of juices, crumbs, and detatched grapes along the floor.

"Good work, Scooby! Now, let's see where this trail leads -- I swear that I will have my snack and eat it, too! Mwahahahaha-- what a weird phrase... Have my snack... eat it... why wouldn't I eat... ? Regardless!" Franki started following the foodie bits grunging up the carpet, reluctant Chuck in tow.

The trail went room-temperature in the laundry room. Franki crouched to the floor to inspect the final traces very closely. "A-ha!"

"A-ha, what? What did you find?... And where did you get that magnifying glass?"

"Look -- a red thread, freyed on one end, with a soap flake attatched."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that thing stole my socks, and could be anywhere!"

"How? You're foot's, like, a size eight -- those bagguettes were twelve inches, at least!"

"We must stand back-to-back, protect each other!"

"Okay, but I don't know how much protection I'll be, since i'm--"

"Yes, you're an Invisible Friend, but it's a food-creature, brought to life by a storm and suspended pause-i-ness in the Rocky scene of 'Rocky Horror' -- which is least likely?"

"Point taken."

They travelled through the house, crab-style, covering each-other's back. Down stairs, around rooms, up dumbwaiters, through trap-doors, when, finally, shuffelling down a hallway, Franki stopped.

"It's here. I can tell. I can feel its presence... and smell its brains... I knew pickle-juice brains would come in handy!"

As if on cue, a vinegar-y green drop landed on the tip of Franki Shoeshine's nose. Both looked up. The anime girl on the cereal box glared down.

Franki threw out her arms, sending Chuck spiralling, and cried, "It's aliiiiiiive!!!!"

The food creature lept off the cealling and started running.

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, "It's alive -- now what?"

"Now, we chase it!" She ran after her cullinary invention.

"Ch-- what?... Franki?... Great. I hate running." Chuck ran after his friend.

"We have to hurry! Its shelf-life is almost over!"

"How do you know? And how do you plan on destroying it?"

"By eating it, of course! It is a food monster! And I'm hungry!"

"How do you know it's a monster? It could just be misunderstood!"

Franki stopped in her tracks, Chuck bumping into her. "You're right... Oh, friggin' golly, what am I thinking?... I always side with the monsters! I don't know what came over me!"

"Hunger does weird things to people."

"Hardly an excuse... Come on, let's go see if he's okay. I hope I didn't scare him."

"It's a 'him' now?"

They found the Food Monster crouching under the kitchen table -- his bed, for all intents and purposes -- and coaxed him out with soothing tones and kind appologies. As it turns out, it was a nice creature, who spoke eloquent english, and even flowerier pig-latin, though, Franki was right, a very short shelf-life.

As the creature lay dying two hours later, he thanked Franki and Chuck for their ultimate kindness, and bequeethed his body to science. However, before his last wish could be granted, Franki, who was extremely hungry by now, took a few nibbles.

In the end, all that remained was Monster's pickle-juice brain, and the digesting science of biology to which his body contributed. The power came back on, the floor was cleaned of all footprints, the socks re-washed, the kitchen empty, and Franki's stomach full to bursting.

As the rain let up a little, Mr. and Mrs. Shoeshine returned home with a car full of groceries.

"Franki!" Cried Mother Shoeshine, "Care for a snack?"

The Bureaucratic Nightmare

Once upon a morning dreary, as she drove tired and weary, Franki Button Shoeshine made her way to Madula Oblongata Community College. It was a mere seven days until her second year attending MOCC began. She wondered what wonders and/or horrors awaited in the near-future. She was sure any experience could be made into a good one.

Riding shotgun while cradling a bazooka was her Invisible Friend, Chuck, who had taken up the role of pessimist. "Are you sure you have to go back?" he asked, aiming at the motor-carriage off the Starboard bow. "I dislike having to stand around, watching you study, being quiet... Do you have any idea how hard it is for an invisible person to be quiet?!"

Franki, who was never without some choreographed ensemble of loud design, responded, "Don't lecture me, Chuck, I'm practically invisible, myself. It's not like people actually talk to me."

"Hmm... Granted. But that doesn't change my foreboding on the fact that this year is going to be pure, imitation lethar bollocks!"

"Of the dog, my dear Chuck, of the dog."

There was a chore list a mile long for Franki and Chuck once they'd arrived, so they took a moment before entering to knock off the things, such as schedule tuning and scholarship hunting, that were less imparitive, so that more time could be saved for the important things, like stalking the vending machines and chatting up flourescent sculptures of acryllic. Once the list had been shrunk to nine-sixteenths of  a mile, that was deemed "Okay enough" and the two went inside.

Running here, there, and all around the square in manner of a Scooby-Doo chase sequence, Franki became re-aquainted with such things as "public toilets," "rude receptionists," "lawn-gnome hazards," and "wet floors." Each of which were thoroughly unpleasant experiences (especially given the painful, pointed hats of those receptionists).

Chuck, secure in his insecurities within the Community College environment, was quick to tell you so at every unpleasantry, though Franki was still determined to stay positive. Even if it meant ignoring her inner-turmoil to do so.

Finally, moments before sunset, Franki arrived at her final chore of the day: filing (again) her family financial information with the aid of an unenthusiastic woman in a misleadingly cheerful dress. When Franki announced herself, Lady Paradox stared for several moments through heavy-lidded eyes that suggested slumber. Then, as if speaking through a fog, she bade Franki to "Please fill out this form."

Franki did as she was told, filling out her name, age, address, phone number, eyeglass perscription, bra size, potential net worth of her harvested organs on the black market, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary. Afterward, she turned the form in, and, pleased at being done, started to leave, when the woman droned, "Auxillury Preliminaries, QL-2's," while shoving a stack of papers, booklets, sticky notes, and recipe cards into Franki's arms, spinning her around, and pointing her in the direction of the piniata where she was to continue filling out information.

Chuck giggled uncontrolably as, just before she was about to sit back down, Franki's stack exploded in a flurry of skin-slicing flakes. Lady Paradox suddenly towered above her cubicle, eyes wide-open and glowing red, and demanded in an unearthly voice, "NO LAUGHING!" then slowly sank behind the carpeted wall.

Six years later, Franki was finished, having muttled her way through such questions as, "What is your family's gross annual income?" "What is your family's hygenic annual income?" "Do you posess both of your parents?" "Who does most of the grocery shopping?" "What are your destinguishing characteristics and identifying marks?" "Do you have any false limbs/artificial organs/tooth fillings? Please specify where." "What was your first word as a baby?" "What is your dying wish?" "Who is to be called upon the event of your death?" "Who is your heir, and what will they win?" "How are your dancing skills?" "What is the meaning of Life?" "Where's Waldo?"

Franki turned the mountain of wasted tree bits in to the mildly frightening woman, who had somehow managed a costume change, and was now wearing pajamas. "Good. You have finished the Preliminaries. Now here are your forms."

Franki's optomism wavered and cracked as she went back to her seat with the little red wagon filled with questions and future papercuts. Chuck had fallen asleep in the chair next, and was snoring away to the tune of Beethoven's Fifth.

"Lucky sprite," she muttered, then set to work. But, when looking upon what had been page one of 100,000, the ink dribbled, and the words bled, and it became completely unreadable, until the new message appeared: DEATH TO ALL BUTTONS.

A hand in a dreadful need of a manicure reached out of the pooled ink, grabbing Franki by the hair ribon and pulling her in. The paper edges scraped at her legs, drawing blood that floated in midair as she fell through the surprisingly dry blackness at a rate that would be leisurely to a sloth. When she landed on her face on the checkerboard floor, she felt the tallons of a large bird landing on her feet, which remained in the air, counter-balancing her enough that she spun to horizontal. The large blue-black bird hopped up her torso to her chest, and glared into her eyes.

"Well, aren't you a pretty birdy?"

The bird twitched its head. "Nevermore!"  It then disappeared in a puff, sending Franki spiralling back to the floor, which was now made of snow, mostly white, but with large, chunky paragraphs of oversized, made-up words travelling over its surface, the sound of confused babbling swelling in its wake. Franki stood as quick as the snow would let her, and started running in the opposite direction of the travelling jargon. As she ran, she glanced down at the shadow running in front of her. Her shadow was made of more words.

The incessant babble! She couldn't outrun it! She couldn't escape! But she had to try....

She was suddenly grabbed by the scruff of the neck with a large, cold fist. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with a living snowman. They stared at each other for a moment, before the snowperson lifted his other hand, a false limb made of a limb, holding a yellow-colored snow cone, offering it to her.

"Uh, no thanks. I was always told never to eat yellow snow."

Insulted at her refusal of his offer, the snowman's entire head opened up, revealing sharp teeth and a firey throat, into which she was promptly shoved.

She didn't realize she had her eyes closed until she re-opened them. When she did, she was in a large, white room, with words scrawled all accross the walls, cealling, and floor. But there, in the corner, was one small space, void of the ink-black scribble. Instead, the words were in red: DO NOT END UP LIKE ME! DO NOT FILL OUT THE QL-2'S! AVENGE MY MURD

Unfinished words and sentances had always bothered Franki a bit. On the floor, beneath this message, was a pen and a pool of red ink. She dipped the pen and wrapped up the final word: ER!

She smiled at the completion, though the smile faded when she noticed the walls were suddenly bare of blackness. She slowly turned around, and came face-to-face with a large, hideous creature of the written word. Though frightened, she calmly turned back to the message corner and added a quote of her own: YEAH... MINE, TOO!

Turning back to the creature, Franki quietly accepted her doom. "Alright, Lady Paradox. I'm all yours."

But before the creature could rip her to pieces, something grabbed her shoulders and shook her, pulling her back into the financial aid office.

"Franki, are you okay?" asked her faithful Invisible Friend, Chuck. "You disappeared!"

"I did?" she shook her head. "I thought this whole sequence was a cliche` nightmare, based on my fears and insecurities about the unknown; my inner-pessimism manifesting itself in a way I couldn't supress."

"Are you being serious, right now? I just pulled you out of a glowing piece of inked-up paper, and you're using self-psycho-analysis? I think it's time we start heading home."

"You're right, Chuck, about two things. That, and this year is bound to be pure, genuine, artificial, imitation dogless bollocks.... I should've let the Lawn Gnomes get me."

And thus, Franki learned that, while pessimism is not entirely pleasant to experience, nor to listen to, it is sometimes worth it, to prepare for the worst.

Once Upon a Time....

Once upon a time in which temporal perimeters vary, in a place of both magical privelage and oblivious hypocracy, there lived a near-grown-up who had not yet actually... grown up.

Oh, physically, she seemed her age, and though she was wise beyond her years, the rest of her had chosen to remain much the same as it always had: as an imaginative, awe-inspired child.

This non-grown-up near-adult lived still with her parents (one fact of which she was secretly ashamed), in a small village filled with angry old people and kindly raccoons, nestled between a great, hilly forest and a gungy river of fluctuating size.

Besides her parents, the young woman lived with her invisible friend. True, most people would have abandoned their invisible friends long before this point in their lives. However, he loved her, no matter her age, and did not wish to leave. And by the same token, she had never found a friend so loyal and true as he, and she hoped that he would always stay with her.

Now, there is something not many know about the nature of Invisible Friends -- though very few last for any real ammount of time, the older they get, the more real they become. The adult who refused to grow up had believed in her friend so deeply, and for such a very long time, that he had become near-sentient. He thought for himself, had emotions, and even existed when his girl was not in the room. Sometimes, as a very rare treat, other people could hear, feel, and even see him (although, these strange circumstances are later explained away by these people as the effects of stress or bad curry).

Together, the two unconventional friends had many grand adventures -- though, for Franki Button Shoeshine and her invisible friend, Chuck, some of the greatest (and, on some occasions, most frightening) adventures were still to come, all under the lable of "Adulthood."