The Scrub-bucket known as Oenus walked hand in hand down Main Street with his buddy, Thomas. They'd known each other for a long time, but recently, his friend had grown detached. And Oenus could see just how much that pained him; so he arranged this little outing to clear the air, so to speak.

The two friends strolled by the big windowed display of Hank’s Hardware; Oenus even stopped to admire Hank’s selection of handsaws, but he couldn’t window shop long, Thomas had somewhere he needed to be.

“You oughta stop and smell the daffodils.” Oenus said.

“Quiet down…I don’t want anyone to know about us,” Thomas replied.

Oenus tightened his grip on his buddy’s hand and shook his head. Who was around to find out? Granted, this small town was permanently stuck in the nineteen thousand and fifties but…come on.  Times was a changing, as the song went.

The only remaining person in town Oenus feared might care about their relationship was Eta. He took great pains to avoid walking by her home, pains that Thomas noticed.

“You’re still ashamed…ashamed of this, aren’t you,” Thomas asked.

“No, no, no! Well, yes,” Oenus replied. “I know it’s not right, but I’d be the end of my world if Eta found out.”

“Just be honest with her,” Thomas said. “She’ll understand how important this is.”

Oenus swallowed hard. “She’s really stubborn, and set in her ways…this, this would break her, see?”

Thomas went silent. Still, Oenus was glad for the company. This little town was quite boring to live in, maddeningly so.  So maddeningly so that Oenus often talked to himself for company. That part was all well and good, a lot of people talked to themselves.

However, he knew those people didn’t also answer themselves. Now, that part, that part was nuts. Even he knew that.

Which was why, he was so grateful for Thomas’ company, today. It wasn’t healthy to be left alone with his thoughts answering him.

Those two had known each other forever. Unfortunately, Thomas grew old, and Oenus stayed young, the perils of godhood.

He was a worthless god, and even though every god was worthless compared to Prometheus, Oenus was an especially bad one.  Right now, all that kept Oenus's world afloat was a book, a book filled with incredible ideas.

 

‘Prometheus’s Jumpstart Guide: How to Skip Ten-Thousand years of Stagnation.’

The only problem: It wasn’t written in Lantil but some kind of Engrish.

Good thing he had Thomas to help out with the translations.

Whipping out the pamphlet-thin guide, Oenus flicked through the nearly endless pages with one hand, a feat much easier if Thomas would let go of his other one. Still, he managed to find that dog-eared page.

When he first built this world, Oenus spent all his time studying the architecture section; nowadays, he stuck to the culinary arts, for there was power in the flesh; all power came from the flesh, and he was determined to whet Eta’s appetite.

“What do you think about Barbie-Skewers?” Oenus asked.

He knew what Barbies were; he’d read about the miniature sprites in his book.  In Prometheus's world, his little bunsack citizens would play with these sprites and likely consume their flesh, as one did.

And the recipes for the sprites would certainly suit Eta’s pallet, that is, if she hadn’t forgotten how to eat. Heck, Eta might have even forgotten how to sleep.  Worthless as Oenus was, he couldn’t even afford a sunrise/sunset with his dwindling resources. ‘My man is sooo poor, he can’t even afford circadian rhythms.’ Nah. Eta wouldn’t say that, not his blue-haired muse. And if she did, she certainly wouldn’t blame Oenus for it. She thought he was just a janitor.

“Hmm…flame broiled, char the skin and leave the flesh moist,” Thomas contemplated. “Sounds delicious.”

“I know, right?,” Oenus said. “A shame you can’t eat any.”

Hopefully, Thomas wouldn’t hold it against him. Circumstances were beyond Oenus’s control and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, stupid as Oenus knew he was.

It wouldn’t be wrong to say this little nineteen-thousand fifties town was the greatest town in the world. It also wouldn’t be wrong to say this was the worst town in the entire world. That was because it was the only town here.

Way, way back in the day, when Oenus first detached this world from the starting realm, he had big plans for this place. That all fell through about a gillion years later—Or was it a week? At any rate, he was barely keeping his head above the bathwater.

Normally, most gods were fueled by the decay of their little bunsack citizens in a process known as ‘aging’. However, Oenus thought, with his book, he could skip all that nonsense. He didn’t need power himself, he just needed his world to be a success, to keep his people happy while he swept floors and ogled the eternally old, old ladies.  Oenus was perfectly content to live as a janitor in the retirement home.

God knows old ladies were his weakness.

Unfortunately, at that point in time, he didn’t know Mister Jenkens. A while back, that guy showed up expecting his dues, apparently, that cunt didn’t like getting stiffed by Oenus’s immortal population.  Chances were, Mister Jenkens would usually hang back, out of sight, and shave his dues right off the top as citizens aged, such a minuscule amount that most gods didn’t even notice his presence.

Because of Mister Jenkens, perpetual life couldn’t exist but damned if Oenus didn’t try. And dammed if he wasn’t determined to keep trying.

Nowadays, it was all he could do to keep Mister Jenkens from devouring his town. He built tall walls and even gave it a ceiling, a tragic expense that cost Mary Ann an arm and a leg, quite literally.  Though, he figured she could still read smut novels with one arm.

But not even that would keep Mister Jenkens away. That cunt demanded his dues, and not even Mary Ann’s unwilling sacrifice could prevent Mister Jenkens from claiming them.

Oenus wanted to explain that situation to Thomas, to make Thomas understand why they’d grown so detached. He’d already explained it several times but wasn’t sure his friend understood.

But Oenus did.

“Thomas,“ he said, clamping his friend’s hand even tighter. “It’s a game, you know? I forgot how to play, and shit hit the fawn.”

“You know it’s not a game,” Thomas replied. “No matter how many times I tell you, you ignore me, and that’s tearing me apart.”

“No, no, no!” Oenus cried. “It’s a game! It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. The point of a game is to win, and I’m gonna win it, well, actually Eta's gonna win it this time, but that's the same thing.”

“I thought you already won? What happened, you don’t like the prize anymore?”

“My world isn’t a prize, stupid! It’s just another game, a bigger game that no one knew they were playing, but now I know about it, about Mister Jenken’s game; get it?”

“Eta won’t want to play. She’ll hate it. She’ll hate you.”

“Not if I make her understand, dummy!” At that point, Oenus was yelling, not how he wanted things to end with his buddy.

He knew Thomas was right; Thomas was always right. Even those times Thomas wasn’t around and Oenus talked to himself, he heard those same words. But the thing Thomas didn’t get was Oenus didn’t have a choice.

Before Mister Jenkens showed up, everything was going great. His bunsack citizens were happy. Oenus was happy. Eta was happy. It was perfect, and he’d do anything get those days back, even if it meant pushing Eta down a path she didn’t want.

Perhaps, if Oenus knew about Mister Jenken’s game sooner, he would have gifted this world to Eta before it all fell apart. Despite her being just another bunsack citizen, she was much more capable than Oenus could ever be. Had she been the god and Oenus the bunsack, this world wouldn’t have gone so...so wrong.

It was too late for regrets now.

This world was doomed, a slow ticking clock, both fair and cruel, Mister Jenkens demanded his dues and certainly wasn’t going away anytime soon.

The only recourse was for Oenus to cut his losses, abandon his world, and rejoin the starting realm to claim a new one. Except, he wouldn’t be the one claiming the new world, Eta would be. He’d help her become a new god, and with that, she’d have a fresh slate, and, with everything Oenus knew now, she’d be able to manage that world to its fullest, taking care of Oenus for all eternity. 

“Eta’s going to be a god. I’ll make sure of it, and she’ll do way, way better than I ever did. She’s better than me, she has to be,” Oenus said.

“But you know, she’s also the worst of your bunsacks left,” Thomas replied.

“Wrong, she’s both the best and the worst. She has to be. She’s the only one left.”

At those words, Oenus and Thomas’s walk came to an end.

Hand in hand, they stood in front of a well. The well itself was ordinary, very ordinary as poor as Oenus was when he bought it but a necessary expense, nonetheless.  This well was the only way to pay Mister Jenken’s dues without tearing down the walls. That cunt was out there and the well was the only doorway leading outside.

“You know, Thomas,” Oenus began. “I really do miss your friendship, and Eta misses you, too.”

Thomas chuckled. “Horny as Eta is, I don’t doubt it. A shame you’re an impotent fuck.”

Oenus couldn’t fault his friend for that jab. He’d been ruined on the hanky-poky since his wife died a long time ago, way back in the starting realm. Had it not been for how she died, Oenus might have been unable to understand the chaos motivating Mister Jenkens. That same chaos he saw in his wife back then, he saw in Mister Jenkens, now.

Still, Mister Jenkens needed his dues, and Oenus was powerless to prevent that. Eta wouldn’t ever have to go through this when she got her own world; he’d make damn sure of it.

Oenus separated from his old friend and left him to hang out back at the well. Goodbyes were hard, and as many as he’d said to Thomas, they never got easier.

‘It’s a game. Thomas was wrong; it’s a game, dammit!’

‘You know it’s not a game. No matter how many times I tell you, you ignore me, and that’s tearing me apart.’

‘It’s a game! It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. The point of a game is to win, and I’m gonna win it!’

After leaving his friend behind at the well, Oenus reverted back to his old habits of talking to himself. What was worse, he always answered himself, too.

Still, it was nice to forget just how far his mind had slipped, even if it was just for a casual stroll with Thomas. Although, there was something downright unsettling about their chat.

Actually, there was something downright unsettling about talking to a severed hand in general. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. What was worse, Thomas answered. How his buddy managed that feat, Oenus hadn’t a clue. Especially considering the rest of Thomas was chopped to bits on the roof of the retirement home.

An impressive feat to say the least.

Hopefully, the Oenus's boss wouldn’t find out about Thomas’ corpse up there.

“I already did!” Hand Puppet mimed.

“Not you again, Boss!” Oenus cried.

“A Scrub-bucket for life, that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Oenus struggled through Hand Puppet’s beratement as he strolled to the retirement home, head hung low. Sometimes his Hand Puppet boss took his verbal abuse too far. Oenus knew he deserved it, but it still hurt to hear someone say it out loud.

However, he was grateful for the company. His Hand Puppet boss was a dick, but at least talking to the guy kept him from that awful habit of talking to himself. What was worse, he’d even begun answering himself, not a healthy mindset to say the least.

Still, with Hand Puppet to keep him company most days, Oenus knew he was making progress. He was getting saner and saner, an impressive feat especially with Mister Jenkens scratching at the walls outside.

Sometimes it was nice to have a guiding hand.

And Eta, he enjoyed keeping her entertained, too. He had to, she was going to become a god and he, her little bunsack citizen.

It was a certainty at this point, he’d asked a dragon for help, and dragons were well known for saving fair maidens from the clutches of evil knights, and Eta was as fair a maiden as they came, his little blue-haired muse.

************************************

The bright morning white shone in through the window and Eta was grateful for it. Perhaps it was her imagination but morning white filled her with so much more optimism than evening white, not that there was a difference between either light’s intensity. Morning appeared the same as evening and she couldn’t recall what night was like; however, she simply chalked that up to getting old. Old people always went to sleep so early, she probably did the same thing, snoozing straight through the night without even realizing it. Nobody’s ever remembered falling asleep anyways. One second they were awake, and the next, it was a new day.

Her little room in the retirement home wasn’t bad, standard arrangements. White brick walls, drop ceiling, rocking chair, a radio, phone, window on one side and a door leading to the hall on the other, apparently, this was how all retirement homes were supposed to look. At least, according to Scrub-bucket’s book.

Bedbound, she spent her days knitting and flirting with Scrub-bucket, the sexy young janitor. Chiseled jaw, muscles—basically if Superman fucked Apollon, he’d be their flawless, Spandex-wearing butt-baby. What was more, he was the only person in town who visited her anymore.

Thomas used to come by. They’d play Canasta and she’d talk at him. Silent as he was, talking at him was the closest to a conversation she’d ever have with Thomas. But he was good company what with his long tongue and soft hands…at least, until he forgot about her just like everyone else. Fortunately, she still had sexy Scrub-bucket to ogle.

Eta stopped her knitting with a sigh. Anymore, when she was alone, the only thoughts on her mind were knitting and sex, both a means to cure boredom. Admittedly, she was much better at one than the other having knitted the same afghan so many times. What used to be vibrant yellow yarn now faded into a frazzled brownish mess. For the umpteenth time, she was only a row away from completing it. Then she’d gift it to Scrub-bucket and he’d light up with joy. That’d earn her a peck on the forehead, a fitting reward.

Then the next day, he’d return with a sickly-yellow ball of yarn and Eta’d knit it all over again. It took a few times before she realized the sickly yellow balls of yarn he’d bring were actually the same ball of yarn being gifted over and over again. Seemed he’d unravel her handiwork, re-spool it, and return it the next day. That negligence would have peeved her, but Scrub-bucket tried so hard to brighten her monotonous days. Eta couldn’t fault him for that quirk.

Scrub-bucket was a quirky guy after all.

For the sex, all she had was her memories. There was Thomas and Jasper and Penny and Susan and Randall and…so, so many names.

Interrupting her thoughts, a hulking god of a man slid through the doorway on his socks, beaming while both hands shot Eta the finger guns. “Welcomings, my blue haired muse.”

Usually his antics cheered her up, but he’d interrupted a depressing thought train. So, so many names. Without a greeting, Eta simply asked, “Scrub-bucket, am I a whore?”

Scrub-bucket staggered back, feigning a heart attack. “You are moon and stars above that, that cunt of a harlot! You are more valuable than this whole world. An army of concubines would be favored to kiss your knees.”

He was such a good-natured guy, Eta couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh, and who might this grand harlot be, the one who’s loins must fit an entire town?”

“Haha! Yes, yes, that cunt’s loins are made of pork cause he’s a little piggy. No, no he’s the parasites in the pork loin. No, no—” Scrub-bucket paused and ran over to the radio, turning a dial that did absolutely nothing.

“How bout you get the radioman to tell you about it?” He asked. “It’s a hit single right now.”

Eta clapped. “Right, I’ll give him a call.”

“Oh, by the way,” Scrub-bucket said. “I urgently need to use the urinal.”

She chuckled as he scrambled out of the room. Of course, Scrub-bucket and the radioman were one and the same, but she didn’t want to shatter his good-willed illusion. That would be cruel.

The radio and the phone worked on the same principle; she knew because she’d helped Scrub-bucket design it from the pictures in his book. The radio’s ‘antennae’ was a simple string fitted through a hole in the ceiling. She watched it tighten as the radio ‘found reception’, ie Scrub-bucket was pulling on the other end of the string. Eta knew the other end was attached to a tin can in his DJ booth upstairs. Why management allowed this, she had no idea. Apparently, Scrub-bucket’s boss was a real dick.

“This is Cap’n Jack. Coming to you alive from Oenusville on this crystal clear Tuesday,” a distorted voice said through the speaker cans. “Now, for the weather: it’s good. Now for the news: it’s boring; the walls around the town are holding and the ceiling is bright. I can only wish us well, haha! It’s the top of the hour and a little bird tells me we have a request.” He paused. “Ehem, a little bird tells me we have a request.”

Oh, right. Eta reached for the phone on the nightstand, lifting the banana can off the receiver and pulling the string tight.

“Yellow, Cap’n Jack, I’m so excited to finally get through!” She said. “I’m a long-time listener and long-time caller. Can you play that hit single Scrub-bucket was telling me about?”

“Folks we have our first holler of the day, the lovely Eta. I just happen to have talked to Scrub-bucket yesterday and he told me exactly why you’d be calling today. So here it is, one of my favorites by the one hit wonderboys,   Wonderboys. Ehem…la la la la. Doe pay me fossils alotta doe.”

  'Are ya ready pigs?
  'Alright, Alright, Alright.
  'Oh-h, this dumb woman past her prime.
  'Bloody Chaos between her thighs.

  'She smelled of jasmerilla and reeked of golden sprinkles.

  'Give it to me, wait…don’t
  'Break down.
  'Uh, hoo-hah.

As soon as his pirate voice began singing, Eta realized she didn’t only know that song, she’d heard it more times than she could count and in as many voices, too. There was the pirate edition and the alt-rock ensemble and the fat man opera and…so, so many versions.

Before she knew it, she was singing along.

  'Baby, baby, Dead baby,
  'You’re really really dumb, but…
  'I got my own skanky notion:
  'All chopped up,
  'Throw’d the pieces in the ocean!
  'Arr har har.'

What a quirky guy, that janitor.