[Writing Prompt] A magician named Geppetto attempts to create a golem. It goes horribly wrong.

"There he goes again. Geppetto is pushing another shopping cart full of rocks up to that old barn" Marge yelled peeking through the blinds. "What in the Sam hell is he doing up there? George, get over here and look at this!"

"Will you sit down you ol' kook! Always watching the neighbors like it's your job" he said.

"Oh, shut up. I aint got nothin' better to do besides killing time til I can collect your life insurance policy" she turned with deadpan look.

"It's a toss up which one of us is the turtle and the hare in that race. Maybe he's up there turnin those rocks into gold so he can afford to get away from your prying eyes Big Brother" he said, poking his nose over the top of the newspaper. "You know he hasn't practiced any magic since Pinocchio got termites and passed."

"Something aint right with that man. Hundreds of years old, with no wife, and creating little wooden boys with boners on their faces. I don't like it one bit" she scolded.

"Don't you have correspondence with your loony toon sisters to catch up on or something? George murmured under his breath.

"Hey... What's that glow... George, the whole thing's a shakin'! Shit, Daisy's outside!" she said scrambling to get to her prize Yorkie.

The windows on the house rattled and a large crash knocked picture frames off the walls. George tripped over his recliner scrambling to get a look outside. Marge, frozen, tiny dog in her arms, was completely captivated by the large Frankenstein of stone and lumber stomping towards her.

Through a hazy swirl of dust, Geppetto stumbled out of the gaping hole in the side of the building. Shaking debris out of his long white beard his raspy voice barely got out a "Stoooop! Get back here!"

Mouth agape, George watched as the monster flicked aside the 12 foot tall windmill in their backyard, stepped over the clothesline full of Muumuu's, and focused on Marge and the 4lbs of screeching fur in her arms. In one motion, his large limbs raised above his head, blocking out the sunlight and came down smashing all 5 feet 2 inches of the woman, planting her into a round pile like a hammer to nail in soft pine. A few steps later, out of the yard and chasing the ice cream truck down the street. George stepped out on the back deck to survey the scene.

"I'm so sorry George. I had no idea." Geppetto apologized, "I thought I just gave it a pinch of my deepest, darkest desires. I have to get to the Wilson's and warn their Ricky before it's too late. That little bastard has been throwing my newspaper in the bushes for years."

Still unsure what to make of what just happened, George shuffled back inside to the refrigerator. Pulling out a can, and cracking the beer open his eyebrows raised as he mused, "huh, I guess she was the turtle."

[Writing Prompt] You are cursed with ever aging immortality with the exception you can be killed using one object. Every few years you get a hint.

"Gawwdammit Pete, it's 2516, you'd think we'd be able to find some kind of wheeled thing to get around in by now" Marc crowed with a southern drawl.


The 5 foot tall spider monkey hopped over the smashed debris on what used to be US Highway 71, pulling a container out of his pack.


"Wait, what is today anyway? This is April right? Lemme see that ol' notebook. If we're the last 2 living beings on what's left of this rock, we're gonna need to get you talkin' soon Pete. Pull out your Oscar Wilde and read some. I swear, it's hotter today than any April I can remember. If I'd have known that ol' bastid was gonna kill off the rest of the humans in trade for my wish of living forever, I would've asked for an air conditioner in this thing" he said sarcastically, motioning to the glass encasement, housing what was left of his 550 year old body.


Rolling his eyes, Pete set the over sized jar on the ground and laid out a tattered brown notebook. Written on the front in a faded, peeling paint read 'The end is the door. Puns and Irony. April 7th'. A quiet motor kicked on, as tiny air bubbles clouded Marc’s view, stirring a familiar tirade, "Every gawdamn time, I swear! What kind of genie has the sick sense of humor to put a head in a jar, and give me an ageless monkey as my only companion?! Then, gives you a time clock on your immortality, but doesn't tell you when it’s gonna run out! And what the hell does 'Puns and Irony' have to do with anythin’!"


If Pete were to talk, he could surely repeat word for word each time he had heard these complaints. "Forever is relative" he thought, "Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go". The burden of living forever was a choice for one of them.


"Hoe.. Lee.. Shit.." Marc said. "Would you look at that. I don't believe it. Look!" he yelled, nodding to a glimmer in the distance. "Pick me up! We gotta go see this."


Pete arduously stuffed his books back into his pack, and picked Marc up. Last time he'd seen this reaction it was some kind of nostalgia porn for Marc from his teenage years. Catching a glimpse of the chrome grill behind the thicket of leafless branches, he prepared himself to look interested.


"This is a 1986 Chrysler. This was my first car I ever bought with my own money. There used to be this tv show, Night Rider, where the car would talk to ya. This was a lot cheaper than the shows car, and didn't actually talk to ya, as much as it did at ya, but I was so excited to show this off to my buddies. She was somethin'."


Pete nodded his head in patronizing agreement.


"Pull out that hand crank generator we found a few months back. I don't think it has enough power, but dammit we're gon’ try it. I haven't heard another speaking voice in hundreds of years, but I'd be tickled just to try. C'mon Pete, I promise I'll be quiet a while if you just give ‘er a go" he begged.


Pete sighed. Knowing he was going to humor the old man. He dug around the backpack, pulling out a device around the same size as an old schoolhouse pencil sharpener. Even the monkey knew, after all this time, there was no possible way this could work. He pry-ed open the rusty door, and set Marc on the dashboard.


"Check the visor for keys" Marc said.


Pete looked at him with contempt. “All these years sitting here, and he really thinks the keys are going to be above the visor. And what, it's just going to magically start right up and carry on a conversation with...” he stopped mid thought, pulling down the visor as the keys slid off the vinyl and landed in his lap.


"Would you look at that! My lucky day!" Marc said.


Pete slid a key into the ignition and closed his eyes. Nothing.


"Alright, alright, go wire that hand crank up to the battery. This is gonna work!"


Popping the hood, Pete made his way around to the front of the car. Branches cracked and snapped as he muscled the hood open. The overgrowth had weaved its way throughout every available space.


"It's on the right side. There's going to be a lil’ red clamp lookin' thing, and a little black one. Just follow the plus and minus signs" Marc yelled from in the car.


Pete twisted the wires over what he thought might've been a battery, thinking "I'm a monkey, not a mechanic." The crank stuck and jammed the first few tries as he turned it over. Nothing.


"Keep trying!"


A loud clack came from the bushes, that sounded like fingers snapping. Pete froze, stopped cranking, and heard a light buzzing. The buzz grew louder as he inched around the car to look at Marc.


"Son-of-a-bitch! Ha Ha! It worked you magnificent bastid! Get in here and engage the ignition! Ha Ha! It worked!" Marc screamed in anticipation.


Eyes still wide, Pete plopped in the seat and twisted the keys. *Bong* *Bong* They both looked at each other and twisted their heads to get a better listen. *Bong* *Bong*


A mechanical monotone voice slowly repeated itself, growing from a molasses crawl to its normal speed. "The door is ajar... The door is ajar... The door is ajar... The door is ajar... ".


"Ha Ha! It's spectacular isn't it?!" Marc said with tears mixing in with the oxygenated solution keeping him alive. His head cocked to the side like a confused Golden Retriever when he noticed Pete riffling through the backpack. "What are you doin’?"


The Chrysler still chirping in the background, Pete pulled out the notebook and spoke, "The door is a jar. The end is the door." Marc’s mouth dropped open. "The door is a jar, the end is the door" Pete repeated.


"Wait, what are you... Put me down! No, this isn't what it meant! Stop a sec.. Stop!" Marc screamed.


The last sound Marc heard was the shattering glass as he was thrown into a downed log beside the car. His lifeblood now dripping off the bark beside him. Gasps at the air returned no favor, while he flopped around like a dying fish. Color draining from his face as his flesh contracted from the exposure. In 30 seconds it was all over. The wish, or curse, depending on perspective, had finally ended. Pete watched in satisfying horror, having no idea what he had done, and at the same time overwhelmed by the relief of solving his life’s greatest puzzle. His wonder only interrupted by the sound of breaking twigs, and deep laughter.


"Hahaha. That was fantastical! 500 years is a new personal best" the baritone voice cackled. "Pete! I am Khalal-Amium. The door was the end, but the end is the beginning. You are the 48th being to absolve his masters curse. For your reward, I owe you one debt of desire. You may only ask for one instance, but it may be anything you dream of. What is your desire?"


Pete’s eyes darted around him. He had been living in a wasteland for over 500 years, with his only purpose as a chariot of bellyaching. All he had ever hoped for was an end. Never experiencing sleep, he longed for pure darkness. But as he started to speak, he pictured all the things Marc had told him about in the past. He imagined all the people, and landscapes he had read about. Flashes of conversations he could have with people other than a crabby old man. Finally he spoke, “’With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?’ I just want to be happy. My wish is for the world to be as it was in 2016, and everything to be alright." He crossed his arms, giving himself a symbolic pat on the back for a job well done.


The world around him morphed. The bleak, dead, grayness gave way to a crack of sunlight. Grass turned from overgrown to a manicured front lawn. Trees shrank back into the ground, and unwound from inside and underneath the 86 Chrysler, which didn't change in color or rust. The broken pavement of the highway jumped back into place and mended itself like a wet paper cut. Cars full of people began flying by at speeds Pete had never dreamed things could go. He felt a tingling sensation watching his coat of fur shed from his body. His arms shortened, and his spine straightened. Looking at his reflection in the car window, he had become a human man.


Khalal leaned in and put a hand on Pete’s shoulder. Reaching up to grab at an imaginary dial, he twisted his fingers in a slow clockwise motion and said "Your wish is granted. Over time you will receive clues to your correction. Enjoy." and with a wicked grin and a *poof* he was gone.


The smile on Pete’s face was temporary as 2 cars smashed into each other just off the highway. The sound of a man mowing his lawn caught his peripheral vision, and he couldn’t figure out why the zero turn was going in circles? Looking back at the smoking cars, instincts kicked in and he took a step to rush to help. Falling over immediately, he surveyed his body and was in shock. "Where is my left arm and leg?!"


A small spider monkey popped out from behind the car, and handed a note to Pete reading "everything in the world is all right".


"Gawwdammit!"