Kev
Authors: Mark A Labbe
Tags: #scifi, #adventure, #universe, #comedy, #game, #hell, #dark comedy, #amnesia, #satan, #time travel
omgiag i
Copyright 2015 Mark A Labbe
ISBN: 9781310008979
Published by Mark A Labbe
License Notes
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Table of Contents
Foreword
I have written this story before, or some
version thereof, in a different style, but with the same voice.
However, that tale confused some people, and I suppose it would
have, given that the narrator and supposed protagonist, Kev, has
some serious memory problems. Still, the story didn’t have to be
confusing.
Yesterday, in a fit of frustration, I erased
all copies of the previous book. Madness, for sure, but the kind of
madness necessary for me to be able to rewrite this book and get it
right.
If you have read the old version, you will
see that some elements of the story have changed significantly. I
say that now, knowing they will, prior to rewriting the story, if
that makes any sense at all. I say that because I see the story
now, the way I would have written it if I had the patience to do it
the right way, or, at least, this way.
I am toning some things down and ramping some
things up, building a more fleshed out universe (not really) and
maybe even putting some science behind things (highly unlikely),
despite the fact that this is in no way intended to be a hard
science fiction story. In fact, it is not meant to be a science
fiction story at all. It simply has some science fiction elements.
So, if not science fiction, what is it?
This is the story of a man, a man who has
forgotten, who is thrust into an unrecognizable world, surrounded
by beings that all seem to know him, beings who would help him if
they could. However, the rules are quite strict, and Kev is going
to have to figure out most things on his own.
I have many people to thank, and I thank all
of them. Early readers really helped me figure out where I had gone
wrong. In particular, I would like to thank Alan Rinzler for
reading something that wasn’t in his wheelhouse and taking the time
to answer my questions. While his answers were quite concise, they
revealed more about the early version of this book than any other
feedback I had.
Introduction
Kev
is the first book in the six or seven or
maybe eight book
omgiag
series. It will definitely not go
beyond nine books, but if it does, it will surely stop at eleven, a
nice prime number, but not the nicest prime number of all,
thirty-seven. If it does not stop at eleven, a distinct
possibility, then I believe it will stop on a prime number, given
that I really like prime numbers (if you don’t know what a prime
number is, feel free to ask someone.)
I have, in fact, written other books in this series,
books I will probably never publish, primarily because they are
works of a man who has come unhinged, who has found himself and has
found that he is not who he thought he was before he wrote these
books, a fact that brings him great pain and embarrassment, a truth
that has led him to encrypt all of the other books and throw away
the password, because he is not who he was and he is worried that
these books are not what he thinks they are, a possibility that
makes it highly unlikely that he will publish these other books. Do
you understand?
Other books in this series that have been
written (and encrypted) include
Barflurgle
(a direct
sequel),
Arag
(a direct sequel),
Nigel
(a direct
sequel to
Arag
),
Clive
(a direct sequel), and
the
girl
(a direct sequel).
Books that have not been written but might be
written include
Chot
(a direct sequel to
Barflurgle
),
Ralf
(a direct sequel to
Barflurgle
),
Carly
(a
direct sequel to
Ralf
),
Booger
(a direct sequel to
Nigel
),
Aputi
(a direct sequel),
B24ME
(a
direct sequel),
Timmy
(a direct sequel to
Clive
), and
many others. You see, there are many characters in these books,
interesting characters who would really like to have a go at being
the main characters of their own books, maybe even protagonists
(some of them really shouldn’t be protagonists.) They are all
willful and strange and worthy of some level of attention, and I
think they might be of interest to you.
Characters of Interest
Kev - A wonderful, memory-impaired
fellow
The voice – Claims to be Kev
Kev’s mother – The best mother ever
Kev’s father – The best father ever
Uncle Joe – The best uncle ever
Aunt Helen – A strange lady
Clive – Kev’s best friend
the girl – The girl Kev loves
Brok – The bartender on Uthio Minor
Chit – A Canadian (Not a North American
Canadian)
Aputi – An Inuit/Bladrithian
Doug – A nihilistic Canadian (North American
variety)
Bob – A nihilistic Canadian (North American
variety)
Max – A bartender in Vermont
Barry – A barfly
B24ME – Host of The Show
Bok Choy – An alien who wants to be part of
this story
Ruby – A charming Nidian who loves being a
mother
The Kev’s – Kev’s sons
Soph – Kev’s daughter
The Proth Sphere – Sometimes co-creator of
the infinite universes
Bri – Sometimes co-creator of the infinite
universes
Grall Tok – Possibly the ugliest being in the
infinite universes
The brain in a vat – Quite an enabler
Jesus – Jesus
In the Beginning Again
“Wake up, Kev,” said the voice that had been talking
to me for as long as I could remember, a voice that told me many
things, things that often disturbed me, things I often forgot. It
claimed to be me, my own voice, but I didn’t quite believe it.
It often told me I would know everything if
only I could remember, although I rarely remembered it telling me
that.
I rolled out of bed, my eyes barely open,
changed out of my pajamas and went out to the kitchen. My mom had
prepared breakfast, my favorite, French toast, berries and
bacon.
“Are you excited, Kev?” said my mom as I sat
at the counter.
“Excited?” I said.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” she
said.
“I guess.” I forgot many things, my
conversations with my parents and others often full of reminders. I
forgot names and faces, places and events. Sometimes I forgot who I
was.
“It’s your ninth birthday, Kev. Don’t you
remember? We’re having a party.”
“Oh, right,” I said.
The voice told me I was forgetting something
else, but wouldn’t tell me what. Sometimes the voice spoke in
riddles or dropped hints, and usually when it did, things happened
that it claimed I should have known would happen.
“Uncle Joe is coming. So is Aunt Helen,” said
my mom, sitting beside me at the table.
That perked me up a bit. Uncle Joe gave the
best presents. He had given me a model airplane on my eighth
birthday that I had taken apart and put back together many times,
maybe an infinite number of times. Aunt Helen also gave great
gifts, though they were often strange. For my eighth birthday she
gave me a clear cube about three quarters of an inch on a side.
When I asked her what it was she said, “I don’t know, but it’s
yours.” Sometimes when holding the cube, sometimes when I had
thoughts about who I was or what I was doing, the cube would
vibrate or pulse. I kept it with me at all times and would often
sit with it for hours seeing which thoughts would elicit a
response. The voice once told me it would save me one day.
I finished breakfast and left the house to go
out to my fort, a small hut my dad helped me construct out in the
woods behind our house. As I left the house, I saw my dad on a
ladder, wrangling with the same testy gutter he had been wrangling
with for weeks.
“Hey, Kev,” said my dad.
“Hey,” I said.
“Going to the fort?”
“Yeah,” I said, not stopping to talk.
I had named the fort Uthio and imagined it a
tropical home on a distant ocean world, the most beautiful world in
the universe, my refuge from the dark lord, B24ME, an evil robot
bent on my destruction. Inside I had a small table and a chair, and
on the table lay a journal and some colored pens. I often wrote in
that journal, often after the voice told me to write something in
it.
I sat down and opened the journal, turning to
a random, blank page. I very rarely turned to pages I had written,
primarily because I knew there were things in that journal I did
not want to read, things that I knew I would find disturbing. The
voice would often complain about this, telling me that I would
never remember things, important things, unless I read the journal
entries I had written. Most of the time I ignored the voice, an
annoying presence that wouldn’t leave me alone.
I picked up a red pen and wrote, “Today is my
ninth birthday. Having a party. I don’t know who will come. Do I
know anyone?”
“Write ‘Beware of Clive,’” said the
voice.
“Why do you always tell me to write that?” I
said, not writing the words as instructed.
“Because you need to remember it,” said the
voice.
“Why?”
“Just write it. I’m sick of reminding
you.”
I wrote, “The voice wants me to beware of
Clive.”
“You should have written, ‘I want me to write
beware of Clive,’ or just ‘Beware of Clive,’” said the voice.
“Whatever. I wrote it,” I said.
“Something is going to happen today, and I
can’t stop it,” said the voice.
“What is going to happen?”
“Something terrible, but you are going to be
okay.”
“So, you’re not going to tell me what?”
“I don’t remember what, but I know it will
happen today.”
“Great. Maybe you shouldn’t have told me
anything. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“I think you’ll find, dear Kev, that knowing
ahead of time will save you from terrible things.”
I wrote, “The voice is annoying and I wish it
would go away.”
“Not nice,” said the voice.
I wrote, “I guess wishes don’t come
true.”
“Brat,” said the voice.
“You are going to meet Clive soon,” said the
voice.
“When?”
“I’m not sure, but you will.”
“I don’t know if I believe you. Most of the
things you tell me will happen haven’t happened.”
“Well, they will happen. In fact, some have
already happened. Is that right? It is probably right. Some have
happened and others might happen. Some might happen again,” said
the voice.
I flipped back through the pages of my
journal, not heeding the warning in my mind, and found an entry
that read, “He says I will be on a deadly game show. B24ME is
evil,” and read it out loud.
“That happened and will most likely happen
again,” said the voice. “Beware of the blue cube.”
“I think you’ve told me that already,” I
said.
“Yeah, but you need to write it down so you
don’t forget.”
“Well, I’m not writing it. Go away.”
I found my page again and wrote, “Who are my
friends?”