Prologue

“You do not know what you are doing with that golden bionic scepter! It is an untested device that is highly combustible, and we are twenty million feet from… the Sun!”

The voice of the goodnik echoed through an artificially generated chamber of egg crates that was meant to simulate the feeling of being very close to our solar system’s Sun. The only problem this time was that the chamber had separated from its mother vessel and had, in fact, traveled very close to the Sun!

“Ha ha ha,” the villain laughed. He was wearing a particularly thin layer of sheet metal that had been crafted and welded together in such a way as to represent the fragility of human beings. But he was not one! That is what he found most humorous about his outfit.

He continued. “I do not care what happens to me, because I am indestructible, you fool!”

The hero, whom we will now refer to as “Jonathan Tumble,” was very concerned at this point. “Well, I think that you should put it down, you rat, because what you do will certainly send the galaxy into an uproar.” He began to pace back and forth as if to deliver a speech.

“In fact, I believe it is this very uproar that is the key to your undoing. How do you know, if you are so vastly intelligent, that you are completely indestructible? Have you submitted your body to otherworldly tests of an impossible magnitude? My deduction, naturally, is that you have not. If you had prepared yourself for this very moment, then the entire universe would be a crater thanks to your selfish tests!”

The villain shrieked. “How did you know?” He then burst into a ball of particles, and Jonathon neatly caught them in a space net and said, “Now I am going to take out the trash. Literally.”

A young boy began to hoop and holler. “Hooray, he has done it again!”

But, friends, what part could this young boy be playing in this vast space opera? None! It was a young Danny… I mean Winston Perry, sitting in his parents’ lounge room and enjoying a rousing finale to episode number 336 of Phantom Jonathon: Space Tumbler.

“Winston,” his mother howled, her tone that of a warmonger, “how can you sit there and watch those darn television programs all day long?”

“But, mother,” he replied, already feeling the sensation of dragging feet and a plummeting level of enthusiasm, a potent and easily triggered tingling that was all too familiar. “This is a very well-written science fiction show that I have been following since it first began airing in the early 1980s. I do not see why I should stop watch…”

A sharp pain cut him off, in actuality a finger’s nail, digging into the fat of the back of his neck. This is an important descriptive distinction to make about young Winston, illud est the fat of his neck was something uncommon amongst his peers. Like a young lion cub, the rear of his neck trunk was home to a looser but thicker rumple of skin. This made it very convenient for his elders, all of which had little trouble grabbing the rapscallion by his neck and carrying him hither and thither. I am sure that none of you fair readers are surprised in the least by his corresponding chagrin!

In fact, his aforementioned peers took any and every opportunity to refer to poor Winston as “Rumple-loose-skin,” a play on the fictional fable character Rumpelstiltskin. I will not bore you with that fiend’s particular story, because I have always found it to be droll and unimaginative. A real rube’s tale, if you will. Whenever these malicious minors would rain these insults upon Winston, he would ball up like an armored ‘dillo and repeat endlessly to himself, “I am hereby proclaimed as the King O’ So Bold, dashing and daring and worthy of gold, worthy of prophecy hereby untold, worthy of chalice, ever young, never old.”

Repeating it so would make his head light, his feet even lighter. He began to dance; first about the floor, waxed to a reflective shine. His classmates appeared frozen, statues in a mist beyond his eyesight, beyond the glasses that he no longer needed in this enlightened state of being. Then his waltz sprang higher, higher, ever higher until he was meeting the stars themselves. The squares scattered about Hollywood’s mangy streets are only emblems of falsehoods and a fairy’s tales, mementos of idols that promote idleness. These were real stars, spaced no farther apart from one another than a spoon would be from a bowl full of cereal. Spaced no farther apart than space itself.

Winston’s eyes opened to see an especially large star tipping its hat.

“Hello, Wendell.”

“Winston is my name, but that is incredibly close.”

The star’s welcoming smile quickly rotated 180 degrees clockwise. Then counterclockwise that exact amount before returning back to the state of its upside being overturned.

“Such insolence!” It shouted, pointing at Winston directly, accusingly.

Winston was shocked! He started to spin around, looking in horror as the other stars began to frown, as well. They began to close in on him; their maws open wide, revealing perfectly sharpened incisors. It was almost as if they were going to… eat him alive! In uninspired defense, he balled up like an armored ‘dillo and repeated endlessly to himself, “I am hereby proclaimed as the King O’ So Bold, dashing and daring and worthy of gold, worthy of prophecy hereby untold, worthy of chalice, ever young, never old.”

And just like that, he awoke in the classroom; still a victim to countless insulting volleys from those around him. This terrible cycle would repeat until the day ended and he began his march, homeward bound.