Read this to catch up.
Arnold woke up. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes but his stomach felt like the sea during a storm. His hands felt around him. His newty fingers felt hard earth with a few plants. They felt tough, like someone who watched Up and didn’t feel touched. They felt around his body until they felt something damp. Still scared to open his eyes he examined the dampness, he was getting … carrot with strong cider tones. Feeling like the worlds most unfortunate wine critic he concluded he was feeling the results of unhappy insides. Opening his eyes, Arnold instantly regretted it as dominating heat charged down towards him. Looking above his left shoulder he saw a sign. Welcome to Pueblo, California. Arnold’s head began to hurt as confusion joined the headache. He looked about, dry and arid land stretched in all directions. Mildly better than the Mojave Arnold was already bored. He saw a paper caught around the base of the sign, and then he saw the date.
TWO WEEKS?! Arnold’s brain screamed, and then didn’t as the headache intensified. Continuing at a quieter tone his brain started ranting, seething with outrage. I haven’t been written about for two weeks?! In anger Arnold starting writing about himself in the earth and risked destroying reality in the process. Unless you’re reading this from a void of nothingness he probably didn’t and Arnold soon got bored. He stood up, his legs left weak. Looking behind him he saw his car. His beautiful red soft top with dents in all the right places. It now had a new dent in entirely the wrong place. Right where the engine was meant to be. The engine had helpfully been replaced by a large rock however. The thought was clearly there but this rock was not a practical rock.
Angry and upset he looked about his car. There was a message! Scrawled in impressively controlled handwriting in spray paint was a message.
Well done Arnold. You now have the abilities of the Mojave Monks. These mainly include hovering and looking mystical but think outside the box, you’ll work something out. Anyway I should go, as I slightly crashed your car driving you here. Take it easy. John, the Monk.
Arnold sighed. He put the remaining food into a bag and then felt forced by society to rename it a man bag. He started walking down dusty tarmac. Newts hate walking. They will do anything to avoid it. Arnold walked and walked as time stretched by. After an hour he was a little surprized he wasn’t dead but mostly arriving into town. The the un-naturally green grass caused by sprinkler systems felt like velvet on Arnold’s feet. He found a fountain and checked for alligators and water ninjas, because you never know! Once he was sure it was safe he fell into the comforting blue. He relaxed and recovered before a decidedly angry-looking policeman shouted and began to run at him. Using his newty reflexes he didn’t get away and was instead arrested and driven to the edge of the town.
Thrown out across the border the policeman threatened him never to come back, or be forced to watch My Super Sweet Sixteen on loop. He sat on the highway, sticking his thump up to any passing vehicle and even the occasional tumble weed. Arnold watched sports cars, MPVs station wagons and lorries drift past him repeatedly as their rubbery disks surfed the tarmac. He was bemused as to why there were a distinct lack of three wheelers, but just like getting served at a bar if you drop the ball you miss your chance so Arnold kept his focus on the road. A bit too much focus. With his new-found powers he started to lift off the floor. A celestial blue blazed from his palms as the road before him changed. The stretch in front of him began to seethe with energy as buzzed. Blue orbs rose from it like butterflies. A sports car approached. The businessman inside could be heard firing an employee as a huge grin plastered itself over his face. He reached Arnold’s spot and swore at Arnold, driving on to the … enhanced … area of road his car was flung high in the air like it has been shot from an elastic band.
Unknown to Arnold a trucker pulled up and watched. Having just witnessed this he opened his window and shouted.
Dude! Hey mister! You with the newt face!
Arnold looked around.
That was freeeeeaking sweet! Get in dude, I’ll give you a lift.
With Arnold’s concentration broken the road returned to normal. He got in the big 18 wheeler and they drove off.
To be concluded, one last time.