Spotlight

The DeMolator

Have you read Episode I yet? If not, CLICK HERE to read it first!
Have you read Episode II yet? If not, CLICK HERE to read it first!
Have you read Episode III yet? If not, CLICK HERE to read it first!

Prologue

Time passed and the incident with Tiffany Ashley-Meagan Smith at the SMC/GWA Reception was all but forgotten. Surely she couldn't really do anything to the State Officers…how much could she know about the DeMolator? This notion quieted most concerns about her, but there was one small problem-no one could find Tiffany Ashley-Meagan Smith.

She had disappeared after the reception.

The DeMolator - Episode IV

"So what are you supposed to be?" Michael asked Chris as they arrived at Samuel S. Lawrence's 30th Anniversary Dinner and Costume Dance, "The village idiot?"

"Very funny, jerk," Chris, who was not in costume, replied, "And what are you? Actually, wait-don't answer that-I don't want to know."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked in a very high, effeminate voice, "I'm not dressed up, silly!"

Michael was dressed up-as the Grand Worthy Advisor Khrystle Rader.

Michael lowered his, or rather, her voice and continued, "Are you makin' fun of my dress, boy?"

Chris backed up in mock fear, "N-no, sir-or ma'am-or whatever."

"Mmmmm….you sure do have a purdy mouth, boy," Michael said, advancing closer.

"Okay, now you are freaking me out," Chris said, backing into a wall.

His brother, Richie, who was dressed up as a village idiot, tapped Michael on the shoulder.

"Yes?" Michael asked, now using his 'Khrystle' voice.

Richie merely regarded Michael for a moment, shook his head, and walked away.

"You are on your own, Chris!" he called over his shoulder.

Michael laughed, and turned around to meet Khrystle vis-à-vis. She was looking a lot more appealing in a suit and a mock collar represented by a huge 'gangsta' necklace…or better put, neckrope.

"I hope you are not mocking the sanctity of this order with that gaudy thing," Michael said, pointing to Khrystle's neck-rope. He promptly put on an aluminum foil crown that he had made right before coming to the dance. The parts that would stay straight were about three feet off of Michael's head, "Because I would never mock your most illustrious order."

Khrystle playfully slapped the crown off of his head and 'stormed away.'

Michael looked around, "Was it something I said?"

The dance, preceded by a wonderful dinner, went off without a hitch, with Jon Challen skillfully spinning tracks like "Thriller" and "Bye, Bye, Bye" to give the dance a truly scary feel. (By the way, your narrator, at this moment, is bashing her head in trying to get that stupid N*Sync…or Backstreet Boys…whatever… song out of her head, so the next few paragraphs may or may not make sense…but I regress-I mean…digress…)

The dance continued into the evening and everybdy had lots o fun. They danced until there feets herted….why is speall check underlinming everything I writen…?

(Two hours later your narrator returns from the hospital, her concussion finally gone.)

There was one worrisome note to the whole evening, however. John Harris had simply vanished during the night. Most figured he was going on a Waffle House run, but it was worrisome all the same. Finally, the dance ended, and although most were unaware that anything was wrong, the state officers were feeling positively ill- Was Tiffany Ashley-Meagan Smith up to her old tricks again?

As it turns out, she was, and so begins John Harris's journey back to Georgia.

"Most people think that Masonry began in England, but I tell you they are wrong-Masonry started in Macon…not Mecca like everybody said-they pronunciated it wrong. It's…Macon…"

John was doing a rather amusing rendition of his Georgia Mason Mythology when suddenly, he was on a beach."

"Dude….guys…?" John called out nervously, "…anybody…I was just kidding about all of that Mason stuff…"

He looked around and examined his surroundings, his keen marine instincts already firmly established. His resources were the following: sand, coconuts, the trees that they grew on, salt water, and sand.

"This is not cool," John said to the ocean.

He began to walk down the beach, not really sure what else to do. There must be people here somewhere, right? There weren't any undiscovered islands…

He thought back to what happened. He was doing an impersonation, and then he was here…but how…?

"Darn that Tiffany Whats-her-face!" John said, stomping his foot into the sand, "I should have known she would pull something like this!"

He started thinking of all the places he would send her if he had the opportunity: the bottom of an ocean, the top of Mt Everest in her swim suit, an island with cannibals…

John shuddered-what if that was to be his fate?

He decided to take his mind off of his present situation and began to jog while reciting the drill that he had made popular amongst his fellow DeMolays:
"Motivation,
Dedication,
To the Corps,
My Corps,
Your Corps,
Our Corps."

He did this for a while, and then decided to make a shelter for the night. He moved farther into the jungle that bordered the beach so as to be sure that he wouldn't get swept away by high tide. He bent together three palms and tangled them within themselves so that they would stay arched over his head, he then stripped some other coconut trees of their leaves and piled them over the arch of palms. Finally, he gathered coconuts to eat and small kindling, rocks, and dry driftwood to make a fire. He succeeded in both breaking open the rocks and making the fire by about two o'clock in the morning. He then promptly fell back into his 'tent' and went instantly to sleep. He woke up the next day with his stomach raging. Coconuts were by no means sufficient sources of nutrition.

"Maybe I can find a crab?" he thought aloud.

He scoured the beach for hours trying to find a morsel of protein. All he found, however, was-you guessed it-sand. Frustrated, and now practically ready to eat his own appendix (it isn't good for anything, anyway), John snatched up a sharp piece of drift wood and headed out across the rocks of a slightly higher shoreline, hoping that he would get out far enough to find a big fish…he could probably eat a whale if he could find one. However, despite John's new-found zeal for finding food, this, too, was a fruitless endeavor. By the end of the day, John decided to walk back to his 'tent' and resigned himself to a night of roasted coconuts.

He gathered coconuts and settled in for the night. On a brighter note, he did manage to make a friend…

"Don't look at me like that…I'm hungry, and you are a coconut…this is simply a fact of life."

The coconut sat in the sand.

"It's not like bashing you in will hurt…you're a coconut."

The coconut sat in the sand.

"I bet you won't even taste very good…"

The wind blows, pushing the coconut onto its side."

John scoops the coconut into his arms saying, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

This was to be John's habit for the next two weeks. He was almost permanently driven over the edge in his solitude, and considered, at one time proposing to his coconut. He might have made it permanently to insanity if it wasn't for an encounter with a much more dangerous companion.

John awoke in the middle of the night to drumming and what sounded like war-cries.

"…Wha…?" John asked in a sleepy stupor.

He was dragged off by two large, female natives.

John might have minded, except that A) they weren't coconuts and B) they were female.

They dragged him farther into the jungle until they reached a small village. They then tied him to a large stake as other women prepared a big fire.

"Is this village all women?" John wondered, smiling at the prospect.

His smile faded, however, as he watched the women drag a huge pot of water over the fire. The girls pointed at him and laughed, and some of them walked up to him and began to pinch at his stomach.

They're going to eat me! he thought.

What will happen to John? Will he make it to Holiday Formal on time? Find out in the next installment of The DeMolator.

Stay tuned for the next episode of "The DeMolator" in the January Word of the Day.

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