The Last Universe on the Left: 11 Unthinkable Short Stories

By Shane Friedrichsen

What awaits you inside of these pages is an exploration of what we could all be in a different time, different place, or both. Every story in existence is simply another universe down a long hallway of doors. These universes are dark, miserable, vile, and even fundamentally broken. In the long hallway, anyone of these universes could be The La

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649906502

Shane Friedrichsen

Although a lot of what author Shane Friedrichsen writes may be shockingly violent, he is a self-proclaimed "well-adjusted person," born and raised in Kansas. He is passionate about running and has run 13 (and counting) half marathons, countless 5Ks - starting in his high school Cross Country years. His love for writing stems from a love for reading, especially Stephen King novels and various comics. As a fan of running and comics, his favorite superhero is The Flash. Shane's newest endeavor is botany. He says, "Growing your own plants is extremely rewarding." He can't wait to find the next adventure in his life, and as always will continue to write.

Book preview

FOREWORD

I

only have a few things I want to say before you start reading this book. If you want to skip this part I understand, I usually skip these too.

First, I wanna talk about why I started writing, and talk about why that is significant to everyone. One night, in the summer of 2018, I was sitting in my basement reading IT f or the first time (highly recommended). Well, it got to this part where it was talking about Bill Denbrough (the main character) when he was an adult. He was a writer, as most leading men are in Stephen King novels. It started to talk about when he was a younger man, in the interim between the section of them as children and the section of them as adults. It talks about when Bill started writing for the first time on some old typewriter. That just hit me. I knew in that moment that I wanted to write.

After I had that revelation I immediately texted my then girlfriend. I told her that I think I might want to write short stories. She immediately told me that I should, and so the next day I did. I did not include that first story in this collection, maybe someday I’ll include it in something.

So, what am I trying to say with this? Two things, essentially. The first being that you have to listen to your inner voice. You know things about yourself on a deep level that may not reveal themselves for years, if ever. Looking back, I know I always wanted to write, to a larger extent, I’ve always wanted to create. Be able to make something and be proud of it. If I had not listened to myself I would not be writing this and you wouldn’t be reading it, wacky.

The second thing I want to say is that you have to find people in your life who will encourage you and empower you. Don’t put yourself in the company of naysayers and pessimists. Now, you need people to be realistic with you. You can’t just have people always saying that you’re the best and you’re always gonna come out on top, cause you won’t. There will always be failures and rejections before the great achievement. Finding the people who will empower you to work hard and push past the failure is essential. They will lift you up higher than you ever thought you could go. If I didn’t listen to my girlfriend that night, I wouldn’t be writing this and you wouldn’t be reading it, wacky.

The last thing I have to say is very simple. Don’t wait. There is no better time than right now to go after your dreams. If I had told myself to wait until I’m older to write this than who knows what would have happened. Maybe I would have been less naive, maybe you need to be naive to go after your dreams. If you want to do something, just do it. Barge into the room and show people exactly who you are.

I actually have a few more things to say, read, read a lot, it's great. Don’t limit what you read either, read everything from cookbooks to comicbooks. Tell your friends you care about them, it's never a bad time for that. Play with your dogs, they wanna run around with you, let them. Get out there and exercise, fitness is one of the greatest gifts and opportunities we have. Work your ass off, but don’t cook your brain. You need to rest inbetween work. Listen to all types of music, the odds are incredibly slim that you don’t like a single song from a genre. Get out into nature, the beauty of nature is incomparable to anything else. Show the world who you are, don’t let the man keep you down.

Finally, I wanna say thank you to a lot of people. I want to thank my family, my then girlfriend, my friends, my dog, and my dogs who have passed on. Thank you all.

ANT FARMS AND BEE COLONIES

T

he cockroach is an interesting creature, surrounded by other roaches at most times, but its interests are entirely its own. The cockroach can survive without its own head for weeks, survive underwater for upwards of thirty minutes, and can live without food for one month. They do very well in urban environments, such as New York City, and they are very fond of sugar, like the sugar from an unfinished bottle of beer. To a cockroach, there could be no greater heaven than the apartment of Edward Josiah Dutt. When the beer bottles ended, leftover chinese takeout boxes began, the roaches were always grateful that Edward had never chosen to keep flowers on his windowsill instead. The neon lights from across the street flashed; LEOPARDS GENTLEMENS CLUB (18 or older to enter), the lights landed on his face, illuminating the way for the roaches, across Edwards face, to the other side of his studio apartment. The roaches ruled the apartment, crawling over every square inch. Having babies in the drawers, getting food from the fridge, sometimes cuddling up right next to Ed's gut (which hung just a little bit over his sweatpants) for a night's rest. But they never found a family photo.

When the morning light hit Edwards apartment (or Eddie as he liked to be called), the roaches would scatter back into the dark corners as he got ready for work. Eddie came to New York to be a stock broker, he had not been wildly successful, but sometimes he would still pick out the stocks he wanted to buy while on break from his job at the local Stop n’ Go gas station. Instead of the suit he had pictured when he boarded the flight out of Omaha, Nebraska to start his new life, he wore khaki pants and a white shirt with a blue smock over top. Eddie never minded having to wear the Stop n’ Go hat however, his hair had been thinning since he was 18 and four years later it had only gotten worse.

The hours ticked by at the Stop n’ Go until 10:00 PM when Eddie was off the clock, walking back home past advertisements for products he cannot afford, and probably never could. When Eddie arrived home he checked the mail like he does after every 12-hour shift.

"Bill, bill, pest control ad, bill, and a letter ?"

Eddie thought to himself. The letter was in a simple manilla envelope, on the front To Edward was written in black ink. No return address. Eddie opened the envelope and shook out a few dead carpenter ants, like the confetti of a backwoods hillbilly. It read;

" Edward, your brothers and sister are dead. We have missed your help so much, please come back to the farm. It's just me and your mother now and I’m getting too old to work. Please come back, you need to help your mother. - Pa ".

Cold sweat and mournful, guilt-ridden tears began to emerge. Edward had not thought of the farm in years, he hadn’t thought about his mother in years. Edward wondered if she thought of him, ever. If she ever looked at the east horizon and wondered how her son was doing. Did she even think about him when he had been on the farm? Or did she just sit in the basement all day, with fresh corn and chicken being plopped on her lap. Did she even spare him one thought when she made Pa grab the belt? Did she think about him when he sat in the cornfields, tending to his own wounds?

There was one line in that letter that should have stopped him dead in his tracks, made him drop to his knees and cry out that god had no mercy.

" Your brothers and sister are dead ",

he ran his fingers over that one sentence to make sure it wasn’t just an illusion. The truth is, he never even thought of them as siblings, they were more like co-workers. They came to work every morning, and never looked the wrong way at the boss, but he still needed to know. Edward felt tidal waves rush over him, it was like he was a toddler in a wave pool. One would sweep him off his feet, the next would turn him over before he could gain his footing, after that it was like he was a sock in the washing machine of guilt. Just turning,

You need to help more with the farm, Edward

Flipping him around,

You are our boy, Edward

Until the entire world was moving around him.

I am your damn MOTHER , Edward

The next day, Edward started to pack his (few) things, one way, non-stop ticket to OmahaNebraska, then a two hour drive, back to the Dutt colony. As Edward packed, he was in a daze, he barely even noticed the roaches that scattered when he opened up his drawer. Occasionally, he would snap back into the world, and read the letter again. It felt like he was recharging the batteries on a bad dream, when he thought of the farm his heart pounded, his eyes welled up, but his hands started packing, and his legs walked out of the apartment.

When Edward landed in Omaha, it felt like he has just hit the reset button on the last four years of his life. Back in Nebraska, and ready to go to work. He took a taxi back to the edge of the property, guests were never very welcome at the Dutt estate. It felt like a walk through purgatory, the rocks underneath his black, rubber soled work shoes crunched, the bees pollinated the wildflowers at the edge of the crop line. They worked and worked on those flowers, went back to the hive, and did it again the next day. They were lucky that their brains were too small to ever think about it, or think about shoving the barrel of a gun in their mouth. The corn was overgrown at the edge of the property, unkempt, but as Edward approached the farmhouse, the corn seemed like it got a little scared. The stalks sticking straight up, like the hairs on the back of

your neck. The ants marching in and out of the house, getting food for the queen, the termites infesting the walls, trying to find a new home.

The farmhouse was built by Kurt Dutt when he was 25, he had only met the woman who would become his wife, Mary Dutt, a year prior. She was the type of woman who demanded a house to keep, she had auburn hair that went down to just below her shoulder blades. She was on the taller end, 5 foot 8, but only 110 pounds. Kurt Dutt had straight black hair, stood at a moderate 5 foot 10, was 145 pounds of farm boy muscle. The only problem they could really find with the property was the surprising number of insects. Ants, bees, and termites were the main culprits, but that wasn’t going to stop Kurt Dutt from making his lady happy.

Edward stood away from the farmhouse, looking at it like it was a war memorial. He looked at the stripping paint and rotting wood on the porch, trying to recall if it had always been this dismal. The paint, which was once a light pink, had faded away, and looked like tumors on an old man. The wood didn’t help, once made out of the finest lumber in Nebraska, it looked like the house could collapse at any moment, ending the infestation. Edward thought of this and suddenly it became easier to walk and breathe. Like there had been cement in the shoes and a vice grip around his throat that simply disappeared with these thoughts. But as soon as those thoughts dissipated, new ones cropped up. Thoughts of him when he was 18, never boarding that flight, staying home, fixing up the house, doing his fair share. Suddenly, the grip was back on his throat, but his feet felt weightless as he approached the house. He was being dragged along by the noose. He went up the steps he had always envisioned his father toiling away at, his mother sitting on the deck watching him. He opened the door, and was home.

Edward felt small, he felt like a little man with little ambitions. He looked around the kitchen, dirty dishes in the sink, a colony of ants marching one by one, back and forth from the crumbs, back to the colony. Edward was almost on his tip toes, trying not to make too much noise. His mom never liked a noisy house. Everything looked like it had when he left, he was almost sure. The continual dust on the counters

Kurt?

The little beehives in the corners of the ceiling

Kurt it's lunch time

Termites

Don’t make me get up Kurt

Bees

KURT!

Ants

Edward suddenly heard the shouting coming from the basement, the queen was calling. Still walking lightly, so lightly that if the floorboards didn’t creak like an old casket, he would be silent. Making his way downstairs, the demands for an answer had stopped, they were replaced by heavy, ghoulish breathing. Edward rounded the corner, like a child spying on his parents in a fight. His mother sat in a faded, rose patterned lounge chair. You could barely see what was once a garden on the side of the throne, now slipping into a dull gray, with hints of a past. Mary Dutts eyes landed on her son, who she had not seen, spoken too, and hardly spoken about in four years. Her breath caught, still sitting,

Edward, you came home!

her mouth seemed to sour on Edward but got brighter as the declaration went on. Her arteries worked double time to pump blood into her cheeks (her arteries worked double time to do just about anything), they beamed a red brighter than the chair had ever been.

I can’t believe you left your home for four years, we’ve been working our heinies off to keep this place afloat, you’ve probably been out at clubs all hours of the night!

The air hung silent for a moment,

Hi, mom.

Edward finally managed to eek out from his throat up out his mouth.

Where's dad?

Edward asked as he scanned around the room, a long dinner table sat in front of her, it could seat six, it did not need to anymore.

Out back working like a real man should be!

When she spoke she moved her arm forward like a preacher, pointing to some invisible crowd.

Go find him, we’ll have a nice lunch just the three of us!

without saying a word, Edward went back up the stairs.

Stepping outside Edward continued the unamusement ride through his childhood. Chickens and corn, that was what the Dutts were made out of, chickens and corn. Every morning you had to wake up and feed the chickens, after that you would tend to the corn. The old chicken coop looked about as regal as it had always been, except it wasn’t just a chicken coop anymore. It was a termite coop, if such a thing existed. They would burrow in, make a little house for their little wives, until they wanted to move up in the world, and make a neighborhood out of the farmhouse. Pa walked out of the cornfield, crawled really, Edward hadn’t noticed but the heat climbed up his spine like a pest. Dry damn heat, the kind of heat that popped the corn before it got off the cobb. Pa Dutt held the fruits of his labor, his hands were bare. The corn had presumably moved on to some place with a little more rain. Pa looked up and squinted his eyes like he was taking a test,

Son? I can’t believe you came!

Edward looked at him and saw a gaunt man, sunken cheekbones and a protruding hump. Looked as if he hadn’t had a bite to