Annals of Eternity by schnit123

“Success or failure?”

The question hung unanswered, Dr. Wellstone was able to do little more at the moment than stare at his office's wall. “Success or failure?” Jim asked again, more forcefully.

Dr. Wellstone looked up from his trance, “Sorry?”

“Success or failure?” Jim asked for what he hoped would be the last time. . The doctor sighed and looked down at the floor. “Both,” he answered.

“What do you mean both?”

“I mean the experiment was both a success and a failure.”

“How so?”

“The substance does indeed grant immortality,” Jim nearly exploded with excitement at these words, “But it has unfortunate side effects,” the doctor added.

Jim’s heart slowed down again and the intellectual ecstasy he had experienced a moment before dwindled away. “What kind of side effects?” he asked.

“Perhaps it’s best I show you,” was the response.

The lab was equipped with the stock-standard glass tubes, beakers and whorly-loops that housed chemicals of so much variety, color and potency. The two men ignored the spectacle, it was a sight they were quite used to, and proceeded to a small cage in the back. While they walked, Dr. Wellstone blathered, “I tested Substance S on a group of mice, I placed it in a water dish for them to drink. They enjoyed it so much they bathed in it, then something incredibly unusual happened.”

Jim’s curiosity was on the bursting point and he was quite disappointed to see the mice doing nothing more than lazing about on the plastic bottom of their cage. “There just sitting there,” he replied. “Actually there’s more to it than that,” the doctor responded, “they’re not sitting, they’re stuck.”


“Yes, it seems that Substance S is a highly powerful adhesive that gives immortality by bonding to the subject. Anyone or anything who touches it will live forever, but they’ll also be stuck forever.”

On a closer inspection he could see small white puddles around each mouse. Jim leaned in and watched the poor critters struggle uselessly to move, he pitied them, that they should have to live in such a miserable existence.

“Doctor, you can’t allow them to live, it would be too cruel. You have to kill them.”

“I tried,” he exclaimed, the guilt of his actions sagging his face, “but as I’ve said, they’re immortal, they can’t be killed or destroyed.”

Jim turned his attention away from the mice and looked hard at his old friend, who’d invested a lifetime of research to try to create an immortality serum. “In that case,” he said, “we have to destroy, hide or lock away anything and everything relating to this substance. Your notes, formulas, ingredients and any more samples that exist. We really have no choice.”

“I know,” the doctor said, “but it won’t be that easy.”


“You see, I’ve already created a huge amount, five hundred gallons. I thought I could find some way to use it in spite of its stickiness.”

Jim all but collapsed at this revelation. He wanted to scream, “What the hell were you thinking?” but there was no point because he already knew what the doctor had been thinking, that this formula was probably the last chance to make something of his life’s work and that he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“I’m sorry George,” Jim numbered among the few who could call Dr. Wellstone by his first name, “I know you’ve worked all your life to try to achieve this moment. I know this was your last chance to get it right, but we have to do it.” “I know,” he repeated, “and don’t worry, I think you’ll find I’ll actually have many, many more chances in the future to try to figure it out.”

Jim looked up at his old friend confused, and the old man answered by showing a patch near his elbow that appeared to be made out of cardboard. It was stuck to his skin. Jim felt the color drain from his face when he realized the implications of that patch.

“Works perfectly,” the doctor told him, “I’ll have all the time I ever need now to get it right, but in the meantime we must take care of this stuff. You said destroy it, but that’s not an option, it can’t be destroyed, hiding will not do any good, as hiding places are inevitably discovered, but I think I know someplace where we can lock it away with a clean conscious.”

Kelly was squinting against the sun, smiling, black asphalt warm, almost hot, against her bare feet. She watched the cars roll along, she eagerly waved her sign at them, some stopped and pulled into the empty part of the parking lot her group had overrun, others simply smiled in support. “Car Wash For Charity,” her posterboard sign declared in bubbly purple letters.

It was for the Youth Environmental League, they cleaned off your car and you gave them a few bucks that they could send off to various organizations to help save an assortment of endangered species and habitats. Some people donated because they genuinely believed in the cause, most did it because they wanted to watch ten buxom college girls wash their cars in cut off shorts and halter tops, running around either barefoot or in flip-flops which, though most guys won’t admit it, is about the sexiest thing a young woman could ever do.

Business was good that day, after two hours they had raised almost three hundred dollars and there was still another four hours to go before they had to pack up and leave. They had been granted the use of the gas station parking lot that was right at the corner of one of the busiest T-junctions in the city, and one of the most dangerous. Already that morning she had witnessed at least a dozen near misses, though a couple of them, she suspected, were caused by guys admiring her washboard stomach and hotly toned and nicely tanned legs. She looked up the road that formed the base of the T and saw a green pick-up with a few oil drums in back. It was dirt smeared and grimy and she rigorously waved her sign at it.

Saturday morning yields heavy traffic and Jim wished he hadn’t let the doctor drive. Substance S didn’t seem to be doing much to help the doctor’s poor vision. Neither did the dirty windshield. One of the unfortunate side effects of being old and obsessive about one’s work is that things like cleaning your car tend to go on the wayside. They were approaching the corner of Timmings and Mead, one of the busiest T-junctions in the city and one that always made Jim nervous as hell, especially when he was riding with someone as lousy a driver as Dr. Wellstone. The spot was a haven for red light runners who were rushing to either get to the beach or the freeway that was a couple blocks down the road.

He looked out the window at the gas station at the corner. A young girl was waving a sign advertising a car wash. He looked at the grimy pick up they were in, running his hands over the folder he was holding, and thought it’d be nice to stop but now wasn’t the time. The five oil drums in the back were their priority for the moment. The folder contained all the notes and formulas for Substance S, it was to be locked away with everything else. The girl was astoundingly beautiful, tan and smiling and radiating with young life, it made him wish he were a couple dozen years younger. The doctor noticed her too and his eyes rolled over her body. “It’s too bad this stuff only give eternal life and not eternal youth,” he said as he made his right turn and was side-swiped by an over-sized SUV.

Kelly was not three feet from the pick-up when it was hit. The impact forced it onto the curb where she was standing and it rolled over on its side. She ran back to where the other girls were, a couple of which were screaming and watched the spectacle from what she mistakenly thought was a safe distance. The five drums in back fell out, bounced and rolled a couple of times, than broke open in front of them. Before any of them even had time to react, the ground was awash in a strange white substance. It rolled around her feet and she took a step back to try to get away from it. One step was all she got.

When she moved to lift her foot again, it wouldn’t cooperate. She was standing right in the middle of the puddle. Whatever the stuff was, it had glued her bare feet to the parking lot. At best she could move an inch before she was pulled back down again. She looked around her at the other girls. It seemed no one had escaped the stuff. Her friend Kimberly had gotten her bare feet stuck a couple feet back and to the left of her. Sarah had been by the car they were washing on her hands and knees scrubbing dirt off the side and now she was sitting with her calves in the glue, her flip-flops looked like they were stuck to her feet and she was pulling at her hands which were also stuck.


Tiffany, poor Tiffany, she had fallen trying to pull her bare feet out and Kelly watched her arch her back and pull her arms, the stuff never stretching more than a couple of inches before it stopped. Tiffany was crying and Kelly wanted to cry too, watching her friend struggle. All the other girls had gotten their bare and fiip-flopped feet stuck to the pavement. The owner of the car, an attractive young businesswoman, had stepped out to see what had happened and had gotten her high heels stuck in the glue. It looked like she was trying to pull her shoes off but they wouldn’t budge, some of the stuff must have gotten inside.

She turned her attention back to her own situation. The glaring white glue was a sharp contrast to her darkly tanned feet. Some of it had seeped between her toes. When she pulled, she could stretch her heel about an inch off the ground, the balls of her feet barely even budged. Try as she might, she could not pull free. What’s worse, the stuff was starting to burn. She felt it in her toes first, then it moved up her ankles and calves to her thighs. She was starting to panic and struggled all the harder, but to no avail. It reached her pelvis, her snatch, and it felt almost orgasmic, she had to concentrate to keep from falling over. It moved up her stomach and chest, still working its magic in her crotch, down her arms and up her neck and she came when it reached her head and she nearly blacked out.

When her vision cleared she was still standing, thankfully, and it looked as if every other girl had gone through the same experience. Sandy, a girl who had gotten stuck in her sandals, hadn’t managed to keep upright and had fallen in the glue, just like Tiffany. She was crying and moaning low now as she struggled to try to get out of the stuff. Kelly realized that she felt different. It was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, the best she could do was to say that she felt more alive, or perhaps more in touch with life.

The glue felt different too. Her feet were just as stuck as they were before but she somehow felt more connected to the bond, like she was part of the glue rather than just simply stuck in it. A crowd had formed around the sight, the scent of disaster drawing them like flies. She was shocked to see among the gawkers Dr. Wellstone, an old kook up at the university who had dedicated his life to figuring out the secret to immortality. He was on his knees saying something, “what have I done?” it sounded like. The old fart had definitely lost his mind.

In spite of her pain in the ass situation she smiled. She remembered when a friend of hers had badgered her into attending a lecture of his. “Annals of Eternity,” it was called. He had stood on the stage like an orange-crate street prophet and bellowed the significance of his work. “Immortality,” he had screamed, “is at the center of every religion on earth, it is the dominant theme of our art and our literature, more widely pondered than any other idea. It is the one thing that man desires above all else, and the one thing he cannot have. But do we even understand what immortality is? Sure we talk about living forever and eternal youth but these phrases do not put the idea of immortality in our head. It’s almost impossible to grasp the sheer vastness of it, its endlessness is so profound we can barely even comprehend it. I must try to put this idea in your head because in order to discuss eternity we must first understand what it is. Imagine if you will the leaves of a tree and the grass around it, imagine the insects that thrive in this habitat, this miniscule patch of land. Now imagine, if you can, how many trees there are in the world, think of the largest forest you’ve ever seen and how many billions more trees there are beside those and imagine the leaves of all those trees, it’s hard to do but you can do it, and imagine all the blades of grass that surround all the leaves of all the trees in the world and imagine all of the insects that eat them and live in them and thrive off them and fix the astonishing vastness of all this, of all that green and all that life, than turn it all into sand, turn it all into one pile of sand. I know how it seems to you, you can picture it and not picture it at the same time, but you know what it is, a mound of sand so enormous its size is incomprehensible. Now imagine, if you will, a sparrow, a sparrow that once every one billion years comes and visits your impossibly large mound of sand and carries away a single grain. And at the rate of one grain every one billion years just try to fathom, if you will, how long it would take to reduce your pile of sand to nothing, to remove those trillions of grains of sand, to multiply that trillions number by a billion and that’s how long it would take. It’s a span of time so vast we cannot even comprehend it, but to the eye of eternity it is not even a flash, it’s not even an instant, it is nothing, it is tinier than nothing. Eternity is so long, so huge that time ceases to even matter and you can do nothing more than exist, and no matter what you do you can never stop existing, after the universe has ended and time has stopped and matter destroyed you will still exist, that is what we mean when we say immortality.”

Kelly had to smack her head to make the voice stop. It was not the time for her mind to wander, she needed to concern herself with the situation at hand.

Jim was trying to comfort the doctor into a state where he could do something other than repeat “What have I done?” over and over. A couple minutes of coaxing brought him back to a coherent state. The first thing Jim asked was whether or not it was too late to do anything. The doctor said it was, that Substance S took effect after just two minutes. Jim checked his watch but he already knew those girls had been stuck for about half an hour. This was simply too much of a disaster to think about. Not only were those girls stuck, but the folder with the notes was missing, it had disappeared somewhere in the confusion. The doctor had gone back to his repetitive muttering.

Kelly was glad to see the authorities finally arrive. Of course she would have been annoyed at any time for getting in a situation like this but it was especially bad that it had to be today. The car-wash was ruined, and they had all planned on going to the beach afterwards but there was no way that was going to happen, who knew how long it would take to dissolve this stuff and it probably put some kind of weird chemical in her system, it was the only explanation for why she felt so strange. They’d probably have to keep everyone overnight. She sighed, her legs were cramping up. Hopefully they’d be able to go to the beach tomorrow, so they could lie in the sand and watch the birds, laughing about the car wash that had gone completely awry.

Gill Gamish sat on a bench looking at his watch, pretending to ignore the small spectacle he’d created in front of himself. An unfortunate woman, unfortunate because she was Gill’s type (svelte mid-twenties blonde) and strapped into a hard-on inducing pair of shoes (clear-strapped heels baby, the only way to fly) and therefore an excellent target, was the object of his discreet attention. She was tugging at her left shoe which was stuck in the conveniently placed puddle of Krazy Glue that had somehow found itself spilled in the middle of the mall floor.

“Come on honey, don’t get yourself out of there too quickly,” he said to himself. She gave a yank and her shoe tore free. She stared at the spot on the floor for a second, then explained it away with some comment about the spilling of some odd sticky substance. Gill sighed. He checked his watch, one minute and twenty-two seconds. Old Aggravation poked his head in to say hi again. What he wanted in life to get some hot girl stuck in glue for life. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be for life, I’d settle for just a few hours, he thought. Not that it’d ever happen though. The longest he’d ever seen a girl get stuck for was three and a half minutes, and there was some serious chi at work that day.

Frustrated, he got up, slung his bag over his shoulder and left. He made his way down Timmings street, putting it in mind to grab a soda at the gas station before shuffling home. He never even made it through the station’s doors. A blabbering crowd was blocking his view to some undoubtedly astonishing spectacle. Lured by the hopes of seeing some carnage he was greeted by something far grander. A bunch of young women were all struggling in some kind of sticky white glue. Holy shit, he thought, there’s what, nine, ten, eleven of them! They were squirming and writhing in so many ways but it seemed to him that none of them could get out. He watched them and he kept watching them and they just weren’t getting out of that shit.

The English language in its endless nuances was hardly adequate to describe the kind of excitement he was feeling, but some phrase to the effect of gosh-wow-super-goddamn-fuck-all-stupendous-whoopee came to mind.

He forced his way farther up into the crowd, desiring a front row seat, and discovered an inkling of how the accident happened. An SUV with the front crashed up was sitting like a dog next to a turd he shat out on the rug by an overturned green pick-up. Oil drums were spilled about with the glue bursting forth from their innards. In his maneuvering to snag the primo viewing spot he stepped on something. It was a folder, a green one. He picked it up and would have gone about trying to find its rightful owner had a couple of words sticking out on a snag of paper not caught his eye. “Substance S extremely adhesive,” the penciled words read.

Could this be? Could this be the key to the very substance that held the girls before him ensnared in its grasp? Was he going to put aside better judgment and find out? You goddamn right he was gonna. With a bit of a look around to ensure no one was observing him (but who wants to watch some boring Joe when there’s a spectacle like the one present going on?), he slipped the folder into his bag.

The proper authorities arrived and ushered everyone away. Gill was torn as to whether or not he should stick around (no pun intended) because it was starting to get a bit boring but the decision was made for him by a donut-sucker grumbling “Move along, move along.” He headed home figuring he’d probably hear about it on the news that evening.

On the way home Gill ran into the one duo on this earth that he desperately did not want to see. Gasey Finch, in all his muscle-bulk glory, was macho strutting in his direction with his girlfriend, the beautiful bitch from hell Valentine LeStrange, leached onto his arm. Maliciousness glinted in their eyes when they saw him coming. He braced himself in preparation for whatever cruelty they could come up with in the fifty feet that was closing between them. He moved to the right side of the sidewalk, they did too. He cut back to the left, they mirrored his movements. He stepped out onto the curb, so did they. He made an attempt to pass, she tripped him.

For those that appreciate a good bit of bullying, it’s worth noting what a beautiful maneuver it was. How subtly she put out her leg, the deftfullness with which she wound it between his, the way she flicked it back to her usual stride as he face-planted on the back of a blue Lincoln Towncar. She had long since mastered the art, the two of them having been Gill’s tormentors for many years, it was their favorite thing to do to him, as his balance was not all that great. Gill’s cheek left a nice little dent on the trunk of the car. He staggered up and put his hand to his cheek where a large bump that would definitely bruise had already formed. “Clumsy fucker,” Gasey shouted over his shoulder. The owner of the car came charging out of his house. It was Mr. Kremshaw, a banker that was also friends with Gill’s parents. He came up to observe the damage.

“Gill,” he shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you watch where you’re going? Do you know how much it’s gonna cost me to get this fixed?”

“No I didn’t, it wasn’t, it was them!” He pointed to the receding forms of Gasey and Valentine. “You expect me to believe that those two nice kids tripped you on purpose. It’s bad enough that you do something like this,” he gestured at the car, “but you can even take responsibility for it! Your parents are gonna be hearing about this.”

With that Mr. Kremshaw turned and fumed back into his house. Gill stood there furious, wanting to cry with frustration. Of course being straight A students and community service volunteers, no one could find it even thinkable that Gasey and Valentine would be the kind of sadistic bullies that they were. Gill by contrast pulled only B’s and C’s and spent much of his free time wandering around alone (the two of them saw to it that everyone at school was to scared to be friends with him) or sitting in his room playing video games, an activity that from the perspectives of the alarmist members of the community was tantamount to having paranoid schizophrenia.

A few minutes later, he arrived home. His mother was already there standing in her pissed off hands on the hips pose. She tapped her foot and raised her eyebrow when he walked in.

“I just got off the phone with Mr. Kremshaw, he said that you kicked his car and made a dent in it!”

“Mom I didn’t--”

“Don’t you talk back to me young man! How dare you call Mr. Kremshaw a liar? I can’t believe you would do this to a man who’s been like a second father to you all these years! And he said you tried to blame it on that nice couple in the neighborhood! Young man you are going to learn to take responsibility for your actions! You are grounded with no videogames for the next week and your allowance for the next three months is going to go to the dent you put in Mr. Kremshaw’s car!” She looked at the welt on his cheek. “And what’s this? Have you been fighting? Don’t answer that, that’s two weeks for you mister. Now go up to your room right now!”

He tried again to speak but she said she would make it three weeks if he tried to argue with her. Red raving furious he stormed up to his room and slammed the door. He threw down his bag, hurled himself on the bed and though he was ashamed to do it, he cried. The last six years of his life had been nothing but misery for him, ever since they’d moved to the neighborhood and he’d met Gasey and Valentine. He had no idea why it was they hated him, he had never done anything to them, it was like they just decided for no reason to do anything they could to make him suffer. After a few minutes he stopped, the injustice of the day made him completely forget about the spectacle he had witnessed earlier. Suddenly feeling much better, he grabbed his bag and fished out the notebook.

He opened it to page one. “January 17, 2009, testing of Substance R has given negative results. All twenty of the test subjects died within fifteen minutes of consumption…”

He stopped, checked again for the scrap he saw sticking out earlier. He found it and opened to that section. “April 4, 2010, testing of Substance S has given mixed results. This is the first serum to yield positive results, though it also unexpectedly takes on the form of a powerful adhesive. It seems that any subject that comes into contact with Substance S becomes adhered in it for eternity. Further research will be necessary.”

Gill dropped the notebook. His vision blurred. He thought again about the girls he saw stuck earlier. His heart raced, he was jittering. To say this was a dream come true was an understatement. This was the best damn thing in the world to ever happen to him. With shaking hands, he flipped backwards, looking for something. After a couple of pages, he found it.

“Ingredients to make Substance S…” He looked over the list, disbelieving. Almost all this stuff was in the garage, there were only a couple items on there he would have to swipe from the chemistry lab at school. All his rage was gone, he was actually quite gleeful now, even a bit sadistic. He already knew what he’d do with the stuff. The school had been abuzz lately over the party Gasey and Valentine would be throwing next Friday when Valentine’s parents were out of town. Their parties were always major events because no matter how loud or raucous or blatantly obvious it was that there were three hundred odd kids crammed into the house drinking and doing God knows what, no one in the neighborhood would ever believe that sweet couple would do something as illegal as throw an underage drinking party. Gill smiled, the revenge he’d been wanting for years would finally come.

Very little preparation had been required. He swiped a couple of bottles of obscure chemicals from school then took advantage of the time between his arrival at home and his parents’, who got in later, to brew up a couple gallons of the stuff in the garage. He poured it into a couple of jugs that would fit in his bag. Then it was just a matter of waiting.

A scheme of the scale he was planning naturally made him quite nervous. He needed his good luck charm for something like this. He reached into the back corner of his desk drawer where he kept it. It was a quarter, but one like no one had ever seen before. It looked normal in every way except for when you examined the front. The difference was apparent almost immediately. In the spot where the date should be stamped there were instead two stamps. Double stamped coins are a highly prized rarity but this one was even more special. A close inspection would show the date on top to be 1976 but astonishingly, the date underneath read 1989.

Gill had gotten a coin expert to verify its authenticity and there was no question that it was real but how a quarter like that could be formed was almost inconceivable. “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” the guy had said, “and you’d better be sure to take good care of it because when you’re ready to sell it, that thing could ensure that you never have to work a day in your life.”

The night of the party he sat in his room, rolling the coin across his knuckles. He flipped it up in the air and caught it deftfully on his fingertips. “It’s time to up the ante,” he said.

He waited until four in the morning when he was confident that all the people that stuck around would be good and passed out before he slipped out. Valentine’s house was only a block down the road from his. He snuck into the backyard and found about half a dozen people passed out by the pool which had dozens of empty beer cans floating in it. The first person he came across was a girl he knew named Amanda she was sleeping on a patio chair. Smiling, he pulled out a jug of the glue, some gloves and a brush and got to work. There were a couple other girls passed out and a couple guys too. The guys he left alone, he’d only be going after the women tonight, with only one exception.

There was another girl, Lucy, who everyone knew as someone who slept around a lot. He had some fun with her and the pool net.

Moving inside he saw a mass of people sleeping wherever they fell, on the floor, the furniture, there was one guy sleeping on the kitchen table. He crept among them, applying the glue to all of the women he saw, challenging his creativity. He was disappointed to see that Gasey and Valentine were not down here, but he was pretty certain he knew where to find them.

He headed upstairs, pausing to wax artistic with a girl who was passed out on the steps and started checking the bedrooms. There were people sleeping in each one, and he stopped to apply some glue here and there among them. He took no consideration for the implications of what he was doing to these people. Every single one of them had made his life miserable in one way or another. He couldn’t possibly care less about their well being. In the last bedroom he found who he was looking for.

Gasey and Valentine were sleeping on top of the covers, facing opposite directions, his head and her feet were on the pillows. Gill smiled, he immediately knew what to make of this situation. A few minutes later, he snuck back into his own room and into bed, where he dreamed pleasant dreams.

Amanda woke up groggy to the sounds of screams coming from somewhere. She lay for a moment recollecting what she could of the previous night when she recognized the screams were Lucy’s. She looked up to see her friend on the ground, holding the pool net to her crotch, shrieking for everything she was worth. Amanda jumped up to go to her and immediately fell back down. Something was holding her down. She looked to her hands, they were glued to the armrests with some kind of sticky white stuff.

“What the fuck is this?” she said. A couple of the guys had woken up and they were attending to Lucy. Amanda tried to get up again, this time attempting to take the chair with her, but found she still couldn’t move. She looked down at the ground, the same white stuff that was stuck to her hands had also glued her feet to the floor.


“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve asked as tried to make sense of what it was Lucy was doing. She had the handle of the pool net shoved about six inches up her cunt and was trying to pull it out. “I can’t get it out,” she cried, “it’s stuck!”

Vince grabbed the handle and started pulling on it too. He immediately regretted his decision. The whole handle was covered in a sticky white glue, and he could feel it burning his skin. “Shit, no wonder she’s screaming,” he said. Jane’s arm was numb. She had fallen asleep on it. She was curled up on the floor in a fetal position and attempted to stretch the tiredness out of her but she couldn’t uncurl herself. She squirmed around a bit, rolled on her back, and her brain finally registered that her hands were stuck to the bottom of her feet. She confirmed this by rolling around until she could see the white glue that fastened her hands and feet together. She tugged and pulled at it but no matter what she did she couldn’t dislodge it. “We must’ve had a really crazy night.”

Someone tripped over her. It was her friend Kristen, who for some reason was walking around on a pair of stilts. “Kristy, what the fuck are you doing on stilts at this time of the morning?”

“I’m not doing on purpose,” she snapped, “they’re stuck to me!”

Jane took a closer look and indeed, her friend’s feet were glued to the stands and her hands to the handles. “We definitely had a really crazy night.”

Clarissa woke up feeling a puddle of drool drying between her cheek and the floor. “I hate it when I drool in my sleep,” she groaned. When she tried to get up, she felt a sharp pain in her cheek. She quickly realized it wasn’t drool. “Holy shit, someone glued my fucking face to the floor.”

Shouts were raised throughout the house, girls screaming and struggling, guys running around trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Jared was observing it all from his post on the kitchen table. He saw the two identical twins, Stacy and Casey, lying on the floor with their feet glued together. Heather came hopping in on a pogo stick, “What am I doing stuck to this thing?” she screamed and then fell over. She couldn’t get back up. Maggie was trying to get out of the chair she had fallen asleep in, but her back, legs, arms, hands and feet were all glued into place, keeping her from moving. Stephanie was sitting on the stairs, her hand were glued to the rail, her butt and feet to the steps. Christy came running down the steps, holding a floor lamp. “What are you doing carrying that thing around?” Steph asked.

“Someone glued it to my hands!” Christy shrieked.

All their whining and protests were cut short when they heard the screaming coming from upstairs. Nobody particularly wanted to see what had happened up there.

Valentine woke to the sounds of moaning coming from somewhere in the room. She tried to move her head. “Owwww!” her hair was tangled in the banister. She tried to put her hand up to dislodge it but felt them attached to the bedsheet. That was when she noticed she had been glued to the sheet. She was smart enough too to realize that it was probably the same glue that held her hair in place on the bed (which indeed it was). She felt Gasey’s hands clawing at her feet.

“Gasey what are you--”

She moved enough to see her feet and stopped when she saw what had happened. Gasey’s nose was sticking out in between her feet, he was trying to pull them off his face. Someone had glued her feet there. That was when she screamed.

A few houses down Gill was sitting excited, elated in a way he had never been before. Oh sweet revenge! He thought. But why stop there? There’s a lot of other people out there to get stuck. I can just keep going and going… His mother called him down to breakfast. The TV was on, they were just finishing up with a story about the girls who had gotten stuck down at the gas station.

“Oh what a horrible thing to happen. That Dr. Wellstone should be locked away,” his mother said.

“Goddamnit,” his father said, “This is America, we don’t have any room for wackos like him. People like him should be shot.”

Gill merely grunted, then secretly made a toast to Dr. Wellstone and his fabulous glue. The next story was about the upcoming Britney Spears concert, the one she’d be holding on the beach next weekend. Gill’s thoughts turned again to the kind of fun he could have with the glue upstairs. He downed his orange juice then poured himself some more. It’s time to up the ante.