I like to regard this story as being the final part in a trilogy begun with 'Dancers at the Edge of Eternity' and continued with 'LaFume'. All of these tales are concerned with toons or humans placed into alien environments, fish out of water stories you might say. Fans of science fiction literature may notice a passing resemblance between this particular piece and Michael Moorcock's novel 'Behold the Man'. The subject matter is totally different but I have borrowed heavily from Moorcock's storytelling style. ( I don't use any bad language though ) I'd also like to point out the fact that the character of Kyle is based heavily upon myself and that I'm not for a moment trying to suggest that real TTA fans are obsessives. ( Well, not half as obsessive as this guy anyway ) If you've any opinions on this then I'd love to hear from you. You can reach me at Finbarzapek@Hotmail.com. ( The address given on my previous stories is no longer active ) I feel I should also warn you that this story does not feature a happy ending. Rest assured though, not a hair is harmed on the heads of any of the TTA gang. ( And never will be in any of my stories ) If you like tales where everything works out fine for all concerned then I suggest you read my other piece 'Hiding Place'. All Tiny Toon characters are the copyright of Warner Bros. and are used without permission. Utopia Lost or: A Fan Who Crossed The Line A TTA Fan Fiction by S. Campbell Kyle Barnstaple was falling. His body was spinning, the very fibres of his being were throbbing with pain. The pain! He never could of dreamt that it would hurt this much. He tried to scream but no sound would come, shock and disorientation gripping his mind like some powerful, clammy vice. A long, dark tunnel that seemed to have no end. A screeching concerto of meaningless noise that refused to fade. "Please make it stop!" he finally managed to cry. "For pity's sake make it stop!" Colours danced and swirled. A million needles seemed to pierce his skin. Pain. Nothing but endless pain. "Stop... Ballard... Help me!" His cry became a howl, a desperate plea for an end to the torment. And end it did. In the space of a split second the pain had gone, dissipating into nothingness like a nightmare forgotten. His body instantly became cold, a shiver inducing chill running the length of his spine as he found himself lying against hard, solid ground. There was cold concrete beneath him, the smell of exhaust fumes from all around. Babbling voices that came like whispers on the breeze. "Are you okay?" "Is he hurt bad?" "He just came out of nowhere." Kyle opened his eyes to find himself staring towards the bluest sky that he had ever witnessed. There were a couple of near perfect fluffy white clouds drifting silently across its vastness, bright pillows that were clear and distinct against a painted canvas that seemed to go on forever. He tilted his head slightly to the left, a car fender coming into view. It was flawlessly polished to a stunning gleam, seemingly the most unblemished fender in the history of the world. As perfect as a painting. By his side knelt the driver, an elderly face filled with concern as a young woman stood in dead silence behind him. "I'm really sorry Sir," he whispered. "You just came out of nowhere. I didn't have time to brake." Kyle wasn't listening however, eyes simply fixed intently upon the speaker. The driver was wearing a black jacket and tie, the glint of a silver watch chain from a waistcoat pocket. The garments looked strangely antiquated, almost Edwardian. But it wasn't the clothes which interested him. The driver was a toon. A human perhaps but a toon nonetheless. Kyle closed his eyes and smiled, all lingering discomfort finally drifting away. "I've done it," he whispered. "I've really done it." Acme Acres was no longer but a dream. August 1999 Kyle got in from the pub just before midnight, trying to be as quiet as possible as he crept up the stairs. As ever, it was the squeaky floorboard on the landing that gave him away, a badly set Judas that showed no mercy. "Late again I see." He spun around to see his mother standing by her door, her pink coloured robe a distinct contrast to the steely blue coldness of her eyes. "I just had a couple of drinks," he replied sharply. "I'm twenty four now and I can do what I like." "Not while you're still living under this roof you can't. You'll be in a right state tomorrow morning. Not that hangovers bother the worthless of course." "Get out of my life," he hissed. "Ever since Dad died you've done nothing but insult me." "You deserve to be insulted! Just look at yourself. Twenty four and never done a day's work in your life. Twenty four and still acting like a ten year old. You seriously need to cop onto yourself boy." "What's the point in being an adult if you can't act like a kid once in a while?" he replied. "I'm entitled to do what I want and be interested in what I want." "You seem to be far more interested in those pathetic cartoons of yours than finding yourself a job," she exclaimed. "For goodness sake Kyle, do yourself a serious favour and grow up." Kyle simply shook his head, making for his bedroom. She shouted something else in his direction but he was no longer listening. The day had been bad enough as it was. By the time he closed the bedroom door behind him he had blocked her out of his mind altogether. His room was a shrine to animation. On a shelf above the bed he had carefully placed several small figurines, mostly of Loony Tune characters in various poses. The shelves of his bookcase were literally bending under the weight of several large art volumes, dozens of video cassettes squeezed onto a stand in the corner. At the end of his bed lay a large selection of plush toys, Buster and Babs Bunny being the cream of the crop. Buster and Babs. Kyle smiled, letting the worries of the day drift into the past. He always felt so much better when he was in this room, always felt as if he was surrounded by friends. Cartoon characters seemed more real to him than most of the people in his life. At least they never insulted him or mocked his failures. James Rovin... Now there was a man who was apparently real, a former friend who wouldn't think twice about kicking a man while he was down. Only tonight he had made a complete laughing stock of Kyle in front of at least twenty people, deliberately humming the Tiny Toons theme tune as he had entered the pub. Kyle had been forced to listen to constant jibes about his obsession for several hours, eventually storming out to a joyous round of laughter. He couldn't see himself ever speaking to James again. He couldn't even see himself entering that pub again. Once too often had his interests been used as ammunition against him. Trying to block the memories from his mind, he wandered over to his cassette stand and removed the Tiny Toons tape The Best of Buster and Babs. Then, placing it into his video he sat down upon the bed and watched Prom-ise her Anything. It was one of his favourite cartoons ever, not a particularly good story but the characters were amongst the best he knew. Buster and Babs. Plucky and Shirley. Hamton and Fifi. Despite the fact that they weren't real he felt like he knew them all, considered them almost family. He was only truly happy when he was watching their antics. He fell asleep with the tape still running. * * * The driver helped Kyle stagger to his feet, several other motorists having stopped to see what the commotion was. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Kyle nodded and smiled, eyes far too busy darting around his new surroundings to give a proper reply. Everything was perfect, exactly the way he had imagined it to be. The people, the buildings, even the surface of the road. They were all drawn. All holding a distinctly cartoon quality yet at the same time quite real. It was like a dream come true. "I'm fine," he replied after a few moments. "Perfectly fine. Never felt better." And taking a deep breath he began to walk briskly towards the sidewalk. Behind him, the driver remained bemused for several seconds before quickly clambering back into his car, perhaps thankful for the fact that he didn't have a law suit to deal with. He drove off swiftly, freeing up the road which had become quite jammed. Kyle's heart was pounding with excitement, body more alive than it had ever been. He still couldn't quite believe what his eyes and ears were telling him, rationalisation and natural instinct both fighting against each other in the confused battle arena that was his mind. As the seconds wore on however, he began to realise that the world around him really did exist. Despite its toon nature it was just as real and solid as the world he had left behind. He passed a news-stand where copies of the Acme Gazette were on sale, the clean, white pages ruffling in the breeze. The headline was printed in large, bold lettering and instantly caught his eye. Perfecto Students Cheating Again. "Perfecto," he muttered. "They must mean Perfecto Prep." He was momentarily tempted to buy a copy but after seeing the seller he backed away slowly. The sight of a four foot high wolf wearing a suit was something he wasn't yet ready to see. He guessed he'd have to deal with such things in time but for the moment he was trying to keep his head together, trying to keep his wits about him. He needed a couple of hours before he would be ready to face the eccentricities of this new world. Slightly nervous, he attempted to smile, inhaling the air once again before wandering through the first door he met. It was a bar, pretty dark and quiet. The dominant colour scheme seemed to be red, good quality, thick carpeting covering most of the floor and several large paintings of sailing ships providing a welcome splash of variety upon the walls. Aside from himself and the slightly overweight human toon behind the bar, there didn't appear to be anyone else there. Kyle approached him with caution, placing his hands in his pockets as he did so. "Can I help you Sir?" The barman seemed kindly enough, a broad smile upon his face as he wiped the rim of a wine glass with a white towel. Kyle sat himself down on a tall stool, nodding slowly as he shifted into a comfortable position. "Brandy," he whispered. As the barman walked away, Kyle eyed his own reflection in the mirror behind the counter, momentarily stunned as he realised that he himself was also a toon. Although he was still a human and still looked more or less the same as he did before, he seemed to be drawn now, fitting in perfectly with his new surroundings. He stared at himself for a few seconds, fingering his face with his new, four fingered hands. "You were right Ballard," he finally muttered. "You were right you genius." Despite the alteration of his physical appearance, he felt little to no different. He still felt like himself, still sensed the world about him as he always had. He was a toon. He was alive. Life was wonderful. There came a clink of glass as his brandy was placed down on the bar before him, nodding in gratitude as he produced a ten dollar bill from his pocket. Much like himself, the bill which had once been real was now painted. "You look slightly lost," said the barman. "You a tourist or something?" "In a way," replied Kyle. "This is Acme Acres right?" The barman smiled, nodding as he moved over to the till. "Yeah, you got that right. By the way, my name's Jim. I run this place." "Well I'm pleased to meet you Jim," grinned Kyle. "Nice bar you've got here." "Been the family business for fifty years." Kyle took a small sip of Brandy, wiping his fingers across the rim of the glass as he pondered his next question. In his mind, it was to be the most important question he had ever asked in his life. "Do you know of a school around these parts, a place called the Acme Looniversity?" The words came out with a slight hint of shakiness, creeping fear of a negative response filling his mind. "You mean the Loo?" Jim seemed moderately surprised at the question. Kyle nodded, a sudden wave of relief flowing through his system. "You're in the wrong part of town Sir," continued Jim. "The Loo is about four or five miles west of here. Perhaps you're getting it mixed up with Perfecto Prep." "No," replied Kyle. "The Acme Loo is definitely the one I'm looking for." "You got a kid there or something?" Kyle fell silent for a moment before replying, realising that he would have to choose his words very carefully. "No," he muttered after several seconds. "I haven't got any kids. I'm applying for a janitorial job. I've got an interview lined up for this afternoon." "You better get a move on then," smiled Jim. "It's almost midday as it is." Kyle drank the brandy quickly, shuddering slightly before getting to his feet. The drink would help keep him calm for an hour at least. "Thanks Jim," he grinned. "I'm local now so no doubt I'll see you again." November 1999 After suffering one insult too many from his mother, Kyle finally moved away from home. He liked to call the flat he now resided in his own place but in all reality it was nothing of the sort. He was still unemployed and practically all the bills were being paid by his girlfriend Sandra. They had been dating for almost two years now and it was at her suggestion that they had moved in together. It was a suggestion that she was already starting to regret. She was twenty two and obsessed with her job, a trainee journalist who worked long, unsociable hours at a ridiculously low rate of pay. Kyle on the other hand, wasn't interested in work at all. Sandra tolerated his cartoon obsession, had even considered it to be quite cute at first. But now that they were living together she realised that he was taking it slightly too far. He rarely spoke of anything else, all his waking moments seemingly given over to the denizens of imaginary worlds. Despite her protests however, he still spent several hours each night lost in his favourite pastime. In recent years he had grown to favour Tiny Toons above everything else, sometimes watching up to five episodes in one sitting. "It's just a kid's show," she had told him one evening. "Just a silly cartoon. Why do you have to keep watching the same episodes over and over? You must have seen them a thousand times each." "But it's so much more than just a kid's show," he had replied. "Don't you feel an intense wave of calmness whenever it's on? Don't you understand the feelings of comfort it brings?" She remained blank faced, unsure of what he was talking about. "It's a perfect world," he continued. "No death, no disease, no misery. The characters live an ideal existence. Their lives are so simple, so carefree. It's far more than just a cartoon. It's a genuine utopian ideal." Sandra simply laughed, shaking her head from side to side. "That's why it's fiction," she finally replied. "Real life could never be that easy. It's time you learnt that." After she had left the room, Kyle put another tape into the video. * * * He wandered the streets for well over an hour, more as a way of eyeing up the local environment than actually heading anywhere in particular. He was still considering whether to make for the Looniversity straight away or to leave it until tomorrow, inner excitement urging him to do everything as quickly as possible. He still regained a fraction of common sense however, realising that it might look odd for a total stranger to walk up the steps of the Loo and attempt to get in. It would be closing at three o'clock anyway so perhaps waiting would be the better idea. He had been dreaming of this day for many years. Another twenty four hours wasn't going to make that much of a difference. As he walked he met many people, some human, some animal. He still hadn't quite managed to find the nerve to speak to any of the anthropomorphic toons, the closest he had come being the nod he had given the female otter a short while back. Still, he was rapidly getting used to them by now, not even flinching as a large bear had brushed against him as he had crossed the street. He was quickly becoming desensitised to the toon world. One thing he had noticed was the tendency for a lot of the humans to be wearing Edwardian style clothing, a realisation that had at first filled him with dread. The odd fashions would seem to suggest that he was not actually in the same Acme Acres as depicted in the show but in a parallel variant of it. Dr. Ballard had warned him that this might happen but it was something that he hadn't really understood until now. If the old man's theories had indeed been correct then there were literally millions of Acme Acres, each one slightly different from the last. Was this the one he was really searching for? The fact that both the Loo and Perfecto Prep existed would seem to suggest so. But then again, they probably existed in several other dimensions too. He tried to smile. Perhaps he was in a parallel variant of Acme Acres but as long as all the characters he knew and loved were alive and well then the local fashions didn't matter in the slightest. It was as he pondered this that he rounded a corner and stopped dead, jaw dropping open as he eyed what lay before him. On the opposite side of the street lay the Acme City Dump. His heart missed a beat. He hadn't intended on meeting any of the Tiny Toon characters so soon. Momentarily standing on the sidewalk he glanced firstly towards the dumps entrance and then towards the wide street beyond. He was slightly afraid to go in, not because of what he might find but more because of what he mightn't find. What if the pink Cadillac wasn't there? It would be a sure sign that he was in the wrong universe. He shook his head. He may have been extremely nervous but he had to find out for sure. More than that, he had to find out now. Repressing his emotions he began to walk briskly towards the entrance, stomach churning as he stumbled inward. There were mountains of trash on all sides, clouds of toon flies buzzing around exposed refuse sacks and lumps of old, rusted metal. Here and there, the corroded frames of old cars protruded from the surrounding filth like the exposed bones of some long gone dinosaur herd, silent and still remains of a species which had once been proud. He hadn't an idea where to go, not too sure of where the Cadillac should have been located. His head swivelled from side to side, eyes desperately searching for the object that would put an end to his fears. It had to be here somewhere... it just had to be. A flash of pink paintwork in the corner of his eye. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes focused in on the spot. There it was! The pink Cadillac! He was standing less than fifty feet away from the home of Fifi La Fume. And then, like a child, he began to sob. More than anything else, the car seemed a confirmation of his success, concrete proof that he had really found his utopia. For seemingly the first time since his arrival he truly felt as if he was in Acme Acres. Quite unexpectedly, he began to run towards the car, stumbling once as he sprinted headlong like a man possessed. "Don't be afraid," he called. "I'm a friend. I just want to see you." There came no reply but the distant rumble of traffic. Reaching his goal, he ran his fingers across the flaky surface that was the rusting paint work, ducking down on his knees to glance inside. The interior was exactly as he remembered from the series, all scarlet upholstery and frilly pillows. Upon the dashboard lay a large bottle of Acme Depression perfume, a pink hairbrush directly next to it with traces of purple fur upon the bristles. On the floor lay a wooden chest, the bottom part of a green dress hanging over the side. There was no sign of Fifi. Kyle glanced at his watch, realising that it was only one thirty. She would most probably be still at school. For a brief moment he considered staying by the car until she returned, perhaps trying to explain to her the truth. He would certainly need a friend in this strange new world. But then again, there was a good chance that she might get pretty frightened by him. He tried to put himself in her shoes, realising that his story would seem to be the creation of a madman. He couldn't inflict that kind of worry on her. Besides, he had already decided to speak to Shirley The Loon first. She was a mind reader so she'd hardly accuse him of being crazy. And giving the Cadillac one last glance, he slowly wandered away. By the time he once again found himself on the roadside, his head was starting to throb. It was a pretty mild headache but it was there nonetheless. "Perhaps the shock's finally starting to take effect," he muttered. January 2000 Towards the end of the month, Kyle finally managed to get himself a job as a cleaner in an upmarket Gentleman's club. The place was well hidden down a back alley, not very large in terms of floor space but with a sizeable membership of more than eighty patrons. They were mostly academic types, school teachers, librarians and doctors, all of them middle aged or over. One of them, a Mr. Henry Lynch, was Sandra's father and it was on his suggestion that Kyle had applied for the post. The pay wasn't great but he got on well with the members, sometimes joining in on their conversations during his lunch breaks. Despite the tone of conversation being sometimes too deep for his liking, Kyle felt happy in their company. They were all eccentrics in their own right, none of them capable of judging him. Dr. George Ballard was a typical example, an man in his early sixties who sometimes appeared just a little confused. He seemed to spend most of his free time at the club, not talking much but simply sitting in one of the secluded corners reading a newspaper while enjoying a quiet drink. The strange friendship between him and Kyle started by pure chance. Sandra had recently asked Kyle to get rid of his cartoon collection, threatening to leave him if he didn't. Since Christmas, his Tiny Toons obsession had grown considerably stronger and he was now watching upwards of ten episodes a night. He had come to realise that he was addicted the show, needed the sense of calmness that it brought. There was no way that he could live without it now. After Sandra had given him her ultimatum he had stormed into the club some half hour late, highly irritable for the best part of the day. It was only as he wiped the dust from the shelves behind Dr. Ballard that he finally lost control of his emotions. Throwing his duster to the floor he cursed loudly, slamming his fists powerfully against the wall. In a small way he felt slightly relieved, his minor fit having released a great deal of pressure. "You feeling okay Barnstaple?" Kyle turned slowly around, so unused to the sound of Dr. Ballard's voice that for a brief moment he wasn't too sure who was speaking. No one else in the club had noticed Kyle's outburst, they were all far too busy wrapped up in their own private worlds. "I'm fine," he replied after a few moments. "Just some problems at home, that's all." "Life not going quite the way you wanted it?" smiled the old man. Kyle found it within himself to laugh, shaking his head slowly and nodding at the same time. "I suppose you could say that." "Nor mine," replied Ballard. "And I'm a bit old to start trying to get it back on track now." "Conflict of interests with my girlfriend," continued Kyle. "She doesn't agree with my hobby." "Oh dear," laughed Ballard. "Woman trouble. Always the worst that is. That's probably why I never married." Suddenly developing a serious expression, he put down his newspaper, leaning forward slightly and gesturing for Kyle to sit down. "Perhaps you're just the person I'm looking for," he said. "You seem young enough, angry enough." "I don't understand," replied Kyle, sitting himself down on a small stool. Ballard stared at Kyle carefully for a moment, as if pondering over his words. It was almost a minute before he finally spoke. "How would you react if I were to tell you that you could have another life?" he whispered. "A life where you could have anything that you could possibly want?" "I'd probably assume that you'd had too much to drink," laughed Kyle. "Oh no," continued Ballard. "It's quite true. For every man who falls down there's another who stands tall." "I do believe you're a nutcase", grinned Kyle. "Don't worry though. I like nutcases. They make me feel sane." Dr. Ballard smiled broadly, white teeth showing. "Perhaps I am a nutcase," he exclaimed. "I'd probably need to be considering my line of work." "Which is?" "Are you familiar with the concept of parallel worlds?" he asked after a few seconds of silence. "The theory that there are entire universes similar to yet at the same time quite different from our own?" "I've seen the Star Trek episode where Spock had a beard if that's what you mean." "A good example," replied Ballard. "But I personally preferred the Doctor Who story Inferno myself." "Whichever one you choose it's still just science fiction," answered Kyle. "Real life's not that exotic." "Oh but it is my boy. What would you say if I were to tell you that myself and three colleagues have not only proved that an infinite amount of alternate Earths exist but have recently sent a man to one of them and brought him back quite safely?" "Now I know you're drunk." "Not at all. There are so many worlds out there that anything you can possibly imagine is taking place on at least one of them right now. In one of those other worlds I may indeed be drunk but I assure you that this particular version of me is quite sober." Kyle shook his head and got to his feet. "I think it's time you were heading home," he smiled. "You've had enough for one day." "We need another volunteer Kyle. Someone who's willing to take a chance. Why don't you try it? You might even find your own Utopia." As he spoke he stood up, gripping Kyle by the arms in a highly enthusiastic manner. "Come on," he continued. "I'll take you to my place right now, let you see the set- up." "Even if you're telling the truth I can't just walk out of here. I've another four hours of work to go yet." "Then I'll wait for you," expressed Ballard. "I know you can help me. I've known it from the first moment I saw you." Kyle said nothing, finding it increasingly hard to tell if Dr. Ballard was crazy or not. * * * On the sidewalk outside the dump, Kyle vomited twice into the gutter. He was feeling quite queasy now, head starting to spin. "Probably just a side effect from the journey," he muttered. "I'll be okay in a short while." He sat himself down by the side of the street for several minutes, head between the knees as he attempted to will the sickness into submission. He couldn't let himself fall apart now, not when he had achieved so much. Suddenly feeling quite warm he removed his heavy jacket, wiping the sweat from his brow and allowing the breeze to ruffle his hair. There was still enough time for him to reach the Loo if he wanted to. How far had Jim said? Four or five miles? He could walk that distance in an hour. He shook his head slowly. No. He had to let common sense prevail. The Loo could wait until tomorrow. His headache seemed to fade, not going away completely but momentarily subsiding nonetheless. Just temporary nervousness he gathered. The main thing he had to worry about now was finding somewhere to sleep. Perhaps he could follow Fifi's example and shelter himself in one of the old cars from the dump. It wouldn't be perfect but at least he'd be protected if it rained. What other option did he have? He was momentarily disturbed in his thoughts by a beeping sound that was emanating from his coat. Stooping over, he removed a small cylindrical device from the inside pocket, a silver wand with a pulsing red light at one end. The recall device. Kyle grinned, flicking a switch and watching the light switch itself off. Dr. Ballard was going to have to find himself another guinea pig. He was never going back. No more insults from Sandra. No more aggravation from his mother. He was in Acme Acres now and here he was going to stay. And with this thought on his mind he felt the strength to clamber to his feet and continue on walking. January 2000 Perhaps it was just to humour the old man or perhaps it was simply the excuse to get away from Sandra for another few hours that Kyle finally agreed to accompany Dr. Ballard to his home. As soon as he had seen the old man's car he had realised that the guy was rich but it was only on seeing his house that he realised just how rich. It was a truly massive place, not quite a mansion but fast approaching it. After passing through a set of electronically operated gates, they drove up a long, gravel encrusted pathway, the house coming into view above the treetops. It was three storeys in height, extremely well maintained and with a huge glass conservatory to the rear. As soon as they had parked outside the main door, a short man in a blue suit had run forward, Dr. Ballard handing over the keys and instructing him to bring the car to the garage. It was the first time that Kyle had been near a house like this, his eyes darting from side to side in awe as they entered the massive hallway. "Most of the work goes on in the basement," explained Ballard. "I'll bring you down there in a couple of minutes. First though, I think we should have a talk." The old man led Kyle into the study, a wonderfully quaint room of dark wood panelling and well stocked bookcases. Then, offering him a drink, Dr. Ballard sat himself down in a large leather armchair. The room had a heavy smell of polish to it, a slight background aroma of yellowing pages. Just like an old section of a library or museum in fact. If gathered knowledge had a scent it would be this one. "What we have here is a little private laboratory," explained Ballard. "Very low key. Not a lot of people know what we're up to and to be perfectly honest we like it like that." "Is it legal?" asked Kyle. "Strictly speaking no. We're not sanctioned by anyone and some of our equipment was come by via dubious means." "You mean it was stolen?" Dr. Ballard smiled, sitting back in his chair. "Borrowed and replicated. Some of the technology we've been using here has been known to the US Government for several years. They used it mainly for warfare purposes. Do you know that during the Gulf War there were miniature wormholes opening up left right and centre all over the Middle East? It was the first major usage of the US Army's matter transporter. They've had the technology since the early seventies." "Matter transporter?" "Moving an object from one point to another almost instantaneously. It can work across distances of thousands of kilometres. It's achieved by momentarily ripping a small hole in the fabric of space and time, a passage known as a wormhole. Molecules are broken up at one end, sucked through the tunnel and reassembled on the other side. Quite simple really." "But surly that type of technology doesn't exist yet?" "Oh but it does. I found out about it a couple of years back from a source in Wyoming. I figured that there had to be a better use for it than transporting military hardware. It was only when I got a good look at the equipment in question that I saw the full potential." "I take it that this involves parallel worlds?" "Of course. I speculated that if the fabric of time and space could be breached then other plains of existence could be explored. The military minds who controlled this stuff were far too dull to realise the greater implications of what they had." "And you can control this thing... Go where you like?" "In theory. I always maintained that there were an infinite amount of Earths just like our own, each one just a slight bit different from the last. It's my belief that this works on a water ripple basis. The further away from the source you go, the greater the amount of differences. If I were to programme data into my computer concerning a world in which the Roman Empire never fell, it would tell me the probability of such a situation arising. It would then work out just how far away from our own dimension that such a place might exist before plotting a course via a wormhole." "You're being perfectly serious I take it?" "Oh yes. As I said before, we've already sent one man to another world and brought him back quite safely. He had always regretted never getting a chance to tell his mother that he really cared about her so he decided to visit an Earth where she was still alive. He told me that the experience changed his life." "Supposing I do believe you. Are you seriously trying to tell me that anything I can think of is really happening somewhere right now?" "Absolutely." Kyle fell silent for a moment, pondering his next question very carefully. "So there's a place where let's say, Bugs Bunny is real then?" "Certainly! Anything you can think of Barnstaple, anything at all! Not only does Bugs Bunny exist, there are infinite versions of him. Some would be identical to the Bugs we know, others slightly different in terms of fur colour or personality." "Okay," replied Kyle with a smile. "Show me this set up of yours." Five minutes later they were both in the basement, a look of extreme disappointment upon Kyle's face. The equipment was certainly there all right, it was just that it wasn't half as exciting as he might have expected. There were three computer terminals dotted around the place, standard Apple Macs from what he could tell. In the centre of the room there was an old leather chair surrounded by numerous wires and dangerous looking electronic circuits, heavy clamps set in place on each side in order to bind somebody down. It looked like an execution chamber. High up upon the wall was something that looked like an enormous metal mirror, oval shaped and perfectly flat. On the opposite wall was an identical contraption, Kyle's distorted reflection peering back at him. "Now do you believe me?" asked Ballard. "I'd have to see it in action first," replied Kyle. "Do you really expect me to sit in that chair?" "You could go wherever you wanted and help me in my research at the same time." "I'll need a few days to sleep on it. You can't expect me to just jump at this. What if I get fried?" "That hasn't happened since our early experiments with rabbits," replied Ballard, a broad grin appearing on his face as he saw Kyle's pale faced reaction. "Just a joke," he smiled. "The Americans solved all the little problems a long time ago." "I'll still need some time to think about it. Let me get back to you." "Sure," replied Ballard. "You can have as long as you want. But just consider what you could do." Kyle simply nodded, glancing firstly at Dr. Ballard and then back towards the machine. * * * Kyle pressed his nose tightly against the window of the Weenie Burger fast food outlet, breath fogging the glass as he peered inward to see if he could spot any familiar faces. The spotty teenager behind the counter looked vaguely familiar but aside from him there was no one else to be seen, certainly no one of any importance. It wasn't three o'clock yet anyway. Over the past half hour his headache had grown steadily worse, temples now throbbing and vision becoming slightly blurred. His hands were starting to itch as well, the flesh upon his fingers bright red from constant scratching. Dr. Ballard hadn't warned him of this. The first volunteer evidently hadn't experienced the problem. Moving away from the window, he glanced both left and right in a moment of confusion. He was starting to feel quite light headed. "Are you feeling okay?" As he heard the voice he became aware that there was a hand upon his shoulder, his head swiftly turning around. It was a female racoon, about five feet high and with very large green eyes. There was a look of extreme concern upon her face, a green handbag slung across the grey fur of her right arm. "I'm fine," replied Kyle after a long pause. "Just feeling a bit queasy, that's all." "Would you like me to call a doctor for you?" Kyle smiled as he shook his head. "I'll be okay in a minute." "Are you sure?" Kyle simply nodded. As he did so, the racoon gave him one last glance before continuing on her way. "Well at least the natives are friendly," he muttered after a few seconds. As he spoke there came another stab of pain from his temples, his face screwing up in a brief moment of agony. "Should of let her help," he hissed. The words barely out of his mouth, he began to stumble down the sidewalk. From the corner of his eye he spotted a large roadsign, distinct white lettering against a bright blue background. Highway 32: Second left. Acme Acres city centre: First right. Acme Looniversity: Two miles straight ahead. A sudden resolve formed in his mind. Common sense had never been kind to him. He had to get to the Loo as quickly as possible, had to see it with his own eyes. Tomorrow was too far away, too long to wait. He had to see it now. And with a mind bordering on delirium, he continued on his way. March 2000 "I'm sorry Kyle." He knocked hard upon the door of the flat, getting down on his knees and peering through the letterbox. "For goodness sake let me in Sandra! You don't expect me to sleep out here do you?" She was just inside the door, tears flowing down her face. "I can't," she replied. "It's gone too far now. You need help Kyle, you really do." "You can't just throw me out on the street because of my interests," he called. "It's doing no harm to anyone." "It is to me. You're living in a make believe world Kyle. The real world doesn't interest you anymore, nothing does except that silly cartoon show." "I'll cut down on it then," he replied. "Just two episodes a night." "You won't be able to do that." "Why not? Two episodes won't do any harm at all. I promise I won't watch any more that that." "I've destroyed all your tapes Kyle, soaked them in a bath full of water." Kyle didn't reply, a sick feeling encompassing every fibre of his being. He then started to sob. "You... You didn't," he whispered. "You couldn't." "It was for your own good." "I needed them... I really needed them." His hands were starting to shake, eyes welling up with tears. What she had done was akin to murdering his friends. "I needed them..." he muttered again. "I really did." And loosing the will to speak any further, he slipped to the ground in silence, curling up into a tight ball and sobbing madly. A few minutes later she opened the door and let him in. No words passed between them that night. No words would ever pass between them again. At eight o'clock the following morning Kyle phoned Dr. Ballard, saying only three words before hanging up. "I'll do it." * * * Where was he? In Acme Acres? Back home? He no longer knew, keeping to a precise course as stumbled along the sidewalk. The pain was really bad now, his hands breaking out in blisters. He was pretty sure that his hair was falling out too. He had to get somewhere, that was for sure. But where? His body was gripped by sheer instinct, rivers of sweat pouring down his forehead. Every so often, a passer-by would stop to ask if he was okay. He never replied, never even registered the words. He was going somewhere and he had to get there soon. It was almost ten to three. March 2000 "Most ingenious Barnstaple." Dr. Ballard was reading through the notebook in which Kyle had written all he knew about the world of Acme Acres. All the characters were listed along with information about their personalities, likes and dislikes, hobbies and love interests. He had described the Looniversity in great detail, drawn maps of where he figured such places as Weenie Burger's and the Megaplex would be. Now all that was left was for Dr. Ballard to feed the relevant data into the computers. "A good idea," he had told Kyle after the two had enjoyed a quiet drink. "You've deliberately chosen the strangest world you can think of. If you successfully get there then my theory of infinite universes will be proven for sure." But Kyle wasn't listening. "Let's just get on with it," he said. "I'm more ready now than I'll ever be." Dr. Ballard nodded, leading the way as they walked swiftly down the steps to the basement. "Your appearance will probably alter to resemble a cartoon character once you arrive," he said. "After transportation your body will be reconstructed from the matter in that universe. Not only your body but your clothes and contents of your pockets too. You won't have to worry about fitting in." "And if anything goes wrong?" Dr. Ballard handed Kyle a long silver wand with a red diode at one end. "A recall device," he replied. "Just press the button as soon as you're ready to return. I'll pick up the signal from here and transport you immediately." "You've thought of everything," muttered Kyle. "I hope so Barnstaple. I really hope so." * * * He knew now that he was dying. Why he wasn't too sure. It was probably just a common cold he thought, a particular strain that didn't exist in his own dimension and to which he had no immunity. He could have picked it up anywhere. From the driver who helped him get to his feet. From Jim the barman. From Fifi's Cadillac even. It was academic now of course. This new world was rejecting him like a virus and he wasn't going to live much longer. His hands were now covered in red boils, his head throbbing as if there were a pneumatic drill inside. There were probably a thousand other Acme Acres where he would have survived, a thousand other Acme Acres where he could have been happy. But not here. As with everything else in his life, he had simply been dealt a poor hand. Before him now lay two large statues, one of a rabbit and one of a duck. Beyond them, a clock tower stretched high into the air, a clock tower that even to his highly confused mind seemed oddly familiar. Could it be? He opened his eyes wide, realisation dawning. The Acme Looniversity. There it was, standing right before him just like he had always envisioned it. The statues of Bugs and Daffy. The clock tower. The large red lettering directly above the double doors that served as the entrance. It was real. It was solid. He was home. Momentarily regaining his senses he glanced towards his watch. One minute to go. As soon as the bell sounded those double doors would burst open, hordes of young toons that were eager to escape the drudgery of schoolwork fleeing in mass down the steps. He had to locate Shirley. She would understand. She could read his thoughts. Reaching the steps he collapsed to the ground, trying to crawl upwards but simply slipping back down again. He couldn't die now, not when he had come this far. His head felt as if it were about to explode, blisters popping and yellow coloured scum trickling down his fingers. Only seconds left... Only moments to go until he would finally meet the ones whom he had always considered friends. For the first time in his life he was truly happy. The ringing of the bell was so loud it must have been audible twenty miles away. Almost simultaneously, the double doors were flung open, at least fifty colourful bodies all trying to squeeze through at once. But they never ran any further. They had all become frozen on the spot, eyes fixed upon the hunched human who lay still at the foot of the steps. There came a series of hushed whispers, the catching of breath from a couple of the girls. Towards the back, somebody screamed. Finally, six toons walked forward, grim expressions on each of their faces. Buster and Babs. Plucky and Shirley. Hamton and Fifi. They gathered around the body and stared at it intently for a few moments. They all had the same nasty suspicion. "Is he-?" whispered Babs. Buster leant forward, placing a white gloved hand to Kyle's neck before nodding slowly. Fifi drew her eyes away, burying her face in Hamton's shoulder and sobbing gently. Shirley gripped Plucky tightly, neither of them too sure what to do. Behind them, the rest of the toons glanced between themselves. "At least he seemed to go happily," said Buster. "Look at the smile on his face." "But those blisters?" asked Shirley. "The mondo bizarro paleness of his skin. I've never seen anything like that before." "I don't know," replied Buster. "I really don't." Twenty minutes later an ambulance had arrived and Kyle's body was ready to be taken to the city morgue for examination. By the time they covered him up with a white sheet, almost all the toons had managed to get a good look at the corpse. But Kyle had never managed to get a good look at them. THE END Sorry about the downbeat ending folks but I couldn't help it. I'm Irish. Us Irish are only good at writing tragedies. August 2001