I wrote this story for a creative writing class, and I took the simplest idea I could think of (a time paradox) and tried to make it as strange as possible. Just to make this assignment more of a challenge, my teacher, the Great Mister Perez, had me and my partner use the same settings and character names (I picked Bill Vox and Danath, she picked the setting).

A dusty wind picked up pace as it swept the roadside, scattering the vegetationless grounds, with its infinite fingers.

Topeka – is all he could see. The half-naked man lay along the dirt highway behind a tiny mound, obstructing his view of the abandoned road.

Topeka, Kansas – Population 5,000. A tattered white sign, rotted from wind and rain, was carelessly placed on the side of the roadway.

"And I have no clothes," Bill commented.

He was right; Bill staggered to his feet in a cloth wrapped around his waist. Where did his clothes go?

"Where did my clothes go?" he managed to stutter. His scrawny body could barely be sustained by his crumpling legs. As he attempted to take a step, he found himself unable to move his feet, and grabbed the sign to prevent his collapse.

"Who put these weights around my ankles?" Several bricks were tied around his ankles by string, completely inhibiting the motion of his feet. They were large, red cinder with holes carved through them, securing them in place.

His body as unwieldy as a drunkard, Bill stumbled in his stupor, and hit the ground hard. As he stared off toward the nearby town, hallucinated flashes of lightning created a circle around Bill, lighting his own center-stage of bewilderment, pure and violent. He could see the wandering people disappear in open areas and re-appear on the roofs of the shanties and worn-out buildings littering the space.

"This place sucks," he lightly commented to himself. A dusky, red sky held its grip over him, soothing his eyes to ease the adjustment to the light. With his meager strength, Bill began to untie the strings from his ankles. He thought to himself about who had the capabilities to do such a thing.

Then he remembered… A face. Perhaps belonging to a small barnyard rodent, with a horrid haircut and a pair of spectacles smaller than any he had ever seen. And it started coming back to him.

A week ago, a man had come along, V--, V something. A hazy picture appeared in his mind, vaguely presenting the man. "Vox," he said. That was it. The last thing he saw. Finally, getting the strings untied, a revitalized Bill climbed to his feet and began walking determinedly toward town.

Without any clothes.

I must have been sleepwalking. Again.

-----

"So, I say to this guy, ‘Where the hell didja put the cheese?’"

No laughter.

"C’mon people, ‘Where the hell is the cheese?’"

Still none.

"Heh… Anyway, I know this guy, who has some strange anatomical anomaly. For instance, instead of having two of some major organs, he ha…"

The curtain closed across the creaky, semi-polished wooden floor, its vomit-orange sheet barely covering the stage. Through the rips, the bored audience watched the rodent-like man leave the stage. Quietly, everyone returned to their previous conversation, sipping their tepid drinks and nibbling their stale food.

Why are they funny when he tells them?

 -----

Walking quickly around town, Bill began his search for a set of clothes. Anything would do at this point; his feet hurt, and his limbs began to numb as the temperature began its crude drop.

From door to door, lock to lock, and frightened face to frightened face, Bill Blakerby, suave comedian grandeur, could not find a single person who recognized him. Until…

"Hey, I know you," called a raspy voice from across the road. "Phil Flakerfly. Yes, I’ve heard of you." Bill slowly crossed the road to the enigmatic voice, finding an all-in-all decent building. "Where the hell are your clothes?"

"I’ve been wondering the same thing. Now, who’re you?" Bill inquired.

The door opened wider to reveal a short Frenchman, his face covered in gray hair, with a beard extending down to his stomach. He held his cane with a firm grip. Clearly, he was younger than he looked at a first glance. He had sturdy arms and taut skin covering his face and the rest of his body. His deepset brown eyes stared down Bill’s, instilling a sense of trust deep inside him. "My name, good sir, is Danath."

Danath? What the hell kind of a name is that?

"Danath?" Bill repeated, "Where are you from?"

"France, a long time ago. Before you speak, I want to explain. I am from the early fifteenth century, and I profess my wisdom through the science of physics. I am here, in this exact time, to prevent time from exterminating itself." He finished with a solemn look.

"What?" Bill perplexed with a confused shake of his head.

"Come in, good sir, and feel free to use my facilities. You are still experiencing memory lapses from a time flatulation. I have a shower, and some fresh clothes that are your exact size." Danath continued, "Just relax, and be comfortable here."

-----

Vox strolled out the back door of the restaurant in his sparkly clothes. Lime green from head to toe, he stood out against the dimly lit houses from the setting sun. He carefully made his way around town, looking down the thin alleyways for any muggers who may wish to steal his lucky suit, or him, as he was accustomed to in his day and age. All the coasts clear, Vox began to whistle a tune, old to him, undeveloped to the town.

That is what caught Danath’s ear.

-----

Who is this guy? What was all that crap about time and France, and physics? What does he want me for? Bill could only wonder as he put on his fresh layer of clothing. Strangely enough, they were scentless, stainless, and devoid of wrinkles. He looked into a finely polished mirror at his cleanly shaven face and fresh hair, with his clean body covered in comfortably fitting clothing.

He stepped out of the bedroom, the light of the night dimly lighting the hallway. The sun had finally set, creating the greatest shortage of luminescence Bill had ever noticed.

A bad omen?

-----

There were two men sitting in the lounge conversing. Danath’s French accent was discernible, and the other was rather familiar, a voice he had heard before. There was something childish to it – very nasal and somewhat scratchy with a higher pitch than Danath’s.

"So, what you’re saying is," the annoying voice paused, "is that if I happen to tell the joke that Bill Blakerby is supposed to make up, I’ll disrupt the space-time continuum?"

"No you imbecile," Danath sharply replied, "It will make everything in existence disappear – including you, this planet, and your beautiful company…"

"What the hell is going on here," he whispered to himself, waiting outside in the silent moonlight.

Bill stepped into the den and began, "Danath, thanks for the fresh rodent," he stopped as he saw the rodent-like man. "Well, hello hello, good sir, fair rodent."

"I tire of your witless remarks," Vox began," so stop putting me to sleep." Bill could see Danath begin to chuckle, more so out of pity for Vox than for his horrible joke. Vox sucked up his non-existent support and began talking again. "Now, remove your cow keister from this room." Danath chuckled again.

"Funny Vox, you’re a real funny guy. You should follow up on a career," Bill threw back, as Vox’ face lit up.

"Really? I have thought about it before. Where should I start?" Vox asked contently, his eyes wide with anticipation, and his smile widened teethy, and pearly-white, straight teeth breaking the darkness. He looked at Danath, who appeared to be getting irritated with the screeching of Vox’ voice.

"I was being facetious Vox," Bill shattered Vox’ faith with this, as his eyes became glossy beneath his small spectacles.

"Okay, good sirs, cease. You are heare for a reason, and a very good one at that." Danath motioned for the two to come closer. "The two of you are involved in a sequence of events that can ultimately undo the entirety of creation. This is what we call a time paradox; since you, Vox," he started, as he grabbed Vox on the shoulder to be sure he had his complete attention, "are stealing Sir Blakerby’s jokes. As srupid as it may sound, his jokes must come from him first. If you continue stealing his jokes, you will completely destroy the space-time continuum, thus completely destroying our universe."

"And how is this?" Vox inquired rather speculatively.

"If you were to go back in time and play Mozart his own music, and he copies it down, it would defy the laws and bounds of time," Bill stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Danath gave him a perplexed stare, and shook his head. "Precisely Bill, because the question will be: Where did the music come from? Everything is relative, and there is an apparent leniency to the system. So, Vox, you are to stop calling Bill’s jokes. Not only will you possibly destroy the entire universe, but it’s quite certain that you will not succeed. Ever. Your jokes are horrible and have wit in the negative region. So you must stop the audiences from laughing at you rather than at your jokes."

Vox was speechless. He could not possibly conceive the possibility that he now had the power to completely eliminate existence. The wrinkles in his forehead pinched together underneath his sloppy hair, as he shuffled nervously in his lime green suit. Slowly, he stood up and walked to the front door, contemplating his point of existence, and why he was here to begin with.

As he opened the door, he began to speak: "I’ll…see…what I can…do." With this, Vox walked out the door and closed it softly behind him.

"Now Bill, I am supposed to give you something. This will forever be a trademark gag, universal, and completely appropriate for any given situation. Forever, it will be the symbol of comedy, and will eventually help the human race save itself from self-annihilation. May I present to you…" Danath pulled out a box and opened it, exposing a pasty yellow color. The form of a barnyard animal sat before Bill, expressing every emotion possible in one single face. Tiny ridges and crests covered the major part of its body. He recognized the legs, the long neck, and the exceptionally small beak. It was, "…the rubber chicken."

"The rubber chicken?" Bill took it from the box in both hands, caressing it gently, as if it were a newborn baby. "The rubber chicken," he confirmed to himself in a soothing voice.

"Remember, the fate of the universe lies on the presentation of this at your next show," Danath reminded Bill. He was not nervous in the least, but had a rather content grin on his face. "The question of time will always be, ‘Where did the rubber chicken come from?’ because, this most certainly did not come from my time, and could not have come from the future."

"That’s quite interesting, but…" Bill turned to Danath somewhat worriedly, "how will I know that I still exist?" He continued to caress the rubber chicken in his hands, examining every detail and curve, not being rough with the icon in the least.

"You’re still here, aren’t you?"

In the crowded restaurant lounge, a tall, lanky man stood on the stage, spewing out satirical and whimsical remarks on every issue to be named. The audience, smoking their French cigarettes and drinking their German beers, listened intently, in an almost incessant fit of laughter. Bill had his audience rolling and responding, like a god gone comedic.

"And then a Frenchman comes by, and tells me, ‘Phil,’ yes, he called me Phil, ‘this here icon is the key to all of your problems, and is the single building block of our universe, not to mention the meaning of life, and the source of true happiness. Take it, while ya still can.’ And he hands me this." Bill stepped backstage for a moment and pulled out the rubber chicken. But before he can go back onto stage, he sees a rustling in the back.

A tall, powerful man is holding Vox in a choking position, as they are both fading away, dematerializing into the wall. Vox struggled horribly to escape the man, who kept calling him Bill; the man swung him back and forth, trying to dodge the blind clawing of the other.

Right before they had completely faded away, Bill took notice of the object in Vox’ right hand. The weapon he was using to fend off the man was none other than…

A rubber chicken.

-----

The audience was held in suspense as the comedian wandered off the stage. After a moment, he finally re-appeared.

"May I present to you," Bill said proudly, "the rubber chicken!" With this, the audience broke into a round of laughter, while Bill stood on stage waving his little toy around.

-----

"Damnit Mikey, I was just about to destroy the universe!" Vox whined in his high-pitched, whiny voice.

"I’m truly sorry Mister Gates, but you are due for your medication about now," Mikey said as he tripped William and strapped him to the table. He pulled a small vial from a nearby cabinet and forcefed William two red capsules. "Now just relax, and you’ll be right," he started, as Bill Gates passed out, "asleep."

See, we are all still here. Is Bill Gates that powerful?