{{ contest.story_page_sticky_bar_text }} Be the first to recommend this story.
Get Free Copy

95 free copies left

This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.

0
Free copy left
You can read our best books
Mark Labbe would love your feedback! Got a few minutes to write a review?
Write a Review

Kev (omgiag)

By Mark Labbe All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Scifi

Blurb

Meet Kev, a wonderful guy by all accounts. Well, maybe that isn't entirely accurate. Some might find him a little difficult to be around given his rather chronic memory problems, memory problems that have caught Kev and his friends (everyone in all of the infinite universes) in a sort of loop, a loop that won't be broken unless Kev can get his memories back and figure things out or all creation comes to a horrible end, a distinct possibility, given that Satan is quite sick of this whole existence thing. Of course, saving all of creation is far from all Kev will have to do. He will have to try to save humanity from a mad Bladrithian, the universe from himself and nihilistic Canadians, and survive a deadly intergalactic game show hosted by a psychotic autonomous electronic entity named B24ME. None of this will be easy with Kev's memories lost, lost at least for the most part most of the time, and his friends playing a game with him, a game with rules Kev has forgotten, rules that Kev's friends won't share with him (most of the time), and goals that are completely lost on him, a most unwelcome distraction from the core problems Kev faces.

In the Beginning Again

“Wake up, Kev,” said the voice that had been talking to me for as long as I could remember, a voice that told me many things, things that often disturbed me, things I often forgot. It claimed to be me, my own voice, but I didn’t quite believe it.

It often told me I would know everything if only I could remember, although I rarely remembered it telling me that.

I rolled out of bed, my eyes barely open, changed out of my pajamas and went out to the kitchen. My mom had prepared breakfast, my favorite, French toast, berries and bacon.

“Are you excited, Kev?” said my mom as I sat at the counter.

“Excited?” I said.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” she said.

“I guess.” I forgot many things, my conversations with my parents and others often full of reminders. I forgot names and faces, places and events. Sometimes I forgot who I was.

“It’s your ninth birthday, Kev. Don’t you remember? We’re having a party.”

“Oh, right,” I said.

The voice told me I was forgetting something else, but wouldn’t tell me what. Sometimes the voice spoke in riddles or dropped hints, and usually when it did, things happened that it claimed I should have known would happen. Sometimes the voice claimed that these things had already happened, although it never explained how that could be possible.

“Uncle Joe is coming. So is Aunt Helen,” said my mom, sitting beside me at the table.

That perked me up a bit. Uncle Joe gave the best presents. He had given me a model airplane on my eighth birthday that I had taken apart and put back together many times, maybe an infinite number of times. Aunt Helen also gave great gifts, though they were often strange. For my eighth birthday she gave me a clear cube about three quarters of an inch on a side. When I asked her what it was she said, “I don’t know, but it’s yours.” Sometimes when holding the cube, sometimes when I had thoughts about who I was or what I was doing, the cube would vibrate or pulse. I kept it with me at all times and would often sit with it for hours seeing which thoughts would elicit a response. The voice had told me many times over it would save me one day.

I finished breakfast and left the house to go out to my fort, a small hut my dad helped me construct out in the woods behind our house. As I left the house, I saw my dad on a ladder, wrangling with the same testy gutter he had been wrangling with for weeks.

“Hey, Kev,” said my dad.

“Hey,” I said.

“Going to the fort?”

“Yeah,” I said, not stopping to talk.

I had named the fort Uthio and imagined it a tropical home on a distant ocean world, the most beautiful world in the universe, my refuge from the dark lord, B24ME, an evil robot bent on my destruction. Inside the fort were a small table and a chair, and on the table lay a journal and some colored pens. I often wrote in the journal, often after the voice told me to write something in it.

I sat down and opened the journal, turning to a random, blank page. I very rarely turned to pages I had written, primarily because I knew there were things in that journal I did not want to read, things that I knew I would find disturbing. The voice would often complain about this, telling me that I would never remember things, important things, unless I read the journal entries I had written. Most of the time I ignored the voice, an annoying presence that wouldn’t leave me alone.

I picked up a red pen and wrote, “Today is my ninth birthday. Having a party. I don’t know who will come. Do I know anyone?”

“Write ‘Beware of Clive,’” said the voice.

“Why do you always tell me to write that?” I said, not writing the words as instructed.

“Because you need to remember it,” said the voice.

“Why?”

“Just write it. I’m sick of reminding you.”

I wrote, “The voice wants me to beware of Clive.”

“You should have written, ‘I want me to write beware of Clive,’ or just ‘Beware of Clive,’” said the voice.

“Whatever. I wrote it,” I said.

“Something is going to happen today, and I can’t stop it,” said the voice.

“What is going to happen?”

“Something terrible, but you are going to be okay.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me what?”

“I don’t remember what, but I know it will happen today.”

“Great. Maybe you shouldn’t have told me anything. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“I think you’ll find, dear Kev, that knowing ahead of time will save you from terrible things.”

I wrote, “The voice is annoying and I wish it would go away.”

“Not nice,” said the voice.

I wrote, “I guess wishes don’t come true.”

“Brat,” said the voice.

“You are going to meet Clive soon,” said the voice.

“When?”

“I’m not sure, but you will.”

“I don’t know if I believe you. Most of the things you tell me will happen haven’t happened.”

“Well, they will happen. In fact, some have already happened. Is that right? It is probably right. Some have happened and others might happen. Some might happen again,” said the voice.

I flipped back through the pages of my journal, not heeding the warning in my mind, and found an entry that read, “He says I will be on a deadly game show. B24ME is evil,” and read it out loud.

“That happened and will most likely happen again,” said the voice. “Beware of the blue cube.”

“I think you’ve told me that already,” I said.

“Yeah, but you need to write it down so you don’t forget.”

“Well, I’m not writing it. Go away.”

I found my page again and wrote, “Who are my friends?”

This time, the voice said nothing. It had departed, but for how long it would be gone I did not know.

I continued writing, “Do I know Clive? If not, when will I meet him? Should I beware of him, or is the voice playing a trick on me?”

I paused for a moment, trying to remember other things the voice had told me, remembering something rather odd. I remembered the voice telling me who Clive was. I couldn’t believe it, putting my pen to paper and writing, “Clive is,” and then pausing, pausing because I couldn’t remember who the voice had said Clive was.

After a few minutes trying to recover the memory, I gave up, realizing I would not remember by trying to remember. I almost never remembered things I tried to remember. Frustrated and in no mood to continue writing, I decided to go back to my room.

As I left my fort, I noticed two small cubes on the ground, a red one and a black one. I picked them up and examined them. The red one had no markings of any kind. The black one had a small blue button and a digital display that read, “2005,” which happened to be the current year. The two cubes were identical in size to my clear cube. Who had left these cubes on the ground? Had I? “What are these cubes?” I said to the voice. I received no answer.

I pressed the button on the black cube once and let go. Nothing happened. I pressed it twice and nothing happened, and then, figuring it was just some useless toy I had previously discarded, possibly something Aunt Helen had given me, I put it and the red cube in my pocket.

I returned to my room to continue work on my airplane, now almost completely disassembled. How many times had I taken it apart and put it back together? It seemed like an infinite number of times, though I knew that wasn’t possible, or at least not probable, although I harbored some amount of suspicion that I had, in fact, taken it apart and put it back together a near infinite number of times, a strange thought for a young boy to have, perhaps, but the thought I had.

Some time later, my mother called out to me. It was time for the party. I went into the kitchen and saw my mother and two kids I recognized, although I couldn’t put names to their faces. Of course, they knew I wouldn’t remember and had a little fun with me, claiming to be Smelly Pockets and Dung Beetle. We went outside and started a game of pig. Soon after that, the rest of the guests arrived, including Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen.

A truck pulling a horse trailer pulled into the driveway, and two men, both wearing black t-shirts, each imprinted on the front with a red maple leaf, unloaded two ponies, leading them out into the front yard. Printed on the backs of the shirts were what I presumed were their names, Bob and Doug. I looked at these two men for a moment, wondering if I had seen them before, in a different age, but not so distant a place, and then abandoned that thought, dismissing it as just another artifact of my chronic memory problems.

I looked at the ponies as one of them relieved itself on the lawn, and in that moment, I saw that event played over and over countless times. I then turned and looked at my parents who were chatting with Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen. How many times had they had that conversation? What were they talking about? Was it the same every time? Uncle Joe saw me and waved for me to come over, which I dutifully did.

“Kev Kev Bo Bev,” cried Uncle Joe reaching out to give me a hug. “How you doing, buddy?”

“Good,” I said.

“Just good?” said Uncle Joe, a playful frown on his face.

“Better than good,” I said. “Are those men going to clean the poop up?” I pointed to the men who had brought the ponies.

“No, you’re going to have to clean it up, Kev,” said Aunt Helen in her serious silly voice, the voice she used when she made some wisecrack or when she had been drinking. In this case, I assumed that she had been drinking and that this was, in fact, a wisecrack.

“Really?” I said in a not so serious way, but also seriously considering the memory of having this conversation before, thinking that not possible, although possibly likely.

The party commenced, all the kids taking turns riding the ponies, the other kids chasing around in the yard or playing basketball. I took my turn on one of the ponies and was immediately bucked off. How many times had I been bucked off that pony?

Some time later, we all sat down to lunch, my favorite, barbequed chicken and rice. Some of the kids had hoped for pizza, a regular enough offering for a birthday party, but I didn’t really like pizza. Well, I liked pizza. In fact, I really liked it, but I had this strange memory that haunted me, a memory of a birthday when I had pizza at my party, during which my parents died, struck down by a fallen satellite. I knew this was absurd, of course. My parents were alive. However the memory of their death was something I couldn’t ignore, and the memory of having pizza on the day they died was also one I couldn’t suppress. Do you understand? Perhaps not yet.

After lunch, my mom brought out the cake, candles lit. Everyone sang the obligatory song, and then I blew out the candles, forgetting to make a wish when I did. In all of the seemingly infinite times I had blown those candles out, had I ever made a wish? I thought not.

I heard something and looked up, just in time to see a large object falling from the sky, trailing a long contrail of smoke, fast approaching and heading our way. I remembered something and froze, unable to say the words that might have made a difference.

Seconds later, the body of the airplane crashed onto our next door neighbor’s house, and the tail of the plane landed on my parents, who had been off to the side talking, killing them instantly. Images of this event in an infinity of forms flashed through my head, and then my mind shut down.

What followed, confusion, chaos, screaming people and, eventually, police cars and fire trucks, was lost on me. Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen had taken me inside my house to protect me from the ghastly aftermath of this calamity, and were doing their best to reassure me that everything would be all right, although I didn’t understand why they were acting this way, given that I had completely forgotten what had happened.

The next day, I still didn’t remember what had happened, and didn’t remember my parents. Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen didn’t tell me what had happened, nor did they tell me anything when I asked why I would be living with Aunt Helen going forward. Despite the fact that I had completely forgotten my parents, I had not forgotten my home, and I thought it strange that I would leave it behind.

Get Free Copy
0
Free copy left
You can read our best books
Next Chapter
Further Recommendations

Tavis Ryan King: "What Happened to Charlie Carmine" is a fabulous mo-gee-toe cocktail fuelled midget orgy of psychology, fantasy and sarcasm. I laughed out loud when reading this novel so many times it made the London commuters I shared space with look at me with curious disdain - and I did not care.The protagoni...

Pablo Rojas: Love the story, at the end it is a western story, simple, yet giving hints and pieces of the situation that is happening all over ravencroft´s universe. easy to read and always keeping with the main stream story I want to keep reading about, Olafson´s adventures.

PaulSenkel: If you like Arthur C. Clarke's Odyssey, especially The Final Odyssey, then you will probably also enjoy this book. I definitely did.It does, however, address a more adolescent public than the above-mentioned book.I enjoyed the story and finished it in a few days. The overall situation on earth an...

spooky jedi: Love your story!I really hope more people read this story!Its amazing!! The plot is very unique and different, which is very good to have in a world full of stories. You have very complex and intellectual plot line, with your many loveable character and that hint of 'will they, won't they' is ju...

Dru83: This is the second or third time I've read this one and I just love it. It has just about everything you could ever want packed into one scifi story. It still has some parts that are a little rough in terms of grammar, punctuation, and word usage, but it's still an awesome story. I love how detai...

Jennifer Kane Martin: I am a high school teacher, and the dialogue and inner thoughts are PERFECT. However, the lack of capitalization, punctuation, and the typos are distracting. Don't let these get in the way of a potentially good story.

Laraine Smith: This should be a movie! You are talented! It is that good! Keep it up! It is visual! It grabbed me! Don't give up!

Dina Husseini: It was a great hook. I do not like reading scifi because they end up being like all the rest but this one kept me wanting more.

Schaelz: I was intrigued from the second I started reading, and it kept my interest the whole way through. Chelsea has a way with words that will enchant you until the very end. She is very poetic with the way she mixes genres and keeps you on the edge of your seat. The main character is also very relat...

More Recommendations

Jasmine Chow: As I read this story, I was reminded some what of Terry Pratchett, especially some descriptions of politics and economics. The sci-fic setting is quite intriguing. Writing style is quite lovely and grew on me slowly. I was also slightly reminded of Mark Twain, especially his book A Connecticut Ya...

borkarprasad: Nicely laid story. Needed a little more ghost and Raven conversations. Initially, Had everyone on suspect list but satisfied by the precision to capture the killer. Waiting for more Raven and Cade adventures.

snowview03: This is the first book I have read on this app and I loved it! When I read the title I thought about the hunger games, but this novel is so much more. Some book have a comparison between other books that fallow like premises so i will do my own: Arena has the compellingly emotional stresses and t...

ianwatson: The comedy is original and genuinely funny, I have laughed out loud many times reading this book. But the story and the plot are also really engaging. The opening two or three chapters seem quite character-dense but they all soon come to life and there is no padding, filling or wasted time readin...

nakhvavaishu: just loved it...u cant put this book down once u start reading...from the very first page it is an emotional rollercoaster....the way author has described the undescribable😉 chemistry between our very own jay n aqueela its just way tooo awesome...i just felt the love n mischievious bonding betwee...

About Us:

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.