GZ Tales: The Bard's Apple Pie: Part 1

 

The day he strode into that dusty little town was one they wouldn't forget for generations. Dust coated his brown leather jacket. His long hair draped past his shoulders. If that wasn't enough to turn heads, the electric guitar slung across his back of red and gold certainly made up for it. He walked down the broken brick and dirt street of the little Texas town and entered the diner. On his way he passed the town barbershop, grocery, and an antique shop. It wasn’t much of a little town as you could throw a rock from end to end. It was run mostly by a few farmers and country folk so strangers stuck out like a neon sign. He took a seat at the counter and ignored the neck twisters in the room as he picked up the menu.

 

            “What can we get you?” The waitress said with indifference. He couldn't help but notice the thick invisible cloud of her perfume and how her hair was up so tight it offered migraines to onlookers. Her lipstick was on thick and red. The only thing missing from the older lady's stereotype was the loud cracking and smacking of gum.

 

            He forced himself to ignore the stench of that perfume but leaned back a little, “Joyce, it's been a long time since I had coffee or pie. So I'd like a slice of your apple pie with a nice cup of coffee, please.”

 

            With little else to do, Joyce had his order for him promptly. She almost tossed the plate down with a clatter. “Enjoy,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

 

            He was about take his first bite when the heavyset man next to him interrupted, “Actually, Mister, that's the best pie in the county.”

 

            He took his bite and chewed thoughtfully, “It is very good. I can see I came to the right place.”

 

            “So, you're a musician, huh?”

 

            “Something like that,” he paused and held the coffee cup under his nose for a moment, closing his eyes to breathe in the aroma before taking a sip.

 

            “What do you mean? You either is or you ain't.”

 

            “Man, that is good coffee. Alright, is then.”

 

            “Okay then. Are you in a rock band?”

 

            “Stop bugging the man and let him finish his business, Joe,” said a man in a hunter’s vest and hat sitting in a booth, “I'm sure he's just passing through and wants to get on his way.”

 

            The guitar-man seemed to recognize the attitude and disdain for strangers, “Not to worry, friend, as soon as I'm done, I'll be on my way.”

 

            “Rick, don't you start nothing,” Joyce warned, “You still owe Lee for a broken table.”

 

            A small man came out in an apron on cue, “Yeah, and the Sheriff said I can ban you if you break anything else!”

 

            “That's unfortunate,” the guitar-man said as he worked on another bite.

 

            “Oh, yeah?” Rick said, “How so?”

 

            “No offense, friend,” he paused on his next to last bite, “Geez, this is good pie, but as I was saying; this guitar on my back is very special. You're going to think I'm crazy, but it tells me things.”

 

            “That is crazy,” Rick sneered with egg dangling from his mustache that everyone was now noticing.

 

            “It gets better. You see, why I found you're owing this fine establishment for damages so unfortunate (if not ironic) is that, in a few minutes, you're whole town is going to need repairs.”

 

            “What the heck are you talking about?” Rick demanded.

 

            “Mister, you take your crazy talk and just be on your way,” Joyce ordered.

 

            He stood and washed down his last bite with the rest of his coffee. He turned to Joe, “Best in the county? I believe you.”

 

            “Alright now, just you go,” Joyce ordered again.

 

            An explosion rocked the place, as the guitar-man watched the townsfolk run toward the windows.

 

            To say what was coming down the road was alien would be an understatement. There were six of them carrying strange rifles with glowing barrels. They were decked out in black and silver armor, mostly black. If they had faces, they were hidden behind blank, silver masks with no features or eye holes. Their helmets reminded everyone of old samurai warriors. It would have been preferable if they were samurai warriors. They were firing beams of reddish light from those rifles at cars and the fronts of buildings. Anything they hit exploded into a ball of fiery debris.