In the middle of Arizona, a lone convenience mart stood amid cacti and tumbleweed. Jesse Tripps opened the door, to the sound of a country cowbell. A short fellow with round wire-rim glasses sat behind the counter. "Need a fill-up?" asked the clerk.
"No, a can of lighter fluid, today's paper, a box of matches, that bottle of that cream soda over there and all the money in the drawer," Jesse said.
"You're joking right? Where's your gun?"
"Oh, yes, right. I almost forgot." Jesse lifted his finger toward the man and drew what appeared to be a doorway in the air and then he stepped through, almost giving the cashier a heart-attack.
The clerk started to reach for the phone, but a gun was abruptly shoved against his head and a brown leather bag was shoved into his hands.
"Look man, I didn't see nothing, okay." The clerk whimpered.
"I said I wanted the money." Jesse said. The clerk began shuffling money into the brown, leather bag.
"What do you want me to do with it?" the clerk asked.
"Throw it behind you." The clerk did so and the money disappeared, followed by a moment later by Jesse. Some impulse made the clerk go diving into the doorway, only to hit a shelf of gummy worms.
The clerk rubbed his aching jaw and told himself that next time he would be ready.
He spent the next few weeks filling a safe with money to set a trap for the thief. Finally, Jesse walked in, wearing dark sunglasses, and a brown leather duster. On his head was a cowboy's hat with human teeth around the brim. "Need a fill-up?" the clerk asked with a wicked smile smeared upon his face.
"No, a can of lighter fluid, today's paper, a box of matches, that bottle of cream soda over there and all the money in that safe."
"Not until you pull a gun on me, Duke."
"Just give me a second, okay." He started to draw the same doorway as before, but as he started to step into it, the clerk produced a pistol from behind his back and fired a bullet into Jesse's head. Now that Jesse was dead, the clerk left him bleeding on the floor and hopped into the doorway.
Beyond the doorway was a long, white room with refrigerated drawers. The clerk opened a drawer. Inside was a dead body with a name and a note attached. It read: These men have died in the service of owning reality. Their key to reality has been passed down to another. After reading this, he shut the drawer and drew a door back into the convenience mart. He had to retrieve the body, before the cops found it. It was too late; the police had already showed up. As he stepped back into reality, guns were aimed in his direction.
"Look, there is obviously some mistake. I need to put that body in a drawer." The clerk said.
"Not another step," the cops said. "You move we shoot." The clerk charged toward the body and tried to pull it into the doorway before the police could act, but the cycle was finished. The cops opened fire and killed the clerk.
The key was found in the clerk's pocket and discarded into a museum, where it stayed forever. Now free, the room began to fill with the fluids of life and grow a beating heart. The bodies became the skeletal frame of what would soon be a living being.
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