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TRIM

Chapter 1

TRIM

Contrary to popular belief the universe is full of beings that sit quietly while you make all your noise. It won’t take but a minute to realize this once stepping into the shoes of an extremely ancient being known as TRIM. It all started with some odd stationary and a note left for Jonas in his cockpit.

Heathrow / London / March 31st 2016/

“Another flight to the other side tonight love?”
“I’m not feeling the best Jonas, keep it in your pants.”
“Oh cmon, riding the crimson wave are we?”
“Honestly, not tonight.”
“I’m only fucking with you. Shall we look at the cargo before we take off?”

Stumbling down the steps and into the cargo hull Jonas and his co-pilot Sherie saw what looked to be five very exhaustingly serious statues strapped down with crates on the perimeter of each.

“Well will you have a look at that?”
“What?”
“These fellas look as miserable as I do right now.”
“Jonas, these are ancient statues of the five dinosaur priests. You see this one? He’s the Prince of the Valley of the Wind. And this one here?! They call him BlueFur.”
“R I G H T”
“Oh don’t give me that look, these mugs are legendary in the world of Tropos.”
“You know I’m tired of those fools up there watching us.”
“Its okay, I’ve charted a course far enough from their territory that we won’t even come close to the cloud perimeters.”
“Yea well, maybe I can breach your perimeter before we take off.”
“Get your shit together Jonas, I was trying to inform you of the severity of this trip and all you’re thinking about is getting up my skirt.”
“I just like fucking with you. We’ve got to get ahead of these storms though Sherie. Otherwise getting across the Atlantic is going to be rough.”

42.45588764197166 -40.2978515625 / Atlantic Ocean / April 1st 2016

“Go figure, its April Fools Day and I’m with a fool.”
“That’s Mr. Fool to you. I’m going to do my job and hopefully, you can still do yours, Sherie.”

Heading back up into the cockpit Jonas noticed that his instruments were all in order. His co-pilot gave him his normal head nod yet looking up he realized that something was wrong. A note with a number reading “1-800-Dinosaur” lay face down just above him. The paper felt incredibly light to the touch as Jonas grabbed the paper and looked over towards his co-pilot. Both equally confused they took this sign as nothing more than a fleeting moment. Tossing the paper into his pocket Jonas started his procedure for taking off. The horizon lay just ahead as the blue ether surrounded the rising plane.

“Jonas! Is that a man out there?”
“What?”
“Tell me just past that cloud, does that not look like a floating man.”
“You know it vaguely does look like that.”
“Wait. Is it coming toward us?”

The clouds parted and the mysterious silhouette suddenly became clear. Jonas, reaches into his pocket only to find ashes where the paper once was. Reaching his sweaty palms back from the inside of his pocket these same ashes coat his fingers like breading on fish ready for frying. The powder creeps down his arm and into his shirt. Like a thick syrup over a stack of pancakes the powder spreads from fingertip to fingertip, until Jonas is completely covered. Visibly shaken, Jonas’ co-pilot can hardly speak. The powder suddenly hardens, reconstructing, removing, until a new form presents itself.

“My name is TRIM, and you are carrying the first five kings of mankind. I will take them back to their rightful land.”

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