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Pills-in-a-Little-Cup

Page 25

by Rage, Reverend


  “Very well, Tug,” he replied. “Send them up.”

  ****

  Billy heard the commotion from inside the confines of the root garden, where the gnomes dwelled. There is danger lurking and it is dreadfully nearby. He snuck to the very edge of a hedgerow. He peered carefully around the corner.

  ****

  Sparkle was outside Donna’s car when Uncle Tugmunkee opened the inside door. We had already pulled into the garage and parked. I’d slunk low, very low down in the front seat as the garage door slid shut behind me. Only Donna’s head that I wore as a hat showed above the dashboard. Tug held the door for Sparkle. When the chimp’s back was turned, I slipped quickly and quietly out. Taking unfair advantage of Tug’s being a gentleman, despite being a chimp, I came up on him hard and fast as he let Sparkle hop up the stairs. I’d shucked the Donna cloak as I ran at him. He turned and was too startled. Tug could not react in time to get inside and secure-lock the door. I knew, gentleman or no, how strong chimpanzees were. I put the point of my blade under his chin. I pushed him into the domicile, applying enough wicked pressure to puncture his thick hide. I got Tug off balance enough to force him in the interior. Sparkle shut the door with her beak as soon as the chimp was in. I spun around and got behind him, pushing all the while up on the blade. By merely touching the bald chimp I knew he was also in on the Crosstown Traffic gang. And knowing that meant Sparkle and I will be having chimp for supper tonight.

  But first things first.

  “The Good Doctor, please,” I said, hauling him deeper into the residence, trying to keep the bastard tilted. Heaven help me if Uncle Tugmunkee got his feet firmly planted. I had to show him who’s boss, so I traced the blade along his jaw line, opening him up a touch. He winced and I put the point back where I had it.

  “What do you want?” he asked and I bore down on the blade, digging in ever deeper.

  “I already told you what I wanted.” Imagine that: the early work trying to out-smart the opus.

  Cheeky.

  “Okay, then who are you?” he asked, before foolishly adding: “No need to introduce her. I have met this whore on previous occasions.”

  I cuffed the chimp in the right kidney, hard.

  “Say you’re sorry to my True Love, or I will peel the flesh from your bones, monkey.”

  “I apologize,” Tug wisely and immediately replied. He was wincing from the pain. The chimp will pee blood before this day has concluded.

  “Where is he?” I reiterated. I dug the knife in a bit deeper, for good measure.

  “Up top,” Tug replied.

  “Show me,” I ordered. He did so.

  ****

  Billy came slowly, carefully forward. He couldn’t figure out all the details and consequences of the play that was acting out before him in the courtyard. But he, like all of The Good Doctor’s creations, was hard wired to shield the scientist from harm. The nice chicken lady and the blood-drenched man he’d never seen before seemed to Billy as though they meant severe damage.

  Billy was bothered because he had never in his life felt fear from The Good Doctor. Billy must do what he had to save him.

  Closer now…

  ****

  The Good Doctor sensed them, before he saw them. Almost as if the Mighty One had whispered in his ear, he turned hauling out the black 20 shot nine mm. He had it pointing deadly at us. He stepped forward, frowning all the way.

  “By all means, keep coming, Father,” I told him, wrenching fiercely on Tug. “If you want your manservant bled, that is.”

  He stopped, no doubt noting Tug in pain and the sheen of blood that was drip-dropping down his bare chimp chest.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, still pointing the gun. I decided to duck down, hiding myself behind Tug’s squat body. If the Creator wanted to take a shot at his creation, he was going to have to shoot through Tug to get to me.

  “You don’t recognize me, Father?” I asked him.

  “I have never seen you before, young man,” he replied, cocking his head and eyeing me quizzically. “Why do you refer to me as Father? A show of respect, perhaps?”

  “A literal representation, Father,” I explained. “I am the manifestation of the tears.”

  “Tears?” he wondered. Then he smiled. The Good Doctor said: “‘I beheld the wretch – the miserable monster whom I had created’,” he paused then added, “Of course, the tears.”

  “You seem to have put it all together,” I commented, “and in short order, too.” The Good Doctor was a genius.

  Sparkle stood nearby, staring fixedly at The Good Doctor. My Creator, my Nemesis.

  “Just look at him, will you,” my True Love mumbled this nonsense.

  “What?” I said. Perhaps I didn’t hear Sparkle plainly. Perhaps… “What did you say?”

  Without even looking at me she replied: “Oh, shut up. I wasn’t talking to you.”

  And just like that, I was yesterday’s news. She wasn’t talking to me, or looking at me. The Good Doctor smiled at her and smirked at me. I got mad at that, I did. Sparkle just cooed. I got distracted. I was going to get them both, but out of nowhere, I got hit from behind. I flew through the air, ass over tea kettle.

  Sparkle wasn’t talking to me…

  Uncle Tugmunkee’s throat got slit as the intruder flew through the air. Billy had the presence of mind to use the same horns that head-butted Slow Bennie to nudge and push the chimp toward The Good Doctor. Sparkle ran over to him on her own accord. She began rubbing herself unabashedly and moaning.

  The Good Doctor knelt beside Tug, staunching the chimp’s free flow of blood. The knife wound was deep and painful, but it was nowhere near fatal.

  “We need to move,” The Good Doctor stated.

  “Why, my darling?” asked Sparkle.

  The intruder shakily got to his feet. He looked as angry as one could get, seeing his True Love jump ship at the drop of a hat.

  “That’s why,” The Good Doctor replied. They all glanced over at Slow Bennie. He grunted something wild and unnatural; guttural. He began stomping over to the group. He had the bloody knife pointing toward them and was following it rather quickly. Slow Bennie looked dangerous and determined. “Can you move, Tug?”

  “Yes, Dr. Sir,” Tug replied, standing fast.

  “Good. Then let’s get behind the retaining wall as fast as we can manage.”

  They started moving, but so did Bennie. And he was gaining on them quickly.

  Tug, Billy, Sparkle and The Good Doctor hid behind a wall. They could hear Slow Bennie moving closer. He sounded furious and way beyond any point of reason. Tug and Billy were with it enough to be frightened, but Sparkle did nothing to help out except for making moon eyes of obvious love at The Good Doctor, who, fortunately for all concerned, had the presence of mind to order the force-field to flash-freeze the intruder.

  After the frigid blast had dissipated enough to keep from doing the old gentleman any severe damage, The Good Doctor came out from behind the wall. The rest of them peeked around the edge, or over the top of the barrier. The Good Doctor began firing. He emptied the entire 20 shot clip into Slow Bennie.

  Satan laughing spreads his wings…

  And that was all she wrote for me.

  It was the goat that did it to me. It came out of nowhere, taking unfair advantage of my disturbance and commotion, knocking me down. Then, from my unfortunate seated position, I had the distinct displeasure of seeing my One and Only drop me for the Father like a bad habit. Oh, well. I am nothing if not resilient. Time for some good old-fashioned righteous retribution.

  I stand, spitting out some anger and venom. I start stomping toward them. They ran, all of them, from me. Instead of heading toward the house and some semblance of real safety, they opted to hide behind a vine-encrusted wall. Now, why would they go and do something foolish like that?

  I heard Father shout out something about an intruder, me presumably, and then I froze; dead in my tracks.

  I knew nothing
, no more. Mine was the shortest life in the history of ever. Well, well, why don’t you look at me, huh? Just falling to pieces.

  Ridiculous.

  “Juggling is sometimes called the art of controlling patterns, controlling patterns in time and space.”

  - Ronald Graham

  ACTA EST FABULA

  IT’S ALL ABOUT KEEPING ALL THE BALLS IN THE AIR. Not every person can do it, but it is a skill that is crucial. By gum, if you are going to be a despot, be a good one. Juggle, baby! Do it like your fool life depends on it.

  When I am born this final time, my Father holds me while Mother cracks open my egg. Father pulls apart the shell and Mother eats the placenta I am encased in. I am born fully aware, both of my surroundings and of myself. I know who I am, what I am and where I come from. I am The Monster in its final incarnation of Crosstown Traffic. I am the tears of the twins, fully realized.

  I’m not quite certain if Father and Mother realize what I am. I do know that The Good Doctor and Sparkle are my parents and that they will both love me, their child; down to their last dying breath.

  I look like a perfect melding of them both. I have feathers mixed with hair instead of only hair. They are pretty much in the same locations on my person as you would find anyone’s hair. I know Mother will have them twisted together, when they grow out. She will fashion silver-black feather sprouted dread-locks. You will have never seen the likes, trust me.

  My eyes are quite human but they are over-large. These eyes rest a little bit closer to my recessed ears than my all-human counterparts. My eyes move independently of each other. I can see in more than one direction, so don’t ever try and sneak up on me son…can’t be done.

  I have human lips stretched over an upper and lower beak which replaces the need for human teeth. I can snap off your fingers without issue. I will have to learn to be extremely careful with my sensitive human tongue. I’m an omnivore. I can and will eat anything and thrive on it all.

  In close to a decade, when I am fully grown, I will top out around one and a half meters, but barrel-chested and weighing in at over 90 kilograms. I will walk upright and will be as quick as the dickens. I have small, but fully functional arms and hands. My fingers and thumbs (2 on my left, like Father) are webbed, as are my feet. I house claws instead of fingernails and toenails, with the obvious advantages therein. My IQ shall be hard to measure. My temper, I can already tell, still wet as I am from birth and Mother’s ministrations, is quick and unpredictable.

  I am The Good Doctor’s finest creation and an only child. The only one that will live, that is. I will see to that.

  I am an Antichrist like my Father and I am his Monster.

  I know that, without any doubts whatsoever, that Father and Mother will be wonderful parents. They will love me unconditionally. They will guide me and teach to me all that they can. They will provide all that I need to grow and thrive here in the harsh and unforgiving environs of The Harbor in the A.C.E world. I already love them for it. I love them even more than my fully matured self will be able to adequately say. I look forward to growing and flourishing under their combined tutelage.

  I come from the tears that were quite real. Those that I will shed shall also be genuine. As factual as I am. I will be truly saddened on that forthcoming day. I will allow myself little regret, just sadness as I kill Mother and Father. And then I will eat them both.

  I will possess all of their knowledge and all of their wisdom. I will inherit all of The Good Doctor’s wealth, which is good. You know, one less thing.

  I am an Antichrist like my Father and I am The Monster.

  But I can Juggle, man. I can Juggle like a motherfucker.

  …ad finem

  “Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth.”

  The Monster

  -Mary W. Shelley

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM MorbidbookS IN PRINT & KINDLE:

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  "A short collection that both traverses the genre lines and melds them together into one masterpiece. Jam packed with horror, laughs, pop culture history and more, this one is a must have for lovers of the macabre, the bizarre and the hilarious."

  --Jeff O'Brien, author of Bigboobenstein

  IN GARRETT COOK'S MURDERLAND serial killers are idolized by society. Their deeds are followed obsessively by television pundits and the adoring public. A subculture has grown up around this phenomena, called "Reap." Laws are created to allow this activity to flourish, including designated "safe zones' where killers can practice their trade without fear of persecution. Fans of the top rated serial killers celebrate each new kill on social media and television. Programs glorify their deeds.

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  The three sections of Murderland comprise a true Homeric epic. In the first section we are shown the terrible world Jeremy lives in, the world that if we look at it honestly, is really our own world. We meet all the principal characters, the serial killers, the pundits, the pawns, and Jeremy's beloved Cass. In the second section Jeremy goes on a bit of a spiritual quest and comes to understand his true purpose. In the final section the flames are ignited and all hell breaks loose. Jeremy, like a great epic hero must journey to the underworld and be reborn in order to triumph.

  BORN WHOLE FROM THE RECTUM of a dying patient, Morbid silently stalks the hospital's hallways, heinously dispatching the most helpless of patients and in the most painfully repulsive o
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  are in deep, deep shit...

  Mark and Carolyn live in an alternate 1989 where Ronald Reagan is on his fourth presidential term. The USA has a rigid, long-standing caste system and abortions were never made legal. Being homeless is a crime that is punishable by imprisonment in an internment camp the inmates call Tent City. Most of Mark's ER patients are inmates at this camp and are victims of a new disease these illegals call the Transient Flu. This deadly and rapidly spreading disease mutates with each new host, collecting information, changing code. The disease evolves lightning quick, spreading like pond ripples and infecting everyone. No one is safe. Mark and Carolyn dig too deep and uncover the brutal truth: Transient Flu was purposely made and is one hundred percent fatal. Carolyn's employer, Hudson-Smythe Pharmaceuticals, discovers the chain of evidence. It traces the pharmacide back to Hudson-Smythe and the crime of the century. Cost is no object and deadly force is authorized. Yes. Carolyn and Mark are in deep, deep shit.

 

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