There were some other things they proved, too, like energy's constant wasn't and that energy did, indeed, dissipate. So, on August 15th, some other guys did this worldwide thing where they took the formulas from the collider (something along the lines of E = -M, where M is the nothingness times itself with a factor a little over 1 divided by some string left over from one of Einstein's old doodles. Hey, look, the math is baffling but the theory is simple, okay?) against several thousand near death patients and, using the new particles and their tracery, proved once and for all, when we die nothing happens. You just go phfft.
Just like the world did.
Some stupid church people stood up all offended and tried to say things about God beyond the measure of existence and the soul and its travails, blah blah blah, but come on. Proof was proof. On August 31, 2012, in the middle of one of those harangues by one of those Luddittes, some guy got up from the audience, walked on stage and pumped six bullets into the Reverend So and So's head. On television, no less. Quite entertaining. I laughed when I saw the replay, before all the power went out.
A lot of people thought that day marked the end of civilization. Or maybe it was August 15, but, uh, July 31, 2012. When you prove God does not exist, everything else is anti-climax.
Like the next morning, August 1, when Billie Saint McKinney walked into the Fairfax County Courthouse, shot the two guards on duty, calmly entered the divorce court, shot his wife, his oldest daughter, the judge, and the bailiff. He set the old biddy court reporter on fire just for the fun of it and was heading towards his car when some cop shotgunned him. His last words were, "Wot'd jew do that fer?"
See, Billy got it. Billy knew. He's my hero.
It took a little into September before everyone else got it, and then, whoa. 9/11 taught us brick and steel and mortar could really burn, and boy did it. Wall Street actually reached Dresden firestorm proportions and a lot of the droogs got sucked up and incinerated. Good. Less competition. Not that I'd go to New York, there's plenty still here in DC, but sometimes people start thinking regionally and want to extend their empires. I don't need the Great Exalted Murray of Brooklyn showing up here and throwing that All Ye who Hear My Words Tremble crap around. I mean, I got enough skulls impaled on the lawns around the White House. Yeah, the friggin' White House, cool, huh? But if those Murrays keep showing up, I may have to expand out to the Treasury lawns.
I am the King of DC, got it?
Some people don't and tell ya I'm getting a little tired of tribes happening by and seeing the skulls and getting all macho and then there I am, in the middle of another damned firefight and then here I am running out of pike room. The last time, it was some guy from Leesburgh, all decked out in bear skins, believe it or not, and I had him up on the pike and he was groaning and inching his way down and I'm thinking, ya know, I need something else, need to escalate. So I took his girlfriend (why do these idiots bring their women? Showing off?) out of the basement and strapped her face down in front of him and did her while sawing at her neck with a rusty trowel. Man, that was fun, she bucked and screamed and fought and I loved it. I took her ragged head and stuffed it down the front of Bearskin's pants. He probably didn't appreciate the extra weight, yuk yuk. Some of his minions were hiding out in Lafayette Park, trembling, so I made big movements and yelled a lot to give them full effect.
Ya gotta have a legend.
Achilles knew that. Achilles made sure he'd be sung forever. Oh not that wimpy Brad Pitt-ass Achilles in that old pussified Troy movie, the real Achilles. I've read The Iliad, probably the only one still alive who has, and that Achilles was not some brooding boy toy walking around with his lower lip in a pout, no sir. Achilles was a man, a real man, and he clanged eviscerated Trojans to the ground and stole their women and stood on piles of bodies with his sword shining hot and his throat hoarse with war.
Yeah.
Five thousand years from now, they'll remember me, too. Because, fuck it, they sure ain't gonna remember much else.
Like I had this droog, you know, another stupid Murray, and he's all trussed up and cussing and crying because, well, sharpened point of a stake going up your ass, imagine. And he was kinda young and I got curious and I said, "Who's Lincoln?" And he just stops crying and looks at me, so I ask him again, "Who's Lincoln?" And, you know, he's thinking there's some angle here, so he says, "I knew him, man, I knew him!" I just laughed, I did, and yanked the pike up straight and he screamed, "I knew him!" for the next twelve hours. Got damned irritating after awhile.
'Knew him.' What a moron. I know Lincoln. Every morning, I get up from his bed and give him a salute. A legend, took no shit off those southern crackers, kicked their fuckin' asses. And I salute Churchill, too, because that English doughboy (ha, I just realized how funny that is) was a tough fucker, kicked Hitler's ass, who was no slouch.
They'll be saluting me long after everyone's forgot Lincoln and Churchill.
"Brad the Impaler," I'm already hearing it. I think that's hilarious. Still some wags out there and if I catch whoever started that, why, hmm, you know, I just might make him my court jester. Until he pisses me off, then up he goes.
I have this little game I like to play where I put two guys on the poles real close together so they're scrambling and clawing at each other, trying to ease the pressure but all they end up doing is pushing down that much faster. It's a hoot. The minions sit around and bet on who's going to poke through first and I do my part, "Whichever of you lasts longer, gets off the pole!" I yell. Lie, of course, but they'll start going at each other like there's no tomorrow. Which, in their case, is true.
No tomorrow. There is no tomorrow. There is only now.
You know, some people, some, still push it. There was this group out of Maryland, wore all white sheets and crap and walked around moaning and proclaiming the need to restore order and society and law and all that junk. I got curious, so I went out to hear them, brought the minions for the entertainment. The guy in charge, some Jesus lookin' freak, came right up to me with his High Priests 'cause I'm pretty disarming. I am. I don't look like anything, which is the trap. I'm small and kinda soft lookin' and I got this real pleasant smile. Girls in bars used to like it. They don't so much anymore.
Anyways, Jesus walks up lookin' all towards Heaven (ain't there no mo, bud) goin' "My brother, my brother!" and the minions are behind nudging each other 'cause they know what's going to happen. And I just stand there smiling, looking interested. "These evil times! Join with me, my brother, and bring back the world, its leeks and garlic."
And I kinda nod and I put on the soft voice and I ask, "Why?"
And he blinks and has this beatific smile, "Because, brother, it is the way, it is the way of happiness."
"Happiness?" I almost laugh. "Whose happiness?"
"Of us all," and he sweeps his hand so grandly back at the sheep.
"And what," I say sweeping the hypodermic from my jacket, "is the point of that?" I jammed it in his arm and plunged. Gasoline. Not good for anything else these days and I saw in the Holocaust museum how Mengele used to inject the Jews with it to see what it would do. I like that museum.
Well, Jesus danced and screamed and made a lot of noise and I just stood there watching while the minions mowed down the sheep. Stupid sheep didn't even have weapons, just love overflowing from their hearts, going to win me over with weeping and joy and hands raised in brotherhood.
Haven't they been paying attention?
We kept a few of the sheep for awhile. Lot of women with them and that was good because women are getting a little scarce in these parts. Gettin' to the point you have to go on a full blown expedition to locate a couple, so I amused myself with the windfall. Had one bound on her knees before me with her teeth knocked out and, well, you know what that was for. The minions had a couple and were playing Guess the Sodomite when one of them started screaming, "You animals, you pigs!" and the boys started laughing and playing harder and I said, "Hold on, Myrmidons." I use that word when I want thei
r attention. They have no idea what it means but they stop when I say it because I mean business. The first time I used it, one of 'em said. "I ain't no merman!" and got all righteous with me so I staked him. No problems since.
"Keep working this," I said to No Teeth. "Bring her here," I said to the minions and they did. Cute one. Mixed race, light skinned and exotic looking, all petulant and offended. Oh boy. I kept my face straight and the minions gathered to listen. "What'd you say?" I asked her.
"You're pigs!" she spat it, just like a 12 year old girl on the playground at the boys who yelled "Show us your tits!" Ah, memories. "He was a saint!" By this, I guessed she meant Jesus of the Gasoline Blood. "He was going to save us all!"
"Save us from what?" I had to ask.
"From all of you," and she was soooo contemptuous. A couple of the minions guffawed but I put on the interested look. See, I've found with these girls that if you play along, they'll think you're some kind of hero or something and get all hopeful and dewy-eyed. Makes the inevitable dismemberment that much more fun. "What do you mean?"
"This!" and she pointed at No Teeth, who wasn't stupid and was working it rather enthusiastically (I might have to keep her awhile), "You rapists. You shit on everything."
I tapped No Teeth on the head, "Stop now, darling," and she backed off and assumed a properly subservient position. I leaned forward, looking at Exotic, looking receptive, "Go on."
"It's like you spit on the freedom we earned," she was making a 12 year old's gestures, convinced her scorn had some kind of power. Hee hee. "We got out from under the churches and the governments and all the old chains, man. We had a chance, a real one. Nothing in the way, nothing but freedom and love. You guys," more wild hand waving, "destroyed it."
The minions busted out at that point and I waved them down, making Exotic think she was reaching me, "You mean, Saint was going to lead us to Utopia?"
"Yes!" Eyes popping out and a real attitude.
"How?"
And here she got the dewy eyes and all righteous, "With love."
At that point I lost it, busted out along with the minions, did a bit of knee slapping, even a little eye wiping. "Okay, okay, I thought that's where you were going." I settled back, the dead smile splitting my face, the one that tells the recipient I'm not the cute little nice guy I look like. She stepped back, wary, an "oh shit" look on her face. You're right, oh shit. "Let me see," I said, throwing up a palm, "if I can explain. Consider this a what, a teachable moment?" I looked around the minions and they all nodded enthusiastically. They loved teachable moments.
"See, what your saint was intending was exactly what we're all free from. Now, how was this going to happen, this Utopia, this quotes 'love' unquote," I made the requisite finger movements.
"Uh, well," she was starting to get it and looked around for an escape path. None. "He would teach us how to love."
"Ah, I see," I nodded, "so let me ask you, what could he say that hasn't already been said by the Pope or Billy Graham," look of puzzlement there, "or Jesus Himself? Don't answer, don't answer," and I waved down her bubbling words, "I'll save you the trouble. Here's what," I paused dramatically. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"In fact," and here I raised a teaching finger, "wouldn't have been too long he'd have to use Catholic church methods, you know, ceremonies and punishments and heresies and things like that, to keep you all in line. I mean, how many of you were there, a thousand, two thousand?" She nodded slightly. "Sheesh," I shook my head sadly, "you probably had fifty or so guys right there who wanted to be the saint and would knock him off and proclaim some new kind of doctrine that was the One Truth and then someone would knock him off and then you'd all be fighting each other. Really, I did you a service. Because," another teaching finger, "you can't have more than ten or twelve in a tribe." I swept a hand at the minions, "More than that, someone gets ambitious. Right fellas?" And they all nodded enthusiastically and slapped hands and one of them, Karl, shouted, "Amen, brother!" What a card.
"See, they're a bunch of happy fellows," she turned to look, genuine fright on her face at all the dead eyes staring back at her, "because they can indulge their true natures. Nothing in the way. Especially," air quotes again, "love." I looked at her and she blanched and her knees started to shake. Oh yes, baby. "You believe in evolution, right?"
"Yes."
"So," I bore down on her, "why are you so fucking inconsistent?"
She furrowed her brow. That's the point with arrogant bitches like her; they still gotta assert themselves, even when they're about to be chopped up. "Don't look at me like that!" I roared her back a step or two. "You're fucking inconsistent. All those millions of years, whose genes got passed along, huh, bitch? Huh?" Her knees could no longer support her and she went down to them. I smiled. "I'll tell you who. The rapists, the murderers, the ones who stole the eggs out of nests and put in their own and ate," here I clicked my teeth, "the loving and the sweet. Umm umm umm."
I sat back, steepling my hands. She was panting hard, her eyes wide with terror, but still wanting to say something. "I know, I know," I was actually getting bored with the conversation, "Michelangelo, Titian, the Declaration of Independence, yeah, yeah, yeah. Back before. Back when we thought there was Something Beyoooond," I waggled my fingers and used my spooky voice, which really cracked up the minions, "all that was cool. But," now was the point of the lesson, "there ain't Something Beyond. All there is is you. And if you're not spending every moment you got here doing everything you feel like, building your legend, then you're wasting it." I raised both of my arms Heaven… er, skyward, "Praise Billy."
"Praise him!" the minions replied and they grabbed Exotic and threw her screaming to the ground. Karl decided to go for a little extra shtup while I was going over the options and I took my time, let him finish up. "Well?" Sandy asked, big goofy West Virginia gap-toothed grin on his face. "Let's play..." and I stroked my chin as if pondering Life's Mystery, "...Assyrian."
"Assyrian!" they all cheered and dragged Exotic off a bit, kicking and shrieking, and pounded the stakes and leather-bound her to them, spread eagled. Shame, really, she was nice. The minions played rockpaperscissors and Sandy won. He pulled out his Bowie, tested its edge, and started at the right wrist. That's the rule. The one who can carve off the longest piece of skin without breaking it or causing too much bleeding or killing her, wins. Takes awhile, if done right, and my guys were good at it. Sandy might even win, the slow careful way he was proceeding down the forearm.
I looked at No Teeth. "You wanna get back to it, or do you wanna play Assyrian, too?" She scooted right up and resumed, much more enthusiastic. Nothing focuses the mind like the prospect...ha ha. God, she's good. I think I will keep her. Have kids. They're so delicious.
I sat back and looked at the stars. Even they won't last. The exotic's screams rose to them, a pleasure in God's nostrils? No. Another line in my Legend.
Praise Billy.
Little Blenny Bunting
by Airika Sneve
A stalk-limbed, doughnut-mouthed supermodel pouted vacantly for traffic from a billboard on the side of a bus stop shelter. Large block letters proclaiming "Chanel!" floated across her waist. On the sidewalk below the supermodel's billboard, crumpled McDonald's cups and bags skittered about like paper rats. Busses, taxis, and cars hurried along the slushy winter streets that surrounded the concrete island of fast food joints and liquor stores on whose face the bus stop rested.
A young man in a pylon-orange coat sat on a bench inside the shelter. He was the only ember of color in the day's otherwise neutral palette of metal, ice, and smoke, seeming to glow, almost, amidst the smoke-silver early evening that swirled around the shelter in chilly shades of November.
The young man wiled the minutes away by blowing his breath out in cold air rings (much like his neighbor Gertrude did while puffing away on her endless train of Tourneys). Occasionally, he would stop to dispense friendly hellos to passersby. With his snaggle-toothed smile and heavily-hooded
hazel eyes, he had an innocence and air of openness about him that made him seem far younger than his twenty-four years.
The technical term for his condition was 'Down syndrome'—however, what he may have lacked in IQ and autonomy, he easily made up for in personality; his friendly innocence quickly charmed both people and animals alike. As was typical of him, he waved to passersby, eliciting smiles from even the sourest pedestrians as he sat on his bench and beamed.
All of a sudden, mid-hello, the boy heard a commotion flare up on the street corner just yards away from the shelter. He turned to look. Next to the stoplights, a tall, wiry black man with wild serpentine dreadlocks dressed in swathes of loose rags, stood facing a police officer.
"Come on, man," said the officer, a not-so-subtle tone of exasperation in his voice. "You soliciting again? Can't you see me standin' here? You out of your mind?" Only it came out, "You outta yo mahnd?"
The dreadlocked man's skin was such a dark, rich shade of chocolate that the whites of his eyes seemed to glow from their sockets like twin moons at midnight. He shook his head, his dreadlocks quivering like a willow tree in a fierce breeze.
"Show some sympathy for a brother, man," he said. "I ain't had my fix since last week! I'm a-startin' to shake!" Thick lips crinkled back from huge white teeth in a mischievous grin. He rattled the coins in his Styrofoam cup at the cop.
The officer threw up his hands, more out of incredulity then anger. He couldn't believe these brickheads. It didn't do any good to toss them in a cell for a night or two, oh no. That was no deterrent. Once they were out, they'd get right back to their business of irritating the public and wasting his time, no lesson learned, only valuable time lost. Easier to send them packing with a threat and a headshake.
"Get a move on," said the officer. "If I catch yo solicitin' ass out here again, I'm takin' you for a free ride down to the station. Now put an egg in yo shoe, and beat it."
"Shi-it." The man gave the officer an injured look, then headed toward the boy in orange.
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