“The one day I take off…”
“Yeah, I personally had to pry that bitch off. All sweaty and creepy. Did you ever see that Batman movie with Heath Ledger a while back?”
“Everybody saw that, man.”
“Well his mask and his behavior made Ledger’s fucked up Joker character look somewhat normal. These fucking people…” The second soldier looked at the ground and grimaced. “No wonder our country is fucked. You have a guy driving around wearing a fucking mask and talking to angels or ghosts or whatever.” He sighed. “At any rate, they’re taking him out of the holding area soon.”
“What’s their plan?”
“They are taking him to a mental hospital in Pueblo.”
“Why not Denver?”
“Too full, I guess.”
“Damn, you’d think this country had a mental health crisis or something.”
“Nah, just a bunch of crazy-ass people. Anyway, I have a feeling he will do just fine there in Pueblo. As long as he keeps talking to his imaginary friends, they probably won’t put much legal pressure on him. As soon as he snaps out of it though…”
***
James sat up. He glanced out over the horizon parallel to the highway.
Something was coming his way.
In the dim moonlight he could see the outline of a figure riding a large white horse. At first, James figured it was whoever owned the land, possibly taking a nighttime ride through the vast field.
He thought otherwise when he saw the sphere-like halo of light appeared around the figure’s head as it inched closer to James.
When the rider was about twenty yards away, James ducked close to the ground, hiding in the shadows.
He placed his hand on his katana.
“No need to draw that, not just yet any way,” he heard a whispery, aged voice say.
As soon as the rider approached him, a musky smell wafted into James’ nostrils, a particular aroma he’d smelt countless times before.
The air grew noticeably colder as James stood and began taking in the male rider’s appearance. He had long brown hair and a pale blue body and …
Breasts? James thought.
As the rider took a step closer and the breasts swayed left and right. What petrified James the most however was the man’s face, a face he’d see countless times. The man was a splitting image of John Lennon down to the small oval glasses.
“Who?” James started to say. “No, no. I can’t handle this shit anymore. Go away, you aren’t real.”
The lone rider turned his horse and slowly led it away.
Like a curious child, James followed the figure. As he fell into place behind the man, he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. The man had small, shrunken wings on his back just like Mika’il had. After weighing his options for a final time, and figuring at this point he really had nothing else to lose, James ran to the side of the rider.
“Okay,” James said, reluctantly. “Let’s talk.”
The rider looked down at James and smiled. “Are you all right?”
James started to sob. “I fucked up! I lied, I stole, I…I….I am lost.” He cleared his throat, ashamed to cry in front of a stranger.
The rider pulled the reins on his horse and stopped. “I’m sorry to hear you are suffering. We all make choices, even myself, and they all have repercussions. Such is the nature of being born to die.”
“I know about making choices. I know the choices I made that inspired this whole journey, I know they were impulsive and stupid. I get that part!”
The rider looked out towards the highway and back at James. “I think the most important thing I have come to understand is that we have choices, and these choices affect who we become. They become who we are, and we pour ourselves into our desires as they pour themselves into our choices. They deplete us and we deplete them. We then begin to worship them as they grow more and more important in our daily lives, kind of like addictions. Addictions are a choice.”
“But it’s too late for me to worry about that now because now I am completely screwed. I have nothing!”
“Although your journey might not come to an end the way you would have liked, it still has meaning.” The rider smiled. His entire being was dazzling and his skin sparkled as if it had been glazed in a light layer of glitter.
“Meaning? Ha!”
“After all, what did you think it was? Armageddon, right? Justification for our actions is like a ladder. By justification alone one can rise up the ladder or one can fall down the ladder. However, that conversation is for another time. I’m here for a reason tonight, to provide you comfort and to let you know your struggle will be coming to an end soon.”
“What about Virgil?” James asked as his eyes filled with tears. “He was my friend,” he started to sob. “My only…”
“His journey will come to an end as well. In a way the two of you are divinely intertwined – when your journey comes to an end, so will his.” The rider sighed and placed his hand on a large French horn that was attached to his saddle.
“What’s your horn for?” James asked.
“You falsely believed it was Armageddon, correct? Well, if Armageddon ever truly happens, I will blow this horn in remorse. It’s been sitting here on my saddle for eons.”
“Who are you?” James asked, confusion setting across his face.
“Some call me Gabriel,” the rider answered. His breasts jiggled as he adjusted himself in the saddle.
“Another angel? You don’t look much like…Mika’il…”
“This is true. We all play our own roles, and we are all subject to stereotypes and mythology that has spun from our actions. Simply put, we are all just vibrating images, including myself.” Gabriel stroked the neck of his horse and looked back down at James.
“Well, if we are just, well, images, why do you look the way you do? Why the tits?”
“Reality modifies all of us, but we ourselves modify reality with our image. Plus, I like to be creative; it’s much more fun that way. Nothing is projected on the curtain of the mind which does not take root in the appearance of our worlds.”
“You make it sound so carefree, like it was a game or something,” James replied, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. “If this is a game, then you would definitely be a game master. So why don’t you just restore the health of my son, give me a house in the Hamptons and get me the fuck out of here? Don’t you have the power to do that?! Why don’t you just help me out?”
Gabriel grew silent.
The wind soared above James’ head, pushing a few dark clouds to the side and sending sharp shivers down his spine. The short-lived silence was excruciating.
The rider’s small oval glasses made it hard to see where his eyes were looking. James strained to look at him. After a few amplified moments, his horse snorted and Gabriel finally answered James:
“Well, to be quite honest with you, I quit interacting with humans a long time ago. While it’s true that you and I are conversing, it is hardly the type of contact I used to involve myself with in the past.”
“Why?” James asked.
“Humans have always misinterpreted or exaggerated their interactions with me. And if they don’t, their followers inevitably do. I have found myself becoming mostly an observer to human misgivings and discrepancies. The less I do to intervene, the better. Hence, my horn. The usage of this horn would truly signal the birth of Armageddon. I have it for a reason, to make sure no one else can ever use it…”
Gabriel sighed as he tapped his hand on the bell of the horn.
After gazing at the strange entity for a bit longer, and trying his hardest to take in its blue skin, musky scent, long hair, female body, and John Lennon-like facial features, something dawned on James.
Fury washed over him.
“Why have you been tormenting me? In my apartment, on the rooftop, it was you who stopped me from killing myself! I know that smell…that musky smell of yours! It has been there eve
ry time. The time on the roof, right before I left Austin. I could have ended all of this!”
“That’s true,” Gabriel answered, his round glasses reflecting James’ angry and tattered form. “If that’s how you feel, then I must apologize.”
“But you just said you didn’t interfere with people. Why are you interfering with me!?”
“I just wanted to grant you the opportunity to see your son again. I also realize now that this may not come to pass. That’s why I’m here, because this journey wouldn’t have been possible without my intervention, and seeing as such, I came here tonight to encourage you to remain balanced. Your arrival in Denver is rapidly approaching, and the moment of truth is near…”
“You said that you don’t intervene!” James bellowed.
“Well, I usually don’t, but even angels make mistakes.”
“But you aren’t helping me at all. I’m here in the middle of nowhere!”
“You must remain patient if you want to see Zane for a final time,” Gabriel said calmly.
“Why can’t you actually help me?” James shouted, his chest puffing up.
“Things will work out, mark my word.”
“So, what am I supposed to do then? What can you offer me besides advice that I should have followed long ago? What can you actually tell me that will help me?”
“I can tell you to remain patient. Hopefully all this will make sense in the future. There is always tomorrow, even in death. But I encourage you to be peaceful, and be wary of your sword, both the sword in your hand and the sword you stab yourself with every time you push your life to the threshold, because it is precisely that sword which has torn your life to pieces.”
“Well, that’s just great,” James replied furiously. “I don’t understand the point in meeting angels, demons, or whatever the hell you all are. You guys talk in circles! Where is the real help? Why do you plague me with useless visits?”
“The real help is already here, just look around and you will find it. But you mustn’t lose hope, not even in your own humanity.” Gabriel waved his hand towards James, suggesting that he should relax. “Remain patient tomorrow and know that no matter what, all this will make sense soon. I’ll be seeing you.”
“Fuck you...” James whispered as his face reddened and he reached for his sword.
Suddenly, he felt the breath exit from his body, his lungs squeezed together like expired bagpipes and his stomach shrink towards his spine.
Terrified, James panicked, trying earnestly to inhale. The oxygen wouldn’t come.
He felt submerged in space, like he was drowning underwater or falling in thin air, and worst of all, he felt his chest ripping open, his ribs splitting off his ribcage, his heart tearing away from his chest, veins intact and beating violently.
James’ legs gave way and he fell to his knees.
He gasped for air and looked up at Gabriel, whose hair had now fallen in his face, his eyes lit with fury. Gabriel turned his white horse around and walked away from James, leaving a trail of stardust and incandescent sparks. “Not many people have told me to fuck myself,” he said over his shoulder. “But I guess that’s what makes you unique, James. Good luck tomorrow.”
Chapter 27: Tomahawk
Armageddon skills are a fucking joke.
James rolled onto his side, desperate to fall back asleep but knowing full well that it was time for him to move on. He had grown so sick of nightmares, from the emaciated Eve to the naked Gabriel.
Everything seemed to bombard him, to never let him have just a moment of piece.
He stood and brushed a bit of debris from his shirt. The small pond was just where he had left it, and the water was about as calm as it was before he fell asleep the previous night.
Was Gabriel even real? James cast the thought aside. From what he could see from his reflection, his face was a bit puffy and his eyes were more sunken in than usual. The lines on his forehead had appeared to increase since about a week ago, and the scratches on his cheeks were visible even in the wavy reflection the water was creating.
He looked at the sky and guessed that it was a little after noon.
Actually, he had no way of really knowing what time it was, but he generally woke up around noon and had learned long ago to trust his biological clock.
James lit a cigarette, and turned towards the highway.
The sky was grey and the sun barely visible behind it, which gave him the impression that it might rain. He had no umbrella, no shelter from the pellets of water, and frankly, he didn’t really care if it rained, snowed or if a tornado touched down on the highway.
He would get to Denver today no matter what stood in his way.
Feeling invigorated, he hopped over the barbed wire fence and stood on the frontage road. James gazed down at the highway’s tar. It always looked the same driving seventy miles per hour. Just an endless stretch of black or gray.
Blemishes, strange markings, pieces that glittered, deep gashes and small bumps; when scrutinized, tar really wasn’t all that different from human skin. Pot marks in tar weren’t really that different than pot marks on an aged face or wrinkles on a forehead, the type he had gained over the course of a week.
His mind switched from tar to what he felt had been the previous night’s dream.
As soon as he had opened his eyes, James had concluded that Gabriel was just a dream. This furthered his earlier notion that the thin wall between reality and illusion had completely disintegrated. Now his dreams seemed so real that he could touch them, so real that his real life seemed fake.
But none of that mattered. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, hungry and poor.
For most this would spark a great sense of depression and remorse. For James it provoked a great sense of indifference.
His level of apathy had reached an all-time high. Sure, it had been high before and he generally pretended that he couldn’t care less about most things, but this time James had truly reached a new level of detachment.
If God himself came blaring down from Heaven in a chariot of fire with a gold-laced trident aimed right at him, James wouldn’t even flinch. If the devil appeared from the depths of Hell with various torture devices, James wouldn’t even shrug.
It’s not that he didn’t believe they could hurt him, it’s just that James had given up on them.
They had both tortured him, and even if some would say that’s not that case, he had proof – well, if you could consider what seemed to be a dream and a few strange encounters legitimate proof, but the point remained – he was on his own in this existence, stuck in some sort of infinite purgatory.
“How could I have been so stupid?” he kept repeating to himself.
Despite his trepidations, James kept walking, determined to get to his destination. The only Armageddon skill he had learned was what not to do. Don’t trust strange entities, don’t get stuck in the middle of nowhere, and above all, don’t go on journeys that sound stupid even on paper. Stay in your house, don’t venture out, watch television daily, live in the suburbs, don’t question reality and above all – do not try and liberate yourself.
With a long sigh, he stuck his thumb out with the hopes of catching a ride.
***
Another day had started in Denver and Hope had no clue as to Virgil’s whereabouts.
He was supposed to call her yesterday but had yet to make any form of contact. However, as she promised herself the previous day, she would find other things to do. First stop – the museum.
After finishing breakfast, which for her was fruit and a bit of yogurt, Hope strolled out of the lobby of the hotel and walked a few blocks east towards the Denver Art Museum. She stopped at a used clothing store, tried on a couple of tattered t-shirts, and eventually ended up buying a small purse made from an old burlap sack.
A few blocks later and she finally arrived in front of the museum. She paid the admission fee, and after briefly looking around in the gift shop, decided to head upstairs to start the tour
.
She ended up spending a good amount of time in the more modern exhibits, watching as a few school children yelled at an interactive installation piece. After a while of this, she continued deeper into the museum, walking past a large piece scattered across the floor with white foxes and a red backdrop.
She headed east from this installation piece, through a modern African art exhibit, and into a small corner of the museum full of shadows and angles. The corners of this room were intimidating, the art ambiguous and borderline sinister.
She stopped.
In front of her was a large installation made of a thousand large needles depicting a man in mid-explosion. The man reached for her, for his audience, and at the same time, he was already crippled, already decimated by his own inner explosion. It was as if the artist wanted to capture the exact moment that spontaneous combustion occurred, and the viewer could only stand helplessly in front of the human detonation and watch.
Hope paused and fell to her knees.
She finally understood what had happened to Austin, to so many people, to James and Virgil. Suddenly, she knew.
The explosion of a city had become the ignition of two men, and this installation piece, with outreached hands and evaporating body parts, somehow represented all these things.
Something inside her knew that this piece of art was all that was left of Virgil.
As her heart sank and anguish rose to the tip of her forehead, Hope toppled over in pain. She let out a large sob, knowing full well that the man she had come to find had already exploded.
The children nearby ran away from a museum curator. The children around the corner laughed and screamed.
***
“My name?” the fat lady said to James as he got in her rig. “Welp, the other boys call me Tomahawk, so I suppose you can too!”
James couldn’t believe it. He had walked nearly seven hours, and just as he was going to head to another field to go to sleep, he decided to try his thumb one more time.
Star-Spangled Apocalypse Page 21
