by Walter Lazo
Meme Theory.”
“The so-called Meme Theory ignores the fact that we are human, and that although we at times are the undisputed masters of self-delusion, we don’t have to be. Ideas may appeal to us emotionally, but we can rise above this, and adopt an attitude of accepting only those ideas which are true.”
“What is truth?”
“Oh, it’s nothing fancy, nothing Platonic—truth is just a decision. Truth is when we decide to stop bullshitting ourselves.”
“I don’t think that’s what people mean by The Truth.”
“It is in part, but people have gotten confused through centuries of bullshit. Truth, the quest for truth, begins when we first encounter deception. Being duped sucks. Out of the pain of being deceived, the thirst for truth is born. Truth is the cry in the wilderness: Do not deceive me! Now, as for The Truth, this comes about through a confusion and a conceit. You see, a long time ago a man—Plato—got it into his head that only that which is gratifying to human desires could be real. Of course, he was very smart, and realized that reality doesn’t give a damn about human desires. Since reality does not cater to human desires, he arrived at an impasse. Rather brilliantly, I would say, he solved this problem by coming to the peculiar conclusion that reality was duping him; hence, the idea Do not deceive me was still the foundation of the concept of truth, but with a caveat: Do not accept any conclusion which is not gratifying to human desires. This is how we get The Truth. Therefore, and ironically, the quest for truth leads to the ultimate bullshit: The Truth.”
Selena sighed audibly. “Well,” she said, “you’re definitely not the man I remember. So, tell me, what brings you back to Bladen? I thought you had become a monk or something. Or are you just curious to see how we all got on after you left us?”
He wasn’t sure if she was being facetious or sincere, but he could well imagine how his sudden departure must have affected all of them, his family, his friends, his fiancé. It was truly amazing how politely she was treating him. It made everything worse, though. He had not expected to see her. He remembered how she would often talk about leaving Bladen, travelling to New York or California, some place big and exciting. But she was here, in his moment of trial and mortal danger, where he waited for the servants of the dreadful Wolf God to fall upon him in rage and violence. He closed his eyes, and his hand fell on the hilt of his knife. He took a deep breath. Whatever happened tonight, he did owe her an explanation.
“I didn’t think you would still be in Bladen,” he said. “You always talked about leaving, and I left the accounts in your name.”
“I didn’t want your fucking money,” she said, then looked away. “When you’re young, you so easily dream of travel and adventure, but as you get older you find that life has its ways of weighing you down. I’m stuck here, probably for the rest of my life.”
What she left unsaid poisoned the air between them, and they sat in silence for a few moments.
Bart looked at the entrance.
“Anthony told me to come back,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. He told me that my true test was here, perhaps even my doom.”
“God, Barty, what happened to you? You sound like some sort of cult member. You’re not like one of those crazy suicide bombers, are you?”
Her eyes were wide, and he saw something in them that he had never seen before and did not like: fear of him. More than anything she could have possibly said, this profoundly upset him, more than he would ever admit, even to himself. Before he could answer her, four very large men dressed in heavy brown leather outfits entered the bar.
Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the men. Although their minds could not fathom why, every instinct told them that they were witnessing something that could not be. These were strange men, almost bestial, and their bodies emanated infernal energies that could be felt by everyone as death’s caress.
“Is there another way out of this place?” Bart whispered to Selena, never taking his eyes off the strangers.
He knew these were the men he had been waiting for, the servants of the Wolf. They were the reason he had returned to Bladen, the only reason. He had truly thought Selena long gone, someone he would never lay eyes upon again. Regardless of whether he wanted to accept it or not, her being here made a difference.
Ever since he had that vision that was no vision but a physical reality in another dimension, when that monstrous wolf demon had turned its awful gaze towards him, seeing him, he knew, and Anthony knew, what had to happen next. He knew the servants of the monster would come for him, though he had not been sure how they would manifest themselves. He had expected them to be careful about their identities, to take care to appear normal. They had not bothered. This worried him; it changed things; it meant that the plan he and Anthony and the others had set in motion might fail. Or if it succeeded, it would be at the expense of innocent people getting killed. He wanted to avoid that.
As these thoughts trotted across his mind, the men shifted their collective gaze to him, as if they heard his thoughts. Moving rapidly as if floating, they surrounded his table, and smiled at him, their mouths overflowing with salivating teeth like rusted railroad spikes.
“What the fuck is this?” blurted Selena, jumping out of her chair.
“Sit back down,” said the obvious leader of the four, a tall, broad behemoth with shaggy, dirty light-brown hair, and eyes that were small black crescents floating in deep, canary yellow sclerae.
She sat back down.
The hideous abominations then turned their attention to Bart. In a voice like pebbles being crushed under enormous pressure, he said, “We, the worshippers of the Great God, Dread Marduel, salute you, Bartholomew Brooks, son of Elizabeth and Martin Brooks, follower of the crooked path of the Opposer—fools who believe they can obstruct the will of God.”
Bart rose, his heart pounding in his chest like a caged rabbit desperately trying to escape. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and his palms were a wet mess. He fought the temptation to reach for his knife and took a deep breath. “That thing you worship is no god,” he said. His knees were trembling.
“Blasphemy,” said the man. “You do not hear us denying the divinity of your god, one who is strangely silent all the time. My God, Dread Marduel, makes his presence felt directly, and he manifests himself through our flesh. Have you ever felt the presence of your god?”
Bart struggled not to piss his pants. “Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen yourselves? You all look like circus freaks, and you stink too. What the hell is that smell, anyway?”
“We look like predators, while you look like prey,” said a long haired man standing behind the leader. His eyes were a color Bart did not recognize, halfway between orange and red. He had no pupils.
“The Halloween costumes are very cool, guys,” said Selena, standing again, “and probably very expensive—especially those contacts—but I don’t have the time to be sitting here all day. I’m going to go now.”
“Do I really have to tell you to sit again?”
She sat back down. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Where, indeed, are my manners? I am Izani, named in the honor of Marduel’s magnificent mountain, Izan, which in the old tongue means abomination. These three behind me have not yet earned their names. A defect they expect to fix today.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” asked Bart. “You’re named after something you yourself are calling abomination. Stop embracing evil. Turn away before it completely consumes you.”
Bart thought he saw pity in Izani’s eyes; this disturbed him more than anything else.
“Poor fool,” said Izani, “there is no such thing as evil. Evil is a confusion; it is merely what the rabbit calls the wolf. The Great God, Marduel, is not evil; neither is he weak. He is the God of the strong, and as you clearly see in nature, the strong feast upon the weak. It is the order of things, the way of nature, of life, of the whole Universe, of the entirety of existence. But do not t
remble, Dread Marduel is not alien to mercy. For your sin, Bartholomew, a ransom is required. But it does not have to be you, nor one whom you love.” Izani looked at Selena and smiled. “All that Glorious Marduel asks of you is that you, who have transgressed, choose the victim of expiation. He is so merciful, Great Marduel, that He does not even demand a first-born, nor the best fruit—the old, the sick, the weak will do. All he asks is for you to choose.”
Izani moved his arm in a sweeping gesture, inviting Bart to lay his eyes on every face. “Pick one,” he said. “Pick one, or I will level this poor excuse for a city. Do, please, believe me when I say that the four of us can easily level a city five times its size. However, as I’ve already said, Dread Marduel is not without mercy, and he asks very little of you. Look around you. There are many here who are useless, creatures that merely take up space. That the weak should perish so that the strong may live pleases Dread Marduel. It is good.”
Izani pointed at a disheveled man sitting alone at a corner table. “Henry Gillmore,” he said. “A useless drunk who struggles every day to forget he is alive but lacks the courage to kill himself. Speak the words and we shall act. Sacrifice the weak to the Wolf God—He is just, and does not ask for the sacrifice of the strong and worthy.”
Izani then turned and pointed at an elderly couple.
