by Ken Blowers
‘That's about it, mate.’
‘I don't think I could ever love my enemies, but I wouldn't mind a chance to put right what's wrong. If I offended the young lady, know what I mean? But can that be done?’
'Well, yeah. Yeah, that's what he suggested. Straight up, mate. No kidding.’
'But how, Blue? How do we go about, going back?’
‘Well, that's why I'm kinda glad to meet you, mate.’
'Me?’
'Yeah! You see he said we have to hold hands, with at least one other agreeable person. Which, he said, may not be so easy to find.’
‘Oh, and?’
‘And then we simply... ask...’
'You mean praying, an' that?’
'Yeah. Right. We pray and we ask. You know, if we can go back.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Well, I'm not walking round and round this damn wall forever. So if that's what we've gotta do, then let's do it! Come on. Come on!’
We get to our feet and we shuffled around a bit. Not quite sure how to go about it.
‘Here. I think you should put your hands together like this,’ I demonstrated what I thought was the standard way to pray. ‘I'll put my hands on the outside of yours, see. Right?’
'Yeah. That ought to do it,’ he said. We stood there like a couple of old fools for a minute or two. ‘You say something for both of us, ok?’
‘Alright. Alright,’ I agreed.
We shuffled our feet again.
‘What about, what about our eyes, mate?’
‘What about 'em?’
‘Should we have 'em open or closed?’
‘For Christ’s sake!’
‘Hold on. I don't think you should say that. You know, not that way. Not at this particular point in time, mate.’
‘Oh. Yeah, alright. Alright. Sorry about that. Now we shut our eyes. Ready?’
‘Dear God our father in Heaven,’ I started. ‘Please have mercy on us poor sinners and allow us to return to earth to try and make amends for our wrong doings by putting right, as close as we can, what's been done wrong?’
We stood there like a couple of spares at a wedding. I fancied I heard a bit of a distant rumble, but nothing else.
‘Psst. Psst.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘You forgot to say, you know.’
‘Amen. Amen. Amen,’ I said quickly.
Almost immediately, there came a great clap of thunder and we were both swept off our feet.
Whether it took a week, a day, or just a few minutes or seconds I'll never know, but somehow I found myself walking alone beside a wall again; only this time I knew the wall. In fact, I knew exactly where I was. Not that I was comfortable with that or indeed with anything for it was a mite too cold for my liking. The sun was setting fast and there was a frosty mist in the air that I knew sometimes heralded the approach of snow. I fastened my jacket and turned my collar up, muttering to myself, ‘I'll catch my death...’ I broke into a soft chuckle as I realized what a ridiculous comment that was!
Eventually I came to a familiar road. A normally rather pretty rural road, which today was somewhat spoilt in appearance by being lined with dust bins waiting emptying. I checked them out and selected one, not overfull or too empty and pushed it out into the road. I didn't have too long to wait until I heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching. A motorcycle I knew only too well. It belonged to Mad Mick. Of course I couldn't tell for sure at first if he was riding it, but as it got closer the general outline of the overweight rider and the way he rode the bike told me it was him alright. I had no doubt about that. He was coming home at the end of the day and it was the reason I was there.
He was driving too fast as usual and naturally enough, he was surprised to find an idiot standing there in the middle of the road with the garbage bin. He braked hard and swung to the right (I doubt if he recognised me) - and as he was passing I rammed him with the bin! As the bin was torn from my hands, he shot off the road and somehow still mounted, careered down the rough incline and crashed into a large tree at the bottom. After the sickening crash there came an awful silence. I looked up and down the road. There was no other traffic and as light snow began to fall, I slithered down the incline.
The bike was pretty much a write-off. Mad Mick appeared to be merely stunned at first, then I noticed his right leg was bent at an unseemly angle and there was blood coming from his right, gloved, hand. I pulled his helmet off and smacked his face, left and right. ‘Remember me, Mick? You bastard, eh?’
His eyes flickered, then opened wide in fear. 'No... Oh, no...’ he moaned.
‘I wasn't the first. I wasn't the first to die at your hands, was I?’ I raised my hand to strike him again.
‘No. No, don't. Please...’ he said, spitting blood and odd bits of teeth.
‘Answer the question, you bastard!’
‘One. One other. I swear, he came at me first!’
‘And you got off, both times! Unbelievable.’
I let go of him and looked around, not knowing what to do. Until I noticed the smashed headlight. I picked up the biggest piece of glass I could find and went back to Mad Mick. I knelt down behind him and took him by the shoulders and shook him. His head fell back into my lap. I took the sharp piece of glass in my right hand and swiped it across his throat. ‘One for me.’ I said. Then I did it again, ‘And one for the other poor bastard you did in.’
He couldn't say a word. I knew exactly what it felt like. I sat down to watch him bleed to death. I knew from experience how quickly that would be. When I judged the time was right I stood up and Mad Mick fell forward on his face. I turned him over with me boot, just as he had done to me. I wanted the last thing he saw to be me smiling in revenge.
I felt pretty sure that where he was going would be somewhere nice and hot, if not too hot!
As for me? Well, at that moment, the heavens opened and the snow fell thick and fast. I thought for sure I'd again see what Blue called that bloody big wall; though on which side of the wall I would find myself I simply did not know. I couldn't even hazard a guess and I didn’t bloody care!
