They had to free me, and now I live to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an executioner myself one day!
I am so thankful! The axeman executioner is allowed only one chance to get it right--and he missed my neck by a mere fraction of an inch, though I shall neither see again out of my right eye nor hear again with my right ear.
They had to free me, and now I live to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an executioner myself one day! An hour or so before we went into the Arena they would lock us in a metal building called the Iron Box, which was fiery hot in summer and cold as ice in winter. This was to stir our anger so we would fight more fiercely and give the crowds better entertainment.
One day my best friend, Marcus, died from the stifling summer heat inside the Iron Box. This made me so furious that I won every match that day, and thus they had to grant me the status of Free Man. [True story.] An editor once told me (and I paraphrase): "Mr. Warner, you have the knack of turning a novel into a short story. Keep on doing it."
When we seized the village I killed the king and took his beautiful wife for my own pleasure. In bed she would hold out her arms and say, "Come into me; I am warm and soft."
It is true that I quickly grew to love her with all my heart and soul. But when we withdrew from that place I ran her through with my sword for we never allow anyone we conquer to live. “They met, fell in love and lived happily ever after. That’s it?”
“You sound disappointed.” “Nothing went wrong?” “Nope.” “How’s that possible in today’s world?” “What can I say?” “Am I supposed to believe nothing went wrong, ever?” “You wanna hear the story again?” “No thanks!” “No one ever wants to hear this story twice.” Part I: Restless in Peace
Alexy found me in Dark Streets Bookstore. His clothes hung on him as if he were a scarecrow who’d lost his stuffing. Jane had told him I needed help adjusting to “the early stages of being late.” On the way to group, he offered me a chocolate. I felt better. At the open community center door, Alexy gave me an encouraging shove. I stumbled into a room with a snack table, a circled folding chairs, ghosts, demons, a banshee, vampires… I looked askance at Alexy. “And when will Buffy get here?” “Don’t mock,” he said. “You’re one of us now.” Part II It was my first session with "Restless in Peace," Alexy the vampire's therapy group for the lately late. I'd been murdered recently, but nothing had changed. I was grappling with the implications. "So am I a zombie?" "Time will tell," Alexy said. "If you were a vamp, we'd know by now. Decompose, you're a zombie; fade, you're a haunt; grow horns, a demon." "What if nothing happens ~ then what?" "Then you might be an immortal." "That sounds *boring*. What am I supposed to do in the meanwhile?" "Act like nothing's happened." "And how's that true to my authentic dead self?" The way he does things is as the flow of water through a sandbank. It touches the edges of, and reaches around, every grain of sand, even entering to the inner depths of some; and so his thoughts. If the sand is deep and wide the water never reaches the other side; his thoughts likewise never expressed. This seeping water never touches where it never should, as do some thoughts never be heard. This also says that his mind contains actions and words that he would never dare to carry out because they would reach beyond the realms of decency.
“Ahh Mah!”
“That’s enough, ‘Ah Mahing’ me. Now take your baggage upstairs.” “You just don’t understand -- all the other kids in the family get to –“ “DON’T tell me what ALL the Other Kids are doing. – If all the other kids decided to become dictatorships would you start calling yourself ‘Castro?’” “Chill down, Ma, you’re going to blow a gasket.” ‘Every four hundred years or so you get a thistle in you bonnet and drag the Firm through this separatists vote . Don’t you remember what happened to the Stuarts? ‘Ah Mah!” “And no golf shoes in the house!” “Hey. What’s that?” Joe asked.
“Not sure,” Samantha answered. “Looks like some kind of Army helmet and boots.” “Well, where did they come from?” “Found them here in the basement. Don’t know how they got here or whose they are.” “Wait. Didn’t Dad say he fought in the war?” Samantha’s eyes lit up. “It all makes sense now! He told me about his days in service, but I never thought much about them till now.” “As brutal as that battle was, we’re lucky to still have Dad with us.” “I’m gonna go upstairs now and tell him I love him.” The fathers worked three to a shift at the fundraiser outside the hardware store.
The onions went onto the grill. The aroma was irresistible. The chef laughed, snapped his tongs together. They bantered with the first wave of weekend renovators, started spruiking. The sizzling sausages became a siren song to those navigating the unfathomable aisles of painting and papering. Buns were handed over, spilling onions and dripping sauce. Mid-morning, a Kindergarten mother arrived, offering to cook. The tongs snapped in answer. She wiped down sauce bottles, cleared the breadcrumbs, made cheerful small talk about the weather. Squared away the money. Alexy was sunk into a corner armchair at Dark Streets Books, nose deep in a paperback. As he’d never read much, I was intrigued.
“Whatchoo got there?” I asked. “BBD,” he muttered. “Bram’s Bloodly Deadiquette?” I smarted. “Very funny,” he scowled. “Bagged Blood Diet.” He looked embarrassed. “Like blood banks?” I said. “Exactamente,” Alexy said. “Healthier blood. Banks don’t take from druggies or diabetics. No more Fat Alexy.” “So, you gonna open an account?” I said. “Wish I could! I’m so tired of the hunting, the mesmerizing … I’d rather just slap a bag on my fangs and be done.” "I've hardly any energy at all, Dr. Stands. Can you help me?
"Mrs. Lott, you have a common ailment: Low vitality," I said. "But I've put together a tonic that will take care of that." Opening a small refrigerator built into my desk, I brought forth a small bottle. "Drink this," I said. "It would restore your vitality." She drank the liquid, and a few minutes later wrote me a large check. I glanced at the label on the bottle--"TURBO-VITALL--100% Proof-Positive Results!" and smiled as she waltzed, giggling, from the consultation room. I had one too many double bourbons, and blinked in awe when a gigantic pink elephant sat down across the table from me.
Pushing back my chair, I started to leave. "What's your hurry?" asked the elephant in a pleasant voice. "Drink up. I'm buying!" And so we drank the rest of the night away. The elephant's name was Jim A devastating time! I went to Landswell Prison today to witness the execution. My editor told me he could assign someone else, but I insisted on doing the write up.
He looked resigned, and at peace with the world. He gazed out at the witnesses and smiled. Fifteen minutes later he was gone. Before they closed the curtains I took one last look at him and said, softly so no one else could hear: "Goodbye, Dad." I stopped by to see Dad's old friend Harley Grimmer, who was getting on in years. Before Dad died last Spring he told me to check on Harley now and again, because Grimmer lived with Hazel, the meanest woman alive.
We walked out to the barn, and I noticed he had a horseshoe nailed over the door. "That's upside down," I said. "Don't you know your luck'll run out" I was joking, but Harley wasn't when he spat a stream of tobacco juice and said: "Son, my luck ran out fifty-five years ago when I married Hazel!" We have completed the first Star Ship out in Texas; the LBJ Hypernaut is ready to set sail for the nearest star system. I want so badly to go but do not qualify as a regular crew member.
Working on the Propulsion Team, I plan to throw myself into the Sam Houston Ultradrive, be reduced to mere particles, and make the journey in that fashion. But I can't help but wonder: When I jump into the conversion chamber, will I feel much pain? I watched helplessly as they slaughtered my wife and daughters. They let me live because I was the village baker.
Their chief made me his favorite cook; he called me The Biscuit Man. He is a pig--a dirty, fat pig! Today is his birthday, and I am baking him a large platter of biscuits. It took me weeks to get the rat poison and smuggle it into the kitchen, and I am sure they will kill me for what I am doing. He sat alone in the hotel room, remembering . . .
. . . their wedding day . . . and night . . . . . . their eager acceptance of the assignment to go to the Middle East as war correspondents . . . . . . the explosion when she was taken from him by the roadside bomb . . . A single word . . . "Nora" . . . escaped his lips, summing up his entire life. “They look awful! Their ribs are showing, and their hipbones are sticking out. They’re obviously also dehydrated. How long have they been that way, and how long will they stay that way? Can’t you help them?”
“That’s Holding Area 1. Now if you look at the horses in Holding Area 2. They were in even worse shape when we rescued them. Some were beyond saving and had to be euthanized. The vet and feed bills are enormous. Their owners were arrested and convicted of animal abuse.” “What’s the penalty for animal abusers around here?” “They’re placed in Holding Area 1.” (I WISH!!!) The mother was sitting upright in bed, seeing her daughter just inside the closed door.
“What’s wrong, mother?” “I couldn’t sleep.” “Neither can I.” “Why not?” “I never knew how it happened.” The mother strained not to blink; it would splash tears onto her cheeks. “I remember walking on the path in the woods … then nothing.” “It was your best friend’s brother. He wanted you. You wouldn’t let him” “Oh. I see.” She paused. “Thank you. You can sleep now.” “You too, dear.” She finally blinked, and the tears fell. When she opened her eyes, her daughter was gone. “What! NO …”
“Why?” “His dream shattered; the dream to settle on the west coast of Scotland near Campbeltown or Stewart - part of his ancestry. With YES, one could then equate Scotland with Switzerland, untouchable but without the greed and false creed of the latter. Idyllic to settle and write, play some golf in summer with those Scots, and close enough to his daughter and granddaughters in England. Hopefully, mind you, maybe only a hope; make enough money writing to visit his children in South Africa and Australia; the latter a chance of a game of golf with Cate.” When I saw Miss Nan last, she wore a Belgian-lace nightgown. The next morn, when I knelt to light her fire, something brushed my forehead. Starting, I looked up the chimney to see trailing, tattered lace, white as snow, white as death, white as the bare bones I spied stuffed high in the blackened chimney.
Something must ‘ve lured her to the hearth. Icy hands—thin as smoke, strong as steel, they must have been—had pulled her up ‘til the bricks narrowed. All that remained was sagging, tattered lace, sinew, bone. It’d sucked gown, flesh, blood—mayhap ‘er soul—away. When I came to bat against Battaglia, I stared up at him on the mound and froze. His fastball smacked me in the thigh. I pretended it didn’t hurt, ran to first base, took a 10-foot lead. Battaglia looked over, looked away, then whipped it to the first baseman, who jammed his mitt into my ribs. The opposing team’s bench hooted “sleeping beauty” as I jogged by. My teammates cursed me under their breath. One day, only ten guys showed up. The coach sat me on the bench alone. I wasn’t cut and didn’t quit. I just never went back.
It was a scandalous time.
Solid oak-panelled doors had barely contained the querulous debates held behind them. Some had harrumphed about maintaining the status quo, citing the untroubled strength of historical precedent. Others took pleasure raising a great clamour about the courage to move with the times. The hallowed halls rang with the blustery indignation of outmoded nay-sayers and the idealistic zealotry of irresponsible firebrands. It seemed impossible that members on either side would concede. Nonetheless, after several centuries of considering the question of separation, the decision was announced. The Royal and Ancient finally welcomed lady members to the fold. Alexy reviewed the job application for The Red Cross Blood Bank.
The opening was for the night shift, to be on call for the area Trauma hospitals. “Like putting an alcoholic in charge of the wine cellar”. Name: ALexy Neuleighy Passed Age: Centuries Sex: Not any more Experience: Nursing Homes and Long Term Care facilities. Availability: Dusk to Dawn Why do you want to work for the Red Cross? Hmm. Alexy scratched his pale nose. “I am greatly interested in the ready availability of the precious tincture of life.” Strike that. He thought a moment: “My brother was a hemophiliac.” |
"Classic"
|