Bring me the head of Paul Wright
Syd
Hey you.. Out there in the cold,
getting naked, getting old,
Can you feel Me..
The sea had calmed down.
The ocean roared, a salt-encrusted wind blew across what was left of
New Orleans. The sky was steel-Grey, hiding the sun behind sad clouds.
The quarter where the bundle washed up was the worst hit. It brushed a
pole, then floated into the basement of a dilapidated house. It
bounced on the unsteady tides, brushing a dead body. It bumped into a
door, then neatly fitted itself onto a shelf.
"Chief!"
The chief of the cleanup crew turned. One of his men was running up.
He was in an exited state.
"What is it?" The Chief asked gruffly.
"We found something, sir" the crewman said.
"Nothing new."
"No, sir. But this one I think you should see..."
"If I came to look at every little thing, I'd never get any work done.
Just treat it like the others."
"Yes, sir, but," Said the crewman, unhappily.
"Do it! Go!" The Chief barked, sending the crewman scuttling away. He
pulled out his cell-phone, wondering why government work was so
difficult.
"Hello, hun? Yeah, go ahead and make those dinner plans. I'm gonna be
out of here by five. Lot of work, yeah, but nothing that wont wait
until later. Right, bye."
He surveyed the floating wreckage, picking this and that to be taken
care of and the rest can take care of itself. What he picked to work
on was the easiest of the lot.
"Excuse me, son."
The crewman turned at this voice. He saw a person dressed head to foot
in oilskins. Their face was obscured by a hood and sunglasses. He
could not tell the gender of this person.
"Yes? Need help?" He answered, bristling at the 'son' designation.
"I heard you found something here," The person said. The man nodded,
pointed at the house. It was a fairly low-income house, now in a
severe state of disrepair. He hated his boss, so he wasn't going to
tell this person to get lost.
"What was it?" Asked the person.
The man shrugged, said "Dunno. The boss wants us to get rid of it, or
I'd look. It's still in there, if your interested."
The person seemed to smile, and went into the stinking dampness of the
cellar. The crewman kept an eye out for his boss. Soon, the unknown
person reappeared carrying the bundle effortlessly. The crewman gaped.
He'd tried to move it, but had been unable.
The person silently slipped the crewman some cash, then went to a
floater. The bundle was secured, and the person jumped into it, and
slowly started rowing away. The boss came up.
"What's going on?" He asked.
"I just got rid of that bundle." The crewman answered, grinning
wildly.
"Good for you," The boss said, turning back to what he'd been doing.
So you're alive
I thought you were dead
Gonna bring you down
With my needle gun..
A bundle of barrels on the ocean. They were lashed together, riddled
with bullet holes, as if they had been disposed of in a hurry. On the
craft was a pound of flesh. It's skin was charred and blackened. The
side of its face was open to the elements. Groddy hair washed up and
down. Eyelids were permanently closed.
Paul Wright felt nothing.
He floated on the makeshift craft with no thoughts at all of where he
was going or why.
"Another journey," A voice said. He opened a blood-shot eye, and saw
Ms. Laurie standing there.
"I've had so many," He replied.
"And after this one?"
"Will there be an 'after'?"
He closed his eyes.
"'After' is reflective, of course," Robert McCarthy murmured in his
ear.
"Always."
"Something always comes after, of course," David Martin said. Paul
didn't reply.
"Everything is for what it is," He said. He saw Colonial Amick's sad
eyes peering at him.
"So long, Paul."
"So long, everyone," He croaked.
The raft slowly sank into the unsteady waters.
Is there anyone out there?
Shane Bruce sat in the cab of a train.
The coffin lay on the other side, making brief, almost hysterical
noise. He reached out and kicked it, and the noises subsided.
He was tired.
The exodus out of the major cities had been hectic and un coordinated.
He'd only just managed to grab this one. Now, heading into the city of
Columbia instead of away from it, he was rethinking his options. The
scenery of South Carolina had lulled him into a false sense of
security, but now, with the appearances of IEDs and ambushes. He was
rethinking his plans. He'd given up on his original plan to ransom the
body off to his family.
Shane Bruce found an old horse-drawn carriage just outside the train
station. He hustled the coffin up onto the back, then got in the seat.
"Gid'yap," He called to the mangy old horse. Slowly, the animal
trotted down the road. It seemed reluctant to go any faster.
The horse and cart turned down onto Broad River.
I saw their justice,
I saw the word of God
I saw their mercy,
It was the firing squad..
The figure on the cross stirred.
It raised it's hideous head and glared out at the assembled with
bloodshot eyes.
"I promised nothing I couldn't deliver," It said. It's voice was a
croaking, husky parody of it's normal self.
Ms. Laurie, accepting a holy wafer, smiled starkly.
"The trouble is," She said, "That others made promises in your name."
"They were fool," Croaked Paul Wright.
Bishop Maxwell, playing with a Johnny Funny doll, said, "You are the
fool. You made no attempt to distance yourself from them. Great evil
was done in your name."
The figure glared, then dropped his head. Its hands were pierced with
nails, its arm held up with rope. They wanted his death to be slow and
painful. He was thin and hairless, covered with scars and blood. His
mouth made gaping motions.
The others were seated in a pew, accepting a ceremonial wafer from
Maxwell. They were his brother, Fredo, Yolanda Beasly, Pastor Pierce,
Reverend Grisso, Colonial McCarthy and Major Bruce. The Bishop was his
wand over the group, a magician invoking a spell. The church was dark
and gloomy.
Paul Wright's blasted flesh cracked, spilling blood into a bucket set
up just for this reason. His breathing became strained. This is not
how he would have liked to die.
"Dead singers, Mr. Wright," Said Pastor Pierce, "Dead singers."
A half-destroyed slab of flesh hung from the wall.
It's skin was blistered, blackened, and bloody. No hair was visible on
its blasted flesh. Its bloodshot, peeled eyes opened. It focused on
nothing. Open wounds on what was left of its face bled.
"Your old foes have caught up with you," Keller said.
The TV blared trash reality shows. Keller laughed, poked a long finger
at the transsexual prodigy in a chair, as the set erupted into chaos.
"It took awhile, of course, Wright, to track you down. But we managed
to, and so.." He indicated a hot poker, and various other instruments
of torture.
"Why?" Came the croaked, half-intelligible inquiry. His vocal chords
were ruined by hydrochloric acid. Blood gurgled up from his ruined
mouth.
Keller smiled. He drank a half-empty can of beer. He said, "You know
well enough. Old injuries. Old rivalries. That shit. Neither of us are
the kind to let go of our grudges."
Another gulp of beer, then he grabbed another pairs of tongs. He
approached Paul Wright with them, smiling.
"You can't escape your destiny, Wright."
Girls won't touch me
'cause I got an indecision
Living by night
Isn't helping my complexion
"What is destiny?"
The creature opened its eyes and looked around. Nothing moved in the
damp cave. Its flesh was half-destroyed and hung off its frame. Bloody
waste flowed away, staining the floor. A fuzzy shape hovered over its
vision. It floated, seemed to grow and shrink, like water. It's
bloodshot eyes blinked. The voice was familiar. It continued.
"Is destiny even real? Or is it an illusion meant to cheer us up if we
succeed and comfort us if we fail? What do you think, Mr. Wright?"
If it could have, the creature would have leaned up on its hands and
look around. But it couldn't, so it didn't. Little enough flesh
remained on its form to even call it human, despite its appearance.
Identifying it as an individual was out.
"Destiny," Paul Wright muttered, closing his ruined eyes, "Is for
storytellers and moralist."
"Same thing," Said the voice.
"Absolutely," Paul agreed. More and more flesh fell from his form. He
opened his eyes again and looked around unsteadily. He closed them
again. Nobody was there.
The voice spoke again.
"Destiny," Ms. Laurie said, "Is what you make it."
I am the world's forgotten boy,
Always destined to destroy..
"To think," Pastor Pierce growled, "That I'd be summoned to exorsice
the likes of you."
He continued sliding long silver blades back into his bag. The figure
behind him stirred. It was pinned to the wall with several of Pierce's
silver blades. Its arms were outstretched in a parody of cross symbol.
It glared at pierce.
"And what," It said, "Is that supposed to mean?"
Pierce smirked, said, "Summoned to exorsice an anti-Christ atheist
like you. I remember being unable to get rid of you when you were
younger."
"I remember. You never did like me."
"Someone like you, hanging around my granddaughter, could you blame
me?"
Paul Wright grinned.
Pierce turned, flung a blade at him. It caught him in the neck. In a
gushing crescendo, it fell to the floor in a torrent of blood. Pierce
leaned back, opened his arms wide, and laughed diabolically.
The full moon illuminated the window behind him.
I've got a little black book
With my poems in
Got a bag,
A toothbrush, and a comb,
When I'm a good dog
they sometimes throw me
a bone in..
Dr. Kamourond stood over the prone figure of the assassin. He lay on
his back, his eyes wide open, his mouth grinning inanely. Dr. K. had
examined him, and found nothing out of the ordinary.
"Nothing. Not a mark on him," The Doctor said.
The nurse looked up at him.
"What's it mean, doctor?" She asked.
"That," he said, "Is what we are here to find out."
He prepared the form, then said "Scalpel."
The nurse rummaged around the tools, then said "I can't find a
scalpel, doctor."
"What!! How can I do surgery without a scalpel? What do you have?"
She rummaged around again, then produced some scissors. He glared,
then sighed, and grabbed them. She blinked.
"But, doctor.."
"If it's all we have..."
He sank the blades into the assassin's flesh. Blood spilled, gushed,
then declined. Slowly, the line grew.
"Doctor," The nurse said, "I think he's gone."
"Oh, well," Said the doctor, "That's how it goes."
He went to the cabinet, opened it, then spun around.
"Who the fuck has been in my stash," He yelled.
The figure that was lashed to the stake stirred.
Fredo Wright signaled to continue to pile wood at his feet. They
finished and a torch was passed to Fredo. It's light illuminated Paul
Wright's grimy, dirty, torn features. It fell onto the pile.
Flames reached up, licking painfully at Paul's form.
The assembled group cheered and clapped enthusiastically.
Ms. Laurie, Chi Fang, Stacee Higbee, Robert McCarthy, Yolanda Beesly,
Jack McGowan, Bishop Maxwell, Fredo Wright and others watched the
figure dangling from a hangman's noose. It twitched, spasmed, and eyes
bulged.
The penis was straight. As the figure slowly declined, it exploded.
The discharge flew out like a falling star.
The crow applauded.
Staked to the ground, Paul Wright stared up into the sun. His eyes had
been burned out long ago. His skin was red and peeling. His tongue was
swollen. The desert wind blew across from miles away. Its odd whine
was the only sound.
The moisture of his skin burned out into the air. He breathed more and
more loosely.
He regretted nothing.
A body hung from a hook.
It had been flayed. Blood still sell endlessly from it. Beyond speech,
beyond sight, it hung there in agony. It twitched every so often, but
that was it. Its skinless form glistened in the Grey light.
Paul Wright let himself go numb. It was better then the pain.
Sometimes I still sleep on the beach
Remember when stars were in reach.
"Are you sure," Sheila Doolittle, the born-again pastor, "That he'd
said he'd be here?"
"I'm positive," Said Toshe, the Japanese model and part-time musician.
She pushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes, and pointed. A white
boat gleamed offshore.
"That's the boat he said he'd be on," She continued.
Doolittle shuddered in the cold wind that blew in from the sea. She
eyed the silent beach again.
"So," She said, "Where is he?"
Toshe pulled her fluffy yellow coat tighter, and again scanned the
beach. The cold cut through her too, even with the fur-like coat. She
growled "He'd be here."
"He'd better," Doolittle murmured sourly, "Get a move on."
She kicked an object in the sand absently. It went flying. She watched
it blankly, then realized what it was. She glanced down. She tugged on
Toshe's coat. She looked to where she was pointing. What she saw made
the bile rise in her throat. She covered her mouth, but continued to
study the remains. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doolittle
bending over and puking.
What was embedded in the seaweed had once been human. Now, it was a
scattered collection of body parts. Most of the head still stared at
her.
She lost the war, and bent over and puked beside Doolittle.
The face had definitely once been Paul Wrights'.
Paul Wright moved in the shadowy room.
He was studying several paper documents. Only his gloved hands were
visible in the Grey light.
"And what," said a voice, "Purpose does these multiple and lengthy
death scenes?"
Paul ignored the speaker. He turned over a document. On the back was a
cute blonde girl in a red fur coat.
"The readers won't stand for this kind of thing."
Paul grinned. He studied the picture.
"So, screw them," He said.
The other person choked and finally composed himself. Paul continued
to stare at the picture.
"That is a real professional attitude," He said.
"I'm not a professional," Paul said coldly.
"That", Inspector Dim said acidly, "Is very obvious."
"Rhazzledik," The figure coughed.
Around him, the city was empty. An ice-cold wind howled through the
city. It gave the city a voice.
The prone figure did not move. It watched the eerie orange sky with
detachment. It was a deep dusk color, with the shadows absent.
Paul Wright coughed up blood. His limbs hung at unnatural angles. He
couldn't move even his finger.
"Rhazzledik," He croaked again. He closed his eyes. The ice-cold wind
blew over him. He felt nothing. He was the only one to survive.
Gotterdamerong had fallen. The world's powers had taken each other
out. Not eve those people deemed Very Important had escaped. They had
fallen with everyone else. Their power and wealth had not saved them.
Several steps behind him lay a beast. It was large, hairy, and brown.
It lay face down in the stagnate dust. Nearby, a heavy black sword
lay. It's shiny black surface was covered in the beast acidic blood.
Paul lay were he fallen only six steps away from the beast.
He had slain Rhazzledik, his personal demon that had haunted him since
he was fifteen. It was always there, watching and whispering. The
hairy beast with no name.
His eyes closed. The ground beneath him shook violently. Great rents
tore the ground apart. The ruins of the city buckled, shook, and
imploded. The mountains rumbled, volcanoes exploded with fiery red
sparks, and ranges collapsed. Ocean floors heaved up. The air grew
unbreathable, and light collapsed into twilight.
Soon enough, it was over.
The other planets looked in vain for their fair sister.
-End