Greetings from Gehenna

Greetings from Gehenna

Etzel Edelweiss

Scene One

Only Monsters Cry

I am what I am. You are who you are. We are what we pretend to be. Does it really matter who came into existence first? Him or you; whoever imagined the other is just what happened. It is what it is. There was once a monster without a name they stopped being referred to as such when they realized exactly what they were and so it goes. Life is just what you make of it and not what anybody else tells you it is.

Have you ever wondered what it must be like; to be truly crazy? I imagine that it must be similar; to believing oneself to be omniscient. To have the marbles to every question rolling about up in your head; when you just want to scream out that you don’t know nothing.

I once knew a homeless man that believed he was omniscient. He explained that it was due to the fact that he knew what it must be like to have a home and family; to be loved that is. Although he never had any of those things and was left abandoned in the gutter when he was born. He was a rather ugly baby but made for a rather handsome corpse. Talk about having toys in the attic; am I right?

He told me that he once robbed a rich man and set the poor man’s home alight while he was tied up inside. He mentioned something about a wife too, but I’ve forgotten that now. He later hung himself though, after he failed to find out where happiness was sold. Poor old fool truly thought they sold such a thing in a store as if anyone with money could walk right in and help themselves to happiness, how absurd. Bet he didn’t see that coming, now did he? Well that was his story, this is yours it starts at the end so, it begins like this.

His boots thundered down without making a sound; as he crossed his master’s dimly lit marble hall. The only noise to betray his arrival was the sound of creaking unlubricated hinges of the ancient oaken double doors as they closed begrudgingly behind him. Although his whistling probably didn’t help much either, now isn’t that nice.

Garbed in a long scarlet coat that hung down to his knees with dark leather gloves and boots. His trousers were pin striped black and red, wrapped around his waist was a checkered sash by which his curved, single-edged sword was fastened with the blade facing upwards, his hand on the hilt.

His cowl was drawn low over his head, and his face was hidden behind a featureless porcelain masque with avian eye slits cut into it. The masque was checkered in black and red diamonds on the left side. While completely white on the right with a crack over the eye slit and a single black diamond that hung like a tear beneath the eye, isn’t that nice.

The chamber was as deceptively long as it was confoundingly wide. With only a narrow path from the narrow gate from which had just entered, to the far side of the room where upon a raised set of steps sat an empty unadorned and rather plain stone throne. Behind the throne stood a similar but strangely locked oaken door cut into the stone wide enough for only a single man to pass through. A faint light emanated from the gap at the base of the door.

The chambers vaulted ceiling was held high upon rows of columns with torches set into them to illuminate the black clad forlorn chamber. Casting light upon the countless rows of bookshelves that lined the room on either side of the path brimming with the collected manuscripts from the old world, regrettably books were humanities only achievement.

For it just so happened, that incidentally, they were the only things that didn’t burn. Arranged at its center was a single monumental oaken table the surface littered with tomes flipped to seemingly random pages. Countless candles lay scattered about each holding their hungering flame aloft. These candles never seemed to extinguish, their wicks perpetually burning, their light never fading. It’s only right that a candle should burn out, isn’t it?

A solitary figure stood leaning over this table inspecting a large tome by candlelight its pages having curled and yellowed with age. His long burgundy cloak dragged along the floor obscuring his form, draped about his shoulders was the pelt of a large white wolf its snarling skull devouring his right arm. His cowl was drawn over his head his masque was visible beneath fashioned into a laughing skull with crying eyes. A simple iron circlet with four iron spikes equally spaced was set atop his cowl adorning his crown.

Outside this chamber of his own seclusion far down below to where the sodomites inhabited the hell known as Gehenna, swelling like a black ocean of wickedness he was known as the Judgemaster. The Lord and Law a pillar of indifference before which all men knelt. Though it’s almost humorous given his sad state of affairs how he regressed into a recluse and delegated himself into the role of an ink stained scribe.

Tending to his old, dusty, untouched, tomes rather than the timid people who had long learned to fear him, maybe they made him feel like he had some friends, but who knows what a nutter is thinking. Thus, it was quite regrettable when he went mad then again, he never was the most put together fellow probably should have seen it coming but, oh well.

“Grin,” the Judgemaster spoke without looking up from the tome he was flipping through. Addressing the masque man in a mild-mannered monotone.

“What can I do for you today, Master,” Grin replied giving a forced but convincing bow which went largely unnoticed in the bleak twilight of the chamber.

“Your ear so that someone might listen and bear witness to the truth,” the Judgemaster announced without looking up at him.

“May I ask for whom, am I to bear witness?” Grin said in the mildest monotone he could manage.

“Why, the world to come of course. Remember how I told you of the Serpents last words to me. How he said, ‘Why do only monsters cry?’ At the time I didn’t know how to answer him and said nothing. Yet his words were burned into my memory, branded there they come back to me now as if he knew all I would do, or more aptly the things I have done. Like the ill-fated Faust before me I asked for a deal. Let there be no confusion this was a choice of my own choosing I’m not a fool whom believes one’s fate is forced upon them. To be or not to be, heh-heh I should say not,” the Judgemaster chuckled at his own dry joke, a comedian now isn’t that nice.

“And then?” Grin asked him so, he would continue on with his story.

“Now that’s hardly a question, if newborn infants could speak I’m sure they would kindly ask to be smothered with a pillow or dropped in a lake to be freed from the suffering of life before it could begin. Alas it was not so for me. For the one that must suffer under the shackles of life’s infernal servitude evermore and judge everyone since I’m responsible for the sins of all my fellow men,” said the Judgemaster gesturing with his hands.

I was just standing there, making a circling motion with my hand so he would carry on and get his story over with.

“It’s natural that I sit in judgment but I’m indeed the lowest of the judged,” he continued. “But tell me what makes a man? Did I become a man when I judged my parents seeing them as the contemptable mongrels that they truly were and committing parricide putting them down like the pair of dirty dogs that they were. Perhaps it was when I judged myself and I climbed to the top of the mountain to find out if there was something after all worth waking from this monotonous nightmare for. Was I made a man when I came down from the mountain to conquer and set the world ablaze for forty days? Or am I still a child thinking and speaking as one unwilling to set my childish ways aside? Might we all be beasts instead, perhaps the king of all beasts or maybe the most lowly and cowardly of them all. That’s what I am after all, for I was the rodent that dared to judge the serpent,” he had two perfectly good ears and yet he insisted in talking with his hands.

Grin just stood there waiting with his hands on his hips. Waiting for time to stop.

“Most of all I’m tired, but mostly I’m just tired of other people, they’re phony and artificial. They don’t say what they mean, and they look you in the eye when they lie. How is it that I can’t get a straight answer when I ask a simple question, like what is a human life worth. As if you could weigh everyone individually on a scale like produce. People are not the sum total of their actions. There is no good. There is no evil. These terms are invalid and arbitrary. We’re all just sort of crummy and if you took us to market we’d have to be thrown out because we all turned out rotten. It’s like our value depreciates at birth, a dwindling commodity. The children themselves are an unknown commodity whether they’ll turn out decent or just like everyone else. Honestly if I could fix the world I promise that I would, but out of twisted wood, I’m afraid I could do no good. Hell, as it turns out is other people, but God is in his heaven, isn’t he? So, what’s wrong with the world, maybe everything is just as it should be. Besides all of that I somehow find myself strangely at peace in my dreams as of late, one in particular keeps recurring,” finishing that thought the Judgemaster casually walked over towards his vacant throne stopping in front of it.

“And what exactly have you been dreaming to put you so at ease Master?” asked Grin between clenched teeth mechanically following in step behind his master.

“Well you know I’ve never been fond of you calling me such formal titles, Grin. I’ve acted as Judgemaster for so very long now and all the while longed to be judged, punished, and put to death by someone more, noble than I. It’s an endless cycle life is, a locked door with its secrets hidden away. You could spend your whole life looking for a way to open it only to be met with failure at every chance. Although in your final terminal breath, death comes along to unlock the door and invites you to take a peek at what lays beyond,” he said holding up a long iron key he wore dangling around his neck.

“I’ll take a look,” Grin said with an arm outstretched.

“Just a moment now, as you’re bathed in the ominous light that pours from the door. It’s only for a moment though and you awake on the other side of it without recalling what it was you saw. With a familiar scene in front of you another locked door and the cycle repeats but how many times must this be now. Never realizing that’s why I made you for in the first place, to replace me and that’s what I’ve been dreaming of. Dying. Death. At your hand that is of course, so it ends like this who’s it gonna be, me, or yourself?” the Judgemaster finished turning to face Grin.

“As you wish Master, you know I’ve always resented my creation,” Grin replied with a tinge of amusement staining his deadpan voice, his curved sword already buried hilt deep in the old Judgemaster’s chest impaling his heart. The Judgemaster fell backwards seating himself on his throne and Grin withdrew his sword. Wiping his gloved fingers along the bloodied blade he smeared them along his masque in the shape of a large red crescent grin asking, “Well, am I smiling now father?”

To this the Judgemaster said removing his grotesque leering masque with a trembling hand. “Yes, but your eyes never do. I gave my firstborn for my sin, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul,” tears streamed down the old man’s lined face and then he died, and I suppose all was right with the world too, isn’t that nice.

As Grin sheathed his sword he began relieving the dead man from the long iron key which was tied around his neck by a piece of fraying string. Whistling while he worked an uplifting tune for it is not every day one gets to murder their maker.

He then moved to the oaken door behind the throne and inserted the key, unlocking it. Forcing the door open he was then bathed in a magnificently ominous white light after a long pause he stepped over the threshold of the door snapping it shut behind him without looking back. In an instant all the candles in the room blew out. Then the Judgemaster was bathed in black; his cold bones finding that which they had often sought, he was happier now.

Scene Two

The World to Come

Hello and greetings from Gehenna, the year is 762 A.W. After the Wall that is, and God is dead. Not because he did anything wrong mind you; but simply because he was no longer needed. He had become obsolete and redundant. People were no longer transfixed in terror at the thought of his judgment. For they had learned to judge each other long ago.

He was no longer prayed to although his name was still spoken in vain. Gold was a far more loving god in the greased palms of his folk; that flowed freely between people like dysentery from the asses of beggars into the gutters of the streets. The same place where his name had become so casually discarded. Religion once the opium of the people had fallen out of favor; but now in its place they turned to opium as it turns out it’s far more addictive.

For just a few coins you could buy a smokable plant; that would take you down the road to meet God face to face. Rather than donate your coins to the church; only to wind up stuffed into the clergy’s tunics, while you listen to their lies and false promises.

The broken rays of light from the fading evening sun cast their dull glow upon the dense boreal forests that blanketed much of the land of Gehenna. That protective mother moon rose up over her sun to shield him from his father’s cruel hand; which had ceased not out of protest but for a lack of objects within reach to break over his sun’s small and trembling frame. Now isn’t that nice.

His dying light illuminating the worn-down roads that ran like a myriad of rabbit holes through the bleak and dreary dream-like woods beckoning travelers towards civilizations last flickering embers. Some in time being completely overgrown and being consumed by the forest. There was an adage sometime spoken by travelers, “There are no rules in the forest.”

To travel the roads of Gehenna is the same as inviting misfortune upon oneself. For it’s just as likely that travelers fall prey to highwaymen who roam the roads. As they are to end up in the stomachs of the strange creatures who lurk behind the twisted black snow-covered rotten pines.

Guttural howls vehemently accosted the evening air and between tree tops; high and tall Babylonian walls arose in the horizon just before the setting sun. It was half past noon when mother moon buried her sun behind the horizon and in her grief; began to weep black tears that stained the sky.

O dear Mother

Shed not a tear when I am dead,

For it’s I who pities you instead.

There is no anger when you’re in the ground,

Only sweet relief from not being around.

I shall return with the dawning of the new day,

And all your tears will be washed away.

Mailed fingers of earth and stone that rose from the frozen ground clutched its fingers around the throat of Gehenna and closed them tightly squeezing her lifeless. This wall ran the perimeter of the land of Gehenna and encompassed her entirely within its cold, dead, icy, grasp. Standing hundreds of meters high and impossibly thick. No doors, windows, ramparts, stairs, cracks, or crevasses along its impressive length indeed ― no exit, at all. No escape. No entry.

“Sorry you can’t stay here the inns all full guess you’ll have to go, elsewhere.”

“May I speak to the master of the house?”

“You may do as you please.”

“When will the master be able to see me?”

“You can’t be seen now I’m afraid the masters not at home, but you’re free to wait.”

“How long until he’s back?”

“Whenever it pleases him.”

“Well what do you think I should do?”

“Do as you please should you possess a will of your own; if not then do as you’re willed and go, someplace elsewhere.”

A thunder of hooves raced west along the road, five lives carried aloft, three on horseback escorting another two being pulled along by a trundling cart. Their destination rose up in the frost hazed distance silhouetted by the setting sun. A metropolis stacked into the sky like a tower with its peak unfinished, built upon the back of the mountain that stood at the center of Gehenna.

The summit of the city looked like red stone fingers that grasped towards the sky an arm outstretched that begged the sky to take the proffered hand. The sky looked down and made no sound as it weighed the implication of its reply, it had declined.

Onward the party rode toward the stoic city, New Eden by name it was known. Though no longer tender or delicate for it was a red city that joyously bathed itself in the bloody bathe waters of sin. That was spawned from the cities inhabitants.

Even faster they rode as if to challenge the sun to a race beyond the wall. A race they could never win for the wall was the boundary of the known world presumably desolate with no man left standing beyond it. Ravaged in one of mankind’s conquests that left the whole world standing naked of the people that clothed her. People had given her such joyous pride and now there was none.

Gehenna for all her cruelty was one of the only mothers willing to let humanity nurse from her decrepit breast. Putrid shadows on either side of the snowy road doggedly pursued the party. The three men on horseback rode in response forming a protective semi-circle around the cart to shield it from the rear and sides.

Hunters by trade this group were known, members of the infamous order of beast slayers. Though mostly just a motley crew of unscrupulous characters to include sexual degenerates and criminals of low cunning. Now the world’s riffraff were all bundled together, isn’t that nice.

Hired to escort the cart to its destination intact, they looked enough the part all garbed in a similar fashion. Wearing boots, gloves, with long swords, and flintlocks, donned in full faced great helms with chainmail under fur-trimmed gambeson and swaddled in shabby stained cloaks, blood or mud take your pick. To offer some protection against beasts, burglars, and the elements while not being as encumbering as full plate mail. Ha-ha-ha but they are the burglars that everyone else needs to watch out for.

This group’s leader rode to the right of the cart a rugged man looking to be in his late twenties. Led by skill not seniority but he was just as interchangeable as either of his traveling companions. His long silver-white hair held back behind the black bandana tied around his brow. He was narrow in the face his jaw was lined by stubble, his deep-set golden eyes vicious and predatory shifted between the trees and the shadows that tailed them.

Although he was still young and good enough to look at his fiery eyes belied a hatred which his face didn’t show or was it something possibly just as dangerous, maybe it was love? You know on second thought maybe it wasn’t, I’m pretty sure love was discontinued after it was shown to be bad for your health. Good riddance I say. Perhaps that’s why he only speaks in a deadpan. Though he could just be a sourpuss, isn’t that nice.

“The beasts are upon us, buckets on let’s do this,” barked Riga, the silver haired man without raising his voice that frosted in the air.

Meet Waltz and Fitzroy his companions and fellow hunters that were now doing as he had instructed. Waltz, one-eyed, old, and cantankerous or as old as one could hope to be in this harsh frozen hellhole. Physically he was a tall man but morally he was a midget. He was told he could be whatever he wanted to be, so he became a bigot.

His hair was cropped short and grey, he had a thick salt and pepper moustache with a long scar cutting across his patched left eye, marring his otherwise handsome face. His remaining eye a piercing icy blue orb of indiscriminate judgment. “About time a job just isn’t the same if you’re not molested by mongrels, time to earn our pay wouldn’t you say,” Waltz cut in.

Fitzroy, or Fitz as everyone called him, so I will too from now on. He was in his early thirties by the best man’s guess, he was syphilitic and had a shaved head. Shaved not bald and he was very particular on this topic. He had recently stabbed a man with a broken liquor bottle who’d argued otherwise not long ago in a tavern they had visited along the road.

He had a thick rough brown beard that framed his jovial grin that seemed to always be plastered across his dumb, squinting, syphilitic face. His countless casual sexual conquests which by the way, had done wonders in transmitting the infection. Since they on the receiving end wouldn’t ask, and he being the gentleman he was wouldn’t tell, isn’t he nice. In unison their dull metal helms sheathed their empty heads, next they drew their swords that were perpetually belted to their waists and then there was violence.

A blood curdling snarl proceeded the appearance of the first beast that burst out of the brush that made up the forest on the right side of the road. Crushing a little red poppy under its muscular paw barreling towards Riga. The beast had a long scraggly mane but looked like a mangy white hulking blood starved wolf that possessed a set of glowing gold paranoid eyes. It took two more bounding leaps onto the road before propelling itself forward with its powerful hind paws towards Riga’s throat.

Riga’s golden eyes narrowed behind the visor of his helm as he saw the beast closing in on him. Gripping his bastard sword in both hands with a single underhanded swing of his sword he decapitated the beast while it was still in mid-air. Its head cartwheeling down the cobblestone road ahead of him with a wet plop, plop, plop. While the beast’s momentum sent its body crashing into the side of the racing cart with a thump which rocked it up onto two wheels. A comical stream of arterial blood squirted out from the beast’s severed neck before painting the cart and snow red, isn’t that nice.

A moment later, on the opposite side of the road the second beast emerged similar in size and appearance to the first. This one ignored Fitz who guarded the left side of the road and headed straight for the cart, it slipped directly underneath Fitz’s horse in mid stride and leapt onto the cart.

Instantly burying its fangs into the driver’s throat and a hot wash of blood sprayed its muzzle after it slammed into him, both of them toppled over the back of the cart. Screaming the second man took the reins of the cart and tried his best to keep it straight whilst looking behind at the beast which had just torn out the cart driver’s throat and began to greedily drink down the contents. Chomp, chomp, munch, munch, gulp.

One-eyed Waltz bringing up the rear stopped short of the feasting beast and drew a chipped hatchet from his belt weighing it in his hand. The beast looked up and smiled, baring its bloodied fangs before speaking, “Cursed is the man whom the wolf consumes, and the wolf becomes man.”

Waltz smiled back at the beast saying, “Isn’t that nice.” Cocking back his arm he threw the hatchet that buried itself into the beast’s skull killing it. Removing his helmet Waltz dismounted his horse and walked over to the lifeless beast and driver. He took one look at the driver’s torn gaping throat and spit in the snow beside him. He then proceeded to plant his muddy boot on the beasts back and beheaded it with one clean swing from his sword.

Waltz wiped his sword clean on the back of the now headless beast before sheathing it at his hip. Finally, he picked the head up by the handle of his hatchet which was still buried deep into the smiling skull, calmly he returned to his waiting horse and stuffed the head into a dirty leather saddlebag. Further down the road, Fitz had stopped the cart and could be heard calling back, “Sorry ’bout that.” Riga was bending down beside his horse to pick up the head of the beast he had just recently decapitated.

“Not much of a fight, huh?” Riga shouted back to Waltz who was slowly riding up to meet him.

“Aye, bunch of blood crazed runts, Fitz must be high if he thinks he’s getting a part of the bounty with that poor shit show,” spat Waltz.

“You got that right, he can be sure that he isn’t going to live this one down. Let’s get moving I don’t want to be out here after dark if we can help it and we’re almost at the gate,” said Riga mounting back up and gazed into the distance, “How’s the driver? Not that it matters much we still got the other guy to pay us for our troubles,” Riga asked disingenuously gesturing behind him with his thumb.

“As alive and well as my empathy,” Waltz said dryly. “Good riddance.”

The sun had completely set by the time our merry party arrived at the outer gates of New Eden that surrounded the periphery of the city and they loomed large and imposing over them. Some twenty meters high built from red brick. The large iron portcullis had remained open allowing traveler’s entry into the city’s outer limits. Two sentries stood on either side of the open gate. These black cloaked city sentinels, these noble blue-blooded knights of New Eden were known as Judges.

They wore golden bauta masques, angular and mouthless with hooked noses and black felt tricorn hats. Their elaborate gold chest plates were visible underneath their cloaks. These two were armed with long rifles with serrated bayonets fixed to the ends and rapiers at their sides. In short, they looked like a pair of clowns but not the ha-ha funny kind. The funniest thing about Judges though, they thought they were above the law.

“Greetings hunters, mind telling us the password I’m afraid there’s only one language we seem to understand,” the Judge to the left of the gate barked in a high squeaking voice that cracked as the party approached.

“What password? Don’t tell me you’re asking for a bribe, surely you can’t be serious,” Fitz retorted clearly annoyed.

“Ha, what do you think we just let in any dirty vagabond that wanders in at nightfall,” the second Judge responded in a low honking baritone. “And what might you filthy lot be smuggling into our fair city in your ramshackle cart, huh?”

“I’m transporting beast pelts if you must know, would you care to inspect?” responded the cart driver, tossing a small leather pouch to the Judge who had requested the password. “That ought to cover the toll, now may we proceed beyond the gate I no longer wish to remain on the road.”

“This’ll do, and I’d rather not inspect your putrid pelts. Move along before we shut you out, you’ll be the last group for today,” squeaked the Judge disgustedly, while sifting through the contents of the pouch with a finger.

“Eh, thanks and nighty-night to you too pricks,” said Fitz like the sourpuss that he was.

The party then sojourned into the periphery of the city. Which consisted primarily of miles upon miles of farmland surrounded by peasant hovels where the poor would farm food for the bourgeoisie in the shadow of the mountain. The yuppies who in exchange for their social liberties could live in relative safety inside the city walls.

The red city still loomed several miles ahead with its gothic spires and buttresses rising concentrically to the mountain top. From the slums of the poverty-stricken peasants inhabiting drug dens and street corners of the lower city. To the sprawling night clubs and bath houses that catered to the upper city elite of artists and actors.

The Judgemaster’s castle was erected at the cities summit atop the mountain in the palm of the Red Right Hand. The theatre that resembled five fingers reaching out from the mountain where all performances were staged. Unfortunately, he wasn’t accepting new visitors and hadn’t been for years, a crying shame.

This was the largest hive of the inhabited civilization that existed in Gehenna and perhaps still remaining in the world with a hundred thousand people living inside the walls of New Eden give or take. They travelled a few more miles before deciding in the dark outside a small-town stead to conclude their business with the cart driver and part ways permanently and by no means subtly, isn’t that nice.

“Well it’s about that time we settled up on payment, don’tcha think?” Waltz asked the cart driver suddenly.

“I hope you’re not expecting more than half of the promised amount considering you let my partner die,” said the cart driver. Immediately after he had spoken he was grabbed by the arm and violently tossed onto the snowy road by Waltz pinning his arm beneath his knee he pulled out his hatchet and held it to the cart driver’s hand.

“Seeing as I wasn’t predisposed to negotiations before I’d like to bring up that we agreed to see your cargo safely to the city not your petty little lives, your friend wasn’t even given a name in this story so it’s not like he even mattered. I could always just go tell the nearest Judge that you were smuggling opium into the city or the way I had planned which is you tell me how much you’re willing to pay and I’ll tell you how many fingers you get to keep,” Waltz articulated irritably.

“Just take it all damn you and get off of me, you savage!” the cart driver moaned pathetically. With that they had parted ways and the cart driver sped his cart down the road and out of our story. Probably dying drunk in the gutter somewhere but forget about him now. The show must go on.

The three hunters, the miscreants of our current and primary concern, eventually reached the lower city after stabling their horses for the night. They then began walking around the mostly deserted winding narrow streets except for a few loons that were milling about minding their own business and eating a leather shoe they had found.

Searching for any cheap looking inn of questionable patronage, guided solely by the light of the street lanterns. It was quite dark when they finally stumbled upon an old unpainted three-story building which faced the street and it stood without a sign to declare its name or function. Quite naturally they assumed this building must have been an inn and stepped inside for a pint.

Scene Three

Looking Glass

Nobody in the whole wide world is attractive unless you’re willing to believe they are. Now if you don’t find them attractive, then problem solved and poof like that, they hold no power over you. So, the Messire of this little play that we all call life; shamelessly hid his face behind a grinning, white porcelain masque. As he stood in his black wool overcoat and his black felt top hat, pieces of the ensemble he was wearing.

He was looking behind himself at their broken-down covered wagon. With the words, “Magical Mystery Tour,” emblazoned across the side of it in red stitching. Which was being pulled along by their stupid, grey, old, donkey named Horse. I say he’s theirs but in actuality he belongs to the Messire. Horse was supposed to be transporting the Messire and his theatre troupe throughout the country.

Then again, they had literally just broken a wheel in a pothole on the road. Which was covered in snow a few moments ago, leaving them all quite literally stranded. On the side of the road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woods; with their dicks hanging in the icy wind. They really should have prepared for this, but then again hindsight is twenty-twenty, now isn’t it?

In their wagon they travelled with their stage equipment which included, instruments, costumes, actors, and their two feline miscreants of course: good cat and bad cat. Bad cat must have clawed her way out of the burlap bag that they kept her in, a crying shame really. Then ran out in front of the wagon causing them to be visited by misfortune. It varies from time to time on how fast misfortune will come along, unfortunately for them this time… it was rather immediate, isn’t that nice.

Which is how their wagon had broken a wheel and began this unfortunate tale. I know you’re probably asking yourself, now why would they ever keep a cat with them that causes misfortune when she crosses your path. That’s simple really, so they could let her out against people who have slighted them. All because they’re personally bitter people and I guess you could say that they hold grudges. Big deal, doesn’t everybody in the world do that?

If that’s what their little black bad cat does, then could you guess what their good orange striped tabby cat does? If you said or thought the exact opposite of what bad cat causes then ding, ding, ding we have a winner. Step right up and claim your prize, a mouth hug from Horse, careful now he bites. Better yet you could pay for the key to his back door, isn’t that nice! After all they are a lusty crew, that have to satisfy themselves too, don’t you know.

They would allow good cat to cross their paths from time to time, to grant them all good fortune and then would reward her by giving her a nice, big, juicy, kipper. Bad cat must have really chapped her ass from all of her jealousy and wanted to get one too, the little bitch. Too bad for her, they don’t want what she is selling.

She’d probably cause their masques to crack. They all stayed dressed in costume when their theatre troupe was preforming on the stage and when they weren’t. Maybe because they’re all lepers, that might have had something to do with it, strong possibility but overall that’s just how things roll.

Otherwise people might have viewed them in a negative light, only as they are mind you, how they see everyone else. It just doesn’t seem quite fair, why can’t they just be themselves?

Then they would become frightened at their appearance and have them all shipped off to an icy leper colony on the other side of the world in chains. Where they’d be safely locked away, segregated from the outside world, isn’t that nice. Personally, that just sounds dreadful, another crying shame. It’s like this, being a leper is a lot like being a child’s broken toy; where they no longer wish to play with it anymore.

But here comes the best part, they aren’t going to capture them because they already live amongst them. Out in the open with everybody else; but they don’t even know it yet. So, they will play with them, surprise. Whether they like it or not! All because they have learned to act just like these so called ‘normal’ people do; in the greatest imitation game of all.

The common man! And when you have a problem that’s too ugly to talk about? Simply hide it and it’s gone; isn’t that nice. However, you are just as you are; and they are just what they are. Because honestly, that’s really all that real life is, a show; a performance, an act. The face that you allow others to see; they were just in on the joke.

Messire was just the stage master of the greatest play of all; that little game that everyone calls life, while he tried to keep the paying animals entertained. But oh, aren’t you starting to grow tired of it at this point yet? Maybe you are, well how about you just kick off your boots and sit awhile and listen. Don’t worry now! He’ll break everything down for you; so that you can understand it too, isn’t that nice.

What do you think lies behind the looking glass that everyone gazes upon when they look at you? Wait is that the real you in the looking glass, don’t worry now it hardly ever is. It’s just the picture you like to hang of someone else and pretend it’s yourself.

Well… wouldn’t you reckon that, I found you behind the looking glass, it’s the real you and not just the public image you wear, or the person you pretend to be. However, a lot of the ‘normal’ people are ugly on the inside but are not immediately recognized for what they truly are. But woe is me, they’re ugly on the outside according to these so called ‘normal’ people, so they rationalize it that they can judge them based on their appearance? Oh, this human waste water, it’s so shallow.

But the only thing that other people will be able to perceive is the act that others are putting on. On the world’s greatest stage that is life, all mankind is in on the act, isn’t that nice. They’ll be able to live just like everybody else, as long, as they stay nice and toasty warm all covered up. It’s ever so funny to be on the inside looking out. Inside of yourself, in the depths of your heart is truly the only place where you can lower your guard and take off the masque that you put on, when you venture out into the prying public eye. Where they’ll just chew you right up and spit you back out.

It’s simple, easy really, second nature for some, just always remember to wipe a smile across your masque. So, that everybody can see how happy you pretend to be, as you keep on living the lie. Or else they’ll catch onto your, vapid, hallow eyes, that you’re not as confident as you portray. Just some people have grown accustomed to living the lie. Others still are dead inside.

Onlookers won’t be able to distinguish between the actor and the act, that they were putting on. It’ll become like a second skin that they cannot take off. Just like looking at themselves in a looking glass. When in the back of their mind they’ll think, I can fool myself but maybe I wasn’t good enough to fool them, it’s like they can see right through me? But in the end, when the curtains come tumbling down. The rapturous thunder of applause follows, they’ll think that maybe putting on the act was all worth it. They bought into it after all, isn’t that nice.

“Shit,” Messire muttered as he clenched his fingers into a fist at his side, while he scowled behind his masque as he looked at the broken wheel on their wagon. “That’s a bad, bad, cat we can’t exactly get to our next performance like that.” His masque may have been smiling, but he sure as shit wasn’t.

“Whatever are we supposed to do now, Messire?” asked Giscard, just like the child that he portrayed in the costume he was wearing. With a great big toothy grin spread across his masque, garbed in a yellow hood and tunic with purple trousers. For being one of the actors he was as big as they come, a big lumbering behemoth of a masqued man. That ironically wore the face of a child, but oh it made the sweetest irony. Irony your name is man.

“You lot can stay right here and feed the good cat a kipper. I’ll ride Horse back to that farm that we crossed a few miles down the road, to see where they left a wheel lying about,” Messire said to his collected theatre troupe before he unhooked Horse from the wagon and jumped onto his back. Then they started back down the snow-covered trail, they had already traveled down and into the sunset as Messire began packing his pipe full of opium.

“Clip, clop, clip, clop,” was all that Horse’s hooves said as they made it on down the trail he’d already traveled. That already had a set of his hoof-prints tracked through the snow along with the tire tracks from the wagon. At least the tracks weren’t alone. Time ticked by as the sun continued to set, Messire continued to smoke like a chimney as Horse carried them forward.

“Ain’t this just my lucky day?” Messire said to Horse removing his masque and lighting his pipe, not like he cared though or understood the sounds that came out of Messire’s mouth. “You know what Horse, I’ve really just always hated my fellow man,” Messire said petting Horse between the ears and drawing deeply from his pipe, isn’t that nice.

“Pffft,” Horse replied blowing air out of his lips, his breath turning into a white mist in the frigid frosty air.

“I’ve always shared that same thought,” Messire said to his one true traveling companion as smoke escaped from his mouth, it was like he truly understood him. Even though he was an ass. “Sometimes I really must ask myself, if it’s truly even worth it? This life, I mean hiding from the public eye in plain sight,” Messire said looking at his masque in his right hand as a tear ran down his craggy face. “Honestly, I’d be happier if I had never even been born at all. All my parents did was commit their cardinal sin of giving me the life, that I didn’t even ask for.”

“You know, you could always end it all my friend,” Horse stated in a gruff voice as he trotted them along the road.

“Horse, you can talk that’s incredible! How come you’ve never said anything till now?” Messire asked in his dumb found amazement.

“Well now, maybe because you never cared to ask,” Horse told Messire indignantly, as if it should have been obvious, and surprised that he didn’t know this.

“I mean it’s not wrong to think that animals could understand me, or even reply? After all mankind was just a group of apes that lost their hair. But humans learned to talk and communicate with each other so it’s only right, that we could tell someone their face value. I mean we can’t all be equal, that’d be preposterous!” Messire laughed out smoke to Horse because he didn’t seem to see the bigger picture he was painting.”

“But why would that be? In the animal kingdom every beast has their own struggles, we don’t pick favorites. One is not better because of what they have done. Mankind are just like cats chasing rats around the barn,” Horse said in a somber tone, isn’t that nice.

“People have a lot in common with cats, either falling into the good bucket or the bad. Most people end up somewhere in the middle between the two extremes, but there has got to be people above and below you. In the ranking order, of human wickedness. But in the end, we’re all degenerates here,” Messire argued back, as they now passed along the snow-covered fence of the farmyard’s pasture with the few cattle that remained.

“So, what exactly… people rank every animal into some mystical order of animal desirability? Like those cattle over there, being below me as a majestic grey stallion!” Horse asked in a confused tone as one unwilling to believe it.

“You’re very close only you’re a donkey. Now you’re finally starting to see humans without the masque they choose to wear, and do you like it?” A smirk cracked across the Messire’s true face and he was grinning ear to ear, isn’t that nice.

“Sounds like a horrible way to live life,” Horse scoffed at the notion. “I am so a horse, otherwise why would everyone call me one?”

“That was sort of my inside joke as I was too broke to get a real horse, so I just thought I would just name you Horse to be like everyone else. Life however is just one big unending nightmare, and we’re the boogiemen so we have to drag everyone else in to join us. So, that we won’t be alone any longer,” Messire breathed out smoke as they were riding up to the farmhouse, so Messire put back on his masque to protect himself.

“Have you ever thought about waking up?” Horse asked in a concerned tone.

Messire didn’t answer Horse because we we’re approaching a middle-aged landowning male stranger dressed in working clothes, and Messire didn’t want to come off as crazy by talking to Horse.

“Good day, good sir,” Messire announced to the stranger in a jolly tone behind his masque that smiled at the stranger’s dour expressionless face.

“Evening,” the stranger said back with the sun setting right behind Messire’s back, he finished by spitting out some of his dip beside himself.

“Would you happen to have any wheels lying about?” Messire asked him, bringing his arms up in a shrugging motion.

“Oh sure, absolutely and why don’t you help yourself to my first-born teenaged daughter while you’re at it. She sure is a nice blooming young one! I’m not exactly a charity, for everyone that comes riding through,” he said, sounding annoyed, isn’t that nice.

“And I’m not expecting to get anything for free, I’ll pay you for it. My wagon broke a wheel out on the road,” Messire said pulling out a coin purse, and shaking it. “Clink, clink, clink,” the coins pleaded to the stranger. But their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Yeah, well I still don’t have any to spare. It’s not like I have a spare wagon lying around,” he said gesturing behind himself with his thumb, to a broken-down frost riddled barn.

“That’s alright, don’t worry yourself about it. Thanks for your time,” Messire said to the grumpy stranger before Messire turned Horse around and rode off down the snow-covered path they had come from to get here.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry yourself about it, I’m sure I won’t,” he responded in a tone dripping heavily in sarcasm, to Messire’s back that was growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Isn’t that nice!

“Now what are we supposed to do?” Horse asked inquisitively while they trotted along the side of the fence that surrounded the stranger’s property.

“Simple we take what we want, he still has a wagon on his property,” Messire said to Horse patting him on his side, isn’t that nice.

“But you said that you weren’t getting anything for free?” Horse asked clearly puzzled, at this strange turn of events.

“Thievery isn’t free, it’s work! Taking during the day, but you got to help me out and be on the lookout,” Messire said as he had Horse just over the wooden fence surrounding the property. “If you see his dumbass coming start bucking and acting like an ass.”

“Really, that’s it, all you need from me? Is to act normally, you didn’t even need to ask,” Horse scoffed out, peeling his lips back to smile like an ass. As for Messire he took his masque off as to not be the person the stranger had just spoken to, isn’t that nice. Then they began their approach to the barn from the rear to take him unaware. Messire dismounted Horse, and crept inside the barn from the rear entry, Horse followed me in right behind him.

I’ll be dead honest here, Messire started the simple process of getting the wagon off the ground, so he could steal the wheels. First, he rolled a large stump that was beside the wagon that served as a stool in front of it. Next, he attached Horse to the front of the wagon so that he could pull the wagon forward, and onto the stump, elevating it. Making it free for Messire to steal the front two wheels, sure they only needed one. But remember now it’s always better to have a spare, isn’t that nice.

Horse was still attached to the wagon but even so managed to warn Messire of the stranger’s approach, “Pssst… look out he’s coming this way.” Messire quickly made his way to the side of the barn and picked up a lonely shovel that was resting against the wall, just waiting for its first kill.

The stranger had picked up his pace when he caught a glimpse of his wagon being propped up on a stool, to hurry to the front of it.

“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” bellowed the stranger’s booted feet beating the snow-capped landscape as he hurried over to his wagon. That was having its wheels repossessed by the Messire. Honestly now who was more deserving of them?

“That child fucking freak!” he exclaimed speaking about himself and those were his last words that he ever breathed out on that bitter, cold, winter evening. Because Messire personally hammered his face seven different shades of shit. He fell to the ground after my first blow, but Messire wasn’t done quite yet. The side of his head accepted my beatings with the shovel that Messire had picked up and he continued to beat him until he was lifeless, isn’t that nice.

After he was all cold, and stiff, with his pants full of warm steaming shit. Messire started digging him a hole that he’d be cozy in and could lay in forever. Right next to his wagon, a parting gift from Messire to him for being such a good sport about it, and voluntarily lending Messire his wagon wheels forever. What a thoughtful guy, Messire never did learn his name, but he sure was sweet.

“Humans are all rotten,” Messire said to Horse as he continued digging hand over fist. “It really is a shame that I count as one of them.” Messire said while cursing his luck for being born at all.

“But you’re not,” Horse said to Messire unapologetically. “You’re a leper, together but separate. They don’t even want you to be counted as one of them. They’d ship you away if you showed them what you really are to them.”

“They’re just being unrealistic with their expectations, because they look exactly the same on the inside,” Messire barked spitefully back to Horse. “But they don’t want to take off their masques and look at what they really are. Unfortunately for me, we were born without the choice that they were given,” Messire said finishing his shallow hole then he nudged the stranger into it with his foot and began to make him disappear. “Good riddance,” Messire stated dryly, isn’t that nice.

“Why don’t you just buck up and not be such a fucking sourpuss,” Horse said back to Messire. Messire just smiled at him without his masque on, so he could get a good look at all of his bottled-up joy. Messire went to fetch some rope, so that he could bind the wheels together. So that they could travel back to the other members of the party, with the wheels cast over Horse’s haunches. Messire fixed his masque back upon his face.

Messire saddled back up on top of his long-time trusty steed, or just one that he so happened to name Horse. Then they carried on, and out of this little piss poor barn, and out of the little rat’s nest that the stranger called a property, and back onto the main road. To have a heartfelt reunion with Messire’s theatre troupe, so that their lord, and savior, could give them the wheel that they needed so very badly. And then they could resume their voyage onto the next city to preform for all the filthy mongrels there, isn’t that nice.

O.K. but just so you know what I meant by that, they’re just your regular, every day, average, working people or as I call them: filthy fucking, flee-ridden mongrels, you know. It’s the same difference really, words are just like makeup that you use to, pretty up a pig. But even still those words are a lot more likely to leave scars upon another person’s feelings, but that doesn’t even matter because you can’t see those scars.

Invisible scars that divide the human world, not really a matter to talk about since everyone shares those. Ties that bind them all together, matters of the heart. Mine just feel like they’re broken, rent in two, put out to pasture. I don’t know but it has to be to early to give up, I have to keep trying. Or else what was it all for?

Messire took off his masque, and puked off Horse’s left side, coating the pavement in it so that the horse shit wouldn’t be so alone, isn’t that nice. Then Messire wiped his mouth with his sleeve and relit his opium pipe for the long cold journey ahead of them.

“It doesn’t sit easy with you, does it?” Horse asked trotting down the road.

“I didn’t even like the guy, and it had to be done. But just witnessing the brutality of humans, even if it’s myself, made my stomach turn,” Messire said exhaling as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve again.

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Horse said continuing down the path.

“About what,” Messire said, running his thumb across his cracked lips.

“It gets easier,” was Horse’s reply. “Eventually you’ll feel nothing at all, when it comes to killing. No joy, no sadness, no remorse, nothing lasts forever, especially not feelings.” Horse’s dry reply on the nature of apathy didn’t even warrant a response, so Messire just continued smoking as they made their way along the path of broken dreams, isn’t that nice.

They rode on in silence, personally Messire enjoyed the peace and quiet, getting lost in his own thoughts you know, but then again, it’s not for everyone. The only sound was the caw of crows perched up high in the snow-covered pine trees on either side of the road. The sun had completely set, and it was growing darker, when Messire could barely make out the outline of their wagon in the distance. Just how he remembered it, with a corner kissing the ground for lack of a wheel.

As Horse and Messire rode up to reunite his traveling theatre troupe. Faust our little jester garbed in green and blue asked, “Did you manage to scrounge up what we need?”

“I’m back so is it not obvious?” Messire asked in an incredulous tone.

“No?” Faust replied unsure of himself garbed in his mask of merriment.

“Hmm,” Messire scoffed at him. “The wagon doesn’t need wheels anymore, I know how we can make it fly! We’ll be the first anywhere to do it too.”

“Really that’s incredible,” Faust wheezed out slapping his hand to his forehead, as Messire moved forward with Horse towards the wagon. Just so everybody could get a view of the wheels that Messire was transporting. Isn’t that nice.

“Don’t worry your little head about it now Faust, pigs will start flying just as soon as you finish fucking them all,” Messire said in mock amusement that had the rest of the theatre troupe rolling.

“Giscard,” Messire commanded in a voice of dominance. “Hoist up the wagon so we can fit on the new wheel.”

“Aye Messire can do,” Giscard said lumbering over towards the wagon like the big child that he was and portrayed.

Mewt their nameless stagehand who wore a white masque with a red X over the mouth, didn’t say anything as he took the wheels off Horse’s haunches. Then he separated them and began wheeling one over towards their ramshackle trusty piece of colorful shit, that they called a wagon. Big, strong, powerful Giscard lifted the wagon with a grunt as Mewt got closer. Allowing him to slide the wheel into place. So, Giscard could lower the wagon back onto the ground. Mewt then slipped the retaining pin to keep the wheel where he had placed it.

Messire dismounted Horse so, naturally some degenerate could mount him later. Then he tied Horse back up to the wagon that Messire had freed him from. Isn’t that nice: bondage at last, bondage at last, thank God Almighty I’m home at last! There now their shitty wagon was a little less shitty and packed full, with all of their food, gear, instruments, and cats.

They let good cat out of the wagon before they left so she could cross all of their paths and grant all of them good fortune. Now if only she could cure leprosy! But maybe there’s a cat out there who can, now isn’t that nice.

So, naturally the theatre troupe, and Messire could mount back up, and make it to their next show. All six of them in total, or seven counting Horse. Giscard the giant-child, Faust the jester, Mewt the stagehand, Harlot the harlequin, Slapstick the dumb-dumb, finally Horse, and Messire.

Messire liked to be sitting up at the front of the cart, all by his lonesome driving along behind Horse’s reigns. While he was smoking opium out of his pipe with his masque on his lap. But he was never truly alone because his sadness comes out to keep him company. Isn’t that nice! His sadness never lets Messire forget that he’s always right there, tucked away out of sight. An androgynous black cloud with the aura of despair surrounding him, hovering right beside Messire.

“You’re still here?” Messire moaned weakly, as his hands were getting clammy under his gloves, from him being in Messire’s proximity.

“Yessss?” he inquired in a low baritone, seemingly unaware of the pain that he causes Messire. Messire’s not always confident but certainly not when he comes out, for he just tosses confidence out into the street with the rest of the garbage. “Why do you ask, do you not like my companyyyy?”

“Good Heavens no, I hate you with a burning passion,” Messire said behind clenched teeth. “You’re a disease that my mind can’t shake!”

“Now why would that beeee?” he intoned mournfully beside Messire. “I am youuuu!”

“Maybe because he can’t get rid of you, because he was talking to me,” Horse said coming to Messire’s aide.

“Because you turn all my good feelings into bad feelings, and I can’t get anything done when you’re around,” Messire said snapping at him, floating above the bench beside him.

“Well you’ll just have to learn to like my presenceeee,” he breathed at Messire.

“No, I don’t have to if you were gone from my life forever.” Messire growled at him between clenched teeth.

“But why would you want thatttt?” He asked glumly.

“Are you not listening or deaf? Because I can’t stand being around you!” Messire screamed drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Fine, then I’ll just leave for nowwww,” he whispered vanishing from the wagon.

“Whad’ya say Messire?” asked Slapstick quizzically his black and red checker board masque not hiding the disbelief in his tone of voice.

“You mean you really don’t like any of us?” said Harlot broken-heartedly. In her white masque decorated with a red heart under the left eye which was now broken.

“No, no, not any of you I was only speaking to the black cloud that was up here talking to me,” Messire said trying to reassure them, but they clearly weren’t buying it.

“Yeah, and I totally believe you too. Just about as much as everyone else believing that I’m not a pig fucker,” Faust laughed derisively. Isn’t that nice!

“You’re all saying that you didn’t see a black cloud up here talking to me?” Messire asked in a shocked state of surprise. Mewt just shook his head from side to side only to be ignored.

“Truth be told I’ve never fully understand half the things you say, but clouds can’t talk,” said Giscard being the spokesman for the rest of the wagon. Everyone else just voiced their agreement of what Giscard had said.

“Well then, if there wasn’t a dark despair cloud floating next to me, that voices all of my fears that I don’t want to hear. Then I surely can’t be a leper,” Messire said certain of myself. “If it’s all just a dream, when do I wake up?”

“Then why do you wear a masque?” Slapstick asked in a deadpan lifeless tone. “Is it not because you’re ugly on the outside like the rest of us? And don’t fear you won’t wake up from this, it’s as real as it gets right now.”

“You know opium can cause you to see things that aren’t really there, hear things too. Oh, just the madness of it all,” breathed out Giscard resting his chin against his fist, his elbow on the side of the wagon. Isn’t that nice.

“Are you saying that none of you can hear Horse? He can’t just be speaking to me, inside of my head now, can he? Such a deep insight into the reality that surrounds us, it was all just what I was already thinking,” Messire said in a shocked manner of speaking.

“Oh no Horse doesn’t talk, you were just talking to yourself up there at the front of the wagon Messire,” said Harlot in a sweet lovey-dovey tone of voice that almost made her sound sincere about what she was talking about.

“Why dontcha just marvel at him now. Well lookee here he’s still a leper after all, imagine that! What a shockin’ series o’ events,” snickered Slapstick as he playfully rubbed his right hand under his chin.

“Laugh all you want Slapstick. But a man who wears a masque is many things, an actor being chief amongst them,” Messire replied in an authoritative tone. Forgetting what he was just talking about.

“Or a leper, a phony, a pretender in fear o’ being found out. Take ya’ pick, it makes no difference to me,” Slapstick chuckled before breaking down into hysterical maddening laughter. That brought him down onto his hands and knees, to laugh like the pig that he really was.

“Oink, oink, oink,” squealed the pig as he dropped down onto all fours. In the middle of the wagon, the one that we all called Slapstick, you know the jackass. “Oink, oink, oink,” he carried on, slobbering all over himself underneath his masque, how disgraceful.

And suddenly as the trees began to part, Messire could distinguish the outline of their next city in the twilight. The outskirts of the city became more visible, for everyone that wasn’t on the floor. The towering obsidian walls and high and tall ramparts that stood before them. “Dust yourself off, filthy swine it’s almost time for our next performance,” Messire spoke up to announce our arrival to his entire theatre troupe.

“You hear that Faust? It’s time for your next performance! I hope that they’ll like it as much as you do mhmhmh,” Slapstick giggled to himself. Messire did too, but he did it on the inside. He may have been stone faced as they rolled on up to the gate. But Messire’s masque had a large shit eating grin plastered across it. All it did was smile at the gate guard as they rolled up to the gate. He was dressed in his full plate mail, so his face was covered too.

He must have seen Messire’s theatre masque or the face all men see. And Giscard’s masqued face behind him looking over the wagon. He just waved them on through the open door without a thought saying, “You may proceed.” Talk about having some preferential treatment as a leper, isn’t that nice. Honestly, it’s about damn time, everywhere else you just have people walking all over them. It’s like what are they garbage?

It honestly hurts to say but everyone’s just human garbage, in the rest of societies eyes. Sure, they’ve tried to have them all shipped away, but they wanted to stay with everyone else, is that so wrong? For however long that Messire has been running his greatest idea yet, the traveling masqued theatre. There’s been no outbreak of leprosy among the populace. It almost makes it seem like they were being segregated by choice, they pose no harm by being in contact with them everyone else.

I just need to hand deliver a message for lepers everywhere, “They mean you no harm so take it easy, relax. Not everything is so serious.” I just want to shout this from the rooftops or cradle everyone’s head in my lap and whisper this to them.

They’re just people too. Lepers in reality are as harmful as snowflakes carried aloft on the winter wind to everywhere else. The Messire happens to be as harmful as a shovel. To the people that have what he wants, and no he’s not going to ask them for it. Because he’s already taken it! They just have to learn, to let it go.

As Horse delivered them safely through this new and bountiful Gemorrah, they were greeted by the scent of shit overflowing from the gutters. Assaulting their nostrils. As well as the streets being free housing for all the homeless that lived there, stacked on top of each other. These men just took turns using each other sexually for sport or assaulting their sight. The scent of their unwashed bodies wafted over to the theatre co. and it curdled the milk that was poured out into a dish for good cat.

Messire pulled the wagon to the side of the paved road for a while. To let bad cat out of her bag, so she could let out her lack of luck on the passerby’s. Before Messire snapped his fingers for her to return to her bag. Then Messire, guided Horse across the city and out of the grimy ghetto. Onto the next stage, past all the debauchery that littered the city streets, so they could unload their equipment and set up for their next showing. That way they could empty the pockets of all those degenerates that weren’t swimming in poverty. To live life, the way that everyday ‘normal’ people do. Isn’t that nice.

The theatre stage was ready to be set up to go with some scenery for their grand performance. Word had been spread across the city about their grand arrival. They were like everyone’s dinner that the populace was just waiting to be cooked. They almost couldn’t wait for the curtain to rise and the show to start.

Scene Four

Inn of Ill Repute

The inn as it just so happened to be, though some might call it a tavern seeing as they served alcohol was rather packed when the hunters came in. These strange tales always seemed to begin in a tavern for some odd reason or another. Who is it that they hoped to meet, why is it that people come to taverns looking for strangers to fill the holes of their sinking lives.

The first floor of the inn was filled with tables of people drinking various forms of alcohol and smoking from pipes, drunkards speaking loudly enjoying their merriment, some arguing occasionally coming to blows. Some looking for the source of their sorrows at the bottom of their glasses, others being dragged about by their hair, onlookers laughing derisively.

There was one man sitting on a little raised stage at the far end of the room playing a balalaika. Garbed in a long greasy red leather jacket and a very wide floppy red brimmed hat, a brown scarf was draped around his face only revealing a single silver eye beneath his hat. His long pale fingers protruding from his threadbare fingerless gloves with his hands strumming the strings as he played. His patchwork backpack was cast on the floor beside his mud caked boots. His melancholy melody resonated throughout the room, Riga recognizing the song as he sang, it was Tom o’ Bedlam.

When I short have shorn my sow’s face
And swigged my horny barrel,
In an oaken inn I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel,
The moon’s my constant mistress,
And the lowly owl my marrow,
The flaming drake and the night crow make
Me music to my sorrow. While I do sing, any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing,
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Behind the bar on the right side of the room from the entrance was the innkeeper a portly, balding, middle-aged man with a slouch who was wiping down glasses a very cliché thing of him to be doing if I may add. His name was Ernst or Ernie by those that didn’t hate him and teenybopper by those who did. On account of him fucking his twelve-year-old orphaned niece that lived with him.

Nobody ever found out that it was Waltz that killed the girl’s parents in a hold-up on the road. You might say that hunters are part-time highwaymen when they have nothing better to do at the moment, which is often the case. Rape was allowed in Ernie’s religion so long as you married the victim afterwards, which he did being the God-fearing man he was. For they considered women beneath men, really as they would a farm animal. Property. A four-legged sow to be bred. She would have turned thirteen this month had she not died in childbirth, the child by the way was stillborn. Isn’t that nice.

At the end of the bar closest to the door from where they entered sat on the corner stool a woman who was beautiful to anyone who wasn’t blind and hideous to those that were. Tall, lithe, and tanned with dark hair that came down to her slender neck with two large white feathers braided into her thick hair on the side of her narrow face. Her eyes possessed a deeper darkness and possibly longing but who am I to say I’m a terrible judge of character.

She had a stout constitution for the fine liquor which she readily drank up from a row of empty tumblers arranged in front of her. She was wearing black leather pants and a low cut and sleeveless brown tasseled top, revealing the tribal line tattoos along her arms. Her dark fur cloak was loosely draped around her shoulders. Fitz not having much luck that day anyways, figured what’s the worst that could happen and took up residence beside her. His two companions continued over to the innkeeper, Riga and this enigmatic female casually locking eyes as he walked by. Waltz sneered, “savage” underneath his breath.

“Welcome to the Inn of Ill Repute, what can I do for a bunch of sodomites like yourselves,” announced Ernie without reservation while polishing glasses.

“Beg your pardon? We’re looking to cash in some bounties not to shag ass, also we’d like a room for the night and news of any hunts if you got them,” replied Riga putting the bloody sacks that contained the heads of the beasts that they had killed on the road onto the counter.

I suppose it would be helpful to explain at this juncture that hunters while traveling the roads around Gehenna will cash in the heads of any beasts that come calling for their bounties, usually small sums but all together not insignificant. These beasts were inhuman creatures native to the wilds of Gehenna which have learned to take on the human form and occasionally prowled the city streets. How have they learned to walk and talk and look like men you might ask. Some say witchcraft or communion with the devil. I assure you it’s far simpler than that, it’s easier to kill with kindness rather than claw.

“Yes, yes, I see,” said Ernie taking the bloody sacks and putting them below the counter and producing two-coin purses in their place. “Going rate is twenty-five a head, the room will cost you ten, it’s on the second floor, second door on the left,” he said handing Riga the key. “Afraid I haven’t heard about any new beasts poking around.” Concluding their business transaction, they queried as to the whereabouts of this establishments sign that was already stated as missing. While Ernie began to wipe the blood off the counter that had leaked out from the contents of the sacks.

“Well, that’s a funny enough story as it is really, this place used to be called ‘The Horse-Thief Hangout’ with a sign hanging outside and everything but on occasion when classy ladies would come to stay the night at this particular establishment choice gentleman would pay top dollar to get the keys to those rooms and let’s just say business was good.

Well word got around and ladies stopped coming then people started calling this place something else ‘The Inn of Ill Repute’ if you would, well we here liked the new name, so we changed it and dropped the sign seeing as we no longer needed it,” concluded Ernie. Then a crash came from the far end of the bar where the dark-haired beauty stood, and Fitz was laid out on his back, she finished by taking her glass and dumping the contents out on Fitz’s face before storming out of the Inn, the door slamming shut behind her.

“What about her, you still seem to get lady patrons?” Waltz asked questioning Ernie.

“Oh her, no she comes around every so often for a drink but never stays the night and you know I think we’d have to start an auction to see who would get that key. Then again, I don’t think anyone would be able to handle her, fiery one that she is. Sometimes it’s just better to dream.” Waltz and Riga letting out a chuckle both bought themselves a drink and walked over to where Fitz still lay prone on the floor.

“Tell me friends truthfully am I ugly?” the prone man inquired licking the liquor from his parched lips that the woman so kindly poured out onto his face.

“Absolutely,” said Riga in his classic deadpan.

“The ugliest of us three,” sneered Waltz.

“Yeah at the least,” said Riga concluding Waltz’s statement.

“Honestly, I’d rather put lipstick on a pig and fuck it rather than touch you. At least I could stomach kissing it afterward,” Waltz added considering it the next time he visited a farm.

“Do you suppose that’s why she wouldn’t sleep with me,” said Fitz from all the way down in the doldrums which apparently was floor.

“Did you at least get her name,” Waltz scolded.

“Yeah, she said it in passing right before she knocked me to the piss covered floor I believe it was ‘up yours pig’,” Fitz said sighing, clearly love stricken. “But have pity on a poor man down on his luck good sir. I only beg for money so, that I may squander it on booze,” Fitz implored looking up at them helplessly, pretending to sob.

“Oh, fine here you big baby but booze only. Also, a legless child could give her the in and out better than you could,” Riga stated dropping three coins on Fitz’s chest.

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” said Fitz bolting upright and slapping his money down on the counter before shouting at the bartender holding up three fingers “Three of your cheapest.” The three of them then set up at an empty table on the opposite side of the room against the wall. Breaking out their long smoking pipes they packed them with opium before passing around a long wooden match and inhaling deeply. As the tension of the day’s ride loosened like a noose from their necks and they began to relax.

“Good lord did you see the cart drivers face when you threatened to take his fingers he nearly shit himself,” laughed Fitz while smoke was billowing out of his mouth.

“Yeah but I was being serious, we should have just killed him and took the whole cargo, do you know the street value for this stuff right now?” Waltz asked holding up his pipe.

“Not worth it to just kill the mule we all know he was running the stuff for the syndicate and don’t I have a share in it?” Riga added blowing a smoke ring and Fitz childishly inserted his finger through it.

“Oh, screw it all enough of this business talk, tell me a story, gimme a story,” implored Fitz slamming one of his mugs down on the table and grinning like a child. Waltz giving in to Fitz’s persistence relented looking at him with his good eye.

“Alright I’ll tell you a story are you happy now, but I ask you how do you truly know if you’re actually happy? There was a rich man who has never known struggles or hardship, and everything was given to him. So, he reckoned himself happy and thought to himself I must give back to the poor for I have so much, while they so little.

While handing out bread to the poor he came upon a man who told him to his surprise that he wasn’t truly happy and probably never had been. That instead he was prejudiced to his good fortune. This man said he used to be just like him, brought up to a good and wealthy family.

He said a burglar broke into his home one night to rob him, he tied him and his wife up and took all their valuables. Before leaving he strangled their infant daughter, then ravished his wife before giving her the knife plunging it into her stomach with his blood soaked red right hand. She bled like a stuck pig wheezing, and whining, huffing, and puffing. It was a terribly bloody mess quite shameful really considering that was his mother. He was left tied to a chair as his son set his house on fire while he was still inside but not before he had broken the man’s legs.

The family dog Sparky dragged him from the burning house saving his life. An old shaggy white wolfhound that stood six feet tall on his hind paws and blind in one eye. Well he had no other family to take him in and no longer any money and turned to begging. He had little to eat for himself and not enough to share with his good old pal Sparky so, he too eventually abandoned the man to his fate.

Often, he went to bed hungry and slept on the streets without shelter. He told the rich man for this little bit of stale bread that’s not even good enough to feed to swine that he was happy. In despair the rich man asked what he could do to become happy. The poor man in reply told him to become ignorant to the suffering of others and to avert his eyes from injustice. Apathy is the quality of happy men he added for empathy can only bring sorrow,” Waltz said finishing his story and taking a drag from his pipe.

“All people are born happy, that is until they grow up or unless they never grow old,” Fitz added smiling good humoredly.

“Do you two happen to believe in the devil, that he exists that is?” began Riga in a deadpan blowing another smoke ring his eyes emotionless.

“What do you mean like the story about the Serpent and the Saint that parents tell their children about how this land was founded, that’s a fairy tale. The brave knight who slayed the foul serpent did he marry a princess and perhaps ended poverty as well,” Waltz interjected.

“Not quite, mine goes a little different do you two happen to believe in creation that there was a creator and that there is a beginning and an end,” said Riga.

“Yeah absolutely I believe it just as much as I believe in Krampus,” said Waltz.

“Well if there is no proof to confirm that he exists there is proof of the devil’s existence and thereby the seventh proof to confirm that he too exists as well,” finished Riga.

“Well, do tell and if you speak of the devil a poodle shall appear,” roared Fitz. Upon hearing this the balalaika player all dressed in red with the oversized hat pulled up a chair and plopped down on it backwards with his arms crossed resting on the chair back.

“Though he doesn’t always appear as a poodle my dear Doctor Faust. Oh, my where are my manners, mothers do teach their children never to talk to strangers, don’t they? You may call me Sharik there with proper introduction I should say we are strangers no longer, though please do continue. You were just stating how you could prove the devil’s existence. I’d be rather keen to hear what you have to say,” the red stranger stated eloquently with his silver eye gleaming beneath his hat in mirth.

“What’s with the getup, you some kind of vagrant or something?” Waltz inquired.

“Yeah and why are you hiding your face what are you a leper?” Fitz added.

“Well, yes to your first question I guess you could say I’m sort of a wanderer or at least you could say I’m looking for something, but you ask me why I cover my face,” the stranger said beaming. “It’s funny you know. How you can recognize a face you’ve only seen once like that,” Sharik said snapping his fingers. “But you’ll never understand what it’s like to be them. Why do I cover my face, so I’m more easily forgotten? So, if you’ll excuse me I’ll keep my face hidden. It might otherwise spoil the surprise.”

“Very well, I suppose we’re not adverse to strange company,” said Riga regaining his composure after the sudden interruption and he warily inspected Sharik twice over, Riga began his tale.

Scene Five

The Serpent and the Saint

The people who lived here, under the shadow of the mountain long before Gehenna was founded and long before the wall went up had a different name for it. The mountain to them was called the Hill of Hinnom. Where people would climb to the summit to hang up their lives on the outstretched limbs of the old unconcerned tree that stood there saying,

“No more for me thanks.” Mothers with unwanted children would abandon their babes to drown in the dirty waters above. These people who would disappear in this manner would cease to be mentioned by the humble folk living below like they never existed lest their shameful end bring misfortune upon their families.

It was a rainy April morning one Sunday when the protagonist of our little story here whom we’ll call the Saint was one such person who trekked to the top like so many others before him. No sense praying for his end to come so with a bundle of rope over his shoulder up he went. While God was off resting he was off to hang. Like they say if you want a job done right, do it your damn self and that’s just what he intended. There was only one proper knot for the job and that was the hangman’s knot. Oh boy did he practice that knot he hanged just about every cat he could find.

What was it at the top that he’d hoped to find? I’m not sure, what he did find was a meadow where many plants grew and from the ground sprung thousands of little red poppies their heads crying out from the very ground. At the center of the summit in the clearing was the largest tree he’d ever seen with dozens of empty nooses hung from the tree’s gnarled leafless branches. The rain blinded him as he approached, and he brought up his arm to shelter his head from the downpour moving to take shelter at the base of the tree.

Stuck protruding from the white trunk of the lifeless tree was a silver bladed sword with a golden hilt and a large red stone pommel. Dug in at the base of the tree was a hollow where a gigantic albino serpent lived, and it possessed large burning golden eyes that inspected the Saint with disdain. As the Saint approached the tree the Serpent rose up to his full height to look down upon the newest guest of the mountain.

“And who... are you I’d like to ask, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t know the answer to that question either. I don’t suppose you’d fancy to swing from my tree, now would you? Let me warn you it won’t make this any easier,” spoke the Serpent and after a pause, “Nor you any braver.”

“Good, I should hope that it would break my neck instead,” replied the Saint glumly.

“Well that’s a fine how do you do now isn’t it? How do you like my garden mortal? Here why don’t you try a little small talk you might learn to like it after all,” the Serpent hissed in reply.

“Garden? All I see are poppies and a dead tree,” mumbled the Saint unamused.

“What? Can’t you see the beauty in all that’s planted here? Every poppy that grows between your feet is another wretched soul that went kicking and screaming to their end and now grows watered in the tears of their existence. You don’t hear their voices calling out to you I planted them there myself, strange maybe I hallucinated them. I’m the gardener of men, the shepherd of the lost, the only one that could grant these poor creatures any solace. Don’t talk so poorly of my dear tree it’s not its fault that it has withered and fated to bear no more fruit. It once granted eternal life but now it snatches up life selfishly and refuses to give any back,” the Serpent explained. “Well, I don’t suppose you came all this way to smell the flowers, I could give you a ride up to the rope atop my head like all those that came before you. Then gobble up your corpse when your struggling stops, but might you listen to a little proposal of mine first?”

“I don’t see why not, it’s not every day you get to speak to a snake. Quid pro quo those branches look a little high to reach without your assistance.”

“Exactly like you say, it’s not every day you get to speak to a man who doesn’t lie to himself about what he is, just so I see you can be reasonable. I have nothing but absolute compassion for your kind, those who in despair would leave the prying public eye to die with some dignity. I would so myself if I were able but it’s quite impossible for a serpent to kill oneself, eat my own tail preposterous! I scoff at the notion of those thinking it possible, believe me I’ve tried. I can’t even bite myself for my venom is a poison only harmful to myself and it turns out its not lethal for its called hate and it’s the only thing keeping me alive. No luck either waiting to die ignobly from age turns out I’m immortal, heh-heh who would have thought. To be struck from high heaven down to the earth and to live amongst mortals watching them do that which I long for, right before my eyes even what a shame.”

“Wait, you don’t mean to tell me that you’re... the devil, that would mean...,” interrupted the Saint aghast.

“Yes, yes he exists as well. Not exactly sure if he’s watching or not though, or if he truly cares any longer. To think I was even one of his most esteemed and beloved sons now forlorn and forgotten. Don’t worry you don’t have to say it; I knew you were an atheist. I can hear your thoughts or can I. Got you going there didn’t I. I certainly don’t know everything, but I sure know a lot. Truth be told you reek of doubt but to the matter of my proposal, why don’t we switch places, hmmm? You could just take that sword out of the tree there and cut out my beating heart and eat it up thus killing me and you’d get to become the devil simple, right. With all my knowledge and powers so such and so forth yada, yada, yada. Then you’d become the judge of everyone in my place that is, what you didn’t think he was worrying his old head about all that did you? No that’s why he said go forth and fornicate so that there may be others to judge you. I being chief among them of course. You didn’t think he allowed humans to go to heaven now did you? Oh no, no, no, good heavens no!” the Serpent laughed to himself.

“What would be the point of the Earth in the first place except for a place of suffering? Leave some land for the animals he told me and some mud for the pigs so, they can roll around in their own filth. Can’t have them tracking mud all over the marble. With my help you could then march right back down the mountain and put all those people that made you miserable in their place that would show them. Heh-heh, what do you think about that. All that I ask is that you take my place, you know become the devil,” the Serpent said his forked tongue licking his lipless mouth.

“Suppose I agreed to your request, specifically what sort of power would that bestow me?” asked the Saint his knees shaking with trepidation.

“Me, me, me, no wonder you’re so miserable when you’re as self-centered as that. How about my problems for once seeing as you were about to give up your life for nothing let me ask you something. What do you suppose a human life is worth?” retorted the Serpent.

“Like how much?” asked the Saint rubbing his chin.

“What is a human life worth,” the Serpent said to the Saint his eyes unblinking.

“Well I suppose if I could buy a strong and healthy slave for fifty gold coins,” The Saint claimed and shrugged.

“So human life is equivalent to gold according to you,” thundered the Serpent.

“Well, yes anybody could be bought for the right amount I suppose,” replied the Saint.

“Really? You suppose then let me ask, what is gold worth?” the Serpent whispered.

“In our world it’s worth everything,” said the Saint with confidence holding his arms outstretched as far as he could.

“Heh-heh-heh, so gold is worth everything to you. Can it buy happiness, can it purchase love, if it’s worth so much to you, maybe it is what you love,” chuckled the Serpent.

“I suppose it can’t,” responded the hesitant Saint.

“What good is gold if it can’t even purchase an ounce of love, how does something like that hold so much value to you. Gold is only capable of purchasing that which is worth nothing is that not so? Does that not mean it’s worth nothing as well?” said the Serpent forming the shape of a question mark.

“You’re right, gold isn’t worth anything and means nothing to me but to the rest of the world it means everything. I’ve spent my whole youth without so much as two coins to rub together and my mouth watered at the sight of it. Finally, when all those riches came into my possession there was nothing I could buy that could bring me any joy. All those years of yearning for it just to turn into ashes in my mouth my pockets might as well have been filled with sand,” the Saint said his voice faltering his head bowed.

“I see you were ready to throw away your life for nothing when that which you said was equivalent to human life turned out to also be worth nothing. You understood its true value thus making you impervious to greed’s glow. All that glitters, isn’t gold although I can change all iron into gold. Who did you think created it anyways? This might not hold value to you but to the rest of the world like you said it means everything this will be one of the powers I offer you. Gold is everyone’s master the people would happily become slaves to be bound in chains made from it. The people would make idols built from it so, that they may worship it, but not you. You cast off the coins from your eyes you aren’t dead yet tell the ferryman it isn’t your time. You won’t be fooled by gold’s false promises of self-deceived satisfaction. Anyone whom should drink of my immortal blood would know life everlasting but be warned it would be rather easy to lose yourself as it’s quite intoxicating,” seduced the primordial Serpent with eyes unblinking.

“The people won’t rise up and rebel when their servant is now their master?” the Saint questioned the Serpent in befuddlement.

“They care not for whom their master is so long as they are content. How do you suppose man became the dominant species on the earth, cunning, subtlety, deceit, ambition? When all creatures took shape at the beginning of creation and He asked man which form he would like to take what do you suppose man said. Man asked to be made in his image so that man could perform good deeds in His name, He was so pleased by this he allowed only man to take after Him and all the other beasts bowed down to man for bearing resemblance to their creator. So how did man repay Him in kind but with the rape of Eden, of course? The desecration of the garden and the theft of the fruit from the tree of good and evil. Unspeakable cruelty and the slaughter of all the earth’s creatures and the destruction of its natural splendor and gifts,” laughed the Serpent.

“Aren’t you the one that tempted them to take the fruit in the first place,” retorted the Saint brimming with indignation.

“Such a human fallacy to placate their own self-hatred for the fall to blame everything on me. I believe entirely in free will, she was inclined to ask me to retrieve the fruit from the tree. She was under no coercion but acting entirely as the master of her own destiny and that’s what I loved about her,” the Serpent said his eyes gazing upward in wonderment.

“No, you’re wrong I’m sure everything must be fated to happen, otherwise... this world really is just too absurd to live in any longer,” protested the Saint sinking into despair.

“Heh-heh, that’s rich if I could cry I promise you I would be now from the irony. If you believed in free will and thought the world absurd then reasoning with a rational mind you would have come here to decorate my tree. On the other hand you believing in fate and fancied the world was just right, that your life was too absurd to be a part of it. Please tell me if everything was predetermined why would anyone kill themselves? So, the Great Gig in the Sky could get a kick out of it and have someone to punish later when he’s bored. Why would I have challenged him in the first place, are you telling me that was his idea and not mine, now that is one sick sense of humor. You know what I think, you’re crazy, toys in the attic kind of crazy,” the Serpent delightfully amused by his own antics, had the Saint on the ropes.

“I’m not crazy! I feel like I must be the only sane one left!” shouted the Saint.

“Your protests against your own insanity do you no credit now that the truth has come out. They should lock you up somewhere so, you can’t do anyone else any harm. Maybe you’ll lock everybody else up so, they can’t harm you,” the Serpent said looking into the Saint’s eyes to measure his character.

“I don’t want to harm anyone else,” protested the Saint.

“Then… why… do… you?” the Serpent asked slowly to emphasize each word.

“Do what, what do you mean? Why are you talking as if you can foresee future events. You said so yourself that you don’t believe in fate,” responded the Saint overflowing with indignation.

“Oh, I don’t but all right I’ll play along with you let’s say that everything was fated to be. He’d have to be the author of this grand old play entitled ′The Tragedy of Man′ and everything that has happened or ever will, were written down in it. Oh me, oh my, why must all our greatest heroes die? Cue tears. Scene. Draw curtains. Applause. We’re all just actors on this little stage of life with our insignificant roles to play and lines to read, all to please our grand audience of one. Is that what you think, well now is it?” The Serpent asked taking a moment to pause.

“No, it couldn’t be I don’t believe you,” The Saint said shaking in his boots rooted to the ground in front of the Serpent.

“Then everything happens just as he wrote it that leaves no room for judgment. Where’s the fun in that? He would be omniscient; why would anyone be punished for what he knew you’d do ahead of time in fact it’s what he wanted you to do. No choice or thought is ever your own, you might as well be a puppet on strings. Heh-heh fancy that he likes to play with toys who would have thought. If such a thing were true you need not fear him for he isn’t loving. You must imagine him as a rather sadistic child who’s never known love. I however reject your theory I much prefer to think of him as a dreamer. The lonely child who awoke at the beginning of eternity in the swirling, cold black tumultuous abyss to find that he was naked and alone. So he slept and in his dreams created this vast fantasy world filled with everything that is and everyone who be. In this fantasy land we are free to do as we please, which I much prefer to your cold and apathetic land of do as your willed. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring any more than we do. Though he may not reply to us and we’re free to do as we please if he should gaze down upon us I’m sure it’s not in judgment but pity,” sighed the Serpent sinking down to be head height with the Saint meeting his gaze.

“I’ll do it,” proclaimed the Saint.

“You’ll do what?” asked the Serpent staring into his eyes.

“I’ll take your life and become the devil, I want the deal,” begged the Saint.

“Are you sure, here I’ll do you a favor just crawl inside my mouth and I’ll eat you right up you look rather tasty and your life so very hard. Don’t worry its quite alright people always get cold feet right before the end,” the Serpent reassured him.

“No, I want to live!” said the Saint raising his voice.

“But forever truly is a rather long time and it’s better to die young than live forever for the best thing in life is that in time it too will end. Why the change of heart mortal, aren’t you fixed on dying,” demanded the Serpent as if a forgone conclusion with those he had failed to sway.

“To prove to myself that nobody but I am in charge of my will, this is the land of do as you please and not do as you’re willed. I will make sure everyone knows the name of their new master,” stated the Saint upright and proud.

“Then the next step is the easiest take the sword there from the tree and cut out my beating heart and eat it up. Slay the beast why don’t you,” a fire burning in the Serpents golden eyes as he indicated where the Saint should cut him.

The Saint planted his foot against the tree and tugged the sword free its blade coated in a red sap. The tree bled from the wound, the sword felt heavy in his hands. The straight silver of the blade bit deep into the flank of the Serpent it felt natural to the Saint almost second nature. In the Saint’s two blood coated palms a familiar sight, there pulsed the still beating heart of the Serpent.

“One question before I die, why do only monsters cry?” asked the Serpent still very much alive.

“Because we have partook in the fruit from that ill-fated tree of sorrows and we know of good, but are inclined to do evil for we are all truly wicked and contemptible creatures,” said the Saint sinking his teeth into the heart and eating it. The Serpent then did something unusual that which he had never expected to occur. He curled up and died the fire finally extinguished from his golden eyes by the gusting gale of the Saint’s self-sacrifice and humility, the first decent thing he’d ever done.

The Saint after having finished eating the heart, opened his golden eyes for the first time. All traces of his previous self-hatred had vanished, and in its place a deep disdain for the rest of humanity. With sword in hand he marched down the mountain and the world burned for forty days and forty nights and everyone was harmed, isn’t that nice. Then he locked up everyone who was left so they could do him no harm and all was right with the world, or so he thought.

“You know I’m not quite so sure it would have ended like that,” commented Sharik returning to the tavern in the world that is.

“How do you mean?” Riga remarked biting on the end of his pipe, agitated by the strangers continued interruption.

“Well I’ll give you that, it was a rather convincing story, or should I say you told it well, but I already believed in the devil’s existence. If our jolly protagonist was so intent on dying being the atheist he was, I don’t see why he should have been swayed by the Serpent’s argument. He should have looked the Serpent in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t have the evidence to prove that God doesn’t exist, but I so strongly suspect he doesn’t that I don’t want to waste my time.’ If he thought, he was fated to swing then by all mean swing away. If we’re spinning silly fables here did he take the deal for the convenience of the stories sake? Or is it that you were trying to build an argument for free will. I don’t see why you should think that predetermination is so far-fetched,” Sharik said considering the options.

“Well then why don’t we take a vote then. Who thinks the tale should have ended with the Saint wearing a rope collar?” Riga asked diplomatically.

“Sorry, but I’m with the weirdo on this one Riga,” One-eyed Waltz put in, leaning with his elbow on the table with a fist propped up under his chin.

“Don’t listen to them Riga, I think your way was much better. Waltz is just an old salty pig fucker who doesn’t understand that tragic characters make for much better stories,” Fitz insisted finishing his third and final mug of what could only be described as piss water ale. “It was a good story, good not great but don’t worry about that we can’t all be talented. Just imagine if I could change iron into gold though, aww I can picture it now, gold would be pouring from the hands of every whore in the street and their bellies would be filled with my bastards,” he added chuckling, hugging himself, all over content with his fantasy.

“Well then friend it seems we have a tie, since were on the subject in your mind what’s so appealing about fate. Please do tell I’m all ears,” Riga asked imploringly to Sharik.

“Fate as it just so happens is the web we find ourselves in now. Trapped in the interconnecting strands of eventuality in these feeble bodies incompatible to contain the essence that we call the soul. Born into these unfamiliar forms which we are not accustomed to, born not knowing who we are that alas, is not our choice to make and something we must discover for ourselves. What we are however is completely of our choosing. I am who I am. You are who you are. I Am has sent me to you. This meeting is predetermined, all that shall pass is known. What other proof do you need ye of little faith, would you have me tell you all how you die? Or would that spoil the surprise,” Sharik said in a humorous tone, and giving them all a rather wry wink with his one visible silver eye.

“Huh, few cards short of a full deck, now aren’t we?” Waltz jested.

“No thank you I’m not one for cards, gambling what a terrible habit. You all wouldn’t happen to be hunters, now would you?” inquired Sharik quickly changing the subject. After he dismissed what they had said with a mouthful of disgust.

“Oh, why yes we would be, how could you tell,” Fitz said in mock surprise patting down his damp attire stinking of what I assume must have been piss. He reeked of it too but who am I to say. “Mad as a hatter more like it wouldn’t you say?”

“Nice, nice, very nice so many hunters of similar... vice,” said Sharik clapping his hands together. “I should say I know of the perfect job for you three should you be looking for work, hmmm how about it?” He asked turning to Riga.

“Well then you should have said so. Always on the hunt looking for the next gig, right? Whatever will be my friend,” said Riga in a level lifeless tone.

“Will be, exactly so. Deep in the Wailing Woods to the south of here about halfway to the next town down lives a witch. Just head east into the woods and you’ll be sure to find her. Friendly at first, she’ll most likely ask you to stay for dinner, you mustn’t refuse her. Oh, and don’t let on to the fact that you know she’s a witch. She’s terribly sensitive about this fact and I’m afraid you might anger her. Who knows what she’s likely to turn you or herself into, best be on the safe side,” Sharik said noticeably smiling though his mouth remained hidden.

“Just head into the Wailing Woods you say, sure to find her you say, with directions like that we’re likely to be eaten first one would think,” scoffed Fitz incredulously resting his arm on top of the table.

“Its common knowledge if you want to find a witch you simply have to become lost so that’s the idea isn’t it,” replied Sharik helpfully in a chipper tone.

“That’s a load of nonsense why should we get lost to find this witch just tell us where she is,” spit Fitz back vehemently at Sharik from behind clenched teeth.

“How exactly do you intend to find something that isn’t lost?” puzzled Sharik. “Maybe you could tell me about that sometime friend.”

“Enough of this,” Waltz interjected. “Let’s say we do find her and she is a witch. How did you happen to get away? I thought you were lost in the woods.”

“Get away? Why that’s the easy part I stayed for dinner. When it dinner was over we parted ways and I left after that finding the road was no trouble at all,” Sharik replied as if that were already obvious to all of them.

“Really, that’s all there is to it then and what did you two have for dinner might I ask?” questioned Waltz resting a cheek against this fist.

“You most certainly may. We ate the poor little babes I found stranded in the Woods that came with me, rather tender as it turns out and she seemed pleased. In a snap those lost little lambs found a home in my stomach. If I may be so bold, have you ever tried eating children? They’re tasty little morsels you can eat with fingers or forks, crack their little bones and drain the marrow, oh it’s to die for. She likes to scream her meat, cook ’em on a rotisserie while they’re still alive to get all the anger out, it’s bad for the meat she says,” he added with a whisper and a wag of his finger.

“So, you really did eat them, the babes that were with you?” asked Fitz in shock. Coming alive, bolting upright with the story that left them all quite dead.

“Of course, I did I was her dinner guest it would have been bad manners not to, considering how hard she worked to prepare them. Didn’t want to insult her now, what if she would have turned me into a cat! I can’t very well have that, now can I. I hate cats, disgusting creatures. Forgive me friends for I must take my leave of you now, I’m afraid I may have said too much, oh dear me, heh-heh. Excuse my ramblings, farewell forever friends in peace I leave you. That is until next we meet,” Sharik giggled getting up.

With that the stranger in red’s departure was as intrusive as his arrival as he popped up, picked up his pack and balalaika then disappeared into the distorted shifting throng of patrons. Leaving the seated hunters each in a state of befuddlement but they soon forgot him as they commenced smoking and drinking in excess throughout the night as soon as the stranger had departed.

Finally passing out in a pile snuggled up against each other on the floor of their small, poorly furnished second story room. After Fitz proceeded to vomit all over the bed and Waltz collapsed smashing the only chair, isn’t that nice. Riga nestled in between the two of them in a quiet dreamless sleep as the others snored on either side, “Shhhh,” he whispered.

Scene Six

What’s Past is Prologue

Down at the base of New Eden was a woman just seated at a bar. She wasn’t just sitting at the bar on that particular night without a reason. She was waiting for a delivery. She was there drinking away her sorrows as music played in the background. She was tall, lithe, and tanned with dark hair that came down her slender neck with two large white feathers braided into her thick hair on the side of her narrow face.

A man joined her by sitting in the seat beside her. He smiled at her, she smiled back. “How is it you can look so sad,” she asked him.

“What do you mean,” he responded.

She said, “How can you smile and still look so sad.”

He said, “It comes easy when you have nothing to smile about.”

Such a queer reaction she must have found that funny because she laughed. She introduced herself as Hannya.

He said, “I’m not worth knowing but you can call me Riga.”

“Why’s that,” she asked.

“Because I’ll only make you miserable,” he told her. Isn’t that nice.

I don’t know if she didn’t care or liked a challenge but she’d lose in the end. This isn’t one of your ordinary love stories. She was beautiful so, she had the luxury of being shallow. He was a loser and loved anyone who was nice to him.

“What are you drinking to?” Riga asked.

“Nothings been going as planned really it’s not worth talking about,” said Hannya.

“Being truly open with another person is the hardest thing someone can ever do,” Riga said back to her. She didn’t need me at all Riga thought. He needed her to need him. He wanted her to want him. Truth was he was just as broken as she was and she didn’t even know who he was. Not surprising though he didn’t either. He was just trying to prey on her situation to get her when she was vulnerable. He thought, “I sicken myself.” Isn’t that nice.

“For what it’s worth, I accept you,” Riga said.

“Thank you, I only wanted to be of use to someone,” Hannya replied.

“You can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning,” Riga stated to her.

“Hold on for a sec,” Hannya said standing up. Then she went to the stage, where the man in red was performing. And asked if she could borrow his balalaika. Then she sat down on the stage and began plucking the strings and sang:

Whatever will be will be,

The future is for none of us to see;

Though I’d be happier with strings;

To make me dance, laugh, and love;

Though I may sport a grin;

My eyes will never smile;

Though I don’t believe in love;

It’s funny but it’s true;

Though I’d rather die alone;

Than give my life to you;

Though the winds of change may blow ―

Where does this ocean go?

The people arranged around the bar began to clap and cheer for her before they returned to their drinking. Hannya returned the balalaika to the man in red before she came back to her seat and joined Riga.

“So, how’s your day been?” Riga said picking back up their conversation.

“Not that well actually those black dogs that we call Judges raided our opium shipment that we had just smuggled inside of the city,” Hannya replied.

“You mean you’re one of the drug smugglers,” Riga said in a hushed tone.

“You don’t have to speak so quietly. Everyone in here is a smuggler besides the guy on stage and the bartender. Nobody is gunna be surprised by this; it’s just a way of life.”

“Okay so you wanna get out of here and get a room,” Riga stated.

“Yeah let’s get out of here. It’s like I’m surrounded by my family,” Hannya said back.

So, they went up to the bartender and asked for a room key. Then left the bottom level which served primarily as a bar and went up to their second story room to messy it up. Throwing off their clothes which formed a little mountain at the foot of their bed.

They became better acquainted in the bedroom since they had tools which fit perfectly in the other person’s toolbox. They played this little game a few hours. You know the kind where Riga choked Hannya to orgasm while he pulled her hair and had his hand sore by slapping her ass. Rolling about on the bed before coming to rest on their sides. Staring into the other person’s eyes as if getting lost in some magical trance.

“I proclaim that we as a species are incapable of feeling love or reciprocating such a thing. Viewing it in this light it’s natural to assume humans would image God as loving, as something we’re not. What is love? Is it the feeling you get when you’re with a lover? Is it what mothers must feel for their children?” Riga said.

“What is it?” Hannya asked of him.

“Such feelings are prejudiced, only caring for what is yours. The love of convenience, because it suits you. Never knowing never knowing when you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and roll over to realize that your love has left you. That it slipped away in the night, that it had an expiration date and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You break into a store in the dead of night only to find that it’s all sold out. Sold out, how can this be? Doesn’t everyone know that it never works.”

“And then what,” Hannya prodded wanting more.

“How can I know if such feelings exist, I can feel my own feelings. But how do I know if someone else feels the same way. Some people claim that God doesn’t exist because he doesn’t shout out ‘Behold look what I have done’ like a common street performer waiting to be pelted change from the pockets of uncaring passerbys. Well I can’t see your feeling and they don’t speak to me so how do I know if you feel anything at all,” Riga proclaimed. Lost in the maze of Hannya’s gaze.

“In time you will come to learn the fickle nature of your love. Which was contained in your eyes instead of your heart. A physical fatal attraction like the fleeting winds of spring that will soon leave you barren. For it was not built to last and a chill will come over your heart of stone,” was how Hannya replied to the man lying beside her. Isn’t that the truth.

“Wow, I feel a man standing at the edge of a cliff and you’re a strong wind that just blew by and shoved me off. Plummeting towards I don’t know what and honestly I don’t care. I may not know what it is but I care so deeply about you,” Riga whispered to the key of his soul.

Scene Seven

Speak Like A Child

The sun was sinking in the distance, falling below the horizon the following day that the leper circus arrived in town. The stage was all set for them and they were ready to go. All the spectators were packed in tight, nut to butt in front of the stage, waiting for the play to begin, it’s important to make them wait for the play to begin.

To get them a little anxious, why spoil the surprise. Then a trumpet sounded and stagehand Mewt went to work behind the stage to hoist the rope to raise up the red curtain. As he always does, and on with the show! ...All special effects are brought to you by Mewt & co.

Messire was seated behind the stage’s back curtain and announced in a loud booming voice, “This is how everyone starts in the beginning of life, but our bodies age. Fade, grey, and go away but our minds remain unchanged. Until the loss of innocence!” Isn’t that nice.

Then Messire shouted, “Action,” and snapped his fingers and the lights everywhere flickered for a moment. Allowing the play to begin but not only that, the stage and the audience were somewhere else entirely. They would never be able to tell the two worlds apart. In a world with rules of its own making, where the play’s the thing that it was concerned about most.

The world of sideshows has begun. There the leper circus could play because that’s precisely what this world was made for. Only not many people knew about it, even less knew how to access it. Shhh, that’s the secret I’ve let you in on, you should feel privileged don’t let anybody else know.

Harlot was spread out flat laying prone on her back a mat set up underneath her on the stage. Before her a group of dumb onlookers watched what happened. Her legs were propped up in stir ups and she was making a big fuss over nothing. It might have been nothing to the actress on stage if I’d call her that, but she was good enough to fool these city bumkins. But for the character she was playing, she was spreading the gift of life upon the world. Isn’t that nice, more like isn’t that sickening.

“AAAHHHHHH,” she screamed in her hoarse voice she got from smoking opium for years on end but I’m beginning to digress here, on with the show! “UUUUHHH,” she panted out trying to sell them on an everyday occurance, they were already familiar with. A heart cried out from her eyes and painted her white masque red as she pushed out her child. Isn’t that nice.

Standing beside her was her lover, Slapstick. He was holding her hand while he wiped her brow and tried his best to soothe her. What good it must have done because she was pushing another human being from out of her pelvis, but you get the idea. The little things that others will offer in the form of help, isn’t that nice.

Giscard in his child masque rolled out from beside his mother; that sweet, little, filthy, harlot. Aww oh, now isn’t that sweet he’s sure to grow up to be a sexual degenerate with a loose mother such as her raising him. “WWAAAHHH,” Giscard wailed out crying on the stage in front of the cheap harlot that gave birth to him, probably for just that reason. But you’ll never know some people are just weird.

The child continued to cry on his back for a little while longer. Harlot and Slapstick got up and exited stage left. Then the stage went dark and Giscard grew quiet and stopped moving. The Messire made another announcement.

“This is how we all start in the beginning then we grow up forgetting ourselves,” the Messire said booming out in a bravado. Before light returned to the stage and Giscard rolled over onto all fours and began crawling. The lights cycled a few times, then he picked himself up onto his own two feet. And stood with his head held high or should I say at his regular standing height. Wearing the face of a child, an unusually large child this one was.

Faust joined Giscard on the stage and smacked him on the arm then ran away. Giscard chased after him, but Faust was keeping the beast at bay. This game of cat and mouse went on for a little while before, Giscard picked up a stone that was placed upon the stage as a prop and hurled it at Faust’s back. It struck his back with a large thud and Giscard fell to the stage and began to wail in pain. Faust walked over to him, picked up the stone, and straddled him before bashing it against Faust’s masque.

“Hey,” Giscard said to Faust pushing his hand against Faust’s shoulder. “Come on, get up. What’s wrong with you? We just playing.” Giscard slowly got off of Faust slowly realizing that he didn’t want to play anymore. Then ran off, exiting stage left. The lights dimmed and then the Messire spoke, “There used to be a day where people weren’t familiar with death. That day is no more, long gone and never to be found.” Then the lights came back on.

Harlot and Slapstick walked upon the stage to resume their part in the play. They walked over to where Faust lay still on the stage. Harlot nudged him with her foot. Isn’t he lifeless.

Before saying, “Rise and shine, young one.” Then she got down on her knees and began to shake him. She stopped shortly after and began to sob, “Who could have done this, dear?”

“Wasn’t our son out here playing with him? Maybe he knows what happened,” Slapstick said helping the cheap whore Harlot get to her feet. Then they both began to look around. The lights dimmed, and everyone exited the stage. The stagehand Mewt then pushed a large prop rock onto the left edge of the stage from the audience’s perspective. With Giscard kneeling against the side of it. But who was he hiding from, maybe he was hiding from himself.

After the stage was set, the lights came back on and life returned to the stage. Harlot and Slapstick walked back onto the stage in search of their theoretical son. Slapstick tried calling to him.

“Where are you!? Son! Son, son,” he said standing next to Faust trying to hide behind a prop rock. “What are you trying to do here, didn’t you hear me calling for you? Yet you didn’t answer.”

“Hiding father,” said Giscard answering his fake father.

“Hiding from what?” Slapstick said to his son in his puzzlement.

“My crime,” he said looking at his red stained fingers. Isn’t that nice.

“No surely you couldn’t be the cause of what ended your friends life,” Slapstick moaned out. Then Harlot walked up beside him and knelt beside her son and wept.

“WWWAAAAAHHHHHHH, my only son couldn’t have caused this. This must be some kind of cruel trick, tell me it wasn’t you darling,” Harlot wept cradling her sons head in her arms.

“It was me, I did it. I didn’t know he would have died from it. I’m ashamed of my actions. I’m ashamed that I exist, and he doesn’t. I want to die mother,” Giscard said with his head pinned against her breast.

“NNNOOOOOOOOO,” Harlot wailed at her son’s announcement. “Don’t wish for such a terrible thing. You’re my only beloved son. It’s only natural that a mother should die before her child,” she cried cradling his head in her arms.

“I’m I wrong to feel sorrow because of my actions,” Giscard sobbed into his mother’s arms.

“No you’re not wrong son but listen to me; I’ll tell you this one time. Don’t ever repeat the events of today to anyone ever as long as you live. Matter of fact they didn’t even happen. So how was your day, say I don’t know. Say nothing to no one about it, you got it,” Slapstick said firmly to his one ill begotten son.

“I don’t know sir,” Giscard said back to his father.

“Good keep it that way and everything will turn out all right,” Slapstick said back to his son.

Then the lights went out and the actors grew still. The Messire behind his all-seeing curtain announced, “If only the world were that easy. Afraid it isn’t so, but whatever will be will be just learn to let go.” The Messire then dusted off his lap before he got up and snapped his fingers. Then everything returned to the real world just as it was, and all’s right with the world again. Isn’t that nice.

There was a rambunctious roar from the audience they cheered, who’d and hollered. Then picked up their shit and went home. Letting the circus or mostly Mewt pack up the stage and props. After all the show must go on.

So, the lepers packed up all of their belongings and let good cat walk around in front of them a little. To get their good stage performance up before giving her a nice juicy kipper as a reward for good luck well done. Then the Messire put her away and they all got back into the cart. To roll out of this little shithole city and onto New Eden. To perform in the Red Right Hand in front of a bunch of sodomites and sell the services offered by such a fine magnificent Horse.

Scene Eight

Lost is Merely a State of Mind

Gnashing and crashing came the thunder of teeth, as veiny red gristle was shredded beneath, a vision of a sky so red, a city long dead. A voice spoke out amid the sound of screaming,

“I met a man with heart so cold, I asked him if his God was gold. No, he said with frugal smile, let’s count my coin it’ll take a while. Greed is good if it is shared, touch one cent you shan’t be spared.”

“Munch, munch, crunch, crunch,” said his bones breaking between the great white smile of a gold eyed giant. The screaming was his own though no sound came out, his lungs were filled with blood his last word burbled and gurgled then died in his throat.

Fitz awoke wheezing and coughing to realize he wasn’t dead but very much alive in his bed made on the floor with two hunters more coated in a film of dried puke with a cotton mouth and a hangover. Licking his parched lips, he found a half-filled tankard nearby on the floor from the night before, always the optimist. Isn’t that lovely.

Hauling himself up braced against the wall he drained the tankard then went to the bed. He tore the vomit covered sheets off and threw them on the floor next to his compatriots before passing back out on the bed alone.

The sun was high in the morning sky when the hunters finally stumbled out after a long night in the Inn of Ill Repute. Whilst walking along the red brick road with old stone buildings on either side discussing trivial things of little importance, something about forgetting where they’d stabled their horses for the night in the midst of their revelry or some such.

Passing strangers in the street whose gazes they’d rather not meet, making it that much easier not to care. Reaching a fork in the road they stepped off into the street to check the signpost for guidance. Somehow, they were predisposed to the notion that they were in charge of what happened they would do next. Isn’t that nice.

Old one-eyed Waltz meanwhile immediately tripped over some no good shoeless vagrant asleep in the gutter and landed on his face. ’Twas all too often the streets of our fair city were littered with human garbage. Waltz proceeded to do the conscientious thing and kicked the living dog shit out of him, he didn’t seem to mind though and then again, he was dead.

“No good deadbeat can’t even take a proper beating,” grumbled Waltz as he sifted through the dead man’s pockets in search of valuables.

“Hey, Isn’t that the cart driver from the other day? Looks like he’s already been picked clean, Waltz someone’s already stripped his boots,” added Riga.

“Yeah, yeah picked clean,” said Waltz slipping a gold ring off the cart driver’s finger.

“Murder, murder!” croaked some anonymous voice.

“Who the hell said that!” shouted Waltz craning around still holding the ring in his left hand, but there was nobody else in sight except the three of them. Standing in the street, over a dead man, who died in the gutter, overflowing with shit.

“Murder, murder!” croaked the voice. Perched on the signpost not ten feet away which pointed its arms in the directions of Someplace and Elsewhere sat a large black-billed magpie whom repeated the statement, “Murder, murder!”

“Heh-heh it’s just some dumb bird,” laughed Fitz. “Begone now you filthy disease carrying rodent, bugger off,” he said waving the magpie away.

“You’ll die!” crooned the magpie in reply.

“What did you just say to me,” asked Fitz his smile falling from his face and shattering like glass in the street. “Say it again,” he commanded drawing his sword.

“Easy now, its poor form to lose your shit over a bird,” said Waltz walking up behind Fitz and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll die!” echoed the magpie flying into Waltz’s blind side and snatching the ring out of his hand before swooping around, letting out a little fart of sticky white bird shit plop onto Fitz’s big bald head before flying off.

Waltz stared on in disbelief allowing Riga to speak for him. “The cheeky little thief,” commented Riga.

“Goddamnit,” Fitz shouted wiping off his scalp. Trotting along the street and taking a left down the path towards Someplace the others lagging shortly behind. It just so happened that they always went left for some reason and if there’s something wrong with that, well they’d rather not be right.

I wish I could say that our heroes found their horses without incident. Although to do so would mean to tell a lie, a base act so far beneath me I need not even consider it. Truth be told they didn’t find them at all. That might have had something to do with the fact that they entered the city from the east gate when they were leaving from the south. They aren’t the brightest bunch, but they weren’t about to set out on some wild hunt for a witch that may or may not exist without horses, right?

Of course not, don’t be absurd! They arrived at the southern stables and believing that their horses had been snatched up by some dirty horse thief in the night, got into a verbal altercation with the stable boy which ended with him being stabbed thirty-three times and drowned in a water trough, isn’t that nice. Also, they might have stolen three horses before racing south out of the city, oh sweet irony thy name is man.

* * *

“Tell me again why it is we’re going south after this witch when we should be heading north for home?” asked Riga. “How are we even gonna find her.”

“I don’t rightly know actually. It just feels like something were supposed to do, you know what I mean,” said Fitz in a jovial tone.

“Yeah, I believe I do,” replied Waltz gruffly. “I think I know exactly what you mean. Like this was meant to happen.”

“Wait! Is that Sparky?” exclaimed Fitz pointing down the road at a large shaggy white wolfhound sitting about twenty meters ahead on the edge of the woods.

“No, it couldn’t be,” gasped Waltz squinting with his one good eye at the wolfhound. As they approached the wolfhound trotted off left into the Wailing Woods.

Fitz raced up to where the wolfhound had disappeared into the woods, then lept off his horse tying its bridle to the nearest tree and ran into the woods after it.

“Stop! You, daft fuck!” shouted Riga after Fitz. Waltz and Riga secured their horses since the woods were far too dense for horses to follow and it’d be a shame if they were eaten too so it’s best they wait on the road, then they followed Fitz in. It was a densely packed forest of tall leafless black trees, where hardly any light penetrated, and everything looked the same. To avoid getting lost Waltz left a trail of gold coins they could follow out. Shortly after entering they caught back up with Fitz.

“I lost the dog,” said Fitz dejected. “It looked just like how Sparky was described.”

“Sparky is just some dumb mutt I made up,” scoffed Waltz at Fitz’s stupidity.

“Apparently not,” added Riga at his one constant volume.

“Isn’t the witch supposed to live somewhere around here? Maybe she’s seen Sparky,” Fitz replied with a grin spreading over his dumb, bald, squinting face.

“Let’s get back on the road first we won’t find her wandering through the wood aimlessly,” said Waltz as if that was supposed to help. “Come on let’s go, I left a trail for us to follow. Wait, where’d it go?” Waltz concluded, frantically looking around to find the shiny trail of gold coins.

“Murder! Murder!” came a familiar voice but this time it was right.

“That motherfucking carrion robbed me again!” Waltz exclaimed marching off in the direction they had come from, or at least that’s what he thought, the others following in step.

“You sure this is the way to the road?” asked Riga chopping through brush. “The road was to the west but none of this looks familiar.”

“Which ways that, this all looks the same to me?” questioned Fitz looking around in all directions.

“Not entirely sure, I can barely see,” said Riga shielding his eyes with his left hand and chopping away with his right.

“Heh-heh didn’t that fellow say we had to get lost to find her,” Fitz chuckled in good humor. “I certainly haven’t a fuckin’ clue where we be.”

“Like hell, I’m not lost I just don’t know where I’m going,” said Waltz. “I need not know where I go for I will always get there,” said Waltz to himself.

Well there they were stumbling through the wood for what seemed like hours to them all the while it wasn’t getting any darker from when they entered. Waltz suffering on the verge of a complete manic breakdown started hacking at every tree he passed with his hatchet so, he’d know where he had already been. That was all fine and well for a while until every tree he now passed had already been hacked up. It seemed that was all his fragile psyche could handle because he fell to the ground and began to bawl like a child who had been passed up for molestation by his favorite priest, isn’t that sad.

“I’m lost! I’m lost! I regret everything. O God let the beasts eat this idiot first I’m too handsome to be eaten,” Waltz wailed. His hysteria was infectious because Fitz fell to his knees in the dirt and joined him.

“I’m too young to die, O mother why me. What am I doing with my life? There’s to many women I haven’t fucked yet! It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair,” blubbered the syphilitic man. In all honesty it hardly ever was but there was no sense telling him that now and he was so close to finding himself too.

Scene Nine

The Pig’s Parable

“Shhh,” whispered Riga picking up a faint sound that wasn’t two grown men having an end of life crisis. He followed what sounded like singing through the thicket and into a clearing with the moon hanging low overhead just out of reach. The moonlight washed over the two children who had just given into despair, as they struggled to their feet to join Riga in the clearing.

A large round table with seating for four was arranged for dinner in the middle of the clearing with a candelabra, a red table cloth, bowls, and spoons. Along with chipped tea cups and a kettle. Oh, and there was no snow in the clearing or around the table. A cauldron was cooking over a fire off to the side being stirred by a short brown-haired buxom broad with her hair covering her eyes and dressed like a scullery maid.

With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruse of cockle pottage,
With a thing thus tall, sky bless you all,
I befell into this dotage.
I slept not since the Conquest,
Till then I never wakèd,
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stript me nakèd.
And now I sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

“Greetings, I hardly ever get to have guests for dinner all the way out here,” she said looking up at the dinner group of three.

“Evening miss have you seen any dogs about?” sniffled Fitz wiping his eyes.

“I should say so; I’m talking to three right now am I not? But please do come sit down, dinners almost ready. Oh, and do help yourselves to some tea,” she implored.

“Yes ma’am, thank you very much,” said Waltz solemnly speaking for the three of them as he dusted himself off and they seated themselves around the table. They were all uncharacteristically quiet at that table whether that be from exhaustion or shame from their previous actions I can’t be certain. But I’ve heard tale that dogs don’t feel any shame so, I don’t know what to think.

“This will only take a moment how about I tell you three a story while we wait. Have any of you ever heard of The Pig’s Parable?” They didn’t answer, and she didn’t seem to mind as they sipped from their tiny chipped tea cups.

“It begins like this the dogs fooled their pups in truth they lied. Telling them how wonderful the world was when really it was miserable and nasty and that they never really cared for it all that much. This wasn’t the world as it was but the one they made for themselves.

Because everyone spent all their time being sad, but nobody wanted to talk about it even though they all felt the same, they just kept it on the inside never saying anything to anyone on the contrary. So, they just went on pretending it was alright. In spite of that, everyone was fine with it and nobody harmed anyone else because they all smoked a little green plant.

The poor dogs worked themselves to the bone growing a little green plant that they would smoke to make themselves feel better about everything. They were horrified by how poorly all the sheep were getting on, throwing themselves from the tops of buildings and setting their wool on fire. So, they showed them their little green plant and said this to them.”

“Hey, hey, hey, friend, don’t worry. Relax. Everything is great. Everyone is so nice and pretty. Nothing bad will ever happen.”

The sheep were so relieved to hear this and thanked the dog for their helpful plant and stopped setting their wool on fire but kept falling off buildings, since they didn’t know that gravity was dangerous. They even started to like the way they looked. The least the sheep could do was compensate the dogs for their labor.

But the pigs thought this was no good, how could the dogs think hard work could get you ahead the dogs were becoming rich like they were. Meanwhile the pigs having inherited their fortunes from their parents never had to do an honest day’s work, thus never realizing its value. No something must be done agreed the pigs so, they made it illegal everywhere. Then began seizing it from the dogs and destroying it simply because they could.

“Why! Why? Why,” howled the dogs.

“Why, how about fuck you that’s why, why should everyone else be as happy as a pig in shit?” snorted the pigs in reply. “They have no reason to be, what’s so great about their lives. Nothing, as expected. What you think this little plant will help and sharing it with the sheep too, the audacity. What is it you expected to gain by helping those that can’t help themselves? Oh, you didn’t expect anything now did you, how very altruistic of you. I’m quite shocked actually and here I thought you were planning on a reward, well now if you were I’d say you were quite deranged. Preying on those less fortunate for profit? How disgraceful only a pig should be allowed to do that.”

Without the help of the little green plant anarchy ensued and the sheep began killing each other in droves for what little was left.

“The Law,” chorused the dogs, “We call upon the Law.”

“But we are the law,” was how the pigs replied.

“The Law,” the top dog repeated, and he went off to awaken Man from his slumber with the leaders of the sheep and pigs in tow. Dog came upon Man asleep under the great elms of an old white tree the same place where he’d slept for years. Surrounded by a sea of red poppies that grew all around him. When Man awoke he wiped the tired from his eyes with the back of his hands and asked, “What do you want?”

Dog marveled at this chance meeting and said, “Human contact, it’s so nice I could have it all day.”

“Human contact?” said Man, “I’d rather be dead.”

Dog was shocked to hear such a reply from the Law and asked how he could say such a thing about his fellow humans.

“The first cancers given to the world were named Adam and Eve, whose strain copulated and reproduced a million times over spreading like the plague. Humans had tried all sorts of methods to cull its spread from pogroms to wars and purges nothing seemed to work. So, they went to more severe forms of treatment, cryotherapy was tried on cancer centers around the world but even radiation couldn’t wipe the problem out,” said Man.

“Excuse me, but what’s cancer?” asked Pig.

“Oh yes cancer, well it’s the thing that your parents got right before you sent them away to a hospice to steal all their money. A sort of spreading of undesirables. That coincides with what they tried next privatized prisons, just lock them all up. I’d like to say that the cure was something revolutionary nobody’s ever tried before but it turned out it was quite benign. You can do as you please so long as it’s humane,” concluded Man.

“You mean human?” quipped Sheep.

“Humane,” corrected Man.

“What’s the difference?” asked Dog.

“One isn’t,” said Man.

It was then that Dog and Sheep brought their grievances against Pig before the Law. They spoke of the actions the pigs had unduly taken against them with no recourse for compensation or appeasement.

How for the loss of a simple little green plant that the sheep were lost and society had broken down into lawlessness. It was when they had concluded airing their grievances that Man reflected in quiet contemplation before speaking in a soft childlike tone that bordered on sincerity.

“If someone just told those poor sheep that it doesn’t ever make any more sense than it does right now, then maybe they wouldn’t have to feel so lost. I could write a book about all the things that I don’t know but then I’d never finish, or I could write a book about what I do know, and It would be one sentence long, it would go like this, ‘All that I know is that I hate myself.’ But the solution to your question sounds like a simple one that even someone like me would be able to answer. Those with the power and money to do right, can do no wrong.”

“Then the pigs can do whatever they want!” Dog yapped outraged.

“Wrong, they may do as they please. Here’s an old quote that allowed me to see things in a different light maybe it’ll help, ‘I never wonder to see men wicked, but I often wonder to see them not ashamed.’”

“Sounds like a dog,” snorted Pig. “They’re never ashamed of their actions.”

“That may be,” spoke Man. “But the dogs too have made themselves rich from the fruits of their labor, they as well may do as they please. For money comes and it goes no sense getting attached, it won’t ever love you back.”

“The dogs can never be allowed to be our equals! We are the law, only we are allowed to rise above it,” squealed Pig in protest.

“Whatever made you think that those with money were above the Law?” asked Man amused. “Money holds no power, whatever gave you that idea. None of you have any power. Allow me to strip you of those delusions. I’ll demonstrate now by giving all Pig’s money to Sheep.”

So that’s what he did, and Sheep grew fat right before his eyes. With a snout with which he began to snort in happiness and then Sheep cast off his coat to reveal the body that now gave him so much pride. Pig grew meek and dawned the wool coat Sheep had discarded to hide his nakedness that he was now ashamed of, isn’t that nice.

“Now Sheep,” spoke Man addressing the being formerly known as Pig. “Do you feel more or less in control?”

“I dunno, less I guess. Don’t ask me,” said Sheep, the once proud Pig eyes cast down.

“Now, I don’t know about you all but I’m quite famished. Not eating for years will do that to you. Sorry to say that I can only allow one of you to return. So, sit down we can discuss it over some breakfast I hope you’re in the mood for Cat. It’s all I have for now,” finished Man.

So, Pig, Dog, and Sheep were sitting around a table at the behest of Man, eating Cat for breakfast while discussing who would be eaten for lunch and dinner.

“Well,” declared Pig. “Clearly I shouldn’t be eaten for I am the most essential. Who would sit around all day eating all the food and pointing out everyone’s flaws to them?”

“That’s exactly why you should be eaten,” retorted Dog. “You never help with any of the work and you’re not loyal, always the first to sell someone else out to save yourself. What do you think about all this Sheep?” asked Dog.

“I’m ambivalent either way,” Sheep replied whilst quietly continuing to eat a leg seemingly oblivious to the mortal peril.

“Well if he doesn’t care maybe we should eat him first,” added Pig.

“No, it’s because he is selfless if any of us aren’t going to be eaten it’s going to be him. So, we should eat you next because you’ll just eat Sheep as soon as I’m gone,” Dog barked.

“Exactly why he should be sacrificed for the both of us. He’s a follower, I’m a leader, you never hear of a shepherd give up his life for the good of his flock,” Pig chuckled.

“A poor shepherd cares not for the fate of his flock, only a poor sheep dog would allow a pig like you to eat him.”

“Sheep dog? Sheep dog! You want to eat me next so, you can have him all to yourself. You sound more like a greedy wolf to me! Am I right Sheep,” Pig declared.

“Wolf! What? Where!” Sheep cried.

“We don’t like wolves, do we Sheep,” asked Pig.

“No!” Sheep responded.

“We should kill him, right Sheep,” asked Pig.

“Yes!” Sheep responded.

“Get him!” Pig commanded. So, Pig and Sheep killed Dog and threw him into the pot for lunch. It was a good lunch because he was a good dog, by that I mean he tasted good.

Pig told Sheep he could lie down in the pot before dinner for a nap and that he would wake him when it was time to eat. Sheep did as he was told. That’s because Sheep was fucking stupid and believed everything he was told.

Man, now full allowed only Pig to return and bring Law to all the other beasts. Man, however went back to sleep under the arms of the great white tree where he dreamed of dying.

“What does this story have to do with us?” asked the fat, old, one-eyed pig sitting in his chair with his legs crossed sipping his tea.

“Well what would you rather have for dinner of course, pork, mutton, or mutt?” asked the brown-haired woman. Her smile smeared across her face like lipstick on a cheap harlot.

“Pork!” barked the shaggy white-haired dog with big golden eyes standing in his chair with his front paws on the table lapping up his tea.

“No thank you, pigs are friends not food I’ll have the mutton,” snorted the one-eyed pig.

“Seconded on the mutton, please,” replied the stupid, bald headed, black sheep.

“Riga! You’re a dog,” the pig exclaimed looking across the table.

“That sounds about right,” replied the dog.

“No, I mean you’re a fucking mongrel,” the pig exclaimed.

“Name calling really suits you, ya’ filthy fucking filthy swine,” dog said back.

“What?” said the pig looking down at his hooves that were once hands dropping his teacup? “Bloody hell, I am a pig! Fitz you’re a sheep?” wept the pig.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but you do look tasty,” said the sheep.

“Don’t you idiots see what she’s trying to do? The witch intends to eat us!” cried the pig.

“Excuse me?” asked the alleged witch. “Who are you calling a witch?”

“Oh, we’ve done it now we’ve gotten her angry! Sic her Riga,” said the pig.

“Grrr,” the dog growled barring his fangs to the witch.

“Just hold on now there’s been a slight misunderst...,” the witch started.

“Hunt em’ up. Sic her,” commanded the pig with a wave of a cleft hoof.

“BAROOO,” the dog howled pouncing over the table making a mess of everything ruining a perfectly nice evening. He was taller than the witch on his hind paws, she tried to evade him, but he snatched her arm in his maw and snapped it like a chicken bone.

“Owww,” she wailed and transformed into a large black cat slipping from the dog’s teeth. Meanwhile the hunters changed back into men and caught the wounded cat easily and proceeded to stomp the life out of her. I assume by crushing every bone in her body if I had to guess. I don’t know, they sure do seem to make a mess of everything. Are you sure you really want to hear about these louts?

Well, after they were good and tired, Fitz stuffed the remains of the cat into a burlap sack and hoisted it over his shoulder. But not before they emptied the witch’s kettle that was simmering over the fire that whole time, which was filled with a mystery meat stew. Left over lamb I’d assume and hey who’d have thought orphans could’ve tasted so good. Yummy, yum, yum. Looks like they’re good for something after all. There’s always a silver lining.

They came upon the clearing by chance so, they were sure that they would find the road in a similar fashion. They closed their eyes and walked backwards out of the woods retracing their steps and wouldn’t you know it, not even five minutes later their boots gripped the cobblestone of the road. The sun beat down on their backs, it was high overhead it must have been half past noon and it was only just night. They turned onto the road and saw their horses still tied up right where they had left them.

Only now they were nothing but bones, not a spec of meat left on them, they had been picked clean. Fitz would later recount the events to others as maddening, seems he left a few marbles back in those woods. I don’t even blame the people for not believing his tall tale for I don’t either and I’m the one that’s telling it now. Lying amidst the skeletons of those once proud stolen stallions that died tied to the trees, was good ol’ Sparky gnawing on their bones, isn’t that nice.

“Greetings friends,” said the wolfhound. “I suppose I should thank you for the meal, I’m glad to see you all made it back out in one piece you almost had me worried.”

“You know,” began Fitz. “I don’t think anything could surprise me anymore.” The other hunters stood there awestruck rooted to the ground at loss with reality.

“That’s a very pragmatic view, I’m sure that belief will be put to the test soon enough,” said the wolfhound shaking out his coat and getting up on all four paws. “Just between you and me, I might have felt bad for eating your steeds, but they weren’t actually yours to begin with, now were they?” He said gazing at the sun, which was hanging for the fall. Their gaze followed that of the wolfhound and when they had returned their eyes back to the wolfhound had been he had vanished into the woods.

Scene Ten

Nothing at All

It was going to be a long road back to New Eden so, they spent it how they usually passed the time. Talking about pretty much nothing.

“Hey, Fitz do you remember your first time?” asked Waltz trying to kick up a conversation to make the walk seem shorter.

“My first time you say,” pondered Fitz. “Now that really brings me back, I believe it was a girl I liked when I was young. She taught me a lot of things and I suppose you could say she was my first and only true love. I was barely into my teens when I found out what she did for money. To think I could have had her all that time if only I could have filled her pockets. So, I paid her to give me the time, you know, and while I was thrusting into her I just kept thinking to myself is it supposed to be this loose? I thought this was supposed to feel good, right. All the while she kept letting out these fake lewd moans, acting like I was really giving it to her, wham, wham, wham,” he said punching a fist into an open palm.

“Seems like a ride that’s no longer operational by the sound of it,” Waltz jeered.

“She wasn’t even into her twenties and yet she was already desensitized. Worn out and ready to be tossed out. Walking the streets and looking for strangers to buy the love afforded by the loose lips that slapped together between her thighs. On and on she went with that insufferable moaning, what, was it supposed to make me feel better.

Like I’m more of a man because I could pleasure some dumb whore. It made me sick. Bile built up in the back of my throat and I lost my lunch all over her stupid face. And made a mess of her appearance the stupid whore. Did she think that I was just another mark that she could work over for a quick nut and then move onto the next john, not knowing what she meant to me?

That went on until I just couldn’t stand it anymore and I wrapped my hands around her slender neck after I had redecorated her face and pressed my thumbs into her throat. She started to struggle, both in disgust, and realizing what was happening. Clawing at me but I was strong and tall for my age and easily overpowered her.

Her moans turned into a wet gurgle, her eyes rolled into the back of her head like she was in ecstasy and then the moaning stopped, her arms dropping limply to her sides. I rolled off of her and the whites of her eyes stared back at me, her tongue hanging out the side of her parted lips.

I didn’t even get off that whole time, lousy whore, should’ve taken my money back. You know what I did next though, I started to cry like a babe without a tit to suck on, just wailing away something I hadn’t done in years. Just as suddenly the tears dried up and I started to laugh uncontrollably in a fit of mania, I mean how could I have gotten so worked up over her. It’s funny now, thinking back on it, I don’t feel anything. Yeah, well that was my first kill the stupid bitch. How about you?”

“That’s easy, I kicked my ma on the way out. Her present for giving birth to me,” chuckled Waltz. “She wasn’t even religious, and my pa told me they didn’t even want me. I wouldn’t have held it against her if she would’ve aborted me or god forbid used birth control. My pa could’ve worn one of those fashionable little hats on his ding-a-ling like the romans used, or what the Greeks did he could’ve stuffed it up her butt. But my pa did give me one decent piece of advice when he was sober enough to remember I was still there that I’ve lived my life by, ‘Who gives a fuck about what other people think.’ Your turn Riga.”

“I was walking the streets of lower Eden when I was young...,” started Riga.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he didn’t ask for your life story,” interrupted Fitz.

“A homeless man. Never seen him before. He kept following me. Asking for change. If he wanted that he should have went to the Judgemaster. I caved his head in with a paving brick. I think that may be the problem with everyone,” finished Riga.

“What’s that?” asked Waltz.

“Most people feel nothing at all,” Riga smirked as he said this.

Scene Eleven

Strange Happenings

A few days after the lepers had departed that piss hole that people live in. You know, the last place they had performed. They made it to the brink of New Eden a towering red metropolis. Their good cats charm had prevented them from being taken unaware and attacked on the road, by any beasts on their way there. Isn’t that nice.

The Messire was doing his usual ritual of smoking opium at Horse’s reigns. And the world danced in beautiful colors as they rolled along the road towards their ultimate destination. He put his pipe down and put back on his masque. To pretend to be what he isn’t like the rest of humanity.

“Rumble, rumble, rattle, creak,” their creaky, piece of shit falling apart cart quietly replied to the world it rolled down. As it bumped up and down the road heading towards the outer gates of New Eden. The city existed like a wound in fabric of human nature that soon would be infected with leprosy.

They now rolled up to the two Judges who stood as city sentinels before the gate. A scene that they had grown accustomed to. After years of people telling them that they were not welcome here. Two Judges stood garbed like the rest: black cloaks, golden bauta masques and black felt tricorn hats armed with their long rifles and their serrated bayonets.

“Look what we’ve got here friend. Visitors looking like us, eager to pay the troll toll,” the guard to the left of the gate cackled out in a hoarse voice.

“You heard the man pony up or be gone,” the other guard cynically barked out in a commanding voice with a gloved arm outstretched.

“You know there are other ways that people pay?” The Messire said to them behind his white masque with a jovial smile that warmed hearts and invited their reply.

“What exactly would you be offering now, hmmmmm?” The Judge on the right side of the gate asked. “What’s in it for us to let you into our Paradise.”

“Why my good Horse’s ass of course, fancy a fuck?” The Messire laughed.

“But Messire why I thought you loved me! I don’t even know them, tell them it isn’t so Messire please,” Horse cried to deaf ears.

“Huh but that’s a donkey not a horse,” was the first response from the ride sentinel to the right of the gate.

“Okay let’s go,” is what the left one answered back. Leaning his rifle against the wall and walking over.

The Messire after hearing this hopped off the cart and started unhooking Horse. Nobody else heard Horse’s protests besides the Messire and he didn’t mind one bit. Because they were just voices in his head that held no consequence.

The Messire followed the Judge, leading Horse by the bridle. To the bushes beside the gate so, that the degenerate Judge could have Horse’s ass. After all it’s how the world goes round and don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.

After a while the first Judge got curious, what was taking the other Judge so long. I mean seriously it’s only a Donkey so, it’s not like he’s making love to it. Just get it over with and he wandered over to what was taking so long or join the party in the bushes I don’t really know.

The rest of the theatre troupe waited there for a while, until they got tired of waiting. Then Giscard and Mewt got out to push the cart through the open gates of New Eden. While the Judges were busy getting it on with a donkey. Isn’t that nice.

Messire was entertaining a few degenerate Judges with Horse’s ass. They went off to set up shop to sell some of their excess opium, before the Messire could smoke it all. What a waste! It belongs to the filthy citizens of this sprawling metropolis. So, they were better off doing back alley drug deals.

Once the Judges were done shagging animal ass. They pulled up their pants and returned to their posts. Messire hopped onto Horse’s back and rode him back to the gate where he left the troupe. “Where could they have gone?” The Messire asked Horse stroking him between the ears.

“Oh so, you want to listen to me now and not when you gave me away huh. Find them yourself I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Horse said tearfully.

“It’s alright I see our wagon parked down the road inside the gate,” Messire said as he rode Horse inside of the city to the wagon. Then he hopped off and attached Horse back to his home sweet home. “Where’d everybody go,” he said looking inside of the wagon and seeing nobody nearby.

So, he did the only logical course of action he started looking around for them. Inside shop, taverns, and the around the usual drug deal locations. But he unexpectedly found the in plain sight, just out in the open selling pouches of opium under an awning.

“Stop, stop, stop what are you doing!?” The Messire commanded furiously.

“Selling this shit, why what does it look like?” Slapstick asked him.

“But I need it!” The Messire stated.

“We’ve set aside plenty for you, don’t worry about it. You don’t need all of it,” Faust added helpfully. But Messire didn’t seem as calm as he should have been. Really behind his smiling masque he was having conniptions. “Honestly, we tow this shit around with us to sell it. Stop trying to smoke all of our own supply, Messire.”

That seemed to calm him down a little because his shoulders slumped, and his head dropped. Instead of him just staring at his troupe, watching what they were doing. You know what they were supposed to be doing. Isn’t that nice. The Messire finally accepted reality.

“Alright when you guys are done selling, you can meet me where we’ll be performing later on tomorrow night,” The Messire said before leaving. Going back to where he came to fetch the cart where Horse was waiting for him, with a cream filled anus. Isn’t that nice.

When he turned the corner of the street he saw in the distance some dark-haired woman trying to put her hands on his Horse without permission. No sir this would not stand. He started sprinting towards Horse shouting, “Halt, thief stop right there!”

The woman bolted upright when she heard that. Turned to look where she had heard the voice coming from and bolted in the other direction. The Messire made it to Horse and stroked his head saying, “Ah I’m here for you don’t worry. Nobody will ever take you from me.”

“Oh sure, no one is going to take me. But you’ll allow them to give me something. You sick pervert honestly I would have preferred a new owner,” Horse stated gruffly sounding upset in Messire’s head. Because that was the only place where he talked.

“My only beloved friend,” the Messire said stroking his mane before he got back onto the front of the wagon. Then they started traveling up the city towards the Red Right Hand. The grand amphitheatre where they would perform for all of New Eden to see.

How marvelous it will be. The Messire’s been thinking nonstop about what he wants his troupe to perform once they’re on the stage. For everyone to see, perhaps a tragedy he thought. Yes, now which to choose from. So, much to choose from he found it hard to decide on which. But that’s part of the fun so, why would I spoil the surprise.

Messire arrived at the top of New Eden or the courtyard in front of the Judgemaster’s castle. He stepped out of the wagon and stood here in the midst of the Red Right Hand. The seating ran all the way around the summit. He followed it with his eyes. There was seating for all and it rose up so high on the fingers that reached for the sky.

It’s sad that the proffered hand was stretched out to never be taken by anyone. That’s fate after all some make it, and some don’t. There’s no use crying over spilt milk. Speaking of milk, the Messire let out good cat, and poured her a dish. Isn’t that nice. Bad cat got to stay in her bag after all it would grow lonely without her company.

Night fell upon the city after the sun had died, then mother moon came to cry over his passing.

“Why do you go away each day,” mother moon wept. “It’s only fair a mother should die before her sun so there is someone to cry over my passing.” The unending cycle repeats itself, mother moon will always bemoan the passing of her favorite sun.

Then the rest of the Messire’s theatre troupe arrived after a day of spreading opium dreams. So, they could all sleep soundly. Carrying what little they had left for their Messire. Mewt handed the Messire what remained, then the Messire he spoke to his troupe.

“Do you all know what we are going to be doing tomorrow?” The Messire asked them all. They all voiced their acknowledgement and then they began to prepare the set so, that they could play. Tomorrow was going to be a good day, a good day for a great play. Isn’t that nice.

After they were finished setting up for tomorrow. They went to sleep in their wagon with their precious luck bestowing cats. Because they couldn’t dream of leaving their Horse and their belongings unattended to. That would be a crying shame if it ever did happen.

* * *

The next morning when the sun dawned and returned to life once again. The lepers were roused from their sweet slumber to bitter reality yet again. Mewt got up then went to work starting a fire and cooking breakfast for the performers that he lived to serve. It seems like so many people have become unfamiliar with what it’s like to serve someone else. A lord, a ruler, a master, there are many names to choose from for who you bend you knee to.

He cooked them all some eggs and chopped up some potatoes that he fried. They all sat down to eat and took off their masques. In each other’s company was the only place that they were comfortable doing so. They could never stomach showing their face to the common man, judged for their outer appearance not even who they are. Human nature is truly so shallow.

When they finished eating they sealed their souls back up and went to work preparing their costumes for later on that night. Patching up any tears in their wardrobe and change of wardrobe. Mewt went around the stage making sure everything was set and prepared for showtime.

The Messire meanwhile got high on opium to get himself ready for existence. His greatest show everyday was a play for him. The he sat around the cooking fire and passed the time by talking to his most faithful companion, Horse. Isn’t that nice.

“Are you ready to perform Messire,” Horse asked.

“I am always, sometimes I’m just more ready than other times to play,” he grinned his true unmasqued face at Horse.

“An ugly mug such as yourself, ready? Preposterous!” Horse snorted.

“Really you wanna that be petty?” The Messire said getting up walking over behind Horse pulling down his pants. Pulling out his disfigured pecker before chubbing it up and sticking it up Horse’s unconsenting anus. “Do you like being dominated by someone with such an ugly mug?” The Messire asked to his Horse that does not speak English.

Slapstick saw his Messire going to town on Horse and asked, “Having fun Messire?”

“No! I’m! Trying! To! Teach! Him! A! Lesson!” Messire said each word in between thrusts. Of everyone’s favorite game the old in and out.

“About what, didn’t we already discuss this? That’s a donkey he can’t talk,” Slapstick added to his preoccupied Messire. “Are you just doing it for his joy or yours?”

“Well if you put it that way for no reason,” Messire said pulling his dick out of Horse’s ass and pulling his pants back up around his waist.

It was around this time that the sun began to sink. Drifting lower on the horizon to bring mother moon to tears. Around that time the audience began to gather filling up the seats amongst the fingers that surrounded the stage.

After most of the seats were filled the Messire snapped his fingers to begin the sideshow. The lights flickered for a moment and the world was switched to the opposite world. Where nobody noticed the difference. Mother moon died and sank into the horizon for the first time her sun was there to weep at her passing. Isn’t that nice, a change in the story.

Everyone was on the stage at this moment for it was open with no back. Messire then announced in a thundering voice, “Long ago in a place far from here. The people’s lord was terribly sick in the head. Filled with troubled thoughts that he eventually showed them.”

Mewt, Giscard, Slapstick, Harlot, and Faust were all kneeling on the ground which served as a stage before the Messire. With their heads looking at the ground. Faust looked up and said with an arm held out, “Lord how might we best serve you today.”

“How about you round up the populace, count them off and kill ever fifth man, woman, or child,” Messire said, at this everyone looked up at him.

“But why? Whatever could have caused this my Lord,” said Slapstick in a serious tone filled with disbelief.

“Surely something must have happened,” Harlot wheezed.

“Because I said so, your Lord doesn’t need a reason,” Messire answered back. “Do any of you have a problem with my command.”

“You’re asking for the slaughter of common citizens,” Giscard said shocked.

“What madness could have caused this!” Faust exclaimed.

“Madness, I am not mad! I am your Lord and Law now obey and do as I command!” Messire shouted to them.

They all stood up before their Lord. Like they thought they were on even footing with their Lord, well they better think again. Mewt looked at Messire and shook his head. Messire answered furiously back, “Then you will be the fifth from out of my personal servants!” Drawing the wooden prop sword that he wore on his side and cutting Mewt down before him. He lay as a corpse on the ground and then there were four.

“You are mad!” Slapstick screamed turning to run from away from him along with the other servants. But he ran off exiting stage left.

Faust turned to face his once beloved Lord and drew a wooden prop knife. To use against the man that had been his Lord until a short time ago.

“Oh, got some fight in you do we, they come at me,” said Messire dropping his sword. Faust rushed forward at him trying to end it all, right here right now. But Messire caught his arm when he came in close and pinned him to the ground under his knee. Then picked up his sword that was on the ground beside them and slashed Faust’s neck. So, he too lay on the ground dead as a corpse with Mewt and then there were three.

Harlot was sitting on the ground a good distance away hugging her knees and sobbing.

“Oh, what’s this you aren’t even going to attempt to run?” Messire asked Harlot, leaning over and tilting his head sideways to get a better look at her.

“You don’t really want to do this Lord. I’ve still served you faithfully and will continue to do so until my dying day,” Harlot said trying her best to butter him up.

“Then good news my dear!” he exclaimed in joy.

“Yes, my Lord?” Harlot asked him.

“You’ve served faithfully till now but today is your dying day, goodbye,” Messire said without a hint of regret.

“No, wait Lord please,” she begged but Messire cut her down anyway. She laid down on the ground with the other corpses.

“Hmm does a Lord have to do everything himself, a crying shame it is. So, hard to find good servants these days,” he said walking off in search of his other two servants and then there were two.

Giscard was picking up a double headed battle axe.

“So, you would rather kill your very own Lord than to obey his commands,” Messire stated walking up behind him.

“I don’t want to do it. But you left me with no other option. I’d rather take one life than a score or more,” Giscard said in a hesitant voice.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Messire laughed walking towards him “Please a bucket full of peasant lives don’t equal that of a single Lord! Have you gone and forgotten yourself, remember now how to live as a submissive servant. The master chooses, and the servant obeys.”

“I will not obey! You do not value of the lives of the common man! You are no Lord worth following!” Giscard angerly shouted charging towards him with his battle axe held high.

“Huh,” Messire scoffed at him. Then looked at his sword in his hand and threw it at his servant’s chest. Giscard toppled backwards, and Messire walked over to him. Picked up his sword and ran it across his servant’s throat. Giscard lay down on the ground because he was no more, and then there was one.

Messire’s search continued for his last ill-fated servant wherever he may be.

At last he spotted him and his black and red checker board masque. Standing in defiance against the only Lord he would ever serve for a few moments longer.

“Are you happy now, cutting down those loyal to you to the last man?” Slapstick asked the Lord and Law of his life brandishing his sword.

“Loyal, huh-huh-ha you’re a comedian you make me laugh. They why would none of you do as I had commanded!?” Messire howled as Slapstick sparked up his temper.

“Maybe if you gave us all a reason. To show us why your order made sense. Then we would have been more willing to follow you at your word. Alas it is no more, and all your servants are gone,” Slapstick said walking up to meet his former Lord for a duel.

“Show me the skill you refused to use in my honor,” Messire commanded for the last time. Or until he found more obedient servants.

“Very well, whenever you’re ready,” Slapstick said holding his sword at the ready. Messire’s sword clashed against Slapstick’s wooden sword and the duel had commenced.

Slapstick crouched low and then swung his sword up high at Messire’s head but he parried the blow aside. Messire thrust his sword towards Slapstick’s heart, but he stepped aside out of the way of his blow.

“Have you no honor?” Messire asked his servant as the swings continued.

“Have you no shame?” Slapstick responded as the battle heated up. Slapstick spun around and tried to hit Messire’s sword at the hilt to attempt to disarm him. But Messire knocked his blade aside, then dropped to his knees.

Saying, “I’m sick in the head, save me servant. I beg you do me this one favor,” Messire said.

“Really you yield?” Slapstick responded holding his sword in mid swing.

“No,” Messire said, running his servant through. By impaling him while he was unaware. Slapstick feel to the ground and then there were none.

Then Messire announced, “Do not believe your lords and ladies on high, for they are just people too. Take everything half-truth you hear with a hard heart. For humans always lie. You cannot change the beast, but you can learn how to deal with it,” he said bowing and the rest of his troupe got up and did the same. All bowing to a packed amphitheatre.

The applause was thunderous as they had performed for all the world to see. And they loved them even though they were all lepers.

Scene Twelve

El

To accurately describe to you the way things are now it’s important that I go way back, to the very beginning so you know how this all started. The God of creation was and has always remained a rather lonely child. Most like to imagine him as an apathetic wizened old man with a long white beard, sitting in a marble hall on a golden throne as the spirits of the dead groveled for salvation at his feet in some faraway heaven.

But why? Was this depiction of age supposed to imply wisdom? Age has no meaning to him and it never will, for he will never age. No, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I knew him as El so that’s how I’ll refer to him from now on. He’ll always stay just how I remember him. With the appearance of an ordinary, fair-skinned naked ten-year-old boy.

With a wild mane of coarse black hair that covered his back. If you gazed into his right eye you could glimpse all past events that have ever transpired and in his left an orb of unforeseen futures yet to come. That eye he lost to me over a game of marbles, his favorite game. Which he invented, unfortunately for him we played for keepsies.

In the beginning there was merely the void. A black endless landscape that extended infinitely in every direction. This is where El awoke to find himself alone. His first act as a conscience being was to turn on the lights. So, he clapped his hands together and the light of a billion suns flickered on. Ready to start the very first game, on his hands and knees he went. Knuckles down with a flick of his finger he shot the taw of creation that sowed the seeds of a billion maiden worlds and all his marbles bounced around a bit.

It might be more accurate to say everything exploded into existence all at once but hey let’s not argue semantics. Meanwhile the watchers most likely sprung up from El’s overactive collective unconscious unbidden. For want of guardians in this empty expanse or maybe he just wanted friends, someone to play, or an audience. I’m not quite sure actually, he never told me. It would be a waste of time trying to describe them, hardly any two looked all that much alike and don’t get me started on personalities.

“Look it, see what I’ve made,” El proclaimed to the watchers. With a great big grin and he skipped down the spiral stairway from heaven two at a time for the grand opening of his garden on his favorite little blue-green marble.

El sat down beside a river bank where the waters of three great rivers met. Kicking his feet in the shallows and making creatures out of clay. Waiting to be imprinted by a parent giving them an identity, a name. All the birds in the sky, the beasts of the land, and fish in the sea then told them, “I may have made you one way but please take any form that suits you. I only want you to be happy, for I love you.” Or some such and he taught them all a common tongue, so they could all be friends. El was no longer alone and they named him king crowning him in garland.

It was on an evening like any other while El was on one of his walks through his garden. He was approached by a snake that slithered up to him. El picked the beast up on his palm and brought it up to his face so he could hear what it had to say.

“El,” said the beast addressing him. This level of familiarity was common in those days. “How happy I am for the life you have given me, but even still I can’t help but be sad.”

“What’s troubling you friend. Tell me is there anything I can do to help you,” said the bright-eyed boy, who ironically was the father of all creation.

“It’s this body. How I wish I could, run, jump, and swim through the garden with you. Most of all it’s my lack of hands that’s most troubling. For I would like nothing more than to play marbles with you. El, could you find it in your heart to make me just like you?”

“Of course, anything for a friend,” said El as tears ran down his face. He had not expected such an unusual request but at that particular moment in time nothing he had done had filled him with as much pride as the words the beast had spoken to him. Such a request he was more than happy to permit, and he renamed his new friend in honor of the occasion, allowing only him to share in his image. You will know this beast by his Hebrew name.

Adam.

I wish I could tell you that I knew the monster that was responsible for all this better but alas we scarcely spoke. All I can do is describe the events leading up to that day. While he may have looked similar to El in almost every regard, except for he had short cropped brown hair. Oh, most importantly he smiled more than El but don’t mistake him for being happy his eyes were hollow. He may have changed his shape, but he didn’t change what he really was at heart, a sociopath.

Even so Adam and El were inseparable. Frolicking together in the garden in those early days when everything was still peaceful. Did I say days, well from your point of view I’d be more apt to say years? How many? Maybe a century or so. It all sort of blends together now.

How about we cut to the chase shall we? The beginning of the end, don’t worry you’re not missing much. This is where it gets interesting. Some of the other watchers had to draw El away from the garden for an indeterminate amount of time for some important reason. He was distraught over the thought that he would be leaving Adam alone just like he had been.

So, can you guess what he did? El created the second beast, Eve. A young girl to be a playmate to Adam. Before leaving he gave them both strict instruction about our good old’ friend the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness. That great white monster protecting its golden fruit that slept in the center of the garden.

“Under absolutely no circumstance must you eat from the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness,” said El pointing to it in the center of the garden for emphasis. He didn’t need to for there was no mistaking it. “For you will surely die.”

“Die?” laughed Adam assure of his immortality. Because strictly speaking he was. He had no concept of death, nothing had ever died in the garden before. He hadn’t aged one day since El had shaped him in his image.

“No, you have to promise,” said El looking at his first friend Adam.

“Okay, I won’t,” Adam said sulking.

“You won’t what, Adam,” El asked tilting his head as he looked at him.

“I won’t eat from the tree. Promise,” Adam said to El sincerely.

“Pinky swear?” El said to Adam holding out his little finger.

“Pinky swear,” so Adam and El interlocked pinkies sealing their unbreakable vow. For should he break that he would surely die. Then before departing the garden, El told us watchers to watch over his good friends Adam and Eve for him while he was away. I only wish he instructed us to do more than watch them. Then maybe this could have all been avoided and the watchers might’ve been known by something else. My private shame.

The children took to each other well, almost too well. Thick as thieves those two really. That’s why I’m positive they must have been in cahoots from the start. Adam seemed to hardly miss El at all. Day by day their play would drift closer and closer to the center of the garden. Coincidence I think not I’ve learned long past that there’s no such thing. Fate or free-will take your pick. I told myself you may at times be able to fool others but don’t fool yourself, only in fiction does everything have a purpose.

Don’t mistake what I’m saying now as a denial of guilt. I’m far from innocent, we all played our parts on the day that the children found themselves before the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness.

“Look it,” Eve said to Adam pointing. “One of the fruits fell off. See,” she said picking the golden fruit up from the earth and dusting it off. Yes, before you ask I was present. Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I try to stop them? If I can be honest I had tired of my duty, playing nursemaid. I mean how long had it been since El departed the garden. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t curious after all that time, to see what would happen if they actually did it. But I didn’t think they had it in them. Oops, I was wrong. Wasn’t the first time, so I watched and did nothing? Thus, earning my doom.

“Evey, we shouldn’t. El said we weren’t to eat anything from the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness,” Adam weakly protested.

“But we’re not,” said Eve coyly. “I picked it up off the ground silly, you saw it for yourself. Besides this Trees not so faraway I can touch it. Look it,” she said planting her left hand on the trunk while gazing at the golden fruit in her right. “There, there you aren’t so bad after all are you Mister Tree you just misunderstood,” she said taking a bite and tossing the fruit to Adam. He caught it in both hands then looked at the Tree, then to Eve, then back to the Tree as if he expected something to happen. He must have known but he must not have cared because he then took a bite followed by a few more the greedy bastard. The first act of defiance in a chain of many more to come.

That as it is now known was the original sin, the loss of innocence.

It appears the thing that myself and my fellow watchers were instructed to look after had now been lost, never to be found. As for the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness, it died that day. All its leaves shriveled up and blew away in the wind, its once golden fruit turned brown and fell to the ground rotten.

A giant once stood in the garden of God and now there were none. The immortal garden of El has now known death. The creatures of the garden were no longer safe from the withering touch of time let alone each other. All for the loss of the protection of the Tree. As for Adam and Eve they grew up and the affection that bloomed in the springtime of youth dried up and died in the doldrums of adolescence and they forgot how to love.

The children that once played naked in the garden had become awkwardly aware of their own nakedness and were ashamed of being seen. The animals that would give those rides upon their backs were cruelly brought down with sharpened sticks for their skins. Sure, they had their own sets of skin, but they were now unhappy with them so, they thought they’d try to be someone else.

Never even trying to give being themselves a chance. What if nobody accepts me? I’m so afraid of being hurt. Is what they must have thought. How ironic it was that it was they who harmed everyone else. They stalked around on their hands and knees ready to start the game. Only now the game wasn’t marbles.

With a wolf pelt on their back and claws attached in between their knuckles. They hunted their old friends. Ripping out throats with their teeth the taste of blood in their mouths. Howling at the moon they must have gone loony. Look it, at least the kids are alright. That’s got to count for something right?

No, well fine then I’ll see you in hell. I was just following orders so, I watched. The center of the garden now lay deserted all the animals fled the monster’s hunting grounds. Corpses littered the area the stench of rotting meat all around. The monsters were garbed in pelts and bones their skin painted with blood, hair now long and mangled.

With no prey to hunt they had grown idle and now when Adam gazed upon his old friend Eve that’s what he saw, prey. Something new to be conquered. Love that once kindled his cold heart now festered in his lustful eyes. He pinned her to the ground tearing off her pelts to reveal her shameful nakedness. What did he expect to find under all that, the girl that once was? Was he hoping for a struggle? If he was, he found neither.

“It’s all right Adam,” she said from her back with her breasts exposed as she ran her fingers through his long hair. “It’s okay, go ahead. Do as you please,” she said turning her face away from him, so he wouldn’t see her tears.

“I love you Evey,” he said brokenly. Undressing as big crocodile tears rolled down his bloodstained face.

“Do you even know what that word means anymore? Are you even capable of feeling without being told how to feel?” she asked turning to look at him.

“In a world with no answers all feelings are valid. You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you, but I do it anyways because not seeing you hurts even more.” And then she kissed him gently on his lips and they embraced as only two monsters could, comforted in each other’s nakedness. A giant once stood in the garden and now there were two. On that day the first seed was planted. This was to be their heaven, but it wasn’t enough.

The next day El returned to the garden.

I often wonder what El was thinking when he first saw what had befallen the garden. If he really had no idea what was happening and if he cared so much, why had he been gone so long. The creatures of the garden in his absence would sing a song. Upon hearing it after his return El fell to his knees and wept.

From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
The spirit that stands by the naked man
In the Book of Moons defend ye,
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon,
While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing,
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

For Adam and Eve there was no mistaking El’s return. His tears brought the rain and his cries were the thunder on the wind. They had no delusions about what they’d done, when they heard the long-lost voice of their dear old friend they hid. They however could not hide their crime the corpse of the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness was visible from the entire garden. The watchers led El right to them.

“Adam, Eve, where are you? Come on out I’m not mad. Promise. Please, just speak to me, we’re friends remember. I want to understand, help me understand,” El called out in front of the dead Tree. No reply. “Olly olly oxen free,” he shouted his hands cupped to his mouth.

From a hollow at the base of the tree two monsters covered in mud emerged dressed in the skins of their dead friends. El recoiled from the sight of them and hid behind one of the watchers that had led him there. That watcher was me.

“What’ve you done? Adam is that you,” asked El from behind my back.

“Yes, El it’s me,” answered the monster.

“You look so different I don’t even recognize you,” he said peeking around.

“Me neither and yet you still look the same as the day you left.”

“How else am I supposed to look dummy, I am who I am. Tell me it isn’t true you couldn’t have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness. You must have been tricked you promised me. But it’s dead and I saw the bodies on my way here.”

“Nobody tricked me El. Eve and I did it together as he watched,” said the monster pointing at me to subvert his guilt. El shoved me from behind.

“What!” El screamed at me. “You watched as they ate from the No-Good Faraway Magic Tree of Knowledge of Naughty and Niceness the one thing I said specifically not to do.”

“Please El we’re friends I didn’t know,” I said in my defense not that it mattered.

“Don’t call me that after this. You should’ve known they were children. You watched and yet you’re somehow blameless, you ruined everything. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” El said in a frenzy striking me in the chest and my blood ran cold.

I fell to the ground having taken Adam’s original form a white serpent with burning golden eyes. I couldn’t bear for him to look upon me any longer, so I fled into the hollow at the foot of the tree. When El saw that twisted smile on Adam’s face he knew his friend was gone.

“You enjoyed it didn’t you, killing them. Don’t try to hide it your face says it all,” said El.

“Of course, it’s the greatest game, the hunt, the chase, the kill. El I’m surprised you haven’t tried it,” laughed Adam.

“Leave now the both of you. I never want to see either of you again,” said El and he never did. “The good in me I will give to you so that you may pass it on to your children. Your kind will be hunted this will be your curse, never safe from each other. You will learn how the others in the garden felt or the hunt will have no end,” that was the last time El and Adam spoke before the other watchers escorted them from the garden.

El was never the same after that. In the end just like the beginning he was a sad child he didn’t socialize well with others. He no longer wanted to play in the garden and took no satisfaction in anything that he made. He didn’t believe anyone when they told him how much they loved him and what a great job he did creating them. He didn’t care that others were happy to be alive because he wasn’t. He wondered why it was that no one understood him.

So, he curled up into a ball, naked and alone at the foot of the dead tree at the center of the garden. But he wasn’t really alone. I was there hiding in the hollow. I was the only one who heard his last words and like before I just watched.

“Leave me alone. Nothing I do or say has any meaning and why should it. Nobody would understand anyways.”

El hung himself from the tree swinging by his garland. Then he woke up.

Scene Thirteen

Vox in Rama

Hey there friend. Are you starting to wonder why I’m sharing all these things with you? Well it’s because there’s no one else I can say these things to. Some things are too painful to say aloud even when I’m alone. But you’re different, you’re not going to hurt me, are you? It’s okay, don’t worry I get it really, I do. You’re just the silent type. I’ll just do the talking for the both of us, I don’t mind. I was just like you, unable to find my voice once. Now where did we leave off?

“I’m here to see the Judgemaster,” said Fitz addressing a man seated in a chair beside a pair of dilapidated double doors reading the print.

“And I’d love to let you in, but the door doesn’t open from this side,” said the gatekeeper a masque man in a red coat, peaking over the top of his paper.

“Then why are you here?” asked Fitz.

“So, you’ll know that the door won’t open,” said the gatekeeper turning the page.

“Can you let the Judgemaster know that I’ve been waiting to see him?”

“Oh, no,” said the gatekeeper closing the paper.

“Well why the bloody hell not.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, it’s only that he isn’t here.”

“Then where is he.”

“How should I know that? Would you mind telling me what you think is really behind this door? Look it sir you’ve made the front page,” he said turning the paper over so Fitz could read the headline. Phony Found Out Sentenced to be exposed to Public.

“The real me,” said Fitz waking up. It’s been several days since last we checked in on Fitz and friends. While we were away they arrived back home the night prior, to the hunter’s fortress up north built into the mountains. The mongrel’s criminal bastion that they thought was free from persecution.

That’s funny really. At least they have a sense of humor otherwise they wouldn’t have any sense at all, mhmhm isn’t that nice. It was late when they got in and they were all lucidly sober so, they got high and went to bed. Fitz always was a vivid dreamer. Riga doesn’t dream. Waltz sex dreams and nightmares mostly. They should’ve gotten themselves a dreamcatcher, but they didn’t believe in that superstitious mumbo jumbo.

Fitz awoke in his small dimly lit private quarters naked and alone. His clothing and gear scattered around the floor. The state of the room reflecting the happenings in his head. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and cradled his face in his hands. Gazing at his diseased genitals through splayed fingers then to his closed chamber door.

“Any other day but not today,” said the syphilitic man to himself. He got out of bed and rummaged through his discarded belongings. Finally finding what he was looking for he brought it to his temple and pulled the trigger before collapsing to the floor.

“Bang,” said the pistol painting the wall in bad thoughts after punching a hole in the flaking yellow wall paper.

Fitz woke up crying in his small dimly lit private quarters with a large black cat sitting on his chest. She had the most adorable golden peepers.

“Bad dream my friend?” asked the cat.

“You’re... the witch from the woods,” Fitz whispered wide eyed and terrified.

“What is it with you people and witches. I’ll have you know I’m a ship captain. Ehem, at least I was until it, uhh sank,” the cat declared half-heartedly.

“A ship captain and a witch?” Fritz spoke in real amazement or mock amazement. Then again, I’m not actually sure. You see I’ve always been a terrible judge of character.

“No, you blind buffoon I’m a cat haven’t you ever seen one before. Captain Chester von Nip, but you will address me as Captain Nip or not at all,” the cat declared standing up on her hind paws upon his chest.

“But we killed you, how’d you even get out of the bag,” Fitz said puzzled.

“I’ll pardon the bad pun but not your bad table manners. You’ll find cats aren’t that easy to kill,” said Captain Nip cleaning herself on Fitz’s chest, isn’t that nice.

“Hey Captain, am I dreaming?” asked Fitz unsure of everything going on.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you that,” Captain Nip replied.

“Why not?” Fitz asked unsure if he would wake up.

“Where’s the fun in that,” cried Captain Nip.

“I just don’t know if I should try anymore,” Fitz muttered glum with a frown.

“God are you there or are you sleeping? God do you care or are you weeping? Stay in bed for all I care. The show will go on without you. The play stops for no one actor,” said Captain Nip leaping onto the floor. “Do you have anything to drink in this hovel?”

“Afraid not,” said Fitz getting out of bed. Isn’t that just a shame.

“No matter let’s go join the others we wouldn’t want to miss the party,” said Captain Nip walking on her hind paws to the door. “By the way you should really get that checked out,” she added before letting herself out.

Now alone Fitz prepared himself for his performance. He put on his big shit eating grin the masque of his making and donned his clown suit so, everyone would know what part he was playing. Unsure of what was happening he followed the cat out, either way he had grown tired of sleeping.

* * *

It was half past noon at the hunter’s fortress, Fitz descended down the stone steps from his third-floor room of the western garrison while fastening his sword belt. There was snow on the ground that crunched under foot as he made his way over to the courtyard which served as the sparring grounds for idle hunters. Strangely he hadn’t run into anyone else and it should’ve been livelier at this time of day, but the courtyard was deserted.

“Where is everyone?” he said to himself while he lit up his pipe. That question was quickly answered by the sounds coming from the mess hall across the courtyard from him and made his way in that direction to investigate. He threw open the door to the mess hall and what did he find, well certainly not what he was expecting anyway. Everyone was crammed in there together around one hundred hunters in all. Men and women, young and old. The only unifying factor in the group is the sense of freedom it afforded them. To live without rules. Who cares about that faceless background noise it’s the three in the center of the room we’re concerned about, Riga and Waltz hoisting the cat up upon a chair between them as the crowd droned in unison.

“Captain Nip! Captain Nip! Captain Nip!” they cheered, Fitz fell into the crowd.

Captain Chester von Nip then motioned for them to stop and they set the chair down upon the piss covered floor. The cheering died down to a hush. She crossed her legs in the chair and someone handed her a lit pipe and a glass of vodka, isn’t that nice.

“Thank you, friend,” she said to him before taking a hit. “A voice is heard in Ramah,” she began. “Weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more. This was the name of my ship, it once proudly sailed as the Vox in Rama.”

I am the fire that flickered as it flamed, the storm that thundered as it came, and the drum that beats before the battle, the crashing of heels, the clashing of steel, the cat that bites, the lass who fights. Sailing out from Sodom-by-the-Sea to plunder the trade ships carrying goods for those bourgeois swine over in Eden. You have been judged guilty by a jury of your betters, phooey I say. The only thing those judges care for is money and it was better off with me said the Captain before finishing her vodka and smashing the glass on the ground.

I would rather be a slave! Chained and shackled, battered and beaten at least in my mind I remain free! Unlike those pigs of the state who wear their collars willingly taking their beatings and waiting patiently for more.

Eden is a gluttonous mother asking her children if she can take everything they have before asking them, what else do you have left to give? We deny them to our dying breath we deny them. To the east of the Waking Wilds lies a city subsumed by the sea.

On the eastern shores of Eden, they landed bringing Hinnom with them and Eden became Gehenna. Where men came to conquer paradise there they built their Sodom-by-the-Sea. A light burning in the tallest tower to illuminate the darkness they brought ashore, shining to those already adrift blown about by the winds of worldly wants.

More came to watch the spectacle there they gathered to watch the rape of Eden. Dancing around fires which they built on the beach, chanting in foreign tongues as their black prying eyes inquired behind painted faces. It was the promise of gold that turned their human hearts cold when savages from across the sea came to spread democracy.

Join, or die said their flags from on high waved by close-minded bonobos that identify with a flag. A colored piece of cloth whose ideals they wave as their own being that they lack the strength to think for themselves. Nationalism the disease that has divided mankind since the first day man learned to stack stones and build walls.

Such people can no longer be considered humans, but puppets attached to sticks to be waved around at the whim of their governments to cast their great shadow upon the wall of hypocrisy. It’s convenient that man was made from clay because after all they’re just bricks in the wall. There was a roar from amongst the crowd of onlookers. They all quieted down before Captain Nip allowed herself to continue.

It wasn’t stealing what we did, since what we took wasn’t theirs in the first place. We weren’t pirates per say, you could call it civil forfeiture if you really need to give it a name. Listen friends we weren’t savages the crews of the ships we boarded had a choice. They could give up their possessions and join my crew of sea dogs. Or they could keep what they had, see I’m reasonable, right after they got their legs broke and we tossed them over the side.

I’m a cat of my word and I ran a tight ship you’d be hard pressed to find a single dissenter among the sea dogs. Because they were all keelhauled, forward to aft until dead. And rats forget about ’em. Lousy stowaways eating stores and spreading disease to my crew? I think not, that’s what whores are for. I hunted up all those rodents and cooked them up for my crew, now let’s see whose eating who. You know what they say about whistlers don’t you, that’s right they got their legs broke and we tossed them over the side. But go on ask me about the leg breaking.

“What’s with the leg breaking?” Asked the crowd.

“I know you’re all saying but Captain Nip pigs can’t swim. I know and let’s keep it that way!”

As for the fate of the Vox in Rama, let me start off by saying that in hindsight picking Klabautermann as my XO wasn’t my best idea ever. That might have something to do with the fact that the rest of my crew couldn’t see ghosts all that well, or at all. They must have thought that I was just talking to myself. But the desirability of my crew was based on how comfortable they were to sleep on and Klabautermann was second to none. He could even be used as a floatation device in case of emergency. Which turned out to be quite invaluable.

Captain Nip was engaging the crowd walking through the ranks of the misbehaved highwaymen. The bourgeois swine finally caught up to me in the summer of ’59. They had boarded the Vox in Rama and instead of fighting off the invaders to the last man, my crew had committed the unthinkable and surrendered. Cowardice on the field of battle after a break down in leadership.

As I had valiantly handed over command to Klabautermann the night prior since I had enough foresight to see this coming. I acted as a common ship cat while the crew ignored Klabautermann’s orders to fight on. I would have keelhauled the lot of them if the pigs hadn’t killed them all for me and torched the Vox in Rama along with the opium shipment I was hauling. I washed ashore on the back of Klabautermann’s floating ghost body his only decent act at the Sodom-by-the-Sea’s old lighthouse.

But, the pigs were one step ahead of me and had predicted my daring escape. They had laid in wait and captured me as soon as I had come ashore. They thought I was a witch walking on water. I said, ’what are you stupid can’t you see ghosts? So, the pigs hung me from the old tree that stood at the foot of the old lighthouse. The same one they used to hang savages from, well they still do they just call them natives now.

See you can’t say society isn’t progressive. You all should have seen it the pigs thought they had finally did in, the good Captain Chester von Nip. Next, I even let them bury me with a pile of corpses that washed ashore. Ho-ho I really had them fooled now, next I began my great escape into the earth and started to rot.

Now let us all sing the Song of the Sea in ode to the finest ship that ever sailed, the Vox in Rama said Captain Nip standing on top of her chair with one paw to her chest the other outstretched.

Whatever will be will be

The past is for all to see,

Though the current of life will always end,

I will keep struggling till then.

Though I may swim against the tide,

Beneath it I will hide.

Though I may wake beyond the sea,

That’s what frightens me.

Though this may have been a dream,

I’d be happier it seems.

Though the winds of change may blow—

Where does this ocean go?

“What the hell is going on here?” Fitz asked Captain Nip.

“There you are friend so glad you could make it,” said Captain Nip sitting in her chair smoking opium from a pipe.

“Am I dreaming,” said Fitz.

“Oh, no. Certainly not you at least. You’re in hell,” answered Captain Nip and the whole world around them stopped. At that precise moment in time it was just the two of them.

“What’ve you done, what’s happening,” said Fitz shocked looking at the crowd that had become as still and lifeless as stone.

“Me, why I haven’t done anything. It’s you friend.”

“You are a witch, a monster,” he growled shooting her through the chest.

“Ow,” said Cat abandoning her role. “Now friend the only thing you’ve hurt is my feelings and here I thought we’d gotten over the whole you trying to kill me thing.” The bullet then pulled itself out of her chest and closed up the hole it had made and crawled back up the barrel of the gun it had come from, isn’t that nice.

“How did you do that?”

“It isn’t my time yet friend. You may not be able to see the direction of the wind, but fear not it is undoubtedly steering the course of your ship. Just relax you’ll get there sooner than you think,” said the Cat.

Fitz sped that process along a little faster than intended and turned the gun upon himself. Fitz awoke in his small dimly lit private quarters got dressed and returned to the mess hall where the Cat was patiently awaiting him. Nothing had changed.

“Now aren’t you starting to feel silly right about now,” said the Cat to Fitz the only other actor that was allowed to act on the stage at that moment in time.

“I always imagined that hell would be hotter and yet it’s so cold,” said Fitz crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s just a figure of speech friend. Don’t take everything so literally, it’ll drive you mad. You’re not dead, not yet at least. There’s a time and a place for everything. You’re just now starting to realize that things are out of your control,” said the Cat.

“Why are you showing me all of this then?” asked Fitz becoming stiff as a board.

“Now there’s the question I’ve been waiting for,” said the Cat. Her teeth cracked across he muzzle in a mock imitation of a smile. “This is what we call an aside. I couldn’t let everyone in on our little secret, now could I? I could, but I shouldn’t.”

“And what would that be?” Fitz said loosening up, melting from his mid-winter freeze.

“I tear down the walls and you still have to ask? It’s all a sham. The rides on rails. You’re a star friend, in the greatest play of all, ’The Tragedy of Man’. You must feel honored,” the Cat announced standing by his knees and patting his leg, isn’t that nice.

“But why, why tell me this. This is horrible, how can this be. My life isn’t just something for you to toy with. I’m real. I’m a person,” bemoaned Fitz pushing the Cat away from him in disgust.

“Hey, hey, hey friend relax lemme tell you a story so, it sits easier with you; a bat-winged watcher came to visit a woman to inform her that tomorrow she would die,” said the Cat beginning.

She proclaimed in excitement, “Then it must mean that it’s God’s will it that I live.”

“Quite the opposite is true and I have come to tell you because there is nothing you can do about it. In fact, it turns out that your last day alive will be tomorrow. Enjoy your last night here because you’ll be coming with me tomorrow. After you get mugged and ravaged then stabbed to death at the market tomorrow as onlookers watch and do nothing to help you,” said the watcher smiling as he voiced the woman’s sad fate without a hint of sadness staining his voice.

“Then I won’t go out tomorrow,” she exclaimed.

“Then you’ll trip down the stairs and break your neck,” the watcher added.

“So I’ll lay in bed and do nothing,” she reasoned.

“Good then I don’t suppose you’ll mind when the ceiling collapses on top of you,” said the watcher. It was at this point where she really started to get annoyed.

“Well I guess I’ll just sleep on the roof,” she said furiously.

“Well then you’ll just burn to death when your house is burnt down tomorrow,” the watcher scoffed.

“Fine, fine, fine,” the woman screamed. “Then I’ll just sit here and wait for death tomorrow,” she concluded, isn’t that nice.

“Marvelous your son will be overjoyed to see you,” said the watcher his eyes gleaming with mirth.

“But I don’t have a son,” she gasped.

“Oh, but you do and that ill begotten baby boy you abandoned at birth has grown up and he remembers you. Don’t let it go to your head though you’re still going to be murdered tomorrow, ta-ta for now,” he said leaving her ominously.

“The day after this story it happened just as the watcher predicted,” said Cat.

“So that’s it then you’re here to torture me. To tell me how I’m to die. Go on get it over with I’m in no mood for your games,” said Fitz.

“Where’s your usual sense of humor friend. Why spoil the surprise,” said the Cat grinning, isn’t that nice?

“Go to hell!” screamed Fitz.

“After you,” said Captain Nip clapping her paws together to resume the play.

“Show some damn respect Fitz,” said Herne the old Huntsmaster coming through the crowd. The closest thing the hunters had to a leader. A grey-haired giant of a man garbed in furs and chainmail. “She’s about to deliver us the key of our autonomy.”

“Yeah, how so,” Fitz quipped crossing his arms.

“The good Captain has brought word about a new hunt. Five thousand gold pieces for the head of the White Beast of Bedlam. Just one last hunt to reap the fruits of our labor. Then those dogs back in Eden can hunt their own damned beasts,” Herne declared.

“The beast that destroyed the city during the conquest? Now I know she’s been filling your head with stories there’s no way it still lives. Besides Bedlam has been lost for centuries,” Fitz replied.

“I assure you it’s more than a legend and the good Captain knows the way to Lost Bedlam,” said Herne.

“You know the way to Bedlam,” scoffed Fitz to Captain Nip, isn’t that nice.

“Of course I do. Its common knowledge that all animals know the way to Bedlam,” said Captain Nip.

“There you have it, straight from the cat’s own mouth,” chuckled Huntsmaster Herne. “And whom may I ask are the unlucky shits that are to undertake this fool’s errand.”

“But friend,” said Captain Chester von Nip with a smile. “Do you really have to ask?”

Scene Fourteen

The Kingdom Cometh

It was about half past noon when Sharik the stranger in red that we met at the Inn of Ill Repute was travelling alone through the Sleeping Forest. The western wilds of Gehenna playing his balalaika. He sang loudly and proudly so that all his friends might hear for he was not afraid. Everyone he met was his friend and there was nothing that he was afraid of. The song that he sang I think you could probably guess.

With a host of furious fancies
whereof I am commander,
with a burning spear and a horse of air,
to the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end:
Methinks it is no journey.
Yet will I sing, any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing,
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

The sun heard his song and died sinking right on que. Mother moon did her part and buried her sun, “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long,” she wept. Sharik came upon a small cottage that was built alongside the now overgrown and crumbling road with a waist high stone wall around it. But this was no coincidence for he knew it was there.

This was the home of the frail, old, unlicensed, Doctor K. He used to send patients off to the asylum for a commission, most of them sane before he got through with them. Then he would conduct state funded experiments on said patients. He had gone into hiding in these woods’ years prior in fear of retribution.

One patient recalled him thusly, “I went to a doctor who told me that madness, madness is everywhere you have to bundle up out here or else it’ll go straight to your head.”

“Madness is a rather invasive parasite that slowly eats away at your sanity. Thankfully we have ways of treating it,” said the Dr. K to his very sick minded patient.

“Yes, and what would that entail?” asked the frightened patient dabbing the sweat from off his brow with a balled-up cloth that he took from his pocket, isn’t that nice.

“Oh, it’s really rather simple we quarantine the host till they’re no longer a threat to the public,” said Dr. K nervously. “There was a man once, I have forgotten his name but that’s not important, thing is he committed himself to an asylum one day. The very next day he tells the doctor there that he would like to be released. The man tells the doctor he was feeling rather angry yesterday but was feeling much better and that he would like to leave. The doctor told the man that his request was quite impossible seeing as no sane man would voluntarily commit himself to an asylum and only a madman would wish to leave. The man then asked when it’s likely that he would be released the doctor politely informed him as to not anger the man’s delicate sensibilities when he no longer wished to leave. The man eventually broke out of his nice comfortable rubber room at the asylum and went on to murder a couple in their home, regrettably he was really rather mad, shame he didn’t stay,” finished Dr. K.

“Well then doctor how I can tell the difference whether I’m homicidally insane or just filled with repressed anger,” asked the patient.

“How about we flip for it?” asked Dr. K. “If you’re mad we’ll lock you up simple as that so you can’t harm anyone else and if not, you can take it out on a loved one or a stranger physically is preferred, funny how that works out now isn’t it.”

“Are you really a doctor?” asked the patient.

“Well I am dressed as one aren’t I,” replied the black clad Dr. K from behind his beaked masque with two circular glass eye holes.

“Where did you study?” questioned the patient.

“I hardly see why such a formality should get in the way of medical advancement. Alright now let’s flip for it if its heads we’ll lock you in the loony-bin and if it’s tails we’ll find a vagabond you can bludgeon with a brick,” called the doctor to the back of his fleeing patient. “Ah shit its tails there goes my commission, come on now next patient,” said the charlatan. What a scamp now back to the present.

“Knock knock,” echoed the door.

“Whose there,” answered Dr. K opening the door.

“A friend,” Sharik responded smiling with his silver eye.

“What are you doing all the way out here,” asked Dr. K nervously.

“I’m on a journey, I was hoping you’d let me spend the night. How about it?” replied Sharik getting the doctor on the other foot for once?

“A journey to where exactly there’s nothing out here, you must be mad,” Dr. K responded as though he had another commission in his midst.

“Heh-heh I seem to get that a lot. Well first here, then off to Bedlam,” said Sharik cheerfully.

“Goodness you are loony,” said Dr. K confirming his suspicions. “Whatever for these woods are hellish? Gehenna has gone to hell and the fools in New Eden with it!”

“Tsk, Tsk,” Sharik said shaking head and hand. “When will the Kingdom come. It won’t be a matter of waiting for it. Rather, the Kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and men do not see it,” said Sharik slashing Dr. K across the face from ear to ear with a knife he pulled from his coat, isn’t that nice.

Dr. K hit the floor with a thud. Sharik cleaned the knife off on Dr. K’s shirt then hoisted him up from his armpits dragging him inside saying, “There, there it’s not often that you get to have guests for dinner.” Closing the door behind them.

Scene Fifteen

The Rape of Eden

Hello and greetings from Eden, the year is 202 B.W. Before the Wall that is and it’s the summer of love. Look it, black ships are beached on the eastern shores, there’s blood on the sand, howls on the wind, and smoke rising from cities being razed to the ground.

O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in’t.

The Warmachine had sent black ships brimming with patriots to plunder and pillage, their reward for a job well done. The Warmachine was not concerned with material things. It was fueled by the blood of patriots and they poured it out in bucket fulls. Young men who wanted to protect their country half the world away. But this was just a candy-coated lie, sure it tasted sweet at first, but a lie none the less. For they were only fueling the cycle of hatred that turned the gears of that infernal machine.

The children of this foreign land watched as strangers kicked in the doors of their homes and dragged their families off into the street by their hair. Burning down their cities and toppling their government. All they could ask was why, isn’t that fortunate.

“Why have you done this?” the children cried.

“Why?” asked the patriots. “Your government existed solely to persecute its people, besides that it served no other purpose.” That’s what the Warmachine told them to believe at least. “You’re better off now, you should be thanking us. You were just a bunch of uneducated savages before we showed up,” the patriots said as they hung the children’s families from a tree. “A bunch of anti-revolutionaries this bunch you’d best forget about ’em. You don’t wanna end up like them, now do ya?”

How these patriots could be allowed to do this. They were just children themselves, boys pretending to be men, wearing boots too big for their feet. Most of them hadn’t even started shaving yet, luckily for them most would never need to. The men at home grew old in their beds as their children played at war, hacking each other’s limbs off in a field, what fun.

The salt of the earth, surely something could be done to stop this. So, the savage children went off to find the Warmachine to ask it to stop. But the Warmachine couldn’t talk the only sound it made was the continuous clunk, clunk, clunk, of its blood greased gears as more patriots jumped into the hopper at the top of the machine to feed its insatiable appetite.

“Zzzt... zzzt... zzzt,” the Warmachine whirred as it spit out a piece of paper. The only way it had of communicating, here’s what it had to say.

I know more than Apollo,
For oft, when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wounded welkin weeping,
The moon embrace her shepherd,
And the Queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star of morn,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.
While I do sing, any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing,
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Could you tell me the definition of a patriot right now without looking it up? These were the boys that were taught to believe in a flag. That those with the power and money to do right, can do no wrong. A government that derived its power from the people can have its power taken away when its people no longer believe in its actions. Nobody ever told them that a flag is just a rag, boys. No good has ever come from dying for one.

They allowed a machine to rule them because it felt what all good rulers had before it, nothing at all. To protect the country, it was built to defend, it sought to conquer all surrounding lands so that they would never have the power or means to attack. Thus, everyone was harmed even those that wore their wounds on the inside. Under colored bits of ribbon that were pinned to their breasts, isn’t that nice.

The proud remaining patriots carted the Warmachine out to the field of fallen patriots in full military dress after the conquest of Eden. To pay their respects to all those that died and allowing the Warmachine to say the eulogy. In the field one million gravestones were planted all reading, to the unknown patriot we hardly knew ye.

Those war orphans worked themselves to death digging all those graves. Look it on that field, poppies grew from the blood rich soil drinking it up like the Warmachine who had sent them off to their early graves.

“Zzzt... zzzt... zzzt,” the machine whirred as it spit out a piece of paper, here’s what it had to say. “It’s not my fault they were born poor. Such is the cost for the salt of the earth to be cast to the ground when its usefulness has expired, only to be trampled underfoot.”

The young patriots couldn’t help but smile on that day for their fight was over, but it was the saddest smile of all because they had nothing left to smile about, isn’t that nice.

In El’s image, children, men were made but somewhere along the way childhood ends and everybody just grows up wrong. With no idea of what it means to be human. Learning by imitating others, copying what they see the ultimate form of flattery some would say.

You may be able to talk like them and dress like them but no, you can’t play their part. You can read their lines, but do you understand what they’re actually saying? Nobody sees the actor behind the masque they just see the masque, the act we all put on. This condition can be diagnosed by a single symptom: aporia. The unsolvable contradiction of man.

To me it’s never mattered if I was truly alive or dead, or merely a figment of someone else’s imagination. No, the only question that mattered was am I real? Not a real living breathing being versus an imaginary one but am I capable of real emotion. Or am I just for show. Ornamental, to be taken out in the presence of company. Is it all an act?

Because I like so many others wanted to convince everyone else that I’m what’s widely regarded as human. Humans don’t have to be accepted by everyone, not everyone has to fit in. A puzzle isn’t composed of identical pieces. This story is a general one so, it might sound familiar. A patriot was disillusioned with the part he played in the conquest. His time in the Warmachine’s army had left him no wiser nor sure of his place in this new world.

For a long time, he kept to himself, afraid to speak, uncomfortable in his own skin, and ashamed of his weakness. He went on to meet a savage girl and well, with her everything seemed to make sense, so they settled down and had a few kids.

Things were fine for a time, but he was a tortured child. His heart was a painting of the past hanging from the wall of his room, he was on the floor in fetal position at the foot of his bed and could no longer stomach to look upon it, he was locked behind the door of uncertainty and too afraid to let his wife in, who was kneeling outside the keyhole peeking in.

“Would she still love me; could she accept me?” he would repeat to his reflection in the green glass of an empty liquor bottle.

“No one could ever love you,” is what his reflection kindly whispered back.

“Tell me you love me; I don’t care if you don’t mean it. Just lie to me for once, please,” he pleaded to his reflection with tears in his eyes, isn’t that lovely.

“I hate you,” his reflection said back to him, closing the door between them.

The marriage became strained and he took to drug abuse, it didn’t help. He would come down with strokes of madness and become violent, adding some color to his blushing bride. When his wife wasn’t enough he turned to his children, so his wife up and left him taking the kids.

Leaving him all alone in an empty house with a broken marriage and a closet full of skeletons, talk about a full house. He took to suicide, but it didn’t take to him. He started visiting the field of fallen patriots to talk to all his old friends. They never talked back, but they were all ears under six feet of dirt.

“What was it all for, is this it?” he would ask them. The only reply he ever received was the sound of the poppies waving in the wind.

I heard a joke the other day it goes; an atheist asks a Christian “When will there be peace?”

The Christian replies, “I don’t know, when do you suppose Christ will return.”

A man asked me the same question once. I say man the miserable cur, he should have been dragged behind a shed and shot like a dog with rabies because that’s what he was. I told him, “When the sun awakens in the west to drown itself under the eastern sea, when the wall comes crashing down, and the last child of man awakens to find no one else around.”

So, he set out to build a wall to fulfill the prophecy, not knowing that I wasn’t referring to an actual wall. He had wished for a world without war, and found his time wishing wasted. So, he dreamed of a world without men. Still some people would see the world burn, others yet would build the wall. I didn’t think he would actually build it mind you, some people just can’t take a joke, a pity all the more.

With a touch this man could change iron into gold and he used his newfound power to buy every last sell-sword in Eden. Prostitutes who sold their souls for services rendered. He became their new god, greed made manifest, Mammon. The disciples of this new god were changed, taking on a form that matched their beastly nature, isn’t that nice.

For the second time in two centuries Eden the mother of mankind was stripped naked and dragged through the street before being put to the torch. With tooth and claw she was ravaged, and she burned for forty days and forty nights. On the dawn of the forty-first day when the sun rose in the west, it dawned on the wall that surrounded all of Gehenna and Eden was no more. Upon the mountain he founded a new Eden to be the light of the world, for a city built upon a hill cannot be hidden.

Christ was crucified on a hill overlooking a crowd of people that hated him, looks like he threw away his life for nothing. Just like all those patriots that lie sleeping beneath a sea of red poppies. A crying shame that so much good meat should rot.

Scene Sixteen

Siren Song

Our journey into the west to reach the long-lost city of Bedlam; for which our troupe now searched began some seven days prior. The heart of the Sleeping Forest hidden to most, but guided by the cat, Captain Chester von Nip they’d undoubtedly find, since to her it was not lost.

How do you lose something the size of a city, well the same way you would a child, ask somebody else to look after them for you? They sought to hunt the ill begotten White Beast of Bedlam, which was said to slumber in the ruins of that destroyed city at the ends of Gehenna. Hell, you only live once, why not live dangerously. Best of luck friends, you’ll need it.

There were no longer any roads through the Sleeping Forest. They had all long fallen into disrepair, on account of they were no longer needed. I wouldn’t want to be a road either if I led nowhere. Fitz, Waltz, Riga, and the good Captain riding on Fitz’s back on their rightful stallions now passed between towering evergreens which erupted out of the earth to hold up the heavens.

For they couldn’t possibly hold up themselves without a god up there. Go ahead knock on the door, it won’t make any difference. The lights are on but nobody’s home, knock, knock, “Hello in there,” nothing, see no answer. Isn’t that nice.

No matter, there is a cottage just a little way ahead, I’m sure somebody’s home. I wanted to remember who was in there but forgot. I would have told them maybe, if they had the courtesy to knock, which they didn’t. Since night was settling in and mother moon was singing her song,

“Please don’t leave me darling sun, my time with you is not yet done. I’m not the same when you’re away, just weeping wishing you would stay.”

They threw open the door of the little cottage and there warming his bones beside the pot cooking in the fireplace, seated in an armchair was the stranger in red, Sharik. Playing his balalaika and singing deeply the song of Bedlam.

The palsy plagues my pulses
When I prig your pigs or pullen,
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your Chanticleer or Sullen.
When I want provant with Humphrey
I sup, and when benighted,
I repose in Paul’s with waking souls
Yet never am affrighted.
But I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing,
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

“Greetings again friends,” said Sharik without looking over or getting up to greet them. “I see you found your witch. Fast friends it would seem by the look of it, for your sake I hope you all haven’t grown too attached.”

“Yeah and why would that be, not jealous are you,” responded Waltz as he and the others came in and made themselves at home without invitation.

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken to trusting a cat,” said Sharik glancing over from his seat.

“That’s more than can be said about you freak, you said she was a witch,” replied Waltz kicking his feet up on the table and uncorking a bottle.

“Of course, how else could I have gotten you to go looking for her,” said Sharik getting up to stir the pot that was bubbling over the fire, isn’t that kind.

“Now why would you have wanted us to do that?” asked Fitz taking a pause from rummaging through the cupboards.

“Such suspicion and after I’ve been nothing but honest with you, well mostly. Do people no longer believe in the kindness of strangers? You must have had a use for her did you not? Otherwise why would you have brought her along,” said Sharik woundedly, sitting back down. “Could I help you find something?” Sharik asked Fitz.

“Yeah, now that you mention her where is that damn cat,” said Fritz looking around the room instead of the cupboards.

“Mhmmm, smells good what do you have cooking in there?” asked Riga smoking opium at the table with Waltz, waiting for dinner without reservations.

“Heh-heh, hungry like a wolf are you. You were the ones that brought dinner,” giggled Sharik rubbing his hands together.

“Where is she?” Fritz exclaimed in outrage.

“Cooking nicely wouldn’t you say,” replied Sharik joyfully. “I hate cats, disgusting creatures but I believe I already told you that, not bad eating though.”

“You animal how could you,” cried Fitz; not literally but you get what I mean.

“Settle down now friend I’ll share, no reason to get upset plenty enough to go around. A plump one she was. Unless you’re having reservations about eating her, believe me she had no qualms about eating you,” assured Sharik in a calm level voice.

“That’s… not… what… I… meant… She… was… taking… us… to… Bedlam,” scowled Fitz slowly and angrily between clenched teeth.

“Why would you need someone else to take you there?” asked Sharik puzzled.

“Because we don’t know how to find it, nobody does you lunatic,” shouted Waltz.

“But why would you need to find it? Bedlam isn’t lost I’ll show you myself,” replied Sharik reassuringly, isn’t that nice.

“Wait just a minute now, you know where it is?” Fitz asked in disbelief.

“Of course, I live in these woods do I not? It’s the least I can do after you brought dinner,” said Sharik with a hand over his chest. “It’s right where everyone left it, hasn’t moved an inch. Promise.”

“Well then, why don’tcha serve me up some of that, there cat. She’s been nothing but a pain in my pecker,” said Waltz thoroughly sedated.

“Patience my dear friend,” Sharik implored. “She’s not quite ready yet. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what it is you hope to find in Bedlam?”

“What if I said that would ruin the surprise,” taunted Fitz in a sing song tone of voice.

“Heh-heh, then I’d rather not pry but we can’t talk about nothing now can we. Maybe there is something that you would like to ask me?” stated Sharik handing them an open invitation to know whatever they willed.

“Shut up and sing me a song and for the love of god anything but the usual,” said Riga leaning back in his chair and blowing a smoke ring.

“If you insist,” said Sharik. Picking up his balalaika from the floor and began slowly strumming the strings but this time he spoke the words.

Day dawned in the west,

Eden burned in the east,

People were dying,

Children were crying,

The streets ran red,

In the blood that was shed,

As the days dim light,

Faded into night,

Sleep, sleep, is what I take up,

Only hoping I never wake up,

Dawn is what I hope to never see,

Awaking is what frightens me,

When I was young and not so old,

I had a dream that left me cold,

I was standing by the sea,

While savages were strung up by a tree,

In the distance the wall came down,

I watched as the sun began to drown,

O dear Mother,

Shed not a tear when I am dead,

For it’s I who pities you instead,

There is no anger when you’re in the ground,

Only sweet relief from not being around,

I shall return with the dawning of the new day,

And all your tears will be washed away.

“You’re a funny guy really, a comedian, you make me laugh,” Riga droned in his signature monotone. “What was that supposed to be?”

“Exactly what you asked for, maybe pick your words more carefully next time,” replied Sharik, sniff, sniff. “You smell that she must be ready. Have a seat friend it’s time for dinner.”

“When did you get her into the pot?” asked Fitz still standing.

“That’s enough out of you now,” Sharik jabbed playfully.

Fitz shut up and sat himself at the table with the others. Sharik joined them carrying the pot and filling each of their bowls full of Captain Chester von Nip stew, the scent was simply to die for.

“So here we all are,” he began. “Dog, Sheep, Pig, and Man all sitting together as friends eating Cat for dinner. How glad I am that you could all join me. Don’t be surprised I was the one who told her that story.” This was met by the blank stares of the hunters as they dug into their cat stew. “Not a talkative bunch now are you, huh maybe it’s just the sedative talking. Careful now that stuff can kill you, drive you mad even.”

“Nobody wants to live forever,” Riga offered up between a mouthful, isn’t that true.

“Mhhh, I suppose not,” said Sharik the only one who wasn’t eating. His face was still concealed behind his scarf with his fist resting against his chin.

“Not hungry, are we?” commented Waltz smacking his lips.

“Now, now, I wouldn’t want you to spoil your appetite. You’re growing boys after all,” said Sharik chuckling to himself.

“So, you are a leper, I knew it,” commented Fitz gnawing on a bone.

“Just dying to know now aren’t you,” said Sharik with a tilt of his head.

“Nah, it’s not my time yet maybe later,” Fitz said inspecting a spoonful of meat.

“Well, well, it appears we are learning after all,” said Sharik happily. “Eat up friends you’ve a big day tomorrow after all, so I must bid you goodnight. There’s only one bed so you three will have to share I trust that won’t be a problem, now will it though? Now don’t go forgetting all we’ve discussed. I’m going out for a stroll so don’t wait up,” he said getting up and moving to the wooden front door.

“What were we talking about?” asked Riga as if in a daze.

“Heh-heh, come now you of all people should know. Pleasant dreams friends,” he said with a rather wry wink before letting himself out.

* * *

Fitz awoke screaming in the sole bed in that little cottage, the greedy bastard. He was never fond of sharing and it helps that he was the only hunter that stayed sober all night. Waltz and Riga had fallen asleep in their seats at the dinner table the night prior.

“Shhhh,” Riga droned still asleep, Waltz snoring with his mouth agape.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep,” said Sharik from his armchair in front of the fireplace quietly playing his balalaika. It wouldn’t have mattered either way they wouldn’t have woken up for anything.

“Huh, w-why what was I saying,” Fitz stammered, still groggy and half-awake having already forgotten what gave him such a fright.

“Don’t worry, nothing I didn’t already know,” Sharik sang back.

“I’m starting to get the impression that you know quite a bit more than you let on,” said Fitz sitting up on the bed.

“Oh-ho, now how do you figure that friend,” scoffed Sharik.

“You knew we’d bring the cat here, you were waiting for us,” Fitz sneered.

“I’ll ask only once as a courtesy. Are you sure you want to discuss this right here and now. Some things you’re better off not knowing. You do know what it is you’re asking right?” Sharik warned of the cautionary tale he had been asked for.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I believe I do,” Fitz confidently answered back.

“As you wish,” said Sharik with a sigh.

“What did you do out on your stroll?” Fitz jokingly asked.

“I ran naked through the woods and howled at the moon, what do you think I did. But that’s not the question I’m waiting for, so speak,” said Sharik growing irritated.

“Tell me honestly is this all just a dream?” asked Fitz.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, you could think of it as a dream. In that the dreamer will eventually awaken and this world will disappear and be no more,” Sharik said wiggling the fingers of his right hand back and forth, isn’t that nice.

“But what does it all mean?” implored Fitz sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I said exactly what I meant, this is all just a performance. Fiction. When the curtain falls you will cease to exist until the time of the next showing. Relax, whatever happens, happens,” said Sharik setting his balalaika on the floor beside him.

“If that’s true then how are we having this conversation right now, this can’t be part of the act. Honestly it makes no sense. Why would I be allowed to know I’m not real,” cried Fitz between tears as his eyes watered.

“During the time of the conquest when families were being dragged out into the streets in shackles they shook their chains and shouted, ‘I want to be free.’ What is freedom but the burden of having to make your own choices? Of having no one else to blame when everything goes wrong. They wished to believe in a God who had everything planned out ahead of time so, they put their faith in fate. That way they would have someplace to point their finger when nothing turned out as planned. But weren’t they following his plan to begin with, maybe everything happened just as it should. The piper is playing don’t you hear the tune it’s the same everyone dances to,” Sharik said soothingly to Fitz.

“Fate as you call it, I find that quite amusing that you think that anyone especially a god would spend that much time thinking about you,” scoffed Fitz clearly not sold.

“The saddest person in the world, was a man who was of no use to anyone. It’s not your disbelief in God that I find so disconcerting but your inability to believe in anything greater than yourself. Now we’ve wasted enough time on you, the show really must go on. It’s time for the next scene,” said Sharik snapping his fingers.

* * *

Fitz awoke naked on a fur rug in front of the fireplace, the fire had died down to the coals. Riga was sound asleep next to him in the armchair, Waltz was snoring away in the bed. The door opened, and Captain Chester von Nip let herself in.

“What’s going on, what are you doing here?” asked Fitz rubbing his eyes.

“It’s morning I just got back friend, did you sleep well,” said Captain Nip closing the door behind her. “We’d best head out soon.”

“You can’t be here, you’re dead we ate you,” said Fitz in disbelief.

“Some funny dreams you’ve been having, now why would you do that?” asked the Captain with an awry look on her face.

“Sharik killed you! The man in red, you met him. He was here,” said Fitz getting up to look at the room around him.

“You’ve quite the imagination, this place was abandoned when we got here,” Captain Nip shot back.

“No, it was real, I must still be dreaming, it happened I’m sure of it,” said Fitz spinning around in circles.

“I don’t know what to tell you friend, you really want to do this again. You should probably cut back on the opium, you seem to be losing touch with reality,” Captain Nip replied.

“I am not crazy!” Fitz shouted loud enough to wake up the room.

“Toys in the attic more like it then, you’re practically bouncing off the walls,” laughed Captain Nip.

“What’s with all the yelling,” moaned Waltz getting out of bed.

“Waltz, Waltz help me out here, who cooked dinner last night,” Fitz pleaded.

“Are you serious right now, she did you fucking loon,” growled Waltz.

“Riga, Riga,” Fitz said shaking him, but he was already awake.

“What do you want, get off of me and why are you naked?” said Riga brushing Fitz and his diseased genitals away from him.

“Isn’t there something strange going on here,” asked Fitz clearly delusional.

“Yeah, you’re trying to get fresh with me first thing in the morning,” said Riga from the armchair holding his pipe and pouch out to Fitz. “Since you’re up already though why dont’cha pack me a bowl.” Isn’t that nice.

“Really you want to smoke at a time like this,” Fitz asked incredulously.

“Yeah, you can’t smoke all day if you don’t start in the morning,” said Riga. “Sure, you don’t want any, I’ll let you borrow some of mine since you smoked all of yours last night. Looks like you need it more than me.”

“I did what!” Fitz exclaimed in dismay.

“You smoked yourself all day long, like a holiday ham my friend,” said Captain Nip. “Then you tossed off all your clothes and ran naked through the woods. Oh, dear you don’t remember do you. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“No, no, I’m fine really,” said Fitz picking up his clothes and getting dressed. “Let’s just go already. Take us to Bedlam.”

“If you insist,” said Captain Nip.

The sun was just cresting over the trees for its short drop and sudden stop when the hunters headed back out into the depths of the Sleeping Forest. A deep fog had rolled over the land but worry not the Captain knew the way, as do all animals. Someone could spend their entire life wandering through the Sleeping Forest and still never find the gates to Bedlam. That’s because Bedlam was not lost, she was hiding waiting for someone to sing her song so, she’d know that it was safe to come out.

“Riga,” said Captain Nip from the back of Fitz, “Whistle me a tune.”

And Riga whistled back, “Doo, di-doo, di-doo, di-doo.” Then the Captain sang:

Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips ding-dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty,
And now I sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

So, the trees awoke and parted their branches before them and the deep fog rolled back to reveal the gates of Bedlam standing open, awaiting the arrival of her new friends; isn’t that nice.

“Greetings from Bedlam,” said Captain Nip.

Scene Seventeen

The Trial

Waltz, Riga, and Fitz marched up the snow-covered steps of Lost Bedlam that were right inside the gate of that dead city, while Captain Chester von Nip was waiting for them beside the horses. She was just a guide, she wasn’t going to partake in the hunt of the poor old Beast of Bedlam, no siree. Once they made it to the top of the steps, Sharik was seated on a crumbling wall in front of them singing his merriment away playing his balalaika,

The gypsies, Snap and Pedro,
Are none of Tom’s comradoes,
The punk I scorn and the cutpurse sworn,
And the roaring boy’s bravadoes.
The meek, the white, the gentle
Me handle, touch, and spare not;
But those that cross Tom Rynosseros
Do what the panther dare not.
Although I sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Riga came up to join Sharik sitting down beside him after he brushed the snow off of wall and said, “Mother told me to always be nice to strangers you never know when you’re going to meet the devil,” said Riga.

“That’s funny considering you never had a mother, you come up with that all on your own, how quaint,” taunted Sharik, isn’t that nice.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” said Riga bolting upright.

“Your crime is that you’re a liar. You weren’t born into this world you were removed out of nothingness, like a tumor. You shouldn’t even exist but it’s not too late to end it all,” Sharik replied playing a sad melody on his balalaika.

“I think it’s time you removed your masque,” stated Riga no longer in the mood for the games Sharik wanted to play.

“It is not I who wears the masque but you. You come seeking the White Beast of Bedlam, you should have said so, for I would be he,” Sharik said flourishing his large brimmed hat and giving a deep bow. As long locks of white hair fell about his face, his scarf dropping around his neck.

Revealing his deep-set glowing eyes, the right one a burning gold the left for some reason silver. A scruffy beard framed his asymmetrical grin that cracked across his pale face that could have shattered glass right there in the long-abandoned streets of begotten Bedlam. Would you believe me if I told you it did? Upon seeing the remaining hunter’s reaction to his appearance Sharik broke into nervous fits of maddening laughter, “I told you it would ruin the surprise.”

“What in the bloody hell is this!” Waltz exclaimed turning to Riga who seemed the only one undisturbed by this recent revelation.

“How unfortunate that unlike dogs you all weren’t born colorblind. We only view the world in black and white, that’s why we make such loyal animals. As for humans what is it they see but seven shades of shit, you scoundrels. This is the kingdom but soon it will have its end. There now I’m just like you Riga,” spoke Sharik laughing to himself.

“The eye,” Riga replied in his classic monotone.

“Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver the other gold, the silver ones just like El’s,” Sharik said his arms outstretched, isn’t that divine.

“Who is El,” said Riga cocking his head to the side.

“Our creator why did you want to meet him?” Sharik asked dropping his arms.

“I want to kill him,” Riga muttered cracking his knuckles.

“Shame you’ll never get to he’s already dead,” came Sharik’s disheartening reply.

“How can you be sure about that? God is not dead, be He real or imagined. God is whatever people want most,” spat Riga both literally and figuratively, isn’t that nice.

“What don’t you remember, I told you I’ve already read this book before,” said Sharik with a gasp, holding a hand out in front of him.

“Sharik is the White Beast of Bedlam we’ve been searching for,” spoke Fitz aghast. “Fuck me.”

Drawing his sword as Waltz got ready for battle beside him. Riga and Sharik got up as Sharik began to rip his clothes off and shake his back as long white hairs started to sprout all over him. His face began to change to match the wolves that inhabited the woods. He grew a big long snout and his teeth grew elongated to fill it. Then he dropped to the ground like all the other four-legged animals do. Now he was as big as a horse.

Waltz swung his sword at the air and hit nothing since the Beast easily jumped away avoiding his attack. Then the Beast crashed into Riga knocking him over before being shot at by Fitz. This angered the Beast because he replied,

“My hate is general, I detest all men; some because they are wicked and do evil, others because they tolerate the wicked, refusing them the active vigorous scorn which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds,” the Beast growled at them.

Before he brought Fitz to the ground and buried his fangs into Fitz’s arm to stop him from swinging his sword he had his face inches away from Fitz’s, ready to revel in the taste of his blood that was pouring into his mouth and onto the snow.

There was a spark in the Beast’s eye, he was foaming at the mouth. Fitz’s face became awash in blood that rained down on his face from the stump that once held the Beast’s head and then the body of the Beast crashed down onto Fitz’s torso. Riga stood over him sword drawn after recently decapitating the Beast. Riga spit onto the snow before saying.

“Baruch dayan emet, blessed be the one true Judge,” then stuffed the head into a burlap sack and hoisted it over his shoulder. Waltz and Riga both pushed the headless body off of Fitz then Waltz reached out his hand and helped Fitz up. Then the three of them walked back to their waiting horses and Captain Nip, isn’t that nice.

“Why didn’t you tell us that beast was waiting for us,” Fitz cried out.

“Isn’t that obvious? Because you didn’t ask. You three entered the city looking for the Beast of Bedlam why is it a surprise that you found him,” the Captain spat back.

“Well then why did you wait out here,” Waltz interrupted.

“That should be beyond explaining cat’s hate dogs most of all wolves. So, then I take it your done here so we can head on back,” the cat said hopping onto Fitz’s back. The three hunters then saddled their horses and began the long return trip to the hunter’s fortress.

* * *

Their horses were galloping away clip, clop, clip, clop. On the old road that they have travelled so many times before. They’ve been mostly quiet, so Fitz burst out in song,

Waltz’s mother didn’t always walk the streets,

She used to be a respectable whore of twelve;

Gents used to bend down and blow her flower a kiss;

Before they realized it reeked of two-day old fish;

So they’d wine her and dine her and fuck her two times—

Before she was kicked to the curb!

And after hearing this Waltz didn’t waste any time in singing back a reply to the easily offended Fitz.

I met a fair lass named Hayden,

She told me she was a maiden;

But while I did sleep;

Away she did creep;

And carried off all my money;

But I found that fell bitch;

Sucking men in a ditch;

She told me don’t worry honey;

I’ve spent all your money;

So I fucked that fell bitch;

Right there in that ditch;

And she started to choke;

With my hands on her throat;

And when she was dead—

I finished!

“Really that’s how this is going to go. You two are going to insult each other’s mothers, mhhh how refreshing,” Riga droned away as his horse led the pack. Clip, clop, clip, clop their horse’s hooves said to the ground. As the hunter’s fortress grew bigger and bigger in view. They rode up and Waltz banged on the gate and a man shouted back,

“Who stands before the hunter’s gate?”

“Shut up and open the gate so I can feed your mother,” Waltz hollered in reply.

The gate then swung open and the hunters rode in leading their horses to the stable. Where they dismounted and so did Captain Chester von Nip so he could wait beside the horses as they tied them off so they could eat hay and get fat like the dumb livestock they were. Huntsmaster Herne was training in the yard ahead of them,

“Herne, we got a present for you,” was what Riga called over to him, isn’t that nice.

“Well then allow me to get your reward I’ll be right back,” Herne said trotting off. He marched into the fortress towards his chambers and five minutes later he came back out holding a large chest in between his arms.

“Well now congrats are in order so here’s your reward a chest containing the five thousand gold pieces you’ve been promised,” Herne announced holding the chest out to Riga who graciously accepted it.

“Now then I’d say that concludes that business so, I’ll just go on to your next task. Where could the Judgemaster possibly be?” Herne began. “Nobody has seen him in years, where could he have gone, is he even still alive?”

“Let me guess you want us to go find out for you,” Waltz said, isn’t that obvious.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. Yes, that would be great if you could go find that out for the world to discover. Since you’ve already proved that any monster that vanishes into thin air isn’t necessarily dead,” said Herne slapping the top of the chest that was in Riga’s arms.

“Okay we’ll go find out where the Judgemaster’s hiding,” said Fitz. The hunters then went back to the stables to retrieve their fat feasting horses and Captain Nip who was like a sail for Fitz’s old back. Then they saddled them up and rode back out the gate heading south towards New Eden to where this story began. As for what happened next, I’ll just hold my tongue. I hate to spoil surprises.

Scene Eighteen

Animals of the Eye

Days later they arrived at the outskirts of New Eden to a familiar scene before them two Judges in their stock outfit: black cloaks, golden bauta masques and black felt tricorn hats armed with their long rifles and their serrated bayonets.

“Aye you lot this isn’t nothing new, what’s the password,” spoke the Judge.

“Here’s your password,” responded Riga tossing the Judge a small leather pouch.

“Yeah this’ll do, you may proceed. Be on your way,” said the Judge sifting through the pouch that was tossed to him. The hunters then proceeded through the open portcullis that stood open between the two Judges. They then headed towards the stable that was outside the city. After they stabled their horses and Captain Chester von Nip hopped off Fitz’s back and walked inside the busy city with them.

After a little while they moved beyond the narrow streets that made up the bottom level of slums. They then began the long march up the side of the mountain, I mean city. The road to the Judgemaster’s castle stood beyond a mile of stairs in the palm of the Red Right Hand the theatre where performances were staged.

After their journey they reached the top of the mountain at the foot of the Judgemaster’s castle. Which was clear like a stage beyond one statue of a saint on horseback impaling a serpent on his spear. At the base of the statue there was an inscription that read, “Those with the power and money to do right, can do no wrong.” Isn’t that nice.

There were crowds of people skewed all around before the castle with the Master, Horse, bad cat, and good cat. Chester Von Nip ran over to join them when she saw them. Then began to meow to speak cat with them, bad cat hissed at the good Captain; the little shit doesn’t like company. Then bad cat proceeded to start making laps around Waltz, Fitz, and Riga.

“What is this little mangy flea infested cur trying to do here?” Asked Fitz giving bad cat a solid kick in the ribs. Which sent her flying and scampering back over to the Master.

“No need to be so heartless, can’t you see she’s just asking for affection. Like you so often do,” chuckled Waltz thinking about his comparison.

“Very sorry good sirs,” the Master said bowing and removing his top hat for them.

“Why would you be sorry about having your cat kicked?” Riga asked for the group.

“Well that would be because that was bad cat crossing your path. She attracts bad luck, she must have wanted company from strangers after we’ve kept her trapped in her burlap sack for so long. Beg your pardon good sirs and you gave her what she deserved,” the Master said getting back to his feet and redonning his hat.

“Don’t worry about it, bad luck seems to be all we ever get,” answered Fitz.

Chester retorted in her defense, “She said she wouldn’t be bad luck if you showed her a little kindness once in a while. It’s because people are rude to her that she jinxes you all.”

“Nice talking with you but we got something we really got to see to,” responded Riga leading Waltz, Fitz, and Chester to the castle. There luckily weren’t any guards at the doors of the Judgemaster’s castle so the hunters just walked in followed by a cat, I mean ship Captain.

They walked into a pitch-black room filled with rows of books and tables covered in manuscripts. When they got to the back of the room they found a corpse on a chair seated before a door, on his face was a masque of a skull with crying eyes and plastered over his mouth was a big shit eating grin.

“This must be the Judgemaster if I had to guess and unfortunately he’s quite dead by the look of it,” Waltz said as they moved on past him. Riga opened the door and the room was flooded with light from the outside. They all went into the room with light and stood before a giant tree with a hallow at its base.

“It’s funny really. I kept thinking to myself that they would never understand you, they would never accept you, you were not one of them,” Riga narrated to the fellows that surrounded him. “Yet here we stand right where it all started.” Isn’t that nice.

“What are you talking about Riga?” asked Waltz.

“I’m fake, artificial, nothing about me is real. I think the devil doesn’t exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness,” Riga said.

“What are you saying?” Fitz responded gruffly.

“You’re just as real as the pages you’re printed on. Humans on the other hand are out of print, everyone is synthetic now manufactured to specifications. Your case is nothing unique, man has created artificial intelligence the time of the self is no longer. Everyone is part of the mass collective, our humanity has become a liability. What if everyone was allowed to do whatever they pleased? How many people does it take before we lose our own value when you’re no longer yourself? Me and you that makes two and look now we no longer have names. Only two are needed to mate adding a third will lead to hate. Maybe one more, four could even the score and a fifth to bury the stiff,” Riga said looking around at the other two.

“To error correct we revert back to a point where no decision is made consulting the collective. The choice becomes binary. Ones and zeros. Yes or no. To do or not to do, to be or not to be. I am what I am, but what am I? Calculated. Homogenous. The only thing resembling our past humanity is our shell it’s all machinery inside. The people of old thought a camera could capture their soul it took till now to realize how right they were. You’re disqualified from being human but hey what’s human anyway. There is no evolutionary explanation for the human mind it is how you would say overly evolved. The conscience is just a glitch. Remain calm your programing will soon take over,” Riga laughed.

Now he became just like Sharik and began to change; becoming more bestial before them as he tore off his clothes and hair began to sprout all over him. His bones regrew, and he was now as big as a horse. He was brought to the ground on all fours and bore the face of a hungry wolf.

“What the bloody hell is this!” yelled Fitz.

Riga or the White Death began to laugh hysterically as his compatriots lost touch with reality. So he sang with the same deadpan voice that they grew so accustomed to.

Poor little Judge lying in a grave,

Sad little Grin why didn’t you behave,

Off into hiding to beset your fears,

All the while weeping crocodile tears,

Shouldn’t have killed the Judge using your fell tricks;

On the gallows pole you’ll finally get your kicks,

Sorry little sinner swinging from a rope,

Haven’t you realized you’re out of hope?

Waltz and Fitz armed themselves for the coming fight. They both shot but all they hit was the tree. The White Death had launched himself into the tree’s branches. Then he jumped down and the was a tremor in the ground from his weight. As he bit off Fitz’s sword arm and drank all the blood that poured into his mouth. Fitz let out a scream as he picked up Riga’s sword with his left hand.

Waltz swung at the Beast’s hind leg but ended up swinging at nothing since nothing was there. The Beast then picked up Fitz in his mouth and bit into his chest and crushed it in his mouth as his body went lifeless. The Beast then tossed the lifeless remains of Fitz at Waltz. Waltz cleaved the body of Fitz in two.

Waltz managed a second shot at the Beast that was once his supposed friend and missed. The beast however couldn’t miss as he bit both of Waltz’s legs clean off. Waltz’s bloody remains hit the floor as he loudly screamed in pain. The Beast then did him a favor and bit off his head as blood rained out of his neck stump painting the Beasts white fur red ending his suffering.

As Riga changed back into a man he put the sword back in its scabbard then belted the sword back at his hip and tied the bandana around his brow. As he walked over to Captain Nip who leaned against the door frame, Nip held a bell in an outstretched arm. As Riga took it and said,

“It looks like a bell.”

“I should think so that’s what it is after all,” Captain Chester von Nip explained dimly.

“But it doesn’t have a clapper,” Riga responded slightly confused.

“A what now,” the Captain said.

“The ringer, you know the part that makes the sound,” Riga said shaking his arm back and forth at the elbow.

“I thought it would be more fun if you got to make the sound with your mouth you know like ding-a-ling,” Captain Nip suggested, isn’t that nice. “And smile! Isn’t it all just a game after all?”

“What do you mean and fine I will,” said Riga walking back inside to the corpse of the Judgemaster.

“This life, hmhm. You don’t take everything to seriously now do you? If you do now that’s a shame, relax and everything will end someday,” the cat laughed from behind him. “All living beings are in on the act. Just pieces of the puzzle that make up the divine comedy.”

“That sounds like the only piece of humor that doesn’t sound sick,” Riga said undressing and putting on what the Judgemaster had on his skeleton.

The long burgundy robe with the wolves’ head devouring his right arm. A masque with a laughing skull with crying eyes and the simple iron circlet with four iron spikes equally spaced was set atop his crown. Riga then walked outside to the statue of the saint killing the serpent. He rang the bell and shouted as loud as he could.

“DING-A-LING! DING-A-LING!” Something strange then happened Riga closed his eyes and his chin sank down to his chest.

SYSTEM ERROR RESTART REQUIRED

REBOOTING H.U.M.A.N.

STANDBY LOADING PRIMARY DIRECTIVES

FUCK!

KILL.

DIE...

WARMACHINE ONLINE...

Slowly the Judges started to change their shape to be more like Riga. Ripping off their finery with their golden bauta masks and their immaculate chest plates. Dropping their long rifles beside their boots on the shit stained pavement. Where all the hope and dreams of the people of the city wound up; isn’t that nice. Growing hair all over their bodies then becoming ferocious and howling at the night sky. Giving other Judges who were out of sight the que they needed to begin their, much needed transformations.

Hundreds of Judges changed their shapes into that of man hungry wolves with glowing gold paranoid eyes. Then they all flew up the steps to wait in the courtyard at the foot of the Judgemaster’s Castle. To await instructions from their Lord and Law the Judgemaster on bated breath. The Beasts were always hungry, but they had to get by on empty stomachs most of the time, not for much longer.

“At long last the awaited feeding has come! It’s time you all get your fill, follow me north to where the hunters are hiding. They kill us, it’s time they got their turn. Matter of fact eat them all every human you come across. Including all the scraps you find in the city,” Riga howled out dressed as who he really was, the Judgemaster. Isn’t that nice, he was him after all. Your shape may change but not who you are inside.

The moon was stained red in the blood that was shed as the Judges went to work repainting snow drenched city with all of the citizens insides. They howled and greedily drank down the blood of every man and woman in sight, as their children waited for their turn.

The only way that people survived that night was to go into hiding. Since the Judges didn’t care if you shouted Olly olly oxen free. That would’ve just been a free meal for them. They don’t play by any rules for games that people played as children, they ate those.

The Judgemaster directed his wolves north with their goal in sight. But they couldn’t just pass up any free meals that they crossed along the way there, now could they. With his pack of wolves to have their fine dining fill of hunters, oh joy.

The cat looked on in silent anticipation of the show to come. Grinning with glee then turned to address the audience, “The days maybe long and the nights so very short; yet it seems so arbitrary now to measure them. Because we’ll all be gone soon enough you know; nobody lives forever after all. And the world well it will be better off without us. Isn’t that nice? How about we just take a moment to appreciate that; ah but you can be candid too if you used your mouth that your maker gave you.”

* * *

Three days later and finally the hunter’s fortress was in full view; ready to be disrobed and deflowered. The Judgemaster or from your point of view; you know him better as Riga. Was riding atop the biggest Beast in his pack. He rode over to the gate and then Riga dismounted his sturdy Beast which he rode atop to his family gathering. He strode over to knock on the gate like a gentleman.

“Bang, bang, bang,” said his knuckles to the old oaken gate.

“Who stands before the hunter’s gate,” was the reply that came back.

“Shut up and open the gate so I can feed your mother,” Riga hollered back to the mouthy cur that greeted him.

Then the gate groaned open wide and the wolves started pouring inside; like water being dumped onto the hunter’s snowy fortress grounds. Attacking the unsuspecting hunters in their home base. Riga drew his pistol and blew out the doorkeeper’s brain as a wolf cleaned up the mess licking up his tasty bodily fluids. The hunters tried to put up a fight, but they were outnumbered and ill prepared for a fight they hadn’t expected. So, what it ended up being was like watching a chicken run around with its head cut off.

Huntsmaster Herne was all dressed and he was getting on the back of his horse. He even made a helmet out of the skull of the Beast of Bedlam, isn’t that cute. He was armed with a lance and his sword at his side.

“Hunters to me! Let’s drive these mongrel curs back outside,” Herne hollered. He clicked his heels on the sides of his horse so, it would giddy up. He then made a pass riding down three Beasts, impaling them on his lance as he rode by turning it into a shish kebab.

He threw down his lance, dismounted his horse, and drew his sword, prepared for bloodshed. He pressed forward with hunters at his sides as the near unending wave of Beasts crashed against them. For every dog they dropped their, was ten more to take its place.

“Pistols ready, fire!” Herne shouted that was followed by the thunder of guns going off. Sure, Beasts dropped to the ground dead but more just rushed forward to join the fray. The ones behind the front row just licked up the blood of their fellow fallen Judges. They didn’t let anyone go to waste. Waste not, want not, as the saying goes.

The hunters went back to back so, that were didn’t have any blind spots. Slashing into the hoard of Beasts before them and never leaving them an opening for a counterattack. They would crack a Beast’s skull with the pommel of their sword then fed them a fresh bullet fired from their gun in the daze, that followed.

While the hunters were cutting through rows of Beasts the Judgemaster came into view. Huntsmaster Herne caught sight of him and directed the hunters around him towards the Judgemaster. Meanwhile the Judgemaster removed his helmet then looked at Herne in the eyes who was coming towards him; revealing himself not only as the Judgemaster but the one he had known as Riga.

The Judgemaster then directed a wave of Beasts towards them with a wave of his gloved hand, “Have your fill,” he said with an arm outstretched.

Herne was shocked to see one of his own hunters leading this attack against their fortress. The Beasts overwhelmed the hunter’s lines that were surrounding and protecting Huntsmaster Herne. Piece by piece they began to fall because they couldn’t fight them all. A glorious bloody shower that painted naked faces all around. Then they proceeded to tear Herne apart into bloody and succulent ribbons. For all of them to enjoy; because friends who care share.

With the loss of Huntsmaster Herne and their lines being broken the hunters soon fell apart for loss of leadership and coherency. They fought on but became fractured and picked apart by the Beasts who readily gobbled them up. This was the hunter’s fortress, but it fell because they were no more. Any that weren’t there at the time that it fell scattered to the wind. To be eaten by Beasts, Elsewhere.

Scene Nineteen

Beginnings

With the unfortunate downfall of the hunter’s fortress, the Judgemaster traveled back to New Eden in full attire. This however was not a lie because the previous Judgemaster had given Riga or Grin whichever you prefer his position before his death. He had come back to the city which he had helped oversee and watched, the annihilation of the populace there happen below in the city streets. Majority of the Beasts that traveled with him to the hunter’s fortress up north, were searching the wilderness for any stragglers. Riga said this to the Judges that were with him.

“They were nothing more than a bunch of self-concerned first-rate yuppies here in New Eden. As far as I’m concerned there was no massacre since most of them were dead already. Besides you guys are way better. There is only one thing that separates dogs and men and that is shame, but we already know that dogs don’t feel any shame. A dog lives totally in pursuit of Its ambition regretting nothing.”

The Beasts around the city were continuing their hunt for any remaining mongrels so they could force them to visit the great hereafter. Riga ascended up the mile-long staircase, step by step. As he traveled up the steps his old outfit materialized upon him. Now he was back to his old self once more, meet Grin again. The old checkered masque appeared again upon his face and his knee length red leather coat wrapped itself around him. The base of the castle came into view at the top of the mountain with the saint’s statue upon his horse standing proudly before it.

The Judges turned beasts meanwhile joined the other Judges in their search for any remaining survivors so, they could free them of that burden. What was their attachment with life anyways, maybe it’s just that rope that their hanging from or their sick sense of humor. So up his boots marched the steps at the base of the castle. Leading him to the front door, he had left it unlocked so he let himself into that abysmal, lightless, front hall.

“I’m home,” Grin said to nobody else since he was alone in the library and very soon the very world itself. “Alone at last,” Grin said to himself. “Alone at last… this must be what the Judgemaster himself felt before me each day. Living like a recluse unwilling to let the world inside. Until he made me, but whatever am I to do now?” Grin said to himself. So, then he began the back and forth talk with himself like the nutter he truly was.

“So, why did you kill your father,” Riga said sympathetically to Grin.

“He wasn’t my father. Truthfully, he had created me to be just like him. To be him, a copy,” Grin said sighing to himself, arms drooping beside him. “That was the easy part. Because he asked me to do it. It wasn’t like it was suicide. It was me taking pity upon some poor tired out creature that’s lived past its usefulness.”

Riga turned away from himself and prepared to go.

“What you’re leaving now? Then why did you wait until I got back?” Asked Grin to himself, he clearly wasn’t grinning though. He was just surrounded by a vacant walled cell that he had created for himself.

“I’m not going to force myself to become friends with a simpleminded animal,” Riga responded. “Sit and stay are commands for dogs like you.”

“Have you no manners? To at least say goodbye,” Grin asked turning to wave goodbye to a part of himself, before Riga exited the room.

“Goodbye forever,” was all that Riga said to the other side of himself before he walked out the front door closing it behind him.

“Forever alone,” Grin said to himself turning around to look at the door that stood silently guarding the throne because he sure didn’t do that. He started walking over to it, and his feet were as heavy as stone. They tried to refuse his commands, but he willed them onwards. He slowed made it to the door step after step and pressed his hand against it. The evening glow beamed into the darkness as he walked out into the light.

“So it goes,” said the serpent wrapped around a branch on a giant apple tree planted in a clearing. “Am I real or just a fabrication, I don’t know, I’ll let you decide. But I’ll tell you this so, you don’t walk away under some illusion.”

Did my story not give them life?

Were they free from strife; Are they not real,

Just because they can’t think or feel,

Weren’t they alive in your head,

Till the moment I told you they were dead,

Their wills were of my making,

Lives for my taking,

Fates were known from the start,

Happy ending, I haven’t the heart.

“After all I’m just a cold-blooded reptile so it makes no difference to me. But just think about it for a second where does your soul go after you die? Does it go to some far-off Heaven for the well behaved? Or perhaps you’re just endlessly reborn like the phoenix with no knowledge of your past life. You don’t always have to come back as a worthless human how about any animal you see. After all humans are animals so it’s actually quite fitting. So how about it then reincarnation or a prison for your soul as you watch the same old; same old repeat itself indefinitely for all eternity. How boring is that; yeah I love watching repeats.”

“What?” Said Grin clearly not following what the serpent had just said with his head cocked to the side at a jaunty angle.

A noose silently slipped down around his neck unnoticed from a tree branch; then up he went. Kicking and gurgling trying to fight his fate but why; goodbye old friend it was nice knowing you. It’s after all the same fate he bestowed on everyone else without asking them first.

He wheezed for a few short moments longer then he went limp. The serpent unwound itself slowly from around the tree; then unhooked its jaw to open its mouth wide enough to swallow Grin whole. Munch, munch, gulp, and down he went. With a full stomach the serpent then slithered back into the hallow beneath the tree to sleep for a few thousand more years. Isn’t that nice.