| 2 |
I haven't stopped thinking about her. The strange eyed girl from the night of the wolf. She comes to me in my dreams, again and again. The funny thing is, the first dream came three nights before the attack, but it didn't mean anything to me. In the dream she stands unbloodied and beautiful, reaching toward me. There's no mistaking those bluegreen eyes now...begging my help for...something. I would think on it more but I'm distracted by the damn leftbehinders. I watch them through slitted eyes, pretend I'm snagging Z's, wishing I could rip one of those whips away and beat the whole bunch of them to a bloody pulp. Instead I watch them beat themselves as they move through like a train of pain. Noisy, stupid bunch of creeps, some in raggedy-ass clothes, some near naked just traipsing through our camp like they own it. I know it's a holy day and I don't need hinders to remind me. It's Easter. The same thing happens at Christ Mass. I have some catholicism in my past. It's a comforting but essentially meaningless memory. Now I'm quiet, back against a small tree, thinking of loading a pipe. I feel a fit coming on. Most of the camp looks abandoned. Like I said, crazy or holy both carry the same weight here and fear is the key. These assholes look like hell belched to earth, bleeding and whipping and wailing, but I know them as the sheep they are. I see their ancient desperation and grief like a bitter bright aura around them. One of them lurches in my direction and I brace for the worst. Incoming; kamikaze hinder about to make a bad decision. "Repent of your sins and make clear the way of the Lord!" He wails this only inches from my face with surprisingly little spit showering me. Then the whippin' starts again. Splat, splat; twice I'm splattered with his blood and bits of tissue before I leap up to grab his skinnyassed throat, as brittle as a twig and slick with blood. I could snap it with a twist of my wrists and drop him, but hinders are protected to the same degree I am. I honor that. I see his deep bitterness and fear so I scream an obscenity-laced stream of gobbledygook into his bloodsweat-streaked face until he retreats. This identifies me as a crazy fuck he would best leave alone. He wanders back into the samba line of fellow masochists, quiet like he's lost his place for a second, then picks up the beat and moves along. My head throbs. Ah, Easter. Season of hope, renewal, Christ risen, bloody fanatics frothing at the mouth. Their thing has more to do with being pissed off and crazy than anything spiritual. They should get high and let go of it. Explore their thoughts. Ride the wave of enlightenment. Let me find my pipe and give this further thought. I pack the herb and score a burning twig from the unattended cooking fire. No food cooking. I guess it's hard to carry out the niceties while being exhorted to hell. Not hungry anyway. There won't be any usual camp activity until the last of them straggles through. We all wait. What a life. |