Death in the City
Page 6
Death, assuming these people were part of a band trying to sell compact discs (as so many other street performers did in the city, particularly on Maine Street), wanted to get one, so he walked up close.
“Um, excuse me,” said Death, waving one man over. He was tall and gaunt, his face full of wrinkles, and he smelt of cabbage. “Where can I get your music? I’d like to buy some.”
The man, as though Death had asked a perfectly rational question even though he had not, responded with, “Why, you can get our music from the great Lord Backspace, which is where we get ours.” He spoke as though he had rehearsed to get the correct groovy inflection. He held his arms high above his head and twirled around, sending himself into a giggling fit. Death laughed along with him, but it was more out of confusion.
“B—uh…Backspace?” asked Death. “Where can I find him?” He looked behind the man where a group of the pink-clad people had just formed a circle around a very elderly woman, who was defending herself with a cane.
“The great Lord Backspace is everywhere,” said the man. “The air, the water, the trees. Earth, sky, people. Everywhere and everything. We worship the Lord Backspace, and he gives us all we need in life.” The man held out a flier, which Death took quite willingly. After seeing how incredibly happy Backspace made the man, Death wanted some of that happiness for himself as well. “My name is Kevin. We are called the LightScribe Gate Group, and we’re always looking for new members. All are welcome. Do you ever question your beliefs? Do you ever feel unhappy, or let down? Do you think you deserve something better in life?” As Death looked at the brightly colored flier without actually reading it, he pondered the questions.
“Yeah…yeah I suppose so,” said Death, confused. He did not think unhappiness was so uncommon, but apparently the LightScribe Gate Group did not feel it. “I guess sometimes I can be unhappy.”
“See, my friend?” said the man consolingly. Death felt better already. “You need the LSGG, and we need you. Backspace needs all of us.” He looked at Death with raised eyebrows, silently nodding.
After a few questions, Death found out he was not happy with life at all. So, on a late sunny morning on Maine Street, Death became part of the LightScribe Gate Group. He was given his pink garments and danced with the group all the way to their headquarters.
As the rest of the LSGG sat down in black plastic chairs, Kevin led Death to the front of the long hallway and spoke into a microphone. “Everyone, I want to introduce our newest member, Dean.” The crowd applauded. Death did not have the heart to correct him on the name in front of everyone. “To initiate him, we will shave his head, as our Lord Backspace commands us.” Another member brought out a chair, upon which Death sat. As he did so his pink clothes stretched and threatened to break. They were made of poor material and they were incredibly abrasive--especially the pants, which Death found to be quite tight around the groin and waist. Kevin walked up to him with electric hair clippers. Death, being cautious, took them and shaved his own head. And so he was officially initiated into the LSGG to a round of applause.
“You’ve come just in time,” whispered Kevin to Death, who was thrilled to be a part of something special. The crowd of wide-eyed aliens cast their robotic gaze on him and clapped in unison. “Today is the rapture.”
Before Death could ask what the rapture was, Kevin sprung up to face the crowd, his arms outstretched again. “My fellow members,” he bellowed. “I give you our Messiah and Messenger…Kenny Silverman.” The crowd upped the volume of its eerie ovation. Kevin motioned that he and Death get off the stage, and they found two empty seats. Death sat down next to a woman, whose pretty features were obscured by deep bags under her eyes. She smiled at Death, a strained, mechanical smile, and turned back to the stage.
A man in purple robes appeared at the tip of the stage to strong waves of applause. He stood with his hands on his hips and chest puffed out, looking up towards the ceiling. His white smile gleamed like the top of his head and reflected the fluorescent lighting that poured down upon them. His charisma transcended the uniformity of the group.
“Brothers and sisters,” said Kenny in a loud, booming voice that gave even Death chills. “Here we are: the day we’ve all been waiting for.”
“Wait,” said Death to Kevin, “so what exactly is the—“
“Shhh,” whipped a harsh sound from Kevin’s tightened lips. He and all those around him were positively enthralled by the Messiah Messenger Kenny Silverman.
“I have told you for months and months that the great Lord Backspace would provide. And here he is, providing.” Death silently admired Kenny’s captivating rhetoric; the complete trance he was putting on his followers made them hang on every word. “Today he has talked to me, and agreed to take us with him to the extraterrestrial realm that he occupies,” continued Kenny. Suddenly he looked completely sober. He leaned his head forward and said in a loud whisper, “But first, we must shed our mortal shells.”
Death looked around, confused, though he seemed to be the only one. Most people in the crowd were turning to each other and nodding solemnly, while others looked up at Kenny proudly. Death saw a select few people who looked terrified.
A few men walked to the front of the crowd and began handing out small plastic cups from a silver tray. When Death received his cup he was hit with a strong aroma of pecans and chalk. “Brothers and sisters, I have filled these cups with what we need. Drink them, and we shall be free to join the Lord our Backspace.” Kenny held his arms out to his sides and looked up to the ceiling as many people without hesitation tossed their drinks back and smacked their lips together. Some people were looking at their cups for some time, but eventually everyone was finished; even Death, who thought the concoction was oddly reminiscent of something. Then Kenny withdrew a long knife from his pocket as the crowd began singing in unison:
All the children in the house,
Dejected with a frown.
The fire is coming, the Lord is coming,
Burn the mother down.
Death listened to the verse a few times before capturing all the words. The tune was winding and unnerving and Death was frightened. Kenny Silverman held his blade above his head. “Take us, oh Lord, oh greatness that is Backspace.” The crowd’s chanting melody grew louder and louder, reverberating across the entire room, pounding into Death’s skull until he needed to cover his ears.
Then everything happened very quickly. The singing stopped and the room fell dead silent as the Messiah Messenger Kenny Silverman plunged the blade into his stomach and shifted it out his side. He immediately fell over, his face a blank canvas, and the crowd collectively gasped. Some people whimpered, others stifled a scream, and all was silent again.
“Now, we wait,” whispered Kevin. “We wait until the poison takes control and we shed our fleshy outer bodies.”
Death took several seconds to register what Kevin had said, and then shot a glance in his direction. “Did you say poison?” asked Death.
“The drink. The poison will rid us of our mortal shells and take us to Lord Backspace,” said Kenny, closing his eyes gently. Death was at a complete loss for words or any coherent thought process. These people were expecting to die and, even with Death himself in the room with them, they would not. He looked around at everyone, who had their eyes closed expecting to pass quickly and fall over. But they waited several minutes as nothing happened. Then Kenny Silverman stood up.
“Is this it?” he asked, brushing himself off. Everyone heard him speak and one by one their eyes shot open, staring up in horror. “Have we shed our outer bodies? Is Lord Backspace here?” He settled his palms on his stomach, drenching them in blood and other bodily items. “What…what…” his hands darted all around his body as though he were trying to swat at a scuttling spider. Death grew hot and tense and looked down at the floor. “I’m not dead.”
Death took in the moment and saw his chance to slip out the back door. Even from the street he could hear the LightScribe Gate Group’s party commencing and getting out of hand. He hurried back to his apartment so he could change into a suit and start growing his hair back. The singing, chanting, and hollering slowly died out behind him.
A Callback for Death
MAN WITH BAC OF 9.4 LIVES TO SEE NAME IN RECORD BOOK
Winchester – When Winchester Police arrested Steven Brums, 39, Thursday night, he had a Blood Alcohol Content level of 9.4%, a new world record.
Brums was picking flowers in his neighbor’s garden when police found him.
“We got a call about a man severing agapanthuses on private property,” Chief of Police Alfred Writ said. “When we picked him up, Brums was shouting incoherently and trying to light himself on fire by rubbing two sticks together.”
When Brums’ BAC level showed 9.4%, the officers assumed the testing equipment was faulty. “We ran seven more tests all with the same result,” Writ said. “How this guy isn’t dead is completely out of my grasp.
When reached for comment, Brums greeted reporters with repeated shouts of “Carl Perkins” and an a capella version of “Daniel” by Elton John.
Meanwhile, doctors are trying to isolate Brums’ blood to see why he is still alive.
Brums was charged with destruction of property and lying to police about having written the song “Daniel.”
Death was lying down in his room, pondering the stars and the universe, when he decided he needed a drink. He walked out into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. No sooner did he put the cup to his lips when the door of Brian’s room opened. A cloud of smoke plumed out the doorway and filled the entire apartment, trailing with it Brian and three very greasy looking Egyptian teenagers. The one closest to Brian, who had a mohawk and a sweatshirt that was four sizes too large for him, came face to face with Death and began sniffing his hair. Death reeled back into the cabinets, hitting his head.
“Oh…yo,” said Brian vaguely, casting a glazed expression toward Death. “Uh, what’s up?”
“Nothing really,” said Death. “Say, Brian, as a human, do you ever think about dying? Does every person think it’s all that bad? I mean, which would be worse, being dead or living forever while your mind deteriorates? Do you ever wonder if dying is really the enemy of humankind, or if it’s something to embrace, like an old friend? Does death make life that much more special, or is the prospect of it just too depressing?” Death was out of breath by the time he finished, but he was happy to get his musings out into the open.
“Yeah,” said one of the Egyptians, a taller man with a ducktail haircut and square sunglasses. “Yeah, man. I always think about that.”
“I..” started Brian, losing his train of thought as he stared at the ceiling. “Hey, Derek, someone called for you. Some chick named…uh…”
Death raised an eyebrow and looked at Brian intently, eagerly waiting for him to finish. As Brian placed a finger on his chin and looked at nothing in particular, Death said hopefully, “Sheila?”
“Sheila who?” asked Brian. He looked at one of his friends, who shrugged.
“Was it Sheila who called?”
“Wait, what?” asked Brian, leaning back and laughing. “Oh, yeah, that. Yeah it was Sheila. She called for you. Sheila. Hm.”
Brian led his friends to the couch where they all sat down and began listening to music on his laptop. “Yeah, dudes,” he said as the dreadful tunes ravaged Death’s eardrums. “In ten years, you wait. Drake is gonna be legendary. Our kids will listen to Drake and we can all say we were there when he was big.” As Brian’s friends nodded in agreement Death went back into his room and shut the door, muffling the inane noise. He dug Sheila’s number out of his jacket pocket and dialed it with shaking fingers and trembling internal organs.
Three rings, then a loud “Hello?” from the other end.
“Hi,” said Death. “Sheila? It’s Derek.”
Sheila gasped loudly and as Death tried to quickly recover from being startled he heard Sheila drop the phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Oh my God, Derek it’s you! I knew you’d call back, I knew it. OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!”
Death laughed at Sheila’s wild antics, a quality he truly enjoyed. “Yup, it’s me. So I got your message from my roommate, and—“
“That was your roommate?” interjected Sheila. “He tried to sell me some sort of pizza with a ‘special topping.’ He’s wild!”
“Yeah, he’s…something,” said Death.
“But anyways,” started Sheila. Death could practically hear her bouncing around and throwing mad hand gestures into the air as she chuckled. “I wanted to see if you wanted to go to dinner with me.”
“Oh,” said Death, “yes, of course.”
“HURRAY!” screamed Sheila, making Death jump backwards. “I’ll make reservations at The Beehive for eight. Know where it is? It’s on Maine Street. Right next to that crappy FreePay place. Don’t be late, Dee-Dee.” And before Death could answer she hung up the phone noisily. Death hung up too, and suddenly he felt like dancing. A real date, with a real person. He was fitting into city life no problem now.
In the evening, Death sat on the couch watching a Pirates baseball game with Brian. “Yeah, I know I’m from Boston, but I like all the Pittsburgh teams. Don’t know why,” said Brian as though Death had inquired about his choice of fandom. “I mean, the Sox games aren’t even that good. Fenway Park is, like, the worst. I’ve never actually been before, but my brother has, and he said it was terrible.”
Death did not quite know what Brian was talking about, but he nodded anyways. He was too busy straightening out his suit nervously and thinking about how he was going to conduct conversation with Sheila. Finally, when Brian was in the middle of talking about best mixers for vodka, Death had to leave.
“Remember to put on your rain jacket,” said Brian as Death took a step out the door.
“Is it raining?” asked Death.
“What? No,” said Brian enigmatically. Death shrugged and walked out the door.
Soon Death was outside the Beehive at 7:45. “DEREK,” screamed Sheila, rounding the building and running towards Death with outstretched arms. Death sidestepped her as she ran past him. She turned around with her hands on her hips. “Hi, Derek, I’m so glad you made it are you hungry do you like my dress you look nice nice weather we’re having huh?”
“Yes,” said Death. Sheila was wearing a blue dress that was far too small, and her round face was smiling as usual beneath her platinum blond hair.
“Goody. Goody, goody, goody,” she said. “Well come on, let’s go in.”
Death followed Sheila into the restaurant and they were led to a table next to the bathroom. The restaurant was circular with a large centerpiece that resembled a beehive. Death examined the odd piece before realizing that it actually was a gigantic nest of African honey bees, buzzing furiously around it and dive-bombing diners.
Death and Sh
eila sat down, ordered drinks and bruschetta, and their date began.
“So,” said Death, happy to be with Sheila again. “How have you been?”
“Good, great,” said Sheila. She talked so quickly and animatedly, which Death found vastly amusing. “You wouldn’t believe what my roommate said. She said that she was going to the Caribbean next spring. The Caribbean, can you believe that, Derek?” Death thought back to his many trips there, the last time being when he reaped an old woman on a cruise ship.
“It’s very nice there,” said Death.
“I want to go, at least before—oh!” In the middle of her sentence a group of bees swarmed her, diving one by one at the top of her head. “Oh, get out, get out! Isn’t this place great, Derek? It was listed in Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant guide. That means it’s good. Oh!” One of the bees launched into her cheek and planted a large stinger on it. She looked to be on the verge of tears as she threw her arms around, bouncing the empty plates about. Death waved his hand above her head and all of the bees fell to the floor, dead. Sheila looked impressed as Death flushed.
“That was wonderful,” said Sheila. “You big strong man. Oh look, our drinks are here, and the bruschetta.” A waiter in a tuxedo set two Cape Codders down on the table and went to put down a platter of bruschetta when Sheila snagged it from him and immediately began shoveling it into her mouth. “I’m show graud you warrant to car he,” she said as the waiter left.
“Uh…what?” asked Death, leaning in to hear her better. Sheila swallowed hurriedly, choking in the process, and then caught her breath again.
“I’m so glad you wanted to come here,” she repeated.