by Brian Smith
A blood red moon slowly rose above the horizon. Jeremiah and Sycko stood on a hilltop outside town. The night sky above them was ablaze with myriads of stars not unlike a dark road covered in glass splinters. Jeremiah pointed at the moon. “Behold Diana’s wrath,” he said darkly. “The Goddess of the Hunt has risen, risen to take you by the hand on your journey, and to go hunting with you. Now kneel, my friend, and implore her blessings.”
Sycko knelt facing the moon and lifted his hands towards Diana in supplication.
“Now bite your tongue,” Jeremiah said. “Bite it hard so that your gory drivel may be the sacrifice you make to Diana. Prove to Her your fortitude, your iron will and unwavering determination to accompany Her on the hunt.”
Sycko held his breath in anticipation of the pain and bit hard. He could taste the blood in his mouth and began to drool. The blood dripped onto his white shirt and the blood moon saw. Jeremiah also saw the blood stain and the tears of pain running down Sycko’s face.
“Mighty Diana!” Sycko called. “Bless me and bless the hunt. Let not the prey from my sights escape nor beware me on the hunt.”
A cloud drifted across the moon.
“An omen,” Jeremiah whispered excitedly. “A good omen. Just as Diana hid herself so she will keep you hidden on your hunt. Behold the might of the Lord, my dear Sycko and you will know that His might is right. You have been blessed, brother, truly blessed. Now let us descend the hill.”
A solitary drum started beating a rhythm in the dark. Then two rows of torches lit up the path down that they had to take. The brethren stood in two rows holding the blazing torches above their heads. When Sycko and Jeremiah stepped between them the brethren chanted an ancient hunting song:
Behold the hunter on his quest,
And know his prey will have no rest.
Then he must point his deadly arrow,
That brings his foes a lot of sorrow.
The pointed tip flies through the night
And when it strikes all will be right.
His shady claws Death stretches out,
Ere anyone can cry or shout.
Hither Death, come hither now,
For life to thee must needs bow.
And then the end is swift in gore,
A blood red cloak Diana wore.
All the way down Sycko felt the power of the Goddess coursing through his veins. He had never felt such strength before and he knew with utter certainty that he now had the power to do anything. He was ready, truly ready for the hunt. The torchlight flickered and the scent of smoke filled the crisp night air. When Sycko reached the end of the line the brethren turned and followed him. Their rhythmic chanting lent a magic air to the procession. Sycko’s heart beat fast and he marched at the head of the column feeling like the conquering hero in a tale of olden days. Only the moon looked on, serene.
They marched through the night until their weary feet carried them back to the outskirts of town from where they took the first bus of the day. It was four o’clock and dawn was still some time off. The moon had regained its usual pallid complexion like someone who had just seen a ghost. When the tired brethren got back to the temple they quickly sought out the comforts of their beds and by the time first light broke only Jeremiah and Sycko were still awake. Jeremiah plied Sycko with generous quantities of his usual strong drink along with Dryvellers Fags.
“They somehow taste different today,” Sycko said.
“Look at the packet.”
Dryvellers Fags
Extra Strong
Sycko gave him a questioning look.
“I’ve kept these for a special occasion,” Jeremiah said. “They have the Lord’s special blessing and will fill your heart with strength.”
Sycko inhaled deeply and felt an unusual sensation creep through his body, peculiar yet not unpleasant. He exhaled and greedily took in another lungful of smoke. The drink and the smoke combined to make him feel invincible. Six o’clock. At seven o’clock rush hour would be in full swing.
“What’s it like, Jeremiah?”
“It?”
“To die. What’s it like to die?
“Ah, I see,” he said looking somewhat ill at ease. “I think I’ll have a drink, too.”
Sycko handed him a bottle.
“Death? Why death is nothing to fear for a Dryveller. A true Dryveller simply leaves all the troubles of this world behind and moves on to a better place. The word ‘die’ doesn’t really apply to us Dryvellers. It’s more like moving house into a nicer neighbourhood.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Yes, of course. It is nice. I dare say, I envy you not a little. You’re not just moving on, you’re going to the absolutely best place anyone could go to. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to go in your stead.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and…”
The drink had left Sycko in a generous mood.
“All right then, Jeremiah. I give my place up for you.”
“Oh good Lord, no,” Jeremiah said hurriedly. “That wouldn’t do at all. I already told you that God himself commanded me to remain at my post here. You wouldn’t have me go against God’s will now, would you?”
“No, of course not,” Sycko said looking somewhat crestfallen at the speedy rejection of his heartfelt offer. There was something odd, he was sure but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Jeremiah saw the frown on Sycko’s forehead and understood that doubt had crept into his mind. He cursed inwardly at not handling the conversation better. There was only one thing to do, distract his mind with other matters.
“I’ve got some new clothes for you. Let’s go and try them on. I hope you’ll like them.”
His curiosity piqued Sycko followed Jeremiah into his office. There, neatly laid out, was a black suit complete with a frock and a top hat.
Sycko’s eyes gleamed with joy. “A top hat for me?” he said incredulously.
“Why, yes certainly,” Jeremiah said. “Give him the best! the Lord commanded me and it would hardly be the best without a pukka top hat.”
“Isn’t the frock a bit big?”
“You’ll be wearing a special waistcoat underneath. It’s a bit bulky so you’ll need the extra space. Here, try it on.”
Sycko slipped into the waistcoat. It felt heavy and there were wires coming out of one arm. Jeremiah quickly attached the wires to one sleeve and then helped Sycko into the frock to cover everything.
“There we go,” Jeremiah said. “You look great, put the top hat on and you’ll look like a pukka Dryveller from top to bottom.”
Sycko proudly admired himself in a mirror. He lit another one of the extra strong fags and blew smoke at his reflection in the mirror. The weight of the heavy waistcoat seemed to vanish along with the smoke into thin air.
“Splendid,” he said. “What do we do now?”
“Ah, yes, good you remind me. There is one more little matter.”
He took out a switch from a drawer and connected it to the wires coming from Sycko’s sleeve.
“Here, hold that,” Jeremiah said and put it in Sycko’s hand.
“Now listen to me very carefully, my dear friend. You can see the red button here. Don’t press it. I will activate the device in your clothing now and then you’ll go to the bus stop and take a bus.”
“Which one?”
“It doesn’t matter. For you they’re all going to the same place today.”
Sycko was surprised the bus company had changed the bus routes for him but Jeremiah didn’t give him time to think much about it.
“So, you take any bus that goes into town. Find yourself a seat if you can and wait till the bus is full. In fact you best wait until the bus is really full and you’re standing at a bus stop with a long queue. The more people there are, the better. Do you understand?”
Sycko nodded and repeated the instructions. “It’s simple enough. But why do you want me to go on the bus. I thought you were sending me on a h
unt?”
“You’re quite right, my dear Sycko. And you’re going on a hunt. It’s very easy. All you have to do when the bus is really crowded is to press the button I just gave you. Mind you don’t press it before or play with it. The wrath of the Lord would be terrible.”
Sycko nodded. “And then the hunt begins?”
Jeremiah smiled. “Exactly. Now just do as I asked you to and everything will be fine. Just think about superparadise if you’re feeling bored on the bus…”
“And the 99 trillion virgins?”
“Precisely. Whatever you wish for will be yours after the hunt.”
Sycko smiled happily and shook Jeremiah’s hand.
“You’ve saved my life, Jeremiah. My life was nothing before I met you and things just keep on getting better. See you soon, I hope.”
“Godspeed, Sycko. May the Lord be with you always.”
Sycko left the building and walked towards the bus stop. It was a pleasant mild morning. The sky was blue with a few tufts of cotton wool clouds to embellish it. Birds were singing their happy morning song in the trees while people were on their way to work, to school or on some errands, some happy and others not so, but all going about their lives. Some of them smiled or tried to suppress a smile when they saw Sycko in his suit and top hat wondering if he had just stepped out of a time machine or if fashion had rediscovered a style that was once ‘all the rage’ before falling into disuse.
Sycko strode slowly yet purposefully through the street, every step taking him nearer to the bus stop and his tryst with destiny. As a warrior of God he felt invincible, immortal and superior to all those around him. His heart beat strongly and on his forehead a thin film of perspiration appeared while his eyes became fixated on the bus stop he was approaching. He took another one of the extra strong Dryvellers’ Fags from his pocket and lit it. It was the last one. He inhaled deeply looking forward to the feeling of strength it gave him. He reached the stop and queued oblivious to the disapproving looks as he blew smoke into the air. His eyes gazed into a void. Then the bus came. It was a new model with a higher fuel efficiency and other marvels of technology that engineers and workers had planned and built with an infinite amount of toil and pride. Sycko didn’t notice. He merely flicked what was left of his cigarette onto the road when the driver wouldn’t let him board with it. He paid and looked down the central aisle. There it was, half way down the aisle a free seat by the window. Just as Jeremiah had wanted, a place in the middle. He took the seat and waited. The bus wended its way through the heavy morning traffic and at every bus stop more passengers got on until the bus was crowded. All the while Sycko was waiting and fingering the mechanism in his pocket careful not to press the button too early.
He felt an obese woman pressing into his side and suddenly realized how full the bus was. It was time he decided, not yet quite. He would wait till the next bus stop and if there was a long queue…
Slowly a smile became visible on his face though what it was that made him smile no one knew. The bus pulled up at the stop. Sycko looked out of the window still smiling. A young mother stood there patiently carrying her bundle of joy. The baby saw Sycko’s smile and smiled back. Sycko was glad the moment of destiny had come. His thumb found the button and pressed it. An electric current travelled up the wires and set off the detonators that triggered the explosive material. The plastic explosive decomposed to release a variety of gases that expanded at about 26,400 feet per second (8,050 meters per second). Sycko’s body disintegrated and he had ceased to exist before he even knew it. The metal and glass of the bus were torn asunder, the roof blown off and the sides turned into a deadly hail of debris that tore through the bodies of all those in the vicinity. The babies head was sliced off by a piece of debris and the mother flung through the air with her bundle of sorrow. Sixty-eight people on the bus and another twelve outside were killed instantly, many more were injured, some to die later others crippled or scarred for life. Thick black smoke rose up into the peaceful blue sky from the burning wreckage as the flames ate into the flesh of the dead and injured. People came running to help, suddenly made heroes by events while others phoned for help or merely stood gaping. A bit farther down the road stood a huge billboard with a poster that might have given Sycko food for thought had he lived a little longer.
God
A blessed and indestructible being has no trouble himself and brings no trouble upon any other being; so he is free from anger and partiality, for all such things imply weakness.
Epicurus
We Shall Overcome
No one goes to Hades
with all his immense wealth.
Theognis, Maxims