A Million Versions of Right

by Matthew Revert

  My eyes immediately latched onto what appeared to be a barber’s shop called, ‘Shitty’s Trims’. Old habits are hard to shake I guess and it was a struggle not to waltz on in. My hands even reached for my journal, which I hadn’t held for days now. I won’t pretend I didn’t feel a pang of loss but I shook it off like leeches. Customers streamed out of Shitty’s Trims, all sporting rather handsome bouffants, which I mentally graded for style and execution. The dignified dos clashed awkwardly against the grimy surrounds of the sewer. I wanted to creep in for a closer look. I wanted to touch the hair and get a feel for the product used. I wanted to examine the barber’s instruments and assess their quality but I didn’t. I stood glued to the spot, watching the endless march of satisfied customers.

  Throughout my nostalgic reverie Max was involved in heavy conversation with an ever-widening man called Hamp. I later learnt that his widening was nothing more than an optical illusion caused by the refractive qualities of his many tumours. Hamp led us through an arterial cluster of confusing passages before we finally arrived at a little cabin emblazoned with, “Charlotte Parking’s Drippings Costumery”.

  “This is my little girl’s place,” beamed Max proudly. “I’d wager that your costume is ready, Jack.”

  “About my costume, what the hell is it anyway? I wouldn’t mind knowing what I’m gonna look like.”

  Max shrugged his shoulders and flashed a cute grin. “My little girl likes to surprise. In fact, nobody goes into her shop knowing what they’ll walk out wearing. I remember one chap walking in and leaving minutes later looking exactly as he had before. In a rather charming coincidence, my daughter fashioned a costume that matched the current look of the customer exactly.”

  “That wouldn’t help me much would it?” I said dryly.

  Max ignored me and knocked at the cabin door. The immediate sound of pulleys and cranks rumbled and a large blast of steam exploded from a nearby valve. I jumped backward defensively, only to be greeted by the door gently opening. A small lady topped with a large red bouffant stood confidently. Her nose was an accumulation of colourful warts and her skin was ash white.

  “Daddykins!” she yelped before throwing her arms around Max who hugged her back viciously.

  “And how is my little girl?”

  “Shit like a weather report.”

  “Bored with hammers?”

  “Hardly worth winding it up really.”

  “Tarred with snark aren’t we?”

  “You’d only know from the wrong angle daddykins.”

  I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but something within the rhythmic ebb and flow of their banter comforted me. I never had a child of my own, deciding instead to follow the dreamy siren call of the chaste barber’s life. My life had been a blur of hair design, shaves and combs. It was in studying the mutual love circulating between Max and his daughter that I was hit with something akin to regret. I had a girl once; a fucking corker of a girl. We were set to get married but I swapped her engagement ring for a vintage barber’s chair. She left me soon afterward and I never saw her again. She had childbearing hips like you wouldn’t believe.

  The moment we were inside the cabin, Charlotte got right down to business.

  “You Jack?” she asked with a pointing finger.

  “Sure am.”

  “The costume’s out back in a red box marked with your name. Go and put it on for me. I want to make sure it works.”

  Several fumbling minutes later I emerged in what I think was the costume. I didn’t know what the hell I was but judging by the way Max and Charlotte hugged and cheered, I’m guessing it turned out as expected.

  “So, um… what am I supposed to be?” I asked eventually.

  They both stared in shock, clearly offended by my ignorance. “I’m not trying to offend. I’m sure it looks exactly as it should but I don’t know what the fuck it is.”

  “Ya daft shit! It’s a knee!” screamed Charlotte, eventually breaking her slack-jawed stupor.

  I studied myself in one of the many mirrors that lined the walls. It finally hit me and I couldn’t deny it. I was dressed as a knee.

  * * * * *

  Max and I finally entered the Hair District just after ten pm. It was the first time I’d set foot in the District since the slaughter at the Justice Force. The knee costume prohibited my movement to such an extent that I had to jump or shuffle in order to move. I grew tired easily and – much to the chagrin of Max – needed frequent rest stops.

  The District hadn’t changed a bit, except for the posters plastered across every available surface bearing my photo. WANTED was stamped across each of them. My first feeling upon seeing the photo was embarrassment. It had to be the worst one they could find. I was captured mid blink and there was a definite string of drool swinging from my chin. This was topped off with a ghastly mop of severe bed hair. I cringed within my knee suit, wondering if Max would laugh but he remained stoic, focusing utterly on the task at hand. It helped bolster my sprits somewhat and I was able to convert my embarrassment into a healthy rage. Those bastards weren’t just content with wiping me out. They wanted to glean a few cheap laughs at my expense.

  We passed various characters, some of whom I recognised, others that I didn’t. Each time somebody got within scrutinising distance, my heart beat like drunken fists. A babble of barbers slightly liquored up and cruising for evening fun approached us in zombie stumbles. They huddled together and quickly chose someone to speak on the group’s behalf. A short man with cracked glasses spoke up.

  “You there!” he yelled to Max, who stopped and stared in a benign fashion. “What brings you to these parts, stranger man? What’s with the knee?”

  “I’m merely passing through,” he said jovially. “As for the knee here,” he patted me with a gentle hand, “we’ve been friends for longer than I care to recall.”

  “And how does one befriend a knee exactly?”

  “It’s simple really. We met at University where he exhibited a remarkable ability to crush ice. Being as that was my major, we became steady comrades. I excelled in the theoretical aspects whereas Patrick – that’s the knee’s name by the way – hammered home the practical nature of the field. We’ve been good friends ever since and still partake in ice crushery to this very day.”

  By the time Max finished his story the barbers had already dispersed, clearly too shitfaced to glean any value. I was impressed and mildly concerned by his sheer capacity to lie. For a man I trusted, as I now did, it was an alarming trait. I had come too far to let it stop me but I kept it in the back of my mind. I would have questioned Max immediately were it not for the costume I was wearing. It muffled my every word into mumbles. Instead I followed like a sheep, hoping that we’d have no more close calls. But a close call soon followed, in the form of instant recognition.

  “Jack! Jack! Is that you?”

  Both Max and I darted around in a panic, trying to find the source of the familiar voice. From the shadows of a nearby tree skulked none other than Messy Phil. The closer he came, the more his eyes widened in apparent delight.

  “It is you! What‘cha doin’ dressed up in a big ol’ knee?”

  I muffled a hasty reply, which wasn’t understood. Max tried to concoct another quick reply but it was lost on Phil. Somehow he knew it was me.

  “You know you really shouldn’t be here, right? These people want your fucking head on a stick. Hypocrites the lot of ‘em, if you ask me.”

  I was intrigued by Phil’s seeming inability to join the mob in their reactionary hate. I tried desperately to ask questions but every word died against the interior of my suit. Meanwhile Max stood dumbfounded.

  “I’ve been trying to tell ‘em. As if you’d do anything to harm this fucking place but do ya think they’re listening? Of course not! What’s more, they’re crediting my wank fairy for hunting you down. All of sudden everyone fucking wants one. D’ya think I’ve forgotten the way they all treated her when they thought she was a no good
fart machine? Those bastards ain’t laying a finger on my little girl.” He patted his pocket carefully, clearly suggesting that the wank fairy lurked inside.

  “So my advice to you, Jacky boy, is to get the hell out of here. Go start your own Hair District. You don’t need these lousy people, especially if they’re gonna go accusing you of all this shit.”

  Max finally interjected for the both of us, “You seem like a good man and I do assure you that we don’t intend to spend long in this place. However, we do have something that requires urgent attention. Within the hour we’ll be gone. Do I have your word that you’ll remain tight-lipped about our presence here?”

  “What, me?!” Phil’s eyes beamed in surprise, “I ain’t telling them shit, you can be sure of that. To be honest, I don’t even like this place. Don’t think I’ve had a haircut in about five years and the last time I did, it wasn’t in this shit of a district. You just make sure you keep quiet about ol’ Messy Phil here. I don’t think they’d take too kindly to my helping you n’ all.”

  “You have my word, Phil. Very good to meet you.”

  With that encounter over we went our separate ways. Phil skulked back into the shadows while Max and I made our way to the water treatment facility.

  * * * * *

  The Hair District’s water was all treated in one location before it was supplied to the taps of its inhabitants. This made our job easier but there were still obstacles. Max had explained in rigid detail the series of filtrations and treatments applied to the water before it was deemed suitable for drinking. We’d have to ensure we added the woebegone at the final stage, so it couldn’t filter out. Max had detailed blueprints of the facility that neither of us could read so we decided on the dumb luck method.

  We arrived at the facility close to 11 pm and snuck around the back. The water supply had never been compromised before so thankfully security was lax. Max cut away a section of wire fence big enough for my knee costume to slip through. We were immediately set upon by a dozen or so fairly aggressive looking guard dogs, which Max managed to sedate with a disturbing interpretive dance. I was impressed. We dodged the spread of sleeping dogs and came to a steel door with all manner of cautionary signs. Max lightly knocked against the door, sending out ominous reverberations and loosening my anxious bowel. A few seconds later a tall, gangly looking man opened up, staring at us with a mixture of surprise and caution.

  “And who are you two likely lads?” he asked with a cocked brow.

  Max replied with a wet, all consuming sneeze that drenched the man in mucous and mystery chunks. The man ran past them both with hands against his face, as if he were burning, screaming, “I’m prone to infection, you cad!”

  We were granted easy access from this point forward. The tall man appeared to be the only inkling of life and the inside of the facility was adequately signed. We followed a series of arrows which led to an area called, ‘The Final Chapter’. Churning turbines roared dangerously, pumping vast torrents of water into large containers, finally spitting it out into a pool. Max ran toward this pool while I tried pathetically to follow. He was trying to yell out instructions but I couldn’t hear a thing over the raging water. And so I stood uselessly still, hoping that Max could carry out the contamination solo.

  In the heat of my debilitating knee costume I really started to wonder why I’d even bothered tagging along. There was no doubt in my mind that I was nothing but a hindrance. Max could have so easily enacted his plan on his own, leaving me to get some rest. I still felt the vaguest after effects following my foray into menstruation. Despite having checked several times, I was overcome by the sensation of sizeable breasts protruding from my chest. They weren’t there of course and what bothered me the most was that I kind of wished they were. It isn’t something I’d attribute to any perversion. Instead it was as if they should be there, like I was meant to have them.

  Max broke my train of thought, waving the emptied bottle of woebegone. I followed him out, tripping several times. The dogs were still fast asleep and there was no sign of the tall, snotty man.

  With the deed done, there was nothing else to do but wait.

  Part 3: I really wish I’d never met Max

  I stayed with Max, telling myself it was to help monitor the progress of the woebegone. A wall of bulky televisions relayed imagery from every corner of the District in flickering black and white. Max positioned himself directly in front of the cathode wall, jotting down notes like an inspired songwriter. I stayed to one side, watching Max watch everyone else.

  Max had a list of tasks that I was responsible for. These felt like little crumbs he’d thrown my way to keep me occupied. I was like a child being given a bowl of dummy mixture to stir while my father made the real cake. I had to remove the dust accumulation on the televisions and periodically ensure the cable connections were secure, things like that. Things that didn’t really matter.

  Newspapers littered the carpet, all brandishing melodramatic headlines about mass pregnancy scares and the population explosions that would result. This confused me. There weren’t enough women in the District for mass pregnancy to be of any real concern - at least I didn’t think there were enough women. It was my job to scour through the newspapers for new developments but it was a redundant task. The newspapers never said anything new and most of what they did say was clearly untrue. Instead I spent most of my time fondling phantom tits, willing them into existence and sulking when my will wasn’t met.

  Max hadn’t said a word to me in four days and I was beginning to feel like a girlfriend jilted for televised sports. I tried to gain his attention by acting up, much as you’d expect from an ignored child. I became increasingly flatulent and wafted the resulting smell toward him with desktop fans and doo-wop dance moves. He remained unresponsive. I soaked paper in pungent, early morning urine, folded them into limp planes and floated them in his direction. He merely batted them away with a nonchalant hand. I felt a tantrum swirling to life inside me. It began at my feet and worked its way up my body in an irritating scrape. It culminated around the scissors jutting from my forehead, throbbing like a heart attack.

  I took a deep breath and let fly, “You bald fuck! Why are you ignoring me?” My arms were involuntarily flailing and my legs became kick-happy. Max didn’t appear to register the display so I stepped it up a notch. “You big bag of tits! You think you can just leave me sitting here and not say a word? I have needs too, you know! WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?!” I tore my clothes off, hurling them at the wall of televisions – still no response.

  “You selfish fuck!”

  Without thinking I was releasing my bowels into cupped hands. I rolled my shit into fiendish projectiles and threw them with all my power at Max. Several balls hit the mark, exploding on impact and caking his bald head in a faecal wig.

  Max finally turned around to face me. “Jack, what the devil are you doing?” He wiped his hand over his head and stared hard at his brown-stained fingers, bringing them to his nose and recoiling in disgust. “Jack, is this faecal matter? That’s terribly unpleasant. Why would you do such a thing? Are you crying?”

  Sure enough, tears were streaming down my cheeks. Nothing could stop my penis from engorging, filling me with shame. “Look what you’ve made me do now, Max! You know what happens when I cry.”

  Max was confused. “No, I don’t actually. What happens?”

  I pointed toward my erection with shaking fingers. “THIS, MAX! THIS HAPPENS!!!”

  “That’s an unusual reaction to tears. When did this start?”

  He was interrogating me and it pissed me off. “That’s not the fucking point! It just happens okay. WHY HAVE YOU BEEN IGNORING ME?”

  “Ignoring you? How old are you, Jack? Seven? I’ve got very important work to do and you know that. Do you understand the enormity of what’s been happening in the district? Take a look at the screens, Jack!” he demanded.

  I did as he asked. As far as I could see, it was just the same old imagery replaying itsel
f over and over.

  “Do you notice anything?”

  I shook my head in an exaggerated fashion.

  “The women, Jack! Look at the women. Day by day more are arriving in the District. It’s as if they’ve been drawn to it.”

  “So? What’s your point?” I asked before blowing a saliva-drenched raspberry.

  Max rolled his eyes. “Why is it that a male dominated community is suddenly attracting so many women?”

  I couldn’t tell if his question was rhetorical or if he was really asking, so I squeezed out a fart and yelled, “BECAUSE THEY IS ALL FAGS!!!”

  He looked angry, like he wanted to punch the shit out of me. Instead he composed himself admirably and answered his own question.

  “One can assume, Jack, that somehow women are finding out about the absence of menstruation within the District. News is filtering out and women are filing in. It’s really rather extraordinary.”

  “BOOOOORRRRIIINNNGGGG” I chanted over and over.

  Max slapped me on the fourth chant, which sent me toward the nearest corner where I cowered.

  “You’ve really become quite impossible to communicate with!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I just want you to stop working and start paying attention to me,” I said from my corner, tugging absent-mindedly at my penis.

  Max began walking toward me. “I become engrossed in my work to the point where nothing else exists. It’s only a temporary state. You’ll get me back soon enough.”

  Max was clearly disturbed by my outburst. I wanted to suck it all back in and forget it ever happened but I couldn’t stop myself. Childishness kept pouring from my mouth. “But I want you back NOWWWW!!!”

  “Jack, you’ve grown exceptionally emotional. I’m at once confused and intrigued. Can I ask, have you consumed any tap water since the woebegone application?”