by Gina Ranalli
Narrowing his eyes, Ed asked, “What the fuck scripture is that from?”
Bowie laughed. “No idea, Champ. But if it ain’t in there, it sure as hell should be. AM I RIGHT, PEOPLE?”
The crowd cheered, all of them leering at Ed with hunger.
It was then that Ed knew he was beaten. There wasn’t going to be any escaping this. Hell, maybe they were even right. Maybe he’d taken the wrong path all along, had been a monster, working for monsters and had been too self-righteous to know it.
Quietly, he asked Bowie, “Will you let my wife and friends go?” He heard Tea start to cry behind him.
“Of course we will, Champ. You have my word as a Christian and a gentleman. You just have to come with us, and then everything will be back to normal. We just need to send the rest of the American people a message. A message that says you do not have to tolerate the abuse of your women!”
Again, the mob cheered wildly.
“YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR DOING WHAT THE GOOD LORD PUT YOU HERE TO DO! AND THAT’S PROCREATE!”
This time the people screeched their agreement so loudly that Ed felt vibrations under his feet. He waited for them to settle down, waited to see if Bowie was finished with his bullshit sermon on the mount. When Bowie said nothing more, just stood there grinning like the cat that ate the fucking canary, Ed raised his hands above his head and said, “Okay. Let them go and let’s do this thing.”
Bowie studied him carefully, probably trying to assess if Ed had some trick up his sleeve. A moment later, evidently convinced that Ed was out of tricks, he smiled and said, “Ladies. He’s all yours.”
And the surge of women came forward like a wave, falling on Ed and dragging him off towards the woods behind his house. He fought to see around them, to see that Bowie was keeping his word and letting Ash and Drizzle, and hopefully Tea as well, go free. He struggled wildly, trying to peer over shoulders and between legs and passing heads, but his sight was blocked in every direction. All he could see was furious red faces and once, he caught a glimpse of the darkening gray sky.
Gina Ranalli is an author of bizarro fiction, including Wall of Kiss, Suicide Girls in the Afterlife, Chemical Gardens, and 13 Thorns (with outsider artist Gus Fink). Her short stories have appeared in zines and print collections, such as The Dream People, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Falling from the Sky and The Bizarro Starter Kit.
You can visit her at www.myspace.com/ginaranalli
E. Riggs paints out of his basement in upstate NY. There has never been a time he has not felt the need to create kicking at his skull. He has a degree in Industrial Design and works as a full time designer. He paints when he can and relishes its freedom from the confines of the ever-smothering world around him.
See more of his work at: myspace.com/ill_lit_er_art