don’t understand. The lord will kill me, and he’ll kill you too,” Eli said, nervously rocking back and forth in the chair.
Then—in a panic, Eli got up, running out of the coffee shop, screaming, “Help, help. A madman is trying to kill me!”
T HE N INTH O F A LEX , and because of Eli, unfinished cup of coffee. Nothing irritates him more, or well, almost nothing. Perhaps childhood memories or lapse of reason. Maybe having to get up and chase a madman.
However, before dashing out in mad pursuit, he thought it apt with a final sip he say, “I dedicate this to the lord, wherever he may be.”
Pushing out the way in, he felt the downcast heavens taxing movement, making apathy of action. Pressed, he pushed on, seeing Eli running at an absurd clip for such a crude man.
Then—Eli left the path, running into the misty forest, at last leaving behind the guise of certainty.
Alex could see nothing, nobody. Instead, feeling only dark points with a certain eerie presence, poking him here and there. As he moved on, the gluey, gooey ground made him push harder, as a result, stirring the matter on, pushing back even more as if in a kind of tug of war.
Looking down, Alex noticed what he thought items of clothing; one article here, another there. He picked up what looked like a pair of pants, realizing once laying eyes on them; they were.
Wrapped in silence, Alex could hear himself thinking, so much so in fact, that he found the feeling gratifying, as if a keen loss waking a cool gain. Yet, the aim was empty, having little to say and nothing to give. Void of all matter and purpose. Still it was filling.
At once—the mist lifted, leaving exposed the forest floor and with it Alex and Eli. Alex could see Eli ahead, lying naked in the mire, repeatedly mumbling in a base tone, “A madman is trying to kill me.”
Alex, eyes on fire, reached down, clawing into Eli’s chest, digging his nails in deep so as to tear the skin from the body, ripping into the chasm of the chest, puncturing the aorta; thus spewing forth an ocean of blood covering his face and hands, conquering the beast once and for all.
Well, at least that’s the tale so told.
“Here,” Alex said, “put these on,” handing Eli the pants he found on the way.
Dawn was turning to darkness as the two came out of the forest, Alex dragging Eli along, asking questions; all the while Eli simply chanting, “A madman is trying to kill me.”
Maybe Eli was simply over—medicated. Perhaps something new in the coffee. Possibly a genetic mishap. At any rate, Eli was now about as useful as a prayer in free fall.
Thankfully—the edge of the forest became clear, as Alex, dragging Eli through the mud what seemed an eternity, dropped, on the knees, from then on crawling until reaching the path.
Now on the path, the two got up, feet planted, and began walking again as if members of the human race.
The path’s markers were about as useful as they were confusing; seeming at once straight, yet beading, bending, and bowing as Alex and Eli continued to walk toward home.
Home now in sight, Alex felt light, as if an extreme burden lifted off the shoulders. Of course, Eli was still mumbling, chanting the unchanging song.
Now inside, Alex placed Eli in a chair, soon after, going to the phone, dialing…
A K NOCK A T T HE D OOR roused Alex from slumber. Vigorously, he rattled himself awake, repeatedly sampling sight of the chair seating Eli; in fact, often enough to notice him fast asleep, snoring; yet still mumbling the chant.
Groggy, Alex went to the door, opening it where he found waiting none other than, Chief Detective Smith.
“Detective Smith. How nice of you to come,” Alex said sedately.
“ Chief Detective Smith,” he replied in a huffy tone, “And what do we have here? Did you manage to up and kill somebody?”
“No such luck,” Alex said.
Smith—head cocked to one side and scratching an eyebrow—glared at Alex, acting as if to
Then—in a panic, Eli got up, running out of the coffee shop, screaming, “Help, help. A madman is trying to kill me!”
T HE N INTH O F A LEX , and because of Eli, unfinished cup of coffee. Nothing irritates him more, or well, almost nothing. Perhaps childhood memories or lapse of reason. Maybe having to get up and chase a madman.
However, before dashing out in mad pursuit, he thought it apt with a final sip he say, “I dedicate this to the lord, wherever he may be.”
Pushing out the way in, he felt the downcast heavens taxing movement, making apathy of action. Pressed, he pushed on, seeing Eli running at an absurd clip for such a crude man.
Then—Eli left the path, running into the misty forest, at last leaving behind the guise of certainty.
Alex could see nothing, nobody. Instead, feeling only dark points with a certain eerie presence, poking him here and there. As he moved on, the gluey, gooey ground made him push harder, as a result, stirring the matter on, pushing back even more as if in a kind of tug of war.
Looking down, Alex noticed what he thought items of clothing; one article here, another there. He picked up what looked like a pair of pants, realizing once laying eyes on them; they were.
Wrapped in silence, Alex could hear himself thinking, so much so in fact, that he found the feeling gratifying, as if a keen loss waking a cool gain. Yet, the aim was empty, having little to say and nothing to give. Void of all matter and purpose. Still it was filling.
At once—the mist lifted, leaving exposed the forest floor and with it Alex and Eli. Alex could see Eli ahead, lying naked in the mire, repeatedly mumbling in a base tone, “A madman is trying to kill me.”
Alex, eyes on fire, reached down, clawing into Eli’s chest, digging his nails in deep so as to tear the skin from the body, ripping into the chasm of the chest, puncturing the aorta; thus spewing forth an ocean of blood covering his face and hands, conquering the beast once and for all.
Well, at least that’s the tale so told.
“Here,” Alex said, “put these on,” handing Eli the pants he found on the way.
Dawn was turning to darkness as the two came out of the forest, Alex dragging Eli along, asking questions; all the while Eli simply chanting, “A madman is trying to kill me.”
Maybe Eli was simply over—medicated. Perhaps something new in the coffee. Possibly a genetic mishap. At any rate, Eli was now about as useful as a prayer in free fall.
Thankfully—the edge of the forest became clear, as Alex, dragging Eli through the mud what seemed an eternity, dropped, on the knees, from then on crawling until reaching the path.
Now on the path, the two got up, feet planted, and began walking again as if members of the human race.
The path’s markers were about as useful as they were confusing; seeming at once straight, yet beading, bending, and bowing as Alex and Eli continued to walk toward home.
Home now in sight, Alex felt light, as if an extreme burden lifted off the shoulders. Of course, Eli was still mumbling, chanting the unchanging song.
Now inside, Alex placed Eli in a chair, soon after, going to the phone, dialing…
A K NOCK A T T HE D OOR roused Alex from slumber. Vigorously, he rattled himself awake, repeatedly sampling sight of the chair seating Eli; in fact, often enough to notice him fast asleep, snoring; yet still mumbling the chant.
Groggy, Alex went to the door, opening it where he found waiting none other than, Chief Detective Smith.
“Detective Smith. How nice of you to come,” Alex said sedately.
“ Chief Detective Smith,” he replied in a huffy tone, “And what do we have here? Did you manage to up and kill somebody?”
“No such luck,” Alex said.
Smith—head cocked to one side and scratching an eyebrow—glared at Alex, acting as if to
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