TCC CH 8 BLUE CRESCENT

Here we go.  It gets ugly.  Sorry about that.

Rose Tattoo   by Dropkick Murphys  

Gregor watched the spark disappear into one of the sparkly gems.  The gem blinked out of view.

Occupied.  Somebody’s in here.  Fuck off.

There were others nearby, and he went to inspect them.  Each of these were dim sparks, and when he got real close and peered inside, he could see nothing.  He thought, they must have their eyes closed.

He backed away from them, and as he did, one of them dimmed until it became nothing.

He did not want to be near those gems anymore.  He looked about and saw another gem, and it was not dim.  It shone and gleamed like it had been recently polished. 


He flew up to it and looked into it.  He was surrounded by the white bars of a tiny jail.  Above him dangled a curious looking assortment of carnival animals. 

The walls beyond were painted bright pink.  

Baby girl.

He smiled. 


It was his oldest son’s third baby. 


All of them were daughters.  No sons!  In the old country, a man would have a son to pass everything on to.  Gregor thought, a man gets things done.  Women are to be taken care of, but a man is the boss. 



He would not return as a baby girl. 

He turned and flew onward to another gem when one appeared in a flash off to his right.  He halted and considered things.  Why had this one just shown up like that?  What was going on with it?

Well, or course, he closed in on it and peered into it. 


He could see his youngest son, Richard, bending over and looking right into the gem. 

Then he saw Richard back away and pull up a baseball bat over his head.  Richard swung down at the gem and the gem flashed out of view.

Gregor shouted, but in the void of black eternity, he did not have a body or a mouth, nor was there air to carry the sound of his silent scream.

He had just witnessed a murder.  He had seen his youngest one, the troublemaker, kill someone with a baseball bat.  He had seen this happen through the eyes of the one who was killed.

It was a bit much to take in.  But he knew one thing.  He needed to get back there and take control of the situation.  He needed to find out why his son had done such a thing.

Do you know, when you are in a desperate frame of mind, that is the worst position to be in to have to make a decision or pick a choice.  Never go to the market when you are hungry, never buy a car when you have just received a large sum of money, and never, ever quickly pick a new body when your son has been taken over by a cannibal Walk-In.

But Gregor did not know that this had happened.  In his panic, he went back to the group of gems that were dim.  He picked one, any one, and he entered it.

Instantly he felt searing pain.  He tried to open his eyes, but they were gone.  He felt for them.  The eyelids were swollen shut, and when he pried them open, only fluid gushed out.

His face felt crispy.

He smelled burnt hair and fried steak.  Something very bad had happened to this body.  It was not long for the world.

Dead End Friends   by Them Crooked Vultures  

His wife, the high priestess of them purple robes, well she had her own shit going on.  She knew that Gregor had left, and she would not blame him.  She figured that in his passing on, he might still be around and about her.

She hoped this was so.

But for all she knew and feared, she was truly left alone. 

Indeed, she was, in that dark tunnel with them hungry visitors from the Gate of Hell that had been opened by Lenny Sustenuto, he of the Sausage-Arm Clan.

Those creatures were bad enough for they were eternals much as them Walk-Ins were, but now they had the added aspect of cannibalism and the hunger it caused.  Where once they sought only to escape the depths of despair held tight behind that gate, now they were free to roam again.  With a new hunger that went bone deep.

Chrysalis stood and looked up to the source of the weak blue light.  She saw that it was a hole in the roof of the tunnel and there were hand rungs in the sides of the hole, all the way up.  She left the body of the burnt man and the one that had held her beloved and she grabbed onto the first rail.

The voices of those far off, running to her from the fire back there, well, they were saying things.

“…the screaming woman is lit by blue…”

“…she looks to be fair fare…”

“…I will have her flesh for myself…”

“…No!  I will have herrrrr!”

She did not turn to look.  She felt her skin crawl. 



It would be a very bad way to die, and slow.  Eaten alive.





She pulled her sluggish body up them rails, one at a time.  Her drugged-out body did not respond well, and her grasp on the rungs felt like rubber hands with slippery fish-fingers.   She had expended what little adrenaline had been available in this body she now inhabited.

She did not want to fall.

She did not want to be eaten alive.

She rose up to the top rungs as the ones who followed her arrived at the two bodies below.  They dove right onto the bodies and fought over the meat.

She heard them rend flesh and chew and fill their bodies, and then they retched the contents up and out,



...and they began to eat more flesh.  It was not the full belly that they had hunger to satiate.  It was the pleasure they found in eating: nothing more than that.

But one of them, the one who wanted her all for himself, well, he grabbed the lowest rung and began to pull himself up. 


He was coming after her.

Chrysalis pressed up at the door that covered the entrance.  But she found that it was not made of wood.  It was warm from the sunshine that shined down on it, and it was hard as iron.  She had always wondered what kept them man hole covers in place in the street.  Were they lids with locks?

Did they have hinges and knobs?

No, mistah, she found out that it was one thing after all.

They were heavy as hell and they were made out of pig iron.

She thought, “Oh...  Fuck.”

The lid was set like it had been partially placed back, and the sliver of light from the crescent on one side was from where the blue light had been shining down.

She put her fingers through the crescent and tried to slide the cover away.

It was too heavy for her over-dosed body to move.

She felt a hand wrap around her ankle and she kicked it away. 

It came for her other leg, up higher, along her thigh.

The creep was right under her.

Well, the human body is quite amazing.  There is, indeed, a final store of fear-induced stimulants that the liver will deliver, and this is at the final stages of life, when the body knows that it is truly about to die.

It is not good for ten minutes like when you are fist-fighting.  It is much less than that.  Along with the energy, the body also is flooded with an amazing amount of endorphins, in order to stave off the pain of the inevitable.  It’s the body’s last gift for the mind.  No one knows how this evolved, but those who are going to die will appreciate it.

This burst of energy exploded within her, and she screamed and yanked on that lid and that lid slide aside another good five inches.

Sunlight poured down over her face and she breathed in the dusty air of the desert.

She felt so happy.  The sunlight coursed down over her side and into the tunnel below her.

She heard shrieks.

“It burns like fire!”

“What is this?”

“No!”

The grasp on her thigh let go and she heard a loud, wet smack from the floor of the dank tunnel below.

She thought, What is this?  Sunlight is painful for them?  Who are they?

She pushed her arm up through the widened hole as she felt that last burst of energy from impending doom begin to diffuse and fade away.

Her body had become much weaker than before.

The hole was about half a foot across at the widest part.

It was not big enough.

The expenditure of adrenaline will leave you weak and trembly, you know.

She pulled her arm back and then squeezed her head through the hole.  She looked about and could see dingy, forgotten buildings, bright blue sky, and the almighty desert sun.

She could smell fresh air.

She could taste freedom.

And then her fingers weakened, and her body was made of rubber again. 



She tried to strengthen her grasp on the hand rail, but there was nothing left in her.

As she fell downward, her head banged against the rungs set into the sides of the entrance. 


She saw the blue crescent above shrink away as she fell. 


It was like a pebble sinking down in a jar of honey. 



Slow,



soft,



...death.





She felt the cement floor of the tunnel smack her head and her neck broke, and she faded into the dark again.

At least there was that, for her.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

Love Song   by  The Cure, tribute here by 311  

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TCC CH7 THE CHAUFFEUR APART

I really need to learn to shut the fuck up and let the story unfold.  Show, don’t tell.

Where Is My Mind   by Maxence Cyrin  (Original tune by the Pixies done by this excellent pianist)

Gregor raced off after the spark as it sped far beyond him in the pitch black of eternity.  He raced to catch up to her, but she was very quick.

He had never before felt alone like this. 

Lost.

Abandoned by his One?

You see, whom he thought was his woman had a good lead ahead of him, and he felt as if he would lose her. 

He focused his fear on that tiny spark.  He did not want to be left behind.  He did not want to left alone. Everything that he had worked for in the desert was gone now.  

When all is lost, what do you have?

Lost in the eternity of the abyss, you may have to navigate among the sparks and glints… and even the stars and galaxies… until you re-connect with your One. 

Perhaps we are indeed connected in a deeper manner?

If we are the only ones who exist in the whole universe, then you have to keep finding your One over and over again after you become apart from her.  

If you only get one pass for this life,

…then you truly have nothing at all when you lose your One.

Gregor did not know that he had abandoned his wife back there in that tunnel.  He thought that he was following her.  How horrible to find out this fact, once he arrived back home, back at the Purple Mansion.

The

Chauffeur

A P A R T

The Chauffeur was very good at navigating in the darkness as well you know by now. 

He sought the Purple Mansion, from where these three had begun in this part of the tale.  He simply did not know that the one who had killed him there in the guest cottage was now in control of the power that lied there.

Sven had Walked-In to the body of the prodigal son, whose name was Richard.

Sven the original cannibal for them Walk-Ins, well, he had taken control up there. 

He had changed things.

Up ahead, Gregor saw the spark as it halted its acceleration, and he watched it as he got closer.  The spark flitted about other sparks in the dark emptiness of space and time.

What was his beloved doing? 

Why hadn’t she waited for him? 

He had never thought that he’d be abandoned by her after all the years of their trials and tribulations. 

It was unnerving.

(This will be continued on the weekend, and will be long and hard as we revisit the Purple Mansion and see what Sven had been up to.)

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 7 APART

Link to this Beta version TCC CH 7 APART

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2013/08/tcc-ch-7-apart.html

Chapter in construction, here is how it looks until it gets polished.  Read below, if you will.

TUNES

Made of Scars   by Stone Sour  http://youtu.be/exCBQZ7Cb8c

Hard rock with solid lyrics

In A Manner Of Speaking   by Martin Gore  http://youtu.be/dEHJ7ZfJgmE

Depeche Modal, 5/8 beat, overly done lyrics do not use

Bright Sunny South   by Sam Amidon http://youtu.be/eJ1b8TrwviI

Folk Tune find from Dotta.  This doesn’t work here.  James Dean, yup.  But still…

Where Is My Mind   by Maxence Cyrin  http://youtu.be/Ts7FQaVULRs

Great original tune, done by an excellent pianist.

VERSION ONE

Where Is My Mind   by Maxence Cyrin  

Gregor followed the spark as it sped off, far beyond him in the pitch black of eternity.  He raced to catch up, but she had a good lead ahead of him, and he felt as if he might lose her.  He focused his fear on that tiny spark.  He did not want to be left behind.  He did not want to left alone. Everything that he had worked for was gone now.  

When all is lost, what do you have?

Lost in the eternity of the abyss, you may have to navigate with among the sparks and glints and even the stars and galaxies until you reconnect with your One.  Perhaps we are indeed connected, and if we are the only ones in the whole universe, according to the church, then you need to keep finding her, over and over again.  If you only get one pass for this life, then you truly have nothing at all on earth.

Gregor did not know that he had abandoned his One back there in that tunnel.  He thought that he was following her.  How horrible to find out this fact, once he arrived home again.

The Chauffeur was very good at navigating in the darkness, as well you know by now.  He found the Purple Mansion.  He simply did not know that the one who had killed him there in the guest cottage was now in control of the power that lied there.

Sven had Walked-In to the body of the prodigal son, and his name was Richard.

Even though Sven did not understand what this meant, he was quite intelligent, and so he could navigate uncharted waters for him, and of course, he would make use of such an opportunity for his own nefarious purposes.

He would wreak havoc.

The maid, the one who had spent the night with The Chauffeur and then the morning hours with Sven (in his new body), well, they had all done very bad things.

Sherry pursued vengeance against Sven.  Now she stood at his side.  She wanted to avenge the death of Lenny Sustenuto.

She could see Sven.  Walkins can see each other. 

But sometimes, a Walkin, even a highly intelligent one, is blinded by the bright glint of opportunity.

Sven was the original Walkin cannibal.  He had infected all others in Fuckno with his hunger. Never before had Sven been with a lovely young woman.  Never before had he found himself in extreme wealth and power.

This would be his downfall.

A P A R T

Up ahead, Gregor saw the spark as it halted its acceleration, and he watched it as he got closer.  The spark flitted about other sparks in the dark emptiness of space and time.

What was she doing?  Why hadn’t she waited for him?  He had never been abandoned by her before in all the years of their trials and tribulations.  It was unnerving.

  

Made of Scars  by Stone Sour  

(To Be Rewritten)

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 6 FLIGHT

Christopher the Chauffeur had never before been on fire.  God help him that he felt no pain from this self-immolation.

Dark things shoveled about in the dank tunnel, things he had read about, but never seen.

In his sudden burst of light, he knew, no, he felt  that the escape was into the dark.  He was correct that into the dark was where he should go, but he was wrong about the most basic thing, which is always this:

There is no escape.  There is no exit.

There is only the next entrance.

I Shiver   by Robert Cray 

Chrysalis held her man to her side as they stumbled along the bodies, making their way into the dark part of the tunnel.  The burning man was running towards them.  He had told them to run in this direction, before he had become engulfed in flames.

At first, she’d thought him to be a scary person, but when he'd called her and her husband Gregor by name, well, that had brought her fear back into sharp focus.

You must always bring your fear into sharp focus.  You can navigate, if you know that it is possible during such horror.

You simply turn off the part of your brain that is trying to make sense of things, and you clear the emotions away.

You focus on your options.  Without fear to cloud your judgment, you may have a chance.

Fear is good for one thing: energy.  You will not much time before the adrenaline dissipates and you vomit, in such a life and death event.

Make use of this energy well.

The burning man ran blindly, and he tumbled and fell across the bodies dead and the ones getting up on their legs, and he caught some of them on fire.

Chrysalis tugged and pulled her beloved along, for she was not as bad off as was he.

She felt the heat from the man on fire as he whipped past and she saw that there were very few bodies lying in the muck in the path ahead.

To where?

Why did she follow his orders?

Would there be a dead end?

She knew about following orders.

Hell, she had followed Gregor all of this time without knowing exactly what is was that he pursued, nor why.  She only had known how wealthy, how rich he had become, and the power…

All of the power, in that ugly Sans Joking desert valley, where, thousands of years ago, a mighty river had coursed.

She had enjoyed the things that extreme wealth can purchase.

But underneath it all, she held one thing dear.

It was the one she held now.

The burning man ran past them and then he faltered.

He fell down, there, far off, in the darkness.

She hobbled along with her man clutched close to her side, toward the dying man ahead.

He was burning to death.

As she neared, she understood that he was gone.

He had become a spark again, but she did not know that he was free to find another soul to inhabit.

She had trust for one thing, and it was her loyalty to Gregor.

The others far behind her arose and screamed while they burned.  But they did something odd.  They ran away from the burning man.

So, she hobbled forth to the burning man lying there in the dark end of the tunnel.  He had frightened off the whisperers saying their creepy things…

“…not going back to the fires…”

“…that was not the Master…”

“…why am I so hungry now?...”

“...do not go to the burning man… head this way…”

Gregor slipped from her tight grasp and this made her stumble and fall.  She could not hold him up.

He dissipated, and she knew that he, too, was gone.

But she wouldn’t have it.

She rolled over onto her knees and grabbed him.  She pulled him up for he weighed much less than her, without any flesh on his leg bones, and she shook him.

She screamed.

She said, “Gregor!  Do not leave me alone!  Do not go without me!  Do not leave me behind!”

The whisperers stopped and turned back to where the screams echoed.

She said, “How will I find you?!  How will I know you?  Do not leave me!”

Gregor felt his body diminish and he hovered in the darkness.  He could see his body, below, in the darkness of the tunnel.  He could see the one who had been carrying him, as he had faded into the depths of death, again.  She was illuminated by the dying fire of the burning man.  The flames became wisps, and then…

Then all went black.

Gregor floated about in the darkness of the Walk-In eternity, and he looked about for her.

His One.

He could not see anything but another spark, flitting off a pace, and he thought it might be her.

He followed this spark.

He left his woman in the dark.

Now, Gregor couldn’t be blamed.  He simply thought that he was following her into the dark.

The spark raced off, far away, avoiding other sparks nearby.  It seemed to be heading back to a distant place.

Gregor did not know that he followed the Chauffeur.

He did not know that the Chauffeur wanted to find the place from which they had left.

He was heading towards the Purple Mansion, away from the dark heart of Fuckno, the death knell in that sordid megalopolis of the Sans Joking river valley.

Yet, it would be much different there at that place on the greens.

A cannibal was afoot.

Sven had taken over that place.

Chrysalis looked back over her shoulder at them whisperers.  They were silent now as the last flickers of flame died from the burning man’s body.

She shook Gregor but he did not respond.  She tried to tug him up, closing her eyes and pulling with all of her might.

Her new body did not respond all that well.  It was still overdosed, and she had expended the remnants of its adrenaline.

She knew that Gregor was gone, but she did not blame him.  Whatever was going on, she knew that his absence was not his choice.

How many times had he promised her that they would always be together?  Pillow talk is the land of the husband and wife, and there are things told in secret that we must not intrude, here.  In such secret meetings, the whispers of the one you hold dear are the most sacred pacts.  To be married means that you and she have become One.  You will never be held to bear witness against your mate.  It is the ultimate sanctity.

Gregor had died in her arms, and even though it was not his original body that she held, she felt grateful that he had not died alone.

But now, she  was alone.

To where should she go next?

If she took her own life, she believed that suicide would prevent her from ever seeing him again.

She stopped her crying and wiped her eyes, and she opened them, with hitching breaths.

She looked back at the flames of them bodies back where the burning man had poured the fuel everywhere.

She saw shadows moving about, and they grew larger.

They were coming closer.

They had heard her screams, her pleadings to her dead man, and them shadows were hungry for her.

She placed Gregor’s new body down and kissed his face in the dark.  Even though she knew it was not his real body (that had died, along with hers, back at the Mansion) she treated his last vessel with delicate attention.

She was alone, and she would fight.

She looked about for a weapon.  She would fight for her life, and perhaps that was the way to go.  Die as a martyr and not commit suicide.

There were bones there in the dark; she could see them.  They glowed blue.

What was this?

Over by the last flickers of flame from the body of the burning man, there was a blue light that glinted on them bones.

It shined down on the burning man’s body as well.

She crawled over to the burning man’s body and went to touch it.  Was he a saint?  A ghost?  Was he glowing with blue light because he was holy?

Upon her hand she saw the blue light.  Her hand glowed in blue.

It shined down from above.

She sat back and looked up.

The burning man had died underneath a hole in the tunnel’s roof, as if to show exodus.

Indeed, it was the way out of the tunnel.

It led up to the ugly streets of Fuckno, if she would use the metal rungs cemented into its surface…

...Lenny Sustenuto had used this very same tunnel the night before.

There was hope after all.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 5 LIGHT (beta version)

I Will Possess You    by Death Cab For Cutie  

Christopher The Chauffeur held the container up over his head.  His face had been partially eaten, but for some reason, he could feel no pain.

It was because he was in a body that had been drugged out.

The other two, Gregor and Chrysalis, they were in new bodies that had overdosed, but a Walkin is not impacted nor infected by the mindlessness of drugs that the owner has partaken.  All they have is the limp body to try to use.

Pain comes only if the body was not drugged. 

None of these three felt any pain at all.

That was why when The Chauffeur doused the ground with flammable liquid, and then caught on fire, he felt nothing at all.

Chrysalis hobbled along with her beloved, Gregor.  He wasn’t moving all that fast.

But when the sudden burst of light filled the tunnel with sight, she looked down and saw that most of the meat from his legs had been chewed away.

He was losing quite a lot of blood.

He was not long for this world.

She turned (like Lot’s wife) to look back at what source of light had erupted, and she saw a burning figure with his arms out-stretched.  He had dropped the canister of fuel and stood there, unable to see.

His head was engulfed in flames.

Whispers about her became shrieks.

“The Fires of Hell!  Too soon!”

“I am not ready to leave this place!”

“Too bright!”

Chrysalis pulled Gregor along to the dark end of the tunnel, and then she saw others who scrambled away from the light.

And that was when the burning man howled and ran towards them.

(To Be Rewritten)

God Help You

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 4 Navigation Without Stars

A Panjan Drum is a nonsensical event.  In the manner which you navigate such deep, dark waters of the unknown, one may find their Mettle.  Persevere and find your way in spite of it all.

Heavy Bells   by  J. Roddy Walston and The Business  

We continue from the previous chapter.  

Christopher didn’t want to continue on with these two who had followed him from the séance table where they all died together, but they must know things that he didn’t.

Perhaps they could work together.  They might navigate in the dark.

He said, “The world has ended.  But there is still hope.  We can hope to make our way.  We have to help each other.”

Gregor wouldn’t have it.  He shook his head left and right over and over again until his eyes opened wide and he fell backwards again into the mud.   Dizziness overtook him as his wife, in her new body, began to wail.

This caused other sounds in the dark tunnel to occur.

There were whispers.

“New meat…”

“Who are they?”

“I’m hungry…”

Well, that didn’t sound all that good to Christopher.  He knew about the hunger, but he hadn’t a chance to fully explore it.  The other two would feel it for the first time. They did not have much time. They were about to be attacked and he knew it.  He could feel it in his bones.

He said, "Shut the fuck up!"

Lenny Sustenuto had opened a Gate of Hell in this very tunnel the previous night.  

Here’s how that happened.  http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-fuckno-wars-tfw-ch-27-lenny-eats.html

The Chauffeur collected his wits in a moment of looking deep within.

Gregor and Chrysalis.  They had called him from his death in the bathroom of the cottage by their mansion.  They knew things about which he had no clue.  They spoke with an odd accent, but Christopher knew that they had been born in Armedmenia, in the Eastern Bloc occupied by the former USSR back then.

They had called him with their séance, among them other Purple Robes.

Now they needed all of their wits about them.  But the other two slipped in the mud, and their odd accent was slurred.

What new bodies did each of them awaken in?  Where were they, and what was about to happen?

Well, mistah, Christopher The Chauffeur was no stranger to the dark heart of human nature.  He had learned how to deliver two things, which were these:  Opiates for the masses, and also, the one who would deliver them.

Clutch   by Regulator  

He was witness to the ugliness of our human existence.  He was not afraid of such a thing.  He had become inured by the things he had seen.  He had tempered his Mettle into cold, hard steel.

He could navigate quite well.

His young patron, Prince Richard (of them Armedmenia Purple Robes), well, he was the vehicle.

How many times did the phone ring in the middle of the night, when Christopher dreamed of his woman back down there below the border, awaiting his own call to her, to rescue her from poverty?

How many times had he stalked past the look-outs at the Crack Castle, the Heroin Hotel, the Meth Mansion?  Each of those places were decrepit, sordid, abandoned buildings down in the southern avenues of Fuckno.

Christopher knew them streets very well.

Many times he had stood impassive, facing drawn weapons, and he simply shrugged and said, “I am here to collect the Prince.”

How many times had he rescued the drugged-out young rich man and brought him back home to safety?

But you know, he began to talk to them folks.

He made his own connections.  

He was good at making money, and he did not partake of his product.

Soon enough, he was the one who provided the Prince with the materials.  He simply let the young fellow do all the dirty work.

Mule.

All for a single purpose:  to bring his lady up out of the dark of the south.

Now it was his time to rise and shine.

Christopher pulled a lit torch from the nearby wall of the dark tunnel and he swung it around.  The ripple of the flame made a sound like the flapping wings of a crow.  He saw below him many bodies.  They looked to be passed out from drug use, and he was familiar with such a sight, from collecting the Prince.

Except for one difference:  Some of them were missing their flesh.  Something, or someone, had been at them. 

Someone there in the dark had been eating.

Perhaps it wasn’t a single person?

The whispers about him grew louder, into hisses.

“He is alive…”

"He is fleshy…”

"I am hungry…”

He flashed the torch about as his hairs stood up. 

He saw two lost souls clutching each other nearby and he went to them. 

He knelt by them and pulled up the one who was protecting the other.  He whispered to her, “Chrysalis?”

She looked up into his eyes, and she shrank away.

He said her name again, and she nodded and looked behind her.

He said, “Close your eyes.  We have to get used to the dark again.  I’ll be right back.”

She whimpered and turned back.  She looked up into his eyes and said, “I do not know you!  Why should I trust you?”

He said, “Everything is changed now.  You caused us to be here.  I am your Chauffeur.  I am Christopher.  I will get you out of here.”

She faltered, looking about into the dark around her.  He swung the light about and saw other bodies beginning to stir.  Eyes glinted in the dark.

He said, “Now close your eyes, get up, and get him up, too!  We have to leave very quick!”

She struggled to her knees and grabbed at Gregor.

Christopher turned to look at those who were whispering and looking to the torch he held.

He had never done it before, what he was about to do.

But he was quite familiar with the dark.

He would have to run amok now.

He would have to set people on fire.

He turned back to Chrysalis and said, "Hurry the fuck up!"

Christopher ran forth.  He charged.  He screamed and swung the light about, watching the mud below where he might step next.  The mud squished between his toes.  Someone had taken his footwear.  Hell, he didn’t even know how he looked now.  His appearance was different enough to frighten the old woman who now inhabited a new body.  It was her first time in a new body as well.

He did not realize, until after, that some of his face was missing.

But he'd memorized her face in the light of the torch, as much as he had memorized the face of the big man who had killed him moments before all of this, near the Jeep.

How many times could someone die and come back in a new body? 

What a fucked-up dream he was having.

He kicked one of the whisperers in the mouth and it hurt his heel.  He stumbled and the torch landed on a body nearby.  Sparks from the fuel in the torch scattered about as he got back up on his knees.  He saw the clothing of the body alight, and he grabbed the torch back up.  He set others on fire:  their hair, their clothing, anything that would ignite in that dank, dark dungeon of despair.

Some of the bodies began to writhe in pain as they awakened, and others hissed from around him.

“He is ruining our feast!”

“This will not happen…”

“He must be stopped…”

He turned around and saw the other direction, the place where he had left the other two.

All he could see was the afterglow of the flight flames.  Blue images blinded him in the dark, in that direction.  He would have to try to escape without sight.  But first, he knew that he needed to make the flames become a fire.

Folks around him began to rise up.  They were unsteady on their knees.  All of them in the tunnel were drugged-out.  Some had been eaten.  A Gate of Hell had been opened.

There was a hunger which knew no Earthly bound.

Christoper stumbled over legs and arms to a table set up with two torches on either side.  All of the bodies around the table had been mangled.  There were containers of fluid: what was inside?

He figured that this was fuel.

Perhaps we would be correct.

It might save time, but it would not close the Gate.  

Might it open them further?

He did not know, and he did not care.

Christopher would have to drive.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

.

TCC CH 3 PANJAN DRUM

Stukenberg    Great song.  These guys need a good publicist.

Christopher The Chauffeur found a new vehicle in that tunnel below the streets of the southern part of the asshole of the desert.  Sometimes, a vehicle is neither a cup nor a car.

You recall Lenny Sustenuto whom had also found himself to be a Walk-In cannibal.  He had Walked-In to a junkie passed out with a rubber hose tie-off tied too tight and left on for too long.   Ever waken with a numb arm from a crooked position?  It was like that.  Lenny was crooked anyway so he was used to it.

Yet, Lenny had done something even worse than eat human flesh in that tunnel.  He’d become the first Walkin cannibal to eat his own flesh.  Hey, don’t look at him that way.  It was out of necessity.  He was about to acquire sepsis from the gangrene.  And also, he’d been hungry.  Blecch.  Gangrene flesh must have not been very tasty.

He ate the flesh off from his own arm and picked the bones clean.  Afterwards he used his own arm as a weapon.  Re-use, reduce, recycle, right?

In eating his own flesh, he had opened the gates of Hell.

You’ve already read this stuff.

It’s only that Christopher hadn’t a clue about Lenny.  God Help him, as we visit him there in that tunnel.

Goons   by Mona  

He saw the other two nearby him stir wake.  The Chauffeur rose up and checked himself form inside out.  Nothing was broken.  He simply felt a bit dizzy.  He was damp about the face and back.  That was most likely from the water in the underground tunnel.

The other two beside him began to murmur, but their words came out all slurred.

He could barely make out what they were saying,  and it gave him the willies.

“Gregor, are you theyah?”

“Indeed, zzsat vetgrenadal, miszzapininea.  I am here my love.”

They pulled and tugged upon each other and sat up.  They looked to be very groggy, in the pale flickering light of the nervy torch flame.

Good thing that there was no methane in the tunnel, but perhaps that had already been burned off.

Christopher cleared his throat and the other two startled.  Gregor said, “Who is eet?  How are you!?”

The response was, “I am Christoff, at your service.”

The woman said, “I am Chrysalis, and this ees Gregor.  I theenk that we knew you as the Chauffeur.  We hired you a while back.  But something has changed about us all.”

Christopher said, “Yes, a lot has changed.  I am no longer you r driver.  I am just a passenger, like you two are now.”

Gregor said, “This is unacceptable.  This is not possible.  I have wealth.  I have holdings.  I have power.  I have---“

Chrysalis shouted.  She said, “Vee are in a tunnel.  Vee have nothing.”

Christopher had about enough of this shit, but he knew that they knew things that he didn’t.  Perhaps they could work together.

He said, “The world has ended.  But there is still hope.  We can hope to make our way.  We have to help each other.”

Gregor wouldn’t have it.  He shook his head left and right over and over again until his eyes opened wide and he fell backwards again into the mud.   Dizziness overtook

TCC CH 2 BAD APPLE

Tiny gems glinted in the pitch black void.  How near?  How far?  There was no distance, and time did not exist for him,

…again.

Christopher was a chauffeur without a car to drive.  He had lost everything that meant anything to him. 

It just hadn’t sunk in yet.  It was a dream he felt he would awaken from soon.  It was a horrible dream. 

Bad Apple   by Gauntlet Hair   

He saw the two purple glints that had followed him and he went to them.  He watched them hover about each other, near another, solitary gem that had no hint of color.  He watched those two purple sparks try to enter the same gem at once, and then they would get tossed away from it.  But they did not give up.

He shot off to it and hovered and then he peered closely at the white gem.  It was a portal into another room, and inside, he could make out the face of a man with a bloody face.  This man was not long for the world.   It was useless to enter the gem.  It wouldn’t last for very long.  How many times could one choose a new gem, a new portal?

Christopher eased back from the damaged gem and turned to find the purple sparks.  They had moved closer to each other and away from him. 

He shoot right up in front of them and looked closely at them.  He saw the faces of the old man and his wife from before, from the séance table.  They looked younger, however, and afraid.  They did not have their lavender marble mansion or their velvet covered chairs anymore.  They had as much as he, which was nothing.

He turned away from them and flew off to other sparks. 

The other two followed him, zipping about like fireflies testing out their new wings.

Christopher felt the light glow about him as he walked in to a new person.  He looked about and saw others lying in the dark pools of liquid with torchlight flickering off a few yards.  The torch stood like a sentry, stuck into the mud and muck of the water’s edge.  At almost the same instant, he watched two others folks near him jolt awake.  The three of them lied in a jumble of bodies in what appeared to be a tunnel.

He knew that the other two were the old man and his wife.

He had counted on this.

See you this weekend.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

TCC CH 1 DICHOTOMY OF A MAN

The man had left his native homeland in search of money, and in doing so, he’d left behind the one he held dear.  He wanted to make money to bring her across to be with him in the new land.

He considered himself to be a man of honor and strength, but he made money with no value in its earning.  Whatever it took he would grab and stash it, for her.

He held her close inside, but he held no guilt in sleeping with other women.  He figured that in this new land, nothing applied to him.  He was a shadow, a man who lived within the dark territory of the borderland.  There were no rules for him.

An opportunity to drive vehicles for a wealthy family appeared one day a few months ago, and he thought that his prayers had been answered.

The condition in which he found himself now, well, it made him consider things.  Was he being punished?

He had truly entered the borderland.  He was a man without his own body, without a future with his woman, without anything at all.

THE

CHAUFFEUR

CHAPTERS

CH  1

The Last Fight   by Velvet Revolver   

Christopher hobbled away as fast as he could on his knees, with his busted legs flipping and tossing about behind, held on by tendons.  He felt faint from the pain this caused, but he need to be able to turn and see the face of the man who had run him over before he perished.

He would carry this image with him as he faded away and searched for a new spark to inhabit, all over again.  He figured that this was how it was going to be for him, until he woke up, that was.   What a weird dream he was having.

Seen looked at this pitiful sight before him.  The woman hadn’t a leg to stand upon, but off she thumped away, like she was late for a nail appointment.

He watched her go off, and he felt a bit of amazement.  What was this thing that people exhibited, this striving to remain alive in spite of grave injuries and imminent annihilation? 

Why bother?

Well, mistah, the answer came back to the old Walkin almost as quickly as he’d considered it.  He remembered that they were not eternal like him.  They each had only one go around on this tiny blue marble, lost in the vast depths of space and time.

This made the opportunity to be alive a priceless gift.  But from whom?

And why only once?

He felt the hunger in his belly from the infection of the cannibal, and all these thoughts left him.  He walked off to the lady.

Christopher understood that he should always fight for his life whenever it was threatened.  He looked about for something to use as a weapon.  He saw a very strange thing lying there.  It was the arm of a man, but only bones remained.  The pink bones were held together by sinew and tendons, much as his own legs were at the shattered knees now, and such connections are quite tough.

Well he grabbed it by the hand, like a handshake from a skeleton.  He would use this as a weapon.

He turned around, ready to face his next demise.  The scent of the blood oozing from the marrow of his weapon made his stomach grumble.  Why was he so hungry all the time?

The man walked towards Christopher with the blood on his face from the body he had been biting, and he had an odd look in his eyes.  Was it…   admiration?

Seen came up close to the woman and she swung the bony arm at his knees.  All appearances of wonder left his face as he hopped back.  He leaned back and laughed out from his belly.  Who the hell was this scrappy chick, anyway?  He kept chuckling as he dropped down onto both knees to await another attack from her.

She did not swing her weapon.  Instead, she seemed to be sizing him up.  Or scouring his face for answers.  He didn’t know that she was memorizing his features. 

He said, “Well hello there little lady.  You seem to be a bit short of patience.  I’m not usually big on introductions, but seeing how are not long for this world, do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Christopher shook his head.  He looked into the eyes of the man who was about to kill him, and a strange thing occurred.  Each of them felt a connection.  Darkness, borderland, glints of light, waiting.   And then hunger:  that was a new thing.

Seen felt his head buzz.  What the hell was this?  He’d witnessed it the night before with the television guy in the van, on the other side of the closed driver’s window.  A connection.  Two would-be victims looked into his eyes, and they seemed…  familiar.

What he didn’t know was that Walkins can see each other.

The hunger in his belly got the best of him.  He dove forth before the woman could swing the arm again and he grabbed her head as they both fell.  He kissed her skun up face and said, “I will put you to bed my dear.”  

Then he smashed her head against the concrete.

Red Sky    by Thrice  

Sven lied next to the lady and ran his fingers across her nipple.  Who was she?  Why did she have the hunger like him?  How long it had been, traveling the path of the cannibal in isolation, with never even a thought that there might be someone else for the likes of him?

He did not know that Sherry would be the one to kill him, but that is at the end part.  He did not know that she would kill him because she held vengeance in her heart, even under this new affliction of the hunger for human flesh.

Sven whispered to her, “Should we shower again?  Such a lovely shower, in there.”

She smiled with her eyes closed and said, “No.  I want to carry your scent on me.”

He had never known such a thing, that a woman would ever say such a thing to him.

After they were dressed he led her out to the automobile in front of the cottage and opened the passenger side door for her.  It was the car that belonged to the young man whose body he now inhabited.  It was painted a dark purple: an aberration for such a lovely machine.  A bruise.

As he clicked the door shut, he caught his face in the reflection of the window and was startled.  He needed to remind himself that this was how he looked now.

He walked around to the driver’s door, and he considered things.  He was in a very fit, attractive body now, with face features of western Slavic origin, and his name was Richard.  He was evidently a prince.  Of what or from where, he had no clue.  But Sven was very smart, and he would figure it out as he went along.

It was time to head back to the mansion with the purple marble columns.

It was time to see what fun awaited.  He adjusted his cufflinks and straightened his tie.

He was going to have some marvelous fun today.

He undid the lower button of his suit coat and climbed in behind the wheel.

+   +   +   +   +   +   +

Inside the séance room, the high purple robes had a mess to clean up.

The High Priest and Priestess were both dead.  The old man had busted his chair apart and attacked his wife, chewing at her neck and face.  He was then put down by the Chairman.  No pun intended.

In every organization, there is the One who makes things happen.  The decision may or not be made by this person, but they order the movement of others.  This was how it had come to be for them Purple Robes.

It was out of necessity.  The religion aspect was what had driven their culmination of power in the asshole of the desert.  Power resulted from gaining control of water from the nearby mountains in to this desert farmland, and then it came from introducing electricity.  Ultimately, the power of policy and decision-making afforded itself to purchase.

Then it becomes necessary to put in place a trusted ally, one who can manage the people in the structure in order to keep it running properly and keep it from damage and injury.

The administering of what must be done remains in the hold of the creator of the whole thing.  That becomes their only concern, when one has trusted allies both within their own structure, and without:  in the political engine of the surrounding community.

This had occurred over many decades in the megalopolis of Fuckno.  In such a construct, the decision-making is done by the one who created the structure.  It is from such a person that the organization flourished.  It is their corporate culture that they have created, and while their decision periodically might be questioned, (perhaps should be, for if one cannot withstand proper questioning, then one risks failure from unseen considerations) it is never truly challenged until things turn for the worst.

This had happened:  the old man had killed his wife.

Who allows his wife to engage in such a dangerous activity as speaking with the dead?

Who places his woman in harm’s way like this?

It was a bad decision.

The Chairman had considered this, for that was his job.  He was supposed to consider every possible outcome of each decision, and speak them to the Head.

But the old man didn’t want to hear it this time.

It was the bravado, the macho sensibility of the old school, them Armedmenia folks from the old country, that had led to the death of both of the high holy figures in their organization.

The old man done doomed himself and his wife in this way.

And now, their son, Prince Richard, well, he was next in line to take the control of the whole thing.

The Chairman did not know that it would all end very soon and he needn’t be bothered with anything at all.

He simply knew that he would have to take control of everything.

The young punk Richard was a druggie and couldn’t be trusted to lead anything or anyone.

Of course, there was also a bit of a glow.

The Chairman as the Head? 

It felt a bit intoxicating to him.

+   +   +   +   +   +   +

Prince Richard drove slowly along the far-reaching lawns of the compound as he had seen the chauffeur do.  Do not scatter the white quartz pebbles.  On a moonless night, the weight of the tires, or even a shoe would cause tiny sparks to flash from these quartz stones as they pressed and clicked against each other.  It was a marvel to behold.

He stopped the sports car in front of the mansion and went around to let the lady out.  Yes, he had been fucking the maid, and now he wanted everyone to know.

He would make his way into the mansion with her as a diversion from him.  He was very different now, to them.  He would use her as a shield from their inspection of him and speculations.

That was how Sven was.

But you knew that.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

Tempest    by Deftones