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