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  

TFW CH 26 SOMEBODY ELSE IS ME

When you are alone and adrift in an empty sea, you must count your resources.  The single most important resource of all is drinkable water.

If you have this most basic thing, then you might have a chance to survive.

You simply need to understand its value.

Afraid   by The Neighborhood

Christopher heard an old man shouting in his ear.  He wanted to go back.  He didn’t know what the hell was happening.

He saw the other people staring at him, and they looked scared.  He had never before seen such fear in the eyes of those who beheld him.

What had he done to deserve such regard?

Christopher just wanted to leave, to head back to his woman.  He would be safe there, in her arms, looking in her eyes.

It was the only thing he had ever wanted.  It was why he had been earning money and saving it all this time.  Whatever it took, whatever the means, he did not care. 

You see, there are no laws, there are no rules, there is nothing that exists to be broken but for the promise to your One.

The old man yelled:  “WHERE IS MY SON?!”

The other faces in front of him shrank away from the ferocity of this scream, and then he heard his own voice come out of the old man’s mouth.

He said, “Your son is gone.”

To each, a One.

He felt the release of the old man on his

…what?

His soul?

His being?

He yanked and brought the knuckles of the lady who held his right hand up to his mouth as he thrust forth to take a bite of them.

He felt the old man’s spine crack as he leaned over way too far and then both chairs tipped together and fell to the floor like a young couple seeking a hidden kiss under the table.

Such lovely old chairs, dried out in the arid desert for decades in the elegant room; They broke apart.

He used what little strength was left in the old man’s body to wrench himself out of the mess and attack.

He crawled with the armrests of the fancy chair still bound to his frail wrists, and he pummeled his neighbor.  He felt his forearms break as he swung them sticks of wood at her head, but he paid no mind. 

He was hungry.

He bit deep into the side of her neck and pulled away a greasy mouthful of fat and chewed.

The searing pain of his broken arms surged his adrenaline, and he spat out the skin and globules of hot fat and went for her face.

As her blood spurted out all over his broken arms, he heard the others shout.

“Stop him!”

“What is happening?!”

“He’s killing her!”

“He’s eating her!”

Then he heard his own mouth shriek.  It was the old man whose body he now inhabited.  “My Son is gone!  My son is Gone!  My One is Gone!”

It echoed through the darkened room on that fine, sunny day.

He felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, and his ears rang.

Then all was black.

In a bit, he saw the frail body of the old man convulsing below him.  Christopher was watching from above.

Again.

He saw one man swinging a piece of the old chair at the old man’s head over and over again and another man dragging away the body of the woman he had just killed.

There was a mess, like one might see on the floor of a slaughterhouse for beef.

The séance was over, evidently. 

But now, two more Walkins had been born.

One was the high priest of them Purple Robes.

The other was his wife.

Why would a man allow his wife to participate in such a dangerous exercise as to try to communicate with the dead?

  

Only one group of people had a clue.

The Purple Robes knew that such a thing was possible.

They simply hadn’t thought it would ever happen.

Now they had a clue.

Thirst   by City And Color

Christopher The Chauffeur still did not know what was going on.   As the life ebbed from the old man’s body, the room darkened even more.

Christopher found himself in the blackness of eternity yet again.  Something was different.  The ring of tiny gems, the lights of each around the séance, them Purple Robes in a trance, well, they were gone. 

Yet, two tiny lights floated about him.  They were colored with a purple tint.

Indeed, he was as lost as they were.

He knew that if he could find another tiny gem, he could enter it.  The other two, the old man and his wife:  they did not.

He felt the weight of a million years press upon him like the heft of a heavy blanket.  In such isolation, it could drive a man mad. 

He looked across the pitch black space all about him and he indeed saw another spark.  A window.  An entrance.

A Walkin can enter only a living soul who is unconscious.

He moved towards it.  It was quite far off.

He had no idea about the distance.  Was it a hundred yards?  Was it a hundred miles?  Was it a hundred lifetimes?

As he neared, he felt like he was being chased.

He turned about as he sped, and saw that the other two sparks, them purple ones, were following him.

They did not see anything either, in the vast dark of emptiness.  They saw only him, in his own glint of light, as he sped to the other, distant one.

How long would it take to reach the spark?  It did not appear to grow larger, and he wondered why it was taking so long.  If this was truly a dream after all, why couldn’t he just…

…suddenly…

 …be there?

And then he was.

He neared the tiny gem and as he hovered about it, he saw them tiny purple glints as a single spark, far off.  Then, they slowly became two distinct points of light.

They were coming.

He peered into the gem and saw the vantage point of the soul that gave off the weak light.

He grabbed this tiny gem.

It was the body that had been run over by Seen in his stolen Jeep.  She was unconscious.  Her body was mangled. 

As he saw her weak light flood over him, he felt all of her physical pain in a single moment, and it made him scream.

Seen turned back from Lenny and his eyes were wide.  He said, “She looks like she will need more tenderizing.”

Christopher felt his new body from the inside to outward.

Her left arm was broken, her knees were shattered, and her face felt like it had been scrubbed with a cheese grater.

The pain was exquisite.  Her body had expended its amount of endorphins released from the devastating injuries, and now there were only pain messages available for him in the synapses.

He rolled over and got to his knees.  Although the splintered patellas exploded with white hot fury, he found an odd sort of pleasure underneath the pain.

It was the infection of the cannibal torturer that caused this.

Many were like him now in the asshole of the ugly king of the desert, the southern parts of the city of Fuckno.

Christopher felt his left arm give way with the shards of broken bone, so he steadied himself with the other one.  He could not stand.

Instead, he began to crawl away on the cartilage of the ends of each thigh bone, and he felt the skin split around each knee.

Soon, raw bone would meet asphalt.

He was alive, and he wanted to get away.

Certainly them purple tiny sparks that had followed him would be nearby.  Perhaps they would find other bodies to inhabit.

The infected part of the megalopolis held many folks who would unwittingly lend their bodies to any Walkin.

You see, there were no rules anymore.

If you had a hankering for drugs, then you probably knew who held them.

If you held such a thing, then you were in great danger.

Everyone who wanted such a thing would be knocking at your door by now.

And partaking of heroin, crack, etcetera.  Those who passed out in their intoxication from such imbation were now vulnerable to new Walkins.

These would include the two Purple Robes whom had followed their Chauffeur to the dark part of Fuckno.  The High Priest, and his wife, the High Priestess, well, they were in for a party.

Do I Wanna Know?   By Artic Monkeys  

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

.

Rewrtitten: CH 25, Darkness to Purple

Evidently, this character Christopher the Chauffeur had much more to say than I had let him.  It is important to not get in the way of your own tale.

Flume  by Bon Iver  

This was written by lantern light in the middle of a howling storm, with all of the power out in the whole county.  It's been a while since I wrote with pen and paper, and it's like putting on a t-shirt that's about to fall apart.  Comfy.


I have terrible handwriting, but the content is passable.  Click on it if you would like to make it bigger...

Thanks for checking it out.

Bandoliers   by Them Crooked Vultures

God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.


.

TFW CH 25 Purple Soup

(Version three, with tunes)

TFW CH 25 Purple Soup

Green Day   Brain Stew and Jaded  

Christopher the Chauffeur squeezed the hands of those on either side of him but he could not get them to pay attention.

The man whose bodyu he now inhabited shouted.  He said, “Release them!  They intend you no harm!”

Christopher was afraid.  Who was this man inside his head?  What the hell was going on?

He swung his head left and right and shouted out.  He said, “I want to go back!  There is danger here!  Let me go!”

The faces around him shrieked as he

Gunman   by Them Crooked Vultures  

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

.

TFW CH 24 SHOWER AND FLOSS

Train To Nowhere   by The Dead 60’s   

When the arm bones were picked clean,  Sven set his carver blade down next to the butcher and he burped.

Sherry sat back on her heels and looked up at him.  Her face dripped blood. 

She said, “Where are your manners?”

Sven smiled back at her.  He said, “You have something on your face.  Is that an artery?  You know, those are good for a bit of floss for the teeth…”

Sherry laughed.  She wiped her face with bloody fingers and found it.  She held it up, dangling there in the morning light coming through the fresh day outside the guest bathroom window and she examined it.

She said, “Little lost friend, how have I been missing you.”

She sucked it in like spaghetti. 

She burped.

Sven said, “Harlot.”

Sherry said, “Bastard.”

It was time to purge and cleanse.

A full belly is not the intent of a cannibal.  It is the eating that awaits.

Indeed, they each stuck their fingers in their throats and expelled the contents of their bloated bellies, onto the dead man.

A shower, some fresh clothing, and don’t forget the teeth.  A good cannibal must make himself presentable for the next course.

Off they went, tracking bloodied footprints down the hall to the master bedroom.

They left the Chauffeur behind in the guest bathroom because it was a wash room with a toilet and a simple shower stall.

Upon entrance into the master bedroom, there were two other doors.

Sven walked to the closest and flicked on the light.  There he saw walls of suits and track shoes and drawers that probably held many more various clothing accouterment and bangles inside them.  

There was also a space of clothing for the ladies.

Evidently, the young man whose body he now inhabited was accustomed to clothing the latest catch of the night, perhaps to afford the young lass the chance to perform the walk of shame away from the mansion grounds in proper manner.

This immense walk-in closet would suit them both quite well.

Past the large bed, the other door opened up to a bathroom of kingly proportions.

Side pockets for his and her thrones (each with proper bidet and also ventilation fans) were set into the far corners, on either side of the large room.

Large mirrors with sinks below them faced opposing walls, and in the middle of the room, there was the shower.

The cottage held no bathtub at all. 

The shower was glass-walled on three sides, with the door facing Sven.

He whistled long and low.

Here was money.  Sometimes,  rich folks enjoy a good shower.

He walked to it and peered inside, up.

There were sunflower-type shower heads set all about in the ceiling.

It would be like a summer shower with steamy hot water pouring down inside the whole thing.

Hell, there were even some Italian marble benches for sitting in order to cleanse the feet.

He walked back to the entrance of this room and saw a control panel on the wall.  He recognized that the light switches were all made of rubber push-buttons.  The plate was encased with clear vinyl. The whole bathroom must have been constructed to be waterproof.

He pressed them buttons, and all of  the lights came on.

Indeed, the chandeliers over each sink glowed on either wall, and then music began to ebb from hidden speakers.

The lights around each mirror lit up the place, and the floor began to warm.

There was another button with only one word embedded into its red rubber top, and it read, “ON.”

He pressed it.

The shower awoke.

Somebody really liked to have a good wash.

Treat Her Like A Lady    by Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose     

They showered together. 

It was hard not to make a move on the bloody woman, but he knew that he should take care of himself first.  Here was a new body from him, and he found it to be quite athletic. 

It is proper for a gentleman to allow a lady to cleanse herself with relative privacy, but they were, you know, naked in the shower together.

+   +   +   +   +   +   +

Sven glared into the wide mirror before him.  He would never get used to looking back at a new face from the looking glass.  Mirrors hold the visage of the living face, but they also contain the memories of the ones from the past.

He began to forget his old face.  But here, he looked into the face of a young man, and his teeth were perfect.  


Except for the meat.

He opened a drawer and found teeth brushes and floss.

It was time to floss.

After he finished, Sherry stepped out of the shower and put a towel over her hair.  She loved her long hair.  It was new.

Sven savored the sight of her dripping, lithe body, her full breasts, and he could not contain himself.  The only member of his club stood erect and saluted like a proper warrior.

She still had meat in her teeth, but that only made her more attractive to him.

She nodded down at his exclamation point.  She said, “Are we going to have to apply pressure to reduce the swelling?”

Sven said, “It is in need of a hot, damp compress, and elevation.”

A large bed awaited them.

They would make use of it quite well.

 Indeed.

+   +   +       +   +   +

The mental floss of the new Walkin floated about the purple crowd of folks sitting at a séance circle, and he settled into one.  It was the one wearing a ceremonial crown atop his noggin.

The Chauffeur awoke with a jolt, like a white hot prod to the spine.  He swung his head left and right to get a view of those who surrounded him at the table, and he tried to jump up.

He was bound at the wrists by straps, and his hands were held by the two folks on either side of him, in their own.  He squeezed their hands with all of his might, and they howled.

He hissed.  He said, “Let me go! Bad things are happening here!  Can’t you see?”

The others around the table sat back with their eyes wide open, and the two on either side of him struggled to release their hands from his grasp.

They could not.

But, they were trapped…

…by him.

He heard a voice from inside his own head.

It then shouted out of his mouth.

It said, “I have him!  Here is here with us now.  Do not be afraid.  He is in my control.”

The other faces did not seem to be relieved.

The voice coming from his mouth said, “I welcome you here.  What is your name?”

The Chauffeur felt a release from being hidden, and it was out of his control.  He found himself responding. 

His own voice came out of the mouth of his new body.

He said, “I am Christ-Offer.  I am released from my body.  Danger is here.”

He did not know why he was telling such truth.

He was beholden by them Purple Robes.

It’s just that they had the wrong guy…

That one was busy fucking the maid.

But this one, well, he was now hungry as well.

And do you know, my friend, this would end well for No One.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

Lift Me Up   by Five Finger Death Punch  

.

TFW CH 23 THE CHAUFFEUR REBORN

Bring Me The Head Of a Hipster  by The Computers  

Sven stood there before a young woman who was not afraid of his appearance.  He was completely bathed in the blood of a dying man lying on the bathroom floor.

He cocked his head to the side and said, “You have offered your name as Sherry.  That is a lovely aperitif.  In proper reciprocation, I will tell you my name. You may call me Prince Richard.”

Sherry shook her head.  She said,  "I know who you are supposed to be.  But who are you, really?”

My friend, you understand that Sven had never had a friend before.



Such is the life of a lonely cannibal.


And he was not about to let his guard down.

You also may remember that there were two young ladies who would join up, and in doing so, help others to take him down. 

In the Heroin Hotel, Sven had killed a young lady and her friends with morphine overdoses while they were passed out.  She had awakened just before her death convulsions just when her friends died.  They were all in a circle, around a small, low table.


They died, and Sven set their bodies on fire.

He had cut off the young lady's leg and used it as a torch to see down the stairs of the decrepit hotel, with Lenny Sustenuto following him.

Here’s the link to that.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

Sven considered things. 

As you know, he could do tall math in short time.

He understood that she was much like he was now:  Walked-In to a new body.

What he didn’t know was that he had infected the original Walkin, and in doing so, unleashed an army of such folks in the bowels of Fuckno.

Even deeper: Lenny Sustenuto had opened the Gates of Hell down there. We will get back to that in a bit.

So he appraised his shitiation and considered that he had not much to lose by making an acquaintance in this moment.  She might make a tasty meal, but he already had that beside him on the floor. 

However, she seemed to be a bit familiar with the mansion compound in which he found himself now.

She might be quite helpful.

If he tested her, and she followed suit, there was a good chance that he might be able to have some fun in the mansion.

These two were in a bathroom after all.  There was a shower handy for cleaning off after she dined with him.

Would she eat with him?

If she did, then she would prove herself.

But he would never allow her to have on of the knives: the Carver, or especially, the Butcher.

He grinned.

He wiped the blood off of his face as best he could and then stuck out his hand.  He said, “I am Sven.  Well met.”

Sherry walked through the pool of dark red blood and shook his hand.  She had the proper handshake: full and firm, not the finger clasp, nor the damp dead fish.

He nodded, and she looked him straight up into the eyes.

She had passed the first test.  Sven felt wonderful shivers up his injured spine.  A new friend?

He pointed down at the man beside him.  He said, “You appear to know this man.  Should we call for some doctors?”

Sherry nodded, “Delivery is very handy.  Doctors would taste very good I suppose.  But first, may I have an appetizer?”

Sven couldn’t help but laugh.  This was indeed a lovely tart.  And she was hungry like he was.

Runnin’   by Sinkane  

The man lying on the floor heard all of this, but in his state of release, which is far from shock and entering into the stages of dying, he was oblivious.  His eyes were gone, as well as his cheeks, nose, and top lip.  In such a state, he felt no pain, for the human brain sets the nerves into autopilot. 

The Fight or Flight response is no longer needed, you see. Instead, it is like the final stage of grief, which is Acceptance.  There is only one thing for the body left to do, and that is to shut everything down.

This starts with the adrenal glands, and the digestion system, and also the extremity circulation, especially when there is serious blood loss.  The human brain will save the last bit of blood for itself.  No one knows why, but it is, indeed, a self-preservation quality of our brain that is both remarkable, and also not fully understood.

So he lied there, awaiting his demise, and then he felt the tug and pull of folks tearing flesh from his body.

He heard the sounds make when someone is eating without  proper manners, or using a napkin.

He dissipated.

He found himself in a dark room, and looked down at a faint glow.

He saw two figures hunched over a body, and they were puling him about in a pool of dark liquid.  One figure used a carver blade, and the other used her teeth and hands.

In a bit, the view from above faded, and he could see nothing at all.

This man was left in a sea of pitch black eternity, with no stars to guide him along the sea of tranquility.

Desolate, unforgiving blackness welcomed him.  He could feel its weight.  He was lost in the emptiness of the Walkin, those eternal beings of which not much is known.

He ran and looked for something, anything:  a wall, a fall, a door, a hall.

In the distance, he saw a circle of bright lights, and they called to him.

Off he went.

As he approached, a faint haze of purple covered them.

He entered the cloud of haze and bent to peer at one of the sparks.

It was a portal, as were each of these small, shiny gems.

He saw a face inside.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that this gem was a tiny window.  Inside it he could see the visages of other folks, arranged in a circle. 

He went to the next one, and peered inside.  There he saw a the same circle of people, except that it was from a different perspective.

This was a tiara of tiny gems.  They were windows that offered a view of the others of them.

He saw an old man wearing a crown who sat at the table, three away to the right.

He went to that spark and held it up.

And then he felt its light enter his body, covering it, and he awoke.

The purple fog dissipated, and he found himself in awareness again. 

He was back.

Except, everyone around him was looking at him like they had been expecting him.

He sat in his new body in a soft chair in front of a round table, and then he heard a voice from inside his mind shout out:  “He is here!  I will ask him to speak now!”

Hah?

The Chauffeur did not know that he had walked in to a new body, or even what a thing meant.  He did not know that he was vulnerable now, since this was some sort of séance.

What the hell was going on?

He knew that he was in danger.

And…

He was quite hungry.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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