Fiction

The Watchmen of Perdition

By: David Leonard

I’m telling you this bitch will blow us both,” Devon told his buddy Tommy just before huffing one of two lines of coke he’d just finished meticulously chopping into as fine a powder as his debit card allowed. He quickly pinched his nostrils shut and tilted his head back so he wouldn’t sneeze $80 of his private stash all over his lap. Putting his head back allowed the crystals attached to the mucus in his nose to drip down his throat, instantly numbing it. The airborne blow slammed into his brain, churning it into a perfect state of being “comfortably numb.” Tommy quickly snatched the small mirror out of Devon’s hand and snorted the second line. He then licked the tip of his index finger and ran it over the remaining residue, rubbing it on his gums, savoring every grain. Laying back in his chair Tommy watched gangly, long-legged, thin bodied spiders repel down the living room wall after he blew smoke up into their web. They looked like little wasps with longer legs. Glad they’re not as big as cows, he thought and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Devon asked.

Tommy just waved his hand and kept laughing before finally saying, “Nothing man, I’m just high.” Maybe I should clean this place, he thought and laughed even harder.

Devon lowered his head and looked at Tommy, then burst out in his own laughing spell a hard, guttural, belly laugh. “You look like one of those goggle-eyed perch,” he chuckled, making a circle out of his thumb and index finger with both hands, putting them over his eyes to simulate glasses and puckered his mouth to make kissy lips. “You goofy bastard,” he laughed, as did Tommy. Both laid back again and enjoyed the rush as rock death metal icon Marlynne Madson blasted through the stereo with enough force to rattle dirty dishes, loose change on the stereo speakers, and the windows in his dump of an apartment that weren’t latched.

“Tommy, how the hell can you listen to this shit? No wonder you never get laid. Ever heard the saying: Sex, Drugs, and Rock n Roll?” Devon asked his extremely wasted friend.

“Yeah why?” Tommy asked.

“The sex was meant to include someone else of the opposite sex, leave the animals alone,” Devon roared with laughter at his little joke.

“Fuck off you faggot, let’s go find that bitch you talked about,” Tommy replied.

Devon and Tommy both slipped coats on. Not that they were needed in early June but when needle tracks run up the inside of each arm and pockets are needed for smokes, drugs, and weapons, they are required. One advantage to living in the city is that a car is not really needed or desired. When you progress through life wasted, prison and drugs don’t go well together. Most guys are idiots, they put themselves in prison by getting pulled over. Cars are for fleeing when all else fails. Devon knew one dumb fuck who got pulled over at noon on a bright, sunny day for having a burnt out headlight. He also had too much to drink and three pounds of pot in his trunk which got him sentenced to six years in prison.

They headed south on Loomis St. and were about to pass under the station for the “L” or elevated train, which ran over the streets, when Devon spotted one of those “Moonie” Buddhist fucks beating his tambourine and begging for spare change.

“Look at that fucker trying to weasel the hard-earned money of our neighbors out of Bridgeport and send it to some fuckhead in India or Korea. Ain’t going to happen, not on my watch,” Devon said angrily. He walked up behind the guy and sucker punched him hard on his right ear. The skinhead, robed beggar went down hard but not out. “Go beg in India asshole!” Devon shouted at him as he took what change and bills the man had collected.

The Moonie’s ear was bleeding but he didn’t even seem mad and spoke softly while sprawled out on the platform: “You poor man,” he said. “Your soul will be caught in an endless, downward spiral of Samsara in the evil realms of Hell. Right now your short, pitiful, life is as good as it will ever get for you. I only hope you don’t hurt too many others before you depart on your journey to Hell.”

Devon laughed before saying, “Fuck off baldy, if anyone’s headed for Hell its you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Moving again Devon and Tommy crossed Bubbly Creek, a cesspool of industrial waste on W. 35th just past 10pm, the night belonged to them.

“Look down there Devon,” Tommy said pointing.

Just under the small concrete culvert a wino lay passed out, drunk as a skunk with almost a full fifth of vodka laying, cap on, next to him.

“What’s that nigger doing in Bridgeport after dark? Let’s light him up,” Devon said as he scrambled down the small slope where the drunken bum lay. “Fucking niggers, the only way to keep them out is to take them out.”

Tommy watched in horror from above and pleaded, “I just wanted his vodka, leave him be Devon. The poor bastard’s just sleeping one off,” but it was a waste of air and effort.

While the nighttime traffic moved sporadically down 35th St. Devon uncapped the bottle of vodka and emptied it all over the sleeping bum, then hustled back up to where Tommy waited just above. “It’s a beautiful night for a campfire,” he said as he crumpled up a dollar bill and poured the last couple of drops from the vodka bottle on it. Devon giddily lit the dollar with his cigarette lighter and dropped it down on the drunk below, hitting him in his crotch, igniting the alcohol Devon had covered him with. Alcohol isn’t explosive like gasoline but the fire still spread quickly with a low, blue flame. It took less than a minute before the bum was completely engulfed in flames, but he was still passed out. The poor mother fucker didn’t wake up until his nylon windbreaker melted around his neck. Tommy knew he would hear that scream echo in his head for as long as he lived, maybe for eternity, and the high pitched cackle Devon emitted was equally horrifying. The bum got to his feet after several attempts, screaming the whole time. His flaming hood wrapped across his face when he beat at the flames, adhering to his skin momentarily, suffocating his scream as he inhaled the flaming nylon. Just when Tommy thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse his drunken breath scream got twice as loud, twice as horrid with flames shooting out his mouth fueled by his 100-proof breath. Thank God the poor fucker fell face forward into the creek and did not rise.

By then Devon was laughing so hard his eyes were tearing up, while the only thing Tommy found funny was that no one else noticed, or if they did they weren’t about to get involved. The bum died, from drunken ecstasy one moment where his life worked out and he was successful and loved, then in an instant that dream was extinguished as Devon plunged him into the Hell he woke into. Tommy stood there frozen in place, eyes scrunched shut but blue and yellow flames danced across the inside of his eyelids as he tried in vain to block Devon’s laughter from rolling past his ear drums that his heart was pounding in.

“Did you see that, was that great or what?” Devon laughed. “I didn’t think he would wake up at first, boy could that nigger scream! It’s too bad we didn’t shoot a video! Hold this-,” Devon ordered, handing Tommy the vodka bottle, “-while I piss, it’s a perfect souvenir.”

Tommy held the bottle in horror for a few moments. That sick fuck is proud of himself,  he thought, dropping the bottle as if it burned, just before he lit off running hard north on Racine Avenue, Devon followed right on his heels at first. At 31st and Racine Tommy ducked into Lucky’s Corner Bar, grabbed the first stool, put a $20 bill on the bar, and ordered 2 shots of Jack Daniel’s with a beer. Before the bartender returned with his change both shots and half the beer were gone. “Two more please,” was all Tommy said.

Devon sat down next to him just as the bartender was pouring Tommy’s second round of shots. “Give me the same and keep them coming,” Devon said, throwing a big wad of bills on the bar. He leaned over to Tommy. “Don’t freak out on me asshole, no one reported nothing, we’re in the clear.”

“Why Devon, why? That poor fuck was just sleeping off a good time, not hurting anyone!” Tommy cried.

Devon stared at Tommy in disbelief. “That fucking bum was a nigger, in our neighborhood after dark, you know that’s not allowed. Never has been, never will be,” Devon growled at him. “And keep your big yap shut, it’s your fingerprints on that bottle, I held it with the paper bag it came in. Listen, it’s your word against mine if you’re thinking of talking, don’t be an asshole. Let’s have a couple more shots and go see the bitch as planned, you’ll feel a lot better after you get your rocks off,” he said.

Tommy downed at least six more shots, he wasn’t counting. Devon only had a few. He was watching a couple wetbacks who were keeping a careful eye on his pile of money on the bar. “Let’s go Tommy,” Devon commanded as he helped the loaded fuckhead off his bar stool and out the door. Just as Devon expected the two bean-eaters followed them out. He heard the switchblade open behind him just before the Mexican grabbed his shoulder. Devon spun around fast, his skinning knife- the one he always carried in his inside coat pocket- palmed in his hand, blade pointing backwards out of sight. The Mexican, half-loaded, stood with his blade held waist high. He was young with black, unblinking snake eyes, unshaven, greasy shoulder length hair, wearing a dirty t-shirt and jeans. The fucker had the nerve to smile, it was out of place for a man holding a knife.

“Gimme your money bitch or I’m gonna cut you bad Gringo, I just might cut you up for good, Puta,” he sneered through yellowed teeth, with the filthy face of someone who worked all day in the dirt, a hungry, desperate face

Devon pulled out his large roll of cash and stuck it out for the Mexican to take. When his eyes dropped to the money Devon swung his arm up, twisting his fist back, bringing the blade forward swift and silent. His blade caught the beaner right at his wrist, cutting cleanly, bone deep. The Mexican’s deep red blood flowed freely, shocked the man soon dropped his knife to grab his wrist, stepping back as he did.

            “Still want my money, asshole? How about you, shit head?” Devon asked both beaners just before they both took off running.

“You enjoy hurting people, you really do,” Tommy slurred. “You egged them Mexicans on with that big wad of bills, hoping they would follow us, your knife ready. What would you have done if he’d pulled a gun?”

“The same thing,” Devon shrugged. “They were drunk and I’m much faster. Look, we need to keep our neighborhood clean, that’s clean and white, you understand? I’m not about to let some filthy niggers and spics crowd my space or take what’s mine, at least not without a fight. Let’s go,” Devon ordered, putting his arm around Tommy’s shoulders and leading him down the sidewalk. “Wouldn’t want these dirtbags to keep us from getting blown.” he said laughing. Suddenly Devon spun around, “You hear that, over there?” he said pointing down an alley. He spun again. “There it is again, over there,” he said pointing in the opposite direction.

“Are you fucking with me Devon? I don’t like people fucking with me,” Tommy said nervously. He quickly started walking back towards his apartment, staying in the shadows so he could duck out of sight if any cops passed.

“I hear lots of stuff,” Devon replied, looking around anxiously.

“What the fuck you talking about?” Tommy asked.

Devon was annoyed because his friend didn’t hear what he heard. “Laughing asshole, I hear someone laughing at me,” Devon replied. “He was at the bum’s camp, I thought I heard laughing at the L station, and now he’s here. If it’s not you, some asshole has been following us. Stay close, I know a shortcut so we can lose funnyman, I’m not going to jail no matter what clownboy thinks.”

They ducked between two buildings, crossed 31st St. and headed down an alley for three blocks until they hit Loomis St., then headed north to Archer Ave. “Wait here,” Devon said before ducking into a three flat brownstone dump. He was only gone a few minutes before returning with an extremely thin black girl with bad teeth dressed like the homeless bum, in layers, and not happy to see Devon.

“Why you here, I don’t owe you nuttin,” Terry sneered through gritted teeth.

“Bullshit,” Devon spit out, “Your mama saw me twice today, someone has to settle her tab, heroin ain’t free. She said you would pay her tab, so on your knees bitch, you’re going to service us both.”

“You’re going to pay someday asshole, I told you not to sell her any more of your poison. I’m not paying her tab, I’ve done that for the last time,” she said defiantly. “You leave us alone you heathen!” she practically screamed.

What a night, Tommy thought. It couldn’t possibly get much worse. He was wrong, again. Devon was crazy, evil crazy, he enjoyed hurting people any way he could. “Listen Devon, I’m going. I thought we were going to party, this ain’t cool.” Tommy said with a little backbone in it this time.

Devon was getting pissed; pissed at Terry for arguing with him and pissed at Tommy for not backing him. He reared back and hit the black girl hard, knocking her to the ground, then kicked her viciously in her gut. “Listen bitch, you’ll pay or I’ll make your daughter pay, hear me?” and kicked her again, then again.

Tommy didn’t turn around, he didn’t want to see. He just walked a little faster, getting ready to bolt. Devon had to run in order to catch up with Tommy, he was irritated the asshole hadn’t waited for him. People are going to pay, no one fucks with Devon the Dog. “Where in the fuck are you going? We were about to get blown,” Devon growled.

Tommy looked at him and shook his head before replying. “Listen dude, you beat up and could have killed the Buddha worshipper, you lit up a bum like a Roman candle and killed him, you sliced up the wetback who probably died, and then you beat the shit out of some poor bitch and you think I should hang around for more? I can’t take anymore, Devon you’re out of control, man.” No sooner had he shut his mouth Tommy realized he’d made a big mistake.

It was more than a shadow that crossed Devon’s face, it was a storm cloud.

“Listen you fuck head, I knocked down the Buddhist fuck who was taking money out of our neighborhood, we used it for drinks. The nigger bum no one wants in Bridgeport or anywhere else. The spic shouldn’t have pulled a knife on us and that whore with her junkie mother owe me! I’m not the Goodwill. We’re in this together fuckhead. Remember that, don’t fuck with me, no one fucks with me,” he snapped.

It was early the next morning, he’d been up all night, when Devon went to the corner diner for breakfast. That’s where he ran into his favorite junkie, Ruthy, Terry’s mother. She looked like the skid row junkie she was: loose, dirty, black skin sagging off her stick like skeleton, stringy clumps of dirty, matted hair, the original dread locs, and long, broken nails tipped each finger, fingers she pointed at you when she talked, keeping them at the ready to snatch her next fix as soon as it appeared. Her breath and body odor could be weaponized but the rags that passed for clothes were clean.

“Devon I need a balloon bad, please front me one, please,” she begged.

“Your bitch daughter never paid me for the last two. No credit for you Ruthy, you’re about to find out why it’s known as Hell Dust.” he said and laughed.

“Please Devon,” she pleaded, grabbing his wrist with both her skeletal hands, digging her gross, cracked nails deep into his flesh. “Just one balloon, Terry’s a good girl she’ll be good for it, I promise.”

Devon thought for a minute then tried to pry her filthy talons from his wrist. It would be worth a balloon to get her hands off him, he hated to be touched by the filthy junkies. “Let go,” he commanded. “I’ll front you one more balloon, but that’s all, I need to get paid.”

“God bless you Devon!” Ruthy cried. “I need it now, right now!” Desperation and sweat masked her face while her body rattled with shakes and tremors.

“Give me a minute. I need to pack a balloon for you,” he said and headed to the bathroom.

Terry found her mother later that day sitting in the alley behind their apartment with her back against a dumpster, the needle still protruding from her arm, she had died quick.

“Why Mother, why?” she cried. “We were so close to getting out of here and moving to Madison! It was Devon wasn’t it, that damned pusher he did this,” she said bitterly to herself as she wept. “God, why take the weak and reward the evil?” she whispered. Without her Mother’s disability check we won’t have enough money to move, Terry thought. She cried harder, not just for her mother but for her whole family.

It must have been a neighbor who called the cops because they arrived 5 minutes after Terry found her mother’s corpse. As soon as she saw the flashing lights she slipped upstairs, not wanting her daughter to come down and see her grandmother like this. Abby was only 12 years old and Terry needed to be the one to tell her and great grandma-ma, Ruthy’s mother, what had happened, so no mention of the needle or drugs need be made.

Terry thought to herself: Your mother’s dead, you live in a roach-infested shit hole, and you can’t even afford to miss a day of work at the diner. Her 10 to 12 hour shift began in a couple hours, at 11am, how did it ever come to this?

It was later that night after she got off work just past 10pm that Terry ran into Devon. She was quietly waiting for the city bus when he came out of the dark from behind her and she didn’t notice him until he was standing next to her.

“Too bad about your mama, but she was on the spike for quite some time,” Devon said with a smirk and absolutely no regret.

When Terry turned to face Devon the fire in her eyes could have melted steel. “You bastard!” she cried. “You killed her, she died of a hot shot, you’ll pay for this!”

She stared hard at Devon and tensed up, expecting to be hit. A second later he lashed out, punching Terry upside her head, knocking her down, sprawled out onto the concrete sidewalk. Then the asshole kicked her, sending her rolling into the curb on the edge of the road. Terry lay there hurting, no aching, in mind and body. Her mother murdered, her daughter threatened, and her grandmother totally dependent. They would be better without her, she failed and just couldn’t take anymore. If only there was some way out she thought, but death or jail were her only options- unless you give up totally, like her mother did. Terry’s hand landed on something in the street’s gutter. It was metal and plastic, a tool. Terry looked at it while she lay in the street from the light coming from a nearby street lamp. It was a rusty screwdriver. Her best option in life has come down to this: a rusty screwdriver.

Terry came up quickly and got right in Devon’s face, who just stood there smiling at her.

“Bitch on your knees, don’t make me knock you down again. I want a blow job and you are going to give it this time,” he demanded.

She squeezed the screwdriver so hard her palm was bleeding from her nails digging into it. I can’t let this monster ever touch my little girl. Terry drew her arm back as Devon grinned, thinking he was about to get slapped, and plunged the rusty screwdriver up to its plastic handle into Devon’s scrawny, stinkin’, ass-white neck. The pitiful fuck went into total shock, he urinated and shit his pants then yanked the screwdriver out of his neck, allowing his blood to come squirting out.

“You fucking bitch, you’re going to pay for this,” he meant to say but instead of words bright, red blood bubbled out of his mouth. Dumbfounded he stared as his blood shot from his neck and splattered off the glass bus stop five feet away. Even as he fell to his knees he still watched his blood run down the glass, fascinated that there was just so much of it. When Devon finally fell flat down onto the concrete his head turned to the side and he continued to watch his blood flow across the concrete towards him, hoping it could possibly run back into the hole it had squirted out of. I can’t believe that 80 pound bitch daughter of a junkie mother took me out, Devon thought as he watched the last of his blood flow towards him. Shit is sure red, it was the last thing these eyes were to see, damn.

Devon was surprised to discover he could see everything all around him, it was more an awareness than sight as seen through eyes. But he could hear nothing from the living except that God damn laughing he’d heard all day. Maybe he had always heard it but never gave a shit and still didn’t. If it’s Satan he can go fuck himself, Devon thought. What he couldn’t stop thinking about as he watched his body was the rusty screwdriver the bitch stabbed him with, a fucking rusty screw driver. “A new one would have been much better,” he chuckled. “Much, much better,” and laughed maniacally. Now that’s fucking funny, a dead man’s joke, too bad he had no one to share it with. Why was he alone, Chicago is a huge city with hundreds dying daily, where the fuck are they? he wondered. Stupid bitch is just sitting there waiting for the cops, he would have been blocks away hiding by now. Since several cabs had gone slowly by and saw his body, no doubt they reported it to the police. Terry won’t have long to wait.

He had also figured out he could go anywhere simply by thinking about where he wanted to be. If this is Hell it’s not so bad. It can’t possibly be Heaven, there aren’t 70 virgins waiting for me- in fact, there isn’t even one old whore waiting for me, he thought and went into a laughing spell again. “Might as well hang out at the strip club and watch what I can’t get no more. Wonder if I can still wack off?” he spoke out loud to himself. This seemed like the funniest thing Devon had ever heard and again roared at his own joke. The sad thing was he couldn’t leave his body, they had a little time left together. “At least I’m a  good looking corpse, not like one of those wrinkly old fucks. I’ll be the Pretty Boy of the morgue,” and his laughter continued.

Soon the cops along with an ambulance came and took them both away: Terry to jail, Devon to the morgue. Lying naked on a stainless steel table along with dozens of other dead assholes, each on their own table or shoved in a freezer drawer had no appeal to Devon so he was off to the strip club. Again he heard chuckling but not in his ears -he had none- but in his head. “He who laughs last laughs best, remember that asshole,” Devon said to no one in particular as he stared up at the naked ladies on the stage. Hey this is cool, he thinks. Maybe God has lowered the bar, which sets him up laughing again. “Who knew death could be so much fun.”

Suddenly an extremely bright, iridescent, white-bodied Deity appears before him sitting on a lion throne holding an eight-spoked wheel with his beautiful female consort standing behind. The wheel radiates in a vivid blue, frightening, intense light dazzling Devon’s vision unbearably. In terror of the bright blue light Devon panics and flees down into a cave-like area that appears, which is bathed in a soft, soothing, smoky, white light. Fucking aye, he thinks. If this is the path to Hell it ain’t so bad, I can just hang out here. With this thought he hears the chuckling again. “If you’re Satan laughing at me FUCK YOU! Nice place you got here, I was expecting worse. Besides that you laugh like a faggot dude, hit me with your best shot! I think you’re an overrated asshole.”

An intense, white light appears. In its glow a dazzling, pure blue Deity emerges, holding a five-pronged scepter while riding an elephant with his own bitch companion. The piercing light was unbearable and Devon ducked into another smoky, dimly-lit cavern. “See you screwy, see you in St. Louie” he said and laughed to himself as he fled the brilliant clear light. No one followed but the chuckling continued. He’d never seen an elephant before except in photos or on TV. What kind of idiot would want to ride on a fucking stupid, smelly animal that big? He wondered. “Get yourself a Humvee asshole, you could all ride together in style,” he called out and started laughing.

Fuck’em, I think I’ll just rest in this little alcove and figure out how to get back to my body, from there the strip club. Devon concentrated on himself, picturing his dead body in his mind and was instantly back at the morgue where the mortician was actually about to examine his neck where the rusty screwdriver had penetrated. Two tables down a priest was praying for some poor horribly burnt black guy. It took a minute but he quickly realized it was the drunken, skid row nigger he had torched. Fuck, he was ever severely disfigured on his neck and head, beyond recognition. Satan’s chuckling echoed in his mind but he didn’t find it the least bit amusing, not at all. Devon couldn’t stop staring at the bum, for the first time ever he actually felt a small tinge of regret, but that quickly passed when he thought: The nigger was the same color, burnt or not burnt, and started laughing to himself again.

That’s when he was blinded by a pure yellow light out of which came riding a vivid, yellow Deity on a golden horse carrying a large gem in his hand. This dude had nine sycophants trailing behind, all looking like they wanted to inflict some serious pain on someone. That’s when he noticed a faint orange glow emanating from a narrow opening down to his left. This was a no-brainer and he fled into the soft orange light.

This same confrontation continued four more times like some recurring nightmare. These fucking sons-of-a-bitches hit him with an intense, bright, dazzling, pure red light, then green, all with their own Deity and set of assholes following. Then they came as a group with four colored leaders and a flock of sycophants in tow, then as a five-colored rainbow. Each time Devon managed to duck into another slowly shrinking rabbit hole illuminated by a faint red, orange or yellow smoky light. Little did Devon realize but those bright lights and Deities riding different animals to appeal to different societies, were really Angels accompanied by their Disciples, there to determine if Devon’s soul had any redeeming value and pass judgement either admitting him to Heaven, rebirth, or condemned to Hell; these were the Watchmen of Perdition.

Devon had come to realize that if this was Hell, Satan’s a real dumb fucker. Bright lights aren’t all that scary, maybe once or twice but come on, all he had to do was duck out of sight. What happened to fire and brimstone, the River Styx, or the road of Good Intention? If this is Hell, eternity is going to be extremely boring, Devon thought. He was wrong, dead wrong: panic, fear and unbearable terror were soon to follow.

He concentrated most of his time-when not running and hiding from them damn lights- trying to return to the land of the living, regrettably since they buried his body it became increasingly harder. The fucking cops didn’t even charge the bitch for killing him, they called it self-defense. Bastards even told Terry she’d done the city a great favor and saved the State a fortune in future incarceration costs. Those dirty rotten bastards even said she was entitled to get money from the “Victims Relief Fund,” up to $10,000, after they seized and liquidated all his belongings. Then to top it all off every fucking cop in the station high-fived her on the way out the door.

Only four days after being being murdered they buried Devon’s worthless ass in Cook Counties Potter’s Field, his final resting place was a grave next to the nigger bum he had torched. The real pisser was that more people attended the bum’s funeral then his; the fucking bum had six people, Devon three, if you counted the priest and two grave diggers. Tommy didn’t even show and the asshole still owed him money. That fucking faggot immediatly broke into his appartment as soon as he heard of Devon’s death and cleaned out all the drugs, money, and alcohol he could find, giddy with his good luck. Just wait until your luck runs out and it’s your turn mother fucker, I’ll be waiting, Devon thought. Being the first to die might have it’s advantages in Hell, if he ever gets there. That’s where almost everyone he knows is heading: Tommy first he hoped, then the bitch. Hell would also include most cops along with a whole hell of a lot of army dudes, that “Thou Shall Not Kill” bullshit, there were no exceptions in the Bible. Along with “Thou Shall Not Steal, Screw Your Neighbors wife, and use the Lord’s Name in Vain,” ought to take care of about half the population on earth, maybe more. He couldn’t remember the remaining useless Commandments which were mere suggestions, Devon thought and started laughing to himself again.

Suddenly a red wine colored, shockingly evil looking Being appeared before him. Mother fucker, this has to be one of Hell’s Angel’s or maybe the fucking Devil himself, Devon feared. Heinous looking with three frightful faces, six muscular, hairy arms, and four huge, knotted legs. His eyes were fiercely terrifying with eyebrows of flashing lightning, copper fangs gleamed as he roared with laughter from the mouth facing him while the other two hissed like snakes about to strike. Spiked orange hair topped with a skull crown, adorned with sun and moon discs sat perched on his head. His body was covered with black snakes and around his neck hung a freshly severed head, Devon’s head. From each of his six enormous hands gnarled fingers tipped with nails like a wolf’s grasped something. His right hands held a wheel, ax, and sword; his left a bell, plowshare, and skull bowl filled with bright red blood. This hideous, butt ugly Bitch hangs on his shoulder tipping sips of blood from her skull bowl of blood into his disgusting mouth between laughs. She cackles like a witch as orange flames shoot from her stringy, tangled hair. If Devon had pants to shit in they would be full, over full, leaking from every seam and running down both legs. Terrified, he couldn’t flee fast enough down a small cave bathed in a dull, yellow light. It was while fleeing that Devon practically collided with the same repulsive Demon with a dark blue face in front, the two side faces were white and red. His disgusting Bitch still hanging on, arm draped over his massive shoulder feeding sips of blood into all three nasty pig mouths. Terrified of the horrid, repellent Beast laughing and hissing at him, Devon quickly flees down a smaller tunnel. I was dark, very dark, but he was more terrified of the repulsive Beast than of the dark.

Time meant nothing, not when you’re dead, so Devon was unaware of how long he’d fled but ahead he noticed a soft, orange glow. He quickly squeezed through a tiny opening which opened into a small room in the rock. Suddenly the loathsome three-faced Demon rushed toward him, his front face was a ghastly dark yellow the others were red and white. With his four legs rapidly moving up and down he advanced more like a huge, terrifying insect than an animal. His ugly Bitch now rode on his back like a disgusting fourth face, roaring and growling, blood splashed from their inverted skull bowls. Devon turned to flee back the way he came but the way was blocked by a dreadful green three-faced Demon laughing insanely out one mouth. The other two hissed hideously, with its own gross, roaring Bitch on his back.

Devon was near hysterical with unimaginable fear as he fled down a large, dimly lit opening off to one side, right past eight Demon Bitches holding various weapons in one hand while feeding on bloody body parts of corpses they carried in their other. One corpse looked familiar, the head was missing but the tattoos were his, they were feeding on him. From behind eight Ghouls, women with animal heads ripped and tore at his body then gave chase. One had the head of a lion, another a tiger, a wolf, a vulture, a hawk, an owl, a crow, and a jackal. All with his bloody body parts dangling from their fangs or beaks making an ungodly, awful racket as they loped after him. Four more ghouls with heads of a horse, pig, lion, and snake each a different color soon joined the chase, blood dripping from their mouths. Devon screams in total terror, mindlessly fleeing the Demons and Ghouls and never ending laughter. Just as Devon was about to collapse into a shrieking, crying, disembodied soul he noticed a tiny opening illuminated by something he never, ever expected to see again: the brilliant blue of the sky on a beautiful sunny day. Even though the entrance hole was small, very small, Devon had figured being dead he was a ghost and could pass through any size opening. As he slipped down the opening the blue sky at its end grew larger and his spirit soared. “See you mother fuckers, you ain’t going to grab this bad boy, catch ya later you ugly ass wipes!” he laughed while flipping them the imaginary bird. I’m back, I am fucking back! he screamed in his mind. As his eyes came out into the intense, desert sunlight he was momentarily blinded and unable to move.

Life had turned into an almost unbearable living Hell for Aisha since her husband’s death, he had been killed by the Janjaweed militia in the Khartoum massacre. Not that her life was easy before, at any time. She had been sold off in an arranged marriage at age 13 to a much older man, Abu was almost 60, as his fourth wife. Their first child, a boy, was born one year later, two more, both girls, followed in the next couple of years. Before her 18th birthday she was raising three children under five years old. When the Sudanese revolution began Abu laughed at the protesters in the streets that President Al-Bashir brutally suppressed. But after eight months the black protesters broke through the weakened Arab troops and the bloody massacre commenced. Since they lived in a nice home the mob targeted them right off. Abu, the bastard, tried fleeing out the back alley alone taking all the money he could stuff in his pockets while carrying a loaded AK47. He never even got one shot off, since purchasing the gun he never learned how to use it. When stopped by the rioters he pointed the fully loaded machine gun at their attackers and pulled the trigger: nothing happened, the safety was on. The black Sudanese rioters hacked him to death along with his three older wives and any sons older than about ten years old. The daughters, all of them except the very young, along with Aisha were repeatedly raped for days on end, the younger ones didn’t live long. When Aisha finally awoke  after having passed out from exhaustion her three traumatized children clung to her all with their thumbs clamped tightly between their lips with terror in their eyes. She must have been out for days, the bodies of her husband and extended family were bloated and beginning to rot in the desert heat. Since that day she’d been begging, doing any kind of manual labor offered, and selling herself for sex if needed, but they were still slowly starving to death. Living under a plastic tarp draped over a crumbling mud wall next to the garbage dump in a United Nations refugee camp did offer them a little security. But now this, another baby, another hungry mouth, another affliction from the evil men who had forced themselves upon her and killed her husband during the Khartoum massacre.

Aisha left her tarp, limping painfully along with the aid of a stick she used as a cane, until she located a place to give birth. This somewhat private spot was on the opposite side of the wall holding her tarp, but down aways was a place many came to relieve themselves. The smell was almost overwhelming but her water had broken, the baby of evil deeds was coming out now. Her children stood near, afraid, thumbs in mouth, watching as a small head appeared from between their mother’s legs as she squatted with her back against the wall. Aisha bled heavily which attracted a pack of wild dogs that lived in the dump but rarely showed themselves during the day. The wild dogs formed a semi-circle, just out of reach of the stick Aisha swatted at them with and also needed to keep herself from falling over. The starving, mongrel dogs growled and snapped at each other fighting for the best position to be first to rush in and snatch anything edible. Aisha looked at her stick thin, swollen bellied children and saw the terror in their eyes, they saw the hopelessness in hers. She was not about to feed another starving mouth. Fighting to remain conscious Aisha pushed as hard as she could to discharge the baby. She screamed from the unbearable pain which was so intense her whole body burned with an internal heat. Her mind spun dizzily, her eyes went in and out of focus, finally, the baby’s shoulders appeared after which the baby slowly slid out of her uterus.

Devon, initially blinded by the intense sunlight, stared wide eyed up at the bloody lady’s crotch giving birth to him. She was dark skinned, he was black, black as her puckered asshole, fuck, he was coming back as a baby, a nigger baby. As Devon looked around he noticed three emaciated Arab kids and a dozen or so starving, snapping, aggressive dogs. It was then he hit the dusty, hard-packed ground head first, coming to rest on his back.

Aisha pulled the afterbirth out and bit the umbilical cord in half not bothering to tie the end. She saved the placenta to eat with the children, it was the only part of the baby worth saving. Without looking back she grasped the free hand of her youngest daughter, the children were all holding hands, and slowly limped away as the first dog rushed in for the baby.

“Wait Bitch, get back here and pick me up,” Devon tried to scream as he watched in terror a set of snarling teeth charge at him. The first dog grabbed his leg, cracking and breaking his bones in several places when his fangs ripped through them. Devon let out a loud, blood curdling scream as the dog ran off dragging Devon along. The starving, wild dog carrying Devon didn’t make it far before the other malnourished dogs snapped and ripped off their own bloody piece of his body in a wild canine feeding frenzy. Devon finally realized what his Hell would be and screamed louder than a baby could as Satan’s laughter grew harder.

The End

Categories: Fiction

Tagged as:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.