Talk to the Wind

***TALK TO THE WIND***

I’ve said many times in the past that Martin Kesici (KIZ-uh-chee) is one of the most underrated rock stars in the world today. He’s got charisma, he’s got a voice of gold, and he knows how to get heavy when it counts. But if his Wikipedia stub is anything to go by, he doesn’t get the fame and fortune that he deserves. Yes, I know that any dumb-ass can edit a Wikipedia page and without proper sources those pages are unreliable. There are even rock musicians today that don’t have their own Wikipedia page at all, I get that. But if I say the name Martin Kesici to you, what do you associate that with? Exactly. Try finding him on iTunes, by the way, see how far you’ll go.

I can tell you firsthand that Mr. Kesici deserves more recognition because his 2005 album “So What?” and his “My Heart Beats Pain” EP can tug at the heartstrings while rocking your ass out at the same time. I know I’m beating a dead horse when I talk about my lonely WWU days, but Martin Kesici’s music was one of the things that got me through it all. From the moment I heard his duet with Tarja Turunen called “Leaving You For Me”, I knew I had to have the “So What?” album. On that same album is a song called “Talk to the Wind”, which invokes imagery of heartwarming romantic love. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of crushes in college, so thinking about them with this song playing in my headsets was pure heaven. As long as I had this song, I never had to feel lonely or depressed ever again. Here are the lyrics:

VERSE 1

In a little wooden church with stained glass windows

You came walking down the aisle with your perfect smile

Ever since that precious day, we’ve always been together

And we’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ll always come around

CHORUS

I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say

It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay

Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back

To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea

I talk to the wind

VERSE 2

People say we’ll never last, that it happened way too fast

Yes, we’ve had our share of fights and lonely nights

But I knew it when I saw you, your big brown eyes

That no matter what we go through, we will always get by

CHORUS

I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say

It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay

Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back

To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea

I talk to the wind

BRIDGE

When it feels like the end of our journey

All we need is to keep the wheel turning

No matter what comes our way

CHORUS

I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say

It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay

Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back

To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea

I talk to the wind

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

It’s a brand new week at the WSS and it’s time for a new story, this time with the prompt suggestion of “teeth”. There are lots of things an author or poet can do with teeth, but here’s what I’d like to do. It’s called “The Ballad of Gravedigger Jane” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Chris Duncan, Political Pundit
2. Gravedigger Jane, Transgender Boxing Champion

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Gravedigger Jane has loosened her opponents’ teeth many times during her boxing career. The same fate could befall Chris Duncan if he keeps running his mouth.

SYNOPSIS: Chris Duncan is a guest speaker at Beachside University and his topic of choice is running down the LGBT community. He gets an equal amount of cheers and boos from the student audience, but things get heated when he singles out Gravedigger Jane for wanting to use female bathrooms and locker rooms and for fighting other female competitors. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Jane storms down the aisle in an attempt to beat the holy hell out of Chris. The only things keeping her from doing so are the heavy security detail and potentially being blackballed from college boxing if she goes through with it. The more Chris taunts her, the more punchable his face becomes.

FUN FACTS: This story has two sources of inspiration: the MMA community’s bigoted reaction to Fallon Fox in 2013 and Milo Yiannopoulos’s visit to a college campus where he bullied a transgender student in front of the audience. As you can tell, this story is going to push more buttons than an old school arcade game cabinet.

***MASHUP IDEAS***

In a moment of sheer boredom, I came up with ideas for mashup songs. I have no idea how to make a mashup song, but if one of my readers out there does, here are some suggestions you can try:

1. Five Finger Death Punch vs. TNA: “Under and Over Feedback”
2. Limp Bizkit vs. Spice One: “Born 2 Truth”
3. Linkin Park vs. From Ashes to New: “Breaking In the End”
4. Linkin Park vs. Street Fighter Alpha 3: “The Faint Road”
5. Seether vs. Martin Kesici and Tarja Turunen: “I’m Fine with Leaving You For Me Again”
6. Tribe Called Quest vs. Earthbound: “Weird Butter”

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Ever since I’ve started writing sci-fi and fantasy stories for the WSS once again, I’ve had more ideas for drawings. The latest in this series will be Lux, the control engineer behind Kobra’s illusions in the short story “I Am Death”. She’ll probably look vastly different from how I’ve described her in the canon, but I’ll try my hardest to be at least somewhat faithful to her white dress, black boots, and black mask outfit.

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Who are some of your favorite bands? I like the Various Artists.”

-Adrian Monk-

I Am Death

Kobra and Lux embraced each other lovingly as they watched the scene unfold from their abandoned building hideout. Black protesters, with rage on their faces and profanity on their cardboard signs, surrounded the courthouse waiting for the perfect moment to unleash their fury. White hooded Klansmen stood on the opposite side with nooses and effigies to show their disgust. In between the two extreme parties were police in riot gear, armed with batons, tear gas grenades, and facial expression fiercer than an entire hunting party of starving wolves.

Lux, dressed beautifully in a fairy-like white dress, black knee high boots, and a glittery mask over her stunning blue eyes, gazed into her lover with and said with the softest voice, “What will happen if this plan doesn’t work?”

Kobra, with a snake’s mask covering his face and black robes with skeletal armor covering his toned body, stroked his girlfriend’s long black hair with soothing comfort and said, “Let me put it this way, my love: we don’t have a choice. Any minute now, the verdict for Keith Turner will be revealed. No matter what it may be, this city will descend into chaos in a heartbeat. I never really did like politics, but I hate senseless violence even more.” He touched a gentle finger underneath Lux’s chin and said, “Everything will be alright. The devices are rigged, everything is in place, and we’ve rehearsed this act until the end of time. They’d be foolish not to be frightened by Death himself.”

“I love you, Kobra.”

“I love you too, Lux.”

The two magicians shared a passionate tongue kiss only to be distracted by the noise going on outside. They peered out their window and saw Keith Turner and his lawyers dancing happily down the courthouse stairs. No shackles. No cuffs. Not a damn sign that he had been found guilty. The long brown-haired defendant even had a sadistic smile on his face. Kobra shuddered to think that was the look he gave the eight-year-old black girl before he murdered her in cold blood. And now the illusionist’s blood came a rolling boil now that this racist son of a bitch would walk free.

Just like Kobra predicted, the scene outside the courthouse descended into madness upon hearing the news that Keith Turner was free. Black protesters shouted and scrambled toward the heavily-guarded murderer while slinging their signs like steel chairs in a wrestling match. The KKK members swarmed the protesters and threw haymakers and shin kicks, not to mention a few choice N-words and other delightful racial slurs. The riot police struggled to maintain order and instead resorted to swinging their batons at anything that moved, be it protester or Klansman. Blood filled the streets of Paulson City and Mr. Turner watched from the stairs above without an ounce of warmth in his heart.

“It’s show time, Lux. Levitate me!” demanded Kobra. The magician had thin wires running through his robes that were undetectable by sunlight, yet powerful enough to hold his 180 lb. frame. Once Lux pounded a few buttons on a nearby control panel, those wires gave the illusion of floatation as Kobra “levitated” out of the window and high above the riot in progress.

Only a few rioters and police officers stopped to watch the floating death angel with wide-eyed awe and wonder. Kobra gained everyone’s full attention when he pulled a tab inside his robes and unleashed a pair of metallic angel wings. He winked at Lux inside the hideout and prompted her to activate the flamethrowers rigged on both sides of the street. This burning gesture was on cue with Kobra raising his arms in the air and extending his fingers like a sorcerer casting spells.

What once was a riot full of angry people and weary cops now turned into a theater with a dumbstruck audience. No more bloodshed, no more racism, just shaky bodies and faces of fear. Kobra loosened a few bladders and bowels once he swung his arms to the side and summoned a hurricane force wind around his body. He threw down his hand and tossed a rigged lightning bolt onto a gimmick fire hydrant, which exploded into a secondary Old Faithful.

One of the cops pulled out a shotgun and tried to squeeze off a few shells in Kobra’s direction. The combination of wind, lightning, and fire blew the ammunition every which way and almost blew out one of the covered-up flamethrowers. Instead of wiping off his sweaty brow in relief, Kobra went right into his distortion box-voiced tirade against the masses.

“Fools! Each and every one of you! You’re nothing but goddamn fools!” shouted the masked illusionist. “You’re gathered here today to spread mayhem and murder, the same mayhem and murder that the idiot in the gray suit was so happy to commit not too long ago!”

Even as Keith Turner stared daggers at him with a brown-toothed smile, Kobra wouldn’t shake and stutter so easily. The magician pointed an elongated, bony finger at the killer and shouted, “If you think you’re going to get away with your sins so easily, you’re sadly mistaken! I am Death himself! I am nightmare fuel! I speak the words of every victim you have claimed! That girl you killed had a name! That name is…”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Keith interrupted with a booming voice. “Does anybody else here think this Angel of Death garbage is a bunch of bullshit?! Am I the only one who sees this cocksucker for who he is?! You don’t scare me, snake boy! None of y’all niggers scare me either! White power!”

With Mr. Turner performing a Nazi salute, the KKK members did the same before clashing with black protesters and riot police once again. Their nationalist rage transformed back into pants-wetting, voice-stealing fear once Kobra shot a lightning bolt a jimmied mailbox and ignited the flamethrower underneath. “Silence, you fools!” shouted the Angel of Death.

“If you think those streets are bloody now, keep testing my patience!” bellowed Kobra. “I shall turn this city into hell itself! I shall turn this world into a necrocosm! I shall avenge every restless soul…”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Yeah, we get it! Armageddon and shit!” yelled Keith with his arms folded and arrogant anger etched on his face. “Tell you what, shit head! Why don’t you float on down here and I’ll rearrange that pretty little snake face of yours! No more magic tricks and hocus pocus bullshit! Just you and me slugging it out, baby!”

Kobra sweated profusely inside his costume trying to think of ways to keep his bluff alive. He had an idea, but it was risky. But with no risks came no rewards. Either this would pay off or it would get him killed. “Tell you what, Mr. Turner,” said Kobra in his usual demonic aura. “Why don’t you come over here instead! You think this is a gimmick?! You think this is a fairytale?! I don’t deal in fairytales, you sodomite! I deal in death! Bring your bastard ass over here and prove to me you’re more than just a coward who targets children!”

Keith took off his suit jacket and angrily threw it to the floor before cracking his knuckles and putting his dukes up. He breathed heavily like a beast ready to jump on its prey. But then he chuckled egotistically and said, “Who am I kidding? I’m a free man. I’ve got nothing to prove to you. You’re the one breaking the law, not me. Hey, officers! Do your job and put this pinheaded asshole on trial! Maybe these jiggaboos out here can get a hashtag going on Twitter that says Snake Lives Matter or some shit.”

“Suck my dick!” shouted a random protester who threw a cardboard sign at Keith. With kicks, punches, elbows, and knees being thrown every which way, the rioting crowd and the armored police were back to square one with the bloody violence.

Kobra had one last trick up his sleeve and he had to make it count. He turned to his lovely partner Lux and gave her thumbs up before dragging that thumb across his throat. She smiled and nodded at him before pulling the biggest lever her control panel had. Slowly but surely, a parked police van on the sidewalk levitated off the ground with the same invisible wires to support it, though nobody could see them.

The fighting ceased once again despite Keith Turner’s constant bellowing that this was just another “hocus pocus stunt”. The higher in the air the van got, the more the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Protesters, cops, and Klansmen alike dispersed from the streets running like Olympic athletes. They left behind a battlefield of blood and bodies. There were even wounded bodies in the streets struggling and crawling to get away.

“This is horseshit! This is absolute horseshit!” Keith complained. He jumped into the nearly empty streets and started kicking the dead bodies of black protesters. “I’m so sick of this crap! Black lives don’t matter, motherfuckers! Your lives don’t mean shit to me! I’m sick of that stupid goddamn hashtag going around the fucking internet! You hear me?! I said do you hear me…”

The wires, being thin enough to evade detection, were bound to snap with that much weight underneath. Kobra knew this part of the illusion was a bad idea and covered his eyes, not wanting to watch his cinematic masterpiece crumble beneath him. But the sound of metal crunching on concrete deafened his ears, he opened his field of vision again to see that the only thing crumbling beneath him were Keith Turner’s bones. He was crushed underneath the wrecked vehicle with just his head poking out and his eyes bulging from his skull.

The poetic justice brought laughter to Kobra’s throat from the depths of his belly. It was an evil laugh that only a sick and sadistic demon could pull off. He even raised his hands to set off more flamethrowers and lightning bolts to keep his gimmick alive in the eyes of those still hanging around (which weren’t many). The howling laughter continued even as Kobra was slowly being pulled inside the hideout by Lux’s controls.

The illusionist stripped off his robes, skeletal suit, and angel wings to reveal a T-shirt and jeans underneath. “How did I do?” asked Kobra with a sexy smile on his face.

Lux wrapped her silky arms around her lover’s neck and said in a seductive voice, “I hope they give out Oscars for performances like that. You were wonderful, my dear. You even had me scared for a minute. Come here, sweetheart.” The magic-wielding couple pulled each other in for an emotional kiss. This illusion was a long shot in the making, but it paid off handsomely. Magic was real whether it was in the bloody streets of Paulson City or in the embrace of two passionate sorcerers.

“I love you, Kobra.”

“I love you too, Lux. Don’t ever forget that.”