Demon Axe, Chapter 11

One month of peace and quiet was all it took. Not one terrorist attack from Roger Zee took place in Paulson City, yet there were no media reports about his capture. Was he simply biding his time until his next wave of assaults? Did he actually get captured but nobody’s talking about it? Did his master plan hit a snag along the way? Everybody was feeling the anxiety of not knowing where the next attack would come from. Surely there had been concerts and events during this time. Why not attack those?

Every time Daniel Mercer felt the anxiety, he remembered the EMDR technique that Raven Triscloud taught him. But every time he used it, he couldn’t help but think of how bitter their dissolved friendship had become. A month of silence all because they disagreed on how to catch Roger Zee. Lives were on the line, sure, but this month-long reprieve seemed to quash those disagreements. Then why wasn’t Daniel talking to her? Was he too proud? Was he so busy with his new project that he completely forgot about the friend who helped take away his pain? He knew it was wrong to avoid her, but what else could he do? She was pissed off. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

By the end of this one month of peace, Daniel Mercer had donned his Lord of the Pit persona in time for another concert, face paint, cloak, leather armor, and combat boots. The crowd in this new outdoor venue didn’t seem anxious to him from where he stood backstage. Eager would have been a better word. Excited would have been much better than that. They screamed, hollered, shot off fireworks, moshed with each other, and this was long before the Lord of the Pit was ready to come onstage with his new band mates.

The four musicians stood backstage in a circle surrounding…a pan of marshmallow brownies. It wasn’t he bubbling witch cauldron Demon Axe was used to, but these were new times. Demon Axe was a distant memory. All that remained was Demon Death Juice. The last word in that new band name made the three hooded figures hungry for the liquidy chocolate and melted marshmallows that laid before them.

The first to take a bite out of the luscious brownies was Tarantula Man, whose mask featured the disgusting creature spreading its legs all over his face and part of his turban. While his visage was covered, his euphoric trance couldn’t be hidden after the gooey bite. He scarfed his brownie down and licked his fingers clean like a dog. He leaned backwards as the high of whatever was in the brownies took over. He asked in his Arab accent, “What the hell is in these things? I can’t even remember what that elf asshole’s name is now.”

“What elf asshole? I don’t see one around here. All I see is a big chunk of chocolate and goddamn I’m taking it!” exclaimed Lady Killer, who buried her mouth into her portion of the drugged dessert. She was lucky enough not to get any chocolate on her Hannibal Lecter-esque hockey mask. Blood would have looked a hell of a lot better. Mmmmm, blood.

“Save some for me, sweetheart!” whispered Bear Man before shoving the gooey piece of heaven in his mouth and sucking his fingers afterwards. The teeth in his polar bear mask drew a little bit of blood, but he licked it off like it was a more delicious treat than any Betty Crocker dessert.

The last one to take a brownie bite was the Lord of the Pit, who was patient in his eating style, but no less entranced. He threw his head back and let out a celebratory “Woo-hoo!” after letting the drugs surge through his veins. “Goddamn, I love weed. Don’t tell anybody what’s in here. I don’t think weed’s legal in Paulson City yet.”

Tarantula Man placed a hand on the lead singer’s shoulder and said, “After everything you went through, you can have all the drugs you want. We’re Demon Death Juice. We go hard!” He accentuated that last line by slapping his band mate on the back.

“Did you hear that guys?!” shouted the Lord of the Pit in a motivational tone. “Who are we?!”

“Demon Death Juice!” screamed his band mates.

“I can’t hear you, goddamn it! Who are we?!”

“DEMON DEATH JUICE!!”

“And don’t you forget it! It’s show time, bitches! Woo!”

The newly christened heavy metal band marched out onstage to a thunderous applause that made actual thunderstorms sound like pins dropping. The fans jumped up and down chanting “Demon Death Juice!” while the band took their positions at the sage. Tarantula Man grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a few deafening chords. Bear Man took hold of the bass guitar and slapped that bitch like a pimp who wanted his debt. Lady Killer sat at the drum kit and beat on those things with enough violent energy to make desert wars look like cat fights.

Waiting for the Lord of the Pit at center stage was his custom-made, beautifully magical axe microphone. It drooled with golden dust and with just one poke of the mouthpiece excited the crowd beyond an orgasmic, riotous rage. He never forgot where he came from or who brought him to the dance. G-Pac, Vulture Man, and Pig Man burned in his memory like a branding iron, but his adrenaline and passion was much hotter.

The Lord of the Pit grabbed his magical instrument of badassery and shouted, “What’s up, Paulson City!” which earned him a tidal wave of cacophonic cheers and lion roars. He looked down at the bottom of the stage and gave a nod of acknowledgment to Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, who donned black security T-shirts and got their own version of cheers from the fans.

Four beats of Lady Killer’s symbols later and all of the instrumental rage took over. Tarantula Man and Bear Man dueled on their electric and bass guitars respectively while Lady Killer assaulted the drums and the Lord of the Pit danced around stage like a rock and roll lunatic. When the action got too hot and heavy in the crowd, Johnny and Sonia weren’t afraid to put the violent ones in headlocks and judo holds while carrying them out of the venue. Whatever they were being paid, they deserved the salary of a one-percenter that afternoon.

“This is called Rise and Shine, bitches! Let’s go!” yelled the Lord of the Pit. He began growling the lyrics with unrelenting aggression and no pity for the weak. “Rise and shine for your fucked up mind / There’s no more time to relax and unwind / Get your ass out of bed, Mr. Sleepyhead / Rise like a zombie coming back from the dead / Rise and shine or your ass is mine! / Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine! / Rise and shine for the dollar signs! / Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

Everybody was wide awake after that nuclear explosion-style heat. Johnny and Sonia had to headlock and full nelson even more rowdy customers, who in turn shouted drunkenly about how cool it was to be manhandled by two badass wrestlers. Some of the fans weren’t nearly as happy and tried to beat down the two bouncers only to get punched in the stomach and dragged away nonetheless. Demon Death Juice looked on at the scene with dragon-like smiles on their faces, all while delivering ruthless aggression on their instruments of chaos.

Before the Lord of the Pit could continue the next verse of “Rise and Shine”, he noticed police cars piling in from the back of the arena. He figured they were there to provide additional security for Johnny, Sonia, and the rest of the bouncers. When he saw a downtrodden and bruise-faced Shawn Henry exit one of the vehicles, he dropped his microphone and the band stopped playing. There were way more cop cars here than were necessary and they were hauling out concertgoers whether they were rowdy or not.

“What the hell’s going on here?! You can’t arrest these people! They came to see a show!” protested Tarantula Man.

By this time, Shawn Henry and his crew of cops had made it to the stage and started slapping handcuffs on all four members of Demon Death Juice, to which the Lord of the Pit interjected, “Hey, what are you doing, man?! Get these fucking things off of me!”

“Daniel Patrick Mercer? You and the rest of your band mates are under arrest for inciting terrorism,” said a solemn and almost unwilling Shawn Henry.

“What?! That’s bullshit! You guys are fucking dicks!” screamed Lady Killer, who got a face full of mace for her protests. Tarantula Man and Bear Man also rebelled while in handcuffs and were thrown down on the floor like common criminals.

Daniel looked on at the scene with horror on his face while his magical microphone was taken away. Shawn whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, Daniel. My orders come from somewhere else. I wish there was something I could do about this.”

“I’m sure you’ll be sorry the next time it happens,” whispered Daniel angrily as he, his band mates, and even Johnny and Sonia were hauled away unceremoniously.

Conforming to Society

***CONFORMING TO SOCIETY***

I can’t remember who exactly said it, but I read a Wikipedia article where the lead singer of a punk band talked about the necessity of conforming to society in order to fulfill responsibilities. In other words, doing what you’re told will give you worth in the eyes of your boss even if you don’t agree with your orders.

However, there’s a huge difference between doing what you’re told to earn a paycheck and changing your mindset to contour to the boss’s beliefs. When teenagers work at McDonald’s, they’re not doing it because they’re zealots of fast food. They’re doing it because they want money for an X-Box or a new car. Conformity takes place in the mind, not in the body. No sane human being would ever bomb a Burger King or spray poisonous gas in a Wendy’s in the righteous name of McDonald’s.

Money isn’t everything, but it is something. We all have to have it in some form or another, whether we’re keeping a roof over our heads or finding entertainment. Sometimes you have to do things for money that you never thought possible. But does that mean you’re a puppet for whoever you work for? No. Does it mean you have to give up on your original dreams? No.

If your boss does something morally corrupt, you could just as easily look for another job behind his back. If you need time to work on your dreams, wait until you get home. Even if you work seven days a week, you can use at least a modicum of your free time to work on other projects. Yes, you’ll be tired at the end of the day, but if you set aside time for yourself, it can be achieved.

What you do in your private life and what you believe in your own mind are nobody else’s business but your own. Your mind is a personal haven where you can say or do whatever you want. You can have violent fantasies, sexual fantasies, adventures, and other trains of thought without invasion. Yes, people will try to invade your private sanctuary with insults and abuse, which is why it’s important to maintain your individuality and suppress thoughts of conforming to your haters. Being an individual is a skill, but as long as you remember who you are and why you do what you do, it can be done.

I’m currently reading another one of Andy Peloquin’s books and it’s called “Child of the Night Guild”. The opening scenes depict a cruel drill instructor named Master Velvet trying to force small children to obey him at all times by starving them, beating them, and screaming at them. While the children do bend to his will, I’ll bet you anything that somewhere in their minds they’re thinking about kicking this guy in the nuts. He controls them by changing their birth names to numbers, but other than lost memories, I still wonder why these kids don’t just gang up on Master Velvet and beat him into powder.

There’s no rule that says you have to like what you do for a living or like who’s in charge. There’s also no rule that says you can’t use your employment as a stepping stone for bigger and better things. You can work at a convenience store, pay your bills, and set aside some money to publish that next great novel of yours. It doesn’t happen right away and your soul will feel crushed from time to time, but it can be done. Everyone tells you how hard it is to be an artist, but nobody tells you how hard it is NOT to be an artist. Think of all your favorite authors, actors, and musicians and what they had to go through to get to where they are today. And yet, they managed to achieve their dreams.

Putting on a grocery store apron doesn’t make you a zealot any more than earning a paycheck makes you a conformist. Do what you need to do to survive and then be yourself when you come back to your private life. If you like wearing rock band T-shirts, put one on when you get home. If you like watching Real Time with Bill Maher even though your boss likes watching The O’Reilly Factor, watch Bill Maher’s show when you get home.

If you need help remembering who you are, surround yourself with friends and family who believe in you. You might have to search far and wide to find these people, but it’s worth it. It might even be as easy as doing an internet search. Someone out there loves you for who you are. Not everybody wants you to change into something you’re not. No, you don’t have to conform to society in order to survive. Society isn’t always going to be your friend. Only people who love and respect you can be part of your own society. Do what makes you happy and be with people who will make you happy. You deserve the best, always.

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 11***

I somehow have the feeling that there should be a transition chapter between 10 and 11. But as it is, when chapter 10 ends with a bonfire argument, chapter 11 begins with a heavy metal concert at another venue. Daniel Mercer instantly forms a new band with members of I Am Death and Juice and they miraculously know how to play Demon Axe songs. Monk robes, scary masks, and crazy stage names aside, the new band won’t be called Demon Axe. It’ll be a combination of those three bands: Demon Death Juice. Again, these things happen instantaneously even though concerts sometimes take weeks or even months to book in advance, not to mention hours of practice the bands have to go through to get their songs right. Do we have time for rational solutions to the transition problem? Could months pass without another terrorist attack from Roger Zee? I need to sit on this one for a while before I write the damn thing.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Uneven tits aside, I’d say that Raven Triscloud turned out well. Now it’s time to draw a villain since a hero was featured in the last picture. That’s how I’m going to pump out Dark Fantasy Warriors: hero, villain, hero, villain, hero, villain. This time, we’ve got Carla Madder, the razor-toothed, overweight madam from the Poison Tongue Tales 2 story “Shield Me”. This woman could easily be the most frightening character I have and that’s saying something considering most of my villains are psychotic necrophiles who rape and murder without mercy.

***MIXED-MARTIAL ARTS QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Love me or hate me, just debate me.”

-Ronda Rousey-

***POST-SCRIPT***

I just found out that Ronda Rousey lost to Amanda Nunes at UFC 207 via TKO in under a minute. That makes me sad. It also makes me wonder where she’ll go from here now that she lost two title matches in a row. The last time she lost a UFC fight was when she dropped the Women’s Bantamweight Championship against Holly Holm. She considered suicide after that match. After her first stare down with Nunes, she needed to be consoled. If I could hug Ronda right now, I would.

Revenge Porn

Liz Ronaldson wondered how badly her body would be broken after jumping off of the suspension bridge into the icy waters below. Would her legs snap in two? Would her neck crack in different directions? Would it be over in an instant? Regardless of the two-hundred foot drop, shattered bones and punctured organs couldn’t compare to the pain she felt in her heart and soul. As she gazed hypnotically into the waters below, tears cascaded from her eyes. She tried wiping them away with the only puffy coat she had, but the tears kept coming. No matter how many times she snorted and sniffed, the loose snot wouldn’t stay up her nose. She was ready to jump. One…two…

“Hey, loser, you got five dollars on you? Gimme that shit!” She saw the incident take place only a few feet from where she planned to jump. The three bullies pushed around the smaller kid like a torturous game of volleyball, all while making wisecracks about how he was allegedly on welfare and food stamps. The smaller kid hauled back and slapped one of the bullies across the cheek. The shoving match ended with the bullies staring at the kid in shock. They swore at him with whip-cracking voices while punching him relentlessly, causing the little guy to huddle on the ground and cover.

Liz’s suicidal sorrow turned into fiery rage. Her tears became hotter. Her stomach was burning with homicidal tendencies. Her fists were clenched tightly. Reaching around for the nearest weapon she could find, she picked up a lead pipe and shouted to the bullies, “Hey! Knock that shit off! He’s just a kid, you fucking idiots!”

The bullies ended the beat down like they were told, but only to laugh and point at Liz. “Hey, look! Miss Ronaldson’s got something big in her hands! Hell, I got something big too after seeing those naked pictures!” taunted one of the bullies, resulting in even more obnoxious laughter.

Liz chucked the lead pipe at the bullies and caused them to cover up with their arms as they ran off like little bitches. The former teacher continued to throw rocks, rusty nails, glass bottles, and anything else she could get her hands on until the older kids were out of sight. Some of her projectiles hit their marks, but only did enough damage to elicit an “Ouch!” and nothing more.

“That’s right, you pussies! You’d better run like the goddamn wind! If I ever see you fuckers again, I’ll kill you all!” shouted Liz while flailing her fists in the air. Even more tears poured from her eyes and stained her tattered jeans and newspaper shoes. The little kid, which she now recognized as one of her former students, was tearing up as well. Bloody gashes covered his arms and face, but being homeless didn’t afford Liz access to proper healthcare supplies.

Liz approached the banged up kid and ripped off pieces of her fluffy jacket to use as bandages for his wounds. Neither teacher nor student could stop crying, but Liz wiped her own tears away long enough to form coherent sentences. “Hi there, Seth! You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” murmured Seth Luke. He wiped his eyes with his bloodied arm and recognized the angelic face of his recently fired English teacher. “Miss Ronaldson? Are you homeless too?”

“Please, call me Liz. I don’t deserve to be called Miss Ronaldson after what happened with those pictures. So many of my friends and family saw those.” Liz smiled sadly and shrugged before changing the topic. “What am I saying? You’re the one who got beat up. They got you pretty good. I think there’s a hospital around here somewhere. Are you well enough to walk with me?”

“Thanks for helping me, Miss Ro, I mean, Liz,” sniffled Seth. He shivered in this chilly afternoon air due to him only wearing a short sleeved shirt.

Liz gazed upon him sympathetically and took off her own jacket to wrap him up. “There you go, Seth. You’ll be all warm and toasty in no time at all.”

“Thanks, Liz, but don’t you need a jacket too? You’ll freeze out here,” stammered Seth.

“I’m not going to need a jacket for where I’m going,” said Liz while gesturing towards the edge of the bridge with a nudge of her head.

“No! No, you can’t do that!” argued Seth as he wrapped his bloodied arms around Liz. “I’m not letting you jump! I don’t care if I have to hold onto you for the rest of my life!” Even more hot tears drained the homeless teenager’s eyeballs to the point of redness. “You were my favorite teacher before they fired you! You taught me about being creative and making the most of life! And now you’re just going to jump off the bridge over some naked pictures online?!”

Liz wrapped her arms around Seth and said solemnly, “There’s more to it than that, Seth. It’s not just the naked pictures that became my scandalous secret. It’s about my career. It’s about my social and family lives. I made a bad decision when I let my bastard of a boyfriend take those pictures of me. I’ve lost everything and I can’t get it back. Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever. All I have left are the clothes on my body and a beating heart. I don’t want the latter of those two things if it just keeps hurting like this.”

Seth gave Liz his best puppy dog expression when he sobbed, “But I can help you get those things back! It’s not over until I say it’s over! You’re going to be okay again! I promise you!”

“Seth, that is so sweet,” sniffed Liz. “But you’re in the same boat as I am. We’re both alone out here with nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. What can we do for each other now? Where do we go from here?”

“There’s always another way, Liz,” said Seth. “We have each other. We can be a team and take on the streets together. Just you and me! No jack-off bullies, no bastard boyfriends, no judgment at all. You taught me all about this, Liz! You taught me how important it is to care about each other and be there when we’re down. If you jump off that bridge, you’re going to be nothing more than a hypocrite! Maybe I’ll join you afterwards, who knows!”

Liz shoved Seth away from the embrace and transformed back into rage mode. “Oh yeah?! A hypocrite?! And what do you suppose I do about this?! I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve got frostbite on my fucking fingers! Nobody wants to give me the time of day let alone give me my life back, all because of some stupid fucking naked pictures! What am I supposed to do, just pick up a beer bottle off the ground and pretend there’s actually liquor in it?! Tell me how you’d solve my problems if suicide doesn’t fix everything, asshole! What would the great and wonderful Seth Luke do if he was half the master of his destiny that I’m supposed to be?!”

While giving his former teacher the gorgon death stare, Seth pulled a wallet out of his pocket with his school’s logo on it. It looked stuffed with dollar bills. “You see this? I plucked it out of one of the bullies’ pockets while those three bastards were beating on me! I was going to eat at McDonald’s or Denny’s with this kind of money! I was going to take you out for something to eat! But I guess you’d prefer suicide over a good meal! See you around, toots! Thanks for the life lessons! I really appreciate them!”

Seth turned heel and began stomping away. Watching him leave twisted a knot in Liz’s stomach. No matter how much she tried to deny it, Seth was right all along. Dying would solve nothing. Liz had just unloaded on the one person in this world who still cared about her. He probably didn’t even have an internet connection to see those pictures. He took to her lessons of not judging each other like a bee to honey. Liz’s heart shattered into a million pieces after realizing what she had done.

“Seth, wait!” said Liz as she ran after him. He turned to face her with his arms folded and an angry stare formed on his bloody visage. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. Look at you. You’re in the same boat as me and you’d never consider suicide. You’re an A+ student in the truest sense. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Let’s take on the world together. I’d love to eat a decent meal with you. How about a hug?”

Liz and Seth bawled some more while coming in for a tight embrace. Two of the loneliest people in the world versus an uncaring, inherently evil society. The odds were stacked against them, but they liked those odds anyways. Death was not the answer. Fighting like a passionate warrior was closer to being the topic of an A+ paper, written by A+ students and teachers alike.

Sloppy Joe

VERSE 1

You’re a beta male on beta blockers

A fitness freak with the biggest knockers

A Mary Jane mind that’s off your rocker

Childish joker who plays the role of mocker

You think you’ve got bigger balls than soccer

As you put your hot pants in a tiny locker

You’ve got some nerve being such a shit talker

Your rabid obsession makes you a kind of stalker

CHORUS 1

Sloppy Joe, what the fuck do you know?

Are you smoking the pot or sniffing the blow?

Sloppy Joe, you do this all for the dough

For the biggest check you’d backstab your bros

VERSE 2

You Gary-Stus have become old news

Older than the days of bebop and blues

Changing the channel is what we choose

No need to waste a perfectly good fuse

On someone who brings on a good snooze

Or someone too big for his baby shoes

Your macho persona is all but a ruse

When every argument is yours to lose

CHORUS 2

Sloppy Joe, where the fuck did you go?

Do you have enough butt-hurt steam to blow?

Sloppy Joe, get out of the front row

Not even close to being the star of the show

VERSE 3

Barbarian warriors are turning in their graves

Even they’re disgusted by how you behave

They’re the bottom of the barrel, that’s saying a lot

A tough guy and super athlete you are not

A one-sided battle you barely even fought

You didn’t give this a whole lot of thought

If you open your mouth, don’t ever get caught

With tears in your eyes and a nose full of snot

CHORUS 3

Sloppy Joe, you must be mentally slow

Too many rocks that you came to throw

Sloppy Joe, it’s time for you to blow

Get off the stage, get off the show

Sloppy Joe, now where will you go?

Nobody wants to listen to you crow

Sloppy Joe, time to mature and grow

Don’t pick a fight with a stronger foe

I Want Presents

Dr. Kate Spencer peered through the peephole of Glenn Robertson’s padded cell with pity and sympathy. He just sat there cross-legged with thinning brown hair, a gray T-shirt, and blue pajama pants, repeating the same line over and over again: “I want presents.” Dr. Spencer thought about how bureaucratic her mental hospital had become: sedate, lock up, repeat. No cures, no real treatments, just keeping these poor people under lock and key. A solitary tear smeared Kate’s makeup as she thought about Glenn sitting there with that goofy faraway look in his eyes. All of those drugs and all of those treatments, what for?

The head doctor knew in her heart that there had to be another way to get through to her patients. There had to be more to this hospital than just the business aspect of it. Why did everything have to be for profit? Wasn’t there just one instance where human dignity trumped the almighty dollar bill? Kate knew she was risking her career by trying this new approach, but seeing all of these depressed patients weighed too heavily on her conscience and she couldn’t take any more of it. She wiped the tear from her eye and told the two orderlies that they could leave. They nodded and did so.

Dr. Spencer took a deep breath and steadied herself before entering Glenn’s cell with no protection from the nurses and orderlies. The mental patient didn’t take his mile-long gaze off of the opposite wall. He just sat there like a dope long after Kate closed the cell door. She said in a motherly voice, “Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

It took a while, but Glenn turned to meet Kate’s eyes. He had a little bit of drool running down his chin as he said, “I want presents.”

“Yes, we all know you want presents, Mr. Robertson,” said Dr. Spencer. She sat next to Glenn in the same cross-legged position as her patient and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He blushed and looked down at his lap. “Guess what day it is?”

“I want presents.”

“That’s right, Glenn: it’s that time of year alright. It’s Christmas Eve! I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. But before I reveal my big surprise to you, you and I need to talk about something. It’s about your health,” said Kate.

“I want presents.”

“I know you do,” said Kate as she fluffed Glenn’s horseshoe hair. “But you need to listen to me for a few minutes. I can’t help you otherwise. Glenn, do you have any idea how much time has passed since you first came here?”

The patient shrugged his shoulders and allowed a spot of drool to splash his pajama pants. Kate’s answer was, “Fifteen years. You’ve been living in this hospital for fifteen long years. You were admitted here at the tender age of twenty-five when your parents died in a plane crash. You had a traumatic breakdown. You couldn’t find work. You couldn’t find anybody to take care of you. So fifteen years later, here you are. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but that’s only because we’ve kept you sedated and drugged throughout most of your stay. I know it’s wrong, trust me, I do. My hands were tied, even as the head doctor of this facility.”

Glenn tucked his head and sobbed softly while sniffing mucus up his nose. “I want presents! I want presents!”

“You see, that’s the thing,” said Kate while patting Glenn on the back. “Presents are not going to bring your parents back. They’re not going to help you find a place to live or a job to work at. But what they can do is bring you back to that sense of nostalgia you once had. You loved Christmas. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you opened those presents. If I bring you back to that special moment, you have to promise that you’ll tell me everything. I want to hear more about your life than the fact that you want presents. Okay, big guy?”

“I want presents.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Dr. Spencer before planting a playful kiss on the top of his head. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Your cell has a PA system as you already know, which is what we use to wake you up and give you dinner or medicine. Well, today on Christmas Eve, your sound system is going to be used for something else entirely. Consider this your early Christmas present. You want presents? Here you go.”

Kate pulled a remote out of her lab coat pocket and aimed it at the speaker box in the high corner of the cell. One press of the button later and the sounds of rhythmic heart beats surrounded the cell. Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump. Glenn’s stupefied trance turned into a silly grin with drool running down his T-shirt.

The heart beats were accompanied by a glockenspiel recording of the Christmas classic “Silent Night”. Glenn’s smile grew wider and he crouched further in his sitting position. He nodded off for a few seconds and then jerked back to reality. He nodded off again and woke back up. This cycle repeated itself until the song was over, in which case he fell backwards and made snow angels when Dr. Spencer stood up to give him room.

“I want presents…I want pres…I wan pre…I wa…pre….I…I…” His nirvana ended in a flood of tears when he realized the moment was temporary.

Dr. Spencer knelt down and held his hand in hers while petting his arm hair with her other hand. “I’m sorry, Glenn. I really thought this would have helped you. I didn’t know it would bring you so much pain. I’m sorry. I really am.” She slowly stood back up and hung her head dejectedly as she trudged toward the cell door.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home!” sobbed Glenn. His snow angel motions were quickening and began to resemble autistic arm flapping instead.

Dr. Spencer gave him a wide-eyed look of shock as she heard the first real words he said other than “I want presents”. Yes, Glenn was still sobbing like the small child he believed himself to be, but this was the only real progress that no bureaucratic drugging procedure could have ever made. She knelt beside him again and rubbed his belly like a rolled over puppy-duppy.

“Listen to me, Glenn,” she said in a soothing voice. “We can’t let you out on the streets just yet. You can’t go back home. Another family is already living there. Your family has been so far behind on the payments that the bank had no choice but to foreclose on them. If I let you out now, where will you go? Who will you turn to now that you have no family remaining?”

Glenn relaxed his body, smiled at Dr. Spencer, and said, “I’ll turn to you!”

Tears welled up in Dr. Spencer’s eyes as she smiled at her patient. She rubbed them away with her lab coat sleeve, placed her hand on her chest lovingly, and said, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard from my patients. You really mean that, don’t you? You’re not mad at me for all of these years I’ve kept you here?”

Glenn’s smile faded and the tears returned. “You’re the closest thing to a mother I have, Dr. Spencer. I love you.”

Both doctor and patient’s eyes became excessively wet at the outpours of emotion. It took fifteen years to get through to Glenn Robertson. Fifteen years of sedatives. Fifteen years of untested drugs. Fifteen years of being locked up for simply being sad. In this moment, they were free. Glenn wasn’t out on the streets just yet, but he was there in spirit. Dr. Kate Spencer wasn’t out from behind her desk, but her chains were loosening with every tear and every loving gesture. The doctor and patient hugged each other and sobbed into their shoulders.

They didn’t want to let go, but a boisterous male voice from the now opened cell door shouted, “This is bullshit!” Kate and Glenn looked up to see two orderlies with an electric lance in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. One orderly bellowed, “Dr. Spencer, you know there’s a rule against this kind of treatment! Mr. Robertson is being treated for a serious condition and you’re just…”

“I’m just what?!” roared Kate while standing back up and acting as a border between the orderlies and Glenn. “Is it so crazy and insane to believe that people’s lives matter more than procedure? Isn’t there more to life than making billions of fucking dollars? You two don’t give a shit about these patients! You give a shit about cashing your paycheck and nothing more! If you want to get to this poor innocent boy behind me, you know exactly who you have to go through!”

The orderlies’ faces changed from authoritative rage to solemn contemplation. Everyone in this standoff was breathing heavily and anticipating the next move. “Okay, Dr. Spencer. I see exactly how it is. You’re absolutely right,” said one of the orderlies. “I do have to go through you!” In one swift motion, both orderlies zapped Dr. Spencer with their taser lances, sending her convulsing to the floor with blood trickling out of her nose.

Glenn shouted, “No!” and huddled over the fallen doctor, drenching her in tears and snot. The two buff orderlies grabbed him by the arms and roughly dragged him out of the cell screaming, “No!” and “I want presents!”

“Merry Christmas, asshole!” screamed one of the orderlies before Kate heard another zapping noise. The sounds of Glenn’s painful cries were drowned out by the doctor’s own fading into blackness. The last thing she heard was a weakened and raspy version of, “I want presents.” Her black vision was wet with waterfall tears once again. Where would she go from here? Would she get her own padded cell? Would she be fired? Was there a chance to sue this hospital? Whatever the case would have been, Kate knew even in unconsciousness that it was too late to save Glenn Robertson.

“I want presents….I want presents…I want presents….” she said to herself.

Multiple Works-In-Progress

***MULTIPLE WORKS-IN-PROGRESS***

A few months ago, I saw a meme challenge on Face Book where my author friends post the first few lines from three of their works-in-progress. Judging from how many people were doing this challenge, it made me wonder if authors really do like to write three different novels at once (or more). By the time it became my turn to do the challenge, I confessed that I wasn’t working on a novel of any kind, so I just posted the first lines of three Poison Tongue Tales short stories. Seeing so many of my author friends writing novels and getting them done in a timely fashion motivated me to start working on Demon Axe, which I’m halfway done with.

I have Demon Axe planned out from beginning to end, so it’s all a matter of finding the energy to get shit done. American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both anthologies with WSS contest entries as part of the collections, so those are pretty much on a weekly basis. Prophecy is a collection of poems, which will eventually amount to one-hundred since they’re only one page long at best, but I only write poetry when I truly feel like it, no sooner, no later. That leaves me with Demon Axe being the only true WIP I write independently. If I was to do this Face Book meme challenge again, I would only have one paragraph to post (or first seven lines, I forget which one).

I’ve thought about tacking on another novel to work on. I often run the scenarios of each novel idea through my head as if they’re actual WIP’s. I for instance have a college romance idea called “Is This Weird?” where I incorporate my strange sexual fetishes into the main relationship of the story. I also have a pro-introvert high school drama called “The Silent Warrior”, which will have to go through a complete overhaul in order to make the main character less angry and more reasonable. If I was to work on a secondary novel alongside Demon Axe, I would want it to be a contemporary drama instead of a sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I would want it to be the American Darkness to Demon Axe’s Poison Tongue Tales. For some reason contemporary dramas are easier to write.

That leaves me with a novel idea I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. It’s inspired by the movie Clerks as well as my experiences with going to rock concerts and being around drunken idiots. It’s called “Chicken and Fries” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Maxine Bennett, Concessions Clerk
2. Belle Anthony, Slacker
3. Evan Olson, Maxine’s Bouncer Boyfriend
4. Sean Steiner, Straightedge Rocker
5. Nameless Concertgoers
6. Nameless Boss

SYNOPSIS: Maxine started working at the Brown River Arena in order to save up for college. Since being hired, she has been yelled at, sexually harassed, and assaulted by intoxicated customers. When Sean Steiner and his touring band are the main attraction, beer and cigarettes are not for sale, which upsets the already wild fans. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Maxine begins fighting back against the customers. On what she says is her last day on the job, she burns customers with pizza, splashes soda against them, dips their heads in the deep fryer, and even shoves chicken tenders down a customer’s shorts and burns his crotch. Evan tries to calm Maxine down on several occasions, but she’s unresponsive to his pleas. Things go from bad to worse when Maxine notices Belle, who called in sick earlier that day, partying in the audience and enjoying the music instead of taking her shift like she was supposed to. At the end of this deliciously violent day, the only one with common sense is Sean Steiner, who is the last customer to order chicken and fries for dinner. Sean helps Maxine realize just how much trouble she’s in by telling her a story of a time he smashed up a hotel room in an act of rage.

FUN FACT: The novel is called “Chicken and Fries” because that’s the most common thing the patrons order, just like cigarettes were the most common thing Clerks customers bought.

Nothing is permanent yet. I still don’t even know if writing a second novel alongside Demon Axe is a good idea. Yes, other authors are capable of doing it, but I’m not other authors. I’m not the kind of writer who pours everything onto a page and because of that I only write when I’m mentally and physically one-hundred percent. If I’m taking such a long time writing Demon Axe, I’ll probably take just as long to write Chicken and Fries. This is something I really have to think about before I dive into it. Until I make my decision, I’d like to know everyone else’s take on the subject of working on multiple novels at once. Is it a welcome side project or is it too much work at once? We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

The new week started this past Wednesday and the theme is appropriately going to be “Christmas Eve”. After today, I have three more days to write my story before the submission deadline. I probably won’t do it tomorrow since it’s going to be Christmas and I’d rather spend time with my family. That leaves me with Monday or Tuesday to get shit done. My story will be called “I Want Presents” and is based on a disturbing dream I once had. Here’s the synopsis:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Glenn Robertson, Mental Patient

2.      Kate Spencer, Head Doctor

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Christmas is getting closer as Glenn’s mental state worsens.

SYNOPSIS: After losing his parents in a plane crash, Glenn regresses into childlike behavior and eventually has to be institutionalized. It’s getting close Christmas and he refuses to say anything else but, “I want presents.” Kate and her staff of nurses and doctors have tried everything in their power to medicate Glenn into a normal state, but he seems to be getting worse every day. In a last ditch effort to make progress, Kate assumes the unlikely role of Glenn’s mother-figure and does something special for the holidays.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

This will be the second drawing in a row that features a character from my latest WSS entry “The Theomancer”. It will be of Yeti, a gigantic mummy who serves as the gatekeeper between Krimson and Seven. Yeti is really just a direct copy of the WCW wrestler of the same name, but he’s different enough to avoid a lawsuit. Besides, Yeti gets a better push in “The Theomancer” than he ever did in WCW. After all, it’s hard to push a gigantic mummy when he’s best known for spooning Hulk Hogan and humping him from behind. I’m not kidding, that actually happened. What Culture jokes about it all the time.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you take all of the vowels out of Reince Priebus’s name, it says RNC PR BS.”

-Jim Cornette-

Demon Axe, Chapter 10

Building a campfire in the grassy arena wasn’t hard to do considering so many victims left behind their pot lighters during the slaughter. The foursome could have just as easily crawled inside the Demon Axe tour van and ran the heater, but who wanted to be inside that beat up piece of shit anyways? The cackling flames in the early morning chill felt good against the shaking hands of Daniel Mercer, as well as his newfound friends in the form of Johnny Vega, Sonia Marquez, and Raven Triscloud. The Demon Axe microphone sat beside Daniel like it was his own child.

“So, Mr. Lord of the Pit, what do we do now? Do we hunt this Roger asshole down or what?” asked Johnny, his fists tightening at the thought of getting his hands on that self-righteous lunatic.

“Trust me, Johnny boy, there’s nothing I’d love more than to scream a few lines in his face. I might let you power bomb him a few times first. Maybe Sonia can lock him in a triangle choke with those long legs of hers. But you know what? Roger Zee isn’t going to make himself easy to find. You want to know why it took a long time to find Bin Laden? Because it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Or a nun a porn convention. Or a bloody coat hanger in a catholic church. Or a…”

Raven cut off Daniel’s dialogue with, “Okay, we get it. Roger is hard to find. It’s not like we have a GPS signal on him or anything like that. And I shudder to think about waiting for him to make another attack.”

“Wait a minute…” said Daniel like a light bulb was going off in his mind. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s it! I’ve got the microphone! Johnny and Sonia know how to wrestle! I say we put on a fucking show, baby!” The two wrestlers cheered with fists raised to the sky.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second!” said Raven while waving her arms around defensively. “Daniel, you can’t actually be that dumb, can you? Yes, your microphone has these supernatural powers that can subdue pretty much anybody, but you’re talking about luring Roger Zee out in the open, basically daring him to attack. You’re inviting all of these people to see a show and they’re going to be victims! Do you not see what the hell it is you’re suggesting, Daniel? You’re using your own audience as fodder! I spent all of this time trying to convince you that the death of your band mates wasn’t your fault. If you put on this show in an attempt to lure out Roger, those deaths WILL be on your head! Is that what you want?”

“It wouldn’t matter if it was a Demon Axe show or a fucking Justin Bieber abortion,” said Johnny. “Roger is going to attack whether Daniel’s involved or not. It could be people on a subway, people at a football game, or even a fucking strip club, for god’s sake. If Daniel puts on a show somewhere, at least we’ll be there to stop this Dungeons & Dragons douche bag before he starts slashing shit to pieces.”

“He’s blunt, but he’s got a point,” said Sonia with a wink.

“How the hell is he going to put on a concert when all of his Demon Axe buddies are dead?! He can’t just scream into a microphone and expect people to dance around like puppets! He needs a guitarist! He needs a bass player! He needs a drummer! And none of those people can be imaginary this time!” said a frustrated Raven. In her mind, this debate shouldn’t even have been happening. It was just a case of testosterone (even on Sonia’s side) versus common sense.

Daniel had a shit-eating grin on his face when he said, “I think I might know some guys who will fill those roles. The night of the concert, there were two other bands that played before Demon Axe. One of them was an LGBT-themed band called Juice (what else are you going to call it?) and the other was a Muslim-themed band called I Am Death (again, what else are you going to call it?). I think some of those guys would be happy to play a few new hits.”

Raven laughed sarcastically and after being asked by Daniel what was so funny, she said, “Oh, that’s fucking rich! You’re going to ask two heavy metal bands who are probably more traumatized than you are right now if they want to be bait for Roger Zee. They’ve gone through enough shit already and now you’re going to put them through an even bigger shit storm. Were they even around during the attack or did they leave before it could happen?”

“Those guys are like brothers and sisters to me!” snapped Daniel. “I gave them a chance to open for me when nobody else would! They’ve done so much to help me in my career that this was the best way I could pay them back! If Juice and I Am Death decide to help me with my plan, I’ll make sure they get all the star power they can handle. Their careers are going to skyrocket after this show. All the hateful motherfuckers out there who harass them on Twitter and in public are going to have to eat their words like a big old turd sandwich! What do you think about that, Raven-Pie?!”

Raven held up a wagging finger and said, “First of all, don’t call me Raven-Pie. I’m not your granddaughter or your wife. And second of all, if you’re going to use your so-called brothers and sisters are cannon fodder, make sure they know what the fuck it is they’re signing up for. Otherwise, they’re never going to trust you again and they’ll fade back into obscurity. But I’m pretty sure that once they figure out what the hell is going on, they’re going to tell you to take your star power and shove it up your ass.”

“Do you want to catch this motherfucker or not?!” shouted Daniel. “Roger Zee is your project, Raven! He’s a product of your society whether you want to admit it or not! I’m handing him to you on a silver platter and you won’t even jump at the opportunity! And here I thought that blade you carry in your boot was for fighting the good fight! Turns out you’re just chopping onions! Either that or you really are crying about bullshit!”

Raven sighed and stood up before starting her way back to the portal. When asked where she was going by Daniel, she looked at him sternly and said, “If you think sacrificing a bunch of innocent people is going to get you what you want, then obviously I can’t stop you. Hell, your wrestler friends seem to be onboard with it and they could probably pile-drive my ass if I tried to stop you. Just know this: the next time your brain goes numb from the trauma you endure, don’t bother using that EMDR trick I showed you. I want you to live with that pain for the rest of your miserable life. I’m going back to the elven world to tell my king about how he wasted a perfectly good magic spell on you. I’m sure it’ll break his heart, but I’m telling him anyways. Goodbye, Daniel. I hope your plan is worth it.”

Raven opened the portal to the elven world underneath the statue of King Arthur Triscloud and hopped through without protest from her other three former cohorts. Daniel was left with a solemn expression on his face, as if the elf’s words stung his heart worse than any slash from Roger’s machete. Just when the Lord of the Pit was going to sink into depressive quicksand…

“Man, who gives a shit what she thinks?!” roared Johnny. “If she wants to go back home to daddy and whine until the apocalypse, then we don’t need her ass anyways! Trust me, Daniel, you’ve got this. Sonia and I will be bouncers at your concert if that’s what you want. The minute Roger shows up with that sick-looking blade of his, we’ll hold him still while you spit some lines in his face. And then all of your loyal fans can body surf his ass onstage so that you can take the world’s biggest dump on his chest. Doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

Daniel still had a contemplative expression on his face and refused to answer. Sonia snapped him out of it when she reached over and lovingly stroked the back of his hand. “Hey, rock god. Johnny asked you a question. Are you going to answer it or are you going to sit there and fantasize about your elf girlfriend all day?”

“She’s just a friend, Sonia. At least she was,” murmured Daniel.

“Yeah, and I’m your mother,” said Sonia sarcastically before scooting next to him and placing her thick arm around his shoulders. It wasn’t as tender as Raven’s, but it would have to do. “Raven doesn’t want to see the bigger picture here. Of course Roger is going to attack whoever the hell he wants. He’s going to keep doing it until his wing-nut beliefs are satisfied. Wouldn’t you at least like to see him before he pulls this shit again?”

Daniel’s expression changed from bitter disappointment to enraged confidence. His eyebrows were furrowed, his frown was intimidating, and his muscles tensed. “Let’s do this shit! I’ll even send Roger’s chopped off dick and balls to Raven as a Valentine’s Day present.” He then looked sexily at Sonia and said, “Or maybe I’ll give them to someone even more special.”

“Oh, Daniel!” said Sonia as she kissed Daniel on his cheek and patted him on the back. “Come on, Johnny, let’s go.”

Sitting cross-legged, the giant wrestler looked down at his lap and said, “You know I would, but I can’t stand up right now.”

“TMI, Johnny! TMI!” shouted Sonia. Daniel on the other hand was laughing his ass off.