Ramblings Of a Dead Snake (ROADS)

Chirp, chirp, chirp! Said the boy in the hat,

I don’t know why but he said it like that.

With a snap of his fingers and a flick of his wrists,

His back contorted and made a vile hiss.

The popping of his back was pleasing,

His life pooled at his feet unceasing.

Crying, my eyes were crooked,

laughing as my jaw unhooked. 

 

I tried to scream all in vain,

Voice was drowned out by the rain.

It flowed out skyward from his mouth,

Heading up and then shot straight south.

Just then, click, reset, undo.

He flapped his arms like a cockatoo.

Chirp, chirp, chirp! The little boy said,

That’s when I realized I had lost my head. 

My Heart is beating like a dra-dra-dra-drum,

and my head to my hands to my teeth are all numb

I’m gone, I’m rotting, I’m lost,

and the void is taking over the rest of my thoughts.

I’m ranting, I’m raving, I’m consciously mad,

and if I fall, fall asleep I know I’m fucking dead.

You see, that all bullshit.

I know that it’s not, but it seems real to me,

and this mindless drawn out mindset is a mild phil-os-ophy.

That’s right; I said it, I meant it.

I’m fucking philosophy now.

We Philosophy now.

His non-sense is palpable and digestible.

It’s detestable. It’s driving me mad, and it’s settling in.

Driving deep, that unknowing doubt creeping in.

Is he right?

 Is that what the world is?

Not non-sense, misconstrued wisdom?

I need to explore, I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Well, I did it. 
And all I got,
was a bitter taste
in my mouth.

Why did I have to question?
When all is paved in silver,
why push for gold?  

Now I’m wayward and broken, 
Again.
Now I’m wayward and loathing,
Myself.

I’m lost with out it. 
That connection.

End it all?
No.

I will leave myself here, 
to suffer—
to rediscover.  

:: Philosophic doubt as to the objective reality of phenomena; broadly: a skeptical outlook or attitude.

By Nick Will

The rear door of the van slammed as Ivan walked out of the dealership, resounding in the courtyard. Ivan was a handsome man, tall and thin with his London Fog Trench and designer umbrella. Behind the van stood Benson. Towering at around seven feet, his hand-tailored letterman’s jacket was bright orange and it barely fit him. The words painted on the side of the van read: ‘Jones Brother’s Art and Entertainment’. They appeared to be washing away with the rain.

“Why do you insist on doing things that way?” Ivan asked his brother.

Benson, with his short fuse ready to ignite; “listen, I hate rain. I hate the northwest. Bein’ here is about as comfortable as bein’ underwater. This goddamn rain ruined just about every goddamn thing I brought up here, and you’re gonna go off on me for slammin’ a goddamned door?”

“So angry constantly. You are not a good fit for an art dealership.” Ivan chuckled lightly as he walked around the front of the van.

 Opening the passenger’s side door, Ivan carefully ducked his head under and made his way from the ground to the seat while retracting his umbrella, all in a one agile motion.  The rain was running down the windshield like an egg cracked in a lukewarm pan- just a solid film of clear liquid.

Benson ripped open the driver’s side door and clambered into the van, taking no time to slam it behind him. He turned over the key and they were off. Tearing over the thruway, Benson gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline. Ivan on the other hand, was almost asleep.

“So, why’d you drag me up here anyways?” Benson asked, shaking a bit from the anxiety of Seattle’s traffic.

Waking up from his pseudo-nap, Ivan turned to his brother and smiled. “Well, Benson, Jack isn’t holding up so well.”

Benson threw some tic-tacks into his mouth and started nervously chewing. “Over Jay, still? That was over a year ago, how could it’ve just hit him? I mean, shit, he’s been through worse.”

Ivan shook his head. “It’s not Jay Ben, it was the drugs. He’s been hitting them hard since Jay went, and I haven’t been able to talk to him. He won’t even look at me.”

“I’ve been readin’ some psych books this year, and from the sounds of it it’s just a grief responder,” replied Benson. “I think that he’s havin’ a hard time coping with her loss, and that’s why he’s hitting the stuff hard.”

“Benson, I highly doubt the psychology gen ed’s from your tour at Texas State on your warmonger scholarship have made you a super psychologist,” Ivan joked. “You play football, remember? I’m the brains of this family.”

Benson choked down a few more tic-tacs and ignored his brother.

Ivan sighed, “look, all we gotta do is grab a few of his new paintings a week, sell them, put half into the family account, and half into a savings account for Jack. He can’t stay locked in that studio forever.” At least Ivan hoped that was the case. “We need to stop by the Deli on our way there.”

It’s night again. I can hear them coming. That tapping noise, it’s them. Approaching. Going to the window I see nothing. Nothing there besides those towers. Towers of steel. Erected toward him in spite. They live in high places. They mock him. They are no longer afraid. But I fear him. Even though I am his son, I fear him. Chosen, I still fear his wrath.

***********************************************

This is a prison. They keep me here. If I leave, they will get me. They feed me. I can only eat certain things, as Apothecus has said. I may eat only the plants that grow from her, the mother, as they are pure. All flesh can be cursed. All products of men are equally cursed. This is hard- dissecting a turkey club to eat only lettuce and tomato; but it is right.

The legion approaches. Again, I hear their footfalls in the distance. That light tapping always playing in my ears. But they cannot get me hear, no. I have the sigils to protect me, as Apothecus has shown me.

I paint the sigils to keep them out, but the generals can come. They come around every seventh sunset. They collect my sigils, and take them. Then, I must paint again. These sigils keep the legion at bay, and for that I am glad.

“Have you seen it yet?” Apothecus has returned. Oh, thank you father for sending my guardian.

“No, I fear it has not yet come to pass. Apothecus, I am scared. I have been here for weeks on end, and he has not yet told me what to do.”

“Fear not my son,” Apothecus walks to me. He places his hand on my head. I kneel at his feet. “When the time comes your father will bless thee with the divine gift, and every one of these infernal creatures will be slaughtered by your might.”

“I want only to cleanse in his name Apothecus.” I stand up.

 I walk to the window. Below, they mock me. They pretend that the world has not changed. I saw it change. I watched as He came and ripped her from me. I watched as he took hold of her body and killed her from inside. Jai’El.

“That foul creature was born in the bowls of Minauros, and there he will return when I am through,” I declared to my teacher. He will suffer the acid rains of his homeland. He will feel the whip of his father.

“My child, no longer dwell on dark thoughts,” Apothecus came behind and embraced me. “For the darkness in your mind and heart is what prevents his light to come onto you.”

And then they came. Their chariot below on the street, they are here. They are his brothers, Jai’El’s blood. The sons of Mammon in their guises. They are disgusting.

“I fear I must leave my child, for as you know I am not allowed in the presence of such creatures. But fear not, though they are demons, they want Jai’El dead as much as we do.” With that Apothecus left me again, to fend for myself.

I hear them approaching the door. I sit in my circle of protection. This was my first sigil. It protects me from them.

Keys jingle in the hallway, and the door opens.

“Hey Jack, you alive in here?” the slender, attractive one mocks me.

“Take them and go,” I say, my words dripping with venom. “I have no idea what your intent is with them, but you will not understand their power.”

“Are you okay Jack?” The beast approaches. His large, lumbering frame ever as threating as last week.

I draw my knife. “Stay back! You come into my cell to mock me, I know it. I help you only to help myself.”

They leave the sacrament again. A turkey club. Mocking me.

“Hey Jack you don’t look so good.” The one in the back calls to me. “Have you been sleeping? I’ll be sure to bring you some water later.”

I haven’t slept in days. I know that they want me to kill their brother. I can see it in their eyes. Is that what they want?

“Listen Jack, I want you to get through this, whatever it is. It’s not your fault she’s gone. I just want to make sure you know that.” The giant says, mocking, always mocking me.

I say nothing and stare at the floor until they go away. The door slams behind them, the giant throwing it closed. At least this time he didn’t prick me with a needle. I will start painting again. I will paint until I see. I will paint until he comes and tells me what to do next.

*****************************************************

Arriving at Jack’s studio, Benson and Ivan exited the van hopeful. Ivan grabbed the turkey club that he had picked up on the way there; it was always Jack’s favorite.

As they went up the stairs, and neared the studio, they could hear Jack talking to someone.

“…They want Jai’El dead as much as much as we do.” Jack said, in an inflated, almost angelic tone. As they neared door, they heard Jack fumbling around inside.

Ivan went through the keys meticulously, trying to find the correct one. As he opened the door, he asked: “Hey Jack, you alive in here?”

 He opened the door to Jack sitting on the floor inside a crudely drawn circle with some odd cult-like symbols inside of it. He looked terrible. Worse than he had looked to the two last week. He obviously hadn’t showered in months, and his clothes had a putrid reek to them. Jack smelled of refuse, and his brothers could do nothing but take it in.

 “Take them and go,” Jack said, in a criminalizing tone. “I have no idea what your intent is with them, but you will not understand their power.”

“Are you okay Jack?” Benson asked, worried about his brother.

Jack drew a knife from the back of his pants, barely tucked between the waistband and his dirty t-shirt. “Stay back! You come into my cell to mock me, I know it. I help you only to help myself.”

Benson stepped back, giving his brother space. Benson found it hard to not hit Jack right then and there.

Ivan walked into the room, and set down the sandwich they had picked up at Jack’s favorite deli.

“Hey Jack, you don’t look so good,” Ivan worried. “Have you been sleeping? I’ll be sure to bring you some water later.”

Ivan could tell that Jack hadn’t slept in days. If the half-dollar sized black rings under his eyes weren’t good enough clues, the fact that he couldn’t keep them open gave it away. In his state of delirium, Jack could easily die from dehydration if he wasn’t careful.

 “Listen Jack, I want you to get through this, whatever it is. It’s not your fault she’s gone. I just want to make sure you know that.” Benson looked at his brother, but Jack just hung his head and stopped talking. The two brothers stood in the room for a couple of minutes, and then headed for the stairs, Benson slamming the door behind him.

Ivan and Benson walked out of the large project building, and back into the drilling rain and traffic of downtown Seattle. Getting into the van, neither of them could let what they just saw sit well in their stomachs.

“Is that…. is that the drugs?” Benson asked, not sure how to say what he was thinking.

“The sad thing is, it’s not Ben,” Ivan replied, looking away from Benson and his brother’s building. “I haven’t given him anything, and all of his regular dealers said they haven’t heard from him in over a month.”

 Benson seemed surprised, but knew that that didn’t mean squat. “What about the other guys in town? I mean, it’s not like you know every goddamn dealer, and it’s not like even the ones you do know would have to tell you the truth.”

Ivan scoffed. “Ben, the Jones family has been running different facets of the entertainment business in this city since before Kurt Cobain picked up a guitar. Besides, that’s not how I know.”

“Then what?” Benson was confused.

Ivan sighed. “I ran a toxicology report through one of the clinics in town last week- piss, hair, blood, everything. They all came back clean.”