Sunday, November 22, 2009

Chapter Twenty Seven

You need a religion if you are terrified of death. - Gore Vidal







Chapter Twenty Seven


Hep and Scroat sat on pillows in Ares’s living room, across from Ares. Ares had been overjoyed to give them a bunch of flyers and pamphlets and zines when they’d arrived with titles like “Save the Sea Cows” and “Screw the Economy” and “Think Global, Act Local.”


“This war we’re in? Man, this war is nothing but a scam. We’re not fighting for anything except more money for the fascists that run this country.”


“Uh huh.”


“It’s just another way to keep us busy so we don’t know what they’re up to. While we’re all freaking out about how to end this war, they’re out there making power grabs so we all end up living in a totalitarian permanent war machine.”


“That’s just fucked up,” Scroat said.


“I know, man. It’s all bullshit, man. How can someone be so full of hate? The Earth needs love. The people need love. But all they’ve got is greed and atavism and rage.”


“It’s a real shame,” Hep said.


Hep’s legs were starting to ache badly. These cushions were fine for flexible hippie kids, but not so much for crippled deities.


“And then there’s all this Frankenfood they’re trying to feed us. What’s that shit about?”


Scroat perked up a bit. “Uh, what is that shit about? I’ve never heard of Frankenfood. Franken-berry, maybe.”


Ares rolled his eyes and sat back a bit. “Man, you’re not going to believe this. These big agricultural companies are genetically engineering food. It looks like a tomato. It tastes like a tomato, sorta. But it ain’t a tomato. There’s no nutrition in there, man. It’s just a plastic food product that looks pretty on a shelf and survives being transported from Mallorca or wherever the hell they’re growing it.”


“Really,” Hep said.


“It’s the truth man. They’re taking the food from the mouths of children in the name of corporate greed.”


“That’s just fucked up!” Scroat said.


Ares got up from his bean bag chair. “I got some more zines for you guys. You’re going to love this shit. It totally opened my eyes. Hang out a second.”


He left the room. Scroat looked over at Hep. His expression indicated his belief that Ares had gone completely off his rocker.


“Man, something is not right with him, Hep,” Scroat said.


“I know,” Hep said. “Much more of this and a clock is going to strike midnight somehwere and he’s going to turn into some kind of murder-pumpkin.”


“I know, what you... wait, a murder-pumpkin?”


“Yeah. Like in that fairy tale.”


“What the fuck does a murder pumpkin do, exactly?”


“Murders people.”


Scroat was very amused, suddenly. “And what do these murder pumpkins look like, anyway?”


“Like a homicidal jack-o-lantern, I expect. Look, he’s going to wig out at some point. We all have a specific purpose, and bad shit happens when we stray from that.”


Ares came back in to the living room then with an armful of zines. “OK, guys, get a brain-full of this...”


“Uh, Ares, I gotta admit, we didn’t come here to read your new hippie literature,” Hep said.


Ares looked crestfallen. He sat down, still holding the zines. “Well, I know you just came to visit, but I thought you’d be interested...”


“No, I mean we visited for a reason,” Hep said.


“Uh huh?”


“Look, I went and visited Death the other day. It turns out she’s been too depressed to get out of bed.”


“Well, that’s terrible. Here,” Ares started to get up. “We can make her a care package and go visit her.”


“Well, I don’t think she wants visitors right now,” Hep said. “I’m pretty sure she really wants to just be left alone with her chinese food and collection of sad songs.”


“Oh. Well, if you think it would help, I could send her a bag full of some sticky green buds. It’s good stuff. Red hairs galore!”


Scroat perked up once more. “I’ll take some of that!”

“Not now,” Hep said. “Look, I’m kind of standing in for her until she’s feeling better, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to come along and help me out.”


Ares was shocked. “What? You mean go kill people? Oh hell no.”


“Look, we’re not murdering them, just collecting people whose time has come.”


“I’m not doing it.”


“Come on, all we have to do is be there. We’re not even going to touch any of them.”


“No way, dude.”


Hep sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He looked at Scroat. “Grab him.”


Scroat hustled over to Ares before Ares could even stand and put him in a full nelson hold. Ares should have been able to shake Scroat off like he wasn’t even there, but didn’t.


“Hey, let go of me, man. Violence doesn’t solve anything.”


“Bring him outside and put him in the sidecar,” Hep said, and struggled to his feet. He grabbed one of the zines, “Practical Tips for Living Off The Grid,” and followed Scroat outside. He took a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket, and when Ares was in the sidecar, Hep handcuffed him to the grab rail.


Hep had made the handcuffs himself. They were, to the best of his knowledge, impossible to escape. For anyone, including gods.


“How come it always seems like I’m tying you up?” Hep asked Ares.


“Come on you guys, I don’t want anything to do with this,” Ares said.


“Scroat, would you lock up his house? Don’t want anyone messing with his stuff while we’re gone.”


“Hey! Come on! I’ve got a game of ultimate frisbee tomorrow!”


Hep got on to his motorcycle, and looked over at Ares. “This is for your own good, pal.”


Scroat came back and got on his own motorcycle.


“I left a note taped to the door saying Ares was going to be out of town dealing with a family emergency for a while,” Scroat said.


“Good thinking. Let’s go.”


With that, the three of them rode off towards Hep and Scroat’s house in Arizona.


“You guys really suck!” Ares said.

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