Day 35
Insanity of LKED
/absurdist comedy/
Remember the old saying, “tough times don’t last; tough people do?” In the next few hours, I confirmed the veracity of these words. I wasn’t some kind of mighty hero, but in my head I’d always spun the idea of becoming a new-age Hercules. His personal story resonated with my crazy voyage to Gunung Kinabalu, primarily because of my strength and perseverance to conquer many challenges in the Warrior Farm. I always knew I could behave like a real Hercules one day.
The naked memories of the sad past days covered me against my will. In that lonely moment, I asked the shadow that moved closer and closer, crawling over the muddy skin of the damp wall: “You know something? Someday, I’ll find her, my Sobekneferu princess. I don’t know exactly how or when, but I will. You probably don’t believe me, but I can visualize her, like right now, riding out of the clinic on the white horse…”
Of course, my poor condition was the reason for that bizarre statement. But what would happen next — after the tête-à-tête with my soul — was totally out of my craziest expectations.
“I knew the guys like you, Mr. Beard… They all ended up dead. At first, I thought it must be some kind of a reaction against me personally, or my latest research.” The voice from the corner was familiar. I turned my head to face the angry expression of Alexander Raphael. He continued, “But there’s a simple, psychiatric explanation. Personally, if you ask me — ah, I know you never will – too busy counting your endless wives… You know what, I think all that dreaming about finding one forever love or a perfect cure is crap! People are so naïve.”
“I thought I was a white horse once, too.” Mr. FuzzyPie sighed, escaping the sunlight and moving slowly toward my weak body.
I understood the complexity of my situation. That’s why I began to rock my bed, unconsciously repeating, “Swim, my boat, swim, my boat, swim.” And it did. But not in the direction that I planned. Alexander Raphael and Mr. FuzzyPie grabbed the iron chains and dragged my bed to the window. To tell you honestly, I didn’t know what they were up to, and I didn’t want to know: ignorance is the only true power in situations like this. The realization that I got a voice came to my rescue. I yelled, “Help! Save your king! ANYONE?” My ex-wife, Martha, ran into the cell, surrounded by two thugs with massive brown clubs. During the chaos and fight, my chains somehow fell off, and, struggling with pain, all purple, I broke free. While I was in the stage of absolute happiness, somebody hit me from behind. Yes… they just hit me on the head with all their might!
As I later found out (I was not far from the truth), only 13 patients — all of them women — were kept inside that clinic. Although 15,000 souls were recorded on the paper for which Mr. SoBeIt and his half-sister, Constanza Lovesick, received money and subsidies from the inhabitants of Gunung Kinabalu and my royal pocket. So, it didn’t surprise me when an uprising arose during my stay in captivity, which lasted several hours.
xxx
“Lucky bastard!” Those were the first words I heard when I opened my eyes. It seems I was still a king, but the animated mask of Alphonso Beard was partially smashed.
The 13 female patients, with their upper bodies uncovered, stood above me with their hair clipped in precisely the same fashion as the hair of Alexander Raphael. They looked so dangerous that I became convinced that it wouldn’t matter who I was. They dreamed of killing me without delay. However, seeing that I was unarmed and smiling stupidly, they stood silently and looked at me. Ah, so many thoughts passed through my mind: if only I could’ve stopped searching for Sobekneferu and given up on trying to be so damn kind to everybody I met!
I felt like I was inside an illusion because the women around me constantly changed their facial appearances. I understood that that change didn’t depend on them, but watching their faces twirling like a kaleidoscope made my head spin. I lifted my arms, palms facing forward, and waved like a wizard, feeling foolish and hoping to stop this absurd situation.
“The key to destroying LKED is to wash your souls in bacteriophages and detach yourselves from reality,” announced Alexander Raphael, approaching the angry crowd. All 13 faces jumped up and yelled at the top of their lungs a simple, “Long live the new King Alexander Raphael!”
It made me think they’d won, but the lightning strike from outside the walls somehow hit Mr. FuzzyPie. He fell dead. During the next, much bigger explosion, we retreated to the back of the yard and then out, into the wild jungle behind the gates of the clinic.
“My anaconda is completely stationary. I can’t feel it. It looks like it’s stopped moving. Can you check it?” I asked the nearest beauty, who helped me to walk upright. Even if she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of checking my silent boa, she nodded anyway.
“It’s hard to explain, but I don’t think it is there. Maybe it is gone. Happened to some men I know because the LKED was spreading too fast,” the woman explained.
“I thought LKED disease is only contagious to women?!” I stared at her in disbelief.
She answered with a pitiful smile, “No, to all… but differently.”
Just as I began to wonder how to use the escape from the clinic for my personal elevation, I overheard a strange conversation.
“We can cast him into the ditch like a dog,” one of the women said.
“No, he has to confess all his sins to each family of The Warrior Farm, to all he killed or destroyed.” Alexander Raphael explained.
“Wait! Right, I have a confession to make. It is true: I am not Alphonso Beard. I am Bullet, the Harmless one! Remember me?” I shouted.
“You see? A clear sign of madness…” whispered the brunette with soft red lips into Alexander Raphael’s ear.
“Help me to take off this damn mask and you’ll see my real face!” I shouted again.
Nobody listened. We went off the road to a little field with a sign saying “no trespassing,” where the grass grew green and high, where the sun had no power on any side, where the gentle breeze sang about death and suffering, and where — without any warning — I was cheerfully beaten and hanged up at the top of the lonely bamboo orchid. Alexander Raphael and his mad LKED gang opened two bottles of the local alcoholic drink called samsu — strong as hell — and gobbled it in a leisurely fashion, celebrating their victory.
“I’m Bullet! Please, I can prove it! Are you going to stay and watch me die? You’ll be forever sorry!”
“We already know how you’ll die,” laughed the women around me.
When the procession left me, a sudden pain began to move through my body: it started in my left eye, then pushed down my neck, arm and chest, until my already miserable anaconda was on fire. But as I said earlier, “tough times don’t last; tough people do.” I was on a journey — a very important one. And nothing would stop me…
Have a nice weekend! See you on Monday!