Deegan writes little stories and tells us how he feels about stuff. We grafted him into Cosmic so we wouldn't have to pay him for his writing. Look out for his column "How I'm feeling right NOW!" in future posts. We are delighted to include his story "Remnant... " in this weeks issue.
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| Study For Painting No. 6 |
The Remnant Of KIR-ALON
Those biscuit eating critters of Kir-Alon are back, smoking fat cigars on the patio of the hotel Darmuth and annoying all the other guests with their late night revelries. With a never ending assortment of call girls and peacock-escorts going in and out of the six-suite floor seven along with an indecent amount of booze, champagne and beer - comparable to the amount the Shriners of Gath consume (even though the Shriners outnumber them four to one), at any rate they are here.
Beyond that and merely considering those facts among others, I ran into Weinbak-8 on the south staircase, he stumbling and blubbering, reeking of alcohol, insisting to talk to me about "The Comparative Analysis"! What? Comparative analysis? Of What?!! I said. "I must speak to you and no one else". With that Mr. Weinbak-8 pulled out a wad of cash that for me would be more than six months wages. He pushed it into my palm and said "Let us recline on the patio". I normally might have pushed him down the stairs but with the cash in my pocket I became much more tolerant of him and the odor of the alcohol became more reminiscent of a dear old over-drinking uncle or something.
It was early morning and the two of us sat down on the lounge chairs all alone on the patio which smelled of beer spilled hours earlier. I became aware of a danger that far outstripped the tidy sum of money in my pocket. At that point I said "Here is your money, I'm out." He replied "It is far too late for that, no sense in even trying. Keep the cash in expectation of many many times more - and listen extremely carefully, unless you desire to forfeit your life." I then considered flinging him from the railing so he could analyze the impact speed of a body falling to the concrete from the eighth floor, but I held myself in check, because for the first time in many forgotten seasons I felt completely alive... He then began, "The comparative analysis of life as we know it and the laws of the universe"... Blah blah blah, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera... I then realized he was just talking excrement in huge quantities and wasting my very precious time. I said summarily; "I'm throwing your drunk ass off this patio - right now." As I approached him he pulled out a switchblade knife and gave me a fleshwound across the collarbone, if I had reacted any slower it would have been my neck and I'd be dead on the patio tiles in an egg shaped pool of blood. I said, "I was only trying to scare you!" He replied, "How was I to know?!!". During this short and lively conversation I pulled out my Mac 10 and with what sounded like a short drum roll in a two bit bar, I sprayed Mr Weinbak-8, making a diagonal line across his torso. Hell, the only thing missing was a cymbal clash at the end of it. I didn't see a spirit depart from his body - but I knew his ass was dead. At that point I decided to remove myself from the vicinity and become a very religious farmer of sorts, you know - the kind without electricity. Me and my seven wives have lived out here for the last fifteen years with no violence save an errant horses hoof. We've had peace and I'm sure we'll have a dozen more years of it. You can bet you desperate life on it.
Reynard Speaks...
Life is the way it is. The pack of wild dogs downs the zebra and in order to get food before the larger predators come, chews the guts out of him while he is still alive. Is the Zebra loved any less or has the lion come too late? Then again... on the other hand I say piles of money are not a salve for the rich and the poor's chances are slim indeed, but unlike a dog, you need salvation and money...
And for our part we will get Reynard the medication he deserves
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