20.
Sophia paused dramatically, and I sat forward on my stool waiting for her next words. Unfortunately, they never came. A huge crash came instead from behind me, and I spun around to see a shower of plaster and dust fall off of the back wall of the bar, along with a couple of shelves and the pottery sitting on them. Grod, who had been nodding off over his third glass of tequila, turned lazily around. A shadow appeared in the doorway, then another.
The first figure was draped in holy-red vestments that resembled those of bishops. In his arms rested a golden scepter whose intricate engravings, and large red crystal ball made it appear more magnificent than the Pope's finest. The second figure, a step behind him was a man who looked to be an ordinary priest, black robes, golden cross necklace, bible, and all.
Car doors slammed outside and more men hustled into the bar. These men were dressed in more familiar clothes: old blue jeans and tattered button-down work shirts, some of them with bandanas atop their heads. One of them had a strangely bloodied face, like he'd been beaten up recently. Grod stared at the figures in inunderstanding for a moment, then sudden recognition appeared on his face. He stood up from the bar, glaring menacingly at the crowd, and I noticed with curiousity that he was swaying a little. I'd never seen Grod noticeably drunk before, and it amused me for some reason.
"Ah, fuck," he said loudly, "Not you chumps again." Sophia reached across the bar and tugged on his robe. Grod turned around, annoyed. "Not now, woman."
The bishop-man boomed. "Oh, God. Oh Father. Oh, dearest Lord and Savior. We stand here to capture your kin." This is when I noticed that hanging effortlessly at the hips of each of the thugs was a machine gun. My amusement evaporated leaving fear in its wake.
The man continued to preach. "Show us your power to help the people of your Earth. Prove your omnipotence."
His shadow sepped forward, peering up from his opened bible. "Brother of God, come with us." The thugs brought the barrels of the machine guns up, covering Grod and I. Grod began to look annoyed, and he tried to push up the sleeves of his bathrobe, but the baggy clothing kept sliding back down. He banged a fist on the bar.
"You assholes can get the fuck outta here before I send you back to hell, or heaven, or wherever the fuck you're from!" It seemed like Grod was cursing a lot more than usual, but I wasn't sure. He patted me on the shoulder heavily. "Don't worry kid, they can't do shit to us." Behind the bar, Madeline tugged again on Grod's bathrobe, but he brushed her away. "Dammit, woman, I said not now!" He pointed at the preacher's goons. "You know damn well the brother of God doesn't have anything to fear from you fools, and my friend here doesn't either. You know why, kid?"
I started to come up with an answer, but Grod didn't wait for it. "God's blood, kid. God's blood. Here, watch this." He turned from me with a smile on his face to the visitors. "Those guns, those guns ain't gonna do jack shit." I felt myself unconsciously nodding along with his words, and the feeling of fear was becoming overshadowed by the exhiliration of being in a real adventure--kind of. "Just try it," Grod said extending his hand toward me, "Just try shooting Paul, here."
Before I could react, one of the thugs moved the barrel of his gun slightly, and there was an incredible bang. At first, nothing happened and I wanted to laugh. Grod was right! Who would have known? But suddenly I felt a huge, piercing pain rush up from my left leg. I looked down to see blood pouring out of a hole in my pants just below the knee. I fell to the ground and grabbed my leg with both hands. It was the most pain I had ever felt at once, and I'd had a pretty painful life so far. It felt like - well, it felt like someone had shot me in the leg. I looked up at Grod accusingly, but Grod was looking toward the door with a look of extreme panic on his face. Somehow seeing Grod lose his composure made things even worse.
"Shit," he said, his voice rising. "Shit! Okay, we've got to get the fuck out of here!" He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to my feet.
PREVIOUS | NEXT
The first figure was draped in holy-red vestments that resembled those of bishops. In his arms rested a golden scepter whose intricate engravings, and large red crystal ball made it appear more magnificent than the Pope's finest. The second figure, a step behind him was a man who looked to be an ordinary priest, black robes, golden cross necklace, bible, and all.
Car doors slammed outside and more men hustled into the bar. These men were dressed in more familiar clothes: old blue jeans and tattered button-down work shirts, some of them with bandanas atop their heads. One of them had a strangely bloodied face, like he'd been beaten up recently. Grod stared at the figures in inunderstanding for a moment, then sudden recognition appeared on his face. He stood up from the bar, glaring menacingly at the crowd, and I noticed with curiousity that he was swaying a little. I'd never seen Grod noticeably drunk before, and it amused me for some reason.
"Ah, fuck," he said loudly, "Not you chumps again." Sophia reached across the bar and tugged on his robe. Grod turned around, annoyed. "Not now, woman."
The bishop-man boomed. "Oh, God. Oh Father. Oh, dearest Lord and Savior. We stand here to capture your kin." This is when I noticed that hanging effortlessly at the hips of each of the thugs was a machine gun. My amusement evaporated leaving fear in its wake.
The man continued to preach. "Show us your power to help the people of your Earth. Prove your omnipotence."
His shadow sepped forward, peering up from his opened bible. "Brother of God, come with us." The thugs brought the barrels of the machine guns up, covering Grod and I. Grod began to look annoyed, and he tried to push up the sleeves of his bathrobe, but the baggy clothing kept sliding back down. He banged a fist on the bar.
"You assholes can get the fuck outta here before I send you back to hell, or heaven, or wherever the fuck you're from!" It seemed like Grod was cursing a lot more than usual, but I wasn't sure. He patted me on the shoulder heavily. "Don't worry kid, they can't do shit to us." Behind the bar, Madeline tugged again on Grod's bathrobe, but he brushed her away. "Dammit, woman, I said not now!" He pointed at the preacher's goons. "You know damn well the brother of God doesn't have anything to fear from you fools, and my friend here doesn't either. You know why, kid?"
I started to come up with an answer, but Grod didn't wait for it. "God's blood, kid. God's blood. Here, watch this." He turned from me with a smile on his face to the visitors. "Those guns, those guns ain't gonna do jack shit." I felt myself unconsciously nodding along with his words, and the feeling of fear was becoming overshadowed by the exhiliration of being in a real adventure--kind of. "Just try it," Grod said extending his hand toward me, "Just try shooting Paul, here."
Before I could react, one of the thugs moved the barrel of his gun slightly, and there was an incredible bang. At first, nothing happened and I wanted to laugh. Grod was right! Who would have known? But suddenly I felt a huge, piercing pain rush up from my left leg. I looked down to see blood pouring out of a hole in my pants just below the knee. I fell to the ground and grabbed my leg with both hands. It was the most pain I had ever felt at once, and I'd had a pretty painful life so far. It felt like - well, it felt like someone had shot me in the leg. I looked up at Grod accusingly, but Grod was looking toward the door with a look of extreme panic on his face. Somehow seeing Grod lose his composure made things even worse.
"Shit," he said, his voice rising. "Shit! Okay, we've got to get the fuck out of here!" He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to my feet.
PREVIOUS | NEXT
© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home