More Oceans of Suffering

Part 2


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
grey glove like broken fingers. Guess we could camp here tonight. “Meredith sweetie,
he said. “How ‘bout a little rest. Would you--”
“Ah! Help me!” screamed a girl no older than twelve scampering past, flashing
a look of terror, naked and bleeding head to toe from angry gashes before speeding out
of sight. Meredith cried. Champ started to yell after the departed girl but a commotion
to his right seized his attention. Two old men emerged from the trees, sporting rifles.
With a thick Bostonian accent one of them said, “Well, well Ronnie. Got some
sweeties here.”
“Appetizers before the virgin Jack,” the other said in a rich register immediately
recognizable to Champ. The men approached cheerfully like old hunting buddies
enjoying a weekend of camaraderie away from the wives. Champ stood speechless
till the two were near enough to be certain.
“Did someone drug me?” he whispered. “Reagan? JFK?”
Reagan chuckled. “You perceive correctly young man. We’re synthetic
robotoids. I’m Ronald Reagan model 23, and this is John F. Kennedy number 32. Seems
like you’ve stumbled upon our favorite game, the Most Dangerous Game.” Reagan aimed
his rifle at Champ’s left knee. “My turn for the goodies Jack.”
“Wait there a minute Ronnie!” Kennedy demanded. “You goin’ soft in the wits?
It’s my turn.” Champ spun around. Meredith was gone.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout her,” Reagan drawled. “She’ll get a head start while we
attend to you, then ‘ol uncles Ronnie and Jack will reel her in.”
Champ fell to his knees. “All presidents are monsters. The Mayor was right.”
“Well don’t pin the whole monster thing on presidents alone young man,”
Kennedy said while lighting a cigar. “Before we flip a coin for your balls I’m gonna let
you in on the biggest secret, the mystery of the ages if you will.” He took a drag as
Champ rocked in mental duress on his knees. “We elites are just one big blood-guzzlin’
tribe. It doesn’t matter what political party we show to the herd, or what corporate
board we sit on, or what television station we anchor for.” He held up a hand to Reagan,
who was salivating and polishing a butcher’s knife with a handkerchief. “We’re all
connected you see. What your Mayor calls monsters we call family.”
“Guh, guh, guh,” Champ said from the fetal position.
“Ah, what a pity,” said JFK. “Here lies another Ronnie, who dreamed of
slipping to safety through a hole in the net. When will these dumb domesticates realize
the truth: the net is everywhere: there are no holes.” JFK pounced on Champ, ripping off
his khakis with preternatural viciousness and strength. After triple-twisting a rubberband
around the loose skin connecting the scrotum to the base of the penis, the former Prince of
Camelot paused to admire his handiwork. “Like baby plums in the moonlight Ronnie.”
“Heads or tails Jack?”

* * * * *

Fresh autumn air, smoky and cool. Songbirds joythroated their morning music.
Gilbert’s eyes were still closed, lapping up the sweets of half-sleep, reliving the loveliest
dream of his life. Peggy’s long dark hair was adorned with tiny blue wildflowers. Her
brown feet were slender and bare. She was walking by the river, and the river was clear
and schools of silvery luminescent fish darted happily just beneath its surface. Peggy wore
a simple tan-colored dress, woven from hemp and tied comfortably about her slim waist
was a hemp-braided belt that Gilbert had made with his own hands. Peggy bent to pluck
up some wild blueberries. She held one up to sunlight, smiled and put it in her basket.
Her dream-self spoke, “Good pies tonight my darling. Good pies for the good tribe.”
Gilbert felt healed of all the former things he couldn’t remember, and nobody’s heart
was troubled. It was his and Peggy’s anniversary, and everyone near and dear would be
there to share in the celebration. Even the Mayor, who’s worked so hard in distant wilds
once covered by concrete to teach the others about the essential elements of their feral
selves. Tear-ducts overwhelmed by joy. We cry only for joy now, and the lion shall lay
down with the lamb.
Gilbert rolled onto his back, eyes still closed and smiling with a blanket over him.
I am outside. We did it. Must’ve tied one on at the bash last night. Peggy’ll fill me in
on what the blackout deleted. We felt free to sleep outside! Better rise and be briefed on
how the spreading is goin’. Mayor’s a goddamn savior. Who knew? Hope there’s
coffee. It’ll be the best cup ever. The Age of Un-domestication starts now.
Gilbert opened his eyes and blinked rapidly from the brightness. Overhead jet
noise. Something crawling on his arm. Ants, damnit! Gilbert shot up and slapped at them.
His glasses were beside him but not his bag. He put on the glasses and his guts cramped
then slithered nauseous at what he saw. A high fence of barbed wire. Attached to it was a
plastic makeshift banner:
WELCOME SLAVES TO FEMA CAMP 23
SLACKERY IS SORROW,
NO HAPPY TOMORROW
NOW LET’S ALL GET TO WORK!