Slightly Left of RightPosted on October 9th, 2007 2 comments
And so it begins, at some time in the not so distant past, in a room that is immediately familiar, yet also entirely unremembered, dressed in regular street clothes, unremarkable. Regular, like an unadorned chocolate shake. Un-super. Absence of an embedded flamethrower seeming somehow right, and normal, and, well, me.
I lean back, take a long drag on my cigarette and smile confidently. “It’s time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. Get your gun, Annie.”
“Shut the fuck up, Henry.” Well, it’s nice to know even in this weird dream-remembering my sister is unchanged. Except for her name. But the other thing…. I am prepared to face the other thing now…
My eyes linger about the shape of her buttocks as they struggle into the tight leather skirt, like a pair of chocolate ice-creams making love on the beach to the tune of “Tie Me Kangaroo Down”. I smile again at the thought of all the times I have plundered those sweet round….
But in the now I am almost gagging at the thought. My sister. Perhaps I am not prepared to face the other thing after all… except that in this… this… what is it? A dream? No. It is a memory; of this much I am certain, though it conflicts with every other memory in my wretched superheroic brain…
She is not my sister. In these memories she is not my sister. And I am not a superhero. And we are about to do something we will surely regret…
In the now - through the fog of pain and confusion - I see her face for a moment, contorted in a screaming agony of despair and agonized desperation, with perhaps a dash of despairing agony thrown in. “Do it Henry.” She is begging with her eyes, like a beggar who has lost her hands and her tongue and has only eyes left with which to beg.
I glance down at the gun in my hand. Where did that come from?
And back I go, deep into that foreign past… “You ready?” I pause at the door, hesitating not through doubt or conscience - just to savour the moment. To breathe deeply of anticipation and adrenaline and sweat.
“I was born ready,” she replies, like a two dimensional character in a fifth-rate novel by a guy who doesn’t mind repeating his jokes, no matter how weak and unoriginal they may be, until the reader cries out “NO NO NO NO Moooooore!!!”
In the car. She shifts, uneasy. “You sure about the plan?”
“Sure I’m sure. We’ve prepared for this.” I have never been so ready. My ready-ness is runething over, like a cup that runeths over. “Pull over here.”
“It’s No Parking.”
“Keep the motor running - then you’re not parked, right?” Even in this dim dark memory of non-superhero-ness I have a magnificent brain filled with clever solutions to real-world problems. And I can leverage solutions for you too, once suitable remuneratory trends have been negotiated. Call Henry the Adequate Consulting for all your Real-World Problem needs…
“Sorry. Going.” I step from the car, mount the short flight of steps, and enter the lion’s den. The dragon’s lair. The prostitute’s brothel…
Security guard by the door. Cameras there, and there. I can do this. Easy paces. Stand in line. “Next!” Shuffle forward. “Next!” Closer. Closer. I am at the head of the queue. “Next!” And in an instant the unbearable tension is released, and my muscles, furious coils of steel, erupt like some kind of erupting thing and I burst into action!
Such is the hyper-intensity of my brain - the inhuman synchronization of mind, body, and spirit about the one goal - I feel as though I have moved into an enhanced state of being. Time slows to a crawl. A slithery kind of crawl. In this state of heightened awareness every footfall seems an eternity, every sight and sound and scent impinges on my senses like an enormous breast…
Another step. I am there. “Uh,” I say, confidently, “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake, like, with my account.” Silence. A terrible terrible silence as all eye turn to me in horror and dread anticipation, as though each of them attempts to believe the unbelievable, to fathom the unfathomable, to bonk the unbonkable, but also hoping to force, through weight of sheer willpower, this poor deluded fool to stop. Stop. Stop!!!
“Yeah,” I continue, bravely, for though I may not be a superhero these evil monsters will surely discover that I am not to be so easily trifled with. “Too many bank fees and stuff. You know, I think.”
I like to live on the edge.
2 responses to “Slightly Left of Right”
ooooooo… I eagerly await the post about how these evil banking minions who.. uh, bank evil-ly to the minions react to your superhero inquiry.
Yeah, damn those evil wankers… uh… bankers.