Ridicula Page 16

  “Come here, doggie,” the female leader was saying, but the Rottweiler was not listening, determined to find the marten that had slipped from his view again, but Hippie saw the critter taunting the dog from behind him.

  Hippie stared at the marten, recognizing that rascally rascal. He had seen him a few times in his many trips to Wyoming and Yellowstone. That marten was nicknamed MOOC, and he was awesome! Plus, if he were picking on the dog, the Rottweiler must be a fantastic competitor to MOOC’s fun mischievousness.

  But because of his competitive clumsiness, the dog made a huge mistake: he tried to take a shortcut when turning around and running towards MOOC, thereby nearly colliding with Maude. Anybody else in the vicinity would have attempted to avoid the big dog, but Maude was a different story. She stood her ground, and the dog slammed into her like an oncoming train heading into a station on the wrong track. However, the Rottweiler did not collapse or even whimper. Instead, he just bounced off the falling woman and veered to the left, knocking a bag from her hand in the process before moving on.

  And so, the peyote emeralds tumbled to the ground, creating a frenzy of hallucinogenic greed, sort of like how the United States operated today. The immaculate woman succumbed quickly to the temptation, likely out of curiosity and her love of shiny new things rather than the effects of the peyote acting as perfume or out of sheer greed. But that curiosity was the American way when it came to jewelry or money. And the emeralds were green.

  “Stop, Jade!” the Latin woman said. “What are you doing?” Hippie could see right away that practical cautiousness overruled presumptuousness with this lady.

  “Helping this woman retrieve her stuff.” But neither her friend, Hippie, or Maude were fooled. Jade just wanted to see the shiny stuff. After all, she was named after a shiny stone, so the love of gaudy emeralds must be in her family’s genes.

  Ranger boy interceded before Maude recovered enough to be ready to deal with this meddling woman. “That’s Maude’s property,” he said weakly, as he might if he were defending a kid against a bully. But Maude certainly didn’t need any protection.

  Jade ignored the albino-like boy and reached to pick up an emerald.

  “I’m not sure if that’s wise,” Hippie said. He would have normally kept quiet, but the peyote was making him garrulous.

  “Better listen to Jesus!” Bearman boomed from across the glade. He stood from a kneeling position, positioned two fingers like a cross, and tapped them to his heart. While the Hippie part of him would not know, his Aspen portion related Jim’s motion to that of Tim Tebow in his football years. (Who knows? Perhaps Time Tebow did this before he played baseball games, too.)

  Had Jim been interrupted from a prayer? Had he been praying to Hippie?

  Maude, whose unpredictability of whether she’d fight or cope was unparalleled, decided to do a little of both this time. She reared back to take a swing at Jade but stopped within centimeters of her nose. “Made you flinch,” she said, sounding like a jovial juvenile.

  The fact that Jade hadn’t flinched didn’t escape Hippie’s notice, and he dared not bring that to Maude’s attention even in his current state. But not flinching was only the first unprecedented thing that Jade did, because then she ignored Maude and walked off with the emerald, as if Maude weren’t there. That woman had balls!

  “Come back here!” cried Maude, sounding like a wounded animal rather than a fearsome predator.

  “I’ve been walking mostly on my bare feet for days,” Jade responded. “This ornament can help pay for that misery. Thank you very much.”

  Maude looked incredulous. How could this immaculate woman with no shoes talk to her like that? But Maude didn’t pound her for her insolence. Instead, she laughed. “Must be the peyote. It affects each person in different ways.”

  When Jade kept walking, Maude continued, “Oh, what the hell? Take it. I have plenty more.”

  And just like that, any potential feud was forgotten. Maybe they’d all get along. Hippie liked the thought. After all, peace was what he was all about. He would have played his guitar in celebration, if he still owned one and had a thimble. But nevertheless, he still heard music—birds were chirping, and the wind played Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” at least in his peyote-soaked head.

  The song of the wind in his mind changed to “Sledgehammer” by Peter Gabriel when he heard the bang, then to “Silent Running” by Mike and the Mechanics when he perceived but not quite heard someone running behind him, and then finally to “St. Elmo’s Fire” when he smelt smoke in the air. St. Elmo’s Fire rang in his head with such clarity that he actually remembered who sang it: John Parr. What was happening? What eighties Hell was this? Hippie had thought his mind would stick to all the great seventies music no matter what. With peyote, however, the eighties invaded.

  Instead of worrying about music, Hippie should have been more aware of what was happening around him. That’s because the sledgehammer bang was Freckles smashing into Maude’s clubhouse while MOOC escaped underneath. Subsequently, greenish smoke seeped from the clubhouse, which caused Maude and the boy ranger to run toward their precious house of treasures while everyone else retreated.

  But all this commotion that all of this made was not silent. The running that Hippie had perceived did not have anything to do with the clubhouse, for now he saw that Carolyn had recovered and was running toward her prized possession: George.

  Hippie was torn. Where should he go? What could he do? In any case he had to revert from peaceful Hippie to Sportsman or even up to Superhero Aspen (the highest Aspen level), although they were all one and the same, but he felt more confident when splitting himself up in these terms. He didn’t have a split personality. He just was a creative, spirited soul.

  Just as Carolyn reached poor hapless George, Aspen grabbed her arms and flipped her onto his back. Then he tried to fly away with her still intact, for the peyote made him think that this was possible. Of course, the flying ended up being a jump, and Carolyn’s weight made him tumble upon his landing. He lost his grip of her, preferring to protect himself from injury rather than continuing to hold her. Suffice to say, Carolyn escaped and resumed her quest to torment George.

  “Are you all right?” the Latina woman asked as he sat back up after his fall.

  Never embarrassed, he responded, “That was just the beginning—”

  But the man who had looked drunk when Hippie had first seen him interrupted his repartee. “Maria, come quick!” the man, now definitely sounding sober, said from close by.

  Now what?

  “How dare you take my emerald?” Jade was saying to the mustached man. Somehow, the emerald was now officially hers. “You can never have it. She’s my baby!” But stranger than what she said was the fact that the man wasn’t even holding the emerald. She still had it cupped in her left hand.

  “What’s wrong here?” Maria asked when she arrived on the scene. Hippie crept up more cautiously because Jade looked like she could strike anyone at any time at any moment. “Bobarino, did you try to steal the emerald?”

  The mustached Italian shrugged, admitting no guilt. “Is there something in that thing?” he asked, pointing to the emerald. “She’s acting crazy even for her.”

  “She’s one of those,” Maude interjected as she came from somewhere Hippie had not noticed, grabbed Jade, loosened her grip of the emerald without much effort even though Jade had been holding onto it for dear life, and tossed it in Hippie’s direction. “Paranoia is a rare side effect of this particular strain of peyote,” Maude explained as Hippie caught the prize.

  “Give it back. Give back my emerald. And I want my shoe!” Jade said.

  “Guess she’s got the hallucinations too,” Maude added.

  Although Hippie now held the emerald and Maude had been the one to confiscate it, Jade attacked Bobarino, punching at him like an angered lover unwilling to actually hurt her beloved. Her Italian man just took the soft blows. He seemed not to know what else to do.

>   Of all things, a fly subverted Jade’s wrath. She must have seen it from the corner of her eye, for she started to wave around, attempting to swat additional imaginary flies, because there was only one buzzing around. She began to run in fear. “Fly away you flies! Get away from me! Especially that one with the orange nose!” She ran twenty paces, turned around to see that the fly (flies) had gone, and calmed.

  Meanwhile, the emerald began to radiate and then pulsate in Hippie’s hands like a green alien’s heart. Then light protruded from it like a green X-ray. Was he hallucinating this effect? At this point, he could barely tell reality from his imagination, but he was kind of leaning towards this being real.

  Subsequently, the pulsating began to pound his hand like a mallet beating under his skin, and the imaginary mallet seemed to pinch a nerve in his hand, because suddenly the pulsation crept up the nerves in his arms until it reached his shoulder. From there, it reverberated through the rest of his body—through artery, vein, capillary, and whatever else his blood coursed through. Thus, he felt the rhythm in his entire body, including his brain, where the true creative outlet lingered. From there, his pulsating inspiration traveled out through his ears in musical and effervescent bliss.

  If anyone or everyone (except perhaps the dog and marten) saw the emerald light beam toward the clubhouse, Hippie could not be certain, but he did see, feel, hear, and smell (although odorless) the peyote ray permeating through the cracks of the wood. He became one with the emerald, somehow a temporary bond stronger than that he had with the niacin. He felt whole, enlightened, purified. Thus, he let all the craziness around him dissolve as he found Zenlike meditation among chaos, eyes nearly shut so that he did not see, for he could only be.

  Inside the clubhouse, the smoke briefly engulfed the light of the emerald which Hippie held to that of the lead emerald still lying on the table. He breathed in the smoke with gusto, generating a fruitfulness within him. For that moment, Hippie truly felt rich beyond merely seeing the monetary value of the emeralds, beyond the peace and relaxation that the meditation afforded him, beyond even the joy of life. That’s because he knew that his calling was here, that he was about to embark on a mission to fulfill all human dreams and ambitions.

  The smoke dissipated then, as the fiery emeralds lost their luster. And less than a second afterward, his mission ended as he saw only the blackness of one who had just passed out.

  Chapter 23

  Bloodshot Love

  Carolyn took only an instant to recover from the attack of the crazy male angel who called himself Hippie or occasionally Aspen. She knew he could cause some hassle but was no real threat. He could keep her away from her purpose temporarily, but she would always track her target. That Neanderthal Maude woman couldn’t stop her, either. After all, they couldn’t derail destiny, for the train would keep rolling even when off track. She had taken a delayed train but had finally reached her destination. George would be carried off in her caboose.

  She reached the fallen one, ready to make him hers. He had just come to, for he moved his arms to welcome her embrace. His hands were held out, seemingly to keep her at bay, but she knew he would widen them when he realized that their destiny was at hand. She would be his wife and his demoness lover. What more could he ask for?

  “Bloodshedder!” he yelled when he was alert enough to see her. He was complimenting her, for the one who sheds blood with the most passion and love shall be the mistress of all mistresses, the wife of all wives, and the seductress of all seductresses all in one. She was his Lilith, and he was her Adam.

  “Stay away,” he said and put his hands together like a cross.

  She laughed seductively and then said, “Please, Husband. Let us bind with blood!” She clawed at his neck then. One of her long nails scraped her own neck, drawing a smidgeon of blood. That same nail avoided his hands and punctured his neck, releasing his delicious blood. Thus, they bled together and were blood-linked.

  “Was that so hard?” she asked as she drew him in to suck more blood from his neck.

  When Carolyn first clawed his neck, George felt a quick stinging pain, as if from a wasp or a spider’s bite. The resulting dripping of blood felt like muddy water dripping down a ravine and plopping into a puddle below. He instantly trembled, ready to faint, but the queasiness passed as his and Carolyn’s blood condensed together on his neck, somehow putting him at ease, so much so as a matter of fact, that the blending of blood began to feel like a balm of soothing warmth and comfort, as if a part of him forever.

  Fear left him as she drew him in for a second serving of his blood, which somehow soothed him more. He still faced a crazy woman, for she was Bloodshedder, but he didn’t mind that title so much now. Weren’t we all a bit crazy? After all he had been through, he had to be daft anyway to find himself in this situation.

  So, she thought she was a vampire? Maybe I could be her incubus? Wouldn’t that be ridicula?

  Then his thoughts changed as doubt returned. Was that her blood upon his neck speaking for him? Was he that hard up for passion that he would allow a stalking loon to possess his will?

  But she was pretty in her own bloodsucking, ferocious way. And she obviously liked him!

  When she spoke again, asking, “Was that so hard?” George barely heard her, but he responded with an inappropriate signal—he got hard!

  “I guess so,” Carolyn was close enough to feel his physical change. “My blood got to your pecker already. Now you will react to me forever!”

  He guessed that he would.

  She took one last taste of his blood, pulled him against her clothing, and ripped his tattered T-shirt. Licking her lips hungrily, she began tearing at her own blouse.

  Then someone tackled her.

  If George had been expecting someone to tackle his stalking lover, he would have thought it to be anyone other than the normally timid Kenny. Hippie would try to break up what he deemed to be a fight. Maria had peaceful aura but a fiery demeanor. George would have hoped that Jade still had a bit of jealous rage in her. The rest, even the boy ranger, surely had more initiative than Kenny. But here he was wrestling Carolyn off him, which quickly deterred his torrid horniness.

  “You bitch devil, get off my friend!” Kenny yelled, not seeing or understanding what had really been happening.

  Carolyn rolled away from him before turning back, lifting her fingers and thrusting her nails at him like Catwoman on the prowl. Her eyes had seemingly changed from lustful bloodshot red to vengeful shadowy black. Her lips purred incomprehensible words that were laced with menace. Her ears perked out like a stereotypical elf. Her hair spiked up, electrified by some cosmic energy. In other words, she looked angry as hell.

  Surprisingly Kenny did not back off, or the threat had not yet penetrated his addled brain. What had happened to him? Had he found more alcohol to drink? Then George saw a peyote emerald in his hand. That explained it. He was probably seeing Carolyn as a she-kitten rather than an angered madwoman. “Bring it on, little lady!” Kenny exclaimed.

  “No, Kenny” George intervened, his hands trying to block the two off each other. “It’s not necessary.”

  Neither Kenny nor George’s crazily lovable new girlfriend listened to him. Instead, they each were sizing each other up, looking to pounce.

  “Don’t hurt him,” George continued to Carolyn even though he knew her to be too angry to listen, but he also realized that his friend was no match for his next girlfriend, Carolyn, drugged or not.

  Carolyn didn’t listen to him, as expected. Instead, she clawed at Kenny and would have skewered his face if it weren’t for George’s intervention. He lifted his head intentionally to take the brunt of the piercing from Carolyn’s nails. He immediately began to rain blood from both of his cheeks.

  Bloodshedder had struck again.

  “Oh, my poor kine mortal, my future fledgling, my love. You bleed when I didn’t intend it.” Remorse replaced anger; George had unwittingly deflated her fury. Meanwhile, Kenny had found enou
gh sense in his drug-induced mind to retreat from harm’s way.

  Thankfully, George’s gouges were not too serious. Thus, the blood mostly dried on his face rather than continued to drip down his neck. Carolyn took that relief as an invitation. She kissed him tenderly on the lips first, making George feel like she might mend his wounds with love. But that didn’t last long, because then she licked the blood on his cheek and nipped at his neck, producing more blood. However, the pain only lasted a second, replaced by a tingling sensation, which aroused him.

  Carolyn watched his arousal take place and smiled. “That kind of bite always works with blood soulmates. We shall now have to make savage love.”

  In response, George set it off—his keyring, that is. Flickers of color and the muzak of “Greased Lightning” briefly joined the party. Appropriate. Sparks were flying!

  George would have been ready to give in to both of their desire, except for one major issue: not only was Kenny still watching them, but so was the rest of the ragtag team of humans.

  Kenny was dumbfounded, or just plain dumb-looking.

  Maria watched in disbelief, and the hairy man knelt next to her in some odd ritualistic prayer.

  Bobarino turned off his keyring, laughed, and high-fived a frowning Maude, as if his soccer team had finally scored a goal.

  Jade looked angry or jealous or neither. George couldn’t tell. That’s how much he had really known her.

  But George did not see Hippie anywhere.

  Chapter 24

  Doggy Joy

  Freckles realized that it was still morning, but he had been running and crashing and tromping to dizzying effect in his chase of the marten. So, he was tired—even exhausted.

  He realized that even with all his tricks and guile, which took much effort, MOOC wasn’t any better off. It was well past the pine marten’s bedtime. After all, pine martens were mostly nocturnal animals. Freckles knew that much from his recent observations of the creature.