Sic Semper Tyrannis

Pure, Simple, Fantastic Part V.

V.
(This is the part of the story where you hear a harp glissando and see a fuzzy, white-bordered, cloud scene as a new camera shot zooms onto your screen. If this were a TV show or movie. Which it’s not. It’s written.)

I quickly arose from my near-drowning, still smelling salt in my nostrils, heart wanting to leap out of my ten-year old chest. As I gulped in oxygen like it was kool-aid, I looked around my sun-blocked surroundings to find my defiance of death went unnoticed by all present on the beach that day.

Save one pair of eyes.

As seagulls cried and little kids from other families ran laughing in ill-fitting swimsuits I noticed I was being watched by an unlikely, stone-still figure. Sitting on the remains of an ancient tree, washed upon the beach from who-knows-where, was an old gentleman. He stared in my direction, piercing eyes spanning the distance as if he were shooting a laser-beam into my soul. It was like when General Zod lifted a car without using his hands. When you know you’ve been watched with that kind of focus, you can do naught but go.

And so I went. As I neared the stranger, he neither waved me on nor shooed me away. I saw upon close inspection a gray beard and weathered long trench coat, an odd fashion choice for a coastal day in the south. His clothing and squinty eyes betrayed a man accustomed to the elements, to sorrow. For sorrow is being married to a wench as spirited and unforgiving as the sea. Perhaps he was a whaler or pirate. Regardless, you might say he was an ancient mariner. When I finally made it to the end of the tree trunk, this ghost-like apparition finally spoke, staring off into the distant reaches of the ocean, which connects all humanity.

I have seen your suffering. I have seen your life nearly snipped short, he said. His voice was that of a chainsaw idling in a tank of rock salt. I have also seen your two small plastic friends, the military men. I have seen their disappearance and I know their shared story.

“You mean Duke and Rock n’ Roll?” I said excitedly, half-believing that a crusty anachronistic old man from the sea would actually speak of my playthings by their proper names.

…the same, he answered.

“Please, mister. You’ve just gotta tell me what happened to them! One minute we were winning the war of the Savannah Beach and the next I was drowning and Duke and Rock n’ Roll were gone…”

Sit… he said, still staring off in the watery distance as if he were prophesying.

posted by Mike @ 8:21 PM