The body was left to rot.
Rot, then drop.
Drop to hell… Should have killed myself that way back in ‘98. Could have bought rope for twenty dollars or three thousand and eighty-six yen.
Wrap it around my neck, and I would have fallen unconscious in thirty seconds to a minute.
Died by the third-minute mark.
No man would know until the smell of rot fill the people's noses.
Could of ask why that girl jump off that bridge… No, I couldn't; all I would be is nothing. I could gouge my eyes out and deafen my ears to witness the reality of death.
Man’s life is represented all within this image of this body.
Within the three bodies I have made.
Within the Devil.
I’m sick of man.
Sick of carrying his ideas within my mind.
My mind has been choked out for too long to not be considered killed by man’s reckless ideals.
Suicide would have been too absolute.
All I get is black and white blood.
I walk over to Ahab after discussing our voyage plans to the land of Zugzwang and pull my knife to cut the bonds that kept him to the chair.
Shit, I gotta get my katana out of that guy’s neck and clean it off.
Ahab tried to get up from the chair, but his legs give out and end up with him back in the chair. So I give the guy my cane and squat down to get the guy's arm over my back. He stands up with my support, and we start walking towards the door. Our journey to the door is only about six feet, but with each step that follows, pain consumes my bad leg. It seems I’m paying for what I did in the classroom.
“Oi! Celeste, I need help moving this fat bastard."
“Well, fuck you too, kid.”
“How do you even get fat on a boat?"
“How do you become a skeleton on land?"
“Come on, Celeste.”
“I’m coming; calm down. Fucking hell.”
“So you're able to kill three men but not carry an old man," Ahab said.
“When I had two legs, I could.”
“Sure, like these bones without flesh could do that.”
"What's your damn problem with me not having flesh?"
“Well, being carried by you is like having a dull blade shove in my side.”
The sound of footsteps starts to come down the stairs.
“Watch out for the bodies.”
“Would you clean up after yourself?" Celeste calls down.
“I don’t live here; I just killed them. Just get over here and help with this fat man.”
“Boney fuck," Ahab replied.
"Whale, fucker.”
“Jesus Christ, shut up, you two.” Celeste said while walking over and grabbing the Captain's other arm.
"Here's the glory of it all, kid. Carrying an old potbellied man covered in blood… Ahab, how do you not smell of shit and piss?"
“Haven’t done it.”
“...I’m not investigating that shit.”
“I fucking hate all of this.” Celeste just throws out.
“I won’t even consider this in the top one hundred of fuck-up shit or nasty or whatever the hell. Just fucking strange.”
“Goddamn, eat something!” Ahab said.
“V doesn’t keep much down when he does eat whenever he does. The guy hasn't had a thing but booze for about seven days.”
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"Everyone, stop talking about me so I can fucking focus.”
11:30
Across town Katō stands in an office within the brothel a few buildings down from the bar. A thin (but not unhealthy thin) white man with brown hair, brown eyes, a black suit, and a white undershirt sits in front of Katō behind a desk. A self-rolled cigar sits between his teeth, and an almost-empty glass sits on the table. The white man is sitting back in his chair, neither looking tired nor fresh. Like all his life he’s been stewing in some bottle of liquor. Never getting intoxicated by the liquid but merely stewing. The Makarov hangs on his hip, chambered in 9x18 mm with 8 rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber
“Benjamin, I have to kill a man in thirty minutes."
“That's a rather interesting way to open a conversation."
“I’m a blunt man as you know," Katō said.
“It seems that I have to kill a man as well. Someone killed three of my men and took that old, fat man.”
“He may have something to do with the man I’m dueling.”
“Where this man you're heading to kill?”
“In the bar I go to, uh, let me see, that's right. It’s called the Perepodvypodvert.”
“Tell me when you head out; I’ll come with you.”
11:50
There this large mirror that sits behind the bar. Weird to have something that shows a man at his lowest when you're selling it to him. Must be one of the reasons no one comes here. No one ever wants to face the reality of their actions, just to wallow in the dejection. To create this pool of self-pity and then drown themselves in it. But I'd rather the self-pity than that of this endless scream trying to gain every human around you's sympathy. Trying to give out this final death whimper praying to any man around this being to fix the soul of the beings. The being dug the hole, but the being is too much of a bitch to lie down in it.
I look up at the mirror after drinking from a bottle, and my face no longer shows to my eye all mere inky emptiness. Normally something like this goes away after the first time, but here it stands, and the monochrome stands as tall. These two figures are rooted in the mind; this mind so fucked up with every wire crossed and connected, all plugged into the same socket.
This bitching of life falls into this endless annoyance that I stand as the type of human. The one who complains of the horrors but never dares to pull words and guns on these issues. Just some rag-ass renegade holding onto nothing but the bottle.
What was the point of making me a man when all such nuts and bolts make nothing of troubles and woes? The man before is dead rotting, but the thing who sits staring at the view in front of them is nothing more than nothing. Just a white Devil looking back and forth at each other.
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
12:00 PM
"Miyamoto, the time is now.”
“And to the man who killed three of my men, will you come out.”
I look at Miyamoto.
Miyamoto looks at me.
The bartender flaps two shot glasses in front of each of us.
“Shall hell consume us.”
Our glasses clink together.
I pour the black powder into my revolver and cock my Jericho.
“Miyamoto!”
Miyamoto walks out through the door of the bar first, and I follow him.
“Miyamoto.”
“Katō.”
The white man in the suit reaches his hand out towards me.
“Benjamin.”
I pull my twenty-first smoke from its carton.
“V.”
I do not reach my hand out.
The white man starts to talk. “Well, now that everyone knows each other. Let's kill each other like gentlemen."
“A high noon duel.”
“Blades and Guns," Miyamoto said.
“Two duels at the same time," Katō replies.
I swear to god, to the abyss, and to all living creations within any world that I could hear the beating of drums as loud as those damned screams of hell.
The two who deemed it necessary for us to battle stood at their brothel.
Miyamoto and I stand outside of the bar.
Steel is out.
Blood will be reaped.
The times run, and the clock is soon to strike.
The sun holds its control of the world with the heat beating down upon each of us.
A breeze of the sea carries that of both blood and salt to our nostrils.
Birds screech overhead, and the sound of cicadas sends assault teams to our eardrums.
Mosquitoes bite at us with sweat pouring down.
The faint sound of a guitar rips through the sound of birds and cicadas.
The drums that scream in anguish before now hold this smooth tempo.
With the voices of a choir filling any of the remaining silence that would have been used to think.
Bom!
Bom!
Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
Four men stand in a dead town.
The Devil in a trench coat.
Lone Ronin in a dark blue kimono.
White man in a black suit.
Samurai that resembles a cowboy.
Bom!
Bom!
Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
Bom! Bom! Bom!
BAM!
A great geyser of blood cuts through the black and white and gray.
Rose red blood ruins a black suit.
And Cowboy Samurai is cut down.
All fall silent.
“AHAB! Let's get the fuck out of this goddamn town!”
High noon and bodies are all that's left.
