Various Vicissitudes of Verisimilitude

 

( Darien's Cottage Awaits... )

Metal sparks fly from the towering metal monster as the giant clinging to its spiraling underbelly welds another sheet of metal to the bracing.  The glowing blue-white tip of the welder illuminating the giant’s focused face in an eerie grey glow, highlighting the corpse-like flesh and the hollow cheeks. 

 

The goggled head tilts briefly and sniffs the air, smiling a fang-filled smile and finishes the weld.  Two familiar shapes make their way into being in the darkened campsite, slowly becoming visible as the firelight casts flickering shadows across their forms.  One, masculine, appears to be walking with a cane and is wearing a top-hat.  The other, definitely female, stalks beside him with panther-like grace, her arm linked in his.

 

The campsite looks warmer now than it has the past few weeks.  The scraps have been collected and stacked.  The unfinished projects have been pushed to the side or covered.  There’s a fire, some seats near it and a cooler that has a lid which is perpetually ajar.

 

“Help yerself to a beer if ya want…” the giant widens his fanged grin as he chuckles and nods to the newcomers.

 

“No thank you Joe” comes the response from the female, her words are distant, evenly spaced and enunciated clearly, almost as if she were uttering them in an alien language, though the accompanying smile indicates a more comfortable sentiment.

 

The pair walk by the fire without a start or concern and continue towards the massive construction that looms before them.  Girders and poles reach up towards the cloud-covered night sky and among these, Joe has positioned a partial framework connecting to the portion of the metal sheets that are spiraling down and then flare up and out over the shoreline of the lake.

 

Strewn about the ground near the construction and at the feet of the pair are more girders and poles with some thick rope and steel cable.  A few large pulleys and empty oil drums are nearby.

 

“What all dis for den?”  The man asks, removing the cigar between his teeth and gesturing to the pulleys and oil drums with it.

 

With a snap and a thud the giant unstraps himself from the construction and falls the twenty-five feet to the ground, landing on his feet, but the pop of a knee-joint is distinctly heard.  Face still unflinching from the previous grin, Joe stands up, snap kicks his leg out, putting the hyper-extended joint back in place and walks towards the two. The female winces ever so slightly.

 

“Papa Sallow, Mae, what I got here is an ole-fashioned elevator, like the kind I used ta help build fer the grain lifts back in Lake Blackshear.”

 

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

 

“The way it works is that there’ll be one platform with the oil drums filled with water on it, weighin’ about 500 pounds.  There’ll be this platform here that will be at the bottom, latched and empty.  When a few kids, or one me, gets on and pulls this here lever, they’ll get lifted to the top.  When they get off the platform, they flip this lever that holds the coiled tension wire that will bring the weight shooting back to the top.  So the weight is always on tension.  Perty clever huh?  Well, I didn’t think it up, I jes remembered it from the ole days.”

 

Mae smiles her usual smile and says complimentary, “That’s very clever of you Joe.”  Papa Sallow shakes his head.  “I still don’ get how de drums get back up, but it don’ matta, s’long as it works.”

 

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna need you ta fill up them drums fer me.”  Joe grins to Papa Sallow.

 

“How can I help” asks Mae, her unblinking stare fixed on Joe.

 

“Well, I’m gonna need some help up there gettin’ the rest of the frame up.  Once that’s done, the rest is just weldin’ and coatin’ and piecin’ together.  I’ve already got the foundation done, pounded them girders inta the ground meself earlier.”

 

The construction site becomes alive with activity as clouds pass over the moon and then reveal it.  Mae and Joe heft girders that would normally require a crane to lift into place.  As the work continues, the usually distant Mae seems almost vibrant.  Her petite frame hefting steel that weighs nearly half a ton without signs of exertion sets an almost comical contrast to the gigantic Joe who can just barely keep up with her.  The sight of which causes Papa Sallow to chuckle a bit as he passes them with water jugs in his hands.

 

As the hefting nears its completion, Joe balances atop a girder and braces his back against the piece of frame he just welded in place while Mae tosses these hefty girders up to him. 

 

“Only a few more left Joe” grins Mae as she preps another girder for tossing, pleased with how quickly the construction has gone.  Forty-five feet below Joe is what’s left of the girders and steel brought by Gus just the night before.  Poles and rebar protrude up from the ground and the freshly cemented concrete from the night before.

 

“Are you ready for this one?” Mae says up to Joe as he gets his balance.  Joe nods, grinning, as he is enjoying the company as much as the help.  “One handed”  he adds, boastful, just as Mae releases her toss.

 

Steel launches into the air, reaching its arc near the precariously balanced giant.  A massive hand shoots out and grabs the girder, making it hover in mid-air, his own supernatural strength holding it up.  Unfortunately physics takes over and the weight of the girder pulls Joe off balance.  The giant's grin turns to a frown as he lurches forward and in an effort to save the girder he tosses it up higher.  The girder catches on the frame and rests there.  Joe, however, pitches forward and tumbles through the air, bouncing and ricocheting off of steel girders as he falls and crashes to the ground, splayed on his back, imbedded in the concrete and impaled on the several pipes and rebar that are sticking up from it.

 

There is a pause as both Mae and Papa Sallow look into the dust-cloud that is result of the Joe versus Gravity confrontation. 

 

“Well… that’s what I get fer show-boatin’…heh” comes Joe’s familiar nasal twang as he starts chuckling.  Papa Sallow shakes his head and smiles and Mae looks from one man to the other, her only action being an upraised eyebrow.  She turns to Joe and asks, “are you allright?”

 

The dust clears and Joe is lying on his back with five pieces of rebar and two pipes protruding from several parts of his body.

 

“I’m fine Mae… heh, it’d take a lot more’n this ta hurt ole Joe.”  He grins as Mae comes over to stand near him and offering him her hand to help him up, wincing a bit as she pulls him off the metal that has impaled him against the ground.  Joe just continues to grin, showing no signs of registering the pain at all.

 

With Mae’s help Joe gets to his feet, his wounds closing quickly, but before either one of them can say anything, Papa Sallow erupts into cackling laughter.  The two turn to face him and see him staring at the spot where Joe had just fallen. “Every crafter gotta leave dare mark, eh dare boy?”  Sallow chuckles as he points it out to Mae and Joe.

 

There, imprinted in the concrete, are two large bowl-shaped indentations.

 

 

 

Mud gives way to water as the cool lake bottom vomits forth its waking inhabitant.  The algae-thick fluid seeps into lungs, mouth, nose, eyes and ears.

"You gonna just lay here or are you gonna actually do somethin' tonight?"  The voice, smooth and rich yet laced with primal bestiality, slithers through the tumultuous nightmares of the mind of the waking giant.

Eyes flash open and a feral snarl appears on the once smiling face.

"Time to feed..." Joe's thoughts reflect a purpose brought on by pure instinct.

"That's right.  Feed 'till yer full.  I have things you need to learn..."

The deathly still giant lurches to a semblance of life as clouds of silt billow up from each movement.  It is as if even the floor of the lake rebels against his newly destructive personality.

Unblinking eyes emerge from the water as his massive frame makes its way towards the shore.  Muddy water slides off his naked flesh as he takes his first steps on dry land.  Turning his head he expels the slimy fluid from his lungs, nose and mouth with nothing more than efficiency of movement.  No reaction of concern, discomfort or pain.  

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, activating his supernatural senses and breathing the night air as if for the first time.  Inside him, his beast, unfettered and unrestrained basks in that newly acquired freedom.  

The massively muscled arms stretch, unnecessarily, as if to take in as much of the night as possible. "Embrace it boy, tonight's the first night of your new life.  You're reborn, son, and there ain't nothin' that can stop you now."  The feral voice goading him into movement.

Not pausing for clothes the giant tilts his head, like a wolf catching a scent and then barrels off through the brush, efficient, quick and quiet, a disturbing effect for someone his size.

"Tonight boy, yer learnin' how to be quick.  Remember that ponce, Shane?  He's a whole helluva lot quicker than you... Time to even the odds boy..."

Joe winces at the mention of the name and an unfamiliar emotion attempts to trigger a response.  It fails.  Joe pauses and instead of feeling envy, which is a human emotion, he feels threatened.

"That's right, he's quicker'n you. That makes him a threat.  What do we do to threats, boy?"  Each over-enunciated word flows through every bit of the towering frame.

"We kill them."  The response is deep, without hesitation, uttered aloud and is accompanied by a feral grin.

"That's right, because you're a killer.  That's what you do.  That's what you are... and I'm gonna show you how to be better at it."

Quick movement sent the giant into a feral hunting crouch.  Naked and without weapon of any kind, he sniffed, moving only his eyes.  Again about thirty yards away there was another movement.  Deer.

"You want it Joe?  You're gonna have to chase it down.  Learn to bask in the hunt, the chase.  Let it run a bit, and when it starts to get tired, let your vitae flow, lend strength to your limbs, but force it, press it quicker than you've ever done before.  Will your limbs to move faster and faster.  You will see, then, how you can be just as quick, if not quicker, than that ponce..."

The reference makes Joe's lip twitch into a silent snarl as suddenly his gigantic body bursts into motion.

Trees and plants become a blur in his vision as his prey becomes aware of his presence and starts its flight.  Brush rustles and fear exudes throughout the entire area.  Smaller animals scurry, freeze in place and hide, all in an attempt to not get noticed by the sudden appearance of the apex predator.  Joe basks in it as he continues his pursuit.

The buck snorts and runs, fast, putting distance between it and Joe.  On it went, the chase, covering a good distance, until Joe picks up the scent of sweat and fatigue from his prey.  It is tiring.  He isn't.  Grinning he sees it slow near a small thicket of birch trees, positioning itself so that the trees are between it and Joe.

The breath of the prey comes in short quick snorts, as its eyes are wide, alert for any sign of its hunter.

"NOW!!!" The voice yells in Joe's head.  Vitae burns, fueling his body with supernatural strength yet still more burns, pushed fast through his corpse-like body already increased by that strength, faster and faster until the rush of it pushes his limbs into motion.  Joe leaps and runs at his quarry.

The world seems somehow slower around him.  He notices the movement of the trees as he bursts through them, breaking them.  He notices the startle reflex of the buck as its body loweres and muscles coil for the return to flight, yet it is all slower.  Everything is slower.  Except him.

Arms bigger than the trees it is hiding behind wring around the muscular neck of the beast and the weight of the supernaturally fast behemoth pulls it to the ground.

"CRACK" comes the sound of the broken neck of the buck.

It lives, though not for long and cannot not move nor can it do anything but feel as the massive jaw tears away its flesh, fangs ripping gorges through its muscle.  Lifeblood flows and is immediately consumed by the giant, until its life fades into black nothingness.

Smiling, Joe grabs the carcass and begins the trek back to the campsite.

"Atta boy." 

The evening’s recent events run through Joe’s head as his truck makes the slow journey down the campground lane back to his site.  His supernaturally enhanced vision is keen for movement along the darkened road though his mind is elsewhere, reliving the moments prior to where he is right now.

 

He remembers, keenly, the feel of the flesh and how it separated so easily underneath his massive claws.  There was no struggle, no fight, just the peeling of flesh from sinew from bone.

 

His body, on auto-pilot, parks the truck and he steps out, slowly walking between the various projects in his campsite as if walking through a museum.  Quiet but for the footsteps of a giant.  He pauses at the half finished suit of chain mail.  His eyes glazed in reverie, he unconsciously lets the links slide through his fingers.  Claws sprout without provocation or thought and soon the links are separated and draped over his clawed fingers like flayed flesh. 

 

“What about you makes you do everything you’re told to, Joe?” the voice of Judy Lynch still very fresh in his mind.

 

“Be a good boy and do what yer told now little Joe…” echoes Granny’s voice familiar and authoritative.  Once again Joe is his child self, in the daylight of Lake Blackshear and his Granny is sitting on the porch, as she always did.

 

“I try Granny, but every time I do something it seems like I’m doin’ it wrong and someone else gets upset.  It’s like they’re watching and waiting fer me to make a mistake so they can ridicule me…” the base voice seems strange coming from the child’s mouth.  In the campsite, there’s no one to hear it as the words fall on the quiet of the summer night.

 

“That’s because yer none too smart, boy.  You needs to go back and try it again and keep doin’ it until you get it right.”  Granny berates the young Joe.  At the campsite, the Joe of the now slumps his shoulders, completely lost to this memory and now very oblivious to his current surroundings.

 

“That’s not entirely true, ma’am, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so and pardoning the interruption, of course.”  A voice strong and firm, primal and cunning comes from the driveway as a gentleman walks with purpose up to the two.  His brilliant white suit is a stark contrast to the dark glasses over his eyes and his white hat seems to shine in the noonday sun.

 

The sky, as if in rebellion of the very presence of such a glow, rolls dark storm clouds over the small cottage and the lake behind it. 

 

Joe looks from the gentleman and back to Granny.

 

“You’re not welcome here sir, regardless of how polite you are.”  Granny’s voice wavers, losing some of its authority.

 

“Oh, I think I am, ma’am.  No disrespect.”  The pitch black glasses turn towards Joe, “you don’t mind if I stay fer a spell, do ya boy?”  The question is laced with an animalistic aura that strikes a harmonious chord within his chest.  It beckons approval as well as offers the reinforcement he’s been searching for.

 

Granny shakes her head subversively yet Joe takes no notice and her face visibly pales when Joe responds, “Not at all sir, stay as long as ya like…”

 

Grinning a feral smile the man removes his glasses as the dark clouds completely block the sun.  Eyes that shine with predator instinct, like those of the wolf, stare at Joe, then turn to face Granny.

 

“Name’s Mann, ma’am, and yer time here is nearing its end.”  Granny rises from her chair and attempts to look intimidating, but fails to look like anything but an old woman.  A decrepit old woman.

 

“Joe, you’ve got to fight him off… I can’t do it myself.  Don’t let him in… keep him away… keep him…remember what I taught you… remember… you’re better than this durn’it boy…Joe ya durned fool… help me…”  Granny sounded panic yet Joe couldn’t understand why.

 

Joe looked around to see if he was missing something in this surreal vision.  He notices he is larger, like he is now.  He notices the scent on the wind… fear.  He feels a connection with Mann deep within the roots of his soul as he stares at him, the white suit impeccably clean.  Claws sprout from Mann’s hands and Joe’s mimic the effect.

 

“Joe ain’t yers ta boss around no more, ma’am.  He’s a grown man and frankly, yer rigidity in his mannerisms are holdin’ him back.  Yer time with him is through…”  Mann utters, his body and voice becoming more bestial with each passing moment. 

 

Joe turns and walks towards Mann, uncertain, as the man lurches forward towards Granny.

 

“Now it’s MY turn…” shouts Mann, his voice all but a predatory growl as his hands turn to claws and fangs protrude from his mouth.

 

Joe steps forward disconnected, knowing he should feel pain or loss or something at watching his Granny get assaulted, yet he feels nothing.  He steps up behind Mann and reaches for him, giant arms outstretched… then it hits him.

 

Anger and rage pour through him, unfettered and pure.  He basks in it allowing it to course through him and embraces it.

 

 Opening his eyes he sees the image once again… the old decrepit lady being annihilated by his hand.  This time, however, it’s his Granny.  She’s dying as his claws rip through her tender flesh.

 

Her frail body crumples under his attacks and he tosses the lifeless body aside as if it were nothing more than an old, used towel.

 

Metal clanging against metal snaps Joe back to the real world as the suit of chain mail he was crafting for Dr. Colburn ricochets off a piece of sheet metal, broken and splayed like an eviscerated corpse.

 

It’s only then that Joe notices… he’s grinning.

Stillness clings to the skeleton-like array of half finished metalworking projects in the pre-dawn darkness of the campsite.  Husks of things left undone add to the intense quiet that permeates the uninhabited and unattended work area.  The partially built monstrosity of the construct that was to be an amusement resembles none of the intention, steel girders reaching up towards the sky like a clawed hand lurching out of an earthen grave.

 

Silence screams from the cold forge, memories of what used to be.  Hammering and creation took place here at one time, but all that seems forgotten as the site is barren, empty for all the parts strewn about.

 

Chaos swirls in the darkness of the site as it does in the thoughts of the giant who claims ownership of it. 

 

Two pinpoints of light shine down the path that leads to this mechanical graveyard, slowly getting larger as they approach, illuminating the darkness and casting away a small portion of the macabre of the place.  The low rumble of the diesel engine becomes audible as the large truck and trailer roll to a halt in their usual spot.

 

The truck door opens and a giant steps out, slams the door walks past the cold forge seemingly unhindered by the grievous wounds that cover his body. 

 

CLANG…

 

The giant discards his battered and cracked shield against the forge without pause or even a glance and continues to walk past the rest of the corpses of projects unfinished. 

 

Focus comes into chaos as the weight of his thoughts effect his body more than any wound ever could.  He glances down at his burns and tears and rends then sniffs the air tilting his head to the side slightly, as an animal might when it catches the scent of prey.

 

“Blood first… then rest… gotta be presentable for Mrs. Lynch…”  grumbles the giant aloud, though without conviction.

 

With surprising quickness for a creature of his size he sprints off into the woods, following the scent of sustenance before the dawn has a chance to cut short the lives of the nocturnal.

 

 

 

 

“How can he be so cocky even in the face of failure?” Tristan wonders to himself as the towering and glittering Adrian continues to pummel at him, swinging fists and dropping elbows.

 

Sweat coats Adrian’s muscular form as continues to try to connect with the smaller Wizened, his movements large and showy.  Tristan, on the other hand, moves quickly and efficiently, deftly avoiding the incoming blows with annoying accuracy. Tristan’s body is neither tired nor perspiring from effort, his face a cool calm of focused discipline.

 

In a grand display, Adrian makes a gigantic show of launching himself at Tristan, the hoped for outcome being a grappling maneuver that would put the smaller Tristan at a disadvantage.  In an even grander display, Tristan dives forward towards the legs of the charging Adrian, evading those widespread arms as they closed on nothing but air.  Hitting the mat in a tumble and a somersault, Tristan rolls to his feet and in one fluid motion he launches himself up to land on the top rope.  He crouches with his momentum as his weight bows the rope and then he launches himself high into the air once again, vaulting in an unearthly display of acrobatic dexterity. 

 

Adrian, slightly bent from his reach towards his smaller opponent, turns his head to look behind him, watching the display with exaggerated reaction as his head rolls following the flight of Tristan.  Flip after flip after flip is performed in mid air, Tristan’s body picking up momentum from the force until his shins land on the staring Adrian’s shoulders, each foot hooking against each collarbone.

 

Not one to waste energy, Tristan continues the momentum of the flip, arcing his back over Adrian’s head, planting his hands on the floor and with a quick snap and slight exertion of energy, brings his legs towards the mat.

 

This has the unfortunate circumstance of bringing the already (slightly) off-balance Adrian along for the somersaulting ride and slams his back against the mat.

 

Tristan quickly recovers to his feet in a fighting stance and waits, watching.

 

“You HAVE been watching my tapes!” Adrian exclaims as he quickly kip-up’s off the mat and does a quick flex-pose seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was just laid out on his back.  “I did a move very similar against Gigantus mid-season a few years back.  You were right to come to me to learn Tristan, I am an EXCELLENT teacher.”

 

Tristan stood there, waiting and watching, yet mentally he was stunned by what he heard.

 

“You see, I wanted to give you the opportunity to demonstrate your showmanship by leaving myself open like that.  You took it and flew.  Not quite as flashy as I was in that match against Gigantus, but we can work on that.  You may yet show me you have what it takes to be learning from the BEST.”  Adrian went on, flexing and posing even though they were the only one’s in the gym. 

 

It clicked then, in Tristan’s head and in a skewed way made a bit of sense.  “Bulwark yourself with pride and all the practice you do will make your spectacles seem all that more spectacular to the point of outshining your flaws.”  Tristan stands silent and motionless as the thoughts of this epiphany wash across him like a tsunami.  “Even to the point that you will believe in something that was proven to be false.”  Tristan thoughts now race, a harsh contrast to his immobile body.

 

“That’s right, gaze upon the body of perfection Tristan, there’s nothing wrong with that.  You too could… come close to looking just like this with hard work and dedication.”  Adrian states in his usual and overly dramatic way.

 

“Only the best for the best teacher in the world…” Tristan states in a clear loud voice.

 

There is a pause as Adrian slowly turns to look at Tristan, smiling that championship grin, nodding his approval slowly, “That’s right”.