1.
The wind whispered through the trees as two young men passed a joint back and forth. A fire was blazing to keep the insects away.
“I tell you, Bob. You’re getting better and better stuff all the time.”
Bob nodded his head sagely and smiled inwardly. Both men remained silent as heads drooped ever so slightly.
“The environment’s all wrong. Screwed up.” Pat nodded his head concurring with Bob’s viewpoint. Both men, in their late 20s, remained silent until Bob jumped to his feet and yelled, “Let’s hit the beer!”
Pat nodded his head in pleased agreement with his friend’s suggestion. Pat prefers the beer to the drugs, but Bob always had drugs, and it was hard to say no after a while.
“I tell you, Bob, I like the drugs, but nothing beats a cold beer with a good friend.”
Bob smiled and tossed Pat an Export. “You’re awfully silent tonight, Bob. Anything eating away at you?”
“Only the environment,” replied Bob.
“What do you mean?”
“We humans are intent on destroying the environment at any cost. I’m glad I won’t be around to witness the death of nature.”
“Wellllll, sure we won’t be around,” Pat slurred, “we’ll be dead and gone.”
“Exactly.” The two friends eyed each other—Pat with a mixture of incomprehension and silence. Pat had always been an unpretentious working man and gave little thought to higher ideals, such as the existence of God, the viability of resources, and the usefulness of man. He simply didn’t bother with the things he had no way of understanding. He worked during the week to support his family and to have some cash left over for drinking with the boys on the weekend. This type of life suited Pat extremely well, for he considered himself a relatively happy man. Oh sure, the old lady got on his nerves at times, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
Bob had met Pat at a bar, and they hit it off quite well. Bob appreciated Pat’s unpretentious nature and his ability to listen to other people. Bob didn’t work. He was quite wealthy due to an inheritance from an uncle. He didn’t really know this uncle except through visits to a hospital where he saw a decayed old body mumbling about vultures and pussy. Bob thought his uncle was mad. This didn’t stop Bob from praising him as a great man upon receiving the news that he had inherited more than a million dollars from the dead body. Bob decided that he would pursue the ultimate answer to life through various amounts of debauchery, occasional periods of quiet reflection with the great minds of philosophy, religion and theosophy…and lots of mind-altering drugs.
The two friends drank silently with eyes occasionally closing.
“What did you mean? You know, by ‘exactly’?” Pat asked Bob.
“Hmm. What are you talking about?”
“About how we’re not going to be here when nature goes kaput.”
“Here, Pat. Let’s have some of this, and then we’ll rap.” Bob pulled out a bag with a fine, darkly clouded powder enclosed. The substance reminded Pat of cinnamon.
“It looks like fucking cinnamon,” Pat laughed.
Bob eyed Pat closely and smiled. “It’s not exactly cinnamon. In fact, it’s a hell of a lot better than cinnamon.” Bob pulled out a knife and spread the powder on one side. “Hey, Pat, pull out some straws from my knapsack.” Pat found the straws and handed them to Bob. Bob took a straw and inhaled all the powder that was glistening on the knife. “Holy shit!” cried Bob, “that’s fucking dynamite!”
“What the hell is it?” asked Pat.
“It’s only powder,” Bob replied. Pat nodded sagely as one does after too many beers and too many drugs in one night. There is no reason to question anything. Bob prepared the next batch for Pat. Unbeknownst to Pat, Bob added small black herbs to Pat’s brown powder.
“OK, Pat, here you go.” Pat didn’t notice the black herbs, and he greedily inhaled the powder.
“Holy Mother of Christ! Fucking Shit!” screamed Pat.
“Not bad stuff, eh?”
“Oh, my God! Where are you, Bob? Bob! I can’t fucking see you!”
“I’m right here in front of you, Pat,” Bob drawled.
“But I can’t fucking see you!”
“We have destroyed everything pure in this world. Don’t you realize that, man!?” Bob grabbed Pat’s collar and shook him violently. Pat’s body flopped loosely in Bob’s iron-clad grip. Pat heard what Bob was saying, but he was helpless to respond. He tried to scream, to shout, but nothing escaped from his lips. Pat despaired of ever hearing his voice again.
“Now, listen closely, man,” Bob ordered Pat. “The environment is finished. We are living on borrowed time. Everything we humans touch turns to shit. Look at the world, man! If everyone wants peace, why are there wars occurring as I speak? Babies are being mutilated. 8-year-old girls are being raped by ravenous soldiers who have been brainwashed by their respective leaders. People are starving in the streets, as warehouses toss away enough food to feed the world many times over. It’s all politics, man! Fucking politics! But politicians are only human…so we’re all guilty! God gave us this earth, which was once bountiful and pure and beautiful, and we have turned it into one massive sewage system. It’s time to start over, and the only way to do that is to destroy everything!”
Vague images floated around in Pat’s brain. Finished. Destroyed. Wars. Mutilation. Rape. Brainwashed. Starvation, Sewage. An 8-year-old. His daughter was 8. Raped by soldiers. Kill the bastards. Peace. Purity. War. Destruction.
“There’s nothing to do but help the cause!” Bob continued to preach. “Here, take this gun and end it all. The future children will sing your praises. You will be a martyr. A saint!”
The feel of steel. The power of potential death. My wife? Who is she? My soul is polluted. The sewage system. Save the world through death. Pat shook with a violent spasm and let out a blood-curdling scream.
“No, no! Don’t resort to histrionics. Just kill yourself. A gift to nature. The true God of all. We are the future!”
Death as salvation. The new Christ! What happened to innocence? The simple life? Those days are gone! The world is waiting for my death. And Bob’s!
“No need to waste time,” scolded Bob, “your suicide is the seed of the new world! Do not let down the anticipation and prayers of a new and better world! Do it, man, do it!”
Images sped up in Pat’s brain, leaving understanding in the dust. Salvation. Religion. World. Death. Nature. Gun. The gun! That’s real! I can feel it in my hands.
“No, no. Don’t point it at me! Start with yourself. You have the honour and privilege of becoming the first true martyr. MY gift to you! Pat! What are you doing!?”
With a steady hand, Pat pointed the gun at Bob and calmly pulled the trigger.
“Holy shit! You bastard! You’ve killed the world’s only hope! You’re all doomed! Doomed! You’re a Judas, and you’ve killed your Christ!” Bob fell onto his back, clutching his heart, and the blood seeped through his fingers. Without uttering another word, Bob died.
2.
The next day, Pat woke up and walked into the kitchen. His wife was preparing lunch. “Hi, honey,” he greeted his wife and kissed her neck.
“Hi, darling. What did you do last night? You came home pretty late.”
Pat laughed: “Apparently, I killed Christ.”
“Oh my God, you did drink a lot last night. Bacon and eggs for lunch. How do you want your eggs?”
“Scrambled.”
1985