“Farewell, cruel world,” come Scott’s final words, and he downs the insidious concoction in one long gulp. You try to reach out and stop him from carrying out his suicidal apology...but sadly your attempts are too little, too late.
The two of you stand there, dumbstruck by what you have just witnessed. Josh Burbank sneaks up from behind, startling you. He wedges himself between you, casually swishing a martini glass about, seemingly mesmerized by the twirling olive within. “He was a tortured soul,” he remarks offhandedly, blithely unconcerned with the entire grim affair. “Also, he molested me once and ate up all the food supplies. Still...he shall be missed.” He sighs dispassionately. “Let’s go do something. I’m bored.”
You glare at Josh with unmasked contempt festering in your eyes. “A man just died here you heartless twit!”
The Seeker nods his agreement. “And what a man he was.”
Several days later...
It is a rainy, gloomy day in the Scottish highlands. A handful of figures are gathered in the gloom, huddled together against the harsh elements. Upon closer look we see an oaken casket, and a grave dug beside, underneath an enormous pine tree. A wreath of flowers adorns a picture of the late Scott Chen. In the picture he is depicted as a great, decorated general of the colonial period, standing beside a proud white steed.
The sound of a bagpipe’s chilling wail can be heard from above. There, on yonder hill, stands Josh Burbank, dressed all in black. Where he learned to play the pipes like that is beyond you.
You stare at the coffin, your breathing subdued and slow. Your eyes then wander to the assorted throng of somber souls gathered around you. You notice some of the regulars; Lord Fred, Princess Astra, Ayumi, Bruce Campbell, a purple gorilla with a toaster head, Chris - sage of the Meclandiri, Scott’s ex-lover Miranda, Jerry Seinfeld. But there are many others as well. Indeed, many more than you would have expected. It seems tragic that so many distant friends should rally for such an occasion as this. Why couldn’t they have been there for Scott before he died.
Ah well. Such is the nature of things. You take a deep breath of the frigid, sorrow-tinged air, and watch as your breath comes out in a long cloud of mist. The rain falls silently all around you. You shiver as a chill dances down your spine.
“Oh, liquid mind, teach me to whisper,” the minister says. “Oh wandering soul, teach me to dance.”
Miranda bursts into tears. “OH WHY!? WHY, GOD, WHY!?” Several men come to the overwrought woman’s aid, and usher her away.
The minister goes on, “Oh fragile heart, teach me to listen. Oh listless index finger, teach me to speak Klingon.”
You aren’t quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but you let it slide. Several others look confused as well. Someone makes a rude comment.
“Scott Chen was a man – that we can all agree upon,” the minister continues, undaunted. “A man who had many demons. All he ever wanted was a sense of belonging. Utterly alone, he spent his days wandering about, searching for the truth, watching stupid cartoons and, more importantly, tormenting Josh. It probably would have been easier if he’d been an only child. Unfortunately for him, he had 35 brothers and 348 sisters. None of which have shown up today. Maybe this is for the best. I knew Scott like I know anybody – which is to say I hardly knew him. Yet, he was like a brother to me, inasmuch as I don’t much care for my brother. Still, he did do some good, didn’t he? Maybe not. Would anyone care to make a few words on behalf of the dearly departed, even though he was fairly retarded?”
Indeed, someone does...
6/6/2019 11:21:10 PM
Horsehockey V Home
Horsehockey V Home
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