Letters From The Wasteland
David B Doc Byron

 

           The Search

    Out here in the wasteland, you take care of
yourself.
Nevermind the social graces; the howdy-do's, and
the have a nice days, out here in my world, every
face that strolls by could be your undoing. I
shit you not.
Faces are like masks anyway, you can put on a
nice face, but underneath the smile can lurk a
frown. You can be wearing a mean face, but be
smiling behind it. It works both ways.
Ive worn my share of masks along the way on the
roads Ive traveled, believe me. Its saved my ass
a few times, too. Its called not letting your
guard down.
    Ive been out here for two years now, walking
and hitchhiking from one state to the next, one
Godforsaken dump of a town to another. Every place
Ive been in, large or small, dump or not, its
always been the same.
Nobody is different, no matter where you go.
Every town or city has a redneck, a bum, an
asshole, or a thief. Hell, sometimes you even
get lucky enough to meet a psycho or a serial
killer along the way.
Ive spent all of this time trying to find the
perfect town, the perfect life, the perfect
woman, etc., etc., etc.
No such luck.
    But, I keep on truckin'.
I hit the blacktop every day and begin wearing
out the next pair of Nikes.
Ive been stomped, stabbed, shot, and robbed.
I even lost my finger over a stupid bet once.
But as I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I fear no evil, for I am the HMIC.
Head motherfucker in charge. And, Im the
meanest sonofabitch in the valley.
Amen.

     And remember, out here in the wasteland,
you take care of yourself.....




Installment 1#
Part 1#
July 4th, 1999.
Arizona desert. 1p.m.

      The heat was so thick it could have made
shadows sweat.
My head hurt so bad I thought I was gonna puke.
I never knew before that heat could send a
headache careening down into my guts before, my
balls even felt hot and swollen.
I had been walking along highway 71# outside of
Tuscon, when a heat wave that probably would
have made hell feel good kicked in. I had already
taken off my shirt, and wrapped it around my head
like a turban. I tried taking off my shoes once,
to let my dogs breathe, but the sun baked blacktop
had burned blisters on to the bottoms of my feet
the size of nickels. I had limped over to the side
of the road and sat down, only to plant my ass
cheeks down a small cactus, sending porcupine like
needles up my ass.
I wasnt having a good day.

      About 10 a.m. the next day, after spending
the night in the hayloft of an old barn that must
have been built around the year Christ was a kid,
I hit the road again, my sore ass throbbing, my
blistered feet screaming, and my balls feeling
like someone had used them for hockey pucks.
I had forgotten about my headache; it had moved
due south.
Around 12 noon, an older model Cadillac with a
Texas plate on it had driven by, the driver
laughing at me and tossing a beer can out the
window at my feet. Empty, of course.
I hope I meet up with himm someday in hell, me
with a full cooler of beer in my possession,
and Ill sit there right in front of him and drink
every last one of them without offering him one.
I wont piss in his mouth if his tonsils are on
fire.

     I was about to give up and let the buzzards
have me { I had seen a small flock of the mangy
bastards hovering overhead for the last couple
of miles} when I saw an old pickup truck coming
down the blacktop towards me, with some old fella
driving. He looked harmless enough from a distance,
so I stuck out my thumb. The way my luck had been
going, though, he would end up being a 70 year
old homosexual serial killer with a yen for young
hitchhikers, and would take me for a drive down
vaseline alley.
As I was saying, I had stuck out my thumb.
He pulled over.

     ''Going my way?'' I asked him, trying to
sound like a hick. He looked like a hillbilly,
like Jed Clampett, so I figured he'd take to
that lingo.
''Which way is that, young feller?'' he asked,
sounding like Jethro Bodine, so I figured I was
safe.
''Actually mister,'' I said, ''at this point in
time, I dont really care. As long as Im out of
this heat.'' I dropped the hick accent, I was
already in like Flint.
''Cmon, young fella,'' he said, pushing the side
door open. ''But Ive got a couple of stops to
make first, if you dont mind.''
''No, thats cool,'' I said, climbing in before
he changed his mind.
We had gone about three miles down the blacktop
when I noticed an old crucifix hanging from the
rear view mirror, and an old, worn, faded bible
sitting on the dash. At least he's a religious
man, I thought.
I thought, as I say.
      It looked like an antique, so I asked him
about it, just making conversation.
''That looks kind of old,'' I said. ''How old is
it?''
He suddenly broke out laughing like a hyena, and
slapped his knee. He looked like Jed instead of
Jethro now.
''Young man, that used to belong to a nun who
lost her virginty AFTER committing her life to
the Lord. Her punishment was to be exiled out
into the wasteland.''
I couldnt resist asking where or what the
wasteland was. My day had already been really
interesting, so what the hell? Might as well be
sociable anyhow, pass the time. Besides, he'd
saved me from a long walk in hellsfire.
''Where is this..uh..wasteland?'' I asked.
''Hell, boy! Its right here!'' He pointed out
the window with an old gnarled index finger.
It looked more like a claw.
As I looked out the window, all I saw was the desert
passing us by, but thought I saw a blur that had
looked like a sign that said, PARADISE,ARIZONA.
Paradise? I thought. Never heard of it.
I asked another stupid question. ''Here? I dont
see anything.''
Another hyena laugh. ''Hell, boy! Open your eyes!''

       I started to ask him what in the hell it
was he wanted me to look at in this barren
hotass ballbusting desert, when I suddenly felt
a sharp pain in the back of my head, followed by
little black worms floating in the air in front
of my now dimming eyes. Lights out!
As I fell into a state of unconsiousness, I was
feeling really dumb for turning my back to a
stranger and giving him the chance to pop my skull.

When I woke up, the nun was sitting across from me.



Part 2#
As I said, when I woke up, the nun was sitting
across from me.
Or should I say, I was laying across from the nun.
I had woke up in an old barn, just like the one
I had spent the night in the night before. As I
glanced around for a few seconds through pain
clouded eyes, I realized it was the same one.
For some odd reason, that didnt appeal to me.
The nun spoke up in a whisper.
''Did the old man in the red pickup truck give
you a ride too?''
I finally got a good fix on her with my eyeballs.
My head felt like a busted mush melon. It could
join the crowd along with my balls, ass, and gutache.
''Yeah,'' I managed to croak. My throat felt as
dry as desert dust. ''Who is that old freakazoid,
anyway? Why did he bust my head, and cram me in
this birdshit covered barn?''
I almost felt guilty for cussing in front of her.
For a second.
   ''He's what they call, The soul collector.
He's the one who watches the roads for new or
lost souls. I was on my way to Tuscon when I had
a flat tire, and he stopped to ''help'' me.
Then he knocked me out and brought me here.''
''He hit a nun?'' I asked. ''What an asshole.''
''But he did,'' she said, rubbing the side of her
head.
''But why?''
''He's the one who collects souls for the master.
The dark one...you know, the anti-Christ.''
I had heard enough already. I slowly rose to my
feet, dusted myself off. I had birdshit in my
hair. I was pissed.
''Lady, you can stay here and wait for that old
basket case to come back here and perform some
kind of weirdass sacrifice on you, but me, Im
outa here. You can come with me, or stay here.
Its up to you. Theres a town back the road a ways
called Paradise, and im going down there and
tell the cops about this situation, send the law
back down here to arrest his perverted ass.''
     The nun spoke up again, but in an even
quieter tone than before. I was thinking; why
in the hell is she whispering for? We're alone.
''You cant leave here,'' she said. ''He'll get
you before you can walk or run twenty yards. I
know, Ive tried.''
Id heard enough again. ''Bullshit,'' I said.
''Im leaving.''
I turned to walk towards the two big barn doors
when I saw the old man standing there.
He was standing in the doorway to the barn, a
double barrled shotgun in one hand, a .357 magnum
in the other. The handgun had a laser sight on
it, so apparently the old loon went night hunting
too. He had a big bag of penny nails hanging from
his belt, so I had the strangest feeling I knew
what that shotgun was loaded with. A double barrled
shotgun full of penny nails would make me look
like a 6foot tall bloody pincushion, so I decided
to be real friendly.
     ''I dont mean to offend you, old timer,''
I said, in a very soft tone of voice. ''But,
Ive had just about enough of your sill games
for today. You might scare the nun here, but
you dont me.''
I was hoping he'd call my bluff.
He did.

     He raised the shotgun up to my face level,
then jingled the nailbag with his other hand.
''Young fella, I wouldnt get too cocky if I was
you. Last year I shot a fella with this monster,
and he ended up looking like a big bloody damn
porcupine. What was left of him, that is.''
I looked at the gun, then back down at the nun,
then back at him. I knew I didnt have a cahnce in hell
of getting out that door, so I gave in, mainly
for the nun's sake. She had a look of stark terror
in her eyes. Scared to death. I didnt want to leave her here
alone with a psychotic hillbilly.
''Okay, old timer. You win. But dont hurt the lady,
okay?''
The old man laughed a high pitched cackle this
time, and it reminded me of that old witch bitch
in the Wizard Of Oz. I had always hated her. I
wished Toto had bitten her on the ass.
''Hurt her?! Thats real funny, boy. I aint gonna
hurt her! Im gonna make you have sex with her!!''

       I was going to ask why, but declined. I
had already heard and seen enough crazy shit for
one day.
I just sat back down on the ground, and smiled at
the nun as if to say; Dont worry. It'll be alright.
Ill get us out of here somehow.
The nun forced a smile back at me, then I put my
head in my hands, and closed my eyes.

The ache in my crotch had hit my head again.

 

 

Copyright © 2002 David B Doc Byron
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"