Bronwen O’Connor
"Evil in the World"
 

She blinked her eyes and snorted in some fresh air, choked and then sat up, banging her head on the stick as it jabbed down from the ceiling.

“What the bloody Christ,” she mumbled, yanking at the seat belt before she felt the latch on the warm steel pop, and was flung forward between the dashboard and the hood. The car gave a loud scraping creak and teetered.

“No fucking way,” she breathed slowly, leaning over her shoulder and looking through the windshield. Black water swirled below as a rainbow ascended on a vapour of mist that rose up into the sunshine.

Shane moaned behind her, the back of the front seat straining as his weight rolled forward. The car creaked more, and the wind rattled against the pulped up metal as Bronwen breathed slowly out.

“Babeh, whydondyougetme a cigarette,” Shane moaned, jerking awake at the sound of his own bellow. Bronwen screamed and he looked over and stared into her horrified face. Suddenly he was flung against her as the car groaned past its crux on the cliff and soared over the edge.

Half of a screaming sob erupted, then there was no sound but for the rushing of the wind and an enormous slap of the car landing in the water.

The tinking of metal noise and grinding rang around them in the depths of the dark green water as the hulk of the car careened into the depths. Shane realized they were blocked by the glass of the windshield, badly shattered already. With a jerk of his elbow he smashed out the remnants of the glass, swirls of his blood spurting into the water, rinsing through the long tendrils of her hair rising up like a halo behind him as she pushed against him, pushing him upwards. She grabbed his ass and shoved, more like, as he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her up to the surface. Gasping for air they blew out of the water, wheezing and hacking out water to catch their breath.

“You ok?” Shane shouted, pulling her towards shore.
“Yeah,” she replied, “let’s go.”

They hauled themselves up the shore, clambering into the grass and flopping down, gasping and choking for air,

“I think I’m gonna die,” Shane coughed, puking up lake water and orangey-white bile.

“Oh fuck….” Bronwen moaned. They were silent for a moment but for the residual heavy breath, feeling the sun wash over them, the heat sinking into the hairs on their arms and the denim on their legs.

“Spring, “ Shane murmured, feeling the sun warm his cheeks.

“ ’Ahh time of new beginnings’,” she giggled. “You’re so fey sometimes.”

“I think I cracked my arm bone,” he groaned.

“Hey,” she said, more serious, “Finish this quote, ‘And Jesus asked, Why if there is a God in the world, must evil then exist? And God replied..”

“Huh?” he asked,

“What would you put after, “And God Replied….” She asked him, smirking slightly. “for War in the world? Beauty in the world? Chaos in the world?

“Good cannot exist without evil,” Shane interjected, “or, so that there is something to make good worth being.”

“It has to have that exact lead-in,” she laughed, “and be more concise, but that’s the right answer in any event.”

“So that there is reason to be good,” he added. She frowned and scowled a little at him.

“Ok, now go over that with some nails sticking out of a plank and a curb-stomp…what would come out?”

“….So the republicans have a means to keep people living in fear?” he guessed.

She giggled, “no politics, come on. That’s too easy.” She sat up a little more and rubbed her eyes, “Damn, I think I just saw a ghost cat. It was black and white—looked like a lil furry torpedo.”

Shane, still not paying attention, mused to himself, “so that there is a need for a good God?”

“No,” Bronwen laughed, looking away from the woods at the end of the beach where she’d been staring.

“What about humour in the world?” she asked, shading her eyes from the sun and pulling his soggy head into her lap. Shane shrugged and leaned back into her warmth, looking at the small fret lines in the corners of her eyes.

“But is humour really the opposite of evil?” he countered, closing his eyes again.

“If it was a ghost cat,” she murmured, rubbing the large bump on her head, ”that would explain all the shit two weeks ago in the house. Takes forever for felines to get along,” she laughed, wincing a little.

“Without evil,” Shane exuded ponderously, “people would have nothing to fear, and in that, no reason to need a God.”

“Oh,” she said, ‘And God replied….to thicken the Plot. Yeah babies…I think that’s the one.”

“Um…so,” Shane said, perplexed, “what are we talking about this for?” He paused for a moment and scratched his belly, gazing up into her left nostril. Drifting into the sky, a thought pushed his myelin sheaths in a jarring cacophony. His pupils dilated instantly and he was on his feet and scrambling down the beach, scanning the water frantically for a minute or two silently, before turning back around slowly, looking at her with a constipated DEATHMACHINE face.

“MY CAR,” he moaned, dropping to his knees in the shore. “It sunk. Aww shit, I…my car sank.”

“Yeah, I’m ok, thanks for asking,” Bronwen shrugged, pulling off her hoody and tying it in a dripping mess around her belt before turning and walking away from him.

“Hey,” Shane grunted, stumbling to his feet and running after her. She slowed to a furious walk by the time they reached the middle of a tall grain field. He watched the sun dance across the tattoos across her upper back. Two intertwined gracefully flowing and colorful jellyfish nestled there in a dark black oblivion on her shoulder blades, His wedding present to her. Her hair waving around her neck waved darkly to a calmer sway as she slowed down a little more. He reached forward, lightly grabbed her pro-offered finger, and her hand tinkled its way into his as he got beside her.

“I’m still mad you touched her,” she said faintly.

“Not willingly,” he mumbled. “Too much face biting.”

Three hours later, their clothes were dry, and the asphalt of the freeway had warmed their sneakers to warm rubbery softness as they trudged along in the blazing sun. Heat waves rose around them in the middle of the barren-seeming desert.

“Where the fuck are we?” Bronwen sighed, looking behind her at Shane’s hulking figure trudging bereftly behind her.

“I don’t know dude,” he moaned. “My car is drowned.”

“Shane….” She cajoled, “we can get you another car when we get back. Just like Dukes of Hazzard.”

“It was the same car,” he pouted, “they were just really good at fixing it.”

She rolled her eyes and scanned the horizon. She could feel the heat snaking around her neck, ruffling the fine hairs beaded with sweat at her nape.

“It’s so hot…” Shane whined. “I should have died with my car in that cool abyss.”

“Ye’re bein’ a tad melodramatic, love,” she murmured, kissing him on the cheek as he drew close.

“But I loved it…” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers, “almost more than I love---“

“Pancakes?” She said, eyebrow raised. He looked down and a little smile crept to his lips.

“Yeah….more than pancakes,” he replied, “definitely.”

A white hot flash of light appeared on the horizon, bearing down on them impossibly fast. The sun took the surface of the car and mangled it into a disc of shining silver, indiscernable in make at a distance.

“Huh,” Bronwen gawped.

“Awesome….a ride,” Shane said excitedly. “I’mma show ‘em my guns so they pull over and give us a lift.” He whipped off his t-shirt and strutted into the middle of the road, flexing his arms like an ‘80’s showboat. The car slowed briefly before speeding up and accelerating towards Shane.

“Baby,” Bronwen yelled, “did ye forget we’re on the run from that psycho bitch who tried to rape you?”

The car, upon closer inspection was an unfamiliar make, but bearing down on Shane fast, as he paraded and started doing a chicken walk. The sun made his tanned arms glow, his lithely muscled body rippling as he goofed around. She could see a few nicks and cuts of dried blood opening up on his shoulder blade t hough, and a smattering of dark black bruises.

The car screeched to a stop, skidding within a few inches of Shane’s legs. The driver, unruffled, sat there and scowled fiercely at Shane.

“Annika?” Bronwen shouted in disbelief. Annika glared at her stoically before smiling tersely and nodding.

“Hey Annie, like my gun?” Shane crowed, kissing his bicep. Annika shot a confused look at Bronwen and stepped out of the car.

“Uh,” Bronwen started, “he’s a little…messed up…right now. The allengercha anksay. In a akeslay.”

“Oh,” Annika replied calmly, leaning against the sleek car.

“Holy fuck,” Shane muttered, “is this a DeLorean?”

“Maybe,” Annika growled. “Do not proceed to touch it with your filthy American meat hooks, or I will kill you.”
 

______________________

 

“Daddy’s got his gun loaded, got crosshairs in his eyes…”

Dylan Cage. I haven’t met you yet, but what a disgustingly inadequate foe you have already proven to be! You stink of green, and not the kind that warms the static in my brain on a sunny day in the back yard. I applaud your apparent eagerness to jump into the big-boy ball pit, but can’t help but think you’re about to find anaconda number two as you sink to the bottom of brightly colored plastic balls that are sucking you in, dwarfing you before you even start to swim. I’ll explain. That was what we call an analogy. There are several units of “suck” in this fed, swarms of them, all analogous to balls in a ball pit, and in that ball pit, there are layers of stratus that you now find yourself sinking in.

Me. Shane. Mike Bessette, and all those other loveable shmoes in NCV—we’re top stratus. Havoc, and all others that choose to play the “superior being” card or “king shit (head)” like Shawn Walsh…those guys tend to be lower stratus, their ego impairing their talent tragically and always. Even lower, you’ll find guys like Rayn the Gay, or Lucas Knight. Do you know what happens to balls that are lower in the stratosphere in a ball pit?

They get pissed on.

To your credit, I’m sure that you will learn these things quicker than I did, although I can’t boldly lie to you and say that it will be easier than sticking your dick in a glory hole to be successful in a fed like this. I’m looking forward to seeing you. Make sure you leave your training wheels in your locker though, that shit stings worse than pseudo metaphysical allegory that Havoc dishes out of his toilet on a daily basis.

Seriously, what were you thinking? Other people go to the gym. They train. They care about taking care of themselves for the sport they love. Havoc though…you meditate in your dark little played out brain and think of a short cut. Become a ephemeral super being? Shit dude, why didn’t I think of that? Could it be because I’m not a delusional retard who gets off…on himself?

I can’t help but think that you are going to be thoroughly deserving of the beating I plan on delivering in the ring, Havoc, if only for the purpose of wiping the “I found self-help” smile off your face. Maybe you’ll wake up and take a look around you, see that in this big world, you are but a small fleck of dirt, just like everyone else, just like me. Even like that piss stain, Cage. You want to be a better competitor? You want to be unstoppable and a force to be reckoned with? I suggest putting the “crazy eyes spiritual self-discovery” shit aside, and just buckling down to do some fucking work for a change. As a side note, godliness is next to cleanliness…still want to get laid? Stop acting like a roid-tard amped up on PCP. I know that’s not what you’re seeing, but the view is more real from here, promise.

In my mind’s eye, I see you, standing in the ring with a glazed Jehovah-Witness expression on your face, Dylan Cage with a face red and chapped from sobbing, and last but not least, the Prom Queen himself, Lucas Knight, dress torn and bloody from the non-consensual sex he just had with Nicolas Jaxx.

Bought the ticket and took the ride, huh Lucas? You had to know that all the meaningless relationships you’ve fostered in your career would pay a toll sooner or later, right? Violated, and neurosis ridden now? Shouldn’t be irregular from the normal swing of things for you, I’m thinking. You are the king of the drama-filled existence…one vapid event after another seems to occur for you, much less the shit that happens when you actually open your mouth. Do me a favor in this match? Just keep it shut, or I’ll break your teeth out so that what you flap is incomprehensible.

Man, I’m so fucking stoked for this fight. Three of you, all to myself! Fucking awesome, it’s been a while!


“Oh baby baby baby baby, it’s so sweet…goddamn.”