Work Text:
In Loving Memory of Parker Williams
“Parker was a lot of things, humorous, caring, but most importantly, he was a good friend. He was the kind of guy you could go to when you were down, or needed a drink, or had psychotic neighbors you needed to complain about.” I awoke to a chorus of booming laughter and high pitched cackling as I found myself completely vertical on my head board. I began rubbing my neck out of instinct but I didn’t feel any pain. I had slept vertically. I must have been exhausted last night to have fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position. I shifted over where I sat, my mattress felt hard and cold. I looked down and saw wood. I wasn’t on my bed, but on a bench of sorts… what? I tried to recall the previous night, searching my mind for some kind of reasoning as to where my bed had gone, but all I got was blackness. Not the lack of a memory, but just a memory shrouded by darkness. It was like when there is an intentional pause in a T.V. show, and you try playing and pausing the show over and over again to realize that it was just part of the experience. Your T.V. isn’t broken, it’s just imitating brokenness. I’m not making any sense. Maybe I got really drunk and passed out. I stretched and gazed upwards to find stained glass windows surrounding me. I wasn’t lying on a bench, but a pew. Ugh, I hate church. Why was I sleeping in a church, and who’s up front speaking? Last time I checked, priests don’t wear bow ties. How was I allowed to sleep in church with an active service? Had I lost my apartment? I’m not rich or anything, but I didn’t think I'd ever be a hobo. And if I was, wouldn’t someone call the police? I searched desperately for answers but couldn’t find any. Maybe someone up front will have answers. I slowly rise from the pew and approach the aisle. I pause, was I supposed to kneel, or bow? Man, I need to go to church more often. I certainly need more Jesus in my life. I bend my knees slightly, just to be safe. I scan the pews and find an elderly woman that looks friendly enough to answer my questions. She’s dressed in all black, and her outfit looks expensive. A memory floats to the shore of my mind, I nearly catch it, but it’s taken away by the black sea, and I’m left in the darkness once again. Recognition floods my face but I’m yet to discover why. It’s infuriating. I’m brought back from my thoughts by the realization that the woman’s face is dotted with tears. Not to brag, but I’ve been to enough funerals to know that someone’s dead. Realizing now how long I've been standing by this elderly woman and how strange it must look, I finally ask my question, “What’s going on?” Yeah, not my most original inquiry, but whatever. She doesn’t respond. Not that strange, the man up front is pretty loud, so I try again, a little louder, “Excuse me mam, what’s happening?” Nothing again. Okay, now I’m desperate. I start to scream, “What’s going on?” No response. Is everyone here deaf, or am I just mute. I can hear myself pretty darn well for someone who’s mute. The man in the front continues talking. I’m closer now so I can better understand him. “Parker would do anything for anyone, human or not. He just wanted to make the world a little better, for anyone, it didn’t matter your race, or your sex, or even your species. He died serving a cause he believed in. That tells you everything you need to know about that man. My friend. My best friend.” Parker, I recognize that name. Parker Gavin Williams, that’s my name. Yup, drug overdose it is. Hearing people talk about you in funeral ceremonies, waking up in churches, people not responding to you, I’ve got all the symptoms, probably. Most of my “real world” knowledge is from the internet, which isn’t exactly known for the most accurate information. How did I graduate high school? Even if I was hearing things, why would he be talking about me? It sounded like he was reciting a eulogy or something. It’s not like I could be… I hadn’t noticed the casket earlier, I was too focused on the man in the bowtie, but it was beautiful. A stunning ivory color, with pearls dotting the sides. The top was covered entirely by stuffed animals. If I died, I’d wanna be put in that thing. The covering was opened just slightly enough that the person reading the eulogy could see the body if he looked down. I took a few steps forward and peered inside. In it I saw platinum blonde hair, pale skin and a face I recognized. I took a step back as tears streamed down my face. I know I’m not dead, I’m standing right here, in front of the altar, but that body in the casket, it’s mine. “Alright, very funny guys!” I yell out through my hysterics. This had to be some sick joke. There were obviously cameras somewhere, and someone was laughing at my absurd reaction. As I began to plan on how to get back at whatever disgusting pranksters thought this was funny, I heard a soft voice in one of the far pews. “It’s funny, just how differently everyone denies it originally.” I spun around on my heels and saw a frail old man out in the… audience? I jumped, I was relieved to finally be heard by someone but, I swear he wasn’t there earlier. “Who are you? Are you the one that set this all up?” He smiled and patted the spot beside him, “No, my child, for that you have the Lord to thank. I’m Mike, please, have a seat.” He scared me. My father spoke like that before he changed, and he ended up being anything but holy. I’d try to ward him off with a cross, but I think that would have the opposite effect I was looking for. Sensing I wasn’t budging, the man, Mike I guess, continued to speak. “Do you remember anything before the beginning of your journey to meet the Lord?” I was sick of being told I was dead, and I wanted to beat up whoever came up with this plan, presumably that old man. “You seem keen on meeting God, let me help you out.” After some reflection, those were a poor choice of words, but I was done. He ignored me, and continued his christian nonsense, “Come, my brother, let me show you to the lord.” I started walking up to him, prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but my eyes once again fell on to the man in the casket. I knew this was all a big joke, but the body seemed so real. I reached out to touch the face of the corpse and felt cold skin. Not plastic, or clay, or whatever else you make fake bodies out of, this was skin. My hands reached up to feel my- the fake corpse’s hair. It was brittle, and lacked the gel always present in my own hair. I held back tears. “This isn’t me” I kept repeating to myself, “This isn’t me.” The phrase got louder and louder in my head until it became audible. “You can take as long as you want, I understand.” Mike whispered. I did what any rational adult would do in my situation, I screamed like a goat. Mike had found his way to where I stood from the pews in just a few seconds. “God you’re fast” I told him. I didn’t say it, of course, but in my mind I corrected myself, Gosh you’re fast, not God. Mike grabbed my hand and I shook it off. I tried to keep acting tough but seeing the body again had gotten my guard down. “Let me show you the path to the Lord” he insisted, grabbing my hand again, but I wasn’t going anywhere. “Don’t touch me!” I yelled. He sighed, “Fine, but know that I tried to do this the easy way,” finally he had stopped talking christian! I expected him to start shoving me, or to try to knock me out, but he didn’t do any of that. I just closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the stained glass was gone, so was the altar, the pews, and the entire church, but not Mike. I looked around me to see an entire change of scenery. It was beautiful, what lay before my eyes, miles of grass, with small yellow flowers and dozens of dandelions dotted around where I stood. Beautiful to me at least. After years on this Earth I developed 2 personalities, the aggressive, cruel one humanity had taught me to become, and the one that found beauty in an empty plain. I reached down, picked up a dandelion and blew. At least 20 of the small white parachute things, (pappus or something like that) dispersed in different directions. I couldn’t help but smile. They reminded me of nights with my mom. Dandelions were our symbol of perseverance after my dad- “come with me” Mike ordered. He was standing beside a wooden bench and began to walk to a small shed further out in the distance. Against my better judgment, I complied. As we walked to the shed, I took in what had just happened. “How in hel-” I cut myself off. “How in heck did we go from the church to here in a second? I blinked, and all of a sudden we were gone.” “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Mike responded. I sighed, accepting he may never give me a straight answer. As we approached the shed I began to approach the door, but Mike shook his head and walked toward the back of the structure. As we rounded the shed, what I saw was… confusing, to say the least. There was what seemed to be a man, wearing a large bear mask and beginning to put on an even larger bear suit. As soon as I saw him my heart sank. That was even more confusing than the costume itself because the costume wasn’t convincing, at least not up close, so I had no reason for fear, but my heart only continued to beat. “Who is that man?” I stammered. I was hysterical for no reason, my body was freaking out, desperately warning me that the bear-man in front of me was dangerous. I wondered if the skin of my palms would erode from the endless sweat sweeping from my pores, yet my mind was a sanctuary, only disturbed by the desperate need to explain my body’s hysteria. Mike stood for a moment, watching the man, now fully dressed in his bear suit, walk off into a line of trees at the edge of the plain of grass, then he turned back to me with a strange look of pity. We stood there for a moment as this strange man stared at me, a soft smile forming on his face. A chill raced down my spine as I realized he was not looking at me, but rather through me, like my clothing and skin were invisible. Thankfully, he looked away quickly, seeming satisfied with what he saw. He then strolled past me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “W-wait!” I stammered, “Who was the man in the suit?”, “There are some questions only the Lord can answer,” he replied, continuing to walk towards the horizon. My terror at the thought of being left alone outweighed all logic, so I followed this strange man towards an undoubtedly even stranger place, knowing with full certainty that this journey had just begun.
We walked for about 10 minutes, me asking when we’d get there every thirty seconds, not unlike a whiny child, and Mike responding with his usual nonsense. I’m not sure what I was expecting, maybe pearly white gates, or burning fires (more so the latter), but our final destination turned out to be “a golfcart?” I exclaimed. “It was an ark originally, but we had to adapt to not further confuse the deceased.” Mike joked. “Come in, it will return to you what you have lost.” I entered with hesitance, but without objection.” Without putting in any keys, or laying hand on the wheel, we started riding. After about two minutes gliding on smooth terrain, I grew uncomfortable with the silence. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Taking a ride backwards before we march ever forward with the rest of the uncontent.” This man had a remarkable ability to incite violent urges within me. It took me almost 20 minutes of riding to realize where we were, and when I finally noticed, I felt compelled to vomit. How could Mike bring me to such a terrible place? Was this hell? Not brimstone or eternal fires but a place so filled with cruelty you felt helpless, knowing neither your tears nor fury could change the hearts of these Goliaths. To kill an innocent animal was to kill your own kin, to end the life of rabbit or deer, was to slay your own brother. Hunting ranges were Satan's playground. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing, that’s what you are!” I hollered, seriously considering pushing Mike from where he sat. I had intended to be at least slightly cryptic, but he seemed to understand what I meant immediately. “Ah, but it seems this is where you rest, not I.” Fed up, I flung my hands up and asked, “What are you even talking about?” I’m still unsure if what happened next was in my own mind, like a movie forced to play in my head, or if I actually saw my death take place. The golf cart pulled to a stop and Mike was gone, and I faced a line of trees, where the man in the bear suit, a woman, and a man in a deer suit all stood. A name forced itself into what remained of my mind, breaking through the cobwebs of memories I couldn’t reach. Cassy, my fiance. More information pierced through the darkness, Cassy was protesting the hunting range, and so was I. The man in the bear suit’s face finally came into view. Platinum blond hair peeked out of the bear head resting atop his head, and a handsome face came into view. It was me. As soon as the realization was made it was as if a fast forward button was clicked. Hours passed in seconds, as the sun flew across the sky, waving hello to the rising moon. I hid behind a tree, fully covered in the bear suit, preparing to scare the love of my life. As she passed I jumped her, and she fell to the ground in shock, screaming before laughing. I fell on top of her, crushing her in my embrace, and smothering her face with my lips. Suddenly I wasn’t watching myself, I was in my own skin again. I was filled with adoration, gazing at my soon to be wife, when I felt a piercing pain on the right of my body. I howled as my hand shot to my side. It was warm. I lifted my hand to reveal it covered in red. Cassy kneeled beside me, panic on her face, as I heard two sets of speeding feet before everything went black.
“I’m so sorry! I thought you were a bear mauling her and…” “Yes, the hunting range in Cleanse County, middle aged man about 30 years of age…” “It’s gonna be okay Parker, the ambulance is on its way.” I could barely move, let alone speak, but I managed to say, “Is he the man who did it?” pointing at a man sitting next to Cassidy, who kneeled over me. How dare he sit besides my love. I started to rise with much difficulty as Cassidy tried to pull me back down. I wanted to make him hurt. I saw his rifle and knew if I was quick enough I could shoot him exactly where he had shot me, but then, as if the remote controlling this whole day, suddenly pressed pause, everything stopped, and Mike appeared again. “Are you familiar with Saint Maria Goretti?” he asked. I was silent, fuming but unable to move because of these invisible puppet strings that had held me victim my whole life, once again torturing me by rooting me in place. “She was stabbed multiple times by a man named Alessandro Serenelli, and before she died she told her nurse she forgave him and wished she could reserve a place in heaven for him. You could do the same. You could drop to your knees and kiss this man’s feet and tell the Lord that there is no one you’d rather spend your final moments with than that broken man with his rifle that took everything from you.” Then Mike disappeared, and everything resumed. I thought deeply about Mike’s words, considering how I could spend my last seconds fulfilling the will of God, or something like that, before I grabbed the man’s rifle shot, positioned it, aimed at his side, and pulled the trigger, before collapsing once again.
I was in the church once again, though at a different place than before, closer to the door. The same bow-tied man was speaking in the front, the same stained glass windows seemed to be taunting me, and the same elderly man, wicked man, cruel man stood in front of me. “Why am I back here? Why is everything repeating? How could you stand there while I bled to death, Mike? ” I screamed. “It’s Michael.” He said. “And I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ll have to start again from the beginning until you grow the heavenly wisdom you’ll need to move forward.” He started to walk toward the door as a light began blinding me, like the end to some sick television show. “What is going on!” “What is this church-this prison-this-this purgatory!” I hollered, before I grew faint and felt a cold bench below me. “Parker was a lot of things…”