Chapter 12: Sacrificial Lambs, Pt. 1 of 4

Sacrificial Lambs, a 4-part series taken from chapter 12. Stories told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective. In richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, and Jamaican Patois. Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. So, here’s today’s excerpt.

Under the uncertain hands of the governmental plan. The words of the wise men came hitting up against their eardrums, nearer than the headrest stand that stands at the backside of the pavement bumps, “Am I wrong?”

“Yes, man but carry ‘on.’ Put it on your shoulder and move along before I have to lash you again with the weapon.” This same old whipping stick that I’m now leaning on for support, you know it can already, so, move along towards the outer court, tell us some more.

“Okay. ‘Seek peace,’ he said to his fellow on the death bed out east, nursing an ailment neither of them was able to prevent, not even the dread natty dreadlock that –” “Not even the natty dread?”

“Yeah man, that’s who I’m blaming this talk king on.”

“You mean, he couldn’t prevent it either?”

“No siree, couldn’t stop the other dreads from wearing their locks on his head above his knees. Although he couldn’t remember where he’d put the key when it could no longer tune his guitar in the proper G car, I mean, chord, sorry. It was hard, but it was also said in the hearing of the one serving up the Medi cement in the yard, to me. So, Dreddy was he, the person with the key.”

“Oh Lord, did you see it?”

“Yes, I saw and heard it all.” That’s what the maid meant to be saying too when she said it with such certainty when she’d called. Wanted them all to get the message of the messed-up age in their mouths to call you out, you know, but they weren’t listening at all. Neither was you who was at the time, having a ball driving someone’s new Volvo up the wall, good and stout. But how were they to be so sure whether it came through to tear their earring door off the queue near the cow stall, to hang it on the wall way out?”

“How would I know that? I think it’s time for me to disappear fast from you and your acts…”

Go on, go. Go seek peace with the man of war — my brother, dear, no less than her, beware. Not war, ever. Unless, unless you’re looking for more, but. Way too much of that scar already at your door and so far, and it’s unsteady. Even if it’s your enemy who is planting that seed of idea within your car, take it from her, or him. It means the same thing. It means that he wants peace, at his feet, or a piece of something, if even to prevent a little piece of the sheet from covering your cold feet under the clay sheets, of dumplings.

At least, it could mean that he wants a little reprieve with you too — Steve. More time to be a little less mean than I am, I mean, he. Less mean than he has been with you so far. Or more, “more ‘mean’ is what I mean this time.” He’s first a fighter, though, as you already knew that I know. Don’t ever forget to remember that early morning show. Never forget that pillar there on the back seat of his car either — my dear, now, go, go off somewhere.

“No.”

“No? Did you just say so, like, no?”

“No, how can I go? Not while you’re here dealing out this beautiful talk show, I can’t just leave it like that and go, no, I won’t, so. Go on, go on. Keep on talking up a storm.”

“Okay — my new mom, I’ll carry on.” Gone was the one going on down to see the band on the stand at the indie go-go show. That though, I know that you already know the news, so just for emphasis we’re bordering on bothering to tell you this again oh, and wrapping up the views. He knows all that there is to know about wars, and he knows how to win them too, even against the stars, the gods, fathers, and yes, nature calls coming on through.

“Through the border?”

“Yes, who told you how to say so?” (Too out of order.) How much more so will he win against you oh. Peace and honor are what he’s after — mama. These are the tools forward from here Grandma Foster, how is your little grandson, what’s his name again?

“Who, you mean Bascom? He’s growing up quite nicely and handsome too.”

“Nice.” However, he is not why we’re here together tonight, carrying on with telling the times and the weather to the knights.

“You mean…”

“Yes, that’s right, that’s what I mean.” But, however often he comes, honor and respect him. Do it while you still can sin, for the good that comes to you ward from him, at the very least. At his hand too, and his feet, that one there fiddling with your fingertips, like those, and these, if nothing else to put your finger on this thing, please. Thank you, I really appreciate it. There’s nothing else that’s quite as pleasing — Sis as, not as you were this evening at the easing trick ads. Even in the midst of all the bad cards that he did send over and salt, to sell the hell out of it on you all.

“Oh lord, what? Is that the truth?”

“Yes, you’d better believe it is.”

“That must be why I’m always so blue.”

“Yes. It’s all because of that.”

“What, the salt?”

“Yes, of course, it’s true.”

“Oh, man. What did I do to deserve this from you?”

“Nuttn, nothing at all, it’s just the easiest way forward to the fall, but.” Even while paying him back with the same salty sword that he’d used to sway you ward. Pay him, yes, if at all you can find his headrest, then go home and rest assured that you showed him no mercy than before, or else, he’ll come back and do it to you again like, the whack attack, but Ken. Know that and this — my friend.

He still has the power to do that much damage on you and Sam Midge, much more than can fit into your crown-spotted dog sled carriage. Or even on the hourglass time clock of his. After eating the sausage on spilling sorts of hot cornmeal porridge. Even to kill, and yes, he will, if you let him. Don’t let him, even more so than you not letting him in to pass through the door unnoticed by the king. Don’t give him any more reasons than those two to continue to sin, no more than before you, you were able to hear. While killing you and the poor, thing over there, oh, look at them — my dear.

Like, him, that one over there laughing. Like him, he’s always laughing with him as if he wants to be liked, like, by liking him. even in the way he goes about killing. He then leaves and go, after he’s done with doing you in, slow. To then find that he’s still able to leave and be gone away from there with a sword in his hand swinging and aware, as before.

No, don’t let him. Be sure to finish off the job jabbing that you’d started to perform stabbing on the robbing lad’s skin. Or you’ll be sorry to rawtid man a yard kid, no kidding. Come on. Don’t forget to remember this one, the most valuable amongst the pack of cards in your right left hand of the van. A mangy dog, they say, is better than September, right away, okay? Yeah! As was said in the song to remember, one day. “Remember her? She who was a dead lion to a stranger?”

“Yes, for sure, but…”

But nothing, kill that lion, if you’re anything at all like Will I Am, you will… Well, not just you, but he, him, he always does, yes, and he will, again. If you let him. It’s about him that we’re here doing this talk king sin ting, or something. “Right?”

“Right.”

To be continued.

That’s it for this excerpt. Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for more of the “Fire Sale” series, as we continue with chapter 12 of the story. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

⁓⸪⁓

Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.