Jericho

    Let me introduce you to the first people on our cast of characters; these folks here were the Desperation family.  A poor group of relatives who won tons off the lotto. 

    Sitting on the sofa is twenty-three year old Jimmy Desperation.  A spoiled brat.  A waste of human life.  A real asshole.  The most self-centered thing if there ever was one.  Short light brown hair.  Tall and fat.  The characteristics of a slob.

    Slumped on the sofa next to his brother is fourteen year old Johnny Desperation.  Used to be a good, bright kid.  Now he doesn’t know his fingers from his toes.  A strung out junkie who thinks the walls are talking to him.  Addicted to a highly hallucination psychedelic drug called Jericho.  Tall and skinny.  A body obviously suffering from malnutrition.  He is like a twig.  Blonde hair and blue hero shaded eyes.  Pupils dilated, drowning with sweat, dripping drool and shaking profusely as if he is in a seizure.

    Next we have Mother Dearest, who is over there in the kitchen.  Forty-six year old Ruth Desperation is gulping down a gallon of cold Rocky Road right now.  Short and fat with long brown hair put up in a ponytail.  Some people say she is a little on the psychotic side.  You can decide on that later on in this story. 

 The front door to the Desperation Mansion bursts open and in come two more characters.  One is a black guy named Winston Anderson, who is clutching a customized golden .45 pistol.  Arms full of ridiculous tattoos that have no real meaning besides THUG LIFE.  He’s the personal bodyguard of the ruthless crime lord of Chicago, Vincent King.  But the white guy standing beside him gripping the sawed off shotgun is not Vincent King.  It’s your faithful narrator of this part of the story and the next; Maddox Kane.  The forty year old muscular Cubs fan.  I have a buzz cut and a light stubble of a beard.

    When we barge through the door the blob known as Jimmy jumps in the sofa with a face full of fright and surprise.  Johnny just stares at us with those doped out eyes.  A stare of puzzlement and laziness.  What we don’t know is that Johnny is not seeing what everybody else is seeing.  He wasn’t looking at ‘us’.  He was looking at two gargoyle-like creatures with giant fangs and a snarling growl leaking through their faces.  The whole house is caving in, blood spilling through every little crack.  The whole world is shaking.  Life is one giant strobe light.  A tiny hint of bagpipes rings in little Johnny’s ears.  This kid is seriously messed up.

    “Don’t you two fucking move!” I yell.  “Who else is in the house?  Speak up!”

    The only kind of answer I get is some sort of pathetic mumble from Jimmy.  But I get an answer to my question when Mother Dearest comes marching in, wobbling like a scared penguin.  “What the --”
   
    “Get over on the couch, right now!” I scream, pointing the shotgun at her.  She slowly makes her way to the sofa and plants her fat bottom by her two screwed up sons.  “Now,” I say, “I want to get this over with quick and shabby, okay?  I’m going to ask one question and one question only; where is the money?”

    “What money?” Ruth asks.

    “Oh, don’t give me that stupid act; I don’t have time for this.  The twenty million!  Where is it?”
   
    “The back room, in the safe.”

    Winston tosses a duffle bag at her and orders her to go fill it up. 

    Little Johnny hears a different conversation, though; “you’re all gonna die!  We’re gonna eat your souls and shit out pig feet!”  Johnny is tweaking big time.

    Mother Dearest reluctantly grabs the large duffle bag and leaves the room.  We don’t follow her because we honestly do not think she would jeopardize her children’s lives.

    “W-w-what do you guys want?” Jimmy chokes out.
   
    “The world record for balancing an orange on my nose the longest.  Think you can help?” I ask.  My poor attempt at humor.  Isn’t very good, is it?  Jimmy gives me the most puzzling look I’ve ever seen.  I have to hold back the laughter as I shout, “Well, what are you waiting for?  Get me that fucking orange!”

    Jimmy gets off the sofa and I point the sawed off to his head.  “Sit down,” I calmly order.  He does what I say.

    Now, Johnny is thinking I am saying, “The peacock munched on the boy’s liver but decided to leave the waffle for tomorrow’s lunch.”  Johnny yelps out a loud squeak of a laugh.
   
    The gargoyle known as Winston snaps his head to the tweaker and says, “I will eat your cat on the fifth of November.” 

    “But I don’t have a cat,” Johnny whispers.

    “What?”

    But before anyone else can say anything the front door once again is kicked open and in comes a Lizard Man, holding a giant plasma blaster constructed out of a human baby.  Well, that is what Johnny sees, anyways …

    But who really comes through the door is seventeen year old Leon Dirk, an athletic football captain with red Irish hair.  He has a small brown snub nose in his right hand.

    I am clearly distracted by this sudden outburst, and Jimmy makes sure to take advantage of this.  He jumps up and yanks the sawed off shotgun right out of my hands and aims it at Winston if you can believe it.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Never let down your guard, Maddox, never, you old fool!

    It’s a good thing I came prepared.  As fast as the motion of light I reach my hand in the inside of my light blue jean jacket and pull out my black revolver.  The muzzle is dead center with Jimmy’s forehead.  Winston and Leon also raise their weapons to each other.

    “Who the fuck are you?” Winston asks.

    “I’m Le -- wait, who the fuck are you?” Leon says, clearly nervous out of his wits.

    “I’m the nigga robbin this house.”

    “No way, man!” Leon exclaims.  “I was here first.”

    “No you fuckin weren’t, you little liar,” snickers Winston.

    “Yeah, we were out there parked when you pulled up.  I saw you guys in that big ass Hummer.  You don’t need this money, but I do, and I intend on leaving with it.”

    Johnny is almost positive they are talking about sacrificing a chicken and mutilating a duck.  He hopes to God he isn’t one of those.  Wait, is Johnny a duck?  He can't remember.

    “Quack … quack … quack …”

    “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap, a little weird out to say the least.  Of course I have no idea what is going through his mind, but I’m the narrator, the one telling this chapter.  The narrator part of me knows, but not the character.  If that doesn’t make any sense then go take a hit of Jericho; everything will make sense after some of that.

    Anyways, before I get an answer from Duck Boy, Ruth comes waddling into the room holding a pistol herself, and she’s pointing it at me.  “No one’s takin’ my winnings,” she says.

    “Who’s she?” Leon wonders, shaking with sweat.

    Just then, another creature enters the room from outside.  A man with the head of a fish’s and a mouthful of bubbles.  This Fish Man is wearing a blue suit with a red tie.  It looks like he means business, too.

   The real man is named Benny Kane; my trigger-happy, overactive coffee addicted thirty-six year old younger brother.  He’s the proud employee of Starbucks, where he gets his daily fix for free.  He was supposed to have stayed in the car unless something out of the ordinary occurred.  You see, he is sort of a screw up.  He’s the whole reason I’m in this whole fiasco, but I’ll get into that later on. 

    Leon jumps in surprise and points his snub nose at my brother.  “Where the fuck do these people keep coming from?”

    “What do I do, Maddox?” Benny asks me.

    I give the vaguest answer.  “Something,” I say.

    Benny raises his customized golden .45 at Ruth Desperation.  “Now what?”

    “Don’t know,” I answer, and I really don’t.

    “Well,” Winston interprets, “we get King’s money is what we do.”

    “Like hell you are!” Ruth screams.  “This is my money, I earned it!”

    “You won it,” I correct.

    “Whatever … I earned winning it.”

    “No, I need it,” says Leon.  “I don’t care if I die doing it, but I’m getting this money.”
   
    For some bizarre reason, the creatures of the night have changed their conversation from killing animals to drinking Diet Mountain Dew and watching Scrubs.  It is obvious that these demons have been ill-informed.  “It isn’t on till later, guys,” Johnny reminds them. 

    And that is why we don’t do drugs, children.

    Still keeping our guns at their designated targets, our eyes look over at Johnny.

    And then the deafening roar of gunfire echoes throughout Desperation Mansion.