43) I cannot tarry for instructions from Dr. Creep. Deciding a thing or two on my own has brought me to this awful place, this I know. No luxury of detachment, still less a miraculous intervention is for me tonight. I've wanted a shred of independence, now it is given of whole cloth, so to say. I'll try to use it.
The little dead man stuffs away neatly, hidden by beams, the hull, or what not. Once I've done him this way, like a dung beetle does, I realize the rope is useless to me. There is no knotted hook that I might throw onto the deck so as to hoist myself up. New plan. I have to unstuff the little fellow and lay him at the trough drop, visible to those who will follow to check on his behalf. Once this is done, I must hide nearby in the shadows, which, frankly, is all there is here. I have the element of surprise going for me. But then I think, won't the one who next arrives, another short straw, won't he call out for his gang, his brethern, to come help him, especially if I am not to be seen? So, I've another plan. (Independence clouds the mind with plans.) I shall lay under the dead soul, and in that way create the illusion that I, as massive and as redoubtable as I am, could possibly have been knocked out or crippled or made dead by his fall. Funny story I'll tell myself again later! I cannot resist a laugh at the thought that so miserable a cooling thing I now am beneath could be made to seem my fate. I have been crushed by stones, buildings have fallen upon my head, I have been shot, frozen, fed toxins, etc...and now this little man ends me? I think not. But the one who now appears at the opening of the hold, he is convinced I'm down for good. He calls out, 'Carlos!' I quicky revisit my plan. I subtly move 'Carlos' arm, and I moan in a foreign manner, with accents and oomlauts. I feign life in him. The man above does not call his gang. Instead, he listens to his heart and drops a rope ladder down. He descends. He is unsteady. And when he draws near I can smell foul drink. He bends to his mate. I make my move.
I merely grab his arm, yet he expires, as does the sparrow, even when held by the most loving hand. It is as though my touch alone...wait...I'm wondering...wait...wait.... He crumpled at my touch, this soul. Did I do this? Dr. Creep?
The little dead man stuffs away neatly, hidden by beams, the hull, or what not. Once I've done him this way, like a dung beetle does, I realize the rope is useless to me. There is no knotted hook that I might throw onto the deck so as to hoist myself up. New plan. I have to unstuff the little fellow and lay him at the trough drop, visible to those who will follow to check on his behalf. Once this is done, I must hide nearby in the shadows, which, frankly, is all there is here. I have the element of surprise going for me. But then I think, won't the one who next arrives, another short straw, won't he call out for his gang, his brethern, to come help him, especially if I am not to be seen? So, I've another plan. (Independence clouds the mind with plans.) I shall lay under the dead soul, and in that way create the illusion that I, as massive and as redoubtable as I am, could possibly have been knocked out or crippled or made dead by his fall. Funny story I'll tell myself again later! I cannot resist a laugh at the thought that so miserable a cooling thing I now am beneath could be made to seem my fate. I have been crushed by stones, buildings have fallen upon my head, I have been shot, frozen, fed toxins, etc...and now this little man ends me? I think not. But the one who now appears at the opening of the hold, he is convinced I'm down for good. He calls out, 'Carlos!' I quicky revisit my plan. I subtly move 'Carlos' arm, and I moan in a foreign manner, with accents and oomlauts. I feign life in him. The man above does not call his gang. Instead, he listens to his heart and drops a rope ladder down. He descends. He is unsteady. And when he draws near I can smell foul drink. He bends to his mate. I make my move.
I merely grab his arm, yet he expires, as does the sparrow, even when held by the most loving hand. It is as though my touch alone...wait...I'm wondering...wait...wait.... He crumpled at my touch, this soul. Did I do this? Dr. Creep?
posted by KJP at 9:30 PM
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