Fiction Short Story – THE MORIBUND SHOW (2)
Photo credit: lcg2001 from morguefile.com
“Aww,” skeletal white faced Slayer was disgusted by the sad reaction of those behind the lights, assuming from the silence that stretched, since unable to look down on their pink faces.
“Pathetic. From the personal correspondence from…” he crammed his hand in his trench coat pocket to retrieve the name of his fellow demented nut-job “Bubba Buckshot Taylor. Otherwise known as Lost Anubis Prince.”
Moribund showman and studied thespian at the city college, placed the crumpled note back into his pocket as he made a queer leap after an attempt to sweep the length of his black coat like a cloak. He faked it well, until he made it to a wooden book stand that displayed the open weathered pages of a leather bound book. He ran his black manicured nails across the edges, inhaling sexual breaths, as though it gave him some real physical pleasure. An inaudible snicker skittered in the back corner of the warehouse slash studio.
“Our Bubba was attempting to make some magic, or at least from what his emails suggested, and my book of shadows here,” he paused and took a deep dramatic whiff.
“Can call him out, that it would be to gain the power of… invisibility – with such ingredients and the back breaking hours of boiling, and bone breaking search for that … wishbone…” he began to cackle in laugher, allowing those techies in the dark to piggy back without suspicious, adding to the minutia orchestra that was uncomfortable to boot.
“Let us join him, my faithful viewers, as he runs amok in the swamp among the leech and crocodilians – in the dead of night…” and like the cliché that he is, posed and froze for camera like the black and white “Nosferatu” film.
“And CUT!”
“Play back the ‘Bubba without a spark’ vid…”
A random eager stiff thumb found a spotlight, assumed as a “go”.
“And…we’re out. So far only six hundred and sixty six likes.”
“Sarcasm,” he retorted with a snarl of his blood red lips.
All the while, one viewer, through his smartphone web cast of this comedy, sat in his classic 64 stang outside patiently waiting. Guy Everman slash Booger the prophet was anxious to beat the love of Jehovah into the lost freak of a soul that was once his childhood friend Slater. He gave a cathedral sized gawffa and actually felt love for his despot bud. even though in the back of his mind, there would be blood…
“Muah hahha!”
###
