I Am At Last Yours: An Occupational Hazard>Act 36

Disclaimer: Don't be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends. Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye? Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair. May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand. Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that not only is great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending and should remember not to cry because it's over; smile because it happened.

In the end, life doesn’t matter. It’s the bad, weird and funny stuff that the rest of the population will always remember about you. I know that now and I knew it back then. What I didn’t know back then, was how much hatred and contempt they held for me, enough so that they wanted to kill me right on the spot. And when I was executed that afternoon, I remembered how sad I felt for five minutes, but how freeing my soul would be in the journey I would take into the next world.

But let me back up. Back up to early spring nearly two years ago-when I felt my demise was eminent, when I knew death was slinking around the corner, waiting to hook me into a grave quicker than I realized. I remember the time I was in the prison shower facilities drying myself off and talking to Dusty Rusty about the upcoming season prospects of the Devil’s Island baseball team, when The Most Divine One came in and for whatever reason at hand, began smashing one of the toilet seats up and down and back and forth, unabashedly wild, while looking at me angrily. Me and Dusty Rusty were perplexed and did what any human with their wits still about them, would do; we got the hell out of there and touched base later that night. Seemingly, Dusty Rusty, suggested that The Most Divine One was practicing what he preaches, his new practical theory about his own experience within the prison system, entitled, “Curmudgeon In A Can.”

Then the bottom fell out. And everywhere I went, The Most Devine One followed me; or had his foot soldiers or bootlickers follow me. Prison bathroom trips were never quite the same when I had to use the facilities only to realize I was being watched closely or followed. I had to think quickly and curl myself up in a fetal position upon the toilet seat, just to keep from getting discovered that I was relieving myself from new medicinal treatments I was receiving from the prison’s outpatient psych ward. I didn’t feel safe anywhere, not by a long shot.

The screws were being tightened. And the tighter they became, the more I dug in. The more I had to invent and reinvent ways from keeping myself from going mad or just plain crazy. And believe me, they were doing everything in their power to get me to commit suicide. My body couldn’t lie for much longer, as the longer I tried to hold it in, I developed the shakes; my nervous system was on overload and as a result, I started breaking down and that’s exactly what the plan was that he had in mind.

I knew too much; knew how the system worked; knew who was sleeping with who; knew about the great secret fraud that was being passed around like cocaine sprinkled upon a baby lying on a platter party tray. I knew everything; I exposed their secret lies, warned others before they met their untimely demises; I told the stories over and over and in different ways. I knew who they were protecting; who was under the radar and whose asses they kissed or bounced bellies with. I knew all of that just by observing and taking mindful mental notes.

I remember back to the day that The Most Divine One and the Fraternal Goon Twins found out that I was keeping track of them; just as they had been quietly keeping track of us; the harassment that followed for weeks after and the encouragement I received behind the prison walls, even as no one would step forward to back me up. They were all afraid for their lives and did whatever they had to survive-in other words, they were sheep. When I said blue, they screamed orange. That’s how I knew the tide was turning and my own tsunami was closing in on me, just waiting to drown me.

I remember all the fights, all the shouting matches, all the deaths, all the anger, all the hatred and yet, I didn’t care anymore-I did want out and I kept looking for other avenues of justice, but I never found any; they always led to dead-ends; even as others like Loud-Mouthed Lucy told me that I’d be alright; but I never was. Never was alright. Never would be. Not in this lifetime, nor ever.

On the day that I was executed, Suzy Scarecrow marched up to me and said we need to visit The Most Divine One. I didn’t understand why at first and then I knew. As I stood before the fat bastard, he threw the book at me and accused me of every dirty trick in the prison system that I ever committed; dirty tricks that he taught me when I first arrived on Devil’s Island oh so long ago-the same dirty tricks that he committed and passed onto every prisoner that he wanted to do his dirty work for him; like The Numbers Game. Who could ever forget that? Johnny Vegas (refer to Act 9 & Act 28 for further explanation) became his number one bootlicker for him; his golden boy, the boy who could never go wrong even when the rest of us knew damn well that he was skimming the tops for The Most Divine One. And then, he rewarded him handily by placing him in a golden cell, which Johnny Vegas took to like the glad-handing chameleon that he was. And what was the purpose of The Numbers Game? To skim the cream and let Upper Prison Brass know that he, The Most Divine One, was keeping the prisoners in line.

And who could ever forget the insanitary conditions of that prison? No ventilation. Sickness and disease spread casually, like herpes on a doorknob. And what about the X-5 Unit, that roving gang of mad idiots who gambled prisoners’ rights away, whilst Upper Prison Brass just sat on their hands, admiring the view? And what about The Thin Man and all the chaos he created? And old Twitchy who moaned and bitched a lot over nothing? And the Fraternal Goon Twins who bullied and intimidated the lot of us? And what about the great Broadcast Betty and her cohort, Dirty-Dishing Daisy, the greatest and slimiest gossipers on Devil’s Island? And Old Black Devil herself? The one who got me in this mess to begin; what about her?

Rumor had it that The Most Divine One and Old Black Devil were banging the bars at night, but I don’t know.

So there I stood, as the great fat bastard read me my crimes against humanity, while Suzy Scarecrow sat silently like an unplugged robot. And when my turn came to speak; I was laughed at and called a liar and in the heat of the accusations, he put forth a mountain of evidence against me. I too had evidence, but tucked away secretly that prolonged my life for another 24 months.

And now, that 24 months has expired; my march to the death chamber has arrived; I am wearing a straitjacket with shackles twisted around my arms and feet. There is no way out of this final mile to the end; everyone who wants to see me dead is at last getting their wish. No turning back. Tonight, I go out a silent hero, having told my stories to anyone who would listen and that means, you, you and you and her, too.

Take me Oh Lord. I am at last yours.