The Genesis prog-rock/concept album, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway turns 50 years old today. Often cited as being “The Ulysses of Concept Albums”, it is one of my all-time favourite records. For those not in the know, Lamb (as fans like to shorten it to) tells the story of an American/Puerto Rican teenage, New York street thug called Rael. Rael gets pulled into a bizarre and mysterious underworld where he crosses paths with even more bizarre characters. Lamb has been analysed for the last five decades by fans who have come up with various theories on what they think the story is about.
As I am such a huge fan of the album and as the 50th anniversary was coming up, I decided to try and turn Lamb into a book. My idea was to write a rough outline of a first draft and then work on it so that I could publish it for Lamb’s 50th today. However, there was a slight problem with my plan. You see, Lamb is a legally protected IP and I do not have permission to publish a book based on the story and characters of the album. Peter Gabriel owns those rights and without permission, I would get into serious legal trouble if I publish a book based off his work. So I came up with a plan – what if I contact Peter and ask him if I can use Lamb for my book and maybe even see if he would like to work with me to help build the book from a rough draft to a publishable manuscript? So earlier this year, that is exactly what I tried to do. Using the power of social media and the Internet, I sent out messages directly to Peter Gabriel and the people who represent him, with a few sample pages of a rough draft of my Lamb story. You know what? Amazingly, I got a reply too.
I didn’t get a reply from Peter Gabriel directly, but I did get one from the people who handle his publishing/licensing and such. I had a foot in the door and being such a huge fan of Lamb, Genesis and Peter himself, I was excited. I sat there looking at the email that I had been sent, but not yet opened. My heart racing at the thought that just one click away could be the opportunity to work with Peter on a real passion project. I clicked the email with a smile – a smile that soon disappeared as I read it. The short version is, that they appreciated the work I had put into it, but Peter had no interest in collaborating with me. The email also very politely reminded me that yes, Peter Gabriel owns the rights to the story and characters of Lamb (I’m somewhat confident that Peter never saw my emails or idea of turning Lamb into a book, this was just his people gently shooting me down). So no, I would not be legally allowed to publish a book based on that legally protected IP. Yeah, it was a bit of a kick in the undercarriage, a disappointment for sure. To be honest, just between you and me, I was 99.9% confident that my efforts would end negatively… but I thought that 0.1% was still a chance worth taking.
So, unfortunately, I can not legally publish a book based on Lamb. But… fan fiction work is allowed… right? As long as I don’t sell it, and instead, I offer it on, say… a blog for free. As long as I make it very clear that I am not making a single penny from this and that I do not own the rights to the story and characters, Peter Gabriel does. And if I make it very, very clear that what I publish is just for fun, as a fan of the album and that this is written as a pastiche of Lamb, which is covered by “fair dealing” here in the UK and that I am not passing this off an officially licensed product. Fan fiction is a bit of a grey area and if I am asked to take this down by Peter, then I will happily take it down. I believe it is worth the risk anyway. I just think that maybe, some other Lamb fans might like to read it and seeing as I have already written it, why not? It is just sitting on my hard drive doing a lot of nothing.
Now, just to be perfectly clear. This novella was never finished. I wrote a very, very rough first draft (I’m not sure if I’d even call it a first draft, more like a basic framework) and tried to get the attention of Peter Gabriel, I got that email and I lost interest in finishing it properly. So what I am about to share is an unfinished rough draft that, I hoped, would be used as a springboard for a bigger project that will now never happen. Expect spelling and grammar errors, and expect things to not make 100% sense… even less so than the source material. I split the story into three acts and used Peter Gabriel’s narration from the live performances of the album (with some editing and bits of my own) to frame those three acts. Using the album, the music, the lyrics, but mainly – the story that Peter wrote for the inner gatefold on the album as inspiration. And of course, my own interpretations of the songs and lyrics.
Dear reader, I give you my rough and unfinished take on the Genesis concept album – The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway for its 50th anniversary. Oh, and don’t forget to listen to the album on the official Genesis YouTube channel too.
IS IT REAL?
IS IT RAEL?
… Rael suddenly wakes with a snap, his nose is bleeding. Reaching for a nearby box of tissues, he dabbs the blood away from his nostrils and upper lip. Was he dreaming, a nightmare? He couldn’t remember, he rarely recalled his dreams any more anyway. Truthfully, Rael wasn’t even sure if he dreamed at all. Dr. Amariah Brigham of the New York State Lunatic Asylum, Utica once theorized that if you don’t dream, then you go insane. If true, it sure would explain a lot about Rael. How long has he been asleep anyway, seconds, minutes, hours, days? It was hard to say, nobody ever knows that they have even fallen asleep until the very second that they wake up.
ACT I
Hellay and welcome.
My name is Peter and I’ll be your narrator through this story. A story that tells of how a large black cloud descends into Times Square, straddles out across 47th Street, turns into a wall and sucks in the entire Manhattan Island.
Our hero, named Rael, crawls out of the subways of New York and is sucked into the wall, which knocks him unconscious. He later regains consciousness and finds himself trapped inside a cocoon underground. This becomes a rock-like cage formed of stalactites and stalagmites. Trapped, Rael is soon engulfed in a claustrophobic fear.
Rael sees his brother, John who quickly disappears without offering any help. Rael’s rock-like cage disappears and he is taken to a place called The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, an inanimate building filled with emotionless bodies.
This is the story of Rael.
__________
It is getting late, or very early in the morning – depending on your point of view, and TV has closed down for the night. New York, New York, the city that never sleeps… except for the TV stations. The station’s call sign is on the screen with a snowy television fuzz flickering away behind it. Rael just sits there, staring through the screen of the TV for a while. He’s not watching it, just staring through the screen. Even Rael has no idea what he is focusing on. The last thing that he remembers was watching a wildlife documentary, something about ostriches and butterflies, or something. Staying in and staring at the idiot box wasn’t Rael’s idea of a good time. He stands up, walks across the sitting room and turns the television off. New York at nighttime is when Rael comes to life.
It had been his birthday a little while back and Rael just turned 17. He is young, but on these mean streets, 17 was closer to being 35. Rael learned to grow up fast, he had to. New York was no place for the timid. It wasn’t the picturesque and pleasant post-war 1950s with people thankful to be alive following WW II. People never said “morning” with a friendly smile whenever they walked past, not now. It was 1974 and those once friendly streets had turned to mini-war zones. Muggings, rapes and even murder lurked around every seedy, dark corner of Manhattan. Gangs fighting other gangs for their own piece of turf was a daily thing, and Rael relished it.
Rael’s father, Mateo was a refugee from San Juan, Puerto Rico. Mateo fled to New York after landing himself in some trouble back in the early ’50s. He met his sweetheart, Isabella a few months later when she was working in a local bar. Fast forward five years and Rael was born, not that he ever really wanted to be. Dragged out from his mother’s womb, screaming – 17 years and some change ago with no choice. Rael never asked to be born and yet, here he is. Then there is John, Rael’s older brother. John is 20, almost 21 and the complete antithesis of Rael. John is the sensible one of the two siblings, he kept his head down, worked hard at school, got good grades and landed himself a respectable job to help pay the bills. In a strange way, John was the son that Rael could’ve been if he hadn’t gotten into the street life of New York instead. If John is the fragrant fruit of his parent’s loins, then Rael is the very black sheep… though Rael always thought of himself as being more of a big bad wolf than a sheep.
Rael steps off the subway train at 7th Avenue and 34th Street. That unmistakable stench of the subway hits his nostrils, piss and spray-paint. Gang tags and grafitti adoren the walls of the subway station. Lying across one of the benches is some random homeless man and Rael thought about tossing him a few cents – and it’s the thought that counts anyway. He continues his short walk up the steps and out into the streets, his streets, his real home. New York, New York. Rael walks past a news vendor stall that had closed before sundown, but it still had several of the day’s unsold papers stapled to a side of the stall. An awning pulled over, protecting the newspapers from the earlier heavy rain that had been slowing over the last hours and now turned into a light drizzle. The headline of one of the local papers caught Rael’s eye. “Gang Members Sought After Several Brutal Street Robberies”. He smiled, Rael’s work, well him and a few of the boys anyway. The Broadway Boys were somewhat feared and respected by those who knew them. Rael was a low-level soldier in the gang, but he had been making a name for himself recently, wanting to impress the boss. Rael had to walk from 7th Avenue and 34th Street up to 49th Street and Times Square (about a 20 minute journey) where he would meet up with some of his gang. Everyone was looking forward to a bit of the old “ultra-violence”, as Stanley so eloquently put it a couple of years ago.
As Rael walks the streets of New York, the neon light burns bright overhead and those bright lights reflected in the rain-slicked streets. WALK/DON’T WALK the crosswalk flashed. Not that our hero cared, he’d just walk no matter what some illuminated sign told him to do. He didn’t have to worry too much about the traffic either, not at this time of the early morning – maybe the odd drunk driver. He wasn’t far from 42nd Street now and Rael could see Times Square not too far in the distance. Before reaching his destination, he places his right hand inside his leather jacket and pulls out his weapon of choice. His spray can. Finding a nice clean-ish wall, Rael then sprays his message for all to see, R-A-E-L in big red letters. I know that it may not mean much to you or I but to Rael, this is all part of the process of heading towards “making a name for yourself”. Rael was always seen as a bit of an oddity in the gang, not a native New Yorker and not a pure-bred Puerto Rican either. He was somewhere in the middle, and he had to prove himself twice as hard as anyone else.
While spraying his name, Rael keeps throwing casual sideways glances along the wet street to ensure that the coast is clear. Now done and after admiring his handiwork, he strides along the sidewalk and toward 42nd Street. Stepping past a drugstore, the iron guard has been pulled down and now hides the smile of the cardboard toothpaste girl standee selling her wares. Speaking of selling wares, Rael’s strolling takes him past the numerous ladies of the night, all plying their trade. One of them, who calls herself “Suzanne”, looks particularly tired as if she’d serviced several customers already tonight. Suzanne tries her best to get Rael’s attention… and money. As tempted as he is, he knows that now is not the time for sexual gratification. “I’m not your kind”, Rael mutters as he walks past, not making eye contact.
Now on 42nd Street, Rael makes his way past Adult Mini Theater. An all too grimy and sleazy mini-porn cinema – right next to a Jesus Saves missionary. Which you were meant to go in first before realizing that you needed the other, I have no idea. The posters in the windows offer a 25¢ peep show and more… for the porn cinema, not the Jesus Saves missionary. As grimy and sleazy as the porn cinema was, the even grimier and sleazier customers began to pour out following a screening of the Linda Lovelace classic, Deep Throat. “Time to go, get out!”, screamed the Adult Mini Theater’s owner. Wanting to get the next load of punters in and fill up the not-yet-cleaned seats. I’m not sure if they had ever been cleaned.
In among all of this seedy debauchery is Patrolman Frank Leonowich (48, married with two kids). Frank stands in the doorway of a closed wig store peering at the wares through the slits of metal blanket pulled over the windows, pondering getting something to cover up that ever-increasing bald spot of his. Patrolman Leonowich glances up from the wig store just long enough to notice Rael walking past. Frank suspects that Rael is up to no good, or soon will be – Rael just has “that look” about him. The two exchange a stare, Frank looks at Rael in much the same way that other Patrolmen look at him. Not wanting to get caught with a can of red spray paint, what with “someone” recently spaying R-A-E-L in big red letters on a wall nearby, Rael only just about manages to hide that he is hiding something.
Walking along Broadway and through Times Square, Rael is only a few minutes away from where he agreed to meet the boys. He stops, not for the first time in his journey, on the corner of 7th Avenue and 46th Street. Why? He does not know. He wasn’t stopping for the DON’T WALK crosswalk, he never did. He could feel a look and it wasn’t from Patrolman Frank Leonowich, he knew what that look felt like. This was different and a look that burned through the back of Rael’s head and into his very soul. Someone or something was watching him. Real turns around slowly.
Everything seemed perfectly normal, at first. The call girls doing their thing, the usual suspects coming and going from the various porn cinemas and peep shows. This was the Broadway that Rael knew and loved. And then, through the sidewalk steam, a lamb emerges. This lamb has nothing whatsoever to do with Rael, or any other lamb. It is just there, staring at Rael. He wants to look away and continue his walk to the meeting place… but he can’t. For some reason, Rael is transfixed in wonder and astonishment. Does anyone else see the lamb? Scanning the numerous bystanders, they’re all going about their lives and nobody else seems to be looking at or can see the lamb, just Rael. After staying motionless for a few moments, the lamb finally moves. It never takes its gaze away from Rael and it steps out from the sidewalk and into the road. There, it simply lies down on Broadway.
__________
It’s a beautiful New York night, not a cloud in the sky, with the moon shining down and bathing the streets in soothing silvery moonlight. Though most of it is lost, what with all the bright neon and all. Rael notices that the lamb is now following him as he walks, and still glaring directly at him too. Rael continues his journey, ignoring that damn lamb as best as he can and he makes his way towards 49th Street. For some reason Rael stops and looks toward Times Square. There it is again, that lamb and it lies down once more, this time in the middle of 47th Street. Looking upwards, Rael sees something else, there’s a subtle a change in the sky. It’s small and it would be hardly noticeable unless someone pointed it out to you… but it is there. A tiny black cloud. Rael notices it as it’s the only cloud in the sky and just as with the lamb before, he is the only one that does notice it too. This black cloud, it is no bigger than a small rock, no smaller than a big pebble.
As Rael stands watching, the cloud begins to grow and expand in the sky. Now about the size of a hot air balloon, it begins to slowly descend on to Times Square. Rael takes another look around and nobody else has seen it. Eventually, the cloud lands in the middle of 47th Street and right where the lamb is… was, it’s gone. Where did it go, does Rael even care? Once the balloon-like cloud lands, it comes to rest on the ground and there it stays for a while, deflated, as if relaxing after a long walk. Rael just stands there and watches the cloud and then, slowly but surely, it begins to shape itself.
First, it changes from the hot air balloon size and flattens itself onto the ground, like water being poured onto a flat surface. The edges of the cloud harden as if it is forming a rectangular frame. Then, it stands up, erect and upright. It grows and extends, spreading itself all the way along 47th Street. East and West, reaching out to the very ends of Manhattan and as it does, it solidifies. Rael can do nothing but watch in awe, stuck to the spot. What was once a black cloud, now a solid wall, reaches up and stretches toward the dark sky. The higher it gets, the more tension it seems to gain. Tighter and higher, higher and tighter. Rael has no idea what he is looking at, some kind of alien, is he dreaming? Even if he was, would he remember if he woke up?
The giant wall as wide as Manhattan and as high as Rael’s eyes could see, becomes a gargantuan movie screen. A screen that begins to show what had existed, in three dimensions, on the other side just a moment before. The New York Rael knows and loves is seemingly trapped on the other side. He calls out to anyone that can hear to offer a warning, but his cries make no sound. That is when Rael realizes, it’s not them who are trapped. The images on the screen flicker and then the wall silently moves forward and cracks, like painted clay, begin to appear as the wall moves toward Rael, absorbing everything in its path. The unsuspecting New Yorkers on the other side are apparently blind to what is going on.
Watching everything around Rael getting sucked into the screen, he knows that he has to move or he’d be next. Rael turns and sprints towards Columbus Circle. He didn’t know why, it just seems like the safest option at this point. As he runs, just every now and then, he looks back over his shoulder and every time he does, the wall has moved another block closer. It was slowly shifting toward him, but Rael is quicker. All of that running from the police has finally paid off. As he continues his run, thoughts enter Rael’s head. How long can he run? Will this wall ever stop? Why is he not getting tired? Rael sprinted for several blocks already and yet, his legs are not worn out, he is not out of breath… why? Rael stops. Does he even need to run anyway? The wall is slow, inching forward bit by bit and he is several blocks ahead. Even when when he does get to Columbus Circle, then what?
Realizing that running is pointless, Rael decides to stick to a brisk walk instead, it’ll give him more thinking time. Does he just keep walking, out of New York and up to Canada? Then what? The wall is relentless and all consuming. Perhaps it’ll stop once it has had its fill? If so, what would be left of New York? Rael knows that he has no plan. So, he stops dead in his tracks and looks back, the wall is still moving… slowly, but there are a few of blocks between it and him. At that moment, there’s a slight breeze and it feels quite fresh on Rael’s face. The breeze gets stronger and stronger and builds to a wind. It blows harder and harder, colder and colder, increasing in power with every passing second. The wind dries the wet streets and picks up the dust off the surface, throwing it into Rael’s face and he begins to choke and cough. Rael raises a hand to try and wipe the dust away. More and more dirt and dust is blown up, and it begins to settle on his skin and clothes. The build up continues and eventually makes a solid layered coat, encrusted in dirt and dust that gradually brings Rael to a terrified stillness. Everything goes silent, the wind stops dead. Turned into a living statue, Rael cannot move his body, only his eyes and they can do nothing but watch as the wall slowly inches closer and closer. Three blocks away, two, one… Rael was hovering like a fly – waiting for an inevitable windshield on freeway to slam into him.
__________
The very second that the wall hits his body, the silence breaks and there is a cacophony of sound. Roars, cheers, screams and the cries of the residents of New York as they too are swallowed by the screen and seemingly die, in what sounds like, an agonizing death. Real is next, a fate he cannot avoid… but no. For some reason, he is spared. The final second of sound is prolonged in a world of echoes, as if the concrete and clay of Broadway itself was reliving its memories. He is in the wall, in the movie screen and a slew of visions overwhelm his senses. Rael is confused as he tries to make sense of everything all at once. Is he back in New York, is he in the real world? Perhaps he is asleep, maybe he’s dead, is he neither?
Suddenly, people that he recognizes whiz past and around Rael in three dimensions. There’s Lenny Bruce! It was John who first introduced Rael to Lenny, playing his records in the basement on a low volume so that their parents couldn’t hear. The Sick Humor Of Lenny Bruce, I Am Not A Nut, Elect Me! and more. They’d have to cover their mouths with their hands to keep the sound of laughter as muffled as possible. Lenny flies past Rael with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Rael reaches out to touch Lenny, but his hand passes right through, like an airplane flying through a cloud. “Take away the right to say “fuck” and you take away the right to say “fuck the government!”, Lenny Bruce says before dissolving into the background.
Marshall McLuhan appears next, well dressed in a dark gray suit. “The medium is the message” he keeps on saying, repeating over and over. “The medium is the message. The medium is the mess age. “The medium is the mass age. The medium is the massage.” He stops and looks Rael dead in the eyes. “If the 19th century was the age of the editorial chair, ours is the century of the psychiatrist’s couch.”, Marshall says before too dissolving away.
More and more famous faces fly around and disappear. Some staying for a while, others for a few fleeting seconds. Bing Crosby coos “You don’t have to feel pain to sing the blues, you don’t have to holla – you don’t feel a thing in your dollar collar.” Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers begin dancing through the air. A jazz band plays In The Mood just as several members of the Ku Klux Klan appear, cooking up some hot soul food as they pass on by. None of this makes any sense and yet, Rael is helpless and can only watch, trapped in the movie screen of images and sounds. Sirens appear on the rooftops and begin to sing. Beautifully soft voices reach out to lure sailors to their deaths, but there are no ships sailing. These Sirens will be going hungry tonight.
There’s Howard Hughes wearing blue suede shoes… and nothing else. Few (if any) had seen him in years after he had locked himself away to live as a recluse. Howard looks particularly disheveled, unwashed for months. Long greasy hair and an unkempt beard. His hands with long fingernails that had grown into curls. A huge wooden seaplane, The Spruce Goose lands behind him. Howard smiles at Rael before boarding the plane, which is crammed full of Kleenex boxes, bottles of his own urine and every single copy of the 1956 film, The Conqueror. The Spruce Goose then flies away.
Then, a scent. Rael’s nostrils flair up and are filled with the smells of peach blossom and bitter almond. Caryl Chessman passes on by chanting “In-a-scent, Innocent, In-a-scent, Innocent.”, while being followed by 17 (alleged) kidnap and rape victims. Like a dream and lasting only a few seconds in the world of this movie screen. Caryl keeps marching and chanting, leading his parade of victims around and around before finally coming to a stop. Lifting his head slightly, he sniffs the air, a brief sample before taking a much deeper and longer inhalation of that peach blossom and bitter almond odor. Caryl Chessman begins to nod his head vigorously, before his head drops, with his chin almost touching his chest. Two more deep breaths come and the color from his face disappears. He turns pale, Caryl is dead.
Rael couldn’t help it, the smell was too overpowering. It grew stronger and stronger as it entered his lungs and then… blackout.
__________
Rael couldn’t tell how long he’d been out. The thought entered his head that just maybe, he was dead, that he had gone the way of Caryl Chessman. However, he was thinking and as René Descartes once famously proclaimed: “I think, therefore I am”. If Rael was thinking, then he must be alive. The blistering headache brought on from that peach blossom and bitter almond scent was another hint that yes, he must be alive. He chances it and Rael slowly opens his eyes – to be greeted by some musky half-light. His vision is a little blurry and he can’t quite make out where he is, but he is alive.
What’s that? There’s a sound, there it goes… drip… drip… slowly dripping away. There’s a slight reverberated echo too. It sounds like Rael is in a cave, a catacomb, or even possibly a tomb? It was just too much, like the worst comedown ever. Yet, Rael not even had so much as a whiff of a doobie for days. The LSD was being passed around by the gang last night, but Rael declined the offer (he thinks). He just wasn’t in the mood. To Rael, this whole thing, so far, feels like he’s had a bad trip and not even had the pleasure of the foreplay of the drugs. This is like that post-orgasm feeling, but without the enjoyable sex before it.
Rale’s eyelids are too heavy, he’s not sure how long he can stay awake, not sure if he wants to go to sleep either. That is when he realizes, he can’t move. Rael’s arms are strapped up, crossed, close across his chest and his legs are tightly bound. He feels like an Egyptian mummy. Tutankhamun laid to rest in his tomb. But… it’s soft, he is warm and very comfortable, like being wrapped in cotton wool. Rael ponders if this is what it was like being in the womb? It’s nice. The sound of the slowly dripping water is calming too. Drip… drip… drip…
Rael really feels like sleeping now, and why not? He doesn’t know what is going on, is he being held prisoner, is he trapped like some sort of Jonah? The realization that he doesn’t even seem to care washes over him. The after effects of that peach blossom and bitter almond gas, the being wrapped up so warm and comfortable, the calming dripping of the water. He just does not care. You can’t fear what you don’t know. Rael’s eyelids become heavier, time for a slumber.
__________
Rael is woken from his deep, deep creeping sleep, with a jolt. His soft and warm cocoon… gone. There are beads of cold sweat dripping down his back and running from his forehead, as the sweat stings his eyes. His stomach churning and cramping. Something feels like it’s gong to come out, and he’s sure which end, but it is coming. “Breathe”, the voice in Rael’s head calmly whispers to him. With nobody else to listen to, he does. Inhale, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale. Inhale, hold it, and exhale. Rael is pretty sure that this isn’t a long-term fix, but it’s working for now. Inhale, hold it and exhale. Eventually, the urge to vomit… or worse, gently passes.
Rael struggles to get to his feet, he’s a little uneasy. Looking around and yep, he’s in a cave. That dripping water is dripping faster and faster, it is glowing too. More drips from more stalactites begin and the drip… drip… drip sound soon becomes a drip, drip, drip. Faster and more, faster and more. The glowing drips are like a light rain now, figuratively and literally. The calming sound of the slower drips drowned out by the faster drips of water. They get louder and faster. Where the glowing drips land, stalagmites begin to form and they grow and grow upward. At the same time, the stalactites do the same downward. They almost meet, almost interlock, but still with a slight gap, a bit like bars on a jail cell. The more the water drips, the more the stalactites and stalagmites grow. They begin to form all around Rael and his fear soon sets in. Listening to that whipsering voice in his head, he keeps breathing, Inhale, hold it and exhale. Repeat. The stalactites and stalagmites form closer and closer and the ones further away decompose, at an alarming rate, like a wave building and crashing down. Soon, Rael is surrounded as the stalactites and stalagmites form a cage, move toward him and lock Rael in. “Get me out of this cage!” Real screams, but there is nobody around to hear, and his voice just echoes throughout and around the cave.
Rael’s heart races and he tries that breathing thing again. No good, self-control just does not work and the fear has him now. Trapped, locked in this cage of stalactites and stalagmites with no door, no way out. There’s a flash of light and the once dimly-lit cave is fully illuminated. Rael sees them for the first time, hundreds and thousands and millions of cages, just like his, formed of stalactites and stalagmites, and they’re all strung together by a rope-like material. It’s a never-ending network of cages, each with its own prisoner inside. Like a farm of trapped humans being used for god knows what. Are they being harvested? Rael’s fear grows and grows.
Rael thinks that he may be going insane – or even more insane. His eyes could be playing tricks on him, but he’s pretty sure that the rocky bars of his cage just moved – not much… just a little bit. There’s a groan and a stony creak and the bars move again and again. They’re closing in on him, slowly. Rael’s cage contorts and shrinks as the stalactites and stalagmites inch ever closer. His space is becoming limited and he suddenly starts to feel very claustrophobic as his cage keeps shrinking. The bars begin to press against his body, tighter and tighter as he struggles to breathe. The pain takes over, headache, earache, backache, everything aches. This is it, chances narrow that he may not make it. Death is mere moments away. In the last few seconds of his life, Rael’s mind begins to wonder as bizarre thoughts rush through his brain. If only he could turn to liquid, I could escape through the gaps and cracks but no, he is solid and his own bad luck. The pain, the pain is excruciating as Rael is very slowly crushed to death.
Just then, Rael sees his bother, John he’s standing there outside of the cage and just observing. Motionless and emotionless, he watching Rael die. “Help me John”, the words are in Rael’s head but he can’t get them out of his mouth. The bars push against his chest more, compressing his lungs. Rael has one last breath in him. “Help. John, please help me!” He cries out, in pain. Nothing, John still stands there watching and nothing more. A single tear of blood forms in the corner of John’s eye and runs down his cheek and then, John just turns away. He silently walks off heading into a darkened tunnel leading from the cave and he disappears into the unknown. As soon as John is out of sight, Rael’s cage dissolves just as he had seen the stalactites and stalagmites dissolve before. The pressure on his chest, his body being slowly crushed, it all just abruptly ends. Falling to his knees, Rael gasps for a breath and then another to fill his lungs. It feels unreal to be alive. Short breaths at first that increase once the pain surging through his chest subsides. Rael begins to breathe deeper and deeper and deeper. Where’s that soft, comforting and warm cocoon when you need it?
Rael sits on a nearby rock just to steady himself before venturing further into this underground Hell, he needs to find John, find a way out, and a way back to New York City. Just then, he feels a welling in his soul that grows more and more intense. It picks Rael up and he floating above the ground – only by an inch or three. Those glowing drops of water begin once more, but this time centralized only on Rael. Drip, drip, drip they begin, like raindrops falling on his head, they keep falling on his head, they keep falling on his head…
That welling in his soul starts to spin Rael like a spinning top. Rael is left just spinning and turning around.
__________
Finally and after a period of time that even Rael is not sure of, the spinning stops. He is nauseous as his stomach churns and cramps even worse than before. He tries, but he knows that he cannot hold it in, not this time. Rael vomits all over a particularly large and very pointed stalagmite. He needs a few moments to steady himself and then he sets about following John down that tunnel.
Rael has been walking for hours and no sign of John – or anything, just perhaps this passageway is never-ending. He begins to reminisce, as his misses Broadway and its seediness. “Give me 25¢ peep shows over this world of disconnected nonsense any day”, Rael thinks to himself. The frustration sets in, what’s the point in walking of if he’s getting nowhere? Over there, a rather symmetrical-looking rock. Unlike any of the others here, this rock is smooth and highly polished to a marble-like finish. Rael decides to take seat and gather his thoughts. This tunnel was the only way out of the cave, this was the way that John came too. It’s a singular route with no deviations and no off-shoots, so John must be here somewhere. Rael sits down on the smooth and polished rock for no more than a second or two and then, he hears it.
“It’s the last great adventure left to mankind!” A high and very nasal female voice from the shadows sounds off. Rael stands and looks towards where the annoying voice came from. From the dank emerges a heavily made-up middle-aged woman. Quite thin in frame and with a face plastered in product. With almost orange skin and bright red lips, she looks like a Pan Am stewardess, only far less phoney. “Please Rael, come with me.” She says as she grabs his hand and leads him away. How did she know his name, is it really worth asking? Rael just decides to go with the flow. It must be a better option than sitting around on a rock. Rael is led further and further into the dimly-lit passageway and the woman doesn’t say a word, neither does Rael. Finally, they arrive at the doors of what looks like a factory. THE GRAND PARADE OF LIFELESS PACKAGING are the huge words hanging over the door on a stone-carved sign. The mysterious women goes inside, beckoning Rael to follow.
Now in a reception-like area, Rael looks around, and the Pan Am-looking stewardess is standing behind a desk with a big, fake smile plastered over her face. Before Rael even has the chance to open his mouth to ask her anything, she begins her lengthy sales spiel. “Welcome Rael. This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery. It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone’s looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential – not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of action of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others.” She spits out the words at an alarming rate, she must’ve delivered that speech a few times, too many times before. Rael was just about to ask if she had seen John when she comes from behind her desk and hurriedly pushes Rael through a door that leads to the factory floor.
There are rows and rows, columns and columns, shelves and shelves. From the floor ascending to the ceiling as far as the eye can see. It’s a bit like being inside one of those candy vending machines that you see in bowling alleys and outside of convenience stores. Only, there were no Snikers, Sugar Babies, Clark, Mr. Goodbar – nothing like that. These shelves are stocked full of… naked humans? Tightly wrapped in see-through plastic packaging and each of them labeled and numbered with their names and other information including profit potential. They’re for sale? Are they alive, are they real, are they anything to do with all of those bodies that Rael saw trapped in cages before? He would ask questions, but there is nobody here except Rael.
With a lack of options open to him, Rael takes a stroll among the labyrinth of human packages and his eyes dart from left to right, up and down. He begins to recognise some of the faces. There’s Patrolman Frank Leonowich and his bald spot. Rael flips the bird as he passes on by. If only he had his spray-gun, he could give him a big old R-A-E-L right across the plastic packaging. Next to Frank are his wife and two kids. That’s “Suzanne” and I don’t think she’s going to get much trade here, great tits though. Hey, it’s the Adult Mini Theater owner too. Rael never really knew any of these people personally, he’d just pass them every now and then while walking around and about Times Square.
Rael continues his solo tour of the factory floor and weaves in-between the shelves of human packages. After a while, he is stopped in his tracks by some faces that he does know well. Members of Rael’s gang, from the low-level soldiers (like him), to the higher ups and even the head honcho. If they have these guys, who’s next… Rael? The realization enters his head that he needs to get out of here, there is nothing but these tightly wrapped human action figures. He picks up the pace as his gentle stroll turns into a jog, Rael keeps moving. There in the distance, a door at the far end, a way out? Rael’s jog turns into a sprint as he hurries past the rows of… whatever they are, getting closer and closer to the door. Then, something catches his eye. Three of the packages that he knows very well. There’s Mom, Dad and even John. “Fuck, they got ‘em”, Rael mutters to himself. To the left of his family is an empty package with Rael’s name and details printed on it (not much of a profit potential either). He’s gotta run for it, they’re not having Rael!
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ACT II
Hellay once more.
At this particular point in the story, our hero Rael has moved out of The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, having seen the faces of family and friends. He now finds himself in an almost fully-compete reconstruction of his life back above ground in New York City.
Here, he meets some of his old friends from the street. Rael gets to relive his first romantic adventure. After studying the sexual technique via a numbers school of literature and philosophy. Finally, he has the opportunity to put into practice all he had learned for the very first time… which soon ends in disaster for our hero as he completes his first sexual encounter from initial arousal to completion lasted a mere 78 seconds.
Discouraged by his sexual failure, Rael is then left cuddling a porcupine, this all takes him further into his journey to a place of The Carpet Crawlers. A long, very long carpeted corridor. A great many other people are there and they obsessively stare, stumble and crawl toward a lone wooden door at the end of the corridor. Rael opens the door and is faced with a spiral stairway that leads up and through the ceiling to The Chamber Of 32 Doors, only one of which will take Rael to safety.
This is the next section of Rael’s story.
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Rael bursts through the factory door looking behind him to ensure that he is not being followed. The coast looks clear. Still not wanting to risk it, he keeps on running through more caves and passageways. Everything begins to look the same after a while until the rocks begin to shape themselves and change. He doesn’t know how, but the cave has metamorphosed into something more recognizable, more homely. Rael is back in New York City! Just like it was above ground, the mean the streets of New York had been built again – only a little while earlier. Did he do it, did he survive? Rael is out of that underground Hell and back home. He walks the familiar streets and smiles. But, something is not quite right. The words, neon signs and billboards… everything is mirrored. The 42nd Street sign reads: teertS dn24. He looks up and instead of seeing a bright red neon sign telling him to Enjoy Coca-Cola, Rael is told to: aloC-acoC yojnE. He is still here and this place will not let him go.
Rael calls out for help, but nobody can hear or see him. This flawed recreation of New York begins to show Rael brief glimpses of his life, his own personal history as he walks the streets that he used to know so well. Faces and traces of home act out the very events that made him. Rael’s initiation into the gang a little over two years ago. He had to stop a stranger on the street and take their wallet, a straight and simple mugging. He was a nervous 15-year-old kid and he just kept walking along 42nd Street, past the porn places and the peep shows, on the lookout for an easy target. A few times, He’d approach someone, a clear plan in his head and then… he’d chicken out at the last second and just ask if they knew what time it was, for directions or something else.
Rael hadn’t found his balls back then and he spent about three hours just pacing along 42nd Street, past the porn places and the peep shows, on the lookout for that easy target. If he didn’t do this, he wouldn’t get in the gang. It was getting late and cold and Rael was getting more and more pissed off at himself. Then, something just snapped. This older guy, mid-forties or so, just stepped out of one of those 25¢ peep shows with a smile on his face. Rael followed him for a couple of blocks and he ducked into an alleyway, perfect. Rael grabbed the guy’s trench coat and spun him around, put on his best grown up voice and demanded his wallet.“So, you think you’re a tough kid?”, the guy growled seeing this 15-year-old in front of him. Rael didn’t even give him chance to follow up with anything else, he swung with his left fist and landed on his chin, then a sucker punch to the gut with his right, before finishing with left uppercut to his face as the trench coat wearing victim bent over in pain. The guy went down, blood pouring from his nose. Rael reached into the trenc hcoat, grabbed the guy’s wallet and disappeared into the night before the guy knew what hit him. That was it, Rael was in the gang.
That’s how it started, Rael a 15-year-old kid robbing people on the street. That first one gave him the confidence boost to do more, it soon became an addiction and Rael got really good at spotting his weaker victims. Some rolled over without a fight, others needed to be introduced to Rael’s fists. All of them paid up eventually. The cash that Rael stole was given to the gang to buy drugs and he got his cut too, both paper and chemical. It sure beat a being a paperboy, having to get up in the early hours of the morning to deliver copies of the New York Post. A few months later and one of the gang members introduced Rael to pot for his 16th birthday and eventually, that led to using LSD. By then, he’d made a bit of a name for himself as a trusted gang member who could get the job done. Rael was still a long way off being seen as one of the main soldiers, but he was on his way, at least. Between muggings, Rael would walk the streets and leave his mark, R-A-E-L in big red letters on the walls and iron shutters of shops with his spray-gun. He wanted people to know his name and fear it, these were his streets now.
For a 16-year-old kid, Rael had a pretty stiff backbone. With other gang members or without them, his confidence grew and grew and he wanted more. After being in the gang for a while, he asked some of the other guys if he could do something a bit more daring than street muggings. They were okay and all, brought in a steady flow of cash and kept the gang happy. But Rael wanted more. The gang were planning a raid on a rival’s turf, Willy Wright and his boys and on that raid, Rael made a helluva a noise. It was late at night when they knew most of the gang would be out on the streets – leaving a skeleton crew at their HQ. Willy Wright had a hideout in a run-down apartment over on 39th Street, not far from Bryant Park. Before the Willy Wright gang even knew they were there, Real and the gang were smashing windows, spraying their names on the walls. There were only two of them there, while the others were doing whatever they were doing elsewhere. They had some balls because they came out and squared up to Rael and the boys, all twelve of them.
Two against twelve? They didn’t stand a chance. It was six on one and the beatings soon followed. Fists and feet were flying, blood sprayed on the floor and even teeth were knocked out. Truthfully, they probably could’ve killed Willy’s boys, but they decided to hold off as they didn’t want to bring too much heat back with them. After the beating, it was time to get out of there and as the rest of the gang ran, Rael stayed just a bit longer, he had a special delivery to make. He put his hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled it out. The bottle filled with gasoline, Rael’s self-made Molotov cocktail. He lit the cloth wick and threw it through one of the broken windows. Rael had no idea what they had in that apartment, but it lit up like a Christmas tree.
Rael stood there for a while and admired his handiwork, he stood there too long because the sound of sirens approached in the distance. Then suddenly, “Freeze, police!”, yelled patrolman behind him. He got there fast, someone must’ve called the cops earlier while Rael and the boys were having their fun, or maybe he was just randomly walking by? It doesn’t matter, Rael ran for Bryant Park thinking that he could lose the cop using the cover of night and the trees. He tried his best and weaved in and out of the trees and shrubs with a plan to get out of the other side of the park and back onto 42nd Street, and make his way back to Times Square, to disappear into the crowd of sleaze. Rael could hear the cop following him through the park, through the trees. He was using a flashlight that gave his position away and handed Rael the edge. Hiding in the trees, Rael would only move when he knew the cop was looking the other way, when the flashlight was not aimed at where he was or where he wanted to go. It took a few minutes, but he had done it, Rael had made it to the other side of Bryant Park and 42nd Street and freedom was right there, just a few strides away. Rael was looking behind him as he ran, looking to see where that cop was, looking for that giveaway flashlight and making sure he had a clean break. Rael was so busy looking behind him that he didn’t see the parked patrol car and slammed right into it. He got pinched.
They sent Rael to Pontiac Reformatory for an 8 month stretch. They said he could get a reduced sentence if he rolled over on the other gang members who were with him that night. Even Willy Wright’s boys, who had the shit beaten out of them, they probably could’ve IDed some of Rael’s gang to the cops and had them sent to Pontiac too. But that’s just not how it works. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been busted by the cops or beaten by a rival, you don’t roll over, ever. You keep quiet and do your time, what happens in a gang stays in the gang. They may have been on the other side of the law, but all gangs still had their code of ethics that were often, quite contradictory, better than those on the right side of their law.
It was an easy stint too. Rael kept his head down, didn’t cause no trouble and only defended himself when needed. There was plenty of opportunity to cause a bit of havoc inside and it was tempting, but Rael stayed away from it all just so that he could get out sooner rather than later. There was a riot in ‘73 with about 100 inmates using the metal trays for food, and hand-made shanks as weapons. A couple of rival gangs just went for it and soon enough, it turned into a full-on riot. Tear gas was used to calm things down and at the end of it all, a couple of new fish were given “back door parole”. Rael stayed in his cell and let them all fight it out among each other. He only got out of Pontiac last week and he even had to spend his 17th birthday locked up. But now he’s free and back, or he was until all of this crazy shit went down.
Rael got a call a couple of days back from the gang’s boss saying how he had earned respect by keeping his mouth shut and doing his time. They were going to promote Rael and he was going to be a recognized soldier, that’s why he was meeting the gang. Then he saw that lamb lie down on Broadway, that huge cinema-wall-thing and now he’s here, stuck in this fake and flawed recreation of New York. Will he ever get back home?
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Rael needs to find a way out of here before he snaps. If he got into this place, then there must be a way out… somewhere, right? Rael continues walking the streets of this makeshift New York and he sees more and more events of his life replayed for him to relive. There’s the gang’s old HQ before they moved up to 49th Street. Rael steps inside to see what else he’ll be shown, like Ebeneezer Scrooge being led by the Ghost of Christmas Past. He walks upstairs and sees 16-year-old Rael, this is before the raid and before his Pontiac Reformatory stint. Rael’s first taste of LSD that one of the gang gave him. He tried it and felt nothing, for about 30 minutes or so. That was when it all hit him at once and the hallucinations began. Current Rael watches as past Rael stumbles along the hallway and to the bathroom where he just stands there, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall for a few moments with a look of content and comfort. Current Rael can see the hallucination now just as clearly as when he experienced it back then.
A razor sharp scalpel appears from nowhere and floats in front of Rael’s face, gently swaying back and forth like a pendulum on a clock. Then, a pair of surgically-gloved, dismembered hands emerge and one of the hands takes hold of the scalpel, holding it steady. The blade makes contact with Rael’s chest and he stands there watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror, still with that look of content and comfort. The scalpel makes a cut, about 10 inches long, downwards. The blood seeps out of the incision and begins to make butterfly-like patters in the air. It is rather beautiful, in its own way. The scalpel disappears just as quickly as it appeared. The surgically-gloved fingers insert themselves into the cut and slowly pry it open. All through this, Rael can hear gentle and romantic music playing, calming and soothing and he continues to smile. Now, with the incision wide open, one of the hands reaches into Rael’s chest, bypasses his rib cage and carefully removes his heart. Still attached to all of those tubes, the hand holds the heart in front of Rael’s face – his LSD induced smile never fades.
The heart is covered in a thick layer of bristly, prickly, beard-like hair. And then, a stainless steel razor appears. One of the dismembered hands grabs the anonymous razor, while the other holds Rael’s hairy heart steady. The romantic music continues as the shaving commences until the heart is clean and smooth. The freshly shaved and palpitating cherry-red organ is returned to its rightful place and begins to beat faster and the vision around current Rael changes.
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Still with past Rael in the bathroom and looking at the mirror. But he is now slightly older, only by a few months. Rael is still 16, this was the night right before the raid on Willy Wright’s hideout. A memory that Rael really would rather not revisit ever again. He looks away, but the vision follows him. I closes his eyes, but it is still there. Rael cannot escape it and he is forced to relive one of the most embarrassing nights of his life. Current Rael’s heart races faster. In the vision, past Rael’s heart races faster too… but for a very different reason.
Rael can do nothing but watch as vision Rael prepares himself. The gang got him a nice reward for all of those street muggings that helped to bring in a steady flow of cash, they got him a call girl. Man, Rael was nervous that night. He was supposed to do the deed before, but he couldn’t due to the nerves. Rael asked to postpone the event by a couple of months so that he could ready himself. He was just 16 and decided that he needed to do some studying first. Rael found a bookstore just off Times Square. Not one of those proper bookstores that sell copies of Shakespeare or Dickens, he had enough of that crap forced upon him at school. This was one of those bookstores that you’d find right next all of the porno cinemas and peep shows. “Bob’s Bargain Books” the sign over the door read, with a poster in the window advertising ½ price books & magazines.
As Rael walked in, he half-expected the guy behind the counter to throw him out for being under-age. Either he didn’t notice or he just didn’t care. So Rael set about looking through the racks of books and magazines. He was lost in a sea of porn in pages and had no idea what he was even looking for. Classic American porn and even harder magazines from all over the world. Some of that Dutch stuff was pretty full-on. There was no shortage of T ‘n A for him to stare at. Rael would pick up a book or magazine, look at the title and put it back down. After a few minutes he found this small paperback called Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them, written by P. B. Gabriel and with a $1 price on it. As good a place as any to start. Rael took the book to the counter and handed over a buck before quickly rushed out of the bookstore with a slight feeling of embarrassment. He understood what his mugging victims must’ve felt like when they would slink out of the porn theaters, before Rael relieved them of their wallets. Thankfully, Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them was a small enough book for Rael to roll up and slide into his pocket, before anybody he knew saw him with it.
Rael knew that he couldn’t take the book home in case his parents found it, so he left it at the gang’s hideout and in his secret place where he keeps his cut of the gang’s takings. When Rael wasn’t out on the streets taking pervert’s money from them, he’d study the book every chance he got. “Okay Mr Gabriel, let’s see what you can teach me”, he thought to himself. The book was split into eleven chapters, each one detailing a different erogenous zone, where to find them and what to do with them. Lips, neck thighs, ears the perineum and so on. Reading Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them was where Rael learned what the perineum was. There was even a chapter on the armpits… armpits? Rael decided not to spend too much time studying that one. Then he got to the real juicy stuff, the vagina and clitoris. These were two chapters that he did spend a lot of time reading.
The book had pages with diagrams and direction on how to stimulate, kissing, rubbing and such. Rael must’ve read that book a few dozen times from cover to cover (sans the armpit chapter). Some chapters got read more than others but, he studied every word, every line and every page of that book (sans the armpit chapter). Rael memorized all of the hand-drawn diagrams and each and every single word of advice. He became so obsessed by the book that his work in the gang began to slip slightly, the muggings became less frequent and his cut of the gang’s take reduced. Rael was losing out on money but he didn’t care, he knew he could make up for it later. Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them became Rael’s very own Bible, he spent around two and a half months reading and rereading it. Eventually, Rael knew the book better than the author did. He was ready.
The vision of Rael readying himself in the bathroom was vivid. He was counting out the time until the big moment. It was time for him to pop his cherry. The call girl was beautiful, with long wavy jet black hair that flowed down her back and reached her butt. Her smooth olive skin covered by a pair of bell bottom jeans and a sunflower tie dye t-shirt. She was a real hippy-chick and into all of that “free-love” stuff… not when she was working though. The gang cleared out for the night and left Rael and his conquest alone. She lay in the bed and beckoned Rael closer with her finger and a smile. His heart began to beat faster and faster as he tried to remember all that the book had taught him. She wasted no time and stripped herself naked, maybe she had another customer waiting. All of those hand-drawn images in the book were burnt into Rael’s subconscious and he began to see her as one of the diagrams, complete with all of the erogenous zones listed and detailed. “Are you going to unzip?”, the living diagram asked. “This is it Rael”, he thought to himself as he undressed and got on the bed.
Rael did just as Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them had taught him. The words and pages of the book were playing in his head like a movie. There was caressing, kissing and rubbing. Rael made his way from erogenous zone number one to zone number six. He had a bit of trouble with number seven though. After a few minutes, the foreplay was over and it was time for the main event. Rael was ready and very eager as he slipped inside. Just 78 seconds later and it was all over. She was a call girl and was paid to please, but Rael could tell from the look on her face that she was far from pleased herself. The whole thing ended in failure. The next day, Rael went back to Bob’s Bargain Books, returned Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them. The guy behind the counter only offered Rael 25¢ and then put it back on the shelf for $1. Thanks for the advice P. B. Gabriel.
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Real continues walking through this flawed recreation of New York, passing faces that he knew and those he didn’t. The façades of the buildings begin to crack and crumble, like a sandcastle being hit by the waves of the sea. They collapse all around him, turn to dust and are blown away by a cool wind. Rael is still in the underground caves. He had no idea how far he had walked or for how long, if at all. Was he in a different cave from before or the same one? Maybe he’s just been walking around in circles while distracted by all of those NYC visions. At the far end of the cave is a door, his only option of a possible way out.
Rael opens the door and steps through to the other side. His bare feet touchdown on a thick lamb’s wool flooring. So thick is the wool that his feet sink into it and the wool tickles his malleoli, those knobbly bones on either side of the ankles. After walking through caves of stone and rocks, cold factory floors and a flawed recreation of New York, the lamb’s wool is comforting. It’s soft and warm and gives off a welcoming heat. Rael finds himself in a narrow but long, very, very long corridor. The walls on both sides are painted in an earthy red ochre color and both walls are covered in strange symbols. Almost hieroglyphic-like but simpler, snake-like humans, rowboats and large birds. The corridor seems to go on forever and he cannot see to the far-end. Rael could turn around now and go back through the door and back to the caves, but this lamb’s wool floor is too nice to force him to leave. Forward is the only way to go.
Rael walks for a few minutes and then he starts to hear gentle murmurs further down the corridor. They get louder as he walks closer to the noise. In the distance he sees a small group of people, they’re on all fours and slowly crawling forward, further down the corridor. Like slugs sliding along a garden path, they move tardily, but they do move. This is the first time that he has seen anything possibly human and not a vision since running from The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging factory. Rael picks up the pace so that he can talk to them, maybe they can help him get out of here?
There on the ground, his hands and knees being swallowed by the thick lamb’s wool carpeting, is a robed monk muttering away to himself. “Where are we, what’s going on?”, Rael asks. The monk looks tired and does his best to stifle a yawn. “It’s a long time yet before the dawn.”, the monk replies with a slur of words before collapsing on the floor. A sphinx-like crawler to Rael’s right lifts his head to talk. “Don’t ask him.”, he snaps, “The monk is drunk. Each one of us is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there.” A way out? Rael needs to find it and he continues his walk down the long, very, very long red ochre corridor. He passes more Carpet Crawlers as he goes. All of them muttering and repeating; “We’ve got to get in to get out. We’ve got to get in to get out.”, in unison. The further Rael walks along the corridor, the crawlers increase in number. Two become four, become eight, become sixteen. Soon, the entire floor is covered in Carpet Crawlers and they all continue to chant and murmur: “We’ve got to get in to get out. We’ve got to get in to get out.” Rael would stop to talk to them, but he’s sure that he’d just be wasting his time.
Rael focres his way forward, trying not to step on the hands of the Crawlers, why don’t they just stand and walk? These front crawlers are different from those he had met before, they’re picking up their pace and all for them are looking up, glaring along the corridor. The one at the very front of the pack stops crawling just for a few moments, she lifts a hand and points. A large wooden door at the end of the corridor, a door that Rael had not seen before. The crawler looks Rael dead in the eyes and says “Get out, get out, get out.”
Left with little choice, Rael walks over to the heavy wooden door and opens it. Considering its size and heft, the door swings open easily and smoothly. On the other side is yet another cave-like room, this one is lit by candlelight and still covered in warm lamb’s wool – only this one has a possible way out. There’s a stone spiral staircase that goes up and up so far that Rael cannot even see where it ends, if it ever does. This room has several people, ex-crawlers who made it along the red ochre corridor, Rael assumes. They’re standing around chatting and eating. There’s a large table at the base of spiral staircase overflowing with a feast of a harvest bounty. Apple and pumpkin pies, roasted yams, squash and even a plump roast turkey. It all looks and smells freshly cooked and as tempting as it is, Rael just doesn’t feel particularity hungry. He looks around at the gathered people and as he does, in unison, they all tilt their heads upwards and look at the spiral stairway that disappears into the darkness high above.
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Rael puts one foot onto the first stair, the cold stone is quite a shock after the welcoming lamb’s wool floor from before. After the first dozen stairs or so, he no longer feels the cold on his bare feet. The spiral staircase goes on and on, higher and higher. The higher he climbs, the darker his surroundings become. Rael has no idea how long he has been climbing and his feet are beginning to go numb from the cold, but he knows that he must continue. This is the first time since arriving in these underground caves that he is going anywhere but straight ahead and at this point, any change in direction is welcome. This is when Rael notices the lack of a railing along the staircase and the deeply worrying possible plummet down if he slips. Rael has been walking up these stairs so long now that his legs ache, his knees feel like they’re about 80-years-old and he is in total darkness. He can’t even see the flickering candlelight from the harvest room below any more. Rael feels with his hands before he steps, just to make sure that there is still somewhere to put his ice cold feet. Rael has lost all track of time, but that’s nothing new.
Maybe this is it, maybe this is punishment for the wrongs Rael did back in New York. The muggings, the beatings, the raids, the drugs, everything. Maybe that is it, he is trapped in his own Hell of the Damned. There’s no handrail here, nothing to stop him from falling and what if he did? He can’t die if he’s already dead… if he’s already dead… if. Maybe Rael should just stop fighting, stop trying to find a way out and just accept his fate? His mind begins to wander in the darkness and then he sees it. I small light above, a way out? He keeps on going, feeling with his hands to find the next safe step and taking it. The small light grows bigger and bigger as Rael nears it. Then, he begins to hear voices. He can’t quite make out what is being said, it is more a mass of voices all talking over each other. Dozens upon dozens of voices all sounding off at the same time.
Finally, at the top of the long spiral stairs is a chamber. It is crammed with people almost standing shoulder to shoulder. There’s very little room left, but Rael manages to squeeze himself in, like the last peanut being forced into a jar of Planters. The chamber is a dome, a hemisphere and the floor feels like it is rotating, clockwise. Yet, all around the wall of this chamber are open doors and nothing but darkness behind them. The wall and the doors are rotating counter-clockwise. It’s rather disorientating and it takes a while for Rael’s brain to take it in. There are people of all sorts of race, creed, class and nationality. It’s a real melting pot. A very well dressed man in front Rael is boasting about his riches and won’t shut up. Money, money, money. Behind Rael is a very scruffy and down-and-out looking guy, and he’s just muttering about missing his loved ones. There must be hundreds, nay thousands of people here. Some of them are pointing at the various doors, others are running through the doors and getting nowhere, as they just get sent right back into this very chamber via one of the other doors. It’s like a never ending parade of fools, all of them thinking that they know best when none of them do.
“There’s 32 of them you know, only one will lead you out though.” The voice of the poor-looking man behind says, “I’ve counted them, I’m the only one who has. Oh it took a while, what with the floor going one way and the doors going the other. But, there are 32 of them… I think.” Is he talking to Rael directly or just muttering aloud? “Don’t listen to that fool.” The rich man chips in. “I can tell you where you need to go, for a nominal fee, of course.” That guy is definitely talking to Rael and already has his hand out waiting for payment for information. If he really knows which door to take, why is he still here? Growing up on the streets of New York, you learn to spot a scam. He’s seen the “find the lady” guys taking money from unsuspecting fools many times. Rael may not know who to trust, but he certainly knows who not to trust. The pointing at and running through the doors continues and nobody is getting anywhere. Everyone is talking over everyone else and trying to hear what they have to say becomes impossible. A mass noise of languages from all over the world and none of them seem to have any idea which of the 32 doors to take. The floor rotates one way, the wall and doors the other. Fingers are pointing to each and every door and their voices make no sense anymore, it is just noise on top of noise and more noise. The chamber is in confusion.
“Shut up. All of you just shut up!” The chamber goes silent as Rael screams and his words echo. Every single one of the hundreds, thousands of faces looks directly at him. The silence lasts only a few moments before they all realize they they have a new recruit. Soon enough, Rael is pushed and prodded by those around him, forced to go through one of the doors and he just ends up right back in the chamber. Nobody is making note of which doors have already been tried and which haven’t This would be a simple process of elimination if they would just stop and think, if the floor was not rotating one way, while the wall and doors rotated the other. The mass of confusion continues as Rael is pushed through another door and another and another. All of them lead him back to the chamber again, again and again. Rael’s headache returns as he is pushed trough more doors and returned back to the chamber over and over. Their voices get louder, their advice more muddled. Rael comes up with a solution, if one person stood in front of one door each and stepped through one at a time, they could find the right door and the exit with ease. But, nobody wants to listen and it is Rael against them all.
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ACT III
Hellay for one final time, dear reader.
We now catch up with Rael as he is taken through a series of caves by a blind lady called Lilywhite Lilith. After a while, she leaves him alone in a darkened small round cave. Two golden globes move closer and closer, as they do, they begin to shine brighter and brighter. Eventually, the light is so bright that becomes dazzling white.
Real begins to panic, gripped in fear as the bright light blinds him. Feeling around the cave, he finds a suitable rock and he hurtles it at the centre of where the bright light is emitting from. There’s a thunderous crash and the cave begins to cave in. Rael is trapped.
Then he comes, Rael meets his own personal hero, Death. Death approaches Rael and lets out a puff from his special canister which Death uses to eliminate his prey and take them away. However, the puff does not entirely eliminate Rael and so he continues on with his journey.
Still exploring the underground caves, Rael discovers a chamber with three half-woman and half-snake creatures swimming around in a pool. After exploring these creatures sexually, they wither and die. Rael consumes what is left of their bodies and turns into a grotesque, lump-ridden creature called a Slipperman. The only cure – castration.
Rael visits the Dockor and has his windscreen wiper removed, which is then placed into a yellow tube. A raven swoops down a takes Rael’s yellow tube and flies away. Rael gives chase.
This ladies and gentlemen, is the conclusion of Rael’s story.
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Rael is about to give up, simple logic and reasoning means nothing here. Of all of the people in this chamber, not one of them can stop to think for a second. Rael’s just a teenage street punk and yet, he has more common sense than all of these imbeciles combined. He’s through with being their lab rat and when they push Rael to go through another door, he pushes right back. Realizing that their new play thing won’t take any more shit, their interest in Rael soon dies down and they instantly go back to shouting over each other instead, pointing at all of the doors with no clue of how to get out. The confusion resumes and everybody is back to square one.
Standing in the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with little room to move, rather bizarrely makes it quite difficult to get a good look at the people nearest to you. Views are obscured and Rael’s line of sight is impeded. For a second, he thought that he heard a gentle whisper. Rael’s conscience trying to tell him something in confidence? Rael does his best to ignore it and sets about trying to work out how to get these shouting idiots to listen to him so that they can all get out. That voice comes back, it’s not in his head – it’s in Rael’s ear. A soft and kind voice, almost angelic. “Please, please help me through this crowd.” The voice says. Rael turns to his left and standing there is a middle-aged woman, very pale skin and snow white long hair. She is blind, wholly blind. “I’m just asking for a guide, please.” She says.
“You’re blind, and I can’t get these people to work together to find the right door. So, what’s the use of a guide if you’ve got nowhere to go?”, asks Rael. “Oh, I’ve got somewhere to go. If you take me through the noise of this crowd, I’ll show you the way out. I’m a creature of the caves and I follow the way the breezes blow. I know the way out.” She sounds very reassuring and her lack of shouting is strangely trusting. Fuck it, why not? Rael’s got nothing to lose. He takes her by the hand, it is cold, ice cold. Then Rael pushes people aside with his other hand and forces his way through the crowd, their shouting never stops and they pay Rael and the woman no mind. They make it to the edge of the chamber, the wall and the doors are still rotating. “Please, let me take the lead now.” The blind woman says. Rael is still holding her cold hand as she raises the other and points it, palm out, toward the doors as they continue to rotate around the chamber. “No.” She says as one of the doors passes. “No, No, No… that one.” She starts to count. “One, two, three…” She continues counting the doors as they pass on another rotation around the chamber. “… seven, eight, nine… NOW!” She pulls Rael’s hand as she steps through the door.
Rael has no idea where they are now, but he does know that they’re not back in the chamber. She did it. They’re standing in a stone passageway, not dissimilar to the others that Rael had already walked through. The blind woman takes the lead. “I can feel the way. The breeze, it guides me.” She’d proven her worth so far, so Rael lets her do her thing, he has no reason not to trust her at this point. As they walk, it gets dimmer and darker. She keeps leading Rael down passages and tunnels until they are in total darkness, not that it bothers the blind woman. Rael begins to stumble over the uneven floor and his nerves are on edge. After a long walk, they enter a new cave. The lighting is poor and low-level, but Rael can just about see that this place is round, perfectly round, it is like they are inside of a basketball made of stone. The walls are smooth and highly polished. At the bottom of this perfectly round cave, a large green throne.
The woman leads Rael closer to the throne and he touches it. It’s cold, stone cold. “It’s pure jade. Worth a small fortune back where you’re from, I assume.”, the blind woman says. “Please Rael, take a seat.” And he does. “They will come for you soon. Don’t be afraid.” She says before walking away. A bizarre cocktail of emotions and feelings flood over Rael. He has a sense of fear of the unknown and darkness, but the woman has been helpful and trusting up to now. Rael sits on the jade throne and watches as the woman walks towards one of several tunnels leading from the cave. Before she steps into the darkness, words leave Rael’s lips and he’s not even sure if he was in control. “What’s you name?”, he asks. She pauses and using his voice as a guide, she faces him. “Lilith… not that it matters now, Rael.” And with that, she turns and leaves, disappearing into the darkness.
Rael is alone and the jade throne is freezing cold. He tries to get up, but can’t. Rael’s not too sure if some force is preventing him from moving, or if it’s the fact that he’s numb with cold, or maybe he is frozen in fear. Whatever it is, Rael can’t get up from the throne. It’s quiet and the dim lighting makes it difficult for him to see anything. It almost feels like the darkness is closing in on him. Rael gets that uneasy feeling of claustrophobia once more, just as he did back in the cage. One of the tunnels leading from this cave, on Rael’s left, lights up with a bight and brilliant white light. He shakes and shivers from the fear and the cold. From that lit up tunnel, he hears a sound. He’s not sure what it is at first but as it gets closer and closer, a strange metallic whirring sound, like blades cutting thought the air, is what it is. The closer the sound gets, the more intense the bright light becomes. Whatever it is, it is getting closer and heading right towards Rael. A golden globe hovers into the room, quickly followed by another. The source of that whirring sound, which is now far louder than before. The bright and brilliant white light begins to fill the room, the smooth and polished surface of the walls reflects the light and soon, the whole place is engulfed in the blinding light. It’s like being snow blind, Rael can see nothing but white.
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Rael is frozen in fear and he can’t get up from the jade throne, but he can move his arms. Rael reaches out to his left and feels nothing as the whirring sound gets louder and the blinding white light gets brighter. To his right, he feels something, a small pile of stones? Whatever they are, Rael grabs one and throws it into the blinding light, nothing. He can just hear the sound of the stone hit the wall of the cave. Rael needs to calm down and regain his composure, he can do this. He’s had plenty of practice throwing Molotov cocktails through windows back in New York… though he could see what he was aiming at then.
Rael grabs another stone and listens, the whirring sound and the brightest of the white light, that’s what he needs to aim for. With a stone in his hand, he waits until the sound is closer, until the light is at its brightest. One of the hovering globes nears him and he hurls the stone as hard as he can. There’s a loud sound of shattering glass the reverberates through the cave, it’s almost deafening. The bright light dies down. Rael’s vision is blurry and it takes a few moments for his sight to adjust form the snow blindness. He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, the bright light did no good for his headache. Before long, Rael’s eyesight is almost fully restored, he sees one of the two golden globes hovering away and down one of the tunnels from the cave. The other one is a pile of broken and twisted metal on the floor. At least that has been dealt with, but Rael is alone once more.
Now free to move, Rael gets up from the stone cold jade throne and that’s when he notices them for the first time. Small hairline cracks that begin to appear all over the smooth walls of the cave. As he watches, the cracks grow in size and his ears overflow with the resounding sound as bits of rock begin to fall. A cave in! Rael needs to get out of here and he makes a run for the nearest tunnel, but rocks and debris fall in his way and block one of the ways out. More rocks fall and block the other exits. There’s only one way out left, the same way those golden globes went before. It’s do or die. Rael sprints with all he has left and makes it into the tunnel just as the cave in blocks the way behind him. Rael has no choice now but to continue through the dimly lit tunnel. He runs along but the poor lighting makes it difficult to see, Rael trips over a fissure in the ground and the other end of the tunnel also gets blocked by the cave in. The light dims even more, Rael is trapped. Is this it? Is this his tomb?
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This isn’t how Rael’s life is supposed to end. Not down here, buried underground and slowly waiting for his oxygen to run out. He is R-A-E-L, solider in a respected and feared New York gang. When he dies, it should be with a bang, not a whimper. Steppenwolf had the right idea, exploding into space and all that. That should be Rael. But no, it looks like he’ll just fade away down here with nobody any the wiser that he had even died. This is no way to pay his last subterranean homesick dues. Anyway, at least he’ll be out of the hands of any pervert embalmer doing their interpretation of what Rael should look like, stuffing cotton wool in his cheeks and caking his face with make-up. Rael will soon be one with dinosaur fossils. Maybe He’ll be found and displayed in a museum in the future, in the year 2000. A fine specimen of a red blooded male from a time long past. The Raelasuarus. A fierce warrior that lived on the hard streets of New York, hunting for prey to feed himself and his family. Yep, Rael can see himself on display at the American Museum of Natural History in their Hall of North American Mammals with his very own diorama. The Alaskan brown bears and moose, the Sonoran jaguars and the Raelasuarus. King of New York. The closer that he creeps to death, the more Rael’s mind begins to wander and create surreal visions. Surely he won’t be long now, the big guy – Death. Strangely, Rael has always admired the guy and he has a kind of soft spot for him. Rael begins to feel nervous and a just little bit excited, if he’s being honest. Rael always pictured that his end would come from a rival gang in the middle of a raid or from a brutal street fight. He’s breathing becomes shorter, it won’t be long now. Damn it all!
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Rael will soon becomes exhausted by all of this conjecture and that is when he finally sees him, a shadowy figure that comes ever closer, Death. Rael smiles, Death was not quite what he was expecting. That well-known image of a skeletal body draped in a large black cloak and holding a scythe, that’s not what Death looks like at all. “Do you like my outfit?”, Death asks. “Made by my own fair hand. I call it the “Supernatural Anaesthetist”. It’s rather fetching, even if I do say so myself.” It turns out that Death is quite the dandy and takes great pride in how he looks. He is wearing a long ankle-length coat of many colors that shines, even in this almost pitch-black tunnel. Death effortlessly dances toward Rael, sliding and gliding across the floor with the grace of Gene Kelly. He puts one of his skeletal hands into a pocket of his coat and pulls out a small jewel-encrusted box. “This is my snuff box.”, Death says. “All you have to do it puff it and you’ll snuff it. Get it?” He takes pinch of the pink snuff dust from the box and blows it into Rael’s face, before walking away content, into and through the wall of the tunnel.
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Rael opens his eyes believing that he is now dead. He touches his face, and can feel. He must still be alive then… right? Maybe the whole Death thing was nothing but a hallucination brought on by the fear and madness surrounding him, Rael’s mind playing tricks on him as he grew closer to drawing his final breath. Rael is still breathing, he’s alive. He’s takes a deep breath, perhaps one of the last that he ever will if there is no way out of this tunnel. That it when it hits him, a strong, thick musky scent hanging in the air. There’s a crack where the rocks caved in at the end of the tunnel that Rael puts his nose up to. The scent is stronger and as it fills his lungs as he breathes, it gives him a new-found energy. As close to death as Rael just was mere moments ago, he feels the polar opposite now. The perfume enters his bloodstream like a line of cocaine, and Rael feels like he can take on the world single handed – and win.
With his new-found strength, Rael puts his fingers into the crack in the rocks where that thick musky scent is coming from and pulls. The rocks move, just slightly and with a wobble. He pulls again and the rocks move more and more. They’re loosening. The musky scent grows stronger, the light from the other side grows as the crack widens. Will all of his strength, Rael pulls at the rocks and eventually, one falls to the ground. Enough space for him to put a hand and arm through, but not his body. Rael keeps at it, pushing some rocks and pulling others and soon enough, there’s a gap large enough for him to climb through. He is free… well free-er than before. The perfume is even more potent on the other side, Rael follows his nose and sets off to find its source.
Rael walks through more tunnels, passageways and caves, the scent grows richer with every step that he takes and it keeps pulling him forward. The perfumed air leads Rael to a long and thin passageway that is lit by several golden chandeliers. There’s something at the far end, a room of some kind. As he steps toward it, the aroma in the air changes from familiar fragrance to flavors strange that coat the back of Rael’s throat and almost make him choke. But still he walks toward the room, as if he is being lured against his will. Rael reaches the room and in the middle is a long and very ornate pink-rose water pool that stretches on as far as the eye can see. It is lavishly decorated with gold fittings. The walls around the pool are covered with a maroon velvet and honeysuckle plants growing up to the ceiling. And about that ceiling, it makes Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel look like a kid’s painting.
The pool is coated in a fine mist and Rael stands on the edge, just watching the water. Did he just see something move? He’s not sure of anything anymore but, there it is again. A ripple on the water. More ripples soon follow. There’s something in the pool. The ripples move closer to Rael and then, three shapes of dazzling hue, vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue emerge from the pink-rose water pool. Three snake-like creatures. Staggering beauty with heads and breasts of beautiful women, but snake-like bodies from the waist down. The trio are no more than three foot long at the most.
They continue to swim in the pool with a delicate grace, perfectly synchronized in their movements. They stop and face Rael and in just as perfect synchronization they say “Rael welcome, we are the Lamia of the pool. We have been waiting for our waters to bring you cool.” The Lamia raise their forefingers and beckon him into the water. As they speak, he notices their fang-like teeth and finds himself struck by their beauty, but gripped in fright. Rael’s not sure that he could back away even if he wanted to. Their beckoning continues and the room fills with their voices as they chant and sing. Rael puts his fear aside, peels himself out of his clothes and walks down the steps leading into the water.
The rose-pink water is warm but cool. The Lamia swim around him, circling his body as Rael wades deeper into the pool. As they swim around him, the Lamia, in unison, ask Rael to taste the liquid and he does. It is strangely sweet and he swims further and further into the pool. How far has he gone, Rael does not know. He turns to look back to where he shredded his clothes, where he entered the water – but he can no longer see the steps that he walked down. The pink liquid turns into a pale blue luminescence as it drips from Rael’s skin. The Lamia begin to lick the liquid from his body, very gently. It is relaxing and comforting, almost like a massage. He continues to swim in the pool and the Lamia continue to massage his flesh with their bodies as they lick and swim all over him. They knead his flesh and his bones feel like they’re about to melt. It is utter bliss. While Rael’s mussels soften and almost feel like liquid, one of his mussels, the main one, does the exact opposite. The Lamina notice Rael’s excitement and focus their massaging on his own engorged snake-like protrusion. Rael even manages to beat his previous record of 78 seconds.
The pleasure takes hold of Rael’s body and he enters the point that he feels he cannot go beyond. But the Lamia continue and they begin to nibble at his flesh with their fang-like teeth and yet, Rael feels no pain. As soon as they taste in first drops of his blood, the Lamia’s faces change from the beautiful features of before, to being convulsed in pain and with blackened eyes. They scream, as if Rael’s blood is tainted somehow. As the Lamia writhe around in anguish in the water, they all cry out, “We all have loved you, Rael!” Dying right before his eyes, the icy blue water gets colder and colder, and the honeysuckle plants that are growing up the walls shrivel and die too.
What has Rael done, what have the Lamia done? A small unmanned wooden rowboat gently drifts toward him and stops. What choice does he have? Rael climbs into the boat and the bodies of the Lamia bob up and down in the water. Suddenly, he feels an urge to eat, Rael grabs one of the dead Lamia and sinks his teeth into her now deceased body, taking a bite and swallowing her flesh. Just as with the pink water, it is sweet to taste. The boat begins to move, taking Rael back to where he entered the pool. The lights in the room dim and he looks back at the Lamia. Their bodies are gone and the water’s color slowly changes from the icy blue and back to the rose-pink that it once was. The honeysuckle begins to grow back before his very eyes. Then he sees them, the ripples in the water return and follow the boat. From those ripples, the three Lamia show themselves again, unharmed and just as beautiful as they were before. They wave and smile as the rowboat takes Rael back. The whole scene is reset, like a stage play readying for the next show.
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As the boat returns Rael, it slowly drifts through the pool and soft piano music plays… or at least that is what Rael hears in his head. It’s very calming and serene. Rael relaxes, lies back, and his mind drifts with the boat. He can see his life back in New York. Not like those visions when he thought he was back in NYC from before, these are more like snapshots in his head. There she is, Lady Liberty holding her flame up high and the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. Rael had a little spot under the bridge where he and the gang would do a line or two of cocaine. The Central Railroad of New Jersey Terminal forms in his mind. The number of times that Rael had thought about getting on a train and leaving and yet, he just couldn’t do it.
Rael can see his Momma smiling, she always smiled even if she was at her lowest. Standing next to her is Dad, with a firm but reassuring look of determination on his face. He didn’t escape from the hell of Puerto Rico to see his son, Rael turn into a street punk. The kind of shit Rael was doing was exactly what caused Dad to flee to New York in the first place. He didn’t want Rael repeating his mistakes. And there is Rael’s bother John… he looks different almost scared. There are strange blemishes all over his face as if something was taking over his body. John is just about to talk when the boat hits the edge of the pool and knocks Rael out of his blissful daydream. He is back where he came in. Rael slides back into his clothes and takes one last look at the pool. It looks exactly the same as when he first entered the room. Everything has been reset for the next person to wander in. There’s only one way to go npw, back through the door he came in and back along that chandelier passageway.
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Rael leaves the room via door that he had come in by, but everything is different. There is no chandelier-lit passageway. Instead, he is greeted by a rough, lumpy and bumpy tunnel formed by the rocks. The uneven floor makes it difficult for Rael to walk on. The tunnel ends and opens up to a large cave with dozens and dozens little huts made of rocks, it looks like a small town made of stone. Rael walks through the paths that weave between the stone huts and sees a face staring at him from one of the windows. It’s too dark to see inside properly and the face quickly ducks down as Rael walks past.
He rounds a corner and in front of Rael is an open area, a gathering place like a town square or a twisted, stone-age version of Times Square. There are a group of a dozen or so figures and they’ll all dressed in dark robes with their backs to Rael. The closest one to him turns around and speaks. “Hellay.”, he says, with an arm extended expecting Rael to shake it. As the figure moves closer, coming toward Rael and dragging his left leg behind, Rael gets a clearer look at his face. It is covered in open sores, puss-filled pimples and slimy lumps. A jelly-like translucent drool drips form his mouth, with a smile that slides across his chins, all four of them. The closer he gets, the more horrific he looks. Continually smiling, his teeth are almost black and most probably have their own micro ecosystem and life living on them.
Now standing just in front of Rael, he can see that the lumps on the figure’s skin are pulsating, full of bile and puss. His arm is still out and waiting for Rael to shake his hand, which is covered in a slippery goo. “No way I’m touching that!”, Rael’s voice in his head screams. “Please Rael, don’t be alarmed.” The figure slurs and dribbles. He begins to move his extended hand. “Join us, please come.” He says while waving his hand in welcome. He leads Rael to the group of other things, all the disgusting same as he. They form a circle around Rael and he quickly becomes a centerpiece. The leader of the group speaks. “We, like you Rael, experienced the Lamia. We all dipped ourselves into the pink waters and were seduced. We all feasted on their flesh, to then be brought here to this Colony of Slippermen.” The translucent drool drips from his mouth and splashes onto the stone floor as he speaks, and one of the pulsating lumps on his face suddenly bursts, sending a shower of red blood and green bile spurting out. “This is your fate too Rael. The Lamia regenerate themselves and welcome their next victim and we continue to grow in number. You’ll be a Slipperman soon.”
“Me? Like you? Like that? No fucking way!” Rael snaps back. “Oh but Rael, it has already begun and cannot be avoided.” He slips one of his twisted hands into his robe, removes a small hand mirror and holds it up to Rael’s face. Rael is greeted by an image of his own face, now with several small spots and pimples, the beginning of all of the lumps and sores that cover the others. In time, Rael will be just the same.
“There may be a cure.” One of he other Slippermen in the group says and pulls down the hood on his robe to reveal his face. It’s John! He looks somewhere between becoming a full-on Slipperman and where Rael is in the transformation. He has several lumps and bumps on his face, but he’s not as drooling and twisted as the others, not yet. Rael is still able to recognize his brother… just.
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The brothers find a quiet spot in the colony, away from the other Slippermen so that they can talk. “A cure?” Rael asks John. “Maybe, I’m not sure. It’s just a rumor I heard when I first got here. There’s a Doktor that can help. But I’ve never seen him myself.” Even if there’s only a small chance, it has to be worth a shot. The alternative is to just sit around and become one of “them” and wait to welcome the Lamia’s next victim, stuck in a never ending cycle.
John tells Rael that this Doktor is a bit of a hike away, on the other side of the colony and just under 3 miles away, and if they don’t make it in time, there is no going back. They’ll both be full-blown Slippermen within the hour. As they set off, the leader of the Slippermen cries out “You’ll soon be back. There is no cure. You are one of us now Rael.” The brothers ignore the warning and set out on their trek. John, being further along in the transformation, slows him down and his legs are not as mobile as his younger brother. Rael offers a shoulder to help, but John refuses the aid. they walk along the rocky-path and the stone huts become more derelict. They soon find themselves in the ghetto area of this Colony of Slippermen. This was the South Bronx of this bizarre underground world and this Doktor (if he even exists) would most definitely be a backstreet quack.
John points to a building in the distance and his hand begins to look a lot like the leader of the Slippermen, his face covered in even more slimy lumps, he doesn’t have long left. “There, the Doktor.”, John manages to slur out. Rael impatiently knocks on the door and it slowly opens with a creak. Standing in front of Rael is a beast of a man, 6 foot 6, at least and as wide as a dump truck. Rael doesn’t even need to say a word, the Doktor looks both of them up and down and invites them in. “Please do come in.” He says with a stereotypical German accent. “I’m Doktor Dyper and I can guess why you’re here.”
There is no reception and in middle of the room is a dirty medical table with various cabinets around the walls and a full-length mirror on the back of the door. Rael glances at himself in the mirror and can see that his own transformation has moved along quite a bit. More lumps and bumps on his face and they have now spread to his chest, arms and legs. A thin drool drips out of his mouth. But John is so much worse and only has a few minutes or so before the point of no return.
“You both seek treatment, yes?”, Doktor Dyper asks. Rael nods. “But him first.”, Rael says as he points to John. “Yes, yes. He is a very advanced case.” Dyper says as he prods and pokes John and his many puss-filled lumps. “Now, you do understand what this treatment entails, yes?” Honestly, Rael never thought to ask, nor did he really care. Anything has to be better than becoming one of those slubberdegullions back there. Just to get things moving, Rael says “Yes” and urges the Dok to do his work ASAFP. Doktor Dyper taps his hand on the medical table in the middle of the room, inviting John to begin his treatment… whatever it is. John lies down on the table and the good Doktor walks over to one of the crudely constructed cabinets against the wall. He rummages around in drawers and cupboards for a while before returning to the table. In one hand he holds a large needle, an anesthetic he says. The other hand grasps a large and slightly rusted cleaver that has definitely seen better days. The Dok opens up John’s robe as he lies on the table and injects the anesthetic directly into John’s intimate organ, which has developed is own set of lumps and bumps. Doktor Dyper looks at a clock on the wall, timing and waiting for the anesthetic to take effect. He then grabs John’s tackle with one hand and swipes the cleaver with the other. With John’s Johnson in the Doktor’s hand, blood spurts out over the medical table as Rael watches in complete horror.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!”, Rael cries out and he winces at the same time. “Now Rael, calm down.” The Dok says as he quickly bandages John up to stem the blood and pulls and adult diaper up over his legs. “This is all perfectly normal and your bother will be 100% soon enough.” He’s not lying either, within less than a minute, the lumps and bumps begin to recede and they are fully gone soon after. John’s body is completely clear of the Lamia’s infection and he is back to normal… except for the now not having a cock bit. Doktor Dyper slips John’s member into a sterile yellow plastic tube. After a quick wipe down of the table and cleaver, he invites Rael to have his treatment. Rael pauses for a few moments and weighs up his options. Option one: turn down the good Doktor’s offer, become a Slipperman and live out the rest if his life here underground in a colony of grotesquely twisted ex-humans. Option two: hop on the table have his windscreen wiper removed, become a living Ken doll and just maybe, find a way out of this place. “Okay.”, Rael says as he pulls his jeans down and gets on the table. “Doc the dick Dok.”
And here it comes, anesthetic followed by the swipe of the cleaver. “I’m sorry Rael, I should’ve sharpened it first.” The Doktor says. Rael glances down at his tool expecting to see it gone and a pool of blood. In one of the Doktor’s hands is Rael’s pecker, in the other is the cleaver that is only part way through the base of the shaft. Doktor Dyper wiggles and jiggles the blade free and the blood seeps out of the half-cut wound. The Doktor takes the cleaver over to one of his cabinets and digs about for a sharpening stone, and he drags the blade of the cleaver over it several times. “Okay, that should do it… I think.” He says before coming back over to the table and taking another swipe, this time with more success. On go the bandages, on goes the diaper and Rael’s John Thomas is placed into a its own yellow plastic tube.
Rael looks in the mirror on the back of the door and just as quickly as John, he is cured. Doktor Dyper presents the brothers with two gold chains, on which the sterile yellow plastic tubes are hanging, which contain their most precious organ. “People tend to wear them around their necks. The operation does not necessarily exclude use of the facility again – for short periods, at least. But of course, when you want it you must provide me with considerable advance warning.” The Doktor says and before the brothers even have time to think, they are then pushed out of his surgery and back on to the streets. Doktor Dyper just has time to tell Rael and John to get moving away from the Slippermen and away from the colony before they are seen. As Slippermen, they would be accepted, but they are now “unclean” (to them) and alien. They’d be killed before the knew what had happened. John slips his gold chain over his head and wears his little fella like a necklace, Real favors to keep his yellow tube in his hand… for now.
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It’s not so easy to walk when your groin has been pumped full of anesthetic and after you’ve just had your beef jerky removed by a questionable backstreet quack with a non-too-sharp blade. Rael and John hobble along, trying to find a way out. Being on the outskirts of the colony, they soon find a small passageway cut into the rocks and make a swift exit. Rael and John find a quiet spot in a large open, very high ceiling cave (if there even is a ceiling, its too dark to see that high up) with multiple tunnels and offshoots leading away. Rael tries to move in and offer John a brotherly hug. Together, they can find a way out of this place. But John refuses the sibling affection offer, putting both of his hands up in front of his chest and signaling for Rael to move back. Just as Rael is about to question John on his strange behavior, there’s a thunderous, fluttery sound above their heads. Rael looks up and see a black cloud. Somewhat different to the one he saw back on Broadway, this one is “fluffier” but sleek at the same time.
Rael watches as the fluffy cloud flies closer and as it does, he hears a rising in pitch, gurgling croak of a hundred and one ravens. The cloud of ravens disperses and flies overhead, due to their scavenger-like nature. One of the larger ravens, a huge black beast of a bird, suddenly swoops down and snatches Rael’s gold chain and yellow tube, “little Rael” tucked inside and all, right from big Rael’s hand. The huge raven then flies towards one of the tunnels and lands on a rock at the entrance. There’s a chance to retrieve his a yellow plastic shoobedoobe and Rael urges John to help get the elusive detached member back. “I will not chase a black raven. Down here you must read and obey the omens. There’s disaster where the raven flies.” John says before walking away. Just like back in the cage, John deserts Rael once more.
Rael needs to make a snap decision. Does he go with John and wave goodbye to his doodle for good, or does he try to get his intimate property back from the raven and then try to catch up with John later? John disappears down one of the passageways as the raven stands there with Rael’s yellow tube in its beak, staring at Rael (much like how the lamb stared at him on Broadway) in front of a different way out. Rael makes the call and decides that he has to try and get his precious member back. Rael turns to face the raven and gives chase… as best as he can, what with his groin pumped full of anesthetic and after he’d just had his Beef Jerky removed by a questionable backstreet quack with a non-too-sharp blade.
The raven is quick, bird-like quick, in fact. The big, black bird sets off flying along the tunnel. Though it keeps a steady pace, as if to lure Rael close to it, before speeding up and staying just ahead. The tunnel is long, narrow and it twists and turns. Rael runs as fast as he can, the raven speeds up and keeps maintaining a close – but too far for Rael to grab distance. Every now and then, the raven looks back as if to mock Rael as he gives chase. Rael runs as hard as he can and just prays that his undercarriage will sustain. The raven slows and Rael catches up. Much closer now than before, his fingers are centimeters away from the Raven’s wedge-shaped tail and Rael reaches out to grab it. The raven speeds up again and leads Rael out of the twisty tunnel.
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It opens up to an enormous, cavernous subterranean ravine. Wild waters rush below and smash into the jagged rocks creating an almighty sound. There’s a large wooden sign with R-A-V-I-N-E written in blue watery letters. The raven takes one last look at Rael and flies over the ravine and drops his cargo, Rael’s intimate tool, into the violent waters down far below. It’s enough to drive a poor boy ravin’ mad. It’s too steep to climb and there’s no way down, no safe way at least. A jump or dive from this high up would dislocate joints or even break bones, a lot of bones. Then the rough waters and strong current would smash Rael into the rocks. All he can do is impotently stand at the top of the steep cliff and watch as his most important yellow tube bobs away, lost forever in this underground cave of hell.
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Rael walks along the gorge’s edge, following the flow of the waters below. He’s not holing out hope of ever finding his appendage again. He accepts that it is lost and just perhaps, all is lost. With his brother John gone too, Rael begins to accept that this is his life now. There is no way out, no way home. Well… there may be one way out.
There’s a path that cuts into the rock and descends that runs alongside the gorge’s edge. Rael makes his way down the path, inching closer to the fast moving water as the idea of taking his own way out enters his mind. He could step into the cold waters and let nature takes its course. He’ll either freeze and gently drift away with the water, or be smashed and pulverized by the rocks. Either way, he thinks he’d be in a better place then he is now. Rael dips a toe into the water, it is freezing cold and sends a shock that sprints up his spine. It’ll be cold, but painless… he hopes. This is it, this is the end of Rael’s story. He prepares himself to end his suffering, end his own life. He’s just about to step into the water when he hears a loud static sound, like a TV station going off the air. It’s coming from above, way above. Rael looks up toward the sound and sees a large window embedded into the bank above the gorge. The window flickers into action and soon displays Broadway. Not some vision that Rael can’t touch, not a daydream but the real Broadway, as if being broadcast live on TV but in three dimensions, a portal back. Yellow taxis pick up and drop off patrons for their nightly fix of sex and sleaze. Giant JVC, Midori Melon Liqueur, Casio and Coca-Cola ads dominate in Times Square. The bright neon signs cut through the night and shine in all their glory. “My home!” Cries Rael.
He walks back up he path and toward the large window-shaped portal embedded further up in the rock face. The sounds of 42nd Street get louder the closer he gets. Car horns sound off along with the beeping of the WALK/DON’T WALK crosswalk signs. He’s close enough to smell New York now. That distinct odor of the hot dog cart guy – onions, ketchup, mustard and whatever the hell is actually in those wieners. This is his way out, this is his way back and his tormented nightmare is finally over. Walking to the very top of the gorge. Rael looks back, the path down that was cut into the rock has gone, he only has one way to go now… home. His heart, now a little bristly, is shaken by a surge of joy and he starts to run, arms wide open, to the way out. The portal is out of reach, and about 10 foot or so above his head. The rock face is jagged and but climbable. There’s a small ledge, no wider than Rael’s own feet, sitting comfortably below the portal exit. All Rael has to do is climb up there, pull himself up to the ledge and get into that portal, and back to New York City.
Rael begins his ascent and his fingers clasp that small ledge. At this precise point in time his ears pick up, a voice screaming for help echoes throughout the cave. Someone is struggling in the rapids below. It’s John! Rael pauses for a moment remembering how his brother had abandoned him earlier, twice. Then Rael’s window out of here begins to fade – it’s time for action, Rael must decide. He climbs back down and places his feet back onto terra firma, he turns to face the gorge and the cold river down below. John is screaming for help as the fast current pushes him along.
Rael looks back towards to portal, it’s fading fast. What if he did get back home, then what? Stepping out and back onto 42nd Street could just start the whole process all over again. Getting hit by that giant wall, like a fly on a windshield on a freeway, waking up and being trapped in the rocky cage, the factory of lifeless packaging, reliving the most embarrassing of his sexual adventures, getting out of that chamber of 32 doors, the Lamia, meeting the Slippermen, losing his windshield wiper and right back here. It would be an endless cycle, trapped in a bizarre and hellish purgatory – with no way out. But, what if Rael could break that cycle, what if saving John is the only real way out? “Hey John!” Rael calls out before stepping towards the very edge of the gorge. He turns and takes one last look back, the portal is all but gone, light dies down on Broadway. He is trapped here but there’s no way back down to the river. The path that once took Rael to the bank disappeared when he decided to try for the portal. The drop is huge and to jump in from here would be suicide. This would’ve suited Rael fine just a few minutes ago when he had nothing to live for, but now he has to save John. His heart races, he breathing gets heavier. Real walks to the very edge of the gorge, the thought of jumping does quickly enter his head, but leaves even quicker. There’s only one way, that’s to climb.
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Rael begins to scramble down the rock face. His muscles ache and the blood in his veins feel like acid. John is being carried away by the current, and Rael does his best to make his way down while following the flow of the river at the same time. It’s tough, the rocks are sharp, the footing is loose, the incline is steep. Rael stumbles, he slips, he trips – but he keeps on going. There is a faster way, ride the scree. Instead of fighting the loose rocks, Rael succumbs to them, he lets them dictate his way down. Like a surfer on the waves hitting Rockaway Beach, he glides and slides down the gorge, the rocks used as his sea, his surf. Rael is more than halfway down now, but even with riding the scree, it’s still not fast enough. John will surely drown if Rael does not get to him soon.
There’s a rocky ledge jutting out just below him, Rael adjusts his trajectory and slides towards it. He feet only just reach as the rocks continue to rumble down around him. John is fading, he can’t have much strength left as he cries for help sound softer. A very weak “help” leaves John’s his lips, maybe for the last time. Rael has no choice, he has to jump now. He’s much closer to the water than before when he was at the top of the gorge. The impact won’t be as damaging but could still knock the wind out of him, especially with how cold that fast flowing river is. He can’t delay, he has to ditch his fear, Rael needs to take a dive. There’s time for a few deep breaths. “Evel Knievel, you got nothing on me”, Rael mutters to himself before bending his legs, poising himself and there he goes! Pushing away from the ledge with his legs, Rael takes a dive.
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He splashes down deep into the icy water, just a few feet ahead of John. The cold river is a shock to the system that stops, and then immediately re-starts his heart. Like a fuel injection on a 1967 Pontiac GTO, a shot of adrenaline right where and when it was needed. Rael swims up to the surface, grabs a nearby rock and has only a few seconds to catch his breath. John is being carried by the strong current and all Rael has to do is reach out and grab his brother. The drop in temperature makes that a lot more difficult than it sounds. Rael’s fingers feel like icicles – he’s not even sure that he could grip John. With one had firmly wrapped around the rock, Rael pushes with his feet under the water, to get and close to John as possible. His other arm stretches out just as John drifts by. Those icicle fingers clasp John’s wrist, but the force of the water makes keeping a hold impossible. Rael knows what he has to do. He lets go of the rock and grabs John with both hands, then wraps his arms around his brother’s waist tightly.
With no rock being used as an anchor, both Rael and John are forced along the river. The flow goes faster and as the rapids get bumpier. The harder the water does its best to separate the brothers, the tighter Rael holds on to try to save both of their lives. Swirling and spiraling, Rael and John have no choice but to literally go with the flow as the undertow takes control. As cold as he is, Rael begins to feel hot, burning up – hypothermia? The two ride the rapids for a while and then, it all goes calm.
The river is no longer trying to kill, it is peaceful and even warming. Rael’s body temperature stabilizes as he and John gently float towards dry land where the river ends in an oasis. The hard jagged edges of the rocks and the freezing cold water soon becomes a distant memory that makes way for a soft and sandy bank and beautifully temperate water to match. While Rael is recovering, John may not be quite so lucky. Rael unhooks his arms from around his brother’s waist and pulls him ashore. Dragging John’s limp and face down body out of the water to dry land, Rael flips his brother over, so that he is facing upwards, ready to try to administrator CPR. Real had read about Leonard Cobb’s mass CPR training program in Seattle in the newspaper a while back, he’d seen it done on TV shows. Admittedly, he’d never done it himself, but Rael was partly confident that he could give it a go. With John unresponsive and nobody else around, what choice does he have?
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He readies himself, Rael fills his lungs with the warm air surrounding him and looks down at John lying on the ground. Something is not quite right and that warm air in his lungs soon turns very bitter. Staring at his brother’s face, Rael quickly notices… that’s not John, it is him. Looking back at Rael are his own eyes and they stare deep into Rael’s soul, to the point where he could even feel it. Rael cannot look away from those eyes, mesmerized by his own image. In a quick movement, his consciousness darts from one body to the other, then back again, until his presence is no longer solidly contained in one or the other. It was all tool much for Rael and his head fills with bizarre thoughts. Snippets of his life in New York, his efforts as a low-level street thug trying to make his way in the gang life – his time here (wherever here is) and the strange adventure that he had been sent on. Nothing made any sense, did it even matter anyway? They do say that your life flashes before you eyes just before you die, maybe this is exactly what is happening right now?
There was a sudden and sharp pain, a blistering migraine that shoots through his synapses and wormes its way through each and every brain cell, it was unbearable. Rael raises his hands to his head in an attempt to ease the pain, his nose begins to seep blood. It is no good, he felt like his head would explode and that was the last thing he would feel before his body slumps to the floor, unconscious…
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