On this weeks edition of Throwback or Throw Up, where I take an old piece I wrote and spruce it up, we follow a man who apparently has become immortal. Be sure to let me know in the comment section if you liked the updated better version or not.
Being immortal definitely has its perks. Would I ever give it up? Heck no. It’s just too much freaking fun. The journey to get there though, boy that was a thorn in the ass. Now, as I look back I realize of how much I was an ass, but none of that matters now, that is, because I’m immortal. However, I would never have accepted this generous gift of the gods, if my spouse couldn’t have joined me. Yes, I said gods, as in plurality. The Greek gods to be sure of ourselves, now. But before I get too far ahead of myself, let us begin where my life, went down a hillside, so to speak.
Southside Brooklyn: July 24 2012, 12:34 am
Blue and red lights flashed in the back-round as I rolled down the hill, laughing drunk.
“Come on man, get your drunken ass up, we gotta get the fuck out of here!” Sam shouted.
I rose to my feet and staggered, through the dark, to my friend. My breath stunk heavily of liquor, and my mind was foggy. I could hardly remember who I was. What was I doing again? I reached for my last can of beer inside my pocket. I twisted the cap off and took a swig.
“Whooo! Man I feel great!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, holding the bottle up into the air.
Whirling around in circles, half enjoying myself, and half searching for Sam, I found that he was gone. Dogs barked just above the hill, and raced down it towards me like starved cannibals. Ha. Cannibals, I wonder what they taste like? Probably cannibally, yeah, they’d taste cannibally.
The dogs ripped their teeth into my arms and I laughed without sanity.
I cried out, “Boys, boys! I surrender! Take me to your king so I can eat him, Whoooooo!” The dogs continued to rip my arms to shreds as if they were toys. I dropped to my knees, reluctantly. The dogs let go, as officers shouted, but I heard and saw nothing but of my beer on the ground going, drip, drip, drip. What a waste.
The wind blew and the bottle rolled so I could see the label. A piece of my sanity crept its way into my mind, because I could of sworn, I was drinking some corona. But now a man’s head was on the label, his eyes molten fire. His very image, made me want to leap into the air and fight off these dogs and there men, but that one piece of sanity was obliterated when the man’s head started to talk.
“You needn’t die yet; your journey has yet to begin. But if you wish, I will resume this moment in your time and you can get beat to death by these guards. Or I can give you a second chance, son of none, and you can face your real destiny, the true tale of a hero, a mortal becoming immortal.” The bottle man spoke.
I turned, and realized that the world had stopped, from what I could make of it in my broken state. The only thing that hadn’t stopped was me, and that included the blood flowing from my arms, pushing me to the brink of death.
I forced the words out, “Another chance.”
The man nodded solemnly, as if he’d rather not do this, but was ordered to. He snapped his fingers, and the world went black.
North side Queens: July 23 7:00 am
And now the NEW version!
Southside Brooklyn: July 24, 12:34 am
Sirens bellowed into the night, red and blue lights lit up the sky. Barks from both men and dog snapped at my ankles. The ground dipped, I sucked in a breath as my face flattened with the earth. My beer bottle tumbled away.
“Ah, no!” The world spun, a balloon deflating, my head bobbing as it whoopie cushioned.
A strong hand guided me up, I laughed and purple floated into the air.
“Get your ass up, I’m not bailing you out again.” Sam, an ochre blob blurring with the trees.
I followed the blob until my feet become noodles and my arms turning into tentacles, then I was on the ground again. My sweet home, the ground.
“Do you like the sweet sounds of jazz?” My lips massaged the ground, tongue sucking in the delicacies of dirt. I needed something to wash it down with, and behold in my pocket was a can of beer.
Clarity bubbled over me as the crisp sound of a can opening sprayed me in the face. The juices dribbled down my throat, “Yeah baby!”
A resurgence of power flowed through me, as if I was struck by rejected lightning. I used my tentacles to push onto my noodles. Just when I thought I had become a kraken, I became sushi.
Blood splattered against my face as a dog ripped at my tentacle, less flavorful juices soaking into the ground. They thrashed, pulling me into string cheese. I unthreaded, “Fuck you, Chef Boyardee!”
“Shut your mouth, dickhead.” A cop jammed his knee into my jaw. Yeah, that I saw with perfect clarity.
A strong gust of wind replaced his body parts, I became very aware of the sharp pains in my arm. Like jesus answering a Saturday for the boys call, a beer can rolled across the can and bumped his nose.
I looked at the can the way Popeye looked at spinach. My power came from the nectar, the mind erasing substance. Tomorrow, I would have no idea what happened.
Dots spliced across my vision, ringing in my ear, along with a “Stop resisting!”
Last I checked, my body was flaccid like a dick after ejaculation. I am a dick and I already ejaculated.
My mouth formed into a shape, I had to tell them I wasn’t resisting, “I ejaculated.”
“You have the right to die.” A gun clicked against my head, I heard the gunshot before it shattered the inside of my brain.
“Well, you’ve given me no choice but to intervene.”
I opened my eyes, my cheek still was glued to the grass fibers. They tickled my nose.
“Am I still alive?”
“Hey, over here chungus.” The head on the beer can spoke. The label read “Dionysus Craft.”
“Oh hey Dad.” I smiled, blood stained my teeth shiny gold.
“Fuck you. Let’s not die and repeat this next time, okay?”
I chuckled, “I think I see Emily Blunt.”
The head rolled it’s eyes, “I wish I never met your mom.”
The can crumpled. Shadows overtook the land.
North side Queens: July 23 7:00 am