The night the Rhymer went whack

48

Just because someone’s situation is bleak, they can still possess the heart of a lion. They just need to be able to roar to remind them who they are.

“We met many years ago when Reshod was about eight or nine years old. His town, along with most of the residents, was completely destroyed just after the beginning of The Great War. It was in retaliation, pure hatred. Most of the residents were from the countries that started the coup and some were even related to the nineteen kings so they cheered what was taking place and word got out. As a result the citizens of France took their anger out on Reshod’s hometown. His family, neighbors, friends, they thought they had killed everyone but Reshod and a few of his companions escaped and survived. I was headed to South Africa on a military flight”—he stuttered hoping he won’t see a peculiar look asking why? on her face—“but when we got just above France, a missile hit the plane and we crashed. Me and a few soldiers survived and found ourselves combing the land for refuge and that’s when we stumbled upon what was left of Reshod’s hometown. He was dirty, shivering and crying, hiding in a drainage ditch surrounded by the bodies. I assume some used to be his friends. They all looked around the same age. The soldiers, seeking revenge for the crash and pissed off at the impending war, drew their weapons and were intent upon more destruction. They wanted to execute Reshod right there on the spot, but I intervened and secured the young lad’s freedom. And that’s when the soldiers and I parted ways. They wanted to continue their mission, and plus, surrounded by nothing but ruins, the landscape wasn’t inviting them to stay. I knew by then that I wasn’t making it to South Africa, so with nowhere else to go, I decided to stay. That deeply pleased Reshod, especially since I had just saved his life.

“He wasn’t the only survivor, there were quite a few others actually that were able to escape and as soon as the soldiers were out of sight Reshod ran and got them. He called me his savoir and told the others that it was ok to come out of hiding, and when they did, we, together, rebuilt the town. The world got destroyed, but from the bottom up, we created a utopia in our own making, exactly like how we wanted it to be. Exactly what you became a part of when you met Dashet. The Seine, which is where I was, was the first haven, and with the festive atmosphere, it was perfect. Centered around music, which produced more dance, then art, then everything else that was creative. Farmland was abundant and the crops plentiful so we were all well-fed. The only desire was happiness and there was plenty of that.” His eyes smiled as he reminisced.

“About two years in, it began. The war had long been over and much of the world was destroyed, but like Reshod and his town’s people, a few stragglers had also survived and they would come from the hills and neighboring towns. First they’d destroy the crops, still mad and hurt from the war that destroyed their way of life and now jealous of the joy we were having. Then soon they started trying to invade and take our land. We needed protection and formed it and us men were able to secure our borders, but sometimes they’d get through and cause death and destruction. And after each of these episodes they always looked to me for guidance and for a way to stop it. I didn’t have any answers. I just hoped and promised them that it wouldn’t happen again, but eventually it did and again I had no answer. But I needed to find one because the attacks started to become more frequent and threatening our existence.

“Be proactive, I thought, attack them before they attack us. And that’s where Reshod came in. He wasn’t quite yet a teenager I don’t think, still small, but ever since I had saved his life and he saw what we had built he was always at my feet asking if he could do anything for me.” Straffe smiled as he reminisced. “He was adorable and oh-so loyal, and at first I just thought maybe he could be a scout, go out and sneak and spy on the surrounding areas and maybe find out if an attack was being planned. This is what I explained to him when we spoke about it, ‘Just go out and find out as much as you can.’ Then he asked me what he should do when he finds someone planning on doing us harm, ’kill ’em?’ It never occurred to me. Murder. Proactivity, yes, but killing? My mind raced. No, I thought, but we needed protection. Again, no, popped into my mind but, the raids needed to be stopped. Then I looked into Reshod’s eyes and saw that they wanted a ‘yes.’ They pleaded with me to unleash the pain, the heartache and years of depravity. Not just in his short life but the centuple depression of his ancestors. He wanted to, he needed to, and it was up to me to allow it. ‘Yes,’ I affirmed. ‘Kill them.’ And right then and there, I created a killer.

“Reshod was relentless. He scouted, brought back all news, bad and good, and killed. He rounded up a few of his buddies and together they’d sometimes come strolling out of the hills dragging a few of the dead bodies. Or they’d just bring the heads as trophies. ’Caught ’em spying just up the way,’ they’d say, proud, engulfing in the cheers of, once again, protecting the community. He and his band would raid towns, slaughtering what was left of the citizens and I became numb to it as long as it was to protect what we created, even when he seemed to have gone too far. Eventually, all of his recruits, as they got older, grew tired of the killings and the constant spy games. They became men and wanted to settle down and enjoy the fruits of the town and make some music, paint or whatever. They wanted to enjoy what they were protecting but Reshod seemed to relish in the killings more and more, and soon, he became a master at it.

“Out scoping one day, miles from home, Reshod discovered a haven very similar to ours. Most of the residents there also had kin from the revolutionary countries and they too had been consistently besieged by outsiders intent upon destroying their attempt at their own utopia. As soon as he found this out, Reshod rushed back home and explained to me what he just learned. He wanted to help and I saw no harm in him doing so. They needed assistance therefore I gave Reshod my blessing, but little did I know that this was the seed in planting these havens all across the world. Reshod, in a sense, became my enforcer, the ‘keeper away’ of violence and together, that’s what we did. We traveled the world to places I knew were just like his home, survivors dying to break free and prosper their way without fear. All of these places we encountered were in fact just like ours. They had at least attempted to build upon the music they sang at the start of the war and those that were able to sustain the path, we helped them build stability me and Reshod. I instilled the know-how, he kept away all threats. It was perfect.

“And for many years we traveled everywhere doing just that; saving the world.” Straffe sat with melancholy, reminiscing. He looked away and paused before continuing. “But he went too far.” His last statement choked him up. “Since the world had changed for the worse and all this evil took over, it was like, he became king of that evil. The devil. Possessed. Something changed inside of him and instead of protecting our havens he eventually became a part of what we were fighting against. He agreed with teaching others how to kill, maim, rape and plunder; the only stipulation being that they could harm anyone even each other, but the compounds were off limit. And they were all fine with that. Where I thought we were traveling the world and protecting it from evil he was out there creating it, feeding it, training it and nurturing it. I had created a monster.”

He painfully rose and walked over to a mirror and stroked his hair. “Years we did this and when I found out and confronted him, he confessed to all the unnecessary killings and the further creation of evil he was doing. He didn’t deny any of it and went in depth with all the gory details. I was shocked and appalled, more so to myself than toward him, but he went too far. Unforgiveable, and he must’ve seen the disappointment in my eyes as he was telling me all of it. A killer, he was, he told me, a stone-cold killer, perfect for the world both he and I created. He just needed justification and I wasn’t giving it to him so he decided to continue his lust and in order to stay motivated to his desires, he needed an adversary and that’s when he and I parted ways . . .