The night the Rhymer went whack

53

You are the dancing queen, young and sweet—only seventeen

[. . .]having the time of your life.

Having spent hours alone on a park bench, Nick finally raised his head and looked around. And within just a short period, he witnessed a half dozen murders, just as many rapes, homelessness abound and countless strong arm robberies. He smirked, thinking about how he was going to take the messed up-ness to a whole nother level. He summoned over one of the many dogs laying around and stroked it lovingly. He growled alpha male-like and gained its assurance. Then, without warning, he grabbed the pit bull’s neck and choked its life away, all without a murmur from any of the other canines. He then whistled over one of the homeless men he saw spewing about, further enticing him with a shiny red apple. The man sheepishly obliged and came over and sat. While enjoying his treat, Nick summoned the dogs to attack and they swiftly devoured him until there was nothing left, except for the stem which one dog sniffed, licked and tongued into his mouth. He spat it out as Nick watched pleasingly, soaking in the cruelty and gore, creating a tolerance for what was to come.

The dawn’s sun was beginning to rise and he was getting hungry, so he headed to get a meal. Disheveled and penniless he entered the nearest diner anyway and sat. A sweet elderly waitress approached and Nick smiled, asking, “What’s your favorite song?”

She stood straight and thought then replied with a few current tunes that were popular but Nick interrupted. “No, all-time. Your favorite song ever.”

And with that she parked her hand on her hip and regrouped her focus thinking back and enjoying her mental trip down memory lane. “Gosh,” she answered, “it’s been so long since I’ve heard any of the songs I remember growing up. But if there is one, one that I have to pick as my all-time favorite. I’m ’a go with ABBA’s Dancing Queen. Oh how I loved that song!”

With that que, Nick began and belted out their greatest hit as if Anni-Frid and Agnetha were right there in person holding concert. He even mimicked the instruments. Perfectly. The waitress, she stood shocked for a moment before relaxing and closing her eyes and holding onto that very moment forever, taking herself back into her early life, into love, peace and harmony. She swayed her hips, hugged her shoulders, twirled a ditty and mouthed the words. Needless to say, Nick enjoyed a feast fit for a king as she hummed the tune of her better years for the rest of her day.

So that’s what Nick did. Belly now full he went out on the street corner and randomly asked passersby what they’d like to hear, then he sang it. The Temptations, Fleetwood Mac, lullabies, hymnals, anthems and mostly Michael Jackson, people loved Michael Jackson, and the crowds swelled. Thousands came and stood and cheered, violence aside, as he performed a perfect rendition of each request. He performed until dusk, then clicked his tongue, hummed, chortled whistled and popped his cheeks. This mesmerized the sizable audience into calmness before he instructed them to disperse. He held complete and total control as they disbanded before eventually turning back into their murderous and thieving ways.

He didn’t stay put, he continued on making his way throughout the land and pleasing the crowds with the music of the past. There seemed not to be a song that he didn’t know or a note he couldn’t hold and his fanbase soon exploded. Just what he wanted.

In just a year’s time, the entire world had heard of Nick, the young man who could sing and mimic any song. The elderly, like the waitress, mainly to recapture the sounds of their youth flocked to Nick to escape the volatile world they now inhabited. This proved to be unfortunate because as soon as he dispersed the crowds, these were the first victims when the world’s ills reset. And sometimes Nick provoked this. He’d end his performance then squeal with a high pitch, creating a murderous frenzy as the senior citizens departed. Nick would just stand and watch, immune to the carnage, smirking.

His mindset was to rule the world, so in order to achieve complete dominion, he had to be King Evil, which he called himself. Everything done violently had to be more graphic and profane as anything he had ever done so he practiced his manipulations daily, ordering his canine protection to savagely rip apart strangers, employing motorists to mow down unsuspecting pedestrians and not just dogs, he’d summon massive birds to swoop and peck to death toddlers as their moms tried in vain to fend off the attacks. He became heartless and brutal yet people were still drawn to him. He’d lure them in with a hum or a whistle, and once approached, he’d enact his deathly procedures.

He had heard of Reshod’s terror so that became his standard barrier—to out evil the most ruthless killer that ruled the countryside and take his place as King Evil.

Death. It wasn’t just the murdering, some of his fans following him wanted to die. Word was out of how he could impose death at will, stir up a killing spree induced by man or animal, so the sick and feeble were led to his feet. “End it” they’d plea. “Please,” begging with arms open wide, “I’m ready,” would be their final statement as Nick would oblige, perfecting his craft of dominion over life and death through sound. He knew the correct pitch to summon his dogs or to activate a person’s killing instinct or even to provoke someone into a ravenous suicidal rage.

So he pressed on, Jesus-like, across the globe. His entourage grew as people were curious about “the boy who could sound everything,” all the while he kept perfecting his gift. Humans were first, dogs second and now he had the full ability to communicate with birds and small rodents, but deep down, he wanted the big game, the un-domesticated and most savage, thus he headed to Africa.

***

With his confidence rivaling arrogance, he arrived on the dark continent expecting the same crowds and fanfare as elsewhere except, there was none. At first he enjoyed the solitude by taking long walks, exploring the countryside and frolicking near the riverbanks and enjoying the break from the hordes of crowds, but soon his curiosity got the best of him.

Out strolling, he stopped and searched around at the extensive landscape of luxurious and lush dense grass. He bent and placed his ear to the earth and listened, intently, and what he found brought forth a smile then a laugh then he settled back in the greenness and fell into a deep sleep.

His quest led him to stay with some tribes, enter a remote village and visit amongst the oldest humans. And like the rest of the continent they had never heard of him but they welcomed this shaggy, straight-haired stranger with open arms. He’d grown since he had left a couple of years ago, now taller, more slender but with the muscular definition of a traveler. Still little facial hair just hints of whiskers poked through his chin. His skin had darkened as he had transitioned from mostly inside at his window to now having a oneness with the sun.

As he strolled in with just a backpack slung over his shoulder, at first the kids approached, palms faced up ready to receive gifts. The women, upon seeing this, shooed them away and invited Nick over for a meal. He sat and listened to them hum, sing and cook; their melodies mixing the yams, rice, beans and stew with the sounds of the forest. He smiled again, marveling at the rhythm and the solidarity the villagers had with their existence.

Deep in the jungle, away from the cities and out on the plains where he now was, was mostly spared from the war and destruction. Africa was massive and they were very far from the rebellious nations. Looking around, most probably didn’t even know the war had taken place as they continued with their daily lives unaffected. As he sat there listening, noticing their rhythm and how in tune everyone was to their surroundings, he grinned again. The kids’ screaming play, the songs of the birds, the bleating of the livestock and even the clucking of the chickens were in tune with the banging of the pots and pans. Pure magic, he thought, thousands of years of old, pure magic perfected by way of simplicity, respect and an understanding of existence dictated by rhyme.

Yet, they hadn’t spoken. Language was not needed, just actions commanded the presence as everyone went about the business of their assigned tasks, sweeping, pulling weeds, gathering berries and all. All while making Nick feel comfortable and welcomed. And when the men returned, they too welcomed this stranger, inviting him over for smoke and drink and the good meat from their hunt.

By definition, hunter gatherers need to be consistently on the move to survive, so the next morning they invited Nick to join their hunt. Walking for hours singing and laughing, Nick was in heaven. Having thought he had heard everything he was now entombed in a world he thought only he was a part of. Not as strong as his, but they had developed a keen sense of awareness and were reacting to every little sound along the way. Nick noticed their heads swivel at the tiny sounds of insects, something he could never had witnessed where he was raised. He soon realized that the joy he saw spewing forth from these tribal warriors could only come from deep within their hearts, a learned behavior that they had developed over centuries of generations.

Then the roar. It startled Nick, stopping him in his tracks. The warriors laughed and when it sounded again Nick’s fears intensified. The lead scout intervened and motioned to Nick that the roar was very far away, which eased his concerns. As the roaring continued Nick got more comfortable and eventually he stopped and placed his ear to the ground. He closed his eyes and studied it, alternating from left ear to the ground then the right. He learned it and in a few moments, mimicked it exactly. This time louder and more profound.

Now who’s startled? he thought as many escaped into the trees. Nick laughed as he saw the fear and retreat amongst the warriors. He now had their attention as a few finally descended and regained their composure. They stared in wonder at his mouth, circling him with amazement then gesturing for him to do it again. He did, startling some once more and again they requested, increasing their ease until they too were able to laugh and smile in wonder. Then Nick replicated the trumpeting of an elephant. It sounded good but the peculiar looks on the warriors’ faces surprised him. He repeated and again they still looked confused.

Then the leader got an idea and summoned everyone to follow him. They walked for miles until Nick heard it, the true trumpet sound of a wild elephant. He smiled, lifted his ears and internalized what he was hearing until he felt comfortable enough to replicate it. They all stood in readiness as Nick vocalized an exact rendition of the elephant’s call to a round of laughs, claps and marvels at his ability.

Nick was a new subject injected into their ecosystem. They had fun while he mimicked the frogs, the birds and the insects, but he could disrupt their way of life, intentionally or not, and that could prove dangerous and this must’ve been what was on the chief’s mind as he gestured for Nick’s silence. No more mimicking, trumpeting or roars. They completed their hunt successfully in silence as Nick was fine with the quietness because he was able to continue absorbing all the new sounds he was experiencing deep in the jungle a million miles away from whence he came, exactly where he wanted to be.