“Nothing moves slower than a ship pulling into port, especially when it’s your first ever shore leave.”  

 

That was Christopher’s thought.  He had his share of the booty and he meant to spend it.  Spend it on whores.  Whether it was one – other worldly – queen of all whores… or a handful of the third round picks; he intended to spend all of his retched reward on some wenchy titties.

 

Y’see, Christopher was a prisoner on a Spanish vessel before he was freed by his pirate buddies.  Young, and afraid, Christopher was being held prisoner for crimes he most certainly did not commit.  En route back to Spain, he was accused of killing a Spanish plantation owner and his family before some privateers, turned pirates, captured the ship thinking it was bringing riches back to the Spanish crown.

 

(I know, right; sounds like there’s a whole-nother story to be told.  One that leads up to this story.  Like a whole trilogy of big budget movies that would ultimately tell the beginning of a drunken short story.  Someone call Peter Jackson.)

 

There being aboard the treasure on the ship which Christopher was held prisoner, the pirates decided to take on new crew members.  There not being enough room to take all the prisoners as new crew, the pirates took the youngest and those who seemed most fit for piracy.  Then the pirates turned loose the Spanish ship with a promise from her Captain to come back with something worth stealing.  Being that even the Spanish ship was not worth the taking.

 

And finally, for the first time since being freed by his pirate companions, Christopher was able to prove himself during a raid on a small port in the south of Cockburn Town.  A rumored tip from a drunkard bestowed on his colleagues turned out to be true and they seized a bounty fit for a king.

 

The raid was not his first time ashore since his de-prisonering, but it marked something special: his first kill.  He had finally proved himself a pirate.  And as such, he earned his first real shore leave.

 

And as mentioned above, he meant to spend his shore leave buying whores.  Whore and rum.

 

So as they finally moved into port and he was granted early leave for a job well done, he quickly scuttled down the gangway to the laughter and cheers of his fellow crewmen.  “Don’t forget boy, you’re looking for the Giggle Tavern!  And next time, you’ll have to stay back and help, no matter how many men you kill.”

 

Christopher eagerly wandered the narrow streets, already at a quarter chub, looking for Giggle Tavern.

 

When he finally did find the tavern, he paused, breathed deeply, and walked in at a normal pace.  He went straight to the counter and ordered a drink as not to look to eager for a whore.

 

When the first whore approached him, he instantly, without hesitation, followed her to the upstairs.

 

He returned about a minute later, tucking his shirt into his trousers.

 

With his extra looted coin he returned to the tavern’s drinking pit.  Less than a drink later he was ready for another whore. Less than two minutes after that he was ready for another drink. Like a prepubescent – prematurely ejaculating rabbit – he fucked.  He had the drive of a Jack Rabbit but the stamina of a bunny.  Drive is divine and inherent; stamina is conditioned.

 

(Y’all bitches wanna help with my stamina cuz my divine drive is throbbing?)  

 

He continued this lewd cycle for as many times your brain needs to accept a virgin pirate’s first fuckening.  I imagined it at a rate of about four fuckenings/per/hour.

 

Not that he had fucked more than a total of six whores; but that at that rate he did so fuck.

 

Returning from the sixth unholy bedding, he was greeted by the cheers of his piratical shipmates.

 

Shipmate, “I see the young Christopher already found himself a whore.”

 

Christopher, “I’ve already found six.”

 

The men cheered again, ordering up more drinks and debauchery.  The Giggle Tavern was known for many a thing, wretched and wenched, drunken and devious; but known for its good food, it was not.  Not discouraged, the men also ordered up some food.  The food on the ship is quite often rancid, while the food at the Giggle is less often rancid.

 

The men guffawed and rumbled into the night, taking over the tavern with celebration.

 

Not deterred by too much drink, Christopher withdrew himself into a corner trying to eat and slow the rum spins.  While in the corner, he pulled out a necklace from his shirt.  Attached to the necklace was a small stone or ceramic fist.  Inside the fist, presumably, judging on how the weight shifted when shook, was some type of liquid.  Christopher tried and tried to get the liquid out of the small stone fist.  Who knows, maybe inside the fist there was more rum.  Maybe some type of super rum.

 

His awkward fumbling drew the attention of one of the whores.  But not one of the entry level whores, one of the too hot to handle whores.  One of those whores you would imagine to be too expensive or too infamous for a novice nut clapper like Christopher.  And for Christopher to be honest, he would have to admit that he had not ever noticed this particular whore before.  He filtered all potential whores by perceivable price.

 

But now, he was approached by the queen whore.  Now, I don’t mean to diminish women.  And I especially do not mean to diminish whores.  I do not pretend to say that there is a hierarchy among whores.  But lets face it, some whores are better than other whores and they should be treated like the better whores they are.  All for the equality of whores; but if they got it, you can pay to flaunt it.

 

So now this super whore approached Christopher, “What do you have there sweety?”

 

Christopher, “I’m not sure what it is. It’s made some type of stone or whatever those fancy plates are made of.  And there’s something inside of it that I’m not sure how to get out.  I guess I could just break it open.”

 

The Whore grew excited in her tone, “No! Don’t do that.”

 

Christopher, “Why not? I want to see whats inside?”

 

The Whore, “Well, I mean to say, that necklace, its obviously important to you.”

 

Christopher, “Not really.  I pulled it off a man I killed.  My first ever.”

 

The Whore, “Your first ever necklace?”

 

Christopher, “No, The first ever man I killed.”

 

The Whore, “Then it should be even more important.  What is a pirate without at least one killing trophy?”

 

Christopher, “I guess, but I would very much like to know what’s inside the damn thing.”

 

The Whore, “Y’know, I’ve never seen you around here before.  This your first time at the Giggle?”

 

Christopher, now looking up from the fist for the first time during this conversation, “This is my first time ever at this port.”

 

The Whore, “Well then, Pirate, it would appear that you have reason a to celebrate.”

 

Christopher, not knowing how to talk to women, even the whoreish ones, “Oh for sure I have celebrated.  Six times even (he said as if it were a thing to be proud of).  And I don’t believe I have enough coin left for me to celebrate with you.  Certainly not enough to get you to Shimmer my Timber.”

 

The Whore, “Now be kind, not all whores are concerned with coin.”

 

Christopher, “They’re not?  Then why are you here?”

 

The Whore, “Listen boy, you obviously haven’t had enough food or water on your voyages and you have forgotten you manners.  Come with me, to my home, and I will feed you and bathe you and give you a clean bed for the night.  Then maybe you can tell me more about your first kill and that tiny fist around your neck.”

 

Christopher, “I don’t believe that is something I could afford.”

 

The Whore, “Boy! I have already told you, not all women are concerned with coin and treasure.  Some women want company.  Some women want to pamper and take care of others.”

 

Christopher, “Then what is it you want in exchange for my company and the chance to pamper me?”

 

The Whore, “Five silver.”

 

So, having enough coin to pay for the pampering, Christopher set off in the night with the whore.  The streets rocked side to side more than the ship.  His vision was wet and streaky but even a drunk Christopher knew there was little as enticing as a clean bed and a good meal.

 

Like a ghost ship adrift on auto pilot, Christopher wandered the streets with his whore guide and somehow managed to make it to the whore’s home.  He arrived mentally a few moments later.  The wood in her home was not local.  The smell of it reminded Christopher of his family home and his senses began to bring him back to his senses.  

 

The whore sat him at a small table and opened a pot of already stewing stew.

 

Christopher slightly perked in sobriety, “Now that smells nice.  What is it?”

 

The Whore threw in a few extra ingredients, “Stew. An old, but special recipe.  Now made extra special for you.”

 

Christopher, “Why so special for me?”

 

The Whore, “You’ve intrigued me.  Peaked my fancy.”

 

Christopher, “I peaked your fanny?  Pretty good on me for you being a whore and all.”

 

The Whore, “I said ‘my fancy’, and I am no whore.”

 

Christopher, “Not a whore? You sure dress like a whore?”

 

The Whore, who apparently is not a whore, “The manner of my dress has no baring on who I am.”

 

Christopher, “Sounds like something a whore would say.  No need to be ashamed, whore, I’ve already paid you your five silver.”

 

The Not Whore, “Here’s your silver, boy.  I have no need for the silver.  I’ve brought you here to hear more about that necklace.”

 

Christopher, “And speaking of the silver, when do I get that fanny. Wait – you said – is this a refund?”

 

The Non Whore, “Boy, I have no need, nor desire, for your carnal knowledge or for you silver.”

 

The Blue Ball Bringer stood up from her seat and made a bowl of the stew for Christopher.  She sat back at the table putting the bowl before him.

 

She continued, “I desire to hear the story of that necklace. How did you come by it?”

 

Christopher was confused, frustrated, anxious, and offended.  So basically he was horny.  Christopher was horny.  But he was also hungry.  And this Not A Whore had made something that perked his stomach’s libido.  Christopher began eating.

 

Christopher, mouth full, “Well, its like I said before, I killed this guy and he was wearing this, so I took it.”

 

The Meal Maker, “Did he fight you for it?  Protect it with his life?”

 

Christopher, nodding his head and eating some more, “Yeah, that’s the strange part.  We burst into this man’s shop, full of odd things.  We looted and destroyed his things.  He was passive and coward from my sight, but when I saw he was clenching this necklace, I wanted it.  I told him to give it to me.  He begged and bartered, asked me take whatever I wished, just leave him and the necklace alone.  I told him I only wanted the part in his hand, he could keep the necklace but he just shook his head and sobbed.  He was not a small man, he was not a meek man.  He was nearly twice my size and no more than half the age of an old man.  It seemed odd he would beg like a old woman.  Surely he could’ve given me a real fight.”

 

The Curious Cook, “So why would you have killed him?  Why not just take the necklace and be done with it?  Why not just leave him to mourn his losses?”

 

Christopher thought for a second, “I guess that’s what I intended to do.  I tried to take the necklace from him but his grip was strong.  A few of my shipmates laughed and egged the situation.  I tried and tried to break his grip but he refused to let go.  So I sliced his arm to free the necklace but he held stronger.  So I stabbed his hand but he still would not let go.  It seemed the more I hurt the man, the more he held on.  So, eventually, I became angry and stuck him in the gut, then in the throat, then in the head.  He let go.

 

“There were so many other things in that shop that were of value but I suppose I wanted that one thing I couldn’t have so easily.  I guess I wanted that thing I had to work extra hard for.”

 

The Listening Lady, “I don’t suppose you would be willing to trade for it, the necklace.  Sell it perhaps?  Five silver?”

 

Christopher, “You know, this is the best meal I have had since I can remember.  This is absolutely amazing.  I think, at this moment, I’m happier with the food.  Who knew a whore could cook?”

 

The Now-Irritated-Not-A-Whore became more stern, “I have told you, boy, I am no whore.  I would not sell myself.  I would no sooner be a slut than a slave to man’s lust.”

 

(Again, that’s this bitch’s opinion, not me.  I wholeheartedly support a bitch’s right to be a slut.  It’s empowering.)

 

She continues, “I am no whore.  I am no wench.  And as you sit there uncomfortable, trying to adjust your sitting, you find it harder and harder to move.  Before you just felt slow, you felt heavy.  You thought you had too much to drink.  Maybe you were just too sleepy.  But now you cannot move.  You cannot move your arms, your head, your toes.  Frozen to that chair.”

 

The fucking bitch was right.  Christopher was unable to move.  The harder he tried to move, the less he could.  He was rigor mortified.  He only had one goal, in two parts; retrieve the necklace and leave.

 

The woman took the necklace from Christopher and walked around the room examining it.  She held it up to the lantern and grinned.

 

She continued, “Y’see, this necklace has a spell on it.  A spell which guarantees it will always come back to me.  You were destined to bring it to me.  That’s why the man you killed didn’t fight back; He didn’t fight back because he couldn’t.  The spell prevented him from keeping the necklace from from me.  So he had no choice but to cower and die at your hands.  And you, now here, cannot move.  That is, you could move, if you were able to just leave me with the necklace.  But you can’t just let me have it.  You must fight for it because you are a pirate and a pirate never gives; a pirate only takes.  If you were willing to just walk away, you could do just that.  But no, you must have this enchanted necklace.  Do you even know what it is?”

 

Christopher struggled to even talk, “I know that the necklace is mine; and that I killed for it, fare and square; and I know that I will get it back.  The necklace isn’t cursed, you poisoned me.  If it was cursed, how did you lose it in the first place?”

 

The woman, “Not a curse, a spell.  A man can live with a curse.  Born with a small cutlass is a curse.  Spells are more difficult to overcome, like the Scurvy Rot.  And as for how I lost it, the wickedest, and most powerful of sorcerers managed to break my spell.  He managed to reverse the spell as he took it from me.  I watched helplessly as he took it.  I watched him like you’re now watching me.  I watched as he walked into my room and just took it from my grasp like an apple from a tree.  That powerful and wicked sorcerer.  That Festeris Ghoul.”

 

She grew more aggravated, “If he were so great, if he were so mighty and powerful, this Festeris Ghoul, then how did I get my necklace back?  How did he ever lose it?  How is it that you ended up with it?  How did the last man, a meager magician and collector of amulet artifacts, come by it?  How did such lowly persons come to each possess my necklace?”

 

Christopher began to realize more and more she was right.  The harder he tried to move, the harder it became.  But Christopher refused to forfeit his prize.  He refused to give up what he had pirated.  Death before defeat.  Not a pirate motto, but an individual pirate’s way of thinking.  This bitch would not take his prize.  This bitch would not leave him paralyzed and penalized.

 

The Bitch, “Y’know, you, back at the tavern; you fucked like a rabbit.  Maybe, Maybe that’s what you are.  Maybe you are just a bunny fucking like a rabbit.  Young and dumb.  Maybe you’d be happier as a rabbit?  Maybe you would rather have that freedom to pluck and fuck.  And I think I got just that solution.  A solution- a solution specially designed to give you just what you want.  A solution that would turn you into the rabbit you fuck like.”

 

The witch began to mix a suspicious brew in front of Christopher.  She splished and splashed the cocktail.  A draw of a giggle here and there as she eagerly prepared the potion.  When she had finished the mixture, she said a little spell and flicked her wrist.  She turned to Christopher with the potion in hand, tilted his head back, and put two drops into his eyes.  She then stepped back, splashed a few more drops over the rest of him, and with a “Bippity, Boppity, Bunny” that bitch turned him into a rabbit.

 

Christopher, now a rabbit, who was now not able to keep the necklace from the witch, was now able to move.  (how many times did I say “now” in that last sentence? Fuck, and I just started a new drink.  Long night.)  But he didn’t know how to move as a rabbit.  He didn’t understand the special ‘four legged hopper’ motions rabbits learn from an early age.

 

No, Christopher, the now rabbit, bounced to and fro around that bitches home.  He tried to escape but all the apparent exist were somehow blocked by some sort of wizardry.  Or maybe he was just a rabbit that didn’t understand windows, and doors, and walls.  Maybe Christopher just bounced back and forth like a bee on cocaine.

 

And then there it was.  The exit.  A for sure exit.  His human mind reminded him of what an open window looked like.  The shape, the height from the floor, the for sure blackness without any reflection from the fire or candles on the inside.  He hopped as straight a line as he could.  Knocking over glasses, trinkets, buckets, and the like; he headed best he could towards freedom.  His legs slipped from beneath him everytime he tried leap forward.  

 

I guess the best way to describe it is placing a scared bunny in the middle of a freshly waxed public restroom and chasing it around yelling “AhbwaAhbwaAhbwaAhbewa!”  I know I’m using a bunny’s reaction to describe a bunny’s reaction, but how the hell else am I supposed to describe it?  You’re the one who just chased a bunny around the Sears women’s room saying “AhbwaAhbwaAhbwaAhbewa!”

 

But Christopher kept on towards the window.  And just as it seemed he was about to make it.  Just as it seemed he finally got the hang off this hoppiting.  Just as it seemed he made the final leap through the window.  He did!  Christopher managed to make it outside and into the street.  And he didn’t stop there.  That rascally rabbit kept hopping as fast as he could.  But he only made it a few more yards before the witch snatched him up by his scruff.  (Holy shit, I just googled the word “scruff” to make sure I wasn’t too drunk and that I used the right word [it is] but it turns out that it’s also an international gay dating app.  So to lonely genitalmen out there, you are welcome. [please don’t cancel culture me])  

 

Christopher may of made it through the window but he really did suck as a rabbit.

 

The witch, holding Christopher close to her head as she walked back, whispered, “No, no, Sweetheart, I have more plans for you.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you.  I wasn’t lying when I said you would be good for fucking.  I am going to use you to breed with all the pretty lady bunnies.  That way, you can make so many dozens and dozens of baby bunnies.  Then, when your baby bunnies have all grown up, I will eat them.”

 

And so it was.  Christopher was held captive to fuck bunnies.  I don’t think either him or the real rabbits really minded.  They were rabbits.  That’s what they do.  They fuck a lot.

 

He would watch as the witch would either eat or sell of his hared offspring.  It really never bothered him none.  His only concern was fucking… and obviously figuring out a way to become human again… and obviously fucking.  Not knowing the exact numbers, I would say about 83% of his offspring were eaten by the witch and an uneven 17% were sold as livestock.  This being the Caribbean, there were not too many options for livestock rabbits at the time.  At least one of his young were sold to a young girl as a pet.  Christopher actually felt sad about that.  The poor girls pet would only live about 5 years or so.

 

There was one day, when Christopher was still a rabbit.  (That’s right, I said “still a rabbit’.  Indicating there is a time when he is no longer a rabbit.  I assume you’re smart and not drunk like me.  I assume you’ve read the title.)  There was one day when Christopher was still a rabbit, that members from his old crew came to the witches home looking for a cure for their captain’s scurvy rot.

 

Crew member, “Now wait one second there love, I remember you.  Yeah, that’s right, you’re the one our young Christopher left with the night he disappeared.  You’re the last person we seen with him.  You took our young, drunk, Christopher that night and we ain’t seen him since.”

 

The mood tensed.

 

The crew member continued, now smiling and laughing loudly, “Must have been one hell of a lay; he never came back.  Why can’t I find me that kind of whore!?”

 

The men all laughed and slapped each other around.  The witch gave a courtesy laugh, gathered what the men needed for their captain, and sent them on their way.  Christopher, now having lived in the witches home and having watched her day in and day out, knew she added a something extra to the order.  He struggled to alert his pirate mates before they left but one of them just leaned over to his cage and drunkenly asked, “Do your rabbits come with recipes or do I just cook them?”

 

The witch leaned over his cage and whispered, “I told you, I don’t like to be called a whore.”

 

So Christopher’s wild rabbit life continued as such.  Banging bunnies, eating kick ass carrots, sometimes being given some bomb ass broccoli, banging more bunnies.

 

A few years passed when one night, the witch, a little drunk, which was not uncommon for the witch, said to Christopher, “You know what, Mr. Christopher.”  This was uncommon.  The witch only ever called the rabbit by his name when he was in trouble, which was never, he was a rabbit.

 

Slurred witch says, “You know what, Mr. Christopher, I believe tonight I will get properly inebriated.  I believe tonight I will finally use my old necklace.  Old, so old is my necklace.  I feel old.  As old as my necklace.  Do I look old to you, Mr. Christopher?”

 

Christopher just chomped away at his bomb ass broccoli.

 

The witch continued,  “You are right, Mr. Christopher, I am getting too old, and I must do something about it.  I must go there and become not old.  I mean, I will go there, and become less old”  She said as she held up her wine glass and rummaged about her things, collecting familiar magical objects.  “This wine makes me feel good but I am too old to feel great.  I want to feel great again, Mr. Christopher.”  She retrieved the fist amulet, “And here is how I will do it.  Shh, quiet, Mr. Christopher, it’s my beauty secret.”

 

Christopher watched as the witch spoke new magical words he had never heard before.  These words allowed the witch to open the ceramic fist necklace and dip her finger inside the amulet’s liquid.  The witch pulled her finger out, the tip impossibly black.  She placed the fist down on the table and stood in the middle of the room.  She held her hand high above her head, brought her hand down, and flicked the liquid at her feet.  The bitch then disappeared.

 

Christopher’s rabbit mouth was held wide agape.  Tiny broccoli chunks fell out.

 

Within moments, the witch reappeared (I say moments because I am too drunk and/or too lazy to decide how many seconds it should be that she was gone.  Two seconds, twenty two seconds?)  She reappeared and she was noticeably younger.  Even the mole above her lip was younger.  She was noticeably younger and noticeably more inebriated, but not with wine or rum, something else.

 

She stumbled to his cage, “Thank you, Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Christopher Rabbit.”

 

Things would then go back to normal, or as normal could be when you’re a pirate turned rabbit servicing a witch’s leporid hunger by banging other bunnies.  It went back to that normal until a few years later the witch again wanted to feel great.

 

The witch,  “You know Mr. Christopher, I am still young and I still feel great.  But I could be younger, and I could feel better.  Shh, Mr. Christopher, I can’t be too greedy.  This magic is finite, I can live for almost ever, but only so long as I can contain my young lust and not use all it’s precious Black Element.”

 

The witch again performed her ritual and again disappeared, reappeared, and was visibly even more younger.  She again thanked Christopher but this time showed a bit more gratitude.

 

The witch, drunk on something else, “Oh, Mr. Christopher, it’s because of you.  It’s because of you I have my magic back.  Because of you I will live for nearly ever.  Going to there and becoming young again.  Maybe one day I will make it to one of the feast.  And to be so honest, I don’t really have an appetite for rabbit anymore.  I have thought of eating you to prove a point but I am so happy I forgot what that point ever was.  I think you have suffered enough as a rabbit.  I think you have learned your lesson; whatever your lesson was meant to be.  After all, my necklace was returned to me, and it’s not as if you could take it from me, not with the spell still strong.”  She drunkenly stumbled about her things again, “I will need this bit of magic and that bit over there.”  

 

Collecting all the magical things that she needed, she mixed up another potion.  She reached in Christopher’s cage and pulled him out.  Holding him by his head, she placed one drop of potion in each of his eyes.  She stood back and sprinkled a few more drops over the rest of his rabbit body and with a “Hippity, Hoopity, Human” that witch turned him back into a man.

 

She sat down and slumped her head on her fist, “Oh, damn, I may of messed that one up a little.  Your ears are still a little floppy and *yawning* hairy.  Oh well, no bother, off you go young pirate, you’re free to go about your pillaging and plundering.”

 

Christopher felt his ear and to his horror it was still a rabbit ear.  But to his realization, he just felt his ear.  He was a human again, he turned for the door and bolted.  He paused briefly, stepped back, picked up a carrot, and continued his bolting from the house.  He ran as if he were drunk but it was understandable considering he was learning to use two legs again.  At one moment he passed a wild rabbit hopping down the street.  He momentarily detoured to get her contact info but realized he was being stupid.  

 

He ran and ran as best he could from the house.  He rubbed his ear to remind himself why he was running.  But the reminder was all too much a reminder.  Of course he was happy to no longer be a bunny.  But that necklace was his.  And now he knew how to get to the liquid inside.  The Black Element she called it.  The ritual she performed with it was easy enough.  And Christopher had no trouble remembering the words she spoke to open the fist.  When you spend so long not talking, you can easily remember those little things people say.

 

Fuck it.  He was going back.  

 

He was going back faster than he had fled.  But he wasn’t running, he was sorta doing a hoppity gallop like an excited boy who saw boobies for the first time.  I guess some of that bunny came back to him.  Oddly, that’s probably what made him move that much faster.

 

He threw open the door to her home.  The Wasted Witch was still passed out.  Christopher found the fist in her hand.  He tried to take it, but she held it tight.  She was absolutely, positively, passed the fuck out.  This wasn’t a game she was playing.  Christopher raised her arm and dropped it to test if she was indeed passed out.  Her arm was limper than Grandpa Jerry’s old, wrinkly, sun blotched, racist elbow skin.  

 

It was just like with the scared man who Christopher had taken it from before.  It was the spell the Witch had cast on it.  Except, with the man, he actively held the fist and it was the spell that prevented him from fighting back.  This time, the spell was holding tight for the Witch’s sake.  The spell wouldn’t let it be taken from her.  Then Christopher remembered that he had to kill the last guy to get the necklace.  

 

So he killed the Witch.  It was that simple.  There was no struggle or agonizing death cry.  No epic battle.  Nothing to make this story more interesting.  Christopher simply picked up a blunt object and bashed it against her skull repeatedly.  Which made the Witch drop the fist.  Because she was dead.

 

The curious and murderous Christopher wasted no time picking up the fist. He spoke the words he had heard the Witch speak, he dipped his fingers in the now open fist and he placed the fist on the table.  He then raised his hand far above his head, brought it down, and gave a flick at his feet.  I don’t remember much from Highschool about past, present, and future tense rules but I think I broke those rules more in the last few sentences than the entire rest of the story combined and it makes me feel uncomfortable.  Editing and correcting my mistakes also makes me uncomfortable.

 

Oh, so Christopher performed ritual just as he had seen the Witch do and it worked.  There was audible sound (which again, I am way too drunk to try and explain but just imagine it went hu-urm) and Christopher was standing in a new place, a hellish place.  He was in the Witch’s home, he performed the ritual, and he was then in a hellscape.  Literally, he was in Hell.  He recognized it from what he imagined it would look like.  Hot and lots of demons walking around.

 

He heard the stories of Fire and Brimstone.  He was told Hell would smell like sulfur and that there would be gnashing of teeth.  Of course there was fire.  This was before the time of electricity and forced central heating.  How would Christopher know what electricity looked like.  And brimstone?  What the Hell is brimstone?  Turns out, brimstone is sulfur (he says confidently after a brief googling)

 

No, Hell was hot, but he wasn’t on fire.  It was rocky, but not brimstoney.  And the brimstone/sulfur smell was way exaggerated.  It had a kind of old dirt floor smell you would find in threshless abandoned barn.  Take a second to go to the nearest abandoned barn and report back.

 

The light seemed to come only from the many fires burning.  Randomly blotted throughout the landscape and randomly flaring up.  The sky was black and featureless.

 

And the demons… They were obviously demon.  Assumably blood hungry demons judging by all their different shapes and sizes and features.  Shapes and sizes and features that all seemed uniquely assigned to each one of them to better inflict demonic doings.  Christopher was obviously frightened and frozen by their presence.  But they seemed pretty unfazed by him being there.

 

And before you go all stupid and think, “Well maybe they couldn’t see him. ah-durr.”  No, they could definitely see him.  They made efforts to side step as they passed him, some even looking him dead in the eye.

 

Looking around, Christopher could tell he was in a great hall.  There were tables of feasting demons all around him.  It looked like Oktoberfest for demons.  They were merely drinking and chomping and laughing demonishly.

 

Christopher meandered through Hell.  

 

He soon realized it was more than just apparent demons at this gathering.  There were what he assumed to be angels, judging by what he thought an angel might look like.  And there were odd creatures there too, sentient and unfamiliar to what he could imagine to be real.  There were some animals eating at the tables and talking with the demons.  And there were other humans like him, faintly scattered about.  At one table sat a little girl dressed in her Sunday best and next to her was a well dressed but well travelled man.  From a distance, the little girl leaned into the well dressed man’s ear and pointed at Christopher.

 

Christopher continued to roam through Hell until he found himself at a table.  Food and drink seemingly laid out for the taking.  Christopher was hungry but he couldn’t find the broccoli anywhere.  But he was also thirsty.  Not parched thirsty, but alcohol thirsty.  He had been rumless and aleless these past five years and now he was ready to drink.  However, not knowing what was what, he grabbed the nearest pitcher and poured himself a cup.

 

Then for whatever reason, Christopher didn’t hesitate to drink.  He didn’t even give it a few sips to test the waters.  Not even so much as a sniff.  He just drank it down.  And it was at that moment he knew what he was drinking.

 

He was drinking souls.  He was drinking human souls.  And they were fucking delicious.  I guess only humans have souls so maybe I didn’t need to clarify.  And before you PETA fucks have to come say stupid shit about animals having souls just shut the fuck up.  Animals don’t have souls and they’re stupid and dumb.

 

But now, more than ever, the demons had noticeably acknowledged his presence.  All around the table, the demons were staring at him in an almost demon disbelief.  And that is when the first, and only, demon spoke to him:

 

Demon, “Why don’t you tell us how you did that?”

 

Christopher, “Did what? What did I do?”

 

Demon, “You drank the souls; how did you drink the souls?  What is your name?”

 

Christopher, “Christopher, Christopher Tain.  Was I not supposed drink?”

 

Demon, “Its a feast, your free to eat and drink whatever you want.  But how did you drink the souls and not vomit?”

 

Christopher, “I don’t know what you mean.  I mean, I do know what you mean, those were definitely souls, and they’re delicious.  But why wouldn’t I stomach them?”

 

Demon, “Humans cant drink souls.  They vomit them out as soon as they drink.  Truth is, we were all watching you expecting you to vomit.  It happens to every human that comes to a Plague and drinks a soul for the first time.”

 

The demon then noticed Christopher’s still rabbit ear.  He leaned in and sniffed Christopher.

 

Demon, “Ah, now I get it.  The ear.  You were a rabbit.  And you smell like the Witch.  In fact, your fingers are black and you have the Witch’s blood on you.  Did you kill her?”

 

Christopher was not sure how to respond other than truth, “I was a rabbit, she made me into a rabbit and eventually she turned me back into me.  When she turned me back, I killed her.”

 

Demon, “Well, that explains why you enjoy drinking the souls.  I’ll make sure not to warn her the next time I see her.”

 

Christopher, “What does that mean?”

 

Demon, “This is Hell, our time is not your time.  The Witch may be back sometime in this future.”

 

Christopher, “No, how does it explain why I can drink the souls?”

 

Demon, “Well, humans can’t drink a soul without vomiting, it’s poison.  Rabbits on the other hand.  Rabbit’s love human souls.  They tear them apart faster than we can harvest them.”

 

Christopher, “I thought demons tortured, not harveste… wait, rabbits eat people?”

 

Demon, “No, they eat souls.  And not all of us torture, some of us are assigned as harvesters.  That’s my job.  I harvest souls.  This is my Plague.  This is my harvest.”  

 

Christopher, “What do you mean Plague?”

 

Demon, “A Plague is feast of excess souls entering Hell, whether caused by a plague, a war, or any causious event.  I harvested these souls with Putredine and Conruptus.  This is our Plague.”

 

Christopher, “What is a putredine?”

 

Demon, “Those are the demons that harvested this Plague, Putredine and Conruptus.  I am Interitus.”

 

Christopher, “I know I am in Hell.  But I imagined more torture.  More pitch forks and long pointy tails.”

 

Interitus, “Oh that all comes soon enough.  The souls must first pass through Purgatory.”

 

Christopher, “Like the Catholic idea of Purgatory.  A limbo of heaven and hell.  A waiting place.”

 

Interitus gave a *hmff*, “No, not like that.  This is the executive bathroom of Hell.  The souls must first be consumed by the demons.  Then, after they pass through and are shat out of the demons, do the souls go to Hell.  There’s nothing more hellish than the purgatish bowels of a demon.”

 

Christopher, “What about the souls eaten by rabbits?”

 

Interitus, “The same thing happens.  Bunnies eat the souls and shit them into hell.”

 

Christopher, “What about this feast?  How are there people here?”

 

Interitus, “You’re here, why wouldn’t they be here?”

 

Christopher, “But I don’t know why I’m here.”

 

Interitus, “Of course you do.  You put your fingers in the black stuff and performed the ritual.  Which, by the way, is special for only the Witch.  No other human could come and go in that manner.”

 

Christopher, “What about the other humans?  How did they get here if they don’t have the black liquid?  I saw a little girl at one of the tables.  Why is there a child in Hell?”

 

Interitus, “The little girl… don’t worry about that.  All the other humans you’ve seen are here on some sort of business.  It just so happens they are here during a Plague.”

 

Christopher, “When the Witch left, she would return almost instantly.  And she was always inebriated and younger.”

 

Interitus, “The Witch would come for therapy.  She would not come for the Plague.”

 

Christopher, “What’s therapy?”

 

Interitus, “You’re a curious cunt, aren’t you.  The Witch wasn’t able to drink the souls, but she could she bathe in them.  Specifically the souls of young, corrupted girls.  Those just old enough to make the wrong decisions.  And, as a side affect, when souls are absorbed through the skin, humans tend to become drunk.  Can’t drink them, but you can bathe in them.”

 

Christopher, “But how did she come back so quickly?”

 

Interitus, “Again, our time in Hell is not your time.  Hell and Heaven are timeless.  It can be as short as a sneeze or as long as your wife telling you a story about the grocery store not having the right cheese.  You can spend an eternity with us and it wont be but a breathe of your time.”

 

Christopher, “Could I drink another?”

 

Interitus, “Yes.  This is a Plague.  Drink all you can stomach, Mr. Tain.”

 

Christopher, grabbed another pint of soul.  He slammed it like a frat boy.  He grabbed a third cup.  Then a seventh.  If you’re ever able to physically drink a soul, you’ll learn souls are not a depressant like booze, they are a stimulant like cocaine.  Slam bam Christopher was fucking lit.  Christopher was fucking ready.  Every-fucking-thing was vibrant and conquerable.  Again, I’m too drunk and too lazy to Google if pirates had coffee to make some sort of comparison.  Even then, even if I could make that comparison, Christopher was beyond comparison.  

 

I mean, if you think about it, that’s why rabbits are always so fucking strung and vibrity.  They’re busy sucking up souls from Mr. McGregor’s cabbage patch.  And you know that son-of-a-bitch had some bodies buried in that garden, for sure.  The sick fuck.

 

Christopher started to make a scene.  Christopher started to make a scene in Hell.  You have to imagine what making a scene in Hell entails.  A scene in Hell doesn’t entail the tales of entrails or the wails of impaled thumbnails.  No, a scene in Hell is something special.  And Christopher was being special.

 

Like at any party, some of the demons found Christopher annoying while the other some of demons found him funny as shit.  How often do you get to see some little bitch ass human try to establish his presence in Hell?

 

Christopher was swinging his three inch dick like it was a hammer.

 

The souls made him over confident.  He overturned tables like he had a statement to make.  He wanted more souls.  He was flipping tables and spilling souls.  Like I said, some of the demons were annoyed.  Other demons, like me, found this shit fucking hilarious.  One of the living lifes in the party became the life of the party.  Love it or hate it, he was a high highlight.

 

And of all demons to be amused, Interitus was probably the most tickled.  But, just like all of us who have thrown a party, and have that one fucker who is making it the best of times and worst of times, Interitus knew it was time for Christopher to leave.

 

Interitus to Christopher, “Keep drinking as much as you like but be wary of the time.”

 

Christopher, “What time? You said it was timeless.  I want to spend the rest of timeless here.”

 

Interitus then lied, “Yes, but you are still human.  And the longer you spend here, the less chance you have of going back to your world.”

 

Christopher, “I want one more soul before I go.”

 

Interitus, “Absolutely.  Just make sure your not staying to long.”

 

Christopher had no idea if he had more time or if maybe he had already spent too much time in Hell.  Regardless, he knew now was not the time to to risk it.  He knew he couldn’t risk not having another soul before he left.

 

Christopher started drinking his last soul, “Wait, how do I get back?”

 

Interitus, “I don’t know, how did you get here?”

 

Christopher, “I used the necklace to get the black stuff.  I don’t have the necklace.  It’s back at the Witch’s home.”

 

Interitus, “Nonsense, there’s plenty of black on your finger.  Just say the magic words and do the ritual like before.”

 

Christopher, “What magic words?  The only words she spoke were to open the amulet and get the liquid.  There were no magic words in the ritual to get me here.”

 

Interitus, lying some more, “That’s odd, she always said something magical whenever she left.”

 

Christopher, “What was it, what did she say?”

 

Interitus, “How am I supposed to know?”

 

Christopher, “You have to help me.  You have to remember!”

 

Interitus, “SnoggleBloggin.  I’m certain she said ‘SnoggleBloggin’”.

 

Christopher raised his hand above his head, brought it down quickly, flicked the black liquid at his feet, and proclaimed “SnoggleBloggin!”

 

Again there was a *hu-urm* and Christopher was transported from Hell.  But he didn’t return to the Witch’s home.  He was taken to a completely new world.  Just as strange and awesome as Hell.  And before I try to describe it through the eyes of a pirate bunny, I will just tell you, he was transported into the future.  Not “our present, his future” but our near future.  Christopher was in the near future.  Somewhen in the 2040s or 2050s.

 

Before he could take in the new future-scape, he was surrounded by a crowd of men in odd armor pointing odd looking muskets at him.  One of the men held a strange device that made a clicking sound.  As the man with the device approached Christopher, the clicking intensified.  “This is the guy, I’m reading trace amounts of One-Fifteen.”

 

“Of course it’s him…” a voice called from behind the crowd, “…he’s dressed like a silly pirate.”

 

A man, much older than the rest, walked through the crowd of armed men and approached Christopher.

 

The old man directed everyone to lower their weapons and spoke to Christopher,  “My name is Gastun.  And if I remember correctly, your name is Christopher, Christopher Tain…  

 

Christopher was confused, he had never met this future man before, but somehow this man knew his name and apparently he had spoken with him before.

 

The man continued, “But that’s not what you asked me to call you…”, the man leaned in and whispered a familiar name in Christopher’s ear.

 

To be continued I guess