The Legend Of The Christian Zombie Vampires

Chapter 10

Three Books of Balance

The Book of Kathy

In order to properly tell the tale of the Legend of the Christian Zombie Vampire, one must know of Kathy. Her story is as important to the plot as her presence was to the lives of the characters in the story.

Kathy was a friend to all. Some would call her a cuñendera. A cuñendera is a healer. It is opposite of a bruja, which could best be summarized as a witch. While both the cuñendera and bruja have ancient traditions tied to nature and power, they are opposite in nature. Kathy was a healer. Her words were always born out of peace. Her actions, even when in anger, were for the betterment of tomorrow.

To fully understand Kathy is to understand that she was born in Mexico. She was born to a father who was a drunk. He was an abusive drunk, physically, sexually and mentally tearing his young daughter’s heart to shreds as he drank his life away. His life was not easy and so it was his thinking that making life easy on his family would be a disservice, and would not allow his wife and children to grow without the thick skin that was necessary to survive in his motherland. Most of his life he picked crops for pennies a day.

He would spend weeks in the field picking chilies, cotton, and tomatoes. The sun beat his skin into a slick leather and took his hair by the patch. At a young age, his head was covered by small patches of hair and his body, though strong, was also broken like his soul. So when he was able to come home, he drank. He drank cheap whiskey and cheap beer. Those were what he could afford. Although he was proud of providing for his family, he lived in shame. He could not read. His parents could not read and his wife could not read. So they drank. When they drank, they showed their anger. The cycle was absolutely perfect as far as being toxic was concerned.

Kathy’s father was named Ramon. It is only important to the story-line in the sense that it is understood what type of man brought Kathy into this world. Ramon drank heavily. Ramon could not read. When Ramon was in the second grade, he was forced to leave his learning and start a life of picking. Ramon was a picker. Ramon had a hard life in Mexico. He met his wife when he was eight years old. She was six. They were both bought by farmers for pesos. The money they were sold for equaled up to twelve American dollars. Seven dollars for Ramon and five dollars for his wife. Neither of them could read. So Ramon drank. By the time Kathy was conceived, Ramon was earning nearly twelve dollars a week. So he drank.

Sometimes Ramon would drink so much that he would burst out into the night and stumble into his one bedroom home, which he built with his bare hands. He would demand intercourse from his wife but his state was frightening to her. So she would refuse. Ramon would take a drink. Then he would take what he wanted. Sometimes it took a few slaps across her face.Sometimes she closed her eyes and just let him. Sometimes she would cry as he penetrated her. So Ramon drank. Kathy saw this from the shadows as she hid underneath the splintered table and covered her ears to muffle the pain that came from her mother’s mouth. Her mother would shut her eyes and hold on to whatever she could as tightly as possible while Ramon fondled and molested her.Kathy could never close her eyes though. She could never break herself away because she wanted to see her mother endure what she believed was a woman’s duty to endure.

Kathy knew life to be that. Her benevolence to guilt, tragedy and grief was mortifying to most. Her confidence was lacking but her sense of humor was always a strength. She was a big girl. She was shaped like a potato and could not read. She had a laugh that bellowed through the air in a deep raspy manner. Kathy sat and ate. Kathy sat and listened. Kathy sat and watched. Her eyes told the whole story when looked into directly. She cared for everyone but had seen such evils, that nothing could phase her. Kathy spoke rarely of her younger years. She probably only had her mother to speak to. Because Ramon drank, Kathy’s mother had very little to say. She was a solemn woman who believed in God and forgiveness. She also felt duty to be there for Ramon, for when she was only six years old, Ramon was the only person who gave a care.

When Kathy turned twelve years old, Ramon saw her body changing. Ramon was drunk. Kathy’s mother was sleeping on the floor. He stumbled in and yelled at his wife to awake. Her duty to service him was at his discretion. He wanted it and would not wait. Kathy hid underneath the table and watched. Ramon looked into Kathy’s tear filled eyes as he pushed himself into her unconscious mother, his unconscious wife. She did not move and Kathy sat there watching. She did not open her eyes. In Kathy’s hand was a bottle that had held sleeping pills. Kathy had put twelve pills in her mother’s food when she looked away. Her mother ate and had no idea what had happened. She became irritable and slept. she stumbled in a daze and finally passed out near the stove. When her mother fell asleep, she emptied the rest of the bottle down her mother’s throat and washed it down with soup while she snored. Now though, Ramon pushed inside and pulled himself out and stood up before he had finished. Naked and erect, he slid his hand over his manhood while looking directly into Kathy’s eyes. He took Kathy by her greasy, half curled hair and lifted her onto the table. He ripped off her shirt and her pants. He tore her panties off and spread her legs apart. He fumbled at her bra strap so he pulled it up as her breasts fell bare onto her belly. He mounted her with his hands on her throat.

Kathy did not cry. She was willing to have this atrocity be done to her. She liked it when her father thrust himself inside of her. Her hymen burst and she came for him as he fucked her on the splintered brown table. The more she moaned and pulled his body into her with her legs and hips, the more angry Ramon became. The more angry he became, the harder he pushed into her skin with his bare penis that was still wet from her mother’s vagina. Her legs and armpits un-shaven, primal. The small curly patch of hair above her vagina was prickly and full of sweat. She looked him in the eyes with the anger he had portrayed to her mother all those times that she was forced to watch him rape her. As far as Kathy knew, this is what was supposed to happen.

Ramon could not, even in his drunken state, finish. So he turned her into her stomach. She arched her back and spread herself so he could glide into her more easily. Ramon pulled Kathy’s hair and pushed as deep and hard as he could go. Her legs trembled and his belly smacked hard against her behind. She moaned loud in the same tone that he did when he was on her mother and about to release. She came as he burst the semen of her brothers and sisters deep inside of her. Sweating and out of breath, she turned around and spread her legs. Her nipples stuck out with excitement. She was only a few weeks into wearing a bra and her panties were still the kind with flowers and hearts that little kids wear. The blood of her hymen and semen of her siblings dropped down onto her hands in a pink mixture. Ramon looked at her with anger. His eyes grew cold. She looked at him with the same facial expression as she caught the drippings from her vagina and slapped him across the face. The splatter of his daughter’s taken virginity woke him from his drunken moment. He turned and shook off the juices from his penis. He quickly buttoned his shirt and looked at his daughter whose facial expression had not budged. He pulled his pants on. He went to wake his wife. He shook her. He slapped her face. He kissed her lips forcefully. She did not move. She did not breathe. Kathy sat on the splintered table naked with cum drops falling down her hairy legs and anger in her eyes. Goosebumps covered her young skin and confusion of pleasure, anger, and guilt marred her mind. Her mother was dead. Kathy was now the woman of the house. Her mother was buried in a shallow grave just behind the shed of a home that her father had built on the wage of twelve dollars a week. He had built it with his bare hands. The same hands he used to tear his family apart. Funny how balance can go one way or the other. Ramon was drunk and his balance suffered because of it. He meant well. His soul though was black as night.

A week and three days after Kathy’s mother died, Ramon came home drunk. He fucked Kathy and choked her till she passed out. When she woke, she was bruised and battered. Her body hurt and she was sore in a way that made it hard to walk. He beat her to the ground and broke her nose. He whipped her with his belt and fucked her again. She laid there holding her legs high and whispering to him to please cum inside of her. He did. Then he picked her up by her arms and looked her in the eyes. The pain he saw was unmistakable. He told her that she would be sent away for being a bad daughter. She was told that as punishment for killing her mother, she could never have a father again. He sold her for twelve dollars to an American man who had land in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

Kathy was set free by the man. She earned her wages as an artist. She would make candles, necklaces and bracelets then sell them. She smoked weed all day every day. Smoking helped her cope with the burdens of the memory of her past. Kathy lived in apartment number twenty-three. She never caused anyone any grief or pain purposely. She was a friend and a listener. She like her father, picked. Kathy did not pick vegetables though. She picked lost souls and healed them with stories of her past. She had two boys by a man she did not know and raised them with love. She did not have a kitchen table. She drank. She only would have one though. She feared becoming her father. Sometimes she took as many sleeping pills as she had fed her mother. It didn’t matter. Nothing matters in life when you accidentally kill your mother and are raped and sold by your father. Check that… different things matter when those things happen. They just aren’t recognizable by people who have never experienced the life Kathy lived.

Kathy played guitar. She played Spanish guitar and sang. When she played, her fingers strummed beautifully. When she sang, the words came from a place deep within her hurt. Sometimes she cried while she sang. Sometimes she would call herself “La llorona.” Kathy hated mirrors, but when she played guitar, she looked at herself in the mirror as she played. Kathy would express herself through songs. She would sing in Spanish. She would sing in English. Kathy played guitar. Kathy always played songs that were remedy to whatever situation was present. She had the gift of an emcee and the voice to take pain away.

When Darius and Gregg moved into apartment 46, directly above her, she welcomed them with a mother’s love. Her relationship with Darius was different from the one between herself and Gregg, but both were genuine. She had twenty dollars if they needed groceries or toilet paper. She always had a space on the floor of they needed a safe place. Her only rule was that doors never locked and that there was never a crime committed that would hurt the children. For Kathy, drugs were not harmful. They were used because of their healing properties and ability to numb emotions. While weed was really never considered a drug between Kathy, Darius or Gregg, that was not the only thing she used to push the demons away.

When Diane moved in, she lived on the bottom floor just like Kathy, but on the complete opposite end of the building. The way it was always explained and understood by Darius and Gregg, is that Diane grew up in a very similar situation as Kathy. The way they dealt with their past was their biggest fundamental difference. Kathy was a cuñendera. Diane was a bruja. That meant that Diane differently dealt with her past and her situation. While Kathy put her pain into art and caring, Diane cared for no one but herself. While Kathy believed in God, Diane spit every time the name or word was mentioned. While Kathy used substances to deal or numb the symptoms and pain, Diane used and abused. She took the drugs and sold them for profit and took their money to feed their addictions. Diane only stirred up drama where as Kathy would be the calming force to dismantle people’s inner storms. They tried being friends based on their similar pasts but became enemies when they saw the same life of pain and the answers to the pain so painstakingly different. Both claimed love for their hood. Both though could not be good. That was the balance and chemistry between them.

Darius and Gregg knew the difference between right and wrong. Though they knew, they were also understanding that full balance could only be achieved if they chose good more often than bad, though bad, they agreed was much more fun. When they hung out with Diane, the nights often went on for seventy-two hours or more. There were always seedy people and loose women. There was more chance that fights would occur and there were often guns involved.

When Darius and Gregg hung around Kathy, there was a family type atmosphere. Honest emotion and care was more emblematic of their encounters in the 23. While there was still addiction lingering, due to the nature of the coping, there was always a peace that underlined the actions rather than a shady type situation that Diane would build. Kathy did not like to talk badly of people and if she had to bite her tongue, she would. For a few months, Gregg even dated her beautiful daughter, who was not her blood but adopted out of a situation that involved a Ramon and a splintered table. That was just the way things were. Kathy could call up the stairs and Gregg or Darius would rush down and answer without hesitation. They could call down too. If Kathy, who was a very large woman, could not climb the stairs, she would send whatever company she had and if she sent them they were automatically trusted.

For five years, Darius, Kathy and Gregg held a friendship. Kathy would look into the people around them and she always knew how to address them. She knew and said that Gregg would marry a girl who did not believe in him. She even spoke of the troubles they would encounter, years before they came to light. She would warn Darius of the Aldo’s and Estevans of the world. She would praise the likes of Brandon and though she never really liked Shiloh, she always gave him high praise for what he could be if he could find peace within his young and misguided life.

After the first war had happened, Kathy became ill. She had endured so much in her forty-six years that she began to sleep in. She slept for days and nights at a time. She developed a problem breathing and gave less time to Darius and Gregg and more to her two boys and adopted daughter. Gregg, by this time had ended his relationship with her daughter and so he was less welcomed than he had been in the past. Gregg had a child now though and as he worried about Kathy, he also had been ordered by her to live on and live boldly. The order to live boldly, for years, broke his heart. He was not always smart. He may not have had the coping skill set that Darius or Kathy had. So he would falter from the demons around Diane to his own quest for romance and a lasting love.

During a World Cup soccer match, Gregg packed his things and left to raise his own children. This was years before Mitch had lived in the 23. He went downstairs to hug Kathy one time before he would leave the city of Las Cruces. The door was locked but he had the key. So he opened the door. The reddish-brown door squeaked as he pushed it open the gold number 23 on the door glistened as he took in his last entry into a space that held so much sentimental value.

Gregg called out to Kathy, his usual flat voice shout, “Kathy! I’m home!”

There was no reply. Gregg took a few steps towards her door. He heard music. My Life with The Thrill Kill Kult played Days of Swine and Roses.

Gregg tapped three times on the door and called out Kathy’s name. Nothing was replied again. So he opened the door. Kathy lay asleep on her bed. Her normal snore was absent as was her breath. Absent was her heartbeat and absent

Gregg turned around and ran up the stairs to Darius as fast as his feet could take him. Both boys, and it is stressed that at the time they were boys, rushed down to Kathy’s aid. The song blasted into the hot air of the summer in the apartment.

You drag me across your open wound I am on my last limb, I’m on my last limb Stuck in the mainstream pseudo dude You are on your last limb, you’re on your last limb The day I die will mean nothing to you The days of swine and roses Your mind’s diseased with perverted justice I am on my last limb, I’m on my last limb Nameless horror we call love I was only laughing, ha I was laughing Christian zombie vampyre I am the father, the father of nothing Christian zombie vampyre I am the father, the father of nothing Today I die because of you The days of swine and roses Fucker, pig fucker Fucker, pig fucker You drag me across your open wound I am on my last limb, I’m on my last limb Stuck in the mainstream pseudo dude I was only laughing, ha I was laughing Christian zombie vampyre I am the father, the father of nothing Christian zombie vampyre I am the father, the father of nothing Today I die because of you The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre I am the father, the father of nothing I am the father, the father of nothing I am the father, the father of nothing I am the father, the father of nothing Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre Christian zombie vampyre (Swine and roses) Vampyre, vampyre Swine and roses (Christian zombie vampyre) Swine and roses (Christian zombie vampyre) Swine and roses (Christian zombie vampyre, vampyre) The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses The days of swine and roses Love!

Kathy lay there with peace. There was nothing grotesque about her end. Her face had streaks of salt where tears had flowed in her last moments. In her hand was a bottle of pills. Sleeping pills no doubt.

Gregg and Darius bent over her body and embraced her with the love of children for a mother one last time. Both now, had tears streaming and flying out of their eyes. The song echoed in her cozy apartment. Both agreed that they could feel her spirit right there in that moment and many moments on their own.

Diane walked by and came in to see Kathy deceased. She looked cold like the way Kathy had once described Ramon. She put her pinky nail to Kathy’s lifeless forehead and cut into her skin an upside down cross. She picked up the phone that was at the foot of Kathy’s bed and called an ambulance then walked out of the apartment without a word or a look of remorse.

Darius and Gregg stood there as brave as they possibly could in the moment of truth. Neither had the courage to move. Maybe though, they were held there by the hands of Kathy’s spirit. No one could ever answer the questions as to why they stayed there as the coroner sent electric waves of life at her heart in attempting to revive her. Neither Darius nor Gregg thought she would come back to life but neither would ever acknowledge her as being dead.

As paramedics covered her in a sheet and pushed her eyes shut and closed her jaw, Darius and Gregg sat there and said nothing. Silence was in order and respect was shown.

Both of her sons came back from school that day and were made aware that at the ages of six and eight, they were now to be under foster care. Neither Darius or Gregg could afford to raise them and life, as brutal and unjust as it can be, was never more real than it was that day.

Darius went for a walk while Gregg finished packing his belongings and prepared for his own marriage and divorce. The same marriage that Kathy warned him to avoid in fact.

After everything was packed, Gregg waited for Darius to come home. He needed to hug his brother. He needed to see one more time, his best friend. He had no clue if he would ever be back or what might happen to Darius while he was gone.

Darius arrived home with a blunt in hand. As they smoked to peace and memories, a knock came. The thumps on their door scared them both but they were also numb and high. Gregg stood up from his place on the floor, with blunt in hand opened the door. Darius gave his one word invitation, “Entra!”

A constable came in and looked at them. In his eye, he wore a monocle. On his head he wore a black top hat with a star enclosed by a circle. Around his neck, fell a Cape. His style was of an old European man of law. He ignored the blunt. He looked at the boys and handed Gregg an envelope. He gave his condolences and went on his way giving them no problems but a kind understanding of sorts. He said nothing.

As Gregg shut the door with a blunt and envelope in his hand, he passed the blunt over to Darius and opened the letter.

It was from Kathy. Her handwriting was obvious and Gregg read it out loud with a cricket in his voice and water in his eyes.

“To my boys above,

Life is not easy, let me tell you. But God gave me a hood pass when I was twelve and I’m telling you that I saved the two of you a place. Remember, like all things, this too shall pass.

Live like you want it. Remember the hard times we went through and know that I am with you always.

God says that of two people believe in the same goal then it will come to be. That is with any goal. Remember, if even one person believes in what your vision is, than it is worth pursuing.

Gregg, when she leaves you, and she will, come back home.

Darius, don’t let Brandon fight. He is the Prince of Peace that you need when Gregg is gone. Make sure of that and when Gregg does come back, that you two share the things we went through using your best words. Be careful looking at that ashtray. The wooden one! Anything that can burn a cross, will, and you don’t need that in your life.

I had to go and know I love you both my niños. Mijo and Mijo two.. bahahaha.

Thank you for helping me find peace. I’m better now. I’m sorry I had to leave you this way.

Love Always,

Kathy”

At that, Gregg handed Darius the wooden ashtray. Darius stuffed it into an old Crown Royal bag and zipped it tight. Gregg decided to sleep one last night before he left town and Darius started up NBA 2K. They had about five games to go before that chapter ended.

Of course, three days later, the funeral for Kathy happened. It took, you guessed it, twelve Paul Bearers to carry that box. Every character in the story was there.

Ramon even sat closest to the coffin with his grandchildren he had met for the 1st time that day. He drank.

He placed a rose on top of Kathy’s casket as it lowered six feet for the final time, he rubbed the top of the box and apologized. Splinters drew blood from his fingers and he cursed as he walked away in a scene that no one but Darius or Gregg understood.

*****

The Book of Gregg

*****

In order to properly tell the story of The Legend of the Christian Zombie Vampire, it is crucial to know Gregg. He was born into this world by way of a loving father who had amazing parents. Gregg’s grandparents had much to do with his raising.

When Gregg was a young boy, his father worked two full-time jobs and went to school full time. He spent many days with his grandparents. His Grandmother was named Rosa. She would encourage him to play sports outside all day and a bit into the night. Everyday when she would water her many plants, she would watch him dribble a basketball or throw a baseball with his Grandfather. As a young boy, Gregg felt it important that Grandma sing the national anthem before he played. She kindly obliged.

When it was time for Gregg to come inside for the evening, Grandma would be cooking with Grandpa. Sometimes they bickered over details in technique or amounts of salt or chilies in the salsa. Sometimes they would eat each others other’s food separately. Sometimes they would laugh at the meals they made on such little funds. They always cooked together, and in that, Gregg always loved the idea of love. He also loved cooking. Cooking for him, meant family time. Family time meant wholeness in his heart and delight in the soul. Gregg’s mother could not cook. That will probably be touched on a little later on.

When Gregg was young, his Grandpa would take him to basketball practice, baseball practice or even tennis camp. His Grandpa was a former baseball player himself down in Mexico. He would cheer Gregg on like he was living his past in whatever game Gregg was competing. Though he was a competitor like his grandson, he always stressed that the biggest competition was not one on a scoreboard, but a competition to beat himself through life. Gregg never understood that until he was up against it in his own way. That is something that will probably be expanded on as the story continues…

Gregg’s birth given name was Gregorio. It was his father’s name as well as his grandfather’s name. It was a dead and ancient Mexican name that held a pride as well as a set of expectations, long before he was born. Gregorio was a name that held a tradition of a way of life and was almost a destiny and not just a name. Gregorio was as old as time for a name. It was one of the first original names ever recorded in Mexican culture. The name and its destiny held power over women in a specific way. The name held the destiny as well as the curse that whomever Gregorio loved, would not love him back, but would fall deeply into love. Is that confusing? Imagine being a Gregorio. So he went by Gregg. He even added an extra g in Hope’s of breaking the curse. In his heart though, he was a Gregorio. His life dictated the destiny as scripture dictated religion.

While Gregg’s father was not around a whole lot because he was chasing his own way, Gregg had a mother. Gregg’s mother was named Nancy. Nancy drank. When Nancy drank, she became emotional. When Nancy drank and became emotional, she was abusive. When Nancy drank, she saw the Gregorio inside of Gregg. The curse of Gregorio had bitten her as a young woman and like the many stories of Gregorio before, she fell in love until she was loved and then flipped a switch and hated her Gregorio, who was Gregg’s father.

When Nancy drank, she would become a different person. Her soul was infected by demons. When Nancy was in her becoming years, she was influenced by irrational people and even worked for a time as a cocktail waitress at The Pink Lady. She worked there for a week when Gregg was about ten years old. Things changed after that week.

Gregg had a nightmare. In his dream, he was taking a hot shower. The water bounced off his neck, just underneath his skull and fell warm over his back and down his legs. He put his hands up to the wall and leaned as the water followed. He took a breath of relief as his muscles relaxed. Then he hears a pop and fell face first with great pain. He could not move his arms or legs but he was fully conscious. He could see the head of the shower just in front of him and water rushed into his mouth. he could not move. He lay there drowning in the shallow water of the bathtub. He woke up shaking and ran to his mother. She looked at him with no emotion in her eyes.

“Go to bed.” was her only reply.

This dream continued for months. Gregg woke up one day and his mother was crying. She had beach towels and a sun hat . She had tanning lotion and floats for him. “Let’s go swimming today.” today she said in a monotone expression.

Gregg ran to his room with excitement. He was about ten years old but was not a natural swimmer. He was actually afraid of the water.

Nancy buckled Gregg into the backseat of her 1987 Chevy Chevette. It was white with a black bumper. they drove to the pool. Nancy took out a bottle of vodka from her big brown purse and poured about half of it into a water bottle. Then she unbuckled her son and held his hand. She took him to the pool. She blew up the floats and put them firmly on her sons elbows. She made sure that the floatation devices were secure and tight. She looked at him and said something about weakness means needing help. He was about ten. He did not understand. She took a big gulp from her water bottle and pushed him in.

Gregg splashed down into the cold water. He tried moving his arms to lift his head above the water. He kicked his legs to try to pull them up so he could get his head out of the water. He panicked. His floats were secure around his elbows and his hands were above his head. He opened his eyes and the chlorine from the pool burned. He could not breathe. He yelled for help from under the water. He looked up again and saw light beams pushing their way through the blue water in that swimming pool. He saw his mother looking at him. she took a gulp from her bottle. Gregg struggled to hold his breath. He saw his mother looking at him. He saw her lips say, “Goodbye Gregorio.”

He saw her walk away.

Gregg struggled to hold on. The water was too much pressure for him to hold off for long and he was so scared that he urinated. He felt himself becoming weak. His butt started floating up. His arms could not get into a position for his mouth to reach air. Things became blurry and he felt his the hair on the back of his head reach the air as he lost consciousness. The next thing he remembered was an old lady. She had black skin and wore clothes of a poor person. She had her lips on his and was blowing life into his mouth. She was not wet. He had never seen her before nor would he see her again, but in recollection of that day.

He sat up dazed as the lady walked away. Then he saw Nancy. She took a sip of her bottle and looked at him.

“You can’t even swim Gregg. Get in the car, we are. Going home.” was her condolence.

They drove home and Gregg asked Nancy where she had gone and why she did not help. Nancy did not reply. She took a gulp from her bottle and sped home.

Though the fate of a Gregorio came with much attention from the opposite sex, it also came with a hindrance of mistrustful ways. Some people thought it was because of his mother. Older, wiser people though, said it had to do with the weight of being a Gregorio and the hurts felt from love gone sour time and again throughout eternity.

Gregg lived on a few months without speaking to his mother. He was scared of her and did not recognize her any longer as the person who would care for his safety or his life. He played outside all day with any friends who would play with him. He came home later and later into the hours of darkness. He was still too young to voice his rationale but his actions and habits were proving that he was strong enough to move on away from her.

After a long day of sunshine and a cool night of basketball with the kids from the neighborhood, he came home to his mother screaming at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were black and deeply sunken into her face. Dry tear streams were visible and he approached her with care that a son would for his mother.

He touched her forearm and looked into her eyes with innocence. She slapped him down to the floor. He got up and began to run towards the door. She gave chase. She caught up quick, she slapped his face and told him he made her sick.

He screamed back at her. He said he did not know who she was and he wanted his mother back. He was on point with that statement in the moment. Her soul carried a demon. The demon was stronger than her will.

She grabbed a knife and lunged at him. He sidestepped her attempt to stab him. The knife grazed his stomach and only by instinct, he punched her in the nose as hard as he possibly could. The knife fell to the floor. He ran. Gregg ran and ran until he did not know where he was. He came to a soccer field. It was the middle of the night. He laid there and cried until the sun came up. When daylight hit, he walked not home, but to school.

Around lunchtime he was called into the principal’s office. He was told that a report had been out that he was missing. He had to explain what had happened. Police officers took him to his house and gathered his clothes. They drove him to his Grandparents house and he would live there until told otherwise.

Nancy moved to Mexico. She worked at the Pink Lady. There, she met a man and married him. They had three children. All their children were boys. Nancy invited Gregg to go live with them. Gregg declined but did accept an invitation to visit. So Gregg packed and left to Mexico. He was about fourteen years old when this happened.

When he arrived to Mexico, he hugged his mother as if nothing had ever happened before. He cried to be held by his mother. She only looked at him and kept her distance.

“You look tired Gregorio. Go take a hit shower and I’ll show you your new room.” she said.

Gregg took a beach towel from Nancy and went into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. He looked up at the ceiling and noticed there was not a fan. Instead, an exhaust system that had a hole in the ceiling. A two-inch roach fell into the bathroom. Gregg stomped it to death. He opened the shower curtain. The tub was stained with rust. He turned on the bath and ran the water till it was hot. He began to undress. He felt uncomfortable and dirty. He heard a door shut loudly from outside the bathroom. He pulled the lever for the bath water to stream from the shower head. He took off his shirt. Then he heard a boom. The same boom that came from his dream.

He opened the curtain and saw water spouting with heavy pressure through a pipe. The shower head had popped off its pipe and cracked the porcelain surface of the tub. Gregg turned off the water and quickly dressed.

He opened the bathroom door. He was shaking with fear. His mother was nowhere to be seen. There was a wrench on the couch. He picked up the wrench and took it to the bathroom. It was the same size that held the shower head on.

Nancy came in the front door. The look on her face when she saw him was pure dissatisfaction to see her son.

“You didn’t take a shower.” shower she said.

Gregg left his clothes in Mexico that day. He walked through the streets with an intense focus. He finally stopped in front of a church. A priest was outside peaking to a crowd in Spanish. He did not understand all of the words spoken but he felt safe.

Gregg went home and grew up. Sometime around high school, he found that marijuana and cocaine would numb his stress and fill the void left by his mother.

Gregg started getting grey hair when he was in high school. The kids called him “Grandpa.” He stood out in a way to people. His actions were that of a person who wanted to please people. He would console anyone who held inner pains. He was so good at listening, that he attracted all sorts of people who carried demons. He wanted to help them all. When he helped them feel better, he thought of his mother.

Gregg cooked. Gregg listened. Gregg smiled often and hid his pain as best he could. Lists upon lists of women loved him. As soon as he loved them back, they left. He was cursed by the destiny of his name.

When he was old enough to leave his grandparents house, he moved to Las Cruces New Mexico. He worked as a cook in a kitchen for a nationwide chain restaurant.

One day a guy named Timmy the Tooth picked him up and said they were going to go get a bag of weed. The person they were going to buy from was a boxer named Darius. Darius was from Chicago. Timmy said that Gregg should beware of crossing Darius. He said, “Darius is a real nigga.” whatever that meant…

When they got to the place where Darius stayed, they both walked in. Fantastic smells of the freshest weed filled the room. Darius sat on a Playstation. He was playing NBA Live. 2K was not a thing just yet. Darius handed Gregg a controller and a blunt. Nothing in life is certain. Gregg knew that even then. When he met Darius though, it took about three minutes before he knew he met his brother and his best friend.

A while later, Gregg and Darius found an apartment on Triviz. It was a two-story building in the desert. The key from the landlord has a piece of white tape on it that had black writing. The writing on the tape said 46.

Through the years, Darius and Gregg had many great adventures. From nights at the Pink Lady to meeting the band, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult. Darius always was a balance to Gregg. When Gregg was chasing love and addiction, Darius was playing Outkast and writing comedy. They had Kathy down in apartment 23. They had Diane. They had Brandon and Shiloh and one day Mitch.

To tell the story of The Legend of the Christian Zombie Vampire, you have to know Gregg. He meant well. Gregorio was inside of him and was empty too. Gregg and Gregorio would search for love throughout time.

******

The Book of Darius

******

Kathy used to always say to me “mijo don’t ever change. You don’t have to worry about anything. You have a hood pass into heaven. They have to let you in.” I always loved it when she said that, it made me feel safe. I haven’t exactly been a model citizen, but I have always tried to treat everyone I come across with love. Even the most vile of us craves this simple human emotion…hell I think it makes good people vile. That’s deep. I gotta stop smoking this shit!

Shit it’s dark. Where the hell did everyone go? Ok, stay cool, like Coltrane cool. Don’t panic. Deep breaths, just like in between rounds. Red is in my corner calling out combinations, shouting instructions, and keeping my confidence up. Ha! Probably telling me to stop showboating and put this guy away. He would get so mad. I can’t help it, I’ve always enjoyed being the center of attention…entertaining people. I crave that love like a vampire craves blood.

They used to call me “Mr. Showtime”, damn I miss being in the ring. The thrill of sizing up your opponent, being nervous, not knowing what’s coming next. Will I live, will I die on the side of the ring like Apollo Creed? Finding that right time to strike next, anticipating the other guys next move, that’s the sweet science. I don’t like fighting. I love it. Shit I’ve been fighting my whole life.

Ever since that fateful night in the orphanage when the woman in white gave me a stuffed Pink Panther doll. I couldn’t have been older than three of four years old, but I remember it as clear as day. She told me the doll would protect me, but also corrupt me, and that I was to stay the course. Fuck you that did too happen. It’s always been me and him getting into all kind of shit. He taught me how to manipulate people, to rob, steal, and sell drugs. Whatever we had to do to survive. We moved around a lot, always looking for the next scam or ass-backwards scheme, always watching each others back.

The great thing about Pink Panther is he has no emotions. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. There isn’t a person in this world he would hesitate screwing over. He’s a user and abuser, a very deplorable being, but I wouldn’t trade him for the world. After all of these years I still see the good in him. I guess that kind of explains my soft spot for deplorable characters like Diane, and Aldo. I know it sounds corny but the secret weapon against demons is love.These motherfuckers have given up on the concept,and I show them someone still gives a fuck. It physically weakens them. The Pink Panther taught me to see the big picture and always look for the angles.

I didn’t really have a positive role model until I met Red. I had been out snatching purses off of tourists downtown. Me and the Pink Panther had a great day and were counting our goodies, when three older kids approached and tried to rob us. I fought them as valiantly as I could but they beat me up and took my money. I sat on the sidewalk bloodied up and crying, the Pink Panther sprawled out on the sidewalk. A large light skinned freckle faced black man with red hair walked across the street, picked up my Pink Panther doll and handed it to me. I’ll never forget he told me

“you got a lot of heart boy those boys were twice your size. I can make you a world champion. You have the gift. I see it in your eyes. But in exchange you have to listen to everything I say. No more running the streets and getting into all kinds of shit”

I nodded with tears in my eyes as he helped me off of the ground. Red took me off of the streets and really taught me what it meant to be a good person. When he passed away a small piece of me died, and I’ve never been able to replace it.

Damn it’s dark in here! My head is killing me. I haven’t been quite right since that infamous night in Las Vegas. You know when Thumper beat me up. Fucking Julius should have stopped that fight after the tenth. Shit has been getting fuzzy lately…like strange visions of hell rising. The Father of Nothing on a throne of demon skulls with that damn ashtray glowing in the background. I’m fighting Shiloh in a ring of fire, it’s the tenth round and we are both bloody and battered.

But fuck that! That shit’s not happening to me. I’m the master of disaster, the king of sting, ain’t nobody fucking with Mr. Showtime. I just gotta find my way back. I’ll be back at apartment 46 before you know it. Listening to Old Skool Joe carry on about his legendary rap career, or a story from the cosmos from Spaceman Jones. I gotta give it to Pink Panther he runs a pretty successful fake magazine. There has always been a colorful cast of characters revolving through that apartment. It really is a special place.

I don’t have time to think about that. I have to stay focused. There isn’t going to be any apartment, or any fucking where, if we can’t win this war. I should be getting a medal for this shit. Part of me wants to say fuck this and just go home, but I can’t let everyone down. Pink Panther always tells me that’s my biggest weakness, I care about people. Fuck it. Maybe it does make me weak, but someone has to do it. So many of you motherfuckers just sit there and wait for shit to happen, I make it happen baby. I’m Mr. Showtime.

There goes that irrational confidence again. Who am I kidding? I’m scared to death. It’s dark and I’m all alone. Where is everybody? What happened? Pull it together D. Who am I talking to?

Am I dreaming? No, this is one of those fuzzy visions. Yeah that’s it. Just open your eyes.

See… I’m in the alley again. Man I really have to lay off of the tequila. Oh shit my weed! Whew. It’s still in my pocket.

God bless this magical plant. A lot of motherfuckers think weed is a drug, or a crutch, but it’s not. It’s here to heal and bring us together. It actually won us the war last time. Funny how far a blunt and an intelligent conversation can progress things. Even though there are some who vilify marijuana, it’s actually a gift from the almighty himself. We were able to show everyone that we needed the balance. Without it we were all doomed. I don’t think that’s gonna work this time. The power of evil has shifted past the divide, almost to the point of no return.

I’m ready though. I’ve been fighting demons my entire life, so this is nothing new. I know all of their tricks and all of the angles. I think we all have a little demon and angel inside all of us. You know like the cartoons and shit. But it always comes down to the person in the middle. It’s all about the balance.

Only one thing left to do and that’s start fighting, and that’s not a problem…I’ve been fighting all of my life.

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