Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, April 04, 2010

The Good Fight?

It was Easter Sunday, and Glenn Michael Beckmann was celebrating it the same way he did every year: posting hateful website rants about Jews, Moslems, Buddhists, Hindus, feminists, environmentalists, the handgun control lobby, the Department of Education, the Trilateral Commission, the United Nations, the American Dental Association, the American Society for Microbiology, the Carlyle Group, Hugo Chavez, Fidel Castro, Lulu, North Korea, Iran, and Leonardo DiCaprio. This year he was also ranting about the iPad (though that particular rant was harder to connect to Easter), and he was ranting about the militia arrests in Michigan and the attempted eviction of a woman who innocently hung a Peeps sculpture on her apartment door for the Easter season--both were attacks on Jesus Christ's army, and he was filled with rage. He took a break to go out on his Southwest Plaza balcony and jump up and down on the pigeon dove nest he found in the corner, laughing at the horrified squawks of the parents watching their eggs smashed to bits. Then he went back to his computer.

On a balcony nearby, Golden Fawn was nibbling chocolate Easter eggs and trying to read the newspaper when a sense of unease descended upon her. She closed her eyes to pinpoint the source, then chanted for the birds to come to her. The pigeon doves alit on her railing and began telling her their tale of woe. She put down the paper, distraught, and whispered to them the only words of comfort she could think of--start again, build a new nest here, life goes on--but they were not ready to forget their children. She stretched out her arm, which they flew to, and the three sat in silence for a long time. Her mind wandered to her husband--whom she would be meeting later for an Easter picnic after he finished his Coast Guard shift at the Cherry Blossom Festival--and she gently eased the birds off her arm so she could pick up the paper and turn to the real estate section to continue searching for their new home.

Over at the White House, the Rahm Emanuel wannabe was experiencing his own sense of unease, but this was nothing new. What was new was that he was stuck watching Bo while the First Family and 90% of the staff were out at Easter morning services. The dog completely freaked him out: one minute he would be gnawing contentedly on a chew toy, then he would start barking like mad at some imaginary enemy, then he would pass out on the rug for five minutes. The veterinarian had diagnosed Bo with canine narcolepsy--which, as in human narcolepsy, meant that high levels of excitement resulted in a rapid change of histamine levels in the genetically mutated hypocretin/orexin receptors, followed by immediate transition to muscle-paralyzed sleep. But the wannabe (and many others working in the White House) simply thought the dog was nuts. Right now, Bo was awake again, and the wannabe cautiously dialed the phone number of the Virginia Congressman he needed to speak to. Emanuel had already warned the wannabe that the dog had passed out three times in the Oval Office during Emanuel's discussion of offshore oil drilling with President Obama, and whatever the wannabe said, he had to avoid using the words "offshore oil drilling". "Happy Easter, Congressman! I understand you have some additional questions about the environmental impact [Bo jerked his head up attentively] of, umm, President Obama's announcement [Bo pointed his ears towards the wannabe], umm, of--". ("The offshore drilling?") "Yes!" the wannabe answered in relief. "That! The E.P.A. [Bo cocked his head suspiciously], uh, has some studies on the newer technologies, which, umm--" The White House ghost in the corner started chanting DRILL, BABY, DRILL in the high pitch only Bo could hear consciously, and the Portuguese water dog leapt to his feet to shout the ghost down. ("What is all that commotion?!") "Sorry, Congressman, Bo is barking at something." Then Bo passed out, and the wannabe exhaled deeply.

Several miles to the north, Charles Wu was sitting on his sunny balcony, analyzing intelligence on the crumbling American alliance with Afghanistan's President Karzai. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping on top of a folded towel, having destroyed his pillow at the Washington Monument on Saturday during the local celebration of International Pillow Fight Day. He smiled at the thought of the redhead he had picked up and bedded last night (Washington had an endless variety of social gatherings for him to meet new women!), then frowned as he got deeper into the analysis of security risks in the region. The Hill Tribes of Pakistan and Afghanistan had been shifting allegiances before the British came, before the Soviets came, and before the Americans came. China would never give up Tibet or the other western provinces that served as a buffer against the powderkeg that stretched from Tajikistan to Kashmir. This is never going to change. But he couldn't make money selling analyses like that, so he dug in to draw some more nuanced conclusions. The region offered an unending supply of opportunities for troops to gain combat experience--something every major military power needed its officers to get--so he had to help them hone and refine their goals for committing more firepower and manpower to the region. It was too easy to point to Afghanistan (or Iraq, for that matter) and conclude there was no point. If you don't act, it will get worse. The catbird that had been sitting silently on his balcony railing suddenly gave out a shout that sounded like a vacuum cleaner revving up, then flew off to report to Ardua of the Potomac that Wu was still hanging in the balance.

Over at the Potomac, Ardua was enthralled with the crowds swarming the Tidal Basin. The demon did not know the difference between Easter and Passover and the Cherry Blossom Festival--all human celebrations seemed similarly pointless and clueless to her--but she loved the mobs of fragile people searching for inspiration from delicate flowers. She inhaled their humanity deeply, and exhaled wickedness all over them. Enraged, the pink dolphins did their best to torment the beast, but she was growing stronger now and swatted them away gleefully. On the shore, Lynnette Wong ignored the blossoms and ignored the crowds, completely focused on the demon lurking in the water. She reached into her bag to pull out her amulets and renew the fight.

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