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 ....

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Primordial Ooze

Angela de la Paz lopped off another invasive vine and dropped it into the burn bag being held by her boyfriend, Major Roddy Bruce.  "Looks more primordial with the vines there," the Aussie said about the fern gully of a woodland they were walking through at the National Arboretum.

"Maybe primordial in China, but not here," she said.

"You really know this stuff well," Bruce said.  "You ever think about studying science, botany, something like that?"

She had finally gotten her GED after a lot of nagging from the elders in her life, but didn't expect her military attaché, of all people, to tell her to go to college.  "What's the point?  The world's going to Hell in a hand basket."  (This was a phrase she had picked up from Button Samuelson.)

"You still pissed about Syria?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm still pissed!" she exclaimed.  "93,000 died in some [she made air quotes] 'conventional' way, and Obama stays on the sideline, but now he wants to go in because 150 died from a chemical attack?  That's a load of crap!  First of all, the CIA is probably how Assad got chemical weapons to begin with.  Secondly, those rebels are just as bloodthirsty--if not more so--than Assad.  Ya think they won't use any chemical weapons they find?  Third, it's a Sunni-Shiite proxy war between Saudi Arabia and Iran which started a millennium ago, and even Russia has the common sense to recognize that an arms escalation there could lead to World War III."

"So tell me how ya really feel," he said with a smile.

"It's not funny!  The CIA is lying about Syria because they always take Saudi Arabia's side because the Saudis have the damned oil, and Obama trusts the CIA too much!  And now a moderate has been elected in Iran, but will the CIA care?  No, because the Saudis still have the damned oil, even though the rulers of Arabia are disgusting, misogynistic pigs.  And I'm not defending Assad, but he's better than the damned Saudis!  If Assad had oil, the CIA would be kissing his ass."

"Well, if people with a good conscience won't get involved--"

"Don't guilt-trip me about it!" exclaimed Angela.  "I'm never going back to the Middle East!  It would take a hundred years' of assassinations to make a dent."

"Then stop thinking about it!" Bruce exclaimed.  "Let it be somebody else's problem!"

"Don't you get it?  America is spending all its money on these stupid foreign wars, trying to be policeman on every continent on the planet.  Every decision like that is our tax money, and then the sequester hurts the little people here at home.  And then they'll send over young soldiers like you, Roddy.  They've already sent you there once."  Her last words trailed off quietly.

"Look," Bruce said.  "My commando days are probably behind me now.  I'm behind a desk at the embassy most days.  And there won't be Aussie soldiers in that war, my love."

"What if it turns into World War III?" asked Angela, but he said nothing and just kissed her instead, hoping "she whose gaze must be avoided" would change her mind someday, and go back to the Middle East to take out some more of those bad guys.

Back in her National Arboretum office, Dr. Devi Rajatala finished cleaning up from the lunch with Angela and Roddy, then looked out the window with sadness as Mega Moo grazed [mowed] the grass outside for the last time.  Calico Johnson would be coming by this afternoon to pick his cow up and take her to their new home.  The geriatric bovine moved slowly and contentedly across the lawn, blissfully unaware she would soon lose the companionship of the National Arboretum's clever donkey, Rani.  Dr. Rajatala turned her gaze to Rani--just three feet away from Mega Moo, always three feet away from Mega Moo when they were feeding.  (At night, though, they slept side-by-side.)  Rani will get fat from eating all the grass herself, she thought, trying to maintain a scientific mind about the matter.  She had become an arborist because working with animals was too emotional.  "I've got work to do," she said aloud, trying to jolt herself out of her reverie.  A lot of damned work, since the sequestration killed our budget.  She looked at her task list and crossed off the one the young lovers had volunteered for.

Back in the forest primeval, the Warrior had just returned from the long pilgrimage he had made to fight Golden Fawn's breast cancer.  He had not even seen her yet, but he knew she was better.  It was Angela de la Paz he needed to find now, as he could sense the sickness in her spirit was growing.  He moved quickly through the trees until he was interrupted by the sound of a woman's high-pitched squealing.  He ran to see what was the matter and found Bridezilla screeching about the cellphone she had accidentally flung into a ravine while furiously trying to get a June bug out of her hair.  "You have to go after it!" she pleaded to her blind date, whose gaze was shifting uncomfortably back and forth between Bridezilla and the ravine.

"How am I gonna find it in there?"

"You just don't wanna get dirty!" she challenged him.

"Maybe we could look for it together," he replied, indignant that his manhood was being challenged in this absurd way.  Women always want equality until they don't!

The Warrior moved carefully down the ravine, easily detecting the crushed leaves that signaled the phone's landing place.  He retrieved the phone and climbed rapidly back up the ravine's other side to hand the phone to the astonished Bridezilla.  "Now that's a man!" she exclaimed in all sincerity.

"Fine!" her blind date exclaimed.  "Let the old man take you home!"

"Well, I bet he doesn't drive a red convertible sports car to compensate for his personal deficiencies!"

"Peace be with your spirit," said the Warrior, with no hope of having any such effect on the woman.

"Thank you!" sighed Bridezilla, melting into a mild southern drawl.  "I do need peace in my spirit!"

Hmm, thought the Warrior.  "Let me show you something," he said, cautiously.

"Yes, show me," sighed Bridezilla.  "I've been looking for a sign.  You're a guru, aren't you?  A medicine man?  I can pay you with this wampum," she added, pulling her pearl necklace off.

Hmm, thought the Warrior, she tossed off the boy and now the pearls.  Maybe she is ready to seek other things?  He put the wampum in his pocket with a wry smile and took her by the hand.

Further down the path, the ghost of Henry Samuelson was rushing along with John Doe, trying to catch up to Angela de la Paz.  "The election in Iran changes everything!" he exclaimed, and Doe nodded agreeably, distracted by the green lushness all around him, the sound of birds chirping in the trees, the smell of--  "And the U.S. sending arms through Turkey and Jordan?  If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times:  you can't put the Ottoman Empire back together again!  I mean, what next?  Should we bring back the Tsar to Russia?"

"No," agreed Doe, who was comfortable with that point, at least.  (The amnesiac didn't remember anything about the Ottoman Empire except that the rock band, Franz Ferdinand, had something to do with it.)

"I mean, if we still had that Predator drone," said Ghost Henry, "I could end World War III myself, but this time, I'm really sure we'll convince her of what needs to be done."

Doe stopped to retie his shoe.  He didn't recall ever convincing Angela de la Paz to do anything for Ghost Henry or his Ghost CIA, but, then again, the brain-injured, temporal-lobe epileptic rarely remembered anything in his life. 

"There's a lot at stake here," said Ghost Henry, floating anxiously around Doe, who was tying his shoe as methodically as a 2nd-grader.  "Obama is in way over his head this time!  And the Heurich Society--I mean, I love Button, but she doesn't know what she's doing!" 

Doe stood up, nodding agreeably, though he had never heard Ghost Henry say a kind word about his daughter.  "What if it really turns into World War III?" asked Doe.

"It already is!" shouted Ghost Henry.  "My femme Nikita is the only one that can stop it now!"

Several miles away, Liv Cigemeier and her husband were moving into the house next door to Charles Wu.  Today they were all smiles, full of shiny, happy dreams...and so was the real estate demon living in the backyard shed.

COMING UP:  demons who feed on the American Dream.


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