Nevermore (N end)

It’s time. I’ve been telling this story long enough to know it should not be turned into a novel. I’m very weary of it and realize it needs to be brought to an end, for my sake but for your sake as well. The haunting is more than I can bear, even though I’m not human, as I’ve told you from the beginning. Not human doesn’t mean not having a heart, or its equivalent. In fact, maybe my suffering is worse, precisely because I’m not human and my heart is bigger, more vulnerable because of who or what I am.

Do not think my lack of humanity, then, makes me inhuman, as odd as that might seem. It means I can make the greatest sacrifice of all to tell this story because I have no fear of dying, no fear of retribution. I must speak, but above all must act, whatever the consequences. I do this for the world, for you, and in so doing am hoping to save us from the monster once known as Hank.

By way of explanation, I ought to clarify that I have been watching Hank transform into an utterly evil being, less human even than I am. However, my not being human hurts nobody and can bring a bit of joy and clarity to the world. Hank hurts us all, has taught many of us to hate, has shown us everything we need to avoid in order to survive. You know how and why that has happened and are most likely terrified at how easily he has accomplished it.

In telling and terminating this story, a few lines from Poe come to mind, but their connection to my words is a bit jumbled in my mind. I do ask that you not feel a sense of hate or disgust for the Raven in these verses, because he (or she) is not evil; we know that characteristic belongs to Hank. The bird merely symbolizes the pain, yet also refuses to allow it to engulf us. Perhaps it saves us from Hank and his penchant for torturing us all.

Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

I am inspired by the lovely black bird to interrupt Hank’s quest to own everything, amassing great wealth far beyond what he needs, starving us in the process. He has become dangerous to the point where he would not give a second thought to our demise, even if that left him alone, sailing along on a golden yacht and laughing at the drowning fools he has thrown overboard. He is not Faust but Satan himself.

However, I have a plan.

Hank is speaking now. Watch me…

The podium is huge and creates the impression of strength. It is heavy and protects him, but I have a good plan and good aim. His mouth puckers as if kissing the words that are emerging from it. That is the moment I take aim and ping! His lips flop sideways . The sneer is gone and he looks like his face is made of putty, sagging and glistening. Nobody can comprehend anything he’s saying now. Nobody wants to listen to him. I am far from finished, however.

Five minutes later, I beckon my friend the wind, who unravels his coiffure along with his vanity, showing there is nothing beneath rats’ nest but sweaty scalp. Snickering can be heard. The vanity is visible to all. And I am far from finished.

Next an ugly grease spot appears on his expensive silk tie and creates tremendous distress, so much that he is unable to concentrate on his words, the words that lay out his plan to enhance his greatness even more. He begins to weep slightly, which puts furrows in his lavish stage makeup, around both eyes and down both cheeks. This is far from over.

Next I target on his side pocket, where his right hip is. I add pressure nobody can detect, and there is a slight ping! ping! It’s as if an invisible cannula has been split and its content comes rushing out. It drains quickly and creates a spongy mess on the floor at the foot of the podium. A few people nearby are wrinkling their noses because an intense stench has emerged from the pocket area. Nobody understands what has happened, but I do. Some start looking for a shooter, but they will never find one because I am not using a weapon that can be confiscated. My power does not involve the types of arms humans use. And I am not one who can be stopped like a human could be stopped. This only the beginning.

Now I focus on the ear, the left one, and it begins to move as if it wanted to escape from the side of his head but is trapped. He clutches at it, poor Hank, but I’m not thinking poor fellow at all. I’m moving his eyebrows into a position no normal human would have, and the laughter raises several decibels. This occurs at the same time as Hank’s shirt buttons pop off as if his chest were swelling grotesquely. Did I say “as if”? It is. Swelling. It’s grotesque. There’s a lot more to be done. Ping! goes the last button and the flab that still has not turned turgid is spilling out over his belt. It’s not very attractive. ping! ping! ping! Still I will not stop.

Hank’s eyes are turning colors, the irises have disappeared in the orbs that flicker pink, yellow, and some rotting shade. He’s beginning to resemble some medieval figure nobody ever wants to dream about, and even seems to be melting. His shoes are greasy. Pingpingping! One suit jacket sleeve drops from a shoulder and the sight is not at all pretty. Hank looks like a character from a certain tv program as he moves away from the podium that is growing even larger as he drips into oblivion, his voice barely audible. The audience, by now frantically torn between mocking the spectacle and knocking over chairs to escape, really panic. And yet I am still not quite finished.

Hank is becoming an obnoxious puddle of ex-man, head, genitals and all. The admiration and control he sought are far away and he somehow is still aware of that. His thirst for power and wealth is drinking him up like so much vomit. There is just one last thing to do before he is gone forever. (Nobody will ever come to clean up the mess or to bury him, obviously.)

The Raven, my beloved bird: I send it to ensure the last bit is carried out and ping! It won’t have to perch on the fetid puddle, fortunately. I’ve instructed it to hold its breath and to light on the huge podium. It will stand vigil and ensure the Devil cannot return.

Nevermore, oh, nevermore.