The Fourth Coming

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Written by Priscilla Wong

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I counted three attacks painting the landscape of The Fourth Coming, draining the vital forces of the logical and the sane.

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A surprise from the Imperial Japanese Navy on Pearl Harbor, 1941.

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The Atomic bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, 1945.

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The World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 courtesy of the Al Qaeda, Islamist terrorists from Saudi Arabia.

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There were bound to be zombies and vampires in the aftermath. War was inevitable when first, the Imperial Japanese forces attacked, then came the Islamist Terrorists. Their rhetoric was full of egalitarianism, but those were mouthful of lies. The objective was to destroy democracy with foreign theocracy and socialism. 

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Their women reveal so much, with flesh practically spilling out of garments. What for, except to corrupt the minds of logical men. Beauty is not a sin. To weaponize the female body still is.​ Why do pornstars capture beauty from all around the world? Is the climate breathtaking, or was it her gorgeous figure? Why do certain pornstars prefer to be called pixel art? Isn't it true that female bodies have the power to force an upright male to abandon all sense of logic, straying from the zone of possible agreement? The women of Islam showed us how dangerous an innocent mother and child could be, when these women and children became suicide bombers. Now a mother and child can only evoke sympathy within limitations, but a nude female has more wiggle room.

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Quite a bit more wiggle room.

 

Can't we sweeten a deal over crude oil with a dish full of beautiful bodies? Certainly. Isn't it true how these women could become friends, lovers or wives with ulterior motives? Certainly. Isn't it be possible for certain women to beg for peace or play at Judith and Holofernes? Of course.

 

Always.

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Wouldn't it be wise then, to swear by celibacy? Maybe.

 

Something vile occurred after these three attacks. Slowly, but surely. Isn't it true that the Middle East Respiratory Syndrome eventually mutated into Coronavirus? As in, it came from the Middle East. What if MERS carriers are not aware of their parasitic behavior?

 

Isn't it true that the Japanese Encephalitis Virus targets the brain? Survivors often suffer from permanent cognitive, behavioral or neurological complications. How do we know the vaccine really worked? And how do we know whether or not survivors haven't permanently altered the neural pathways within our cultural norm? Isn't it possible the influence of the virus spread significantly into China, what with the Chinese being highly susceptible to Japanese culture? Isn't it feasible for the behavioral effects of JEV to have infected all of Asia and potentially Europe without resistance?

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We can't be certain, but what if it's true?

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Let's just say, the carnage of MERS produced zombies, and the chain reaction of JEV generated vampires.

 

Between you and me, the Mexicans are last Mohicans.​​ The Guanajuato Warriors wear leg warmers packed with garlic grenades, just in case they run into vampires. It's relatively useless against the supernatural. Coyote skins draped around their necks and the frozen formaldehyde hawks strapped over helmets. Don't forget the raccoon skins firmly held in place to protect their erogenous territory. It's more distracting than frightening to a real vampire. They have just one lambskin drum with a spiral serpent symbol painted as a sigil against the dark forces, a sacred instrument. When they beat their little war drum, it calls the ancient spirits to bring about what they consider to be destruction and rebirth. Death to all vampires and zombies.​​​ If it were up to me, I'd say rid the planet of zombies and let the vampires live. But thats wishful thinking. Zombies outnumber the vampires by far.

 

There was a Zombie King who won a following by preaching a few rules crafted around his divisive reality.

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1. Ugly is beautiful.

2. If you have acceptance, enter the light.

3. If you have oppression, stay in the shadow.

4. Always draw triangles over the works of other greater men. Triangles will reveal secrets.

5. Look at me, now look at you. I am immaculate. You are a poser.

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He has mottled brownish pink skin, crooked teeth, no jawline and a close cropped haircut that vaguely resembles Hitler. He fully believes in the brainwashing power of music. He got his start by playing loudly out of a bluetooth speaker on the streets of Queens wearing a cool jacket and sneakers. This occurred during the time when people still remembered oppression. He was originally a jackass pygmy from the Borneo jungle. Surviving MERS bestowed upon him, super human strength and wit, and he decided it was time for the masses to rise up. The zombie army follow his rules to the word, almost all remarkably lacking in moral judgement. Simply to test their faith, some are willing to drink their own urine for him. Once they drink, he will pass them into the light. Those who refuse to degrade themselves are delivered into prison. He has within him, a notorious hatred for vampires.

 

Zombie King : Vampires are beautiful on the outside and ugly, greedy on the inside. If you can drink a vampire's blood, do it. Treat them as unicorns, whose powers will only increase your zombie prowess.

 

He only spoke of being a vampire hunter. No one ever saw him drink her blood. His followers are too blind to outshine the master. Instead, they kiss his feet and recite his words absentmindedly with the high hopes that he might grant them some scraps.

 

Zombie King : No, guys, guys! I'm half vampire. That's how I can drink their blood. I came from the Caspian Sea, straight up. Eh, what you looking at?

 

He grinned lackadaisically. He had a few underaged girls locked up in his walk in freezer. One Japanese, a Korean, a Chinese and a Russian. They used to be human and now, they are cadaver fetishes.​ The vampires all scattered once they heard a new Zombie King was crowned. They didn't have the appetite to stick it out. He's poisonous trouble. They had two options. Disappear or join him. He claimed a vampire stray ate his heart. The girl, she's real. Scrappy and sure footed, they hid her from view. Her mother is the Vampire Queen and he vowed to grab a pussy.

 

Zombie King : No woman can resist playing Rose in Titanic! he bragged.

 

Vampire Queen : No! Not her. Take my pussy instead.

 

Nobody gets away with giving her Vampire Queen a handjob unless she likes it. Her mother liked it, so she snatched it out, his heart, piping red and beating still and ate it like popcorn. Some say it ought to make her Queen. She didn't like the Q word. Being an underdog is always better. There are a few of her own rules.

 

1. Anyone can pass through light and shadow without permission.

2. The triangle has a special place inside a circle and a square.

3. Ugly is ugly and beautiful is beautiful.

4. Never drink your own urine for anyone.

5. If ever your paths cross with the Zombie King, make sure to crush him.

 

Her JEV has the quality of constant mutation. Afflicted with a new face every week. She'd have an hourglass figure if she tried. Her affliction demands more blood and it was harder to come by. She developed a special bond with a Gael, though some could not accept it. Especially not the Vampire Queen who still craves a helping hand or two or three or four or five. Preferably male. Preferably white male, claiming to channel his "Inner Dragon Warrior," for her.​

 

Within the forest, South of Lake Superior, an enormous glass dome levitated above the Quaking Aspen, sheltering two seasoned vampires.

 

Ben : Mother, might I ask of you, a favor? Would it be possible for you to partner me up with a living fine young thing, one who might bear my resemblance to seek to imitate the scrappy sure footed one? Oh, I don't even what it is I ask for. Whether it's companionship or creative genius. What's next? Who will carry on our line?

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Ben : How's your pussy, Mother?

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Vampire Queen : Parched. I need a helping hand.

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Ben, as dutiful as ever, began to massage the Vampire Queen. She felt immediately relaxed.​

 

Ben : That surefooted one. What was her name again?

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Vampire Queen : Persea.

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She nearly spat me out with scorn.

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I was hiding under a circular rock out in Alger, when she spoke my name. Perched upside down, enjoying a lovely sunset. Caustics illuminated my gaze. Wide open space, pinkish peach. Past the light and into the shadow, the water rippled dark and hypnotic. I stared at my new face. Only a little different from just a year ago. There's something I had to say, although I couldn't quite say it. The Gael danced all around me, an iridescent dragonfly pinwheel in jewel tone. If you have something special, why not throw it away, so you'd never lose it? The Gael, I caught it by its tail and skipped it a virtual distance away like a blue stone, disturbing the stillness of Lake Superior with a minor drop of music. That way, I'd be certain no greedy Vampire Queen can ever violate it, but never sure. The Gael, no Zombie King will ever drink his blood. Like blue magic, the thing reappeared in my hand, wings whistling, all chimes and echoes that stop and tick rhythmically at my fingertips. Wouldn't you want to protect it by walking away? He has something of mine and I want it back. To retrieve it would be a matter of arithmetic, if only should the math add up. I wound it up again, the Gael, praying its spring oriented magnetic mechanism will never fail. Never would I say it again, even if I could. Wouldn't dream of it.

 

His name is Mordecai. This time, I tied the thinnest silk thread around the Gael just like my human mother instructed me during childhood, and let it dance away chasing the light.​ The blue thing gave chase into the mist until something caught hold. A conversation in a dispassionate tone took place in the cold and quiet stillness. I hung upside down trying to make sense of the voice pitched on the line. The sound is different from what I've known.

 

C flat major.

 

Mordecai : Hello, how may I help you?

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Persea : Not showing up to the event. Under house arrest.

 

Mordecai : Is that really what sets you apart from your competition?

 

Persea : It is.

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Mordecai : House arrest? For what?

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Persea : For eating the Zombie King's stupid loser heart!

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Mordecai : If you work as hard as I do, you wouldn't be a runaway.

 

Persea : If that were true, how is everything you hate about me a result of my tenacity?

 

Mordecai : I only feel 40% hatred at this very moment.

 

Persea : Haven't you read the part in the book about how talented women are sabotaged?

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​Mordecai : I don't know anything about women or sabotage. You either have deals or no deals. I don't care about how hard you work. Just please don't waste my time.

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Persea : What about the Zombie King?

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Mordecai : Why do you care about the Zombie King?

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Persea : He stole my crown.

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Mordecai : How did he steal your crown?

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Persea : By grabbing the Vampire Queen's pussy!

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Mordecai : No whining. Are you whining at me?

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Persea : Are you pontificating at me?

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Mordecai : The Zombie King beds the Vampire Queen nearly every night. Matrons like that one can only crave more male attention as time passes.

 

Persea : What about me?

 

Mordecai : She only wants your sloppy seconds. Didn't you know that? She needs a moral compass.

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Persea : Is that supposed to be you?

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Mordecai : I do have power, don't I?

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​Persea : The power of the Occult.

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​Mordecai : If that were true, wouldn't that make you the Necromancer of Delphi?

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​Persea : Are you flirting?

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​Mordecai : I'm a professional and I can't help it if you developed feelings. For me.

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​Persea : How are you so sure about that?

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​Mordecai : I feel used by you, Persea. That's how.

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​Persea : You've use me.

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​Mordecai : Only because I'm a diplomat and... I'm sorry you're so fat.

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Persea : The fattest.

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Mordecai : 24% body fat is mediocre.

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Persea : How did you know that?

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Mordecai : I have eyes. 

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Persea : The eyes of Mordecai?

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Mordecai : Sees the entire life of each individual. For instance, I can see the fat curtain draped generously over your mid section. It's not bad if you actually tried.

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Persea : You can see my fat curtain ball gown?

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Mordecai : All of it. You should win a fat trophy.

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Persea : I do like trophies.

 

Mordecai : I want you to show up.

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Persea : I can't possibly, until I reach 13% body fat or no deal.

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Mordecai : No deal? Alright, we can feed a small immigrant family with the excess 11% of your body fat. I'd use you, only if I feel kind.

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Persea : Aren't you the kindest.

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Mordecai : Now if we push it, we can donate another 8% of your body fat to a homeless shelter. Nonetheless... I don't think you have the reach for such lofty goals. Keeping my enemies closer with you, is all. I wish you were homeless, but what if it could be me one day?

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Persea : What if it's me instead of you?

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Mordecai : How could that be?

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​Persea : If ever you came to stay, it'll be my death.

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​Mordecai : The death of your secret hidden fat life.

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Persea : I have nothing to hide from you.

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Mordecai : Why do you hate me then?

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Persea : You have more power. I don't like being at your mercy.

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Mordecai : Is it really about power?

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Persea : No, it's about freedom.

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Mordecai : Freedom from what?

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Persea : From you, of course.

 

Mordecai : You mean from the Vampire Queen who keeps you under house arrest, selling you short for men who grab her pussy?

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Persea : Vampires need to be alone.

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Mordecai : What if I am a vampire too?

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Persea : You look like one, although I'm positive you're an occultist with mind control.

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Mordecai : Since when?

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Persea : Maybe since birth. Ask your mother.

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Mordecai : Maybe I'd like to grab your face, blind you and remove your silver tongue with tongs. I might tear your hair out little by little at first, then, by the fistful, dispose of your body into a chemical solution to watch you dissolve, ever so slightly. If I am still feeling kind after that, I would break your nose.

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​​Persea : Very pretty.​

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Mordecai : Yes, I am.

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Persea : Aren't you part Cherokee?

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Mordecai : Not necessarily.

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Persea : If you were all Gael, you'd be nice and give in.

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Mordecai : Aren't I?

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Persea : Yes, I am.

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Mordecai : Would it hurt you to show up once in a while?

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Persea : With what dignity?

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​Just then, the silk thread on my Gael gave out. The blue thing fluttered back into my palms. I slipped the stone back into my pocket, when a raven came down on me, all spit and black feathers.

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Mordecai : That was from me.

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​Persea : You're distracting me from my job.

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​Mordecai : What if I took your real mother away? Your brother, your father and your man? What if I use you and dispose of you for good?

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​Persea : You're not a god. I suppose you could dispose of anyone if you had the power to do so.

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​Mordecai : I'm not a god? I broke your string and here I am still.

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Persea : So what if you might be?

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Mordecai : So what if I - You are the rudest girl I have ever met. Tell me please, why do you think I'm Cherokee?

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​Persea : Your tan and sleazy beard - for me?

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​Mordecai : No, not for you - hey now, my friends are NOT sleazy.

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Persea : Ok, your friends are adults and you are mick beard.

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Mordecai : You are a spoiled brat.

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Persea : If you look sleazy, you probably are.

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Mordecai : Sleazy how?

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Persea : Sleazy like Jabibbi & Lyars or Sweet Jameson.

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Mordecai : Sleazy like the goldsmith you frequent?

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Persea : No. Like a pawnshop or a sports memorabilia trade convention. Like a ratchet supermodel's bodyguard.

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Mordecai : You'd wish you could go public with your secret fat life.

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Persea : I do not need a body guard to consume blood.

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Mordecai : If you look like a girl, why do you act like a boy?

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Persea : Is your job a selfie scouter?

 

Mordecai : Your persona says "I changed my outfit and I'm just as grumpy as the day before." Whore.

 

Persea : Do you honestly expect me to look like Naomi Burger? Does that look like a vampire to you? That thing is a zombie.

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Mordecai : Zombies have feelings.

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Persea : You mean money. Yummy, yummy money.

 

His raven returned to maul me to a bloody pulp. It picked at my hair until he waved it away. My hair was as big as a bombshell by then. I saw my sexualized reflection in the water and screamed.

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Persea : I look like a WHORE! I only change for me. Why of all people would it be for you?

 

Mordecai : Whores have money.

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Persea : I do not wish to look like a wig mannequin in a chola hair salon. Please, I beg of you.

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Mordecai : Look like a mannequin please, if you wish to have a future. What if illiteracy is the future?

 

Persea : Wouldn't I be prepared with a script? A yummy script, secret eyes of Mordecai.

 

Mordecai : Congratulations. You are now a distinguished hero.

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Persea : Aren't there more important things worth fighting for, than jumping on the chola bandwagon?

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Mordecai : Tell me, exactly how old are you and how important is it, for you to have strategic flaws?

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​Persea : Its true, I was older when we met.

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​Mordecai : You don't look at day above 60. That's the first time you were mean to me.

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​Persea : Already said I'm sorry.

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​Mordecai : How dare you look on me that way.

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​Persea : How dare you look at me.

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Mordecai : I thought you were unspectacular to begin with, if I'm being quite ruthless.

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Persea : Yes, I know. So it shouldn't surprise you to know how disinterested I am now.

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Mordecai : I beg your pardon, but you seem interested.

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Persea : Didn't you say to keep your enemies closer?

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Mordecai : Wouldn't you like to know.

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Persea : Intimidating me with deportations?

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Mordecai : I know the President. I would rather call you an unkind squaw now.

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Persea : All who marry young grow old.

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Mordecai : How unfortunate for the both of us, that what enters the mind, never leaves the soul.

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Persea : Vampires have no soul.

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Mordecai : Your Gael is a lie.

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Persea : My Gael is a song.

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Mordecai : It's your father and your man.

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Persea : If that's the case, he gifted me with song and you fell for my father. How then, could you take everyone away from me?

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Mordecai : I won't like it when you grow old.

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Persea : Certainly not. I don't like how you'll grow old too!

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Mordecai : How old do you think I am, exactly?

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Persea : Old enough to sport a sleazy beard, obviously.

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Mordecai : Obviously.

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Persea : How dare you.

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Mordecai : How dare I, WHAT?

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Persea : Be prettier than I am.

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Mordecai : How dare you sing your lies.

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Persea : What lies?

 

Mordecai : If you fell for the Occult instead of me, truthfully, you'd be easier than you are. Take my hand.

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Persea : My hands are full.

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Mordecai : I swear you cried heart palpitations, Persea.

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Persea : I'm heartless.

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Mordecai : Your eyes are slivers.

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Persea : Only if you make me yawn.

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Mordecai : Never have I hated anyone more than I hate you.

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Persea : Hate you too.

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Mordecai : No you don't. Not one bit.​

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Persea : Now we're both putrid.

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His raven gave one final caw and exploded into oblivion. One shiny feather landed on my forehead. I picked it up and twirled it in between my fingers. Mordecai fairy embers are lighter than my plumage. Unfair, mahogany baby grand. Why doesn't he bear my weight of sapience?

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I forgot how much I liked C flat major, the best keys on the piano. Still hanging upside down, I played the remainder of his song in tertian harmony, fingers stepping into clouds until I walked into the sun, into the distant horizon - the acoustics echoing against the stone chamber. I dropped my Gael into the water like a heavy stone. I'll dispose of you, wretched blue thing! It sunk beneath the rippling source like lost treasure, only for a few seconds, before it shook back into my hand, magnetic and brand new again, glued to that special mark on my palm. Marked for a purpose. I felt his silence fade into nothing. I kissed my Gael before unhinging my heavy black wings to take flight, a labradorite sheen against the night.