“They said it came from the foot hills of a place that no longer exists, bathed in the blood of kings and queens, with strength that no other could best, and they called it Him.”
“Him? What sort of lame arsed name is Him?”
“Y-Y-Y-You dare not defile its n-n-name, those that ha-ha-h-have, perish,” he says nervously.
“I call ‘me as I see ‘me honey.”
“But what? This all seeing, immortal piece of fiction is going to come down here and rip my arms from their sockets? As if sweetheart, I’ve been chasing monsters since I was a kid, me and my Dad did it, like he did with his before I was around. It’s been generation, after generation, and ain’t no one ever encountered this dreaded, all mighty, Him.”
“Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean, it doesn’t exist, you more than most should understand that Mister Watts.”
He turns to the little man who sits on his right and pokes him with an elbow, “Magoo, I’ve seen enough to know, if something like this Him existed, someone would’ve recorded it, somewhere, and ain’t no one ever recorded this one, ever,” he says, turning back to old man who sits crouched before him.
“T-T-Tales are records, they tell of his becoming, his smiting of those who crossed his path, who..”
“Who did nothing, tales are tales, there’s no facts, no documented events, I’d believe the fucking Bible, before I believe any of this hogwash,” he says getting to his feet. “You keep your head buried here, you believe in your little fairy tales, me, I’m going outside, gonna have me a nice big old cigar, and then I’m gonna head back into town, and move on, there ain’t nothing here for me.”
“Mister Watt’s, please, our people, they’re struggling, and we paid you more than we had to get you here, we scarified so much, please, please don’t abandon us at our most weakest moment,” the little man says.
“Magoo, honestly, if I didn’t have someone waiting on this coin, I’d tell you to keep it, but, I’ve got people who want to put me in the ground for this, and, you’ve got nothing but a legend, a tall tale, of some guy who stood up to the bad men, sorted them out, and went off into the woods to die, alone. That’s pretty much the god’s honest truth, and this bad luck that’s running though your little village, it’s the drinking water man. Fuckers up stream have built oil wells off the rivers edge, they’re polluting the main vain of the rive that you get all your water from, because you backwater fucks don’t know shit, you are doing it to yourself. My advice, stop drinking the water, and move your village, east,” he says, whistling as he points east. “Get the fuck out of dodge, just like I’m about to,” he says as stretches, tips his hat and walks out of the tent, into the night air.
He looks around the deserted village, taking a deep breath, before pulling a cigar from his pocket and running it under his nose. He lets out a sigh, then bites the end off, chewing on it for a few moments, before shaking his head, and smiling to himself as he pulls a lighter from out of his jeans, flicking it to life. It’s then that he notices a man starring at him from across the dirt field, he nervously smiles, as he takes a puff on the cigar. “Nice night for a walk there Conan,” he says.
“I, am not Conan, I, am Him,” he says, as he takes a thunderous step forward.