Day 242 – Bring Me The Head Of Wilson Monroe – Short Story

He stands in front of the large crowd, and clears his throat before settling his mouth over the microphone, he feels the sweat begin to break on his brow, and the million eyes burrowing into his own. “I’m not going to bore you with some opening speech about how I’m not the man you want, how all these sins you’ve been told were committed by me, are untrue. Instead, I’m going to tell you about his word,” he says, murmurers run through the crowd, he darts his eyes through them, and grips the sides of the booth.

“It was six months ago to this day, when I was standing here, talking to a small group of folks, not much unlike you. In fact,” he says, squinting his eyes and searching the group. “In fact, I think some of you are here today, so you probably remember that day, or then again, maybe you don’t. I think it was something more for me, than just another Sunday, just another moment for us all to sit and share his word, and what it’s done for our lives. But, I’m getting lost, as is my story. That Sunday, I talked about how he wants us to do things, wants us to be who we need to be, and sometimes, we find ourselves lost and off the path of his design, fumbling in the darkness of sin, making bed mates of the devil, SATAN, see I said his name, and he does not strike me down!” He clears his throat once more, and grasps a glass of water with nervous hands, emptying the glass into his mouth and swallowing the cool, forgiving water down. He looks out unto the people once more, and smiles.

“After the sermon, I sat with a young woman and her soon to be husband, as they needed questions answered, they needed, their sin resolved, so they could move on to the next stage of their lives, free of the debauchery their lives had bathed in before then. I said to them, they need to accept their sins for what they were, and the only way he would forgive, was if they gave themselves unto him, without question, as we all must do,” he says, as he wipes the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, and looseness his collar.

“They asked me how they were to do this, and I told them, he will let them know, and they will know it when he is ready. They left feeling lighter, their sins now, not the weights they were, for they knew he would soon show them the way. That’s when he came to me, that’s when he told me of his plans for me, what I must do to help them, and people like them, turn their back on the sins they had made, and move forward, to his word. At first, I did not believe the words I was being told, at first, I believe he was the devil, trying to tempt me, trying to pervert me to his cause, but, then he showed me. I followed the couple home, and I did peer in their widows, and I did see their sin, their perverted pleasures, out of the holy wedlock, spitting gin the face of not only his word, but my words, so, I followed his words, and I did strike them both down, cleansed their bodies of their horrors and freed their immortal soul from the filthy flesh it was trapped in, and they did go to him, and he did FORGIVE THEIR SINS!” He yells out, bowing his head, the room then sits in silence for some time, before he looks back up to the crowd and smiles. “He gave me a way that day, a way that has helped me save many a sinner, and you have also come, you, my followers, have come to help me spread his word, and together, we will cleanse this world of those who have sinned, and send them into his arms so he may give them the freedom, their souls so desperately seek.”

The room falls quiet once more, and the only sound that can be heard is that of a blowfly, that buzzes quickly around the room, he leans towards the microphone once more,  and smiles a wickedly evil grin, “Now go my children, my blessed flock, go, and bring me the head of Wilson Monroe, for he is the devil himself, and we must send him back to where he belongs, WE MUST SEND HIM BACK TO HELL!”



Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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