Sloughing Off the Rot Read Online Free Page A

He saw the madman’s random utterances taking physical form, spelled out in the air in great bold, thick, capital letters. The word LAPIDATE shot from Santiago’s beard-crusted orifice and pinged off John’s forehead, leaving a welt and a small scrape. Next BLOOD spewed from Santiago’s mouth and soaked John’s face and chest. BIRD flew from his mouth, coasted on the wind currents above John and dropped a SLOPPY SHIT, which bespattered his shoulder. MIGHTY FIST OF RAGE hammered the side of John’s head and knocked him on his back, right next to Santiago.
    John closed his eyes and shielded his head. And though Santiago continued to rave, his words no longer physically assaulted John. Without open eyes to give them power, the words dropped and thudded on the ground, became two-dimensional lower case phrases, and expired. A tugging at his belly, like a hook on the end of a rope pulling at him, yanked John into the air. He dangled there, looking down at his supine, motionless body. His tall, thin form, arms outspread, looked as if it were welcoming the abusive words as they rained down upon him. His eyes clenched. His stubbly face twisted up in a smile. Next to his body, John saw Santiago, still flat on his back, his mouth erupting a gush of unconnected, bolded words into the air. Many of the words were emphatic and given great force by gargantuan exclamation marks. Still, with his eyes closed, the words did John no violence. They merely bounced off of him, scattered about his body on the ground.
    And then, John saw both his and Santiago’s bodies lifted from the ground as if they were marionettes on strings. Their bodies jerked and lurched about awkwardly, as if trying to fight off some outside force that was making them move. As they moved, their bodies gradually took on more fluid, lifelike movements. The men jumped and ran and flailed about. John watched on from above, feeling detached from the action. With a powerful whoosh, he felt himself sucked back into his body, felt the strain of his muscles and the compulsion to move forward, to run and jump and dance. No longer a spectator, John felt the frenzy of random emotions and the need to groove.
    Red and gold brick roads, starting at a center point and spinning outward, expanding as they swirled, set out two separate paths, the red opening up to the west and the gold spreading out in the opposite direction. And starting at the center of the two-toned swirl, John and Santiago bounced and jumped and kicked up their heels and allowed themselves to be washed along with the wave that pushed them down the red brick road. They whirled down the road, spinning madly, pulled by the current of the river of clouds above them.
    Along the road, they encountered other men and boys. Santiago plucked an everlasting supply of worms from his bottomless bag and dropped them in the people’s eyes. And the men and boys joined them and danced along the road, spinning and circling around John, as planets orbiting a sun. The dancers, their arms raised to the sky and grooving to some cosmic jam, spun and jumped and kicked up dust, ushering John and Santiago along.
    The road curved and swelled and welcomed the frenetic swarm of dirty, sweaty bodies. Along the way, members of the crowd picked up instruments and began to play. Bouzoukis and baglamas plinked and sang and dueled feverishly, the three-stringed instruments reverberating and complementing each other, driving the pace of the dancers faster. Flutes fluttered frenetically above the din. Those without instruments picked up sticks and clinked them together or beat on drums or jars. Some chanted and moaned in unison. Others clapped their hands until it hurt. Still others just danced.
    Santiago, in a trance, ripped a leather belt from the robe of one of the dancers. In time to the beat, Santiago whipped the strap at his own bare back. The scourge drew welts and blood and exclamations of joy. Some of the dancers ventured too close to Santiago