Cameron Pierce - Abortion Arcade

Beelzebub:I heard that.

Biff Bifferson:Cocksucker.

Beelzebub:Can’t you see what’s happening on the field? Call the skelecops! Call somebody! This is a gross violation of league rules!

Biff Bifferson:My wife took my cell phone.

Beelzebub:There’s a phone on the wall, over by the door.

Biff Bifferson:Not anymore. My wife took that one too.

She left me with nothin’ but a toothbrush. Not even a farewell note that said Fuck off and die, Biff Bifferson . I would’ve appreciated that.

Beelzebub:Biff Bifferson, I can see the phone from here.

Your wife did not steal the telephone. Now get up and call the police. Danny the Psycho’s already run over most of the cheerleaders. Oh, shit! He’s coming our way!

(The commentary booth fills with blood.)

Danny yelped each time the crunch of another run-over player or cheerleader jolted the truck. He racked his brain for some way to halt the insane chainsaw’s hit-and-run riot, but the voice of Ronnie Dio overpowered his thoughts.

“Time to hit the dirt, kid,” the chainsaw said. “Don’t worry, you’ll live through this.”

The shriek of a blade cutting through glass accompanied Ronnie for a brief demoniac harmony before a river of blood swept Danny out of his own truck-body.

Danny hit the grass. His arms scuttled over to him and reattached themselves. He remained legless.

Despite losing the gargantuan body he’d temporarily controlled, he felt thankful to be himself again, even if he was a cripple.

From where he sat on the fiftieth yard line, Danny scanned the field and sidelines. Without legs, there was no hope of running after Skeletor and his father, but at least his father escaped the massacre.

Having slaughtered virtually every Heavy Metal cheerleader, the chainsaw-driven truck zoomed straight at the fleeing Country Vampire cheer squad. Danny thought of nothing except Barbetta. The memory of her fleshless face was like a beautiful insect squirming between the teeth of his mind.

And then he saw her. She was not dead yet.

Barbetta’s belly gaped open. Even at a distance, Danny thought her coiled insides looked very surprised to see him.

He swore to the metal gods. Her intestines had smiled at him!

Let me suck your liver , he might have said, if he’d stood within hearing range. Instead, he raised his arms to the autumn sky and howled her name.

Barbetta somersaulted across the field, her beatific face curling into her long, slender legs. During each roll, Danny forgot that her ruined midsection existed. On the upturn, it reappeared, a brutal reminder of what he’d done. Her blood sprayed across the field like a powerful sprinkler, nourishing the corpses.

She somersaulted and collapsed on top of Danny, her belly-gore warming the stubs of his legs. He moved his hands over her face. He dug into her cheeks and ran his fingers over her white teeth.

“I love you, Barbetta!”

“I love you, Danny!”

All around, people screamed. An engine’s roar mocked them all. Sirens wailed in the distance. It felt good to be in love. Barbetta stroked his hair and cooed soft words into his ears. “I am roadkill like you, Danny. I have always been just roadkill.”

“What do you mean, Barbetta?”

“I have secretly always loved Dio.”

Danny opened his mouth to respond when a honking at midfield tore his attention away from her. The driver-side door of his father’s truck flung open and the chainsaw surfed out on a wave of blood.

The chainsaw grew larger.

It grew arms.

It grew legs.

It grew a head.

It grew fucking awesome jet-black heavy metal hair.

And it sang with the voice of the holy savior, Ronnie James Dio.

“Holy Diver!”

“What’s happening, Danny? How come that chainsaw looks like Dio? And sounds like Dio?”

Danny could tell Barbetta was nervous. Hell, he was nervous too.

“Stay cool. He’s a friend of mine,” he said, his calm voice and smooth choice of words a surprise even to himself.

Dio stopped in front of Danny and Barbetta.

“I’ve come to collect the hero,” Dio said.

“You mean me ?” Danny asked.

“Yes, Danny, you’re a hero now. You’re the hero you’ve always dreamed of becoming. Congratulations. Do you want to claim your prize?”

“Do I win the girl of my dreams?”

“You already have me,” Barbetta said, kissing him on the cheek.

“No, Danny,” Dio said, ignoring Barbetta. “You get to spend eternity with me. In my dark, damp castle. I’ve got a library, a bar, a full recording studio. What do you say?”

“Just you and me, Ronnie?”

“Just you and me, champ.”

“Can I bring Barbetta along?”

“Sorry, I’m afraid heroes must walk the hero’s road alone.”

Danny turned to Barbetta. She had tears in her eyes. “I understand, Danny. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. Go be as awesome as you are. Just remember that I love you.”

Before Danny could kiss Barbetta goodbye, Dio scooped him into his arms and walked away.

“Goodbye, Barbetta. I’ll always love you,” Danny cal ed, peering over Dio’s shoulder.

“Give it a rest, kid. The girl is dead.”

The sirens were close now. Dio strode faster across the bloody grass. Danny stared slack-jawed into the face of his hero. Dio loaded Danny into the passenger seat and hurried around to the driver’s side.

“Buckle up,” Dio said.

Danny buckled up.

The first cop cars pulled into Heavy Metal High’s parking lot as Dio started the engine, turned the stereo up real loud, and the truck floated up into the sky.

They sang Holy Diver all the way into the clouds.

Danny turns to Dio and says “I mean, what the hell is Holy Diver about anyway?”

They have just watched the Holy Diver music video for the 1,829th time. It used to be Danny’s favorite music video of all time. Now, it makes no fucking sense to Danny.

He feels very awkward sitting in the dungeon of this dark, damp castle, watching this music video on repeat.

He regrets becoming a hero and getting to spend eternity with the legend. Hanging out with Dio is not as cool as Danny thought it would be.

“Look Ronnie,” Danny says, “Holy Diver is awesome and all, but don’t you have anything else in this dark, damp castle? Like steampunk seahorses or ghosts that poop or… dragons?”

Dio flashes the horns. “Oh, I got dragons. But did you see this video?”

They watch Holy Diver.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Simon and Celia are biking home from a dinner party on a smoky orange night in August.

A sloth falls out of a tree in front of Celia’s bike. The brakes of Celia’s bike have been worn down to nothing.

Plus, she is drunk. She crashes into the sloth and flips over the handlebars. She rolls in a frenzy of limbs for several yards on the plastic grass that replaced streets and sidewalks last February.

Simon leaps off his bike. He kicks the sloth in the back.

The animal screams. Its eyes are gone. It reaches a clawed hand toward Simon, mewling for help. Simon kicks the animal in the face, not because he wants to hurt it. It will die soon anyway.

The sloth’s head splits away from its body and rolls in front of a cyclist on the green artificial speedway. The cyclist gives Simon the middle finger. Simon raises his hands in apology, then turns back to the sloth. Nose-shaped beetles are digging into its neck.