The Twelve Days of Christmas (ii)
Day One
Dramatis Personae… Vesper (the protagonist), Vasuman (a two-faced werewolf), A Christmas Tree (Hell (love gone wrong)), Adolph Hitler (Satan), Woggle (chaos), Belial (a Nazi general & arch-demon of Hell), Azazel (a Nazi soldier & regular demon of Hell), A Partridge (a big angry bird), Two Turtle Doves (god’s wrath).
Day Two
200th Branch
Ting!
A chord rang out through a bright, messy office. A tuneless voice coughed, adjusted pitch and sang:
“On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”
Adolph Hitler looked up from his desk and glared at the source of the vocal atrocity. It was his Second-In-Command - a small, dwarf-like fellow named Woggle.
“Voggle – vhould you kindly zhut up?” said Hitler.
“Me, mein Führer? What did Woggle do, mein Führer?” said Woggle.
“Das zinging, Voggle. Das maddening, god-awvful, apocalyptisches zinging!”
“But Woggle likes to sing along!”
“Zing along? Zing along!? You cannot zing along, die chords are zo zpread out dass each verse occupies ze entire Taag Voggle!”
“But Woggle heard a chord!”
“Ja, Voggle did hear ze chord! Ein chord! You cannot zing along vis ein chord!”
“Woggle try, mein Führer!”
Hitler threw up his hands and let his head crash onto the desk. Hell was difficult. He was unable to leave his office. Here he was, Führer of the Tree, the most efficient and hardworking commander throughout the Trunk and they’d given him this… This pitiful excuse of a troll to carry out his orders.
He looked down at his desk – its top neatly laid out, contrary to the hideous mess the office was in – and noticed a piece of paper. He tapped a finger on it.
“Es steht hier, Voggle, zat das Partridge has been released zucceszfully. Do ve know vhere es ist?”
Woggle ran at a corner of the room, hurling himself with abandon into a stack of papers which went flying in all directions. Hitler winced. Woggle emerged, clutching what seemed like a tennis ball.
“Nobody know where Partridge is, mein Führer.”
Hitler spoke slowly, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Voggle. Das Partridge is gigantisch. Es ist largest vepon in our arsenal. It has ze zirty-foot wingspan. How has nobody zeen zis gigantisch… flapping… Partridge vlying zeround! Du idiot!”
Suddenly, there was a great whooshing of air outside the office window. Hitler stood and looked out of the window. A great screeching cry from outside startled Woggle into another pile of papers.
“Ahh, ich sehe es. Go and tell ze Day Two Vautch that it’s zafe to release ze Turtle Doves. Das Partridge is out of ze harm's vay.”
Woggle stumbled out and Hitler wiped his brow.
Day Two
367th Branch
Vesper crouched atop a branch of a huge tree. It was several hundred times larger than a normal tree. The branches and leaves (which were seven-foot pine needles) were charred, twisted and damp, as though set on fire and put out. The smell of death hung in the air.
Directly beneath him was his cell – a dirty, red bauble hanging from the branch. Up and down the branch were similar baubles. Up and down other branches were more baubles. From within all of them came screams. Massive tendrils of burnt, smouldering tinsel hung amongst the leaves.
“Dismal, eh?” said a voice.
Vesper turned and saw a man dressed in rags standing next to him. His eyes had no pupils.
“What?” said Vesper.
“Dismal. Dreary, pungent, bleak. This place, you know? The sights, sounds and smells can really violate your senses, eh? I’m unlucky enough to have pretty keen ones, too.”
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Ah, whoops! That was rude of me and I apologise. The name’s Vasuman and I’m a werewolf. They put me in Baubles to tear people to pieces. But out here I don’t really go for the whole fatal mutilation thing. My transformations are randomly timed, so if I say run-“
“Then I will run. So this is Hell? A tree?”
“Absolutely. Not the whole tree, course. No, not all of it’s this dank – you’re near-400 branches down here. Coupl’hundred branches up and you’ll get to Purgatory. That’s a nice place, I’ve heard - never been, myself. Above that is Heaven. Not even heard what that’s like.”
“I have to go there.”
Vasuman laughed.
“Now, hold on there fella’! You can’t just go about between the layers of the tree. There’re mechanisms in place to stop certain behaviour, like. The management don’t fancy rule-breaking. In fact, how’d you get out of your Bauble?”
“I… I’m not sure. I spoke to a woman called Mother Theresa and she said that I’d escape because I love somebody."
“And then?”
“Then she crucified me.”
“Ouch! But you have escaped…”
“Indeed. I followed her advice. I think... I willed myself out. I love her so much. I willed myself to see her again. After I passed out on the cross, I woke up here.”
“Ah, that Mother Theresa is a tricky one. Helping prisoners escape, tut tut. We’ll have to give her a good seeing to.”
“What? Why?”
"Because- argh! Hang on a second..."
Vasuman dropped to his knees and began to writhe around. Coarse hair sprouted from his skin and he spoke in a growl.
“Can’t trust anyone these days, eh?”
Vesper turned and fled down the branch.
Day Two
289th Branch
At this level of the tree the air is hot, heavy and stinks of Armageddon. This is due to a large dove, several times the height of a man, held captive in a cage sandwiched between branches 289 and 290. It struggles within its confines, brilliant white feathers coming loose. Burning sulphur drips from its beak and lights fires in the branches below. Its eyes are a deep red.
A man and a woman, both uniformed, stood on branch 289 just by the trunk. An elevator door was set into the wood and it opened to let Woggle blunder out onto the branch. He rolled around on the bark for a little while.
“Oh, General Belial, the Führer say release the Turtle Doves,” he said whilst rolling.
The woman, smiling, helped Woggle to his little feet.
“And where is the Partridge?” she said.
“Branch 200?” mumbled Woggle.
“Good, we wouldn’t want it torn to shreds. Not yet, anyway. So let’s release these lovelies, shall we? Az?”
“Yes ma’am!” said the man.
The man turned and ran into the elevator. Belial stroked Woggle’s head softly, while he burped contentedly. They watched the dove closely.
“Oh Woggle,” she crooned, “it’s so beautiful. Yet so deadly. I’ve never agreed that the wrath of god should go out on the second day, never. It destroys so much. So much of everything. He should leave it caged until Twelfth Night. But who am I to decide?”
“Why we need destruction General?”
“Woggle, darling, have you heard how many escapees we’ve had this Christmas? Three hundred! It's the same every year. This is a time of hopes and dreams. It’s our job to ensure they don’t get realised. This is Hell, after all.”
There was the sound of creaking metal and the dove jerked in its cage impatiently.
“Come on, we’d better leave, Woggle. Don’t want to be around when that thing gets out. Let’s get indoors and have some egg-nog.”
They left.
Dramatis Personae… Vesper (the protagonist), Vasuman (a two-faced werewolf), A Christmas Tree (Hell (love gone wrong)), Adolph Hitler (Satan), Woggle (chaos), Belial (a Nazi general & arch-demon of Hell), Azazel (a Nazi soldier & regular demon of Hell), A Partridge (a big angry bird), Two Turtle Doves (god’s wrath).
Day Two
200th Branch
Ting!
A chord rang out through a bright, messy office. A tuneless voice coughed, adjusted pitch and sang:
“On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”
Adolph Hitler looked up from his desk and glared at the source of the vocal atrocity. It was his Second-In-Command - a small, dwarf-like fellow named Woggle.
“Voggle – vhould you kindly zhut up?” said Hitler.
“Me, mein Führer? What did Woggle do, mein Führer?” said Woggle.
“Das zinging, Voggle. Das maddening, god-awvful, apocalyptisches zinging!”
“But Woggle likes to sing along!”
“Zing along? Zing along!? You cannot zing along, die chords are zo zpread out dass each verse occupies ze entire Taag Voggle!”
“But Woggle heard a chord!”
“Ja, Voggle did hear ze chord! Ein chord! You cannot zing along vis ein chord!”
“Woggle try, mein Führer!”
Hitler threw up his hands and let his head crash onto the desk. Hell was difficult. He was unable to leave his office. Here he was, Führer of the Tree, the most efficient and hardworking commander throughout the Trunk and they’d given him this… This pitiful excuse of a troll to carry out his orders.
He looked down at his desk – its top neatly laid out, contrary to the hideous mess the office was in – and noticed a piece of paper. He tapped a finger on it.
“Es steht hier, Voggle, zat das Partridge has been released zucceszfully. Do ve know vhere es ist?”
Woggle ran at a corner of the room, hurling himself with abandon into a stack of papers which went flying in all directions. Hitler winced. Woggle emerged, clutching what seemed like a tennis ball.
“Nobody know where Partridge is, mein Führer.”
Hitler spoke slowly, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Voggle. Das Partridge is gigantisch. Es ist largest vepon in our arsenal. It has ze zirty-foot wingspan. How has nobody zeen zis gigantisch… flapping… Partridge vlying zeround! Du idiot!”
Suddenly, there was a great whooshing of air outside the office window. Hitler stood and looked out of the window. A great screeching cry from outside startled Woggle into another pile of papers.
“Ahh, ich sehe es. Go and tell ze Day Two Vautch that it’s zafe to release ze Turtle Doves. Das Partridge is out of ze harm's vay.”
Woggle stumbled out and Hitler wiped his brow.
Day Two
367th Branch
Vesper crouched atop a branch of a huge tree. It was several hundred times larger than a normal tree. The branches and leaves (which were seven-foot pine needles) were charred, twisted and damp, as though set on fire and put out. The smell of death hung in the air.
Directly beneath him was his cell – a dirty, red bauble hanging from the branch. Up and down the branch were similar baubles. Up and down other branches were more baubles. From within all of them came screams. Massive tendrils of burnt, smouldering tinsel hung amongst the leaves.
“Dismal, eh?” said a voice.
Vesper turned and saw a man dressed in rags standing next to him. His eyes had no pupils.
“What?” said Vesper.
“Dismal. Dreary, pungent, bleak. This place, you know? The sights, sounds and smells can really violate your senses, eh? I’m unlucky enough to have pretty keen ones, too.”
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Ah, whoops! That was rude of me and I apologise. The name’s Vasuman and I’m a werewolf. They put me in Baubles to tear people to pieces. But out here I don’t really go for the whole fatal mutilation thing. My transformations are randomly timed, so if I say run-“
“Then I will run. So this is Hell? A tree?”
“Absolutely. Not the whole tree, course. No, not all of it’s this dank – you’re near-400 branches down here. Coupl’hundred branches up and you’ll get to Purgatory. That’s a nice place, I’ve heard - never been, myself. Above that is Heaven. Not even heard what that’s like.”
“I have to go there.”
Vasuman laughed.
“Now, hold on there fella’! You can’t just go about between the layers of the tree. There’re mechanisms in place to stop certain behaviour, like. The management don’t fancy rule-breaking. In fact, how’d you get out of your Bauble?”
“I… I’m not sure. I spoke to a woman called Mother Theresa and she said that I’d escape because I love somebody."
“And then?”
“Then she crucified me.”
“Ouch! But you have escaped…”
“Indeed. I followed her advice. I think... I willed myself out. I love her so much. I willed myself to see her again. After I passed out on the cross, I woke up here.”
“Ah, that Mother Theresa is a tricky one. Helping prisoners escape, tut tut. We’ll have to give her a good seeing to.”
“What? Why?”
"Because- argh! Hang on a second..."
Vasuman dropped to his knees and began to writhe around. Coarse hair sprouted from his skin and he spoke in a growl.
“Can’t trust anyone these days, eh?”
Vesper turned and fled down the branch.
Day Two
289th Branch
At this level of the tree the air is hot, heavy and stinks of Armageddon. This is due to a large dove, several times the height of a man, held captive in a cage sandwiched between branches 289 and 290. It struggles within its confines, brilliant white feathers coming loose. Burning sulphur drips from its beak and lights fires in the branches below. Its eyes are a deep red.
A man and a woman, both uniformed, stood on branch 289 just by the trunk. An elevator door was set into the wood and it opened to let Woggle blunder out onto the branch. He rolled around on the bark for a little while.
“Oh, General Belial, the Führer say release the Turtle Doves,” he said whilst rolling.
The woman, smiling, helped Woggle to his little feet.
“And where is the Partridge?” she said.
“Branch 200?” mumbled Woggle.
“Good, we wouldn’t want it torn to shreds. Not yet, anyway. So let’s release these lovelies, shall we? Az?”
“Yes ma’am!” said the man.
The man turned and ran into the elevator. Belial stroked Woggle’s head softly, while he burped contentedly. They watched the dove closely.
“Oh Woggle,” she crooned, “it’s so beautiful. Yet so deadly. I’ve never agreed that the wrath of god should go out on the second day, never. It destroys so much. So much of everything. He should leave it caged until Twelfth Night. But who am I to decide?”
“Why we need destruction General?”
“Woggle, darling, have you heard how many escapees we’ve had this Christmas? Three hundred! It's the same every year. This is a time of hopes and dreams. It’s our job to ensure they don’t get realised. This is Hell, after all.”
There was the sound of creaking metal and the dove jerked in its cage impatiently.
“Come on, we’d better leave, Woggle. Don’t want to be around when that thing gets out. Let’s get indoors and have some egg-nog.”
They left.
posted by Juliet is Bleeding... | 3:19 pm
Oh you love me too? Hitler is so gay! Right on.
I think this calls for a comic book, and I promise not to say fuck yourself.
Just picture it dearest. Just this christmas oriented business. It's smashing.
You know I'll take you up on that, you sexy artist you.