ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 2, CHAPTER 10. (standard:humor, 2501 words) [10/12] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 14 2012	Views/Reads: 1918/1465	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger gets 'executed'.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Oh alrite, Big L,” the Captain said huffily. “Now whea's ma Privates?”
He turned to the crowd. “Privates! Coo-ee, Privates!” he called. 

The nearest section of the crowd responded mockingly to this. Some of
the cruder youths dropped their trousers and waved their members at 
him. Roger sniggered. 

“Oh my!” muttered the Captain. “So much meat on display it lookin like a
sausage shop!” 

The two Privates appeared from the crowd and made their way up to them. 

Hub Cap strolled over to Roger. “Well I best say goodbye, bro,” he said
and they shook hands. “Nice showing you round.” He winked so Big Lucas 
couldn't see. 

“Yeah, uh thanks, Hub Cap,” the Stoned One muttered, winking back. 

Hub Cap and Clarence strolled off as the two Privates, Ruff Trade and KY
appeared. They were both dressed in the same outfit as the Captain 
except that Ruff Trade was wearing a dream of a jumper – it was all 
light pinks and light blues and in the centre was a hand-embroidered 
beaver with a red diagonal line through it. The two of them ran their 
eyes appreciatively over the bemused Roger. 

“Oh, mine tonite, mine tonite!” Ruff Trade muttered, fluttering his
eyelids at him. 

“Well, lissen to the pushy one!” KY minced, twitching his head. 

“Come on, Privates, take this lovely boy up t' the Execution Post,”
ordered the Captain. 

“Oh hark at the wicked witch!” said Ruff Trade. “An jus check out his
finganails.” 

The Captain smiled and fanned out his fingers. 

“Wot colour is that, lovey?” KY asked. 

“Mornin Sun Pink,” the Captain told him. 

“Git him to the fuckin Post!!” bellowed Big Lucas. 

“Oh come on,” Ruff Trade said huffily, “Big Lucas got the curse.” 

“Bitch!” said KY. 

Ruff Trade and KY took an elbow each and began leading the dreamy Roger
away. 

As they approached, the crowd slowly parted and to Roger, it reminded
him of that biblical story where Jesus parted the Black Sea...or was it 
the Green Sea? Anyways, the sea parted all the way up and there at the 
end stood the Execution Post. It was a simple affair. Just a lone 
smoothed timber which had been planted in the ground. 

‘Maybe it should have a ‘FOR SALE' sign on it!' thought Roger and
sniggered. 

“My, my, in a good mood, aren't we, consid'rin we's about to be
executed?” remarked KY. 

Roger smiled at him. KY fluttered his eyelashes at him in return. 

The Stoned One, who had completely forgotten about his impending
execution, grinned and nodded at everyone as they strolled along. ‘Such 
wonderful friendly people', he thought, glancing at the crowd. ‘Look at 
them all smiling at me!' 

“You fo the x'in, wite boy!” somebody yelled at him. 

Roger frowned. “X'in?” he muttered. “Wonder what that means?” Then he
thought it meant he was possibly going back to The Soft-Hearted Whores 
Club for another session with Scabby Sue. “Yes, I'm looking forward to 
it,” he admitted. 

The crowd hee-hawed and slapped palms. 

“Witey lookin forward to getting x'd!” said someone. 

“We's lookin forward to it as well!” yelled another. 

Roger nodded amiably. “Nice to have something to look forward to,” he
remarked. 

Just then Scabby Sue hove into view. She was wearing Roger's floral
smoking jacket which he had given her as a gift. She strolled forward 
and gave him a hug. “Shua gonna miss you, wite boy,” she purred. 

“See you soon,” Roger replied. 

“See you soon!?” someone mocked. “Maybe he thinkin he gonna git off
befoa he gits offed!” 

The crowd fell about at that one. 

As they neared the execution post, Big Lucas, who was strolling a short
distance behind them, called out. “Hey, Private, this boy about to be 
executed. Git that crazy jumper off!” 

Ruff Trade huffily took off his jumper and tossed it into the front row
of the crowd. 

It was caught by one of two old ladies who were seated in the front row.
Whilst the rest of the crowd had been getting wasted, Goita and Lilly 
had taken their seats early to get a good view, as they always did at 
executions and passed their time knitting. 

Goita held up the jumper. She and Lilly examined it. 

“Wot's that animal in the middle?” a puzzled Goita asked. 

“Hmm, lookin like a beaver t'me,” Lilly replied. 

“But it got a red line through it, see?” 

“Oh yeah,” agreed Lilly. “Maybe that Private poof don't like beavers.” 

“But beavers is lovely,” said Goita. “All soft an furry.” 

“Programmes! Programmes! Git you Execution Programme!” called a vendor
who was weaving amongst the crowd. 

“Git us a Programme, will ya honey? Ma leg shua playin me up,” said
Goita. She held up her leg where a lump the size of a baseball was 
growing from her knee. 

“You wants t'get that seein to,” Lilly told her. 

“Oh it's nothin,” said Goita. “Anyways, it gives Leroy the horn!” 

They both cackled over the kinkiness of husbands then Lilly called the
vendor over. 

“Any knittin patterns in the Programme?” she asked. 

“Hey man, this a Execution Programme. It aint's a wimmins magazine,” he
replied. 

“Well Ah like it when they got patterns in them.” 

“Look man, you buyin a Programme or aint ya?” 

“Oh, give us two,” said Lilly, “an don't call me ‘man',” 

“Here y'are,” the vendor said, handing over the Programmes and taking
the money. “Have a nice execution.” 

Goita glanced through the programme. “Don't see much in it,” she
complained. “No patterns. No recipes.” 

“Hell, theys nothin,” Lilly echoed. “Jus the one execution. Don't know
why Ah buys these tings.” 

“Sheet!” said Goita. “Ah likes it when there's a whole bunch gittin
executed! Like when Big Lucas executed all them from Save the Chillun!” 


Lilly cackled. “Ah rememba! We managed t'knit a whole pullova each that
night!” 

“An the Programme was so much betta. It had recipes an patterns in it.”
Lilly nodded. “Recipes an patterns,” she agreed. 

“Oh look,” said Goita, pointing, “them poofs are tyin that po wite boy
t' the Post.” 

And indeed they were. 

Ruff Trade and KY had positioned Roger by the Post, facing the crowd and
had taken a hand each and ceremoniously tied them together behind it. 

“Oh, imagine if it was just us an him,” Ruff Trade muttered. “Him all
tied up like.” 

“Stop it!” KY said hoarsely. “Ma knees is turning t' water jus thinkin
bout it.” 

Roger meantime had become slightly weed-drowsy and leaned back with his
head against the Post, eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his face. Perhaps 
thinking of Scabby Sue. 

Ruff Trade and KY minced off and Big Lucas turned to the crowd. The
Uhuruland Baptist Choir, Low Hummin Section, wobbled up and arranged 
themselves in a neat semi-circle around the Execution Post and waited 
for Big Lucas' nod to begin humming. 

“Okay bruthas an sistas, quiet!” boomed Big Lucas. 

The crowd ignored him and the noise continued. 

Big Lucas got angry. He pulled his silver pistol from its holster,
cocked it and fired a shot into the air. 

The crowd ignored him and the noise continued. 

Big Lucas got angrier. He took careful aim on one of the noisiest
revellers and shot him. The guy screamed and fell. 

The crowd paid attention. The noise died down. 

“Ah said QUIET!!” boomed Big Lucas. 

The crowd obeyed. Someone flicked off the reggae and silence fell. 

Big Lucas nodded in satisfaction. He let the silence continue awhile.
“Everybody bowin they heads,” he ordered eventually. “That is, if they 
still wants them attached to they bodies.” 

Instantly, all heads bowed. 

Roger kind of came-to at that point. He glanced round at all the bowed
heads in the crowd. ‘Looks like everybody dropped something at once,' 
he thought and sniggered. 

Big Lucas turned and nodded to the Choir and they began a low humming
and wobble. 

“Oh mighty Lawd o the entire Universe,” intoned Big Lucas, “we sayin a
few words for the departin honky.” 

Roger frowned. ‘Wonder who's leaving?' he thought. 

“Fo thousands o years,” went on Preacher Lucas, “the black man was unda
witey's boot. Now tings has changed. This the black man's world now an 
we keepin it that way.” 

The low humming behind him became more soulful. 

“As much as Ah don't like killin folks unless they gets on ma tits,”
carried on Preacher Lucas, “this wite boy has t' go. So we keeps this 
the black man's world.” 

The low humming started to rise but Preacher Lucas turned and glared at
the Choir and the humming immediately lowered. 

“So we commendin witey's body to the deep,” went on Preacher Lucas,
remembering a film he'd seen where people got buried at sea, “an ashes 
to ashes, an dust to dust,” he went on, returning to burial on dry 
land. “Ay-men!” 

“Ay-men!!” echoed the crowd and relieved that the religious shit was
over, they all looked up and started muttering to each other. 

The Choir stopped humming and wobbled back towards the crowd, one of the
buxom members fluttering her eyes at Preacher Lucas, who grinned and 
winked. Obviously no vow of chastity with this Preacher. 

The mutterings amongst the crowd were once again silenced however, this
time by a dramatic drum roll. 

As they all glanced down the Black/Green Sea parting, Teacha strolled
into view. Hub Cap's girl-to-be was dressed in black and she had a drum 
slung over her shoulder. She began tapping out a slow beat and keeping 
time with it, started marching up to the Execution Post. 

Behind her came Uhuruland's official Executioner, who just happened to
be her father. He was a kindly-looking grey-haired man, an ex-teacher, 
who preferred pottering about in his greenhouse with teenage girls but 
he was the best shot on Uhuruland and Big Lucas had ‘persuaded' him to 
be the Executioner. 

The crowd cheered and whistled when they saw him and he grinned and
waved back. About twenty feet from the Execution Post, a white line had 
been painted on the grass and Teacha halted at it. 

The Executioner strolled up to her then turned and snapped his fingers.
The two urchins who had been carrying his equipment marched up and 
proceeded to set up his old fashioned hunting rifle on a stand with a 
seat behind it. This brought more cheering from the crowd. 

Roger, meantime, had stopped thinking about Scabby Sue and was staring
in puzzlement at the goings-on. ‘Why are they setting up an 
old-fashioned rifle?' he wondered. 

The rifle now set up, the Executioner took his seat behind it and began
sighting it in. On Roger. A murmur of anticipation ran through the 
crowd. 

At the same time, a murmur of fear ran through Roger. His pleasant
drowsy weed-haze gave way to weed-paranoia and Hysteria grinned and 
strolled back into his head. 

Having finished his sighting, the Executioner looked up to Big Lucas and
nodded. 

Big Lucas turned to Roger. “Any last words, witey?” he asked. 

“Well...ah...yes,” stammered Roger. “Why is that, er, rifle, ah,
pointing at me?” 

Muted sniggering from the crowd. 

“Cos you's about t' be executed,” Big Lucas told him casually. 

“Me!? Executed!!??” the paranoid one jabbered, as Hysteria flooded his
mind with fear. “But...but...but why?” 

Big Lucas glanced at the Executioner and nodded. Teacha struck up a
dramatic drum roll and Big Lucas strolled down to them. 

Hysteria was now in control of Roger's head and it made sure he had
totally forgotten about the fact that Hub Cap had fixed the execution 
for him. All he could see was a rifle pointing at him and a man with 
his finger on the trigger. 

The dramatic drum roll halted. The crowd fell silent. The Executioner
waited. 

“Fire!!” ordered Big Lucas. 

The Executioner pulled the trigger and the shot rang out. Roger was
thrown backwards against the Post then slowly slid down it, a crimson 
stain spreading on his Fleet Pilot's uniform, over his heart. 


Tweet