John and the People of the Earth
Christopher Bennett
John and The People of The Earth
By Christopher Bennett
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Copyright
Christopher Bennett
2015
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John and the People of the Earth
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John and the People of the Earth
Marion was taking his usual morning walk over to the coffee shop when the brain blinked into the sky.
There was no mistaking it when it did. It was a giant, disembodied human brain suspended in space, twice as large as the moon. Marion could see the blood running in rivulets in the channels between its wrinkly grey lanes, glistening in the light of the sun.
It was alive and pulsing, and you could feel its presence.
Marion paused to smile and admire the curious sight, but quickly continued on to the shop. Whatever it was, coffee would make it even better.
Apparently others didn’t share his enthusiasm.
Outside the front door of the shop, a woman was staring up at the undulating mass, tumbler in hand and a look of sheer, abject horror on her face. Marion strolled by and craned an ear.
“Oh my God, oh my God. The son has returned. He’s returned. Christ oh Lord he can see us all.”
Marion snickered and walked in. A group of commuters stood transfixed by the TV situated above the counter. A dashing news reporter talked in hushed and hurried tones, an image of the brain over his shoulder. Marion frowned when he saw that a police officer stood at the group’s forefront, nervously palming his radio. Marion had an innate dislike of police officers. Arbiters of boredom, they were the gatekeepers of a good time, taking any opportunity to spoil a man’s fun.
As Marion strode up to the counter to order, another woman broke free from the group of watchers and ran screaming out the door, her arms flailing. Marion smirked at the girl behind the counter and asked for a medium black.
As the spacey barista handed him his coffee, another one of the watchers, an older man with broad shoulders and graying temples, suddenly started shouting.
“I don’t get what the hell this is. I mean what the fuck is that? Is this some kind of goddamned joke?”
Thick, quivering veins rose to the service of his forehead as he grabbed the shirt of a man standing behind him, using his other hand to point wildly at the screen.
“Are you fucking seeing this shit? This is bullshit, what is that?”
Marion turned to catch the action and was disheartened when the officer intervened. He shouted and pried the two men apart, sending the instigator stumbling backwards. As the man fell against the nearby counter he made a sweep with his arms and knocked an array of racks and cups to the floor with a crash. When he turned back he had a gun in his hand and his face was wild with fear. The officer reacted quickly and pulled his own weapon to stare the man down.
“Drop it. Now.”
The man hissed through his teeth.
“Now you listen to me. Until I find out what the fuck is going on here, you all better just shut the hell up and stay away from me.”
Marion stood riveted in the front of the group of addled onlookers. He blew over the rim of his steaming coffee and took a sip. The gunman spied the willful sip and swiveled his barrel to face him. The cop yelped, but held his fire.
Marion gave the man a quizzical look.
“What’s the problem?”
Beads of sweat ran down the man’s face.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Marion shrugged.
“It’s a brain. What are you so afraid of?”
He took another sip and drank longer this time, his eyelids half closed and hazy over the rim of the cup.
The man stared dumbfounded at Marion. His hands started quivering as he slowly brought his gun back to face the officer. His face slowly crumpled and his breath was coming hard. The brain floated over his shoulder on the tinny television.
“Just- just-“
Marion subtly jabbed his foot into the back of the police officers knee, making him drop. The sudden movement startled the gunman and he fired, blasting chunks of head and globs of blood and bone all over the crowd. After a moment of silence they squirmed as a group and began cramming themselves through the exit, screaming and retching.
Marion snickered as the viscera splattered across his shirt, then tossed his scalding hot coffee into the stunned and frightened face of the murderer. The man dropped the gun and smeared his hands across his head in agony as Marion took a jaunty step backwards and bounded for the door as well, the screams fading behind him.
As he paced himself back to his apartment, exhilarated, he looked up again at the strange brain, even more tantalized as to its origins and thinking of work.
