I left Mum in the care of Mattie this evening and made my way out into the countryside. A guy I
used to know had unexpectedly departed. He was found yesterday morning sitting in front of his
TV, watching the Extras box-set in his boxer shorts, a bong stuck rigid in his lifeless hand.
Larry Mulligan was one of the locality's personalities. Everyone knew him. He tried to enter politics early in his life, but no one took him seriously as an Independent when he ran as a supporter for the legalisation of Marijuana. He failed. I remember asking him once why he did not join a mainstream party. He said he didn’t like being whipped.
Didn't get that!
Larry liked to speak his mind, but no one wanted to listen. After four more attempts at being elected he gave up the pursuit, retiring to a little cottage in the countryside and pursuing little but the taxidermy he liked to do on the side. Many a household around here are home to Larry's work.
Legend has it Bobby Buchannan out the new road asked Larry to stuff his wife after she died, trying to lure Larry into a scam to keep collecting her pension. Larry could not be lured.
They waked Larry out at his cottage earlier this evening. I saw Bamber there as I arrived. I saw Frankie Bronson and I wondered how he knew Larry. I made my way into the small queue that aligned the outside wall of the cottage. Words like 'It's shocking, isn't it?' were whispered.
“I heard he was on drugs,” was another one that I heard.
I eventually made my way into the house to find Larry sitting bolt upright in his chair, with two birds he had recently stuffed displayed in his outstretched arms. I have never seen anything like it. By the time I made my way to where he sat, I had already made up my mind that I was just going to keep walking. I did notice the peaceful look that adorned his face. It's amazing what you can do with a bit of blusher these days. I made my way back outside.
It was an idyllic place. The star filled sky stretched for as far as the eye could see, lost clouds doing little to swallow the view. In the small courtyard a lamp stood lit that would not have been lost in Jack The Ripper's time. It glared upward into the naked arms of a grouping of trees. Apart from the hum of the whispering crowd and the sound of a nearby brook, nothing came forth from the night air. I'd love to live in the country.
Fr. Rooney gave a rendition of the Rosary to the gathered crowd. As he finished a van rolled into the drive and within seconds, Larry, still sat in his chair, was carried from the house and put into the back of the van. Fr. Rooney blessed the van as the doors shut and off Larry went. It was macabre.
Bamber filled me in on the details. He said he had it on account that Larry's heart had simply decided to stop beating. The rumours that the contents of the bong were to blame, nothing more than vicious rumours spread by those with fuck all else to do.
Larry Mulligan was one of the locality's personalities. Everyone knew him. He tried to enter politics early in his life, but no one took him seriously as an Independent when he ran as a supporter for the legalisation of Marijuana. He failed. I remember asking him once why he did not join a mainstream party. He said he didn’t like being whipped.
Didn't get that!
Larry liked to speak his mind, but no one wanted to listen. After four more attempts at being elected he gave up the pursuit, retiring to a little cottage in the countryside and pursuing little but the taxidermy he liked to do on the side. Many a household around here are home to Larry's work.
Legend has it Bobby Buchannan out the new road asked Larry to stuff his wife after she died, trying to lure Larry into a scam to keep collecting her pension. Larry could not be lured.
They waked Larry out at his cottage earlier this evening. I saw Bamber there as I arrived. I saw Frankie Bronson and I wondered how he knew Larry. I made my way into the small queue that aligned the outside wall of the cottage. Words like 'It's shocking, isn't it?' were whispered.
“I heard he was on drugs,” was another one that I heard.
I eventually made my way into the house to find Larry sitting bolt upright in his chair, with two birds he had recently stuffed displayed in his outstretched arms. I have never seen anything like it. By the time I made my way to where he sat, I had already made up my mind that I was just going to keep walking. I did notice the peaceful look that adorned his face. It's amazing what you can do with a bit of blusher these days. I made my way back outside.
It was an idyllic place. The star filled sky stretched for as far as the eye could see, lost clouds doing little to swallow the view. In the small courtyard a lamp stood lit that would not have been lost in Jack The Ripper's time. It glared upward into the naked arms of a grouping of trees. Apart from the hum of the whispering crowd and the sound of a nearby brook, nothing came forth from the night air. I'd love to live in the country.
Fr. Rooney gave a rendition of the Rosary to the gathered crowd. As he finished a van rolled into the drive and within seconds, Larry, still sat in his chair, was carried from the house and put into the back of the van. Fr. Rooney blessed the van as the doors shut and off Larry went. It was macabre.
Bamber filled me in on the details. He said he had it on account that Larry's heart had simply decided to stop beating. The rumours that the contents of the bong were to blame, nothing more than vicious rumours spread by those with fuck all else to do.
Bamber told me that Larry had left his cadaver to science, if his final wishes of being put on
display with his work were carried out at his wake. That was also the reason for Larry‘s unusual
departure. He’d wanted it that way. I saw Joe Lumley there. Seems Larry had charged him with
overseeing that his wishes were carried out. It would make an amusing story if it was not for Larry's
age. 50.
Just didn’t seem fair.
*************
Excerpt from Booker's World
Just didn’t seem fair.
*************
Excerpt from Booker's World
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