Running Water; end and epilogue

We are in the middle of the ocean. By the size of my beard I surmise that it has taken us a long time to get here. By Clarence's decomposition you can tell the heat of the sun. It pains me to see the sun burn him so. I cannot take it and so he is soon gone. We will never reach home, there is no home for men like us: our home is the sea and it is all we've ever known. I kiss his dead cheek and push him over the side, into the sea, burying him at sea. He is in heaven now.

Epilogue.
You can feel the waves beneath you, like the earth's pulse beating. Like a child being rocked in its crib. Those vultures come back. They become again their coil of death, my death bed's mobile. They have not forgotten me. The sun is in my eyes.
Drowsy and lulled, I close my eyes. In death's half-dream, I see her one last time. She rocks me in her arms softly, singing softly. Slowly the vultures swoop and waves gently crash. As this happens I hear that I have been singing my last words, accompanying the dream, "Que Cera, Cera".
The End.

Running Water: penultimate section, On The Farm

xv.
(parts missing. In brief: still not slept, not since leaving the wife, and an irksome digestive system). There is a cow upon the farm. A quiet animal which they call Inga. When it looks at you with those big brown eyes it has a calming effect. The farmer's daughter, Trudy, milks it at dawn. I think she talks to it as well. I wonder what she says.
xvi.
On the table there is a postcard from the farmer's brother. On the back there is, written, a poem: Dear God/..../There used to be three dots/But now there are four. On the front is the old holidaying sentiment, written in red, WISH YA WERE HERE. The return address is the nearest prison, miles away. Papa never has been able to forgive himself over that, Trudy says as she pours more wine.
xvii.
He falls asleep in the corn and in the morning there is a Scarecrow present on the farm that I have not seen before. Trudy asks me if I have seen her father, I say that I have. She asks me where to find him but I do not say. Flustered, she criticises everything I have ever done since being here and leaves me alone. With my fear I go to hide in the cow shed where Inga treats me kindly.
xviii.
My head is in my arms when I fall asleep but in her hands when I wake. She tells me that I must leave, that her husband is soon back from the war. That I can't I say kisses me we accidentally knocking over a pail of milk in the furore. Before departing she gives me this advice: oh, my dear, try not to be so lonely all the time. I go into the forest. I find Clarence by the stream.

Running Water contd

xi.
What a beautiful pumpkin patch, she, C., exclaims as we drive past it. I force myself to agree. I do not tell her that amongst the potential Halloween lanterns lurks Nosferatu and MarvinTheMartian and a blood stained Ted Bundy; it is getting late and we needn't, both of us, be scared like me.
xii.
If you want me, I'll be in the bar, she says as she kisses my cheek goodbye. I take the time to watch her walk away along the railroad tracks, and, without my noticing, she is gone. I question if she ever existed, except for a tingling sensation felt in my cheek, her existance in my life passes with no trace. Nonetheless, She'll be ok, I say to myself, hoping that the Gods will consent.
xiii.
The wheels of the car fall off from either pathetic fallacy or inadvertent telekinesis or the bump in the road. Knowing that I will now have to walk many miles, carrying my dear dead friend, I ram my head into the steerinwheel, harmonisin with the cacophony. After hours of this, I fill my pockets with as much amphetamine from the glovebox I can carry and we leave. I realise neither of us have eaten since I shot him.
xiv.
Up there, on the top of the hill, I notice a farm. I climb the driveway. What you boys doin on my property asks the owner. Sir , we are on a pilgrimage, weary and hungry and willing to work for keep I explain. Him too he inquires of Clarence, the hardest worker I ever knew. I shrug. There is a pause.Come in and wash up and stay away from my daughter, she's bad news, he tells me. You too, by the looks of things, he observes.

Running Water (the story formerly known as: The Possibilities Are Uninfinite) parts 7-10

vii.
it's only gonna get worse before it gets even worse, she jokes as she serves me another beer. I am about to make good on her flirtations when a group of locals compliment me on the dead nigger. I fly at them with a broken bottle but no amount of Achillean rage can save me from the savage beating I take. I wake in the gutter alive; How did this happen? Who saved me? Was she my guardian angel? Is Clarence?
viii.
After what seems like days, I finally find a car that works. An old one made to last. Clarence takes the back seat, chauffered, and I get behind the wheel. It is Vinyl Thursday, playing all your favourite albums in their most physical form across the digital airwaves. Today it is the White Album on loop. With my first brandy of the day, I start the engine and put my foot down on the pedal. HeltEr SkelTer.
ix.
By the stone wall I take a right. She sits on the edge with her thumb in the air. Twenty metres of thought away I decide to stop. She slides off the edge and runs to the car as I open the door. Before she has even seated herself properly, she asks, in regards to Clarence, What happened to him? He slept with my wife, I answer. Musta been a heck of a time she says. And it still is.
x.
After a long while of open road I put my hand on her knee. She shoos it off, telling me, I once knew a man like that and I really hated it. She looks at me with sorrowful look, pleading something. Excuse me, I explain, I'm rather drunk. All the more reason to keep both hands on the wheel, she snarls. Don't worry Cleo, it'll be ok, the road goes on like this, straight on, and on, for miles and miles, I tell her. Looking ahead, we both sigh.

Running Water (episodes 1-6)

1.
We were drunk. The house had guns in it and I shot him. He was my best friend and I loved him dearly. As he died we made amends. I was to take him back to his hometown to be buried amongst his ancestors. My wife, of course, would be, at best, nonplussed by the notion. She has no comprehension of honour, at least not in the Homeric sense.
2.
She doesn't take it well. It's the other side of the world, you have no car, you have no money; she tells me, as if I do not already know. Why can't you bury him here? she asks. Because this land is a shit-hole, I tell her. She crys and so do I. It is our last night together.
3.
Is uncky Clarence a-sleepin' pop? he asks. No Maurice, Uncle Clarence is dead, I shot him in the stomach, I tell him, Beware the fury you have inherited from me son, it will be your downfall and is about to leave you fatherless. I make to leave. Where you going with dead uncky Clarence? I must plant him under the tree of our childhoods'. Oh, he say and goes to bed. I do leave, heart broken.
4.
The sun's burning is today articulated through the amber shade with which it colours the sky. I pass the men setting their crop ablaze and, they hope, with the flames, destroying the locusts devouring it. The fire becomes the afterglow of my presence in this town. I leave to become just a memory signified by the ash on the plain.
5.
Vultures circle themselves into a jagged coil up above my head. They goad me, they want me to hand over dead Clarence. They beseech me, they will make it easier upon me when my time too does come if I comply. I cannot, I throw a rock skyward, scraping one of their formidable wings. Before flying away, until another day, they prophesise my death; their shrieks indicate that it will be unpleasant.
6.
It's midday, or at least it appears to be, when I arrive in the city. The sun beats down on the streets, and upon building after building. Arrakis, I say to Clarence.

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* Running Water is a serial of Facebook status updates telling the story of Joey Joe and dead Clarence. A sort of barmy idea to up the quality of stuff on there. Please bear in mind that with the intended medium of the story, live feeds et al., and whatnot, there is an ellipsis of time, and usually space, between the episodes.
Warm Regards,
S.K.