Francis of the Filth Page 2
The pink one reached for the box before the boy could claim it for his own, and a mighty battle ensued. The enmity between them shook the heavens, and I saw galaxies and universes fall from the skies. Despite the boy’s divine potential and burgeoning powers, he was defeated by the pink one, who overcame the boy’s evil with the love that had arisen from protecting the boy.
In the final throes of the battle, I saw the pink one take the boy to his white room where the second Big Bang had occurred. There he committed the ultimate act of love to ensure his victory would be an everlasting one. He slaughtered the only other of his own kind - the boy - for the greater good of the omniverses, before bringing his white room and the omniverses together as one into perfect harmony.
Then I saw multitudes upon multitudes appearing from all over the omniverses, great and small, kingly and lowly, mighty and simple, and they bowed down before the pink one, and sang his praises for ever and ever.
The sphere of light before me then shrank to an infinitesimally small dot before disappearing altogether. I fell to the ground, overcome by these visions that were too wonderful for me to see, and too profound to fathom. Overcome and unable to speak for seven days, I duly wrote the visions down as they had been revealed to me. Though unworthy to witness such surpassing greatness, I declare that these visions are true and righteous. Blessed are those who hear and understand what has been revealed in them. Grace and peace across the tiers.
Francis of the Filth
Chapter 1
A long time ago in a dimension far, far away there was a collective of midgets fighting over a hummus snack, who have nothing at all to do with our story, which really begins in a small and very unhygienic bedroom in what humans call ‘New York’. It was at first appearance a common habitat: last Tuesday’s ramen floating on a carpet of used tissues, unwashed socks, chewing gum-clogged USB sticks and bottles of urine stacked up in a pyramid; poorly written Japanese calligraphy scrolls hanging on the walls between cracked mirrors and old proudly displayed high school detention slips; and semen stains on the ceiling.
Yet on closer inspection, there was, at the same time, something unique about this habitat as well. Grotesque to the point of disfigurement, and disconcerting to the point of alarm, there lay in the middle of it all — rather happily — blending in as though one with it, Francis of the Filth. He was covered in nothing but phlegm and a pair of Sponge Bob underpants which could stand on their own and would most certainly shatter like glass if thrown at a hard surface. Though dead to the world, he would occasionally whimper utterances which were a window into the mind of filth that beheld his name and title:
No, Juelz Santana please don’t touch me there.
Female comedians are very funny.
Must eat more hummus.
The other kids won’t let me play in the park.
It’s my turn to ride the chocolate man.
The school bus is responsible for their deaths, not me.
Yes, it was I who left the steamy surprise.
My step-dad was a veiny individual.
Need more rats.
Curiously, and without warning, a second voice could be heard whispering through the dorian-scented air of the room.
Ochin chin ga dai suki dayo.
For a moment the words just floated in the air like they were struggling to cut through the stench. They were repeated.
Ochin chin ga dai suki dayo.
This time they reached the ears of our protagonist, yet they remained muffled till he instinctively picked at his ear and pulled out a log of wax the size of a date.
A third calling brought the desired effect and Frank sat bolt upright, with that terrified look that only comes from hearing Christian rap played in the morning and seeing the dark lord himself.
Ochin chin ga dai suki dayo.
Part of the ceiling then opened up like a wet pouch, pulsing and pushing out what looked like, for lack of a better description, a black fetus. Still screaming, it slid onto the ground and began to unfold. Dressed completely in black, it was as though he was the very source of darkness itself. His presence seemed to bring a distortion of the space-time continuum and when he spoke it brought both shadows and chills. He prowled slowly before Frank on all fours like a frog with chronic arthritis. His tongue occasionally darted in and out, almost in rhythm to the Tourettes-like flinching of his tightly wrapped black head. Everything about him incited dread: his darkness, his movements, his uncut finger and toe nails. But most of all it was his eyes. Weird and freaky to the core, they were simultaneously present and ethereal, penetrating and all-knowing, and they stared out from their sockets with spastic abandon.
“Chin chin! Dark lord! Why have you come to torment me? Have you come to send me into the abyss?” Frank asked, paralyzed with fear.
Now, Frank lived across a backstreet from a morbidly obese lady called Mrs. Montez who pretended to be a widowed pole dancer but was really a PETA agent determined to catch Frank in the act of animal abuse. She was, however, actually widowed. That part is true. She had also had a miscarriage. She observed Frank through a humongous telescope which was really quite unnecessary because the back street was only five feet wide and their windows directly faced each other. She would sit for hours watching Frank lie comatose from huffing jenkem, just as he would sit for hours keeping a protective eye on that ten year-old boy with the nice little ass living across the street in front of his apartment. She befriended Frank by telling him she was simply checking on his fibre intake and occasionally throwing fruit through his window, whether it was open at the time or not.
When she saw the horrors of Chin Chin unfolding in Frank’s room she threw open her window and cried out for mercy. “Leave him alone! He’s just a boy!” Within moments, other neighbors with similarly large telescopes were throwing their windows open and hurling their emotive pleas toward the dark lord and soon the whole back alley echoed with the words, “He’s just a boy!” “He’s just a boy!” “He’s just a boy!” much like any Italian neighborhood.
Ochin chin. The dark lord continued with his demands.
“But I have made the sacrifices you asked for,” said Frank. “The blood and pubic hair and nail clippings of a thousand youths were all duly provided with video evidence. I can show you right now.”
Dai suki dayo.
“Why do you need extra sacrifices? Weren’t those I made enough?” Frank was quivering with trepidation.
Ochin chin. Ochin chin.
“I swear I have no more. I have given you everything I had. I have no more chromosomes to give.”
“He’s just a boy!” the cries continued to ring out through the alleyways and over the building tops.
Ochin chin ga daaaiii suki.
He placed his hand on Frank’s trembling heart and absorbed the remaining chromosomes from him. With that, he quickly crawled back into his giant wet ceiling pussy, leaving Frank a quivering empty shell on the bed.
Once the shock waves had subsided and the space-time continuum had returned to normal, fear departed and life returned to normal in Frank’s bedroom. That is, Frank sat on his bed and scratched his balls. He looked around to re-orientate himself. Then, very faintly at first, other activity began around the room. Initially, it started with just the lightest of movements from the cupboard door. It budged just a fraction; then a fraction more; then it peeped ajar. Finally the door swung open and out jumped a semi-naked little runt carrying some rosary beads.
“Alpha Centurion!” Frank exclaimed. “Good to see you, my friend! Thanks for all your support a minute ago when Chin Chin was here!”
He waddled over to Frank and sat on the bed beside him. “Good to see you too, Frank, fucking tool. Good thing I wasn’t here a minute ago when that dark lord was here or I would have snapped his dick in two. I would have pounded those creepy black eyes of his all the way to the back of his head. I would have reached into his chest, pulled out his still-beating heart and held it up to his face so he could see how black i
t is.”
“Alpha Centurion, what are you talking about. I saw you hiding in the cupboard. Also, you owe me money. You came up short.” The clock on the wall suddenly opened up and from it a tiny, wrinkled human stuck his head out and said, “That was a great joke, Frank. Seven out of ten!”. They aggressively winked at each other. The little guy returned back into the clock, never to be heard from again.
Before the runt could respond, the bedroom door swung open to the sound of disabled grunts, and in hopped a demented looking guy, pink from head to toe. “Pink Guy! It’s you! You’re here too! You made it! You just missed all the action by the way. You’re a pussy, too, you know that? You and Alpha Centurion are both a couple of pussies — leaving me to face Chin-Chin all on my own. It was pretty scary for a while there.” On hearing the dark lord’s name, Pink Guy’s eyes were stunned wide open. He could not understand how Frank ever had the courage to say Chin Chin’s name out loud.
At that moment a rustling noise came up from under Frank’s bed. “Come out Salamander man, I know it’s you.”
“Nyeessss!” came the reply as the huge humanoid salamander peeped out from under the bed.
“Salamander man, what are you doing under my bed? Have you any idea of the filth that lies under there? I tell you, there’s some nasty stuff down there.”
“Nyeessss!” He pulled himself fully out and immediately began to caress his nipples. He was now completely back to his normal self. All his lacerations had healed and his nipples were back to full erection. Whatever wretched woundings had previously disturbed him, he was back to his normal, cheerful self again. “Nyeessss!” he cried and immediately inserted a recorder into his left nostril and broke into a rousing rendition of a tune from his glory days.
Before Alpha Centurion could start dancing to the music, or Frank could compliment him on his playing or his general good looks and SICK moves, the door was kicked wide open and in strolled a strange Japanese man wearing brown spectacles, a Hawaiian shirt and a safari hat. “Wow!” he declared. “Wow, Franku!”
“Safari Man!” cried Frank, ecstatic that his whole posse was reunited once again. “I thought you were still back in…”
“No, no! Let’s not go there! Suffice to say, being married to a negi was never going to work out for someone like me ha ha ha. She had no pussy. Can you imagine aggressively trying to make a dent in drywall with your dick? Not for me.” He was shadowed by Drone who hovered just above his left shoulder.
Frank gestured for them all to come together. They embraced in a tight and passionate group hug, with Alpha Centurion burrowing with pleasure into Pink Guy’s thighs. With the six of them now together, the circus was pretty much complete again. And there was much rejoicing until late in the night with laughing and dancing and general scat.
But Frank’s dilemma remained and his interest was piqued. He was still capable of multiplying his chromosomes and he was still greatly troubled by this, not merely the capability but the reasoning behind it. Why would any god want to see the multiplication of his chromosomes and no-one else’s? Why had Chin Chin, the all powerful god chosen him? Why was Frank so verbally and sexually aggressive all the time? He was no closer to finding out why. There had to be more. Beyond the peace lords, there had to be an Ultimate God. Frank was more determined now than ever before to find Him, confront Him and demand the answers to his questions. And so his quest became all-consuming. But this is by no means where it had begun.
Chapter 2
All children, except one, grow up. And all children, except one, are born of woman. In the spring of 1945, a fetus-like infant was retrieved from an open-air sewer beneath a public toilet in a slum in the Lorong Village of Jakarta. He was named Fransiskus (meaning ‘freed from filth’) and from the first moment of his existence, and in spite of his squalid genesis, he demonstrated an unparalleled genius. At first there was a moment of crying, then cooing, very shortly followed by clear linguistic utterances. By the time the authorities arrived some hours later he was writing quadratic equations on the wall in his own excrement (excrement on walls was nothing new to the locals) and explaining them in Aramaic to the crowd which had gathered.
For the next two weeks he was taken in by a family of twenty-eight running a local temple. They lived over a feted brown creek with the smell of a pig farm, and there he was fed and clothed and loved. Because of his brilliant mind and progressive knowledge, he was quickly treated as a god in the village and people would line up to pet his head in the hope of having knowledge imparted to them. He thrived in the grime of his environment, growing rapidly in stature and intellect, and soon had the appearance of a toddler while engineering sanitation, transport systems and birth control for the whole community. This way, he no longer needed to circumcise the women.
Word spread quickly about Fransiskus and soon the Indonesian military were on where his doorstep would be if the temple had had a door step. There was much wailing and moaning as the young prodigy was ripped from their arms and a torrent of semi-naked bodies followed along the vehicles as they departed, banging on the windows and doors and begging them to return him to them. Their hopes were never realized. They were gunned down, all of them: the temple family, their neighbors and all who had come out to protest, their bodies piled as high as horses shoulders for as far as the eye could see. “Salaaang kalamankang!!” a soldier yelled at the families. This was not Indonesian. He had a speech impediment.
Fransiskus was taken to a top secret facility deep in the mountains where, after a brief period of quarantine, so-called experts (though they had never seen anything of Fransiskus’ like before) began to feed his voracious curiosity, intellect and abilities. They were in awe. They began with Little Golden Books and tic-tac-toe but were before long working on James Joyce and global thermonuclear warfare. Apart from the odd foray into hentai and erotic art, Fransiskus adhered strictly to academic and ethical pursuits.
Scientists from all over the world began to hear rumors of this prodigy and would try to arrange secretive visits to Fransiskus’ cell. There, the lucky few would marvel over the possibilities he brought into the world. Was he a god? they wondered. A mutation? Should he be encouraged or stopped? Their audience with Fransiskus was inevitably inspiring and humbling, and was often coupled with an intoxicating agenda.
Despite the highly classified nature of the ‘project’ (to which Fransiskus was now referred), and the isolated location of its facilities, one day several months into operations, a blonde-haired man in a very dark suit turned up unannounced at the front gate. He flashed some identification and was escorted into the heart of the complex. There, he was introduced to the overseer of the program. Looking his Indonesian colleague in the eye with a curious expression that could have been mistaken for contempt, he removed his spectacles and raised a palm. “Heil Hitler.”
~
In the summer of that year, the Pacific War was brought to an end with two cataclysmic explosions. They destroyed everyone and everything for miles around and left a simmering, scorching layer of radiation to last for the ages. The lucky ones were those right under the detonations who were immediately reduced to ashes and outlines etched in concrete. It was those who survived the initial blasts who learned the true meaning of suffering. They wandered about aimless, hopeless, with melting flesh, groping about in near or total blindness for help. None came and that which did, came too late and with little or no means of alleviating their agony.
(The torture was not short-lived. For years, even decades to come, those who had been exposed to the radiation suffered numbness, loss of fingernails, blood spots under the skin, tumors, leukaemia, kidney and liver dysfunction and so on. The list of after-effects was almost endless, and for those who suffered from them, so was the pain.)
Such widespread and severe affliction hastened the surrender of the Japanese forces, and with the capitulation of the other Axis powers earlier in the year, the ceasing of worldwide hostilities was now complete. For the general populace, exhausted
and depleted, it couldn’t have come soon enough, and with the exception of a couple of skirmishes in Guam and a few other remote areas, peacetime was welcomed by victor and loser nations alike with great relief and vigor.
But not by all.
Not everyone was pleased with either the outcome of the war or the means by which it had been achieved. There were some who believed that the Axis powers still retained the ability, the manpower and most of all the technological savvy to inflict revolutionary damage on the Allied forces and alter not merely the outcome of the war, but both history and the future together.
Soncorp was one such organisation. A secretive, privately-owned Japanese company based in Okinawa, it was bitterly opposed to the Japanese surrender and continued to work unabated in technological, ideological and biological warfare. Though the rest of the country labored in poverty, Soncorp remained flush with funds for its operations. A little known fact regarding the end of the war in the European theater concerns the demise of the Fuhrer. In that bunker in Berlin just before he put the pistol to his temple, Hitler uttered his final words: “Gib alles zu Soncorp” (“Give everything to Soncorp”).
As such, the Okinawan company had available to them near-unlimited resources from war loot and retained communication with its sister allies in Germany and Italy to pursue its goals of supremacy. Given these objectives, one could hardly overstate the joy that reverberated along their corridors when they received word from the Fatherland that a new resource of immeasurable capacity had been secured.