The Eleventh Track: “These Boots are Made for Walking – Nancy Sinatra
Mary stood at the doorway to Merrick’s room holding a silver tray in her hands, a faintly floral smelling vial perched atop. Pausing to stare at a drooling and empty-headed husk of a man, Mary studied him impassively. Merrick’s head struggled to hold itself up as a long liquid strand of saliva dripped from his lip, threatening to splatter down onto the already spit soaked shirt he was wearing. Sighing deeply at the scene, Mary briefly attempting to summon up some sort of feeling for the situation, perhaps remorse over her actions or maybe even a dose of pity. However, she couldn’t feel much of anything really, not even a hint of sadness. No, she felt nothing more than a feminine disgust over the state of Merrick’s shirt, which she was now relieved that she would no longer have to wash.
Carefully setting the silver tray on the table beside Merrick, she picked up the vial of purplish-blue liquid, swirling it counter clockwise a few times to allow the liquids to mix. The floral smell of forget-me-nots permeated the air, nearly making it difficult to breath without inhaling the potent concoction. But that didn’t bother her, for she loved the smell of forget-me-nots. Mary lifted the vial to her nose, inhaling deeply, her mind becoming briefly clouded. For a moment she almost forgot every reason she had to be angry with this man before her, and with every man in existence, damn the faithless lot.
“Time to take your medicine Mister Merrick,” Mary sing songed as she measured out a portion of her vile potion into a spoon, then held it out to Merrick’s lips as a mother would a soothing tonic to a child afflicted with a common chill. She could see Merrick’s eyes flickering, trying to grasp and hold on to some semblance of coherency, something just enough to fight her off. Turning his head away from the spoon, Mary was forced to grab hold of his chin, facing it towards her.
“Tsk tsk!” Mary clucked her tongue, shaking her head at the naughty patient. “Now that’s not going to do you any good.” Pressing on his cheeks, she pinched his mouth until it opened in a surprised “O” formation. Lifting up the spoon handle, she shoveled in the liquid, some of it dribbling down Merrick’s chin, leaving bluish-purple streaks on his face.
“There now. All be-“ Mary was interrupted by Merrick suddenly spitting the liquid out of his mouth and onto her face in a surprising show of defiance. Mary closed her eyes for a moment, wiping the back of her hand across her face to remove spittle swirled with potion. Trying to find the patience not to simply snap the old bastard’s neck, she could barely even remember why she shouldn’t. Oh, right…comfort. Security. Payment for services rendered. Taking a deep breath, she forced her wrinkly and chubby face into a smile. “Now, now, Mister Merrick, you’re just forcing me to give you another dose you know.” Mary turned to pour more of the liquid into the large spoon.
As she was pouring, her back turned to Merrick, she heard a loud snap, followed by a fizzle behind her. Spinning around, she caught a glimpse of a flash, and then “poof”. Merrick disappeared, just like a street performer performing a trick with a vanishing dove. Gone, with only a small puddle of drool, excrement, and her potion left on the floor where he once was.
“Damn,” was all Mary could manage to mutter, as she felt the violent anger of being thwarted bubble up inside of her body.
Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, she placed the tray and her spoon carefully back on the table. With careful, measured steps, she exited the room, proceeding down the hallway, until she reached her quarters. Things were not going as she had planned, she thought as she placed her hand on the doorknob, a sudden surge of anger coursing through her body until she snapped the handle off of the door. No matter.
Mary had been such an extraordinary child. And she had grown up into an extraordinary woman. It was such a shame that everyone else didn’t see that it would have been so much easier just to give her what was her due. If they had, she wouldn’t be forced to take measures.
Shoving the door open to her room, she gathered a few of her things. Most notably, a small velvet bag filled with perfectly rounded pebbles resembling polished marbles. Within the marbles swirled silver mist, and faint flickering images. Many would have thought this quite odd, peculiar even, if the had known of it. But, luckily, only one or two others did. Or at least, only one or two others still remembered that they had known.
Mary turned around, exiting the room, and proceeded to the garden. Her pride and joy. Mary had such a talent with flowers. And even more so, a talent with turning those things she grew into all manner of potions, which could heal… or poison. But once again, only one or two were alive who would remember that either.
Mary paused, bending down to smell the beautiful flowers that grew in her garden. How she hated to leave her blooms behind. Oh well, she would simply have to leave nothing else behind either.
Reaching up to her face, Mary began to claw and pull, until layers of flesh began to peel away. Shaking her hands free of the matter, it dropped to jiggling chunks upon the ground. First her face, then her arms, then her stomach, her legs… Mary finished by pulling away the wig of matted hair, shaking out her own beautiful golden curls. When all was done, what was left on the ground looked like a snake’s shedded skin. Nothing more than an empty husk that someone once wore. Brushing her hands over her soft and smooth cheeks, she flicked away a stray piece that she had missed. ‘I am in desperate need of a bath,’ Mary thought to herself as she stepped through the garden gate.
Before she left, Mary paused and surveyed her garden one last time. Such a pity. With a few spoken words to her Goddess, she flicked her hands and blew the house and her garden a kiss goodbye.
As for the memories, well. That was a ledger that would have to be balanced later.
