THE TORN IDENTITY
Chapter 1
It started like any other cheesy old story from the bowels of a forgotten book shop. Everyone has seen them at least once in their life. They look like they have been there for years, storing the old tomes with odd titles that nobody has ever heard of by people who might well have never existed. There are never any customers of course. This is because they have carefully cultivated an air about them that suggests they would rather not have any visitors thank you very much. You can only ever find them once.
If you do feel brave enough to step inside though your entrance is announced to the absent owner with a little tinkle of a bell that says "Thanks you for entering our modest little shop. Now please leave as soon as you feel it is polite to do so". And this works. Most of the time.
Sometimes however you can't help but pick up a few of the dusty old books to take a look. Sometimes you find one that causes you to stop for more than the few seconds it takes to glance at the faded blurb on the back. Sometimes you suddenly find yourself sitting alone at home reading the book with no recollection of actually meeting the shop owner, paying for the book or even walking home. These things DID happen, you are sure of it, but only in a dream-like manner that is soon forgotten.
This is what happened to me.
I found myself sitting at home with the little book I had picked up. The title was faded along with the rest of the cover and a few of the pages were missing. It looked like scrap but that was part of the attraction in it. You see, I feel the same way about books that most normal feel about little homeless dogs. I notice abandoned puppies in the streets and always stop for a moment to imagine what their life will be like in the future. Maybe they will be picked up and cared for by someone with more time to spare than myself? Maybe they will die tomorrow in a horrible but quickly forgotten car accident? Who knows. Maybe, just sometimes, they will be unlucky enough to survive. Then they always grow big and strong, they have to. A harsh life that teaches cruelty and aggression, slowly turning the helpless little rat of a dog into a powerful and dangerous beast is the only viable path. Maybe I will meet it again many years later on a dark and stormy night and it will remember me. Remember that I walked past when I could have helped but didn't. Maybe it will hate me for that. Maybe.
Books are no different. Not the new books with the shiny covers and glossy pages , they are relatively harmless. Just walk into any of the big chain book shops and you can feel it. They sit there quietly on the shelves like harmless little puppies, which is what they are. It’s not them you need to fear, not the new books. It’s the old, brown neglected ones that have had years to cultivate their resentment. They are the ones that bite. They are the ones I want to save. I fear them.
So I looked at the book in my hands, paused for a second, and opened to the first page. It began.
Chapter 2
'It was a dark and stormy night as the stranger trudged through the mud. The wind gave no mercy to his face when he blinked into the sucking dark, straining to see a pinpoint of light that didn't exist. The path was narrow and treacherous which made progress difficult. The growling hunger of his stomach protested that he move faster but the bumps and scratches on his legs argued against it lest he slip and fall again.
"Fuck! Fuck it."
He picked himself up and headed on, cursing at the deaf wind that harassed him from all sides. It was a rough night but in his heart he knew he had made the right choice. No longer could he have remained where he had come from. It was a slow death to stay there. That was the worst part of it, 'slow'. Death was not a problem, so long as it was quick. He liked that. It also helped if he was the one on the blunt end of the knife, sword or any other sharp object laying around that had been used. Sharp objects always had a blunt end, he learned that from a young age and had always had a knack of finding where it was. Learning to be on that end had taken many more years of practice.
Rounding the top of a hill he wiped the rain from his eyes and peered again into the dark to get his bearings. Looking around he could make out nothing except a sea of swirling black. Shapes rose up here and there which he guessed were trees but you could never be too sure on nights like this, not in these parts. In the distance he spotted a faint light. It was far away from the poor excuse for a path he found himself on but he had to try for it. His stomach had won the battle and his legs felt too numb to care about falling again. Pulling his jacket tighter around him he stepped off the path and slowly made across the fields for the light.
"Fuck it"
Upon reaching the building that housed the light he could see it was old and weathered with a broken sign that proclaimed to be a tavern of some sort. He pushed the door open and stepped into the yellow warmth, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the light. It was small and empty inside which made him feel far more comfortable. He didn't hate strangers but then again it wouldn't pay to like them. It makes things more difficult, or so he had been told.
"What can 'ah get you?"
The old barman walked down the stairs that led up into more darkness. He was old and as weathered as the sign outside but has a manner that was younger than his wrinkled face suggested.
"I'm looking for a room, some food and...information" The dark figure dropped his small bag to the floor and started to remove his wet jacket.
"Well, 'ah can give 'ya the first two alright but I don't know...."
"I just want some directions, I'm looking for a city. Torn City. You know it?"
The barman smirked "Ha! Torn City? You kidding me? Yeah of course I know it. Where the hell are you from son?"
“I'm from, another place. I'm new here"
"Ha, another newbie for the grinder huh? If ya' going to Torn City then I guess it don't matter too much where ya' from! Ha, ha!"
The barman looked at the wet, pathetic soul. The wet figure turned silently to pull up a chair without replying. This somber mood caught the barman's attention. His face seemed to age again. "'Ah know its a bad night son but to be fair most people heading through here to Torn City look like they walking on the yellow brick road, even on the coldest nights. Strolling into paradise easy as yer' please. Happy as shitty pigs each an every one of 'em. Never usually see 'em again. Anyway, whats yer' name son?" The stranger glanced at the barman, he seemed to pause for a moment, as if he were running many names through his head before carefully selecting one, like a surgeon carefully picking a knife or some other strange, sharp, shiny tool.
"I'm...I'm Wollongong" said the stranger, scratching at the faded tattoo on the back of his neck. The tattoo was a series of numbers '12833' but he couldn't remember when they were put there.
The barman roared with laughter. "Wollongong? Wollongong?? what the hell kinda mama would give a kid a name like Wollongong? Ha! Yer' sound like one of them pink-hat wearing fancy-boys we get round here some times. Down on their luck an trying to make a bit of coin selling their ass to lonesome travelers! Ah, but anyway, I'm Eliott, pleased ta' meet ya, Wollongong'"
Wollongong looked at him, not responding to the insult. He had seen the 'fancy-boys' this Eliott was talking about. He had seen two of them on the previous night's journey. At least one of them was still alive when they met. That one had explained that they had gone to Torn City seeking their fortune but had been conned into giving away their life savings to a man known only as 'Tea'. The con-artist had subsequently been jailed for fraud and the pair had been forced to find other ways to pay their gambling debts to the loan shark they called 'DrTyDave'. Putting on blond wigs and pink hot-pants they scoured the streets looking for tricks but had picked up the wrong man this one night.
The man had told them that he would pay a large sum of cash if they accompanied him home to his mansion outside the city. He had been as drunk as a dead fish but his clothes were expensive and the gold watch looked real. He told them he was a famous business man named 'FadetoBlack" so they trusted him and stepped into his carriage. They had traveled for hours 'entertaining' him in the cab before the fat businessman fell asleep. It wasn't until he woke up that he seemed to realize the pair were not the women he had thought he hired and he proceeded to become violent. Grabbing a short sword he had stabbed wildly at them screaming 'Fakes! Fakes!!" before dumping them at the side of the road. They had odd names, easy to remember, 'Thepeon' and 'Flint'. Unfortunately Thepeon had died from a severed penis. Flint had recounted their sad tale before breaking into tears and begging Wollongong to kill him on the body of Thepeon. Wollongong had obliged by tossing him a poison capsule and leaving the wretched sod to take matters into his own hands.
The barman put a glass of cold ale on the table. "This ones one the house Mr. Wollongong. Good luck to you. The city is not far from here, just another six hours walk or so. You could wait for a cab but they are getting rarer these days. Been a bit of trouble in that place you see, well, bit more than usual I should say"
"What do you mean, trouble?"
"Well, ya' see, that place has been ruled for years by a tyrant the name of Chedburn. Been rulin' with an iron fist since the place was founded all them years back. Got a strong army of soldiers to back him up too ya' see. Trouble is, no matter how strong yer' army is, there is always stronger out there. Been hearing talks of a revolt, rioting in the streets an all that. Used to be that people were scared of one another, an that was fine for the mayor. But now..." the barman shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
"Now it’s different?" asked the wet stranger.
"Now they is more scared of him, and that’s a problem. You see, when they were all fighting an stealing off each other it was chaos, but it was controlled chaos you see? Now they all have a common enemy..."
"And my enemy's enemy is my friend?" offered Wollongong.
"Yer', that's it. Ya' see the warning signs were there a long time ago. A city like that violence, murder and aggression are commonplace, normal...expected. But when that all stops, well, then its time to start worrying. Things over there have been quiet these last few months. All started when the factions stopped fighting each other. Was real nice there for a while, even went in to pick up a few things with the wife. Calm and safe, you know? But it wern't right. Big place with thousands of thugs like that, they gotta be fighting someone. Anyway those factions stopped beating each other senseless and started talking, started organizing"
"You mean they are plotting against the city? They want a revolution?"
"That's been the rumours. An its no big secret either ya' know. Things are gonna' explode any time soon if you ask me, who knows what it will look like when its all over? Maybe there will be no city an I gotta' go back to my old profession, ha ha!"
Wollongong paid Eliott for his room and dragged his weary legs up to his small bed. It was the first time he had slept in a real one for weeks and his heavy eyes quickly closed as the rain weakened to a gentle patter on the window.
Chapter 3
The next morning as Wollongong awoke he was aware of the sun shining in through the thin curtains. His body still ached but the rest had helped enough for him to make the final leg of his journey. Walking downstairs in his still-damp clothes he saw no sign of the barman or anyone else until he stepped outside onto the road.
"Hiya! How are you mate?"
He looked at the cheerful young man standing in front of him, "Uh, Hi."
"You going to the big city too stranger? Its a great day for it!"
"Umm...yeah...but I'm not looking for any..."
"Thats great! C'mon, lets go! no time to waste!"
"Uh.."
The young man put his arm around Wollongong's shoulders and proceeded to explain his life story as they walked between the green fields toward the city. It turned out that the man was a mildly successful actor named OJ Simpson and was off to Torn City, like many others, to make his fortune. Apparently he had been accused of a hideous murder in his home town but had then paid off a crooked judge by the name of ThatIrishGuy to acquit him. This had left him a free (and still alive) man although he was now completely broke. It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
As they walked he explained quite frankly that his best friend and village gynecologist, Dr Zed, had been having intimate examinations with his wife, DaQueenB, outside the clinic and in his bed. OJ Simpson had been enraged when he discovered the 'evidence' on the bedsheets and stormed down to the clinic where he found Dr Zed giving DaQueenB another examination with, what he called, his' 'Big Pink Vibratin' Rotatin' Shakin 'n' Swivellin' Rabbit-Eared Examination Tool Delux (TM)'
OJ Simpson detailed with a crazed grin on his face how he had taken said 'Big Pink Vibratin' Rotatin' Shakin 'n' Swivellin' Rabbit-Eared Examination Tool Delux (TM) and "...examined tha’ Dr's damn ass with it 'till tha' bastard turned blue an stopped breathing! Ha! Ha ha! HAHAHAH!!"
Wollongong vowed to find out which part of the city OJ Simpson would be staying in and to stay as far away from it as humanly possible during his stay there. And to stay away from pink rabbits.
After a few more hours they came within sight of the city. It was more than he expected. Not really bigger, just...more. More something. Maybe he was simply tired from the journey but he could tell that it had something to it that he had never felt before. That's right, not seen, felt. You could feel its presence even from this distance. To be fair you could smell it from even further away but he had hoped that was just the mangy cows in the field they had passed. Unfortunately he was wrong.
Upon seeing it OJ had stopped his lengthy chatter and had suddenly become silent. The silence had continued as they approached the huge wooden gated that towered over them, flanked by dark stone walls that stretched off each side into the distance. The road up to the gate was surprisingly empty, the only other people in sight were the two scruffy guards leaning on their pikes smoking roll-ups. The bigger and scruffier looking of the two shouted a half hearted 'stop' as drew close.
"What’s your business here lads?" inquired the bigger guard with a mild annoyance.
"We are here to make some money in the city" replied a humbled OJ.
"Hah!" grunted the guard. "And what makes you different from all the others?"
"Well, I'm an actor, I was born to be famous and I'm gonna' be famous here!" beamed OJ.
"Yeah, sure you are. An' I'm Mayor Chedburn himself!" the little guard laughed to himself.
"Shut up, Tofuscraps" said the bigger guard. "You would shit yer' pants if he heard ya say that"
"Aww leave it alone will yer', Uriel." moaned Tofuscraps. "You bin' picking on me all day jus' because that bitch left yer..."
*SMACK* The bigger guard clipped Tofuscraps around the head with a small wooden club he had pulled from his trousers.
"Shut it! Yer, little rat. I'm the boss of this gate and her name is Lala! Got it? LALA! And she loves ME, not that wretched little cabaret singer..."
"You mean Rob?" Goaded Tofuscraps. Uriel raised his hand to hit the little guard again then stopped in mid swing, checked himself and looked at the two travelers.
"I'm sorry gentlemen but it appears we need to have a little staff meeting, again. Please step through that little door over there in the gate. Welcome to Torn City. Enjoy your stay."
Wollongong and OJ stepped through the gate, leaving the whimpering screams behind them outside.
Chapter 4
Walking around the streets they found themselves in a cheap and squalid shanty town of low, brown shacks. The city looked like an old beehive that had had all the bees gassed to death, except there were apparently no bodies left. For what was supposed to be one of the busiest places on earth they found themselves alone with no-one else in sight. OJ had apparently failed to notice this and had reverted to his usual cheerful self.
"...and then I'm gonna meet a big movie director who is gong to realize my full potential! I'm gonna make it to the top this time! All the way I tell you! I'm gonna get my own private island, my own aeroplane, fast cars, fast drugs, fast..."
*click* "Put your hands up motherfucker's and I'll blow yer' goddamn motherfucking brains out!"
Wollongong and OJ froze on the spot.
"Umm...don't you mean put your hands up OR I'll blow your goddamn motherfucking brains out?" questioned Wollongong.
"Aw, fer' fecks sake Hydro, can't you do ANYTHING right?" a second voice said.
"Sss...sorry Waterfreak, you know I get all nervous when we do this" said the first voice.
Wollongong and OJ slowly turned around to see two men dressed in baggy jeans and covered in cheap fake gold jewelery.
"Every friggin' time we do this you screw it up! Give me that gun!" said Waterfreak, pointing the gun at the travelers. "Now put your friggin' 'ands up!"
"Er..excuse me sir..." said OJ "...but your gun seems to be leaking..."
Waterfreak looked at the gun. Sure enough a dribble of water was coming out of the handle, along his arm and onto his baggy jeans. It looked like he had peed himself.
"Aw friggin' 'ell, not again" moaned Waterfreak. "I know we can't afford a proper friggin' gun but why the frig' did you have to fill it up with water??"
"Sorry" whined Hydro. "But I guessed a full water pistol might be at least a little more scary than an empty one..."
"Screw this, C'mon, leg it!" shouted Waterfreak, and turned to run down an alley with Hydro in tow.
OJ looked at Wollongong bemused. Wollongong shrugged. "Retards. Every city has one. I hear this place has a million. Lets go, I need to find the Mayor"
