Character Series: The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones, Vol. III, by Samuel Bostick.
The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones
The people on the island continued to put their best defense forward as the Gnomads continued their tirade. Chad-sama rejoined his comrades, the warring town folk and militia troop fighting to defend their town and honor.
Having just busted his way through the hull of the Gnomad ship, Jones still in a fury of rage set himself square toward the crew themselves. He took the bottom floor by storm. Seeing his face in such a fury was to see the anger of God. Fear gripped the boat by the throat, time froze. VROOM, VROOM, VROOM—the engine revved, as did the level of his anger. Then, he took off! He cut through the bottom of the ship like a knife to warm butter. Smooth destruction. Slashing away with his sword the crew fell into parts all across the floor. SnakeMan took no captives-heard no words. Red mixed into the water as it flooded into the hole he broke in the ship’s wall…sharks came…for the feed.
VROOM!! Speeding through the vessel he found himself soon in the storage room. A large cabin area with barrels of rum stacked three quarters along the walls. At this moment some of his senses returned to him, he felt oddly comforted and soothed by the presence of the barrels and peaceful solitude of the room. He lit a slim and took a moment to admire the room and the craft in front of him as he puffed and exhaled soulfully. The smoke clouds lingered and danced a slow rhythm as they moved upward until they dissipated into the air. An ash fell from the end of his pliff and the ember burned radiant red til it went cold to black and fell grey upon the floor. An idea arose in his scheming head.
With grace in his step and quickness under his heels he pulled the plugs out of all the exposed barrels. Their faces seemed to smile with relief and mischief as their liquid contents spilled out and began to pour onto the cabin floor. The once stagnant air became quite flavorful with an earthy spice aroma as the dark elixir flowed seemingly without end upon the floor. Jones’ feet pitter-pattered as he stepped away from the barrels and the liquid lapped at his boots. The sound of the fountaining rum only added a more peaceful sound to the already comforting room…the fragrance was warm. Jones stepped over and mounted his Bike, he kicked it into a rumbling start. The purring growl always aroused his primal side. Again he reached into the front pocket of his jacket where he kept his matches and smokes. He lit the pliff once more and this time let it burn to its end. Slowly he rolled out of the room. Without looking back he struck another match, a smirk now on his face resembled that of the still pouring barrels. He dropped the flaming match and took off with a wicked speed full speed ahead. The match hit the floor. The flame grew. As soon as it met the liquid and the flame and elixir kissed there was an explosion of growing fire. The unquenchable hunger of the flame consumed…free untamed ardor. It crawled up to the barrels and jumped into the spout. Searching for more to consume, more fuel, more destruction; there it found its crave satisfied. BOOM!! The barrels exploded and the room instantly burst into an engulfing flame of fire and heat. SnakeMan’s smirk spread into a cynical full smile as he heard the explosion at his back and felt the wave of air rush hot past him. It warmed his cold blooded body. He aimed his direction straight for the deck.
Jones moved quickly as he burst from the superstructure of the ship out onto the sunbathed deck. His was as dramatic as it was telling. He and his Bike bust through a hatch that was previously closed and jumped into the air off the shipping cargo ramp. They came to a skidding halt. The crew froze. The captain stopped in his tracks, mid word. He turned slowly as he felt danger at his back. As he completed his about face he met SnakeMan’s eyes with his own. There was a deep force aligned between the two of them, an energy that the whole deck could feel. It was the presence of fate entering the scene. Someone would surely meet their last moment by the end of this exchange.
Again fear gripped the ship by the throat…silence was the only language…there was a heavy sense of doom looming over the craft. It settled heavy like a morning fog. Both captain and crew looked at him, bewildered, in awe at such a being with power apparent in his shoulders, arms, thighs, calves, chest and back. Anger again rose in Jones, he could hear the screams and cries from the island and could see the flames rising from the burning town. The Captain held his peace for he understood the dynamics of this moment. His first mate spoke up, breaking the silence—cutting the fog; he asked, “who are you?” no response from SnakeMan. The first mate continued his prodding, “Who are you? What do you want?” still no response. Jones had yet to break his eyes from those of the Captain; this was to be a showdown. No man nor beast could get in between this quarrel.
This time the captain spoke, “Sir my question to you is simple, are you man, demon, or god?” SnakeMan took in a deep breath, then exhaled and a shifted his weight; flames broke from under the deck and began to peek between the deck boards and out through the open hatch. The smell of the flame met Jones’ nose and flashed an image of the town and the pain they had been subjected to by the craft of the Gnomads’ greed. He clenched his fists and tensed his jaw…climbing off his bike he pulled off his jacket and felt the weight fall off his shoulder, he then pulled down the shield of his helmet and gave his full reply in one booming word. “YARR!!”
In that moment the ship quaked from the second and larger explosion from the storage room under the deck as the rest of the barrels had been found by the flames’ hunger. Upon the boom that sent the ship rocking Jones Revved his engine and hit the bike into top gear—full speed ahead, gunning straight for the Captain. Right before impact the captain leaped aside. Quickly clearing the path and escaping the head on attack. Jones was impressed by the Captain’s speed especially since he was such a big form. As quick as the first attack Jones spun his bike around and re-attempted his head on charge. Again the captain jumped out of the bike’s line, this time Jones too jumped off the bike and ran to the side of the ship where he grabbed the anchor up and heaved it up with one mighty tug. As the heavy iron was yet high suspended in the air, the Captain caught SnakeMan across his chest with a slashing sword. The blade’s pressure burst the skin and into the muscles of Jones torso. The blood spurt forward through his skin with the exploding wound as it opened and poured…just like the barrels did below the deck. The thought of the similarity of the imagery brought that unrestrained smile back to Jones’ face. Time froze. The salted air called Jones’ awareness again to his wound. The anchor hit the deck and fractured several floorboards with its weight.
Without second through SnakeMan whirled it above his head with all his might. Using the anchor of their own ship he took to the crew like in a medieval manner. Swiftly he slaid them all…nobody had ever seen combat so fearsome. As quickly as it began it had ended. The crew was slewn about. He was quick to take after the Captain as well, who put up a good fight. His sword skills were of amazing tactic and form as was his strength mighty. Still, he could not compete with the fury that moved Jones’ attacks. The captain fell alongside the helm of the ship and pleaded for his life. Jones looked once at him. He dropped the impossibly heavy anchor upon him and walked away leaving the Captain to share the same fate as his sinking vessel that was once a ship. Jones climbed slowly onto his Bike and headed out leaping off the deck of the ship, leaving destruction behind.
He headed straight for StaggMoreFalls with the intention to complete the termination of the Gnomad attack.
To be continued…
the LIFESTYLE’s role is to create collective space for active Reflection and Response through the arts. This space is built around dialogue, expression, collaboration, and artistic (ex)change involving international craftspeople and their realities. The Porch Swing series opens up a Reflection and Response residency where we feature a Collective member’s ongoing project through weekly installations.