Remember the old saying, "Tough times don't last; tough people do?" In the next few hours, I confirmed the veracity of these words.
I wasn't some kind of mighty hero, but in my head I'd always spun the idea of becoming a new-age Hercules. His personal story resonated with my crazy voyage to Gunung Kinabalu, primarily because of my strength and perseverance to conquer many challenges on the Warrior Farm. I always knew I could behave as a real hero one day.
Naked memories of the sad past covered me against my will. In that lonely moment, I asked the shadow that moved closer and closer, crawling over the damp wall's muddy skin: "You know something? One day, I'll find her, my Sobekneferu princess... I don't know exactly how or when, but I will. You probably don't believe me, but I can visualize her, like right now, riding out of the clinic on the white horse."
Of course, my poor condition was the reason for that bizarre statement. But what would happen next — after the tête-à-tête with my soul — was totally out of my craziest expectations.
"I knew guys like you, Mr. Beard… They all ended up dead. At first, I thought it must be some kind of a reaction against me personally, or my latest research." The voice from the corner was familiar. I turned my head to face Anthony Lee Phillips' angry expression. He continued, "But there's a simple psychiatric explanation. Personally, if you ask me — ah, I know you never will; too busy counting your endless wives. You know what, I think all that dreaming about finding one forever love or a perfect cure is crap. People are so naïve..."
"I thought I was a white horse once, too." Mr. FuzzyPie sighed, escaping the sunlight and moving slowly toward my weak body.
I understood the complexity of my situation. That's why I began to rock my bed, unconsciously repeating, "Swim, my boat, swim, my boat, swim," and it did. But not in the direction that I planned.
Anthony Lee Phillips and Mr. FuzzyPie grabbed the iron chains and dragged my bed to the window. To tell you honestly, I didn't know what they were up to, and I didn't want to know: ignorance is the only true power in situations like this.
The realization that I got a voice came to my rescue. I yelled, "Help! Save your king! Anyyyooonnne?"
My ex-wife, Martha, ran into the cell, surrounded by two thugs with massive, brown clubs. During the chaos and the fight, my chains somehow fell off, and struggling with pain, all blue, I broke free.
In that moment of absolute happiness, somebody hit me from behind. Yes… they just hit me on the head with all their might!
Later, I found out I was not far from the truth. Only 13 patients—all women—were kept inside that clinic. Although fifteen thousand souls were recorded on the paper for which Mr. SoBeIt and his half-sister, Constanza Lovesick, received money and subsidies from the inhabitants of Gunung Kinabalu and my royal pocket.
So, it didn't surprise me when an uprising, which lasted several hours, arose during my stay in captivity.
"Lucky bastard!" were the first words I heard when I opened my eyes.
It seems I was still a king, but Alphonso Beard's animated mask was partially smashed.
The thirteen female patients, with their upper bodies uncovered, stood above me, their hair clipped in precisely the same fashion as Anthony Lee Phillip's. They looked so dangerous that I became convinced that it wouldn't matter who I was. They dreamed of killing me without delay. However, seeing that I was unarmed and smiling stupidly, they stood silently and looked at me.
Ah, so many thoughts passed through my mind: if only I could've stopped searching for Sobekneferu and given up on trying to be so damn kind to everybody I met! I felt like I was inside an illusion because the women around me constantly changed their facial appearances. I understood that the change didn't depend on them, but watching their faces twirl like a kaleidoscope made my head spin. I lifted my arms, palms facing forward, and waved like a wizard, feeling foolish and hoping to stop this absurd situation.
"The key to destroying LKED is to wash your souls in bacteriophages and detach yourselves from reality," Anthony announced, approaching the angry crowd.
All thirteen faces jumped up and yelled at the top of their lungs a simple, "Long live the new King Anthony Lee Phillips!"
It made me think they'd won, but the lightning strike from outside the walls somehow hit Mr. FuzzyPie. He fell dead. During the next, much bigger explosion, we retreated to the back of the yard and then out, into the wild jungle behind the clinic's gates.
"My, mmm... spindle is completely stationary. I can't feel it. It looks like it's stopped moving. Can you check it?" I asked the nearest beauty, who helped me to walk upright.
Even if she wasn't very comfortable with the idea of checking what's going on inside my trousers, she nodded anyway.
"It's hard to explain, but I don't think it is there, Mister. Maybe it is gone. Happened to some men I know because the LKED was spreading too fast," the woman explained.
"I thought the LKED disease was only contagious for women?" I stared at her in disbelief.
She answered with a pitiful smile, "No, not at all."
Just as I began to wonder how I could use this escape to elevate myself, I heard a strange conversation.
"We can cast him into the ditch like a dog," one of the women said.
"No, he has to confess all his sins to each family of the Warrior Farm, to all he killed or destroyed."
"Wait! Right, I have a confession to make. It is true: I am not Alphonso Beard. I am Bullet, the harmless one! Remember me? A doctor?" I shouted.
"You see? A clear sign of madness," whispered the brunette with vast, white teeth into Anthony's ear.
"Let me take off this damn mask, and I'll show you!" I screamed.
Nobody listened.
We went off the road to a little field with a sign that read "No trespassing," where the grass grew green and high, where the sun had no power on any side, where the gentle breeze sang about all sunlight and suffering, and where—without any warning—I was cheerfully beaten and hung at the top of the lonely olive tree.
New King, Anthony Lee Phillips, and his mad LKED gang opened two bottles of a local alcoholic drink—strong as hell— and gobbled it in a leisurely fashion, celebrating their victory.
"I'm Bullet! Please, I can prove it! Are you going to stay and watch me die? You'll be forever sorry!"
"No. We already know how you'll die, evil!" The women laughed.
When the procession left me, a sudden pain began to move through my body: it started in my left eye, then pushed down my neck, arm, and chest, until my already miserable spindle was on fire.
But as I said earlier, "Tough times don't last; tough people do." I was on a journey—a very important one. And nothing could stop me...
Nura and Gail arrive at a new crime scene where the clues are strange, the victim’s eyebrows are missing again, and the case is starting to feel deeply personal. As the investigation unfolds, Nura grows more convinced that something far more disturbing is happening beneath the surface.
This post explores how modern life leaves your brain overloaded with “junk data” from news, notifications, and screens, and why that constant clutter fuels anxiety, brain fog, and exhaustion
Welcome to the serialized story of Mr. Harmless Bullet! For the audio version - scroll down. Genre: satire, absurdist comedy, adult humor (16+)
Written with the Tristan Tzara method - read about it here
Complete story, chapter by chapter:
CHAPTER 34. INSANITY OF LKED
Remember the old saying, "Tough times don't last; tough people do?" In the next few hours, I confirmed the veracity of these words.
I wasn't some kind of mighty hero, but in my head I'd always spun the idea of becoming a new-age Hercules. His personal story resonated with my crazy voyage to Gunung Kinabalu, primarily because of my strength and perseverance to conquer many challenges on the Warrior Farm. I always knew I could behave as a real hero one day.
Naked memories of the sad past covered me against my will. In that lonely moment, I asked the shadow that moved closer and closer, crawling over the damp wall's muddy skin: "You know something? One day, I'll find her, my Sobekneferu princess... I don't know exactly how or when, but I will. You probably don't believe me, but I can visualize her, like right now, riding out of the clinic on the white horse."
Of course, my poor condition was the reason for that bizarre statement. But what would happen next — after the tête-à-tête with my soul — was totally out of my craziest expectations.
"I knew guys like you, Mr. Beard… They all ended up dead. At first, I thought it must be some kind of a reaction against me personally, or my latest research." The voice from the corner was familiar. I turned my head to face Anthony Lee Phillips' angry expression. He continued, "But there's a simple psychiatric explanation. Personally, if you ask me — ah, I know you never will; too busy counting your endless wives. You know what, I think all that dreaming about finding one forever love or a perfect cure is crap. People are so naïve..."
"I thought I was a white horse once, too." Mr. FuzzyPie sighed, escaping the sunlight and moving slowly toward my weak body.
I understood the complexity of my situation. That's why I began to rock my bed, unconsciously repeating, "Swim, my boat, swim, my boat, swim," and it did. But not in the direction that I planned.
Anthony Lee Phillips and Mr. FuzzyPie grabbed the iron chains and dragged my bed to the window. To tell you honestly, I didn't know what they were up to, and I didn't want to know: ignorance is the only true power in situations like this.
The realization that I got a voice came to my rescue. I yelled, "Help! Save your king! Anyyyooonnne?"
My ex-wife, Martha, ran into the cell, surrounded by two thugs with massive, brown clubs. During the chaos and the fight, my chains somehow fell off, and struggling with pain, all blue, I broke free.
In that moment of absolute happiness, somebody hit me from behind. Yes… they just hit me on the head with all their might!
Later, I found out I was not far from the truth. Only 13 patients—all women—were kept inside that clinic. Although fifteen thousand souls were recorded on the paper for which Mr. SoBeIt and his half-sister, Constanza Lovesick, received money and subsidies from the inhabitants of Gunung Kinabalu and my royal pocket.
So, it didn't surprise me when an uprising, which lasted several hours, arose during my stay in captivity.
"Lucky bastard!" were the first words I heard when I opened my eyes.
It seems I was still a king, but Alphonso Beard's animated mask was partially smashed.
The thirteen female patients, with their upper bodies uncovered, stood above me, their hair clipped in precisely the same fashion as Anthony Lee Phillip's. They looked so dangerous that I became convinced that it wouldn't matter who I was. They dreamed of killing me without delay. However, seeing that I was unarmed and smiling stupidly, they stood silently and looked at me.
Ah, so many thoughts passed through my mind: if only I could've stopped searching for Sobekneferu and given up on trying to be so damn kind to everybody I met! I felt like I was inside an illusion because the women around me constantly changed their facial appearances. I understood that the change didn't depend on them, but watching their faces twirl like a kaleidoscope made my head spin. I lifted my arms, palms facing forward, and waved like a wizard, feeling foolish and hoping to stop this absurd situation.
"The key to destroying LKED is to wash your souls in bacteriophages and detach yourselves from reality," Anthony announced, approaching the angry crowd.
All thirteen faces jumped up and yelled at the top of their lungs a simple, "Long live the new King Anthony Lee Phillips!"
It made me think they'd won, but the lightning strike from outside the walls somehow hit Mr. FuzzyPie. He fell dead. During the next, much bigger explosion, we retreated to the back of the yard and then out, into the wild jungle behind the clinic's gates.
"My, mmm... spindle is completely stationary. I can't feel it. It looks like it's stopped moving. Can you check it?" I asked the nearest beauty, who helped me to walk upright.
Even if she wasn't very comfortable with the idea of checking what's going on inside my trousers, she nodded anyway.
"It's hard to explain, but I don't think it is there, Mister. Maybe it is gone. Happened to some men I know because the LKED was spreading too fast," the woman explained.
"I thought the LKED disease was only contagious for women?" I stared at her in disbelief.
She answered with a pitiful smile, "No, not at all."
Just as I began to wonder how I could use this escape to elevate myself, I heard a strange conversation.
"We can cast him into the ditch like a dog," one of the women said.
"No, he has to confess all his sins to each family of the Warrior Farm, to all he killed or destroyed."
"Wait! Right, I have a confession to make. It is true: I am not Alphonso Beard. I am Bullet, the harmless one! Remember me? A doctor?" I shouted.
"You see? A clear sign of madness," whispered the brunette with vast, white teeth into Anthony's ear.
"Let me take off this damn mask, and I'll show you!" I screamed.
Nobody listened.
We went off the road to a little field with a sign that read "No trespassing," where the grass grew green and high, where the sun had no power on any side, where the gentle breeze sang about all sunlight and suffering, and where—without any warning—I was cheerfully beaten and hung at the top of the lonely olive tree.
New King, Anthony Lee Phillips, and his mad LKED gang opened two bottles of a local alcoholic drink—strong as hell— and gobbled it in a leisurely fashion, celebrating their victory.
"I'm Bullet! Please, I can prove it! Are you going to stay and watch me die? You'll be forever sorry!"
"No. We already know how you'll die, evil!" The women laughed.
When the procession left me, a sudden pain began to move through my body: it started in my left eye, then pushed down my neck, arm, and chest, until my already miserable spindle was on fire.
But as I said earlier, "Tough times don't last; tough people do." I was on a journey—a very important one. And nothing could stop me...
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