The hermit's isolation induced hallucinations of his distant crimes have materialized in the form of guinea pig hailstone cans, which are his diced, vacuum packed victims returning to him in streamlined cylinders raining down from the cradle of pure research in the sky. The hailstones threaten the fugitive anonymity of the hermit, but are viewed as wayward trophies bestowed upon a cruel zealot; perverse laurels for a guilt free conscience.
Er hat kein gewissen. Es gibt keine vergangenheitsbewaltigung.
The hermit rolls over in his grotto, leaning his helmet against the inside walls of the tree trunk, scraping chalky grayness of cranial exoskeleton against termite riddled wood. He drums his fingers up and down the notches of his root in the darkness-
Phantom marsupials hatching from spare demerit notch bumps in his navel. His strong, indominable will remains free of the senility of old age, but he is tinged with a stoic arrogance and lofty sense of entitlement. His regal attitude ridiculously contrasting with his humble state of ruin.
Ruined but free, the hermit was once a Doctor. By accident he became a fugitive, on the run for most of his adult life. The war torn fallen government which once employed the hermit, rewarded him for experimentation on enemies of the state.
A chevron was added to his uniform every for every incongruous mutilation of flesh and degradation of spirit. He was crowned with new heights of glory with the long screams of each slow, agonizing kill. The rigor mortis of each butchered subject, elevated the hermit's rank to the zenith of the cradle of pure research in the sky.
He who had carte blanche was only fulfilling his lawful duties. He for whom medical malpractice was an understated euphemism, forever washed his hands clean of blood, running from new laws condemning him for his past deeds. Exiled from his country, he fled across oceans and continents, to remain free.
In order to permanently trick and elude his persuers, the hermit made a pawn which he vivisected with a hoe blade, resourcefully whittling the crude garden tool with stones turning it into a makeshift surgeon's scalpel.
He performed cosmetic surgery on the pawn with ruthless precision, surgically remodeling him into the insignificant other, an identical twin of himself.
The hermit cautiously hacked out the insignificant other's tongue so he would remain mute if captured, thus preventing the possibility of damaging testimony about the hermit to leak before a court of law.
The Goody Goody Two Shoes was born ignis fatuus; unculled triplet wantonly mutating from surgical scraps of flesh flying randomly off the jagged scalpel blade during the operation.
The insignificant other howled in agony, sputtering in a harsh red wind of incisions, the surgeon's exacting hands dancing nimbly; frilly ruffles of Goody's bloomers widening in rippling spirals of dainty cloth lily pads around its legs; horizontal rows of ruffles materializing in manic flutters like the invisible beating of thousands of hummingbird wings. Amidst the mutating mayhem and transformation, the first idea for a chastity diaper had already formed in the Goody Goody Two shoes' head long before the insignificant other's scars had begun to heal.
The insignificant other traveled in bondage with the hermit as he moved through an endless series of ephemeral jobs as hotel manager, store clerk, farmer and overseer of manual laborers. The hermit's identity changed with each new job. The jobs becoming more menial over time, until the hermit, bereft of authority, stopped working and began drifting, discarding all his belongings except his pawn, wandering into a remote forest never to return to civilization.
Deeper and deeper into the forest the hermit and his pawn traveled, The Goody Goody Two shoes trailing behind secretly, bloomer ruffles scraping against dense underbrush could not be heard above the chorus of humming insects rubbing their legs in song. Eventually the discordant trio settled in a small clearing where the insignificant other was put to work gardening, the hermit burrowed into the grotto of roots under his hollow tree, Goody hanging a swing on the largest branch of the tree, swinging and knitting chastity diapers.
The Bloodhound-Stigmata were bounty hunters, hoping to catch the hermit, bringing him to justice for a huge reward. The Bloodhound Stigmata flew over the forest in search planes, scanning the treetops aerially, until they caught a glimpse of a glistening diaper reflecting in the sun and a huge knitting needle poking through the tree branches.
Landing their plane to investigate, they bushwhacked through the dense forest, carrying mug shots of the hermit, drinking tequila and eating snared rabbits skewered over campfires.
Upon reaching the clearing, the scenario before them appeared to be a hallucination induced from a daily diet of rabbit and tequila: Goody, prim and clean, knitted diapers diligently, swinging back and forth from a high tree branch, down below, the insignificant other, emaciated and filthy, hoeing and drooling from his tongue stump, inadvertently watering the garden with rivulets of saliva; pausing to bat a guinea pig hailstone can up to Goody with the hoe; Goody opening the can, holding flesh cubes between two knitting needles like chopsticks, eating the remnants of the hermit's victims, engaging in a proper cannibalism within acceptable bounds of culinary etiquette, Goody, careful not to soil its bloomers with oily juices from the rarefied meal; tossing the empty can down from the swing with haughty indifference, the can bouncing off the insignificant other and landing in the garden next to the tree. The pile of glistening chastity diapers next to the garden, a sculptural testament to the hermit's virtuous celibacy, the diapers were never actually worn, being too precious like an antique loveseat which had supreme decorative value, but was too delicate to be sat upon.
The Bloodhound-Stigmata quickly noticed the strong resemblance between the insignificant other and the hermit. They quickly captured the insignificant other mistaking him for the hermit. They handcuffed him, leading him out of the forest as Goody watched, continuing to knit methodically. Goody knew the truth but would not inform on the hermit, because it would violate the controlled routine bound world the hermit created. If Goody were to tell the Blood-hound Stigmata of the hermit's whereabouts, they might then put on the precious chastity diapers as work clothes, ruining the diapers while chopping the down the tree to capture the hermit, thus eliminating the tree branch from which Goody swung. Also, there was no guarantee that the Bloodhound Stigmata would share their reward money with Goody after informing on the hermit. Much to Goody's chagrin, the leader of the Bloodhound Stigmata triumphantly put on the diaper with "Aerial Reconnaissance of Deposed fugitive kings" embroidered on it with a glow in the dark cartoon of the hermit dangling off the safety pin.
Goody watched as the Bloodhound Stigmata vanished into the forest underbrush, its favorite diaper flashing between trees as the leader bushwhacked away, the glowing cartoon of the hermit twirling on his hip with each rugged step and snap of twig.
The insignificant other was flown to a distant continent, brought to justice and found guilty of crimes he was a victim of.
Mute with drooling tongue stump before the court, the insignificant other was unable to defend himself against his prosecutors. The incriminating testimony about the hermit which could exculpate the insignificant other, remained stuck in painful gibberish-tongue stump wagging desperately-his spirit broken, traumatized by the surgery from which he was created---the insignificant other cried in murky confusion trying to remember clearly what was done to him by the hermit---struggling to articulate an intelligible word, his tears mixing with drool, covering his face with his hands as the prosecutors coldly issued a guilty verdict. The Bloodhound Stigmata soon after getting their reward.
The insignificant other was executed for crimes he was a victim of. The fall guy and eternal alibi fulfilled the destiny the hermit designed him for. The pawn completed its life cycle. Resurrect. Vivisect. Circumspect. The complacent world hated and reviled the memory of the insignificant other, forever deceived; rows of mangled scapegoats receded into the horizon of their smug blindness. Conventional wisdom prevented the possibility of anyone considering that this was a case of mistaken identity. The far fetched chance that the accused was a dupe of malleable putty from an elusive surgeon's scalpel, a pawn in the hands of deception, was considered absurdly ludicrous by the prudent body politic. Societies ebbed and flowed, governments fluctuated, ossified public opinions gathered dust, then momentum, the dried kernel of the insignificant other's severed tongue rolled across antiseptic horizons---a tastebud tumbleweed engulfing the pain of all seasons.
The hermit was forgotten, vanishing as intended, increment by increment, the bird dropped on his helmet, droppings slowly accreting into the mausoleum headdress filling the inside walls of the tree trunk, entombing the hermit.
All the trees of the forest burned to the ground, The Goody Goody Two Shoes' ashes were heaped in a neat series of chastity diaper urns twinkling in the flames. Long after the hermit became ash in the flames, the hollow helmet of bird dung drifted through invisible fields of ashy dust-a fossil impervious to the erosion of time-
Time. Maker of wounds. Turning all extremities into seamless plateaus---rain wind and stardust swept around the helmet's rough contours, smoothing over the last notch bump indentation left by the root-forlorn remnants of of exacting precision cast to oblivion-Monumental strata of bird dung-bedrock of Phoenix-the spirit of hearing sent forth an ear which cupped itself to the helmet's concavity, listening to the oceans of the world roaring in the bird shell.
