Z2012TheMarkers



Tom Long Legs was a lone wolf. He had voluntarily separated himself from society itself. Considering the strange nature of his clearly dysfunctional brain, society wasn't missing much. Many locals have wondered how this gangly fellow had become so cracked. Theories and stories developed by hobos and other vagabonds that grew more perplexing with each telling circled the character like a cloud of deranged mosquitoes. The only thing these stories had in common was their scaffolding; it was widely agreed by the homeless population of the North Charleston that the strange nature of Tom Long Legs had been born from The Event. I once encountered the flibberdigibbet known as Tom Long Legs on an otherwise dull school field trip. Do to my dabbling in the lifestyle of penny-less wandering, I was aware of the legends surrounding the chap. While none of my other cardboard box dwelling friends would explain the quagmire that is The Event to me, however, upon mentioning the subject to Tommy he interrupted my question with a girly shriek. "YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THE EVENT??' He exclaimed while droplets of drool sprayed from his mouth like a malfunctioning sprinkler. "DO YA???" I responded with the coolest of cucumber nods I could manage. "Well then I guess I'll tell ya..." The odd shell of a man plopped his bony buttocks onto the asphalt and crossed his twig-like legs in a "criss-cross-applesauce" manner. With a rather shaky voice that was accentuated by his the random twitch of his eyelid, the man began to speak pausing only to scratch at the fleas that feasted upon his hollow flesh. "Contrary to what those ol' farts sleepin' under da dumpster say, I wasn't actually present for dat big o' Event. Ya see, I have on good authority, dat all da people who were dere are dead an' gone." Perplexed, I politely asked him to elaborate on the mysterious source of such information. "Dey told me." He responded without blinking. "The dead people?" I attempted to clarify. "Well, DUHH. If dey're all dead, it don't make no sense for any live persons to be atalkin' about it." Tom unsuccessfully hocked a luggie before continuing. "Now would ya stop interruptin' me an' lemme finish ma story?" Of course I agreed. "Ya know dose big ole slabs of concrete sticking outta da ground?" "The Markers?" I asked. "Yeah, yeah, whatever ya wanna call 'em." Tom dismissed, "Well dat plot o' land used to be a mighty fine bedroom for me. Dere was dis hilly part with dis hole in it dat was purfact for asleepin', an, plus, dose markers were super for givin' a lil' privacy when a man wanted to take care of nature's callin'." Tom giggled like a mischievous fifth grader at his reference to using the restroom. "Well, one night, I was takin' care o' dat business when something cold as ice snatched ma ankle. Before I could zip ma pants up, I was being sucked beneath the ground by that chilly thing. I looked down, an' would ya believe, dere was dis creepy skeleton starin' back. He was as white as a baby's butt cheek an his eyes were jus' two gappin' holes glaring up at me like punctures in da surface of a soul." Tom paused for but a moment to appreciate the poetry of his last sentence. "Anyways, dis dead person dragged and dragged me for what seemed for weeks an' weeks until things started to get pretty damn hot. Before I aknew what was ahappening, da darkness was gone an' it was bright an' orange and burnin' like da surface o' da sun. Would ya believe dat dat dead person had dragged me all da way to da center o' da Earth? Dere were all dese skinny skeleton things dancin' around and enjoyin' da heat o' da core. As soon as I got ma legs back under me, da feller dat dragged me under offered my a warm brandy and asked if I would take a seat. Dat was some damn good brandy," Tom added with a cheeky wink. "So I was asittin' an' a sippin' an' the skeletons all gathered 'round an began to tell me all dere stories. Ya see, dere were all victims of dis fever thing, an' dey were takin' to dis place dat dey thought dey were agoin' to get bedder, but instead, dey were exterminated like vermin." Tom shook his head at da cruelty of it all. "Dey said dat dey had been awatchin' me an' decided dat I was da most worthy to tell deir story to da world. Dat's why dey grabbed ma leg, see? So I agreed to tell da world, but it turns out da world don't wanna listen." I nodded sympathetically and offered Tom a soda, which he guzzled with the speed of a man alone on an island. Of course, the only natural thing for me to do was to report the tale to the proper authorities, who agreed to investigate Tom's claims further if I would "Get the hell out of their office." I am waiting patiently for the results of the investigation.