Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Last Mariachi

Inspired by http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jce3Frxot9s

"I gave you a new life. Now I'm going to take it away"

Abejundio began to sweat. This was one of his best suits and he hated getting it dirty.

That's not going to matter anymore soon

"Shut up!"

The Coyote belted him with the side of of his gun. He would later laugh to himself on the ride home alone how that he forgot the safety was off, but now he was mad. Just because he was going to kill this deadbeat did not mean he had to be a dick about it.

"I wasn't talking to you. I sometimes talk to myself. I'm not crazy, don't worry"

"I'm not worried. I'm not the one who should be worried"

The Coyote smirked. He ran his left hand through his bangs. They were pretty nice. They seemed like the only part of him that was soft. He tipped his hat forward. He was not sure if he wore it ironically or not, he was that kind of human smuggler. He had his own blog after all, there is no reason why he could not be a criminal of conocimiento.

He slammed his fist into Abejundio's head. It actually did not connect very well. He sheepishly removed the hat from Abejundio's head and hit him again. It was towards the top of his dome where it began to arch up. The bone was slightly thinner there. Abejundio fell back into his chair and tipped it over.

"Crazy people do talk to themselves and you gotta be fucking crazy if you did not think I'd find you"

Abejundio was dizzy and in great pain.

This is what you get. You should have found a way to pay this man. He didn't bring you up here for free

He would have smacked himself to keep him quiet but he was in too much pain to consider it.

The Coyote paced around the cabin. This was new to both of them. They were in a somewhat remote part of Colorado. You'd think it'd be far from home but its really not. It can be hard to believe that two places of such temperature extremes could be so close together.

Or at least that's what a bad map will make you believe.

"You didn't pay me. The first half in the beginning is just a deposit. I gave you and your faggy friends time"

You should have stayed in school and become an accountant, or some vanity organic rancher, shit, I don't know, anything but this! "Ehhhhh, lets all give up our scholarships and sneak into America and become Maraichi" Great idea. Now you're dead.

"And I'm reasonable too. I killed you one at time. I figure the further along I go down the roster, the more motivated the survivors are going to be. I already wrote it off as a loss, I figured this would be at least interesting"

Snow fell. It made the same sound a puffy blanket does when you throw it on yourself. It was pretty nice too and Abejundio enjoyed looking at it. It was a good distraction from the voice within and the voice without.

The Coyote scooped him up and grinned right in face. Abejundio felt the his voice vibrate on his nose and through his teeth.

"My experiment has failed. Nobody paid me. I killed them all but you. You're the last Maraiachi"

He threw Abejundio to the ground and kicked him. He cocked his gun.

"Get up"

Abejundio slowly rose to his feet. His eyes were shifted to the floor. He felt something prod his chest.

"Play me a song"

Abejundio reached for his hobby-toy. The Coyote smacked him across the face with it. It hung somewhere between the sound of bone hitting flesh and the sound it was supposed to make.

"I think this is actually or was actually a Seguiryas, which is better suited for Flamenco. No wonder you fucked up"

He handed it to him again. Abejundio shook his sore hands.

"Make sure you make this a nice and long one. It's all I'm giving you"

He had a hard time concentrating. He was not used to playing without any accompaniment. It sounded odd and came out all wrong.

He hummed along to try to make it sound like what he was used to. It was more of a low wail. A moan. It made the music even more eerie. His hands plodded against the strings. Notes stumbled out. The Seguiryas was slightly less damaged than he was. He hated listening to himself play his wounded song but he figured this was the last moments he'd ever have doing anything.

He fell into some sort of zone where a pleasant melody seemed to spring from nowhere. He thought he even saw a smile from the Coyote. But as soon as it was there, it was gone. Abejundio could not keep it up anymore. His hands were aching. The strings was fraying. Time was running out. There was something of a wrap up and then he dropped the guitar. It cried out as it hit the ground and split down the middle. He hummed for a little while longer.

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