Hope and Undead Elvis by Ian Thomas Healy Page B
Authors: Ian Thomas Healy
Tags: apocalypse, allegory, hope, redemption, elvis, graceland, Savior, religious symbolism, virgin pregnancy, mother mary
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goddamn walking dead man. What am I doing? What did I do wrong?"
She jumped up and ran to the top of a hill. Ash clouded in her wake like the eddies behind a boat. She raised her fists and screamed at the sky. "Why me? What did I do? Did I offend you, somehow? Is this some kind of lesson? I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry for everything I ever did wrong. I'm sorry for never going to church, and for cussing, and for being a fucking stripper. I'm sorry for my mistakes, and I'm sorry for never believing." She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Her throat stung from the smoky air and her lungs ached. She'd have killed for a cigarette.
Of course she would; she was the Angel of Death. Such a callous, simple turn of phrase, and yet now it meant something new that it never had for her before. It struck her as funny, and her gasps turned into odd, braying laughter. It was a joke, all a joke that someone was playing on her.
Well, she knew how to deal with that.
Still laughing, she ran back down the hill, past Undead Elvis, and picked up the Shepherds' pistol. The barrel was still warm from killing Mercy. That pun set her off into fresh peals of amusement. She raised the gun underneath her own chin, looked up, and shouted, "Is this what you want? Is this what you want me to do? Because I will. I'll fucking do it. I'll blow my brains out right here and you can find someone else to do your goddamn dirty work and bear your goddamn baby!"
Undead Elvis said, "Please, don't."
Chapter Fourteen
Hope and the Righteous Flame
"Please don't pull that trigger, Li'l lady," said Undead Elvis. He stood well away from Hope.
"Why not?" she asked in a tone full of bitterness and anger. "What's one more body among the ashes? This—" She motioned with her free hand out at the burned and ruined landscape. "This fire may as well have burned up the whole world. Why bother saving it when everyone is dead?"
"Not everyone is dead. You're not."
"I should be, don't you see? It's not right that I lived when everyone else didn't. I don't even know if this is real. I might be dreaming. Maybe I pull this trigger, I wake up."
Undead Elvis took a step toward her.
"Don't! I swear to God I'll do it and leave you all alone here. You stay the fuck away from me, Elvis!"
Undead Elvis hesitated, and then took off his sunglasses for the first time since Hope had first met him. His eyes were as black and shiny as vinyl records, and yet they were beautiful enough to make Hope's breath catch in her throat. "I don't know a lot of things, Li'l lady. I'm just a simple southern boy. But I do know you belong here, and for you to kill yourself would be a great sin."
"I don't believe in that stuff."
"You don't have to. We can't be told what to believe. We gotta arrive at those conclusions on our own or else they're false and shallow."
"What do you believe, Elvis? If I pull this trigger, does my soul go to hell? Or are we already in hell and this is my punishment for a lifetime of sin?"
"If you kill yourself, your life ends, and for you, the world as well. Perhaps it does for everyone else too. Perhaps not." He raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "All I know is that I'm awful fond of you, and I'd miss you terrible if you died."
His words stung her with their honesty. As bad as she felt, she'd feel worse if she died knowing she'd hurt this strange, undead music icon that had somehow found his way into her life. She imagined what it would be like to pull that trigger anyway, to feel that misshapen lump of lead tear through her brain in the instant before the shock killed her. She wondered if it would hurt. Would her soul, if there was such a thing, leave her body with only a memory of pain to take with it?
So much pain, everywhere in the world, and it felt like all of it had centered upon her. If only she could find some respite, some place where the pain would fear to tread. She remembered back in high school, when they'd all had to read Hamlet . Most of
She jumped up and ran to the top of a hill. Ash clouded in her wake like the eddies behind a boat. She raised her fists and screamed at the sky. "Why me? What did I do? Did I offend you, somehow? Is this some kind of lesson? I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry for everything I ever did wrong. I'm sorry for never going to church, and for cussing, and for being a fucking stripper. I'm sorry for my mistakes, and I'm sorry for never believing." She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Her throat stung from the smoky air and her lungs ached. She'd have killed for a cigarette.
Of course she would; she was the Angel of Death. Such a callous, simple turn of phrase, and yet now it meant something new that it never had for her before. It struck her as funny, and her gasps turned into odd, braying laughter. It was a joke, all a joke that someone was playing on her.
Well, she knew how to deal with that.
Still laughing, she ran back down the hill, past Undead Elvis, and picked up the Shepherds' pistol. The barrel was still warm from killing Mercy. That pun set her off into fresh peals of amusement. She raised the gun underneath her own chin, looked up, and shouted, "Is this what you want? Is this what you want me to do? Because I will. I'll fucking do it. I'll blow my brains out right here and you can find someone else to do your goddamn dirty work and bear your goddamn baby!"
Undead Elvis said, "Please, don't."
Chapter Fourteen
Hope and the Righteous Flame
"Please don't pull that trigger, Li'l lady," said Undead Elvis. He stood well away from Hope.
"Why not?" she asked in a tone full of bitterness and anger. "What's one more body among the ashes? This—" She motioned with her free hand out at the burned and ruined landscape. "This fire may as well have burned up the whole world. Why bother saving it when everyone is dead?"
"Not everyone is dead. You're not."
"I should be, don't you see? It's not right that I lived when everyone else didn't. I don't even know if this is real. I might be dreaming. Maybe I pull this trigger, I wake up."
Undead Elvis took a step toward her.
"Don't! I swear to God I'll do it and leave you all alone here. You stay the fuck away from me, Elvis!"
Undead Elvis hesitated, and then took off his sunglasses for the first time since Hope had first met him. His eyes were as black and shiny as vinyl records, and yet they were beautiful enough to make Hope's breath catch in her throat. "I don't know a lot of things, Li'l lady. I'm just a simple southern boy. But I do know you belong here, and for you to kill yourself would be a great sin."
"I don't believe in that stuff."
"You don't have to. We can't be told what to believe. We gotta arrive at those conclusions on our own or else they're false and shallow."
"What do you believe, Elvis? If I pull this trigger, does my soul go to hell? Or are we already in hell and this is my punishment for a lifetime of sin?"
"If you kill yourself, your life ends, and for you, the world as well. Perhaps it does for everyone else too. Perhaps not." He raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "All I know is that I'm awful fond of you, and I'd miss you terrible if you died."
His words stung her with their honesty. As bad as she felt, she'd feel worse if she died knowing she'd hurt this strange, undead music icon that had somehow found his way into her life. She imagined what it would be like to pull that trigger anyway, to feel that misshapen lump of lead tear through her brain in the instant before the shock killed her. She wondered if it would hurt. Would her soul, if there was such a thing, leave her body with only a memory of pain to take with it?
So much pain, everywhere in the world, and it felt like all of it had centered upon her. If only she could find some respite, some place where the pain would fear to tread. She remembered back in high school, when they'd all had to read Hamlet . Most of
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