Hapizizidal

As I drove down the interstate, it looked like rain was on the way. I tried the internet radio, but all that remained was a buzzing sound. The quality was too lifelike and unsettling, so I quickly turned it off, leaving me in silence. GPS maps had stopped working some time ago, so I had a map on the passenger's side. I should be seeing the town of Meliponia's exit, but all I can see are signs for Honeydale. I guess I'll exit and ask a local.

I pulled off and drove, unsure of where I was going. After a bit of driving, I came across a farmhouse with a newer pickup truck in the yard, indicating that there were people living there. As I pulled up to the farm, I noticed rows of bee hive boxes with "Honeyside Pharmaceuticals" printed on them. Despite feeling a little unsure about exiting the vehicle due to the bees, I fought my trepidation and got out. The buzzing of the bees and the sickly sweet smell was overwhelming, causing me to retch a little. How could they bear this smell regularly? I thought.

As I walked toward the front porch, I saw what appeared to be a large dead dog, possibly shot and decaying with a black slime covering it.

“Can I help you?” A voice broke my attention.

I turned around to see a man with straggly hair, sunglasses, an unusual cross pendant, and a black boil near his chin. "I seem to be lost. I am trying to find the town of Meliponia," I said.

"You found it," he replied.

"Oh, the exit said Honeydale."

"Yenz one in the same. We changed it recently due to the pharmaceutical company."

"Ok, Honeyside Pharmaceuticals. That is actually why I am here. Any idea why the prison, church, and the pharmaceutical company have the same address?"

"Listen," he spat, "I don't know much about anything except moving honey and praising the eternal lord."

As I looked back at the dead dog, he said, "I also know how to kill an occasional coyote that disturbs my chickens. We don't get your kind too often around here. You may want to follow the road to town to speak to the mayor."

Feeling uneasy, I wondered if he meant black people when he said "your kind." "Thanks, sir," I said and left, following the road to town.

As I drove with my windows up, the sweet smell lingered in the car. Looking in the rearview mirror, I reassured myself of not being followed. I knew there was something more here. Hang on, Markus. Your big sister is coming, I thought. I couldn't contact him after he was sent to the prison here. He told me no; he wasn’t rioting, just an innocent bystander in the situation. I hoped to find something to get him released immediately. No one should be wrongfully imprisoned.

Arriving in town, I was immediately struck by the deserted, middle America vibe of the main street, which made me uneasy. At first, I found it odd that all the stores were closed, but then I noticed that the windows were tinted, making it impossible to see inside. I wondered how anyone could know what the shops had for sale. Even on a Saturday, there were no people walking around.

When I reached City Hall, I expected it to be closed, but to my surprise, it was open. It was nothing more than a house with gold leaf lettering on the tinted window. As I parked and got out of my vehicle, the sweet smell seemed to be getting stronger. Inside City Hall, I was underwhelmed by the very ordinary office area. An older woman with pockmarked skin and sunglasses was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, knitting. On the desk in front of her was a honey jar filled with a black liquid that appeared Vantablack. It seemed to absorb the color around it.

  Barely looking up from her knitting, the woman asked, "What can I do you for?"

"I'm Keisha Matterhorn, and I was taken in by your lovely town, but I'm curious as to why everything seems closed and deserted," I said.

"We don't get many of your kind here. I'll inform the Mayor," she said as she got up and walked into another room.

I felt a flicker of rage, wondering if this was a racial issue, but I composed myself and tried to ignore it. As I looked around, I heard a weird buzzing sound, but I couldn't see any bugs. It seemed to be coming from the room the receptionist had gone into. As I approached the door, I felt the room getting warmer with sweat gathering behind my ears. I pressed my ear to the door to listen better.

The buzzing abruptly stopped, and the door opened inward. "Mayor O'Celli will be with you shortly," the receptionist said as she passed by. I noticed as she passed she was wearing the same strange cross the farmer had.

A few moments later, a heavyset man with strawberry blonde hair appeared, wearing a suit and sunglasses. "Hello, I'm the Mayor, Ronald O'Celli, but everyone calls me Ron. Come in," he said.

As I walked into the Mayor's office, I immediately noticed a few more jars of the black syrup and a large hand-drawn picture of the weird cross, centered on the wall.

"This is a surprise. We rarely ever get any of your kind here," Ron said with a smile.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, unable to hide the hostility in my tone.

Ron pointed to the government official badge on my belt, and I felt foolish for my assumption. "I'm here to investigate some unusual matters. I wouldn't have made the trip, but I was unable to get anyone on the phone," I explained.

"Oh, the phone. Sorry about that. We have little need for that here. Our town only has 500 people. Most information is exchanged at church. Bless our eternal Lord," Ron said as he gestured the sign of the cross, but in an unusual way. After the up and down points, he gestured left and right askew. Behind him was a large picture of the unusual cross, which was the pictorial form of the gesture he had just performed.

"I noticed the cross, but it seems a little off," I said.

"No, nothing is ever off about our eternal Lord."

"hmm… But inmates not being able to make phone calls is off."

"I assure you, young lady, that all appropriate amenities are available to the inmates."

"I'll be the judge of that. I also have questions about Honeyside Pharmaceuticals. Is it true that it is a part of the prison?" I couldn't tell if Ron was nervous, but he started to sweat profusely.

"Excuse me a moment, my blood sugar must be dropping," Ron said as he grabbed a honey jar and opened it.

As he scooped the black syrup from the jar, I immediately felt the heat emanating from it. As he placed the dollop under his tongue and closed his eyes in apparent ecstasy, I felt a chill. Could this be possible?

"Would you like to try some? It is divine," Ron offered.

"No thank you, but I would like to continue."

"How about this: tomorrow there is church. Our mega-church is right next to the jail, which is next to the pharmaceutical company. You can tour and explore to your heart's content. I think you will be surprised at how sweet our little corner of nowhere is."

"Ron, honestly, I would like to tour the facility now--"

[CRASH!]

We rushed out of city hall to see what had happened. It turned out my car had been hit, but there was no one else on the road or the sidewalk to give an account. The receptionist said she saw a truck hit me and kept going, but she offered no further information. How could that be?

"Well, it looks like we have a deal for tomorrow. I will make sure we get our local mechanic on this special order. It should be good as new tomorrow evening. In the meantime, I'll get you set up at the hotel," Ron said, as if he had expected this to occur.

I wanted to scream. There was something going on here. I would have insisted on talking to Markus, but I didn't want to reveal that card yet.

The next day, it was early in the morning, and the air was damp with a gray sky overhead. Considering the uneasiness of the whole situation, I would have felt more comfortable if I had my firearm.

Ron pulled up in an older model car, wearing sunglasses. "I hope you slept comfortably. I ordered dinner for you, but the waitstaff said you didn't eat anything," he said.

"You mean waitstaff/mechanic? I didn't know your hotel manager was also the mechanic. I appreciate it, but I am less worried about my treatment and more worried about the prisoners' treatment." As we left the hotel, I had to ask, "Why does everyone wear sunglasses?"

"Oh, once you see the truth of the eternal Lord, the world just seems brighter. I find in life most people form their opinions thinking they are right. The eternal Lord shows the truth."

"I would argue that most people don't form their own opinions on things at all. They just go for whatever they were raised with, never questioning otherwise."

"Hmm… Well, to answer the sunglasses question, it is a cultural thing, no different from you wearing earrings," Ron said, as he gestured a cross on himself.

Upon arriving at the destination, Ron's prediction was correct. The prison was in the center with a church connected to the left and Honeyside Pharmaceuticals on the right. The church had an unusual black-tinted or dark-colored stained glass window, which I couldn't make out. As I approached the church, I heard a buzzing sound, but it stopped when we opened the door. However, the sweet smell persisted. The church was dimly lit, and everyone was dressed in black attire reminiscent of a new mid-Victorian style. The females wore capelets, and some of the men wore top hats. I felt out of place. 

I sat down in the back middle of the aisle, and Ron sat beside me. The honey farmer I met earlier sat three seats down from us. The first three rows remained empty. The large room had only two doors, one for entry and the other for the prison side connection. The prisoners marched in, wearing black jumpers and walking with military precision. I looked for Markus but couldn't find him. There was one oddly looking man who appeared to have a growth on his back under his jumper.

Shortly after, the pastor was carried in from the prisoner's side in a sedia gestatoria, dressed like a pope in all white with metallic purple accents. It was quite a spectacle, and the audience buzzed with chatter. Behind the pastor was a cart with bottles of black liquid.

The pastor took the pulpit and announced that there was a special guest today, and the sermon would be in English. He updated that global shipping of the miracle panacea honey will happen in the next two weeks. He also reminded everyone to make their donations and declared that "Truth is the eternal lord." As he spoke, I was hit with an intense sweet smell and warmth.

"I am blessed," the honey farmer shouted, and his black boil appeared to have erupted. An usher came to the aisle and passed down what appeared to be a small honeycomb plate. The man kept it under the boil, collecting the black oozing fluid.

The usher thanked him for his donation and took the plate away. I wondered if this was the black ooze that they were eating.

"And now, communion," the pastor shouted. The people stood in rows and walked up one by one to get a dollop of honey under their tongue. I stood and waited in line, not to have communion, but to see if Markus was among the prisoners. He was the man with the growth on his back. My poor Markus, what has happened to you?

Suddenly, Markus shouted, "I am blessed," and stood up. He began to disrobe, revealing a large black boil pulsating on his back.

"Oh, praise the eternal Lord! Come up and testify. We have a witness," the pastor spoke as a large pole on a platform was lowered. Markus stood on stage and was shackled facing the pole, the solid boil in complete visualization. The Pastor took a knife from his chamberlain and carved a square "S" shape in his back. Markus started making a buzz sound. The entire congregation started buzzing as well. The pastor opened the flayed skin which spread open like cupboard doors, as viscous honey poured from his back. He made a strange cross shape with his body. The standing platform must have had some type of collection device because as they raised it in the air, nothing spilled. 

"Markus! Markus! Stop, Markus!" I shouted. 

Communion stopped, and the whole church turned to look at me. Hundreds of people wearing sunglasses turned their faces toward me, buzzing. I was grabbed from behind by the knitting receptionist. I jerked to let go and punched her in the process. Her sunglasses fell off, exposing writhing maggot larvae within the glass of her eyes. Her hand attempted to grab at me. 

It was too dense with people to escape out the entry, so I ran through the other door to the prison. It was near pitch-black, but with no other options, I kept running. 

Smack! I passed out from hitting a wall. 

Coming to sometime later, in a haze, it was so warm, like being under the covers on a chilled day. Is that a fireplace sizzling? As reality settled in, I couldn't move part of my body; it was stuck to the wall. Faint light allowed me to see that this must be one of the prisoner cells. I heard buzzing sounds; they must be watching me, and I was drenched in that sickly sweet smell. As I carefully reached around, I could feel the bars of the cell. The side of my face and my left forearm were glued from when I hit the wall. If I could have just pulled myself free, but as I pulled, the glue became ice-cold. How long was I passed out? My stomach growled; I was already working on a day of not eating before all this. 

Ron appeared. "That was quite a spectacle you put on," he said, standing in the cell.

"What are you?" I replied. 

"Humans that have witnessed the truth. You will see. I told you the truth, all the amenities are available to prisoners, you will not be forced. That wall will give you sustenance; just place a bit under your tongue." 

"Never!" 

"Maybe, we will see in a few days. His love is eternal," crossing himself. 

After Ron left, days passed, just buzzing sounds and sweet smells. Realizing that I would only get weaker, I grabbed a bar and pulled as hard as I could. The cooling eventually gave my face and forearm frostbite, so I didn't feel the skin and sinew tear as I left chunks of myself on the wall. The cell was closed and locked. Just buzzing all around me, I never gave in. I took the remaining strength I had and stuck my tongue out and slammed it on the bar, severing it from my mouth. As Ron slowly walked out of darkness seemingly being there the whole time. He looked at me buzzing, I started to laugh in victory as blood poured out of my mouth. As I slowly passed out from blood loss, I caught the last of his echoes.  

"Stupid girl, don’t you realize I am saving you," Ron said. 

I came to, strapped down, too weak to move. My mouth, face, and arm burned. It seems I was placed in the prison infirmary. I saw my brother across from me, making buzzing sounds, maggot eyes swirling. I saw a syringe with a black concoction being administered in my vein. I bucked and kicked, hitting a bedside table that had a phone on it. The receiver unhinged. I caught a dial tone. 

“You made me a liar, but he will always provide absolution,” Ron said.

I screamed, but without a tongue, a throated shriek came out. I hoped that the receiver would go to an operator, I hope that–

As I felt waves of warmth and frost spread over me, I felt the depth of an amorphous apathetic entity consume me. I felt insignificant, and magnificent at the same time. He is absolution, the eternal lord, Hapizizidal. 

I need to spread the word.