The Scourges 6 Simulacrum

Sunday 19 March 1986 - 10:10am

[As was the case during the strange dance epidemic that struck eastern France in 1518 after a woman named Frau Troffea danced fervently in a street for six consecutive days, dragging more than four hundred people into her madness and imitating her, some of whom died of death or thirst, the epidemic of ultrviolence that is now spreading among children over the age of ten is incomprehensible.

In less than three days, authorities across the country have recorded no less than fifty-three murders and eight hundred savage a.s.saults committed by teenagers who, until then, had never before shown signs that could alarm their relatives or even mental behaviour specialists.

After a few barbaric acts committed in their workplaces in New York City, a press release from The Times reports on the possible spread of this strange phenomenon from children to adults...].

With no reaction to the words of this black-suited presenter, slumped on his couch, Mr. Samson simply moves from channel to channel hoping to hear some good news.

His son has been missing since Wednesday, but the police have not been able to select a suspect or even find any evidence that could lead to the recovery of his Billy. Having very little confidence in these police officers who allow themselves to play cards on their living room table, he and his wife decided to hang posters with Billy's picture on them everywhere, but, as he expected, no convincing results came of this initiative.

"Mr. Samson, we've done a little digging into your past, andit allowed us to find a particularly atrocious case. If you're not in jail now, it's only because of the influence of your family, isn't it?"

Considering that these lazy people were allowed to accuse his wife of taking his car to the car wash on the day Billy disappeared, Mr. Samson expected that this horrible episode in his life, which he had just remembered, would be addressed by these incapable people, he turns his black-rimmed eyes to the man in the thirty-dollar suit for whom, lacking a suspect, he would make the ideal culprit. Little interested in a pointless fight and would only incriminate him further, he sighs.

"Justice has spoken. As for your allegations that call into question this verdict, it's nothing but libel and slander. Need I remind you that this act has the potential to bring you to trial?"

The policeman bites the corner of his lip. A little upset and hoping to find a clue that might incriminate this overly cultured half-breed married to a beautiful white woman, he looks around the living room.

"That little hole in the wall. Can you explain its presence to me?"

Mr. Samson is familiar with those looks, yet the one that's hurting himself the most right now is not him.

"He was here before we moved into this house. Shall I take out the evidence that will exonerate me from living in a house with a hole in the living room wall?"

As ridiculous as putting that racist cop to his place, is, Mr. Samson, exhausted from his sleepless nights after the disappearance of his eldest son, finds some semblance of a smile. His spirits are slightly better and he approaches the window to look at the plants his wife planted earlier last week.

[This summer the garden will be beautiful! If I maintain the lawn properly and prune that hedge too high, maybe we can even think about entering the contest for the most beautiful garden.]

His gaze wanders to the dwarf j.a.panese cherry tree in the middle of the garden, but before his eyes land on it, something breaks his fleeting happiness. Raging at the sight of it, he clenches his fists and runs to the door leading to the entrance.

…

"What time should I pick you up tonight?"

Vivian throws a marshmallow in her mouth and looks at Anna in amazement. "Why would you pick me up?"

Anna twirls her lollipop around in her mouth and pinches it to the side to answer. "To go for a walk, of course."

On Vivan's face, the expression (stupid) is followed by a little laugh. "Impossible! On top of this epidemic these days, Dad never lets me go out when I have school the next day."

Anna shrugs her shoulders. "Let me convince your father. If he says yes, will you come?"

Vivian thinks for a moment, but finally she shakes her head. "Even if you managed to convince my father, there's a bigger problem to overcome."

"What's that?"

Vivian looks down at her yellow skirt with sadness. "What a question: I wouldn't know what to wear."

To rea.s.sure her, Anna puts her hand on her so s.e.xy thigh. "Don't worry, with or without clothes, you look exquisite. Yummy, I want to eat you, right here."

Vivian gives Anna a small pat on the hand. "Not here where people will still think we're lesbians."

"But I am a lesbian! At least half of me."

As if she's learning something shocking, Vivian looks at Anna with round eyes. "Not me, so, fi fi, the bad hand."

(Slam) As Vivian struggles unconvincingly to get Anna's hand that slipped inside her panties, the door of the house overlooking the garden in which they have extended their blanket, opens violently.

"It was you who took my son away from me! Give me back Billy or I'll kill you!"

On the doorstep, Mr. Samson loses all control of himself when Anna, sticking out her little tongue and looking him straight in the eye, gently twirls it around her lollipop.

"Samson, calm down or I'll use force to make you come to your senses."

"To h.e.l.l with my sanity, I'm gonna kill that little devil."

At that moment, he doesn't care about his beautiful garden anymore. Too angry to think about taking a detour, he crushes his wife's tulips.

What the neighbors think doesn't matter to him anymore. Wis.h.i.+ng only for his son to be returned to him, he shouts many insults towards the young brown girl whose beautiful little face, shocked, unbearable to the curious onlookers watching the scene.

No matter who this racist policeman is, he will force this demon to obey his request and that is why, when he reaches the young girl who screams in fear, like an animal, Mr. Samson throws himself on her and punches her several times in the ribs.

The policeman, for whom colour is more important than honesty, joins the madman, who, he is certain, is the one who probably buried his son's body in some field in the region. The policeman pulls the lunatic back, makes a key for his arm and puts him face down on the ground. Immediately joined by the two policemen waiting in front of the house, Mr. Samson is quickly subdued and handcuffed.

The policeman, who has only done his duty in rescuing a beautiful white teenage girl, gets up and courteously, to help them get up, each in turn, he reaches out his hand to the two girls in a state of shock.

"One of you, call an ambulance that can take care of this Miss that the savage a.s.saulted. Miss, how are you doing? Are you in any particular pain? Do you wish to press charges against the man who just a.s.saulted you?"

Handcuffed with his hands behind his back, Mr Samson is quickly removed from Anna, who seems to be having a little trouble breathing. He wishes more than anything that he'd really hurt her, but he's afraid the b.i.t.c.h is faking her pain. With his teeth so tightly clenched that they make little creaks, before reaching the police car, he turns his head towards her. Discovering her nasty smile in spite of his lowered head, he plunges into madness. Giving every policeman a violent shoulder strike, he rushes back to the brown girl who immediately hides behind the racist b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"She's a demon! When I was 18, she killed my friends."

With his hands cuffed behind his back, its speed being greatly reduced, he's tackled again on the ground.

"Mr. Policeman, this man seems too dangerous to stay free. So, yes, I'll press charges against him."

Vivian worried, grabs Anna's wrist. "But Anna, he's our teacher!"

"A pervert who looks at your thighs doesn't deserve my pity and anyway, your grades in French don't exceed E- so whether you take his cla.s.ses or not won't affect your level of nil!"

Vivian pouting for a moment, but a revelation hits the inside of her tiny brain. "That's mean, but, I had forgotten but it's true that he's a peeping Tom! Mr. Samson can't possibly be a good man. Police officer, I'm also going to press charges. This man is my teacher and every day for the past two years he's s.e.xually hara.s.sed me."