Page 88 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

an implicit formality to all of this. So for now, I’m willing to
consider the order of the names as something of an unspoken
rule.”
“It’s the damned linearity of this list that has me wanting
to quit this awful game,” the man replied. “As an artist, I’m
sure you must feel the same, yes?” He knew who I was. That
interested me.
“Why do you think you know who I am?” I asked.
“You’re gigantic,” the man said, “with what could easily be
an enormous axe wrapped up and strapped across your back.
To be honest, I’m not sure how you’ve lasted so long with
such an appearance, and traveling via public transportation,
no less.” He still hadn’t turned to face me. “Do I have you at
a disadvantage, my friend? Have you no idea with whom you
are speaking? I wonder how many faceless names you’ve
already scratched off that list of yours, all the while having
no idea as to the paths you’ve destroyed. Shame on you,
if that’s true. I mean, we’re not, any of us, living inferior
lives, are we? We’ve spared ourselves very little waste by
way of lost opportunities. Again, as an artist, I assume you
to understand the gist of what I’m saying. But the chance to
see all the faces face the right way, follow all the lost paths
. . . why, it’s just too tempting to permit a little killing, even
if ultimately misplaced, to give us pause. Killing to make
the killing unnecessary, yes? That is what we’re doing, isn’t
it? We’re being made to thin our own ranks, in order for one
of us to fill the world with their will. Or have you a grander
explanation to share?”
The man was intriguing enough to warrant a response.
“First, I knew something about the better majority of those
I hunted, and those who hunted me. The others weren’t
permitted a proper introduction, I’m afraid. As to the nature
of the game, I’ll keep my opinions to myself. And while I
admit to a temporary loss in our little naming game, your
interest in lost opportunities and faces tells me more about
you than the fact that you won’t show me your face—or
The Red Son | 91