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28 September 2006 16:37Greir the Giraffe was sent to deal with the problem. He had that cannon of his in the armpit holster. He was a skeletal dude with a long bony neck. That totally stick thin frame of his made the cheap suits he wore look like a million dollars. He probably would have been called ‘Bones’ or ‘Ichabod’ under normal circumstance but there was a combination of things that led to him being called The Giraffe.
His face had an exceptionally long and flat nose. His eyes were a shade of brown that was almost black. He had a vacant way of staring that left no window into what he was actually thinking. His last name was Raffel. G. Raffel. G-Raff. But the thing that maybe sold it the most was this; he had red birthmarks all the way up his neck and on his face.
It they were little capital C’s like a cheetah it would not have been remarked on. If they were the formless Rorschach blotches of a cow it would have been ignored. The fact is that the birthmarks were octagonal like a giraffe's.
He almost never spoke. Teasing from his earliest memories had turned him into an intensely solitary person. It was natural that he’d fall in with bad people. I suppose it was just the part of town.
He was revolted by the human race and ashamed to be a part of it.
He had no problem killing.
On this particular day, The Giraffe had been sent to kill The Hyena. The Hyena’s real name was Sharnelle Tireson.
Sharnelle Tireson laughed when he was nervous and he was always nervous. He had gigantic yellow teeth that would have earned him a much more vermin-like nickname were it not for his wheezy high-pitched constant laugh. He had a natural hunch-and-glance way of standing that attracted attention from the cops. He also had a natural spill-the-beans way of talking that made him a liability.
The Giraffe was sent to wipe out the Hyena.
This was over thirty years ago now. A 1965 Minneapolis. Six cities ago. That was a day I remember clearly.
I chuckle at the memory and pick parsley out from between my huge yellow teeth.
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His face had an exceptionally long and flat nose. His eyes were a shade of brown that was almost black. He had a vacant way of staring that left no window into what he was actually thinking. His last name was Raffel. G. Raffel. G-Raff. But the thing that maybe sold it the most was this; he had red birthmarks all the way up his neck and on his face.
It they were little capital C’s like a cheetah it would not have been remarked on. If they were the formless Rorschach blotches of a cow it would have been ignored. The fact is that the birthmarks were octagonal like a giraffe's.
He almost never spoke. Teasing from his earliest memories had turned him into an intensely solitary person. It was natural that he’d fall in with bad people. I suppose it was just the part of town.
He was revolted by the human race and ashamed to be a part of it.
He had no problem killing.
On this particular day, The Giraffe had been sent to kill The Hyena. The Hyena’s real name was Sharnelle Tireson.
Sharnelle Tireson laughed when he was nervous and he was always nervous. He had gigantic yellow teeth that would have earned him a much more vermin-like nickname were it not for his wheezy high-pitched constant laugh. He had a natural hunch-and-glance way of standing that attracted attention from the cops. He also had a natural spill-the-beans way of talking that made him a liability.
The Giraffe was sent to wipe out the Hyena.
This was over thirty years ago now. A 1965 Minneapolis. Six cities ago. That was a day I remember clearly.
I chuckle at the memory and pick parsley out from between my huge yellow teeth.
tags