Just Lather, That's All (Mildly NSFW) (Non-WOW)

Here we go, Story #1...

Just Lather, That’s All

The man sobbed uncontrollably. The hot iron poker had made its mark. This traitorous musician would be playing no more. “Fine!” he shouted. “I will talk, you devils.” And he did. He told us of the town’s barber, and how he had been passing on information throughout the revolution. He gloated about our stupidity, about how the barber had gone undetected right in the middle of the main street. I nodded to the guard, and left the room. I walked briskly so as to get out of earshot. Not fast enough. I heard a muffled cry, a gunshot, and then silence.

Pacing the halls of the command center, I tried to figure out what to do with this problem. We had suspected some of the seedier elements of town, and had brought many of them in for questioning. We had never expected the barber. It appeared that the rebels had better connections then we thought. I had a hunch that the barber could be useful by passing on information to us, so I decided to try to convince him.

“But sir!” protested my second in command, “Surely he will kill you if you come to his doorstep alone and un-armed!” It was true. All it would take was one stroke of his razor, and I’d be finished. I know this barber. He took great pride in his profession. I doubted very much that he would try to kill me, rebel or not. “I guess we will have to find out.” I replied.

I saw him as I walked in. He was sharpening his razor against the strop. It was a good blade, well cared for. And sharp. I decided that it would bring me a much quicker death then if the rebels caught me. I debated whether to bring my gun-belt with me, but decided against it. A gun would be useless against the razor if he decided to use it. Besides, I thought to myself, I don’t want to die with my gun belt digging into my back.

“It’s hot as hell,” I said. “Give me a shave.” I saw a flicker of indecision cross his face, if only for the moment. So, I thought. The musician was telling the truth, he was working with the rebels. I headed straight for the barber’s chair. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread as he strode toward me with his sharpened, deadly razor.

As he started to prepare the soap, I wondered about what was going through his head. Was he thinking of how best to kill me, or was he thinking of how to explain the fact that he had the enemy in his shop and let him go? Or was he just thinking about our most recent rebel-hunting excursion? I decided to mess with his head a little. “The other boys in our group should have this much beard, too.” I said, while thinking of the six men who had never made it back. “But we did all right, you know.” I lied. “We got the main ones. We brought back some dead, and we got some others still alive. Pretty soon they’ll all be dead.”

I heard his voice waver in response. “How many did you catch?” He started stirring the lather. “Fourteen. We had to go pretty deep into the woods to find them.” I lied again. That musician had been the only live one we had brought back in weeks. “But we’ll get even. Not one of them will get out of this alive, not one.” I saw him visibly shake when I said this.

He was ready to start. I leaned back, allowing him access to my neck, and maybe, his target. He took his sheet out and tied it around my neck, like a hangman’s noose. I began to sweat; it had nothing to do with the heat. I was panicking, so I decided to keep talking. “The town must have learned a lesson from what we did the other day.” I said. He quickly agreed with me, finishing the knot.

I chuckled to myself, and asked if he had enjoyed the show. There was a short pause, and he said that it had been ‘very good’. Indeed, it had. That was but a small amount of payback for the rebel’s atrocities. Undoubtedly, the people of the town felt we were overly cruel to the rebels. They knew nothing of the cruelty of the rebels themselves. They would hide in the grass, and then attack the men brutally with machetes. They would send women and children (masking as refugees) into the camps with bombs and land mines under their shirts. This had gotten so bad; we had started shooting anyone who approached the camp.

I closed my eyes. I was feeling fatigued. He started to apply the soap to my beard. “I could probably go straight to sleep,” I confessed. “But there’s plenty of work to do this afternoon.” He paused in his application of the lather. “A firing squad?” he asked. “Something like that, but a little slower.” I responded. He continued with the lather. We had it all planned out. If the soldier across the street saw me killed, the barber and his conspirators would be punished accordingly.


He took out the razor, and started on my beard. This was it. What I had come for. After shaving off part of the beard, he brought the blade away to clean and sharpen it. I moved my hand across it. No doubt, this man was good at what he did. There was not a single cut. “Come to the school at 6 o’clock.” I told him. He seemed horrified in the mirror. Obviously, this was a man who shied away from violence. “The same thing as the other day?” He asked. “It could be better.” I responded. He asked me what I planned to do. That depended completely on his actions. “I don’t know yet. But we’ll amuse ourselves.” I said. I’m sure that sent a shiver down his spine.

Having finished sharpening the razor, he returned to the chair. “Do you plan on punishing them all?” He asked fearfully. I could tell he was unsure of how to proceed. “All.” I said. I could tell he was shaken by my words. I hadn’t given him much of a choice.

I spotted him looking in the mirror. I glanced over at the grocery store. There were three customers there, including the plain-clothed soldier. He was fidgeting and glancing over at the shop constantly. I would have to reprimand him later, I decided. I also saw the barber glance at the clock. I knew it was somewhere around 1420 hours. No wonder the soldier was fidgeting. I was almost 3 minutes late.

He was finishing up with my beard. He obviously wasn’t going to kill me. I held back a sigh of relief. I began to wonder what he thought of me. Was he like the rebels, taking up cries of “Murderer!”, and ‘‘Cruel Warlord”. Maybe he only served the rebels because of threats, and was more like my officers, who hailed me as “An inspiration to my soldiers”. I hated both parties. I just wanted this rebellion to end and bring my family back home, either way.

Now he had finished with the razor. I sat up and felt my chin. He did a good job. Not a single cut. I rose to collect my gun-belt and cap. I reached the doorway, and I turned to him. “They told me you’d kill me.” I said. “I came to find out. But killing isn’t easy; you take my word for it.” I left him there, speechless.

After walking halfway down the street, I realised something: I envied the barber. After all, at the end of the day, he didn’t have any blood on his hands. No, just lather, that’s all.







Sooo... whadda ya think?