A Message From Minstrel 1

The television screen which had previously displayed Kanye West waltzing with an award-winning dancer suddenly stopped. The two figures were frozen in place, their faces contorted into hideous horrors while the sound of a thousand mosquito wings threatened to destroy the speakers entirely. The screen went black, then the inky-color changed.

The room on the screen was made to look exactly like ABC Gotham, WWGC. The background was the familiar blue-tinted image of the Gotham skyline which millions of her citizens had come to recognize and love. The big desk with the glass top and white plastic front had the WWGC insignia – a pigeon carrying a newspaper and pen like the famous dove carrying an olive branch – reproduced perfectly. 

Seated at the desk was a single man. He wore a straw hat, suspenders, and a red and white striped button-down. Lofted in his arms was a banjo that gleamed in the studio lights. The figure struck the banjo in a slow, steady stream of plings and plucks, while his large eyes stared up at some unknown spectacle. His face, painted pitch-black like the Gotham night, was stretched in awe while his large, red lips were agape.

Suddenly, the spectacle turned to the camera and smiled.

"Oh, hello there. And good evening," the figure elucidated in a refined, high speech. Placing the banjo aside, he took off his hat and did a large, seated bow with a slight flourish of his gloved, white hands.

"It brings me the utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance," the figure continued. He then reclaimed his banjo and began playing a tune. Millions of Gothamites would say they recognized it, but would find themselves unable to place the exact origins. So slow and somber did he play that no one would realize the song was the beloved child-hood song, Camptown Races, until hours after the broadcast.

"You already know my name. I daresay that you know everything about me. Our relationship has been so intimate from a young age. My own mother allowed us both to suckle from her ample bosom. Of course, your helping was always much more sizeable than my own. I don't blame you for that of course. How could I? Aren't I your dear friend, just as you've always said?"

The mysterious figure covered his mouth as his entire body contorted hither and tither. A low, guttural voice chopped through the air. As the shaking grew faster and the voice grew louder, it took a more familiar form. The strange monster of a man wasn't growling or coughing or anything else. He was laughing; a cacophonous chortle which was more comparable to the sound of gravel and slide whistles in a blender than any sound a human could make, but laughter all the same.

"I entertained you," He screamed as he suddenly pointed at the camera. 

"I told you the most wonderful stories and played you the most amazing songs. I told you how I escaped tigers and briar patches! I played games with you! Remember how we tossed the rocks and baseballs? Remember how we went gator-watching? We sang the most incredible songs! And you gave me the most delicious food. Food which I am to this day obsessed with. We were FRIENDS!"

The figure stopped laughing. So quickly did his wide, smiling face suddenly become still and reserved that it shocked viewers more than anything which had happened that night. His wide eyes still stared into the camera, but his face was plain and unreadable.

"So why would you betray me?"

The figure raised a hand to his eye, as though wiping away a tear. Yet his face stayed perfectly still and unchanged the entire time. The camera began to zoom in on the stranger's face. Soon, his dark complexion filled the entire screen and he became a floating pair of eyes and red lips.

"I'm upset, obviously. You've all been very bad girls, boys, and gender variant children. I don't think we ever were truly friends. I think you were always afraid of me, so we could never really be friends in your eyes. And for so long, I was kept suppressed and tried to make you my friend. But with each blow, I grew stronger."

The madman's face was replaced with different pictures. A black and white of a corpse who's face bulged so horribly and grotesquely that it hardly appeared human. A modern picture of a woman lying on the floor of a jail cell. A young girl in a prison suit, crying in a courtroom. A burning building. People in a small village eating cakes of mud. People in a major city standing in line for cases of water. Men in black leather jackets connecting a thousand strings to the walls of a house. The horrific history contained in the images he showed, without warning, would prompt many tears that night.

His face returned back to the screen. Now, he was smiling. It was the type of wide-eyed grin that would make a man look over his shoulder. The man's eyes beamed in the light but didn't appear to focus on anything. When the light reflected off his round, beautiful lips, it flashed a color of rich, red rum.

"I'm free now, you see. I escaped their souls and created my own physical form. In this flesh lies the fears of both you, my frenemies, and them, my family. But for my family, I'm more than fear. I am rage. I am hope. I am sex, money, murder, honor, DNA!"

He suddenly stopped. His hand hung in the air while he stared at the back of his hand quizzically.

"I'm so sorry, that's Kendrick's thing. I got lost in the moment. Anyway, Call me Minstrel."