Strange Brew a work of Fiction by loud7@enternet.com.a (Craig Garrett) This story appears in a self-published book titled: Pornography, Heroin & Government: ten tales from the city of roundabouts I still remember when I first tasted it. I was young and living with my parents. Back then I would sit on the footpath after school and chew grass shoots while I watched cars drive by. We werenít rich. My father worked in a clothing factory and my mother cleaned houses for a time, until she was caught stealing and charged with theft. Now she works for the Government. I remember hot summer days just sitting on the footpath . . . watching. Iíd wave at the Holdens and stick my fingers up at the Fords. One day two Ford drivers in their early twenties took exception to my use of the finger. They stopped, jumped out of their hotted up Falcon and threatened to teach me a lesson. I ran into my front yard, stuck both fingers up at them and yelled, ìFord driving poofters!î Before they could get to me my older brother, Sasha, ambled out through our front door. Sasha was twenty, five years older than me, and when they saw him they went back to their car and pissed off down the street. Sasha was known as a bit of a criminal in those days. He had been in trouble since he was ten. First it was minor offences, shop lifting or graffiti, but as he grew older the offences grew more serious. His last offence was aggravated assault and theft and he was still waiting to appear in court. ìThanks,î I said. He nodded and motioned for me to follow him inside. We were never close, me and Sasha. Never spoke much. Probably because he was always going out, sleeping in, or rooting some girl in his bedroom. Today was different. Sasha and Patrick, a criminal associate of Sashaís, had been drinking all afternoon. Usually theyíd drink ìliberatedî beer or wine stolen from some all night drive-through, but today they were drinking a herbal elixir made from ginseng, elder flowers and four other exotic ingredients I had never heard of before. They werenít drunk, but they werenít sober either. I sat down at the kitchen table. ìHave some,î Sasha said as he placed a schooner-glass full of the elixir in front of me. I took the glass and sipped. The taste invited me to drink more. I took a larger sip. My throat instantly soothed. I gulped down the rest of the dark red liquid. Sasha and Patrick laughed. ìThatís exactly what I did the first time I tasted Venhum wine,î Sasha quipped as he filled my glass again. We sat and drank for hours, bottle after bottle. I didnít feel drunk, but I was feeling something. Abruptly, Sasha slammed his empty glass on the table and announced, ìThatís the last bottle, letís go and have some fun.î He turned to me and asked, ìyou coming?î ìYeahî I could see other dimensions and other realities. I could feel an energy pulsing through me. We piled into Patrickís old Holden and took off down the street leaving a dirty black exhaust cloud behind us. I looked back at the gloomy haze as it obscured our driveway and front yard. Then things came out of it. Creatures from other worlds and times: two-headed men riding animals that were a cross between a horse and a sea lion, crying women with-half born babies hanging between their legs, and grunting, man-eating pigs that assembled near our letterbox and ran off down the road looking for fresh meat. I turned away and directed my attention to the front of the car. I saw Patrick driving with Sashaís hands covering his eyes. ìWhat the fuck are you two doing!î ìItís all right,î Sasha said calmly, ìweíve done this before. The wine gives us unique gifts. Patrick sees without looking and I have the gift of persuasion. What can you do?î ìI donít know yet.î ìI think you do,î Sasha said as he took his hands away from Patrickís eyes and turned in his seat to face me front on. ìYouíre with me now. I helped you before, so now youíll help me . . . right?î ìOK.î I nodded, ìWhat are we going to do?î ìSteal some old buggerís pension cheque.î ìWhy donít you just persuade him to give it to you?î ìBecause violence is much more fun.î On Wilson street we found a well dressed old bastard walking towards the TAB. Patrick stopped the car and Sasha went up to the old coot. They spoke for a time, always shaking hands or nodding or laughing, just like old friends. As they spoke I could see the old cootís inner creatures floating around him. In past lives he had been a lizard-man, a Minotaur, a leper, a winged exhumer of graves and a mad herbalist for an Asian king. Eventually, he came and sat in the back of the car with me. It was twilight by the time we arrived at the abandoned factory. In the half-light we took the old man into the building and beat him senseless. With each punch a different creature left his body and entered one of us. Sasha and Patrick couldnít see the creatures, but I could. I had to save them. I began pounding the creatures from their bodies. With new found strength I jumped on Sasha and Patrick biting at their ears and scratching at their eyes. I hit them to the ground and kicked them until all the creatures entered me. I ran to the car, left running by Patrick for a quick getaway. In the drivers seat I sat and breathed deeply to catch my breath. I looked down to see I was covered in blood. On the way out of the car park I smashed the drivers-side headlight on an old, rusty gate. When the police stopped me they saw the blood and immediately began asking questions. I explained about the old man and the creatures. They thought I was mad. I took them to the old man. He was lying there, not moving. One of the policeman bent over to check for a pulse. He turned to his partner. ìNothing.î The old man was dead. They found his wallet in my pocket. Sasha and Patrick were gone. Not since that day, twelve years ago, have I ever tasted Venhum wine. I have been in and out of institutions ever since. I only see Sasha now and again when he and my parents come to visit. The nurses and doctors tie me to my bed at night, for my own protection of course - the creatures are still inside me. Sometimes I am able exercise outside for an hour or two, but all I really want to do is sit down, chew some grass and watch the cars drive by. (c) Craig Garrett 1997. Created on Fri, 5 Sep 1997 and last modified on Mon, 15 Dec 1997.

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