The Selling of Albert Mann

    Chingy squeezed his eyelids together hard in a attempt to stop his eyes from stinging.  He had been staring at the soft glow of the computer screen for a little more than three hours and his temples had begun to throb a bit, the beginning sign of what he knew would develop into a terrific migraine.  Behind him, Folks was exhaling puffs of foul-smelling smoke from an off-brand cigarette and singing off-key to whatever metal song was playing on his headphones.  Dizzy was being somewhat less annoying, staring at a cheap porn magazine that featured non-too-slim women with oversize breasts and old faces.  Burrows had gone out to pick up some snacks and maybe score a little weed, which momentarily relieved Chingy's diminutive bedroom of one of its occupants.

    "C'mon, bitch. . .," Chingy muttered to himself as he lowered his head to the screen.

    "Y'know what he's doing, right," Dizzy asked, still gazing at the blond on page 72.

    "Yeah, I know.  Shut the hell up."

    "He's gonna wait until there's only a couple of minutes left, then he's gonna make his move."

    "Shut the hell up!"

    Chingy threw an empty bag of corn chips back at Dizzy, and as he did a muted chime sounded from the computer and the small box at the bottom of the screen with the words "Current Bid" above it read "$3500.00," the red numbers signifying a new bid.

    "Damn it," Chingy screamed, slamming the computer desk and sending a can of flat soda flying.

    "What," Folks asked, rejoining the real world and moving in behind Chingy.  "Did he raise the bid?"

    "Well, no shit," Chingy replied, sitting back in his chair, his arms folded.

    Dizzy let out a low whistle as he took his place beside Folks.  "Thirty-five hundred.  Man, this dude's serious."

    "How much time's left?"

    Chingy peered up at the right corner of the screen.  The clock had the time written out: "0 days, 18 minutes, 32 seconds," with the final number counting down.

    "You gotta do it," Folks said, clipping Chingy on the arm.

    "Yeah, you can't let this fuck win," Dizzy added.

    "With what?  I didn't have three thousand, now I've gotta come up with four?"

    Just then, Burrows loudly entered the room, his arms burdened with two grocery bags of junk food and a 12-pack of soda.

    "Man, this town is dry," he said as he threw the food on the nearby bed.  "Even Goldie couldn't score any weed."

    "Whatever," Dizzy said.  "Now, shut the fuck up."

    "Why?  What's going on?"

    "Chingy's about to dump a load on this guy."

    "Yeah?  What's it up to?"

    "Four grand."

    "Do it, Chingy!  You're a wuss if you don't."

    Chingy continued to recline in his chair with his arms folded.  He looked at the image on the left side of the screen, the visual representation of the object on which he was bidding.  It was a head shot of what looked to be something human, a mound of fat, muscle and flesh with thick lips, a flat nose and pale skin which gathered in folds about its chin and neck.  Its eyes betrayed no evidence of emotion whatsover, nor even the presence of thought, and Chingy wondered if it was yet alive.

    Text beside the image listed the object's vital statistics.  Its given name was Albert Royal Mann and it was thirty-eight years old.  It was listed at six feet one inch and weighed 327 pounds and most recently lived near Norman, Oklahoma.  Beneath these mundane facts were listed its indiscretions, which included beating a 83-year-old woman to death for the thirty-seven dollars in her purse and raping a seven-year-old developmentally disabled girl.

    "Do it," Burrows repeated, gutterally.

    "C'mon, look at that guy," Dizzy chimed in.  "He's gonna take forever."

    "Four thousand dollars," Chingy exclaimed in a high-pitched tone.  "You know how long it's going to take to make up four thousand dollars?"

    "You work, doncha?"

    "What're you gonna use that money for, anyway," Burrows asked.  "Y'got your ride, y'got no rent.  The money's just laying there."

    Chingy moved his mouse on its mousepad, and as he did so the cursor on the screen danced about in an irregular fashion.  In the right hand corner, the clock read: "0 days, 6 minutes, 12 seconds."

    "C'mon, man, you're gonna let this bitch win."

    Finally, the cursor rested on top of the "bid" toggle.  Chingy let it linger there for a moment as he stared across the screen at nothing in particular.  Finally, exhaling slowly and allowing his breath to form the word "fuck," he clicked the mouse, and the bid box immediately flashed in red, "$4000.00."  The clock read, "0 days, 2 minutes, 4 seconds."

    The room immediately erupted in sound from the three standing behind Chingy.  "Take it, bitch," Folks yelled, spasmically thrusting his pelvis towards the screen.

    "Shut up," Chingy exclaimed, punching Folks in the arm.  "Mom's gonna be home soon, so chill out."

    His warning went for naught, however, as the clock counted down to zeroes and a box popped up on the screen announcing that Chingy had placed the winning bid, which brought about a fresh round of hoots and yells.

    Soon, another box popped up on the screen, one much more formal in appearance, which contained terms and disclosures, most of which Chingy ignored.  At the bottom was a toggle box asking Chingy if he wished to transfer funds from the listed account.  Chingy clicked the box, and with that, $4000.00 disappeared from that account.

    Next, all text disappeared and a full image of Albert Royal Mann filled the screen.  The thing was nothing but bulges from head to toe, with ham-sized forearms bursting out of its green-and-white uniform and a gorilla-sized chest visible from its open collar.  It had been shaved, making its assymetrical skull even more unsettling in appearance.  It had been stood up on a platform beneath a soft yellow rectangular light, its ankles shackled to the platform by short leg irons.  That measure seemed unnecessary to Chingy, as it had not moved since Chingy had logged on.  The only item on-screen that the computer added to the image was a rectangular red toggle button located directly beneath the image of the object.  Chingy moved the cursor over the button and let it sit there.

    "How long do you have to do this," Burrows asked.

    "Don't matter," Dizzy said, "do it now."

    "Yeah," Folks said.  "Fry this fucker."

    Under his breath, Chingy muttered, "Burn, motherfucker."  Then he clicked the mouse.

    Immediately, the object became animated as it began to move about in spasms, arms and legs flailing about.  Its eyes rolled back, revealing nothing but whites beneath its heavy eyelids.  Its thick tongue fell out of its mouth and its teeth clamped down hard several times, causing blood to spurt out about its face.  The blood mixed with saliva and streamed down its chin and neck onto its uniform.

    "Holy shit," Folks said slowly with a tone of astonishment.

    "I think it's gonna burn for awhile," Dizzy said, drawing closer to the screen.

    For his part, Chingy sat silently transfixed to the screen.  Against all reason, the thing was still upright, and it seemed to Chingy that it occasionally made determined movements, as if it might be struggling to find some means of survival.  He wondered whether it could happen, whether that gigantic mass of human tissue could survive the extreme amount of energy that was flowing through its cells at the moment.  Chingy had heard rumors about what could happen if something survived the treatment, but never anything definitive.  All of his musings were moot, however, as the object finally fell to its knees, then fell sidelong on its shoulder, twitching violently, its mangled tongue still extended, two eye whites staring directly out towards Chingy.

    Folks leaned towards the screen.  The soft light of the screen contrasted with the relative darkness of the rest of the room, giving his mixed facial expression of joy and astonishment a macabre appearance.

    "Did you see that," he asked needlessly.

    "That - - was awesome," Dizzy added, drawing out his words.

    "Did you think he was gonna end," Burrows asked.

    "No, man.  No way."

    At length, the image was once again confined to the left side of the screen and a note of appreciation for participation from the State of Oklahoma appeared beside it, along with a list of government services that would be enhanced by Chingy's $4000.00.  Chingy chose to ignore this, but did note the black box superimposed on the image, which contained simple white text which stated, "Death Confirmed."

    "Worth it," Folks asked towards Dizzy, his voice anticipating agreement.

    "Worth it," Dizzy exclaimed, and the two of them slapped palms in midair.

    Then, towards Chingy, "Worth it?"

    Chingy did not answer, but sat back in his chair with his right hand behind his head, staring at the words, "Death Confirmed."

    "C'mon, worth it," Folks asked again, his head cocked to one side as if trying to coax the correct response.

    "Hell, yeah," Chingy finally said, his mouth widening into a broad grin.  He grasped Folks' hand in a firm handshake, then bumped fists as if to exhult in his accomplishment.

    The four of them remained in the cramped bedroom, digesting junk food and excitedly discussing the mound of burning flesh that they had just created.  Eventually, however, their enthusiasm waned, and they turned their attention towards the means in which they could obtain some weed.