The Price I Have Paid

The Price I Have Paid 

by Holman Greenmanstein

Somewhere, off in the distance, a gun fired.

Martin Chesters heard the blast and sighed. "Sigh," he said.

As it turned out, the blast came from Martin Chester's own gun, as he riddled his sick cancerous pet skunk Macklehiney with bullets.

"Goodbye Macklehiney," he sobbed. "May your foul stench fill every corner of skunk heaven, eternally! Amen and amen!"

Following the burial, which took place in Martin's driveway and was attended by more than 500 people who had been touched in some way by the life of Macklehiney, Martin retired to his living quarters. Many of his old friends had desired to spend the evening with him, but he declined. Alone time was what he needed this night. This darkest of nights.

Supper consisted of a piece of cornbread and a cup of milk. It was simple, but it was sustenance. "I am sustained," he muttered to himself.

After supper, he wept for the loss of his friend. The only friend he had ever known.

Macklehiney.

Was it only 5 days ago that Martin had come across young Macklehiney, traipsing through his watermelon patch, spewing stench in every direction for the pure thrill of stench spewing? Ah, he thought. How quickly time had passed!

Was it only 5 days ago that Martin had taken Macklehiney in, to care for and nourish the young skunk as a new mother would nourish a youngling at her bosom?

Was it only 5 days ago that Martin had raised the skunkling above his head and proclaimed, "He shall be called after the name of my grandfather, the famed Macklehiney Chesters!"

In the midst of his weeping and reminiscing, a vision opened to him. A vision of the most glorious scene! Martin stared in awe at it. Before him lay a vast meadow, surrounded by towering blue snow-capped mountains. Wildflowers dotted the meadow, among which leapt... skunks! Dozens of skunks! Big skunks, little skunks, red skunks, blue skunks, yellow skunks, green skunks, black skunks, and white skunks are all at a skunk party! What a skunk party! "I like it! I like this skunk party!" shouted Martin.

Then the vision took a terrible turn.

One of the skunks, who only moments before had been prancing about gaily and spewing stench in all directions, now stopped and looked at Martin. No, thought Martin. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

Macklehiney!

"Oh Macklehiney!" cried Martin, weeping into the feet of his only friend. "I'm so sorry! I swear I shall find the one who murdered you and make him pay with blood!"

"BUT MR. CHESTERS..." bellowed Macklehiney. His voice was deep and sorrowful.

"Yes, yes, what is it my friend?" queried Martin, staring up into the face of Macklehiney. "Do tell! Who is it that committed this terrible deed? Tell me so that I may seek vengeance!"

"MR. CHESTERS... IT WAS... YOUUUUUUUUU..." And he raised his little skunk paw and pointed it at Martin.

"It was?" asked Martin. "Me? I did this?" And then a sudden realization came to him.

It WAS him. It had apparently slipped his mind. You see, Martin Chesters suffered from a very severe form of short term memory loss.

"Well bust my buttons!" he chortled.

Then, without warning, Macklehiney spun around and blasted him with stench! "Curse your fetid anal glands!" cried Martin as he clutched his face in agony and crumpled to the ground. "I thought we were friends!"

Then all went black.

What seemed like an eternity later, Martin Chesters opened his eyes. To his delight, he was back in his quarters, sprawled out upon the floor. 

Martin Chesters was a changed man that day. For the worse, that is. He spent the rest of his days as a bitter recluse. He would chase passersby off his lawn with his shotgun, shout vile profanities at Christmas carolers when they would come knocking on his door, and would spit in the money buckets of Salvation Army people outside Wal-Mart. Not just little spits. Big nasty hawkers, the kind you would expect from a crazy hick with a pet skunk. Thus passed the days of Martin Chesters.

The End