Lizard King

               The year was 1882. Nuevo Mexico. It had been eight days since Heinrich had begun his journey into the Chihuahuan Desert. Just another good-German-lad who had sailed from home in hopes of finding his promised fortune. It had all started in his hometown of Düsseldorf in Westfalen. Heinrich had lived alone for most of his life. In his closet, you could find five suits, and three hats. He had worked his whole life as a patent examiner, commissioned by the local magistrate, then spent his free time collecting rocks. A therapeutic coping mechanism for an inadequate life.

              Heinrich, by all accounts, lived a sad and meaningless life. One that offered few joys. Until, at end of a rather trivial day, he had found himself at the local tavern. Head spinning from the sixth pint of beer he had chugged to flush away the feelings of loneliness and boredom, he overhead a story from the nearby table. A prospector had just returned from the United States with his weight and more in gold. Having chased rumours of a gold rush in some place called Colorado, he had struck it big, and come back with a fortune. It had been enough to send Heinrich’s imagination racing. Filling with just enough hope to inspire something drastic.

               Selling his earthly possessions, packing his leather briefcase and taking one suit, he left his cocker-spaniel Dietrich with a neighbour who suffered from gout, and then purchased a cheap map from a toothless haggler in a Hamburg market. It had been poorly drawn and had discluded anything built after 1820, but he was sure it would do. Heinrich was on his way to pursue the American Dream. A vast frontier waiting to be conquered. Destiny.

              With a head half-filled with dreams, the other half with spirits and ale, he purchase passage aboard a ship to New York, his pockets still stuffed with coin. It was big. Loud. Everything his town was not. He met strangers, merchants, and both men and women who offered to sleep with him. A few pickpockets and charismatic swindlers later, his pockets suddenly found themselves far lighter. But it had been of little consequence to Heinrich, in a few days, he would be rich. Then he would sail home with his own small fortune, share his treasures, and they would crown him mayor. King.

               With his foolhardy smile, he had stumbled from bar to bar looking for a lead. Listening to the stories of the raving adventures who had come back scarred or broke from the frontier, he soon realized the fools had all followed the same trail. Each had raced west towards California. Heinrich knew better than to travel the beaten path. To follow these idiots who thought those rivers rushing down from the Rockies hadn’t already been picked clean. Unfolding his poor map, it did not take long for him to see the untapped potential waiting in the south. In a little place known as, Nuevo Mexico. He had heard rumours of gold waiting in the desert. Of some lucky soul stumbling onto a deposit after being lost for days on the arid plains. To Heinrich, it seemed the only sensible direction to go.

              For the first three days, he had wandered the desert finding only beasts and inspects. In truth, Heinrich was not quite sure what it was he was looking for. With each shimmer across the horizon, he found himself chasing another mirage. Boredom and laziness crept in. Heinrich soon found every opportunity to distract himself. Collecting native rocks to start a new collection, counting clouds that passed overhead, or simply resting under some trace of shade. It was not long before he had burned through his supplies and left with little more than a few salted pieces of beef. Even his canteen was dwindling.

              That was when they found him. A tribe of Apache who had come down from the Sierra Madre. They had taken pity on the lost stranger in his cotton suit and leather briefcase. Knowing little English, and even less Spanish, Heinrich had tried to explain the reason for his journey into the desert. Using large gestures and drawing crude pictures with a broken stick, he had managed to communicate his need to find rocks. A fact that had convinced the Apache he had truly gone mad. The tribe offered him water and fed him for three days. After which they traded him for his salted beef and his collection of rocks – which they immediately began to fashion into arrowheads - in return, they offered him a long pipe and a strange plant called peyote. It would help show him the way.

               Thanking his new friends, Heinrich insisted they leave him alone. Despite knowing that no water or civilization could be found for miles, they did not wish to hold back the strange fellow. With bewildered stares, they watched him march away in his cotton suit with less supplies than with which they found him.

              After a few more days, the heat and hunger had gotten the best of him. Even the vultures had begun to circle overhead, sensing the constant promise of a fresh meal. In each direction, he found only more shadows. The days crept by. The heat rising. Strength fading. There came a moment when Heinrich gave up. Defeated by the desert. It was then he remembered the peyote. Its promised magic. The elder had ensured that he would only need a little to be gifted a vision. The message. Using his years of studying reason and logic, Heinrich proceeded to smoke the entire plant, quiet sure it would show him the path faster. Striking a match, he lit the shrub and deeply inhaled of its harsh sacred smoke.

                Before he had even finished his second hit, the sky had begun to change. Blue giving way to violet, and violet to red, each shifting in unnatural ways. Details began to appear from within the arid landscape. The dull world growing vivid and bright. He began to notice details his sober mind had missed. Subatomic insects, human eyed shadows, cacti swaying to wind music, microscopic light particles mating in the air. How had he not seen all of this before? It was so clear. Evident. It was then he realized the plant had given him powers. The powers of a god. A god sent to rule over the creatures of the desert. The King.

                 It was then that clouds began to take terrifying shape. One by one, they began to swoop down at him. Fluffy birds of prey. Forcing him to retreat further into the desert. The sun passed behind a cloud and the beauty quickly melted away. In its place hung the horrors of the unknown. The baying wild hounds, cackling birds, the drunken worms gorging on dirt. It had been a carnal sort of orgy. The kind wholesome god-fearing folk were never meant to witness. It brought with it a sort of madness. A high delirium. Blood red ecstasy. Leaving behind his briefcase, Heinrich realized he had to take off all his clothes. Heinrich began to run. Pieces of clothing discarded ever few steps. Perhaps if he came to them naked, the beautiful creatures of the desert, they would accept him as their own. Another creature in a sea of beasts.

                Once the fear had subsided, his feet burned, and his skin bled. Heinrich took a moment to rest. It was there that he discovered something far more precious than gold tucked away over the ridge. Hidden in a grotto surrounded by black rocks, lived a tribe of lizard people. Never before had humans laid eyes on such a spectacle. Golden salamanders and blue iguanas walking on two legs. Speaking to one another. Laughing and arguing in some lizard like language. As civilized as any of the folk that could be found in the known world. The Lizard People had been busy continuing their daily routines, feeding their screeching infants with giant insect carcasses, earning a living by licking rocks. The moment they laid eyes on Heinrich the day’s busy came to an abrupt halt. One and all came to welcome the newcomer. Each taking turns running their long tongues down his naked skin. Finally, someone could see him, the real him. These were a people worthy of ruling. Heinrich would be their god.

                 A crown had been fashion from dried branches and held together by cactus needles. He realized they had already built him a stone throne. Small red trail began to ooze from the crown as it fell upon his head. Heinrich didn’t care. He had become the Lizard King. In celebration, he smoke the rest of the peyote stuffed into the pipe, and resided over his Lizard People citizens. His first act had been to shoo away a group of buzzards. A gold eagle had been less concerned by his threats. Two of his people died beneath his rule. Eventually, the eagle left. His people had cheered, rewarded him with a shower of long kisses and a few quick bites. All was well in his lizard kingdom, until the sun began to bend towards the earth.

                Just before sundown, another figure emerged. Its long-scaled skin slithering between the rocks as it entered their kingdom without the proper paperwork. It had been the Snake King. The ruler who had come before. Rightful owner of the Lizard Throne. With narrow red eyes, it issued a challenge. Claimed Heinrich as a false ruler. Some of the lizard folk had listened to him, scurried into their holes, while a few stood in defiance. Those who knew their new king would save them. Time changed as they waited. Slowed. In them, Heinrich lived a thousand lives.

              The Snake King made the first strike. Its bite burning into Heinrich’s leg. Pushing through the pain, he grasped its long body in his godly hands. With all the strength he could muster, he threw the former tyrant against the rocks. It had hurt the Snake King, but it had not been enough. The watched. Waited.

                 Another strike. The Snake King bit into his arm. Heinrich felt weak. Skin swelling. Body dripping sweat. There was a part of him that wanted to accept defeat, to let the Snake King resume his reign of terror.

              Then he heard the cries of his people. The fear. The love for their king, Heinrich, the Lizard King. He found renewed strength. In that moment, the peyote peaked. He hurled himself at his enemy. Another venomous bite hit shoulder. He grab the Snake King by the head. Pinned him to the ground. With what strength he had left to his fading body, he grabbed a stone and bash. And bashed. And bashed. Blood pooled. The people cheered for their saviour. Henrich. The Snake King was dead.

                With his people saved, the Lizard King rose to a chorus of cheers. Both whiptail and horned lizard celebrated as one. Lizards once disgusted by one another made love beneath the rising moon. Another orgy. Only this time, seeing it was his own people, it felt beautiful. Ignoring the blood pouring from his snake bit wounds, and the intense burning coursing through his veins, Heinrich found a green woman and laid with her. Her touch hurt like pins and needles, but it what was he needed, the love of a good woman after a hard battle. Passion followed.

              Once they had finished, he laid in her arms. With a final look cast towards the sky, the last rays of sunlight lingering beneath the violet of the rising moon, Heinrich smiled. It was a painting. A final vision of his paradise, his lizard kingdom. He had been a good god. A righteous god. They had been his people. Family.

                   A few days later the Apache found Heinrich dead and hugging a large cactus. The buzzards and hounds had already started to rip apart his entrail. Desert spiders had laid eggs in his mouth. Even the lizards had mistaken him for food. The elder had felt sorry for not having taken Heinrich with them. A final offering was laid for his spirit’s journey into that next plain. None dared touch the body. The Apache left the mad naked corpse of Heinrich, the Lizard King, alone in the desert. In the end, he would join his kingdom.