The Terrible Ballad of Nevar Rockhard

“That Bitch.  That bitch.  THAT BITCH!”

Six boots belonging to three loggers took turns pounding into Nevar Rockhard’s ribs, arms and head.  Blood trickled from a perfectly manicured, but broken fingernail as he curled his body tighter into the turtle position and continued to absorb punishment from the loggers’ boots.  

Less than an hour ago Nevar and the loggers, who he had learned were brothers just in town to visit family, had been laughing, joking and shooting whiskey.   Then that liberal bitch showed up.  

“Hey guys check this bitch out,” Nevar bellowed as she took a seat at the bar. 

“You won’t believe the kind of liberal hippy bullshit this brat believes,” as Nevar singled out the new arrival to his new friends, the whiskey combined with his genuine hate of the fucking hippy chick made sure that he missed the quick look between the brothers as he began to speak.  

“This fucking liberal cunt showed up about 8 years ago and tried to start a fucking commune,” his bravado mistakenly expanded as his audience’s opinion turned. 

“They were pissing and shitting all over the place and wallowing in it just like all of these fucking liberal hippies do,” he stood with a grand gesture.  He took a step towards her and raised an open hand like he was going to slap her, then his head hit the bar…. Hard.

Nevar didn’t understand why he was being drug through the door by his hair.   His stunned mind had no way of knowing that the fucking liberal hippy chick had spent the weekend at her cousin’s house helping care for baby goats that were struggling to get through a nasty Spring storm.   He certainly didn’t know that the fucking liberal hippy chick’s cousin was the wife of one of the loggers.  

The hippy chick stayed at the bar.  She hadn’t said a word since she’d arrived.   She knew who Nevar was.   They had issues before.   Many a night she had sat awake reading insults and accusations he hurled at her while he typed into the blue light of his computer and his beautiful wife lay alone starving for his affection.   Tears seeping slowly into her pillowcase as he poured his attentions on another woman. One that he hated.  

A tear crept into the hippy chick’s eye.  Violence was never her thing.   She took no joy in knowing what the brothers were doing outside.  Ever since Nevar had arrived in town she had not walked or slept easy.   It always seemed like he was waiting in the wings to celebrate every misfortune that fell upon her.   Publicly and in humiliating fashion.   All because she did not walk lock step with his beliefs.  

As ribs cracked and more blood began to pour from his battered face and hands, Nevar held on to his anger.   “That fucking liberal bitch,” danced through his mind again and again. 

The three loggers certainly didn’t agree with the hippie chick’s bullshit, but they loved it when she baked cherry pie.   They knew they could always count on her to come out and help with the kids or the animals.  They knew that she had sat for hours, selflessly reading to her aunt, their mom, as she withered away bedridden in the final stages of stage four lung cancer.  

The brothers fury dwindled a bit as they realized the damage they had done.   Their grandpa had never encouraged them to seek revenge, but he had always taught them that family was worth defending.   He taught them that a person’s character was more important than politics, money or religion.   They lived in a wild and rough place and you needed people of good character to ensure that if you ran into trouble, you had a helping hand to get you out.   The actual content of a person’s heart was far more important than their politics.  Their grandpa had taught them to be real conservatives who won’t tolerate a man mistreating a woman for any reason, especially something as petty as opinions.

The anger in Nevar didn’t slip away until his consciousness did.   He came to this place looking for people like him.   He came to escape the rule of the liberal elite.   There was nothing worse than a liberal, anywhere, period.   How could these good conservative boys defend that piece of shit? 

All the hippy chick could wish for Nevar was that one day he would be fortunate enough to answer that question. 

Published by Mati Bishop

406 Paddles founder, artist and ambassador.

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