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[page 4] {Image: The outline of a red circle with text within occupies a break in the text. The circle is slightly to the left of the center of the page. The text within the circle reads "God is DEAD" in green ink, with "dard" written in cursive, inked in red, after "God," so the text reads "Goddard is DEAD."} THE DEATH OF A GOD Two days after Ann Tensor and I, Hildifons Took, arrived in Monmouth Ill., I was found with Ann at Tinuviel's residence. It was morning yet when the phone jangled. (The phones jangle there. A Mid-West accent they have, I guess) Mary stepped into the kitchen and answered the phone. Now, after all that has passed between our club and Helms, we had naturally mentioned him in our discussions while at Monmouth the first two days. Mary (Tinuviel) was our conscience. She defended him. She reminded us, quite rightly, that Helms _could_ be a good joe, he had done much, and he _was_ a genius. His scores of 99 plus on most of the college tests were proof enough of that! She re-entered the dining room to give us the phone message. "Goddard is in town" Imrahil had received this information from Helms and called to ask our company. Altogether--Faramir, Isembold, Tinuvlel, Ann, Firiel, Imrahil and I were there. We arrived, by way of Imrahil's car, at the local hot spot "Dog 'n Suds." Helms and "Goddard" waited within. "Goddard" was introduced and shook hands with everyone. Since Helms had negotiated with a California Nazgul, Harry Turtledove, ln an endeavor to bring him to Monmouth, I inquired if the blond headed, 18 yr. old's (approx.) excellent tan was of California. "No, it's Hawaiian," he said. He recited excellently. Helms defended, saying "Goddard" was not the same person who wrote the articles, Helms admitted to writing those. The fine specimen we saw sitting before us was the Franklyn Osbourn Goddard whom Helms had 'based' _his_ character upon. I told him he has's real and I, hefting a salt shaker, could throw the glass and chrome object thru his head and hit Helms with it. [page 5] --T.D.O.A.G.-- (Goddard was between Helms and me). The others were silent, sensing that there was no Goddard but not able to put it to words. It's hard to put stake in intuition. One is not sure enough to venture face. Finally, Mary (Tinuviel) took Helm's hand. She said, "Congratulations," (she thought "upon a new, all-time low"). I crumpled up a paper napkin, my weapon, drew back and pitched it at Helms. It missed "Goddard" by inches, almost as if it did go through his head. The 'death blow' impacted directly in the middle of Helm's brow. I was the David who slew the mental Goliath. He knew this. He rose to his crutched up stature and started for the door. "Goddard" shadowed him and as he passed thru @through@ the door I said, "Is your name really Franklyn Osbourne Goddard?" He spke @spoke@ an affirmative. "Your mother must have hated you," said I. He laughed and hurried after Helms. Comfortably seated in Imrahil's car once more, we were shocked. Imrahil told us his real identity. That was not Frank Goddard, it was M____ S____: a lifeguard from the lake's swimming area where we played yesterday. He know I recognized him when we shook hands, he added: I cannot describe how the words hit us. We discussed the matter for a while and concluded that something had died within Helms. Oh, there was a struggle. There was a fight between death and life. Death created Goddard, life denied his existence; death established Goddard and smothered life. Helms is walking death now. Once more at her house Mary refused to hear another word on the subject. Her view of Helms had changed. To me, however, he is dead. My life will not confront his death in a battle. I will not allow him that! So--The Minas Tirith Evening Star is cast down, extinguished. It will take more than Dragons' fire to rekindle it's flame of life. Not so much later, kperhaps @perhaps@ it was about lunch time, yet another phone message came from Imrahil. Mrs. Helms (Phil's momma) called up Missus Oswald (Imrahil's momma) and raged for a while. She closed by demanding that I, Lawrence Bryk, never be permitted to dark on her dear evermore and tha tMrs. Oswald would be wise to do the same. It seems, _I_ was a "hypocrite trouble-maker." The End (of Club)