Go Go Slaughterhouse (157 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Fungah (View user info) at 2009-03-11 19:38:44 EDT
Three thirteen A.M. I think I've found them. They're unloading something out of a white van. They look around like pederasts in the yard in the federal pen. It just looks like a bundle if blankets. But if that's all it is, then why do two of them need to carry it?
I whisper something to myself and look closer. A single white shoelace is mixed up with the blankets. I've found the bastards. They're going to pay. I think about what it's going to be like when I get my hand on those child-abducting fucks. I'm going to cut through their stomachs like helicopter blades through a pig. I'm lying down, silent, grinding my teeth. God I want a cigarette. Every breath inward feels like corn starch and hot air sliding down my throat: hot air rolling over years worth of tar. I spit out of the side of my mouth, quietly, slowly, as the bundle of blankets is brought inside. The door closes with a bang of metal on metal. I can hear a latch sliding shut. It's raining, but I don't feel the droplets. My world's consumed by my steady, labored breathing, and the fire that's rising up from my the darkest holes of my stomach like an unconscious man from the grave. I force myself to wait, to be careful. I want to leap from this damnable gravel roof, charge across the road, and kick the fucking door down. Just give them five minutes, I whisper to myself, just five minutes, and go.
I'm counting down the seconds. I lose count. I start over again. What time is it? It doesn't matter, nothing matters right now, fuck it, nothing matters but that god damn door. I get up. It feels like walking off of the roof. I'm there. I'm at the door. I scream, and beat the door to metal splinters with my fists. The sound of metal twisting and shrieking is terrible as I rip the doors from their hinges.
I see them standing there, around the blankets, talking and smoking. God I want a cigarette. I can see their eyes, every millimetre of them, every micron, I can see past the cigarettes' reflections, and I see fear, which I revel in. I don't know if I'm grinning as I cross the open factory floor in mere steps, I don't know if I'm grimacing as I break one man's femur, as I shatter the skull of another, as I cut the throat of another man with a flick of finger, the only thing I know is that my face is covered in blood and I can taste copper. I spit out a wad of blood and walk toward the blankets in the center of the room. The shrieks of the dying men reverberate in the room like footsteps in a cavern, their fading lives are bloody reminders of the brevity and meaninglessness of life.
I peel back the blankets. There's a little blond girl. Thank god she's unconscious. My breathing slows as I pick her up and walk out of the abandoned factory. It's still raining but I don't care. I have her back, I have my Penny.
It's all right Penny, I think. It's all right now.
I whisper "Go-go gadget copter", and I'm airborne, my niece safe in my arms.
User Reviews
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2009-03-12 11:10:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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