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Submitted by The Downward Spiral of your Mind (View user info) at 2004-10-20 16:57:43 EDT
I could smell the earth. The desolate land had been supplicated with the bounty of the gods; rain had come. As the clay's cracks had impregnated themselves with this seed of the sky, their secreted fumes were released. As I inhaled, this wafting child of the soil softly stirred the inert remnants of my own soul, momentarily distracting me from the more imperative matters imminent.
Such momentary lapses, though pleasurable, can not be more than fleeting. I trudged on towards my rendez-vouz, jostling the cigarette between my lips with each step, and hoping that perhaps my impending company had decided to abstain. I had been waiting for this moment for years, but that did not guarantee my enthusiasm for it. Reluctance had always been a problem of mine -a virile, vicious beast whom I could neither slay nor corral; like a lynx would he spring, from places and times unexpected, and only at the last, most vital moments before my intentions became manifest. Today, it seemed, was to be no exception.
I was surprised to see that, during the course of my musings, I had arrived. I stood before an endless strip of cement, a gray and now glistening imprint of man, marring the broken desert with its smoothness. This was my road to destiny. I could see the ubiquitous rocks shimmering in the heat. For a moment, I entertained a fantasy that their ecstatic dance was a response to my premeditated deeds, a celebration -or a furor.
Just as their synchronization was reaching its crescendo, a spark of light drilled into my brain from the distance. I turned my head and saw a lone, gleaming spike crawling over the horizon. In a few minutes, I would be on my way. My chariot was approaching, and I would soon be whisked away on a tail of fire.
Waiting for my ride, I savored the last few ashes of my cigarette. There was no sound today, save the muffled smolder of the paper between my lips as I sucked more dry air through it. The air was dry enough to make the recent rain nothing but a forgotten memory, save for the highway's occasional reflections and the intermittent darkened patches of dirt. That's all water could do in this place; stain the vast desiccate aridity of a lifeless world. Water was the basis of life, but it would never take hold here. What a fitting stage for us to clean, I thought, scouring the barren wasteland of one of its last few living creatures, surging with humidity, spurting sweat and muggy breath into the desolate sterility of heat and drought.
It was not long before the car reached me. Threw my stub of polluted toxicity on the ground, not bothering to put it out -what could it possibly ignite if we were already in the pits of Hell? I climbed into that sputtering inferno of exhaust, and I could feel yet another set of flames and fumes being added to the desert's smoldering Hell of scorched winds, a blazing sun, and caustic dust. Off we went, with only a raging doubt pounding in our chests to contend against the stifling heat. Obviously, the drive was going to be lengthy, but having my close comrade as company would alleviate any deviation from my purpose. Without removing his eyes from that passing, endless road, he asked, "Been waiting long?"
There was no indication in his voice of any actual interest in my answer. He spoke with the tone of a man who had nothing to be proud of. We had known each other far longer than is required for two people to move past the trite fluff talk so infectious among strangers and acquaintances, but today was not a day for friends to relate. "Not really," I answered, surprising myself at how similarly lifeless I sounded. We both knew where we were going, what was at hand. Neither of us was ready to face it, but we had to. That did not mean we had to speak about it.
The rest of the trip was spent in silence, but not a peaceful silence. This was the kind of somber stasis levied by having too many things to say, crushing and inescapable; yet, despite its discomfort, it was preferable to the alternative. Terrible and throbbing as it was, this silence could only end too soon -for its death was, simultaneously, the birth of those future tasks we wished to forsake. I had spent the entire drive quelling my anxieties, but as I should have anticipated, they surfaced just as we neared finality. And now, our destiny was far too real, too tactile; I could virtually taste our bastardly intentions. Another man had expressed his wishes, yet it would have to be our hands that carried them out. A marriage between his filth and our weakness, and the child would be mutually reared.
We got out of the car and prepared ourselves. I had to fight the temptation to draw out the hoisting of my necessary accoutrements, to stall for time. Maybe, if I wait just a few seconds longer, maybe, it won't be too late. Maybe we'll get the word that the deal is off. It's worth a few seconds' wait, isn't it?
But I could not afford the luxury of this last-ditch effort. I quickened my pace. Perhaps, if I got this over with rapidly enough, I wouldn't have time to hesitate. Maybe if I just went through the paces instantly, all action and no thought, it would be over before I knew it, before I could react. It would have to be, because by now I was ready. "Time to go, bud."
With a newfound determination we marched towards the front door of the solitary house. It stood like a whitewashed Egyptian pyramid, slightly run-down but painted colorless to conceal any defect with pure, blinding light. I was reminded of how diamonds are formed when I saw it, glimmering against an eternally hued backdrop of dry browns and jagged oranges, and crushed under an infinitely blue expanse. Somebody could be fooled into believing there were no such things as clouds in a place like this, despite the recent deluge. It struck me that everything looked exactly the same as where I had been picked up several hours earlier. The locals around these parts said the desert could drive a man crazy. Now I knew why. Then again, here, "locals" meant anybody within a hundred miles.
Which made our own job all the more convenient. This was not lost on me; it was obvious that my friend and I needed as much help as we could get. I was nervous, so nervous that I could not really tell if my legs were actually shaking or if I was just imagining them shaking. I draped my fingers over my pistol's grip, looking for some stability, some courage -but this only intensified the reality of what I was about to do.
The house's shining was infuriatingly brilliant. I felt as if walking into the celestial realm. The dry air felt thin and electric, feeding me with energy and impelling me forward, with no moisture or comfort to stall my steps. Rain, like angels and peace and God, was just a dreamy fantasy. Funny that we were about to prove that God was an illusion, had to be an illusion, but that demons were inescapably real.
We walked up the three stairs to the front porch, each wooden impact resonating in my head for a lifetime or two. I had to put these thoughts out of my mind. Had to get it over with. Get in, do it, get out -that's it... Easier thought than done. At least after this I'll be released, right? I'm buying my freedom, aren't I? One thing I knew about being human, even at that point, as I was pulling out my Colt .45 and looking into my friend's eyes for the final signal to commence ultimacy, was that your mind has little to do with your existence. I could justify this all I wanted, I could rationalize it and quantify it and validate it, I could tell myself that this guy is just getting what he deserves and that I could always be forgiven later on in life, but none of that fucking mattered -I still was not ready for it.
My partner, my long-time friend and last-time accomplice, raised his left hand with three fingers extended. Commence countdown.
Three...
His brow was riven with streaks of sweat, and his right knuckles looked poised to crush his pistol's grip.
Two...
In his eyes, I could see that his own fear was easily as intense as mine.
One...
Here was when I realized, this is a day we will never, ever discuss.
Go.
Kick down the door. Rush in. A shadow down the hall -flash in front of my eyes, it drops. I can only see what my barrel's pointing at. Tunnel vision and screams behind walls. We're both waving our guns frantically, briskly scanning each room before moving on. I can hear someone panting, I can feel someone's legs moving -I don't know what's controlling my body, but somehow I'm going through the paces. Friend rounds a corner but jumps back right as half the doorway bursts out into a cloud of wooden splinters. "Upstairs, get THE FUCK upstairs!"
I see steps rushing past my feet, I can hear my friend clambering right behind me. A pair of automatons, lifeless and mindless, operating without feeling -I hear some snaps behind me. Something bites my calf, tripping me; as I fall onto my hip I turn around, unleashing the fury of sulfur and iron into three apparitions, cloaks of malintent with gleaming eyes telling me that I am wanted lifeless.
I can't see these things as people. If I do that I falter, lose, and die -so I let the assignment control me still, and like a zombie I continue to run the rounds of death. As I surmount the stairs, I hear a voice through the haze, my friend's, asking me something -he's looking at my leg. Having resigned my humanity, I nod and give a short grunt. We keep moving, quickly, with neither forethought nor memory.
We scramble through the halls, wheezing and salivating, relishing our roles in the fandango of destruction. I do not know where this comes from, but now that I'm working without humanity, I am loving the havoc I wreak. We are animals, predators, weaving threads of bloodshed and butchery in a magnum opus of slaughter; it is horrid, vicious, and beautiful. We trample into a bedroom on the second floor, and there we find our man. I aim my pistol at his fat face -I loathe his quivering jowls, spattering his sebaceous sweat all over the room in a flurry of vile bodily extracts. But my ammunition is out. He ducks into the adjacent bathroom.
My friend is right behind me, and he follows him in, raising his own pistol -but before he can nourish this obese monstrosity of immorality with its final meal, the beast raises a shotgun and pumps a slug of its own into my friend's glorious vessel of carnage. I drop my own toy and pull out my claw, my tooth, leaping onto this disgustingly corpulent mass of fecund disease with a joyous scream celebrating the art of killing, giving glory to Shiva as I plunge my serrated dagger into his morbid gut, pushing my hand in further and further until I can feel his intestines slipping over my wrist, creating peace and liberation for myself by destroying everything for this swine.
He tumbles into the tub, yelping, while I ride his foul body, raping his life's last moments with metallic bliss; he knocks against the shower's knob, spraying us both with artificial rain, and now the glow of my blade is matched by the divinely scarce shimmer of water. The silvery streams of transparency wash over the mound of flesh below me, mingling with the gushing rivers of blood emanating from his newfound orifices. I can feel red spraying out, covering my arms, my chest, my face, as if being given a scarlet letter in graffiti, marking me forever as a slayer of evil.
Pulling my hand back out of his seething pile of flab and lard, fed 'til fat with countless tales and lives of overdosed junkies and six-foot-under lackeys, defenders of law and prepubescent accidents, sons and daughters and mothers and fathers, his long and insatiable intestines stick to my fingers and my blade. The gaping maw in his belly vomits out blood and bile, covering the tub's porcelain with brief splashings of reds and yellows, as if painting a final sunset on a canvas of life. I draw him out like spaghetti, pull my hand up to his face so he can see just what his life has come to. He screeches as I slice open his gut with my metal, spilling waste over his chest, but he doesn't realize that his shrill pathetic shrieks only feed my fury. I want him to scream. I want him to feel the pain of every single life he has trampled over the years, intensified and concentrated into the space of mere seconds.
As the rain of men fell over me, bringing life even to this parched desert, I sweep into this destroyer of men with everything violent and vengeful the world could summon. I stab into him, over and over, spilling this bag of flesh open with each subsequent puncture, feeding the planet with his death. I hate him for being a kingpin. Stab, the water running into his wound. I hate him for being greedy. Slash, he gasps again and falls further into the tub, more limp still. I hate him for creating this situation, causing me to be assigned to his murder. Thrust, his life-consuming throat gargling against the downpouring current of life-giving water. I hate him for the groans of pain emanating from my friend writhing on the floor. Stab! I hate him for being a corporate man afraid to live within the corporate world, hack! for targeting the weak and weakening the strong, gore! for being happy by causing misery, stab! for forsaking love and life, stab! for squealing in pain as if he deserved to live, stab! for everything; and with each successive hate I feel I plunge into him once again, releasing the world of his presence, his existence.
Yes, squeal like a pig. I live for your death, I am a zombie, and I work with neither heart nor mind. The rain is falling again, the desert is a past dream, I am fed with the glory of pure water. I am Shiva, I am the creator and the annihilator, and with your death, I give birth and light.
Bastard, you're going to pay, and by the time I'm through with you, even the Devil will be happy.
 left.JPG)
User Reviews
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2006-06-01 19:09:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
what's your point, georgie? did i hurt your poor brain? are your neurons vibrating? do you like it when daddy touches you? can i touch you, georgie peorgie? can i lick you... down there? i like it when you touch me georgie, oh yeah that feels nice, realll tasty like yeast and sunflower seeds
Submitted by georgemichael (user info) at 2006-05-25 02:34:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2004-10-21 12:26:36 (#)
Ranking: -1
I don't believe anyone really read that.
____________-
I sure as fuck didn't/couldn't
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-25 02:22:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Just excellent.
Submitted by Iago (user info) at 2004-11-24 08:03:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Kick ass... But i just cant rate it 2+ because the nail on your ring finger sent sivers down my spine and weirds me out.
Submitted by FuckTheArmy (user info) at 2004-11-24 07:53:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool. Na mate, it doesn't even need to be one paragraph at a time. I took the whole thing in one bite.
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2004-10-25 22:11:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
wow
thank you
it's nice to hear sincere, enthusiastic appreciation(once in a while)
more to come ;)
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2004-10-25 10:05:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is a review of your next two posts.
There are any number of ways to define good writing, but when I read something that seems as if it was written of, by and for me--well--I think that about sums it up.
Inside the space cage of duality, there lies a continuum. A line strecthing into infinity with mind-blowing at one end and putting-the-pieces-together-again at the other. Waiting in a line without knowing why the line formed in the first place. Exclude the invalid axiom of monkey geometry and parallel lines do meet.
I know you know, but nevertheless will say I'm grateful for your kind comments.
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2004-10-24 22:55:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
oh: drfreggphd, the picture is my left hand against my bedsheets(yes they really are leopard/zebra/giraffe/tiger print; HARDCORE). nothing more. no significance other than that which you assign to it yourself. i just liked the way the light drifted around the knuckles and the so-called mount of Venus, and shined off of the nails. of course, perhaps there is a tie between my choice of using it and the part in the text that deals with the sensation of having a man's guts sliding over your wrist -but perhaps not.
Submitted by CatsC at 2004-10-23 11:44:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fat Guy = Pwn3d.
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2004-10-22 15:11:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this is positive? wow
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2004-10-21 12:26:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
I don't believe anyone really read that.
Submitted by Iawless_heIlion (user info) at 2004-10-21 00:19:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/34607#894124
You gave your friend below a +2 and look at what he does and will always do. :~(
It makes me want to cry.
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-10-20 22:52:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2004-10-20 22:51:51 (#)
Ranking: -2
I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A THING!!!
Submitted by SwissCamel (user info) at 2004-10-20 21:33:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Look how fuckin' long it is!
Submitted by Random Joe at 2004-10-20 20:24:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Ugh your author name is so horrible. Really it is.
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2004-10-20 18:46:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Superb bloviation!
Shiva is cool.
I didn't get the picture. Am I missing something obvious?
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2004-10-20 17:27:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by acrog (user info) at 2004-10-20 17:25:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
a little wordy, but I liked it
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2004-10-20 17:11:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Nice story, but it felt a bit like you were trying too hard with the excessive copious usage of multisyllabic vocabulous emanantions.
Submitted by PROXYman (user info) at 2004-10-20 17:10:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
wtf? I'm not reading all that.
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2004-10-20 16:59:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You suck!
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2004-10-20 16:59:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't even know why I'm +2ing it!
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2004-10-20 16:59:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Haha, just kidding.
It's worse. It's coma-inducing.
Submitted by sebcharrot (user info) at 2004-10-20 16:58:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Boring.