\ The – An – End \
The five encircled lamely like idiot beasts, out for
confession and release. For a moment there was a break in the cloud and the sun
was blinding but was soon gone just as fast as it had appeared. Their
behaviours required the validation of disgust, the sound of their own conveyed
doings rendered concrete by that very conveyance, tethered by it to the grim
physics of this earth. “Let me tell you of a dream I had,” I said. “In the
dream, I entered into the empty ward room of an abandoned hospital complex.
Lying completely naked on the floor by one of the walls was a manager from my meagre
employment. Her pudendal escarpment was entirely hairless and pale, like a
mannequin of sorts. She had her hand gripped between her clenched thighs and
was pleading with me to bugger her. I helped her up and towards a gurney on
which she lay on her side and I began to lick the full cavity of her anus.”
They were visibly aroused by the telling of the dream, and The Big Kid enquired
as to its provenance, its significance. “There is little or else none,” I said,
and stuck him with a stumpy blade. There was blood from his mouth like a rich
secret. He lay very neatly in the leaves and face down. “In another dream I
followed a slim middle aged woman in business attire over a locked gate marked
‘Danger No Entry’ and across a wooden fence panel lain across a thin motionless
brook and did her roughly in a burst of abrasive jabs in the long grass, where
ruined pump assemblies rose like the orifices of the bogland beneath rusted
manholes in squat brick elevations, the blowholes of a dying leviathan, my
shoes squerching to the tongue in the sloppy soil.” I drew the squat blade in a
deep and tender parabola upon Mick the Cunt’s neck until it too enticed as
cunny to covet. He was overwhelmed by the mass of his contents, flooded in it,
and watched from his back the darkening sky and the treetops as the liquids of
life departed in haste. By now the three as were left had clustered together,
certain of their coming fate and glad for it, but also afraid. “They were but
dreams,” I said. “Of mind only.” I knifed Scooter through the top of his vast
head. In it went, easier than I’d thought. He blinked once in what appeared to
be a considered manner, pitiful almost, then twisted to the ground, a
substantial heap of compostable matter. Dimmock and Beaky looked on. Dimmock worked
the bodies with his eyes and palpated his genitals through the front of his
clothes. The allure of decay such an unbearable aphrodisiac to the ones of his ilk.
I cut him down like a bulrush scorned, left only Beaky present, his hands
clasped together. “I’m a fuckboy,” he said. “Don’t mean no harm, just love to
get me wong wet. Can’t be so wrong to wet me wong, to feel an instant of clear
unalloyed lust and to act on it. Can’t be.” I embraced the poor fool, beyond
whom the world extended apace far beyond his knowledge. Felt his good muscles. “Or
if it is,” he said, “then I meant not for it to be. Meant not. Acts accrued to
a confederacy of mishap. And that’s all.” Scant validation but death, I
thought. Scant. “You’ve lived,” I
spoke quietly. “What better? What more?” He seemed to relax in my arms only to
tense as I buried the blade in and drop then down in death. I myself lay amidst
them and passed the night with their hefts, was gone with sunup, would return
again long after. The need’d always be.
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