Back where I Belong

I'm walking barefoot along the straight yellow line of a hot black highway, a thick angry black line cleaving straight down the heart of a brutal and pained desert.

Surrounded by a legion of dry and bitter dust. Sharp and deadly mountains on every horizon. The barest of life struggling and failing under a heavy bright sun.

I walk, barefoot, the soles of my feet scorching and burning. I'm leaving foot prints. They're not just impressions in a soft asphalt they're thin layers of skin. Left behind and forgotten as I'm walking this straight and stupid line.

I breathe in, heavy and hot into my lungs. Flesh burns, a slight sent of the weak and feeble bushes and trees as they die under a blinding white light. The sort of light that bleaches out everything to the colour of forgotten and scavenger-ravaged bones.

"Everything around me is dead", i whisper. I pray. I command.

My heart turns cruel, dark, dead.

My soul and heart screams. I am only a man. I can only do so much. And all I can do right now is echo the world around me.



I walk, I walk, I walk.



I feel it before I hear it. I hear it before I see it. Prime American muscle car. A big block. Wide wheels and a thick and angry grill. Black, chrome. A tarpit coloured cape, stiffened by a foul wind.

She passes me, this car. The grim reaper has 4 thick and street slick tires. She swerves past me, just barely touching me. No, I touched her. Her rear view mirrors lightly and gently grazed my hand as she went by. A sharp glint of chrome stabs me straight between the eyes as she flies past.

She slides to a stop, sideways, straight and black and evil in front of me.

For the first time in a hundred years, I stop walking. I stand still. Feeling my charbroiled flesh sink slightly into the road.

She sits. Angry. Seething. Motor revving, thrumming and thumping.

The engine dies.

Silence fills our universe. I can hear the ticking of her engine cooling down.

The driver's door swings open. She steps out.


MySpace Tracker


Black boots hit the asphalt. Tight jeans follow my eyes as they travel up. They are tattered, broken in, torn.

A thick black leather belt. Massive and heavy belt-buckle. "Cockfight Champion"

Smooth tan belly, sharp ribs. Black bikini top the texture of a oiled dead lizard.

Across her sternum, scars. Her clavicle, scars. Her tight throat. Scars.

I look deep and dead into her face. Round features, dark eyes, soft and loving and compassionate lips. A sharp and deadly smirk. Framed by raven tresses.

"Amee ?" I gasp.

Her hands pull forward, straight. Her tiny fists holding a giant screaming shining revolver. Straight at me, right at me. My death.

Click, click, click. The cylinder spins.

"Amee ?" I whisper.

She parts her lips "Tell me you love me," she cried.

The hammer pulls back, her little hands pull back the trigger.

Her sidearm barks finality. The world explodes. Bright light, furious anger.

And I fall, struck, damaged, hit, destroyed.


Sprawled out on the hot asphalt. Swimming in my own dark blood. I'm dying.

She stands over my body. So sharp, so straight, so beautiful. The perfect woman, a perfect death. Her heat pours over me. She smiles that lovely little deadly smile. She throws the revolver to the ground. She looks down at me, winks, blows me a kiss.

"I'm doing you a favour," she sings.

My eyes roll back, focusing on the sharp white pinprick of the sun in the sky. My final moments. My final thought.

I burn.

As I die, I hear her laugh. A gentle and loving laugh.

"This is how we love," she says, walking away.

I die, agreeing with her.
Posted in Stories
by krowface
2010-05-06

Comments

This is intense.

TabulaRasa - 2010-05-20

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