It was the body of a man. I ran to her side and she was still screaming half huddled and with her hands to her face directly in front of him. She had some how moved into the part of the long kitchen that we hadn't explored. The light from the hallway had illuminated the body, sitting in the lotus position, or Indian style, sort of. He was illuminated by a skylight that cut all the way through the attic that let in some meager blue light from the moon, but he was mostly lit by the sickly yellow incandescent light from the hallway. The man was completely naked except for the blood soaked headband tied around his head.
I was completely freaked. All my adrenalin was used and I dumbly put my arms around her but was still transfixed by this Buddha body of a human that was obviously completely dead in front of me. There is something about seeing a human body that you never forget. You first look upon a dead body, and if you haven't yet, you will at some point in your life, you will recognize that some sort of soul or life essence has left the extremities, the face. The smell was obvious now. It was hidden by weed and animal, but as I stood embracing a still screaming and cowering Jaime the smell of human decay was more apparent than ever. I was feeling scientific. I had no flight or fight response left. I turned to Jaime and grabbed the nape of her neck and held her close to me, extending her body from that slight crouched position and pushed her into my chest. She started saying, "No, no, no, no, no!"
"Shhhhhh." I was staring at this perfectly posed body. Nobody dies like this, not naturally. I squinted into this beautiful contrast of blue and sickly yellow and tried to make out the horror that the lighting betrayed. There was a chain attached to the body's neck that was attached to the ceiling. It held his body erect, in this horrifically peaceful Buddha position, but there was further nastiness. From his head to groin there were large circular wounds on the front of his body that ran parallel to his spine. His genitals were completely cut out, and there were similar wounds that were placed vertically up the body in a straight line ending in his face and the top of the head. The first facial wound was circular in nature and was about the size of the bottom of a pint glass. It demolished his nose and eye area. It looked like it was gouged out by a landscaping auger. There was a large gruesome wound on the top of his head of similar nature.
There was also a menagerie of shit underneath him. I reached a hand back behind me and slapped a push button light switch. I have no idea how I knew it was there. It lit the whole scene via blinding track lights above Jaime and I. She screamed even louder and buried her head further into my chest and pushed the top of her head into my neck so hard it gagged me for a second. The gagging could actually have been a combination of the force of her and the utter slaughter that I was so transfixed by.
On the ground underneath the body was a small piece of blood soaked fabric and candles and pieces of human stuff mostly spread around the body in tiny metal bowls. Bits of person. Some of the bits were obviously lit on fire and had candle wax on them. Iguana bits. Chunks o' man. Iguanas will eat whatever they want when they are hungry, I surmised. There were scrawls of black charcoal runes on the floor.
Really?!
Fuck.
I thought of all the things I could be doing right now. Nothing is worth this shit. Not even fine ass Jaime.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. She stared up into my eyes. I pushed her up against the wall, and took her right hand in mine. Her hand still had my biker boy red handkerchief doo-rag in it. I darted my eyes over to the light switch I had just slapped and looked at her with an urgent look. She was sheet white. I mean, whiter than her normal gothic white, at least, normally, she always carried a little flush to her cheek. She was in shock. "Keep on it. Did you forget anything? Wipe it off. DO IT NOW!" I turned her shoulders towards the light switch. It took her a second, but she took to having a direct mission and she started wiping things down like it was her business not to look at this dead and mutilated thing before us.
She doesn't have much time. I know shock. I know your adrenaline reserves leave you dead and bereft. They leave you killed and destroyed. I returned my gaze to the man. He had these amazing circular wounds that went down his body like buttons of a shirt. His neck and tongue were fat with bloat and his eyes were sunken holes that flanked a cone of gore. The chain was just under his jaw, suspending him perfectly, but his jaw was not easily recognizable because of the bloat...At the time I thought to myself that it seemed like some sort of ritual suicide, but really, it was the only thing I could amass in my head as an explanation. He was cored out in at least six places! How does one do that? At the time, I didn't even care. It was time to go. I wished a million times that I never…but here I was.
I got closer to the body and looked at the destroyed head. The headband was green or blue at some point. It was now brown with dried blood. I looked closely at the headband since it was the only thing he was wearing. The best parts of his birthday suit were now chunks o' iguana bits in several bowls around me. I looked at the floor and we hadn't disturbed the crazy runes and lines on the floor. The headband had a chevron on it. Tiny and hand stitched. It looked familiar. I yelled out, "Where are you!?"
"I'm fuckin ready, Red!"
"Let's roll, babe!" I took my shirt in my hand and pushed off the light. I met Jaime in the door; she had pulled on a pair of vinyl gloves from our job and held a pair to my face. She pulled them from her tiny handbag. I nodded to her and grabbed them and started to pull them on, thinking it might be good to push the screen door closed with the gloves when the weirdest thing happened....
We got outside the house, and Jaime turned to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. She pulled me around as I clattered the heavy screen door closed. I scanned the street...empty, and then I met her eyes.
"I know what that is!" She hadn't even bothered to whisper. I winced at her and darted my eyes about. She proceeded with a pleading whisper, "You never kill anyone like that! Unless, you want their power." She was almost hyperventilating. "You kill them one chakra at a...." Her eyes went glassy and she had a perceptible tremor to her body and to her hand. It was like watching palsy. Then she screwed up her face really bad. It was so odd to watch beautiful Jaime lose control of her facial features like this; it made her look like the drunken animal of her normal composure. And then she wailed and fell over into my arms. Jaime was as white as a sheet and as rigid as tree trunk.
I stared at her hands as we went slowly to the ground. The vinyl gloves had been caught on some of the rings of her fingers and she had curled her fingers so fiercely that her finger nails had pierced the tips of the gloves. Her guttural wail had subsided and she now began clutching at her chest, tugging the neck of her shirt almost impossibly. Even though she was wearing a bra, she had practically pulled her whole tit out. As I lied her down on the porch I tried to struggle with that hand, to pull it from her shirt and bra, but it was incredibly strong. I set her down and cradled her head in my lap, and then she began seizing.
I recognized now what I was witnessing. She was having a seizure. I held her loosely in my lap and she flopped around rhythmically. As she progressed through it every jerk got further and further apart. The horrible rhythm was ritarding. I breathed in. I blew out. I look around to see if I could get anything for her to keep her from biting her tongue off. Nothing. Blood and spit were frothing out of her mouth. Her breathing was only with every jerk, if at all. I started weeping. Quietly weeping. Her hands were still curled into manic looking claws and her back was arching enough to break her spine. I was imagining that this would be the tragic ending to my own life. I imagine this beautiful chance in my life, Jaime, dying in my arms. I imagined her gone, and me getting arrested and thrown in jail. I imagined myself getting murdered. I thought about my mom. My beautiful mom. How disappointed she would be in me, but that she would love me forever. How sad and proud and amazing that kind of love is. I was weeping as I thought these little selfish thoughts, while Jaime could be technically dying in my arms, the strain of tonight, too much to bear. I thought ironically that it was too much for me as well. I am losing it.
She seized one last time and exhaled and belched. I thought she could be dead. My perception of time was really messed up, and it felt like she had been at it forever. I had no more tears left, but then she started snoring these big log sawing breaths. She was alive! I squeezed my eyelids together and crushed out the tears and stared out towards the street. The porch was mostly enclosed in a thick brick half wall and so I heaved and moved my ass over, lugging her sleeping body to give us a little cover from the street. I took her face, upside down in my hands, and lightly blew on her forehead. I caressed her cheek and her neck just slightly.
"Jaime?"
It's strange, feeling her heart pounding through her ribcage on my legs. She groaned, so tired, and she tried to roll over. I steadied her, and kept her on her on her back. Jaime reached up and grabbed my forearm and hugged it to her chest like a Teddy Bear. I chuckled to spite myself. She moaned pleasurably and stretched and began snoring again. I scanned the street again. A car pulled up to the apartment building across the street. I felt the darkness around us and the cover that we were fortunate enough to be behind, and yet, I gotta wear this flashy ass shirt. Hilarious.
I began to wonder why my thoughts were so linked to my own suffering as I was watching Jaime suffer so incredibly. I wondered why I wept for myself as much as I was weeping for her. Maybe I am incapable of love or emotion without first relating it to my own well being. Maybe I was just sad. It's possible that I was in a waking dream. It's possible that I had just had enough for today.
I started to feel my own heart beating, and I rubbed her forearms and said, "Jaime. Wake up."
"Jazzy?"
"Jazzy? What's a Jazzy?" Huh? No, baby..." I said as she snapped open her eyes, and yelped.
"Wuh?" She said. She looked seriously out of it. It reminded me of when my friend Johnny got knocked out by some redneck shit kicker at the bar. "Ohhhhh it's you....you were gooooood."
"Jaime...listen."
"Where are we? This is weird. Are we outside? Kinky...I love you, are we gonna fuck?" She groaned and pulled on my arm, hugging it tighter to her chest. I'm thinking that I'm always in the wrong place at the right time or vice versa.
"Jaime. Look at me."
"What the fuck, dude? Where are we? I gotta go!" With that she started to get up. I grabbed her by the back of her arms and pulled her further into the shadows behind the porch wall. She tensed against me and I pulled her down with her back facing me against the wall of the house. "What the FUCK, Red? I'll get your ass fired! Dean hates you!"
"Shhhhhh. Jaime. We are in danger. You had a seizure and we are in deep shit." I was hissing into her ear. This seemed to calm her down a bit.
"Red, I like you, but..."
"I know this is hard to understand, but you just had a seizure. We could get in real trouble right now if we don't figure out how to act normal..."
"Wuh," She returned to a whisper and wiped the spit and blood off her face by ducking into my shirt. "Did you fuckin drug me? Did you fuckin drug me and fuck me? What the hell?" She was staring at her gloves, then she turned to look at me. I gave her a face as if there is obviously more to the story.
"Do you feel fucked?" I said. She considered for a second and reached down and felt her crotch.
"No."
"Believe me, I fuck you...you stay fucked for a little while." She kinda purred and sunk deeper into me.
"Is that so?" She laughed, and grabbed the back of my neck and tugged on my earlobe. "Red? Where are we?" Tiny shivers, all over my body.
"1238 Humboldt St. We came here, and now we might be in danger. Can you walk? And stop calling me Red."
"Ohhhh you're so cute, my Norseman." I let out an exasperated breath.
"Norse nomenclature, um, completely wrong, but can you walk?"
"Of course!" She sprung up from my lap and did a little spin move and picked up her purse in one motion. It was that little purse with back straps that I would come to know so well. It had a Vision Street Wear logo on it.
"Good...FFFFFuck." I got up and we left.
We walked straight out the front gate, and in my estimation, avoided any prying eyes. We sped down the block and into the park, Jaime speed walking ahead of me. At one point she pulled the gloves off of her hands and tossed them over her shoulder at me. I caught them both, pulled off my own, and stuffed them into my pocket.
At one point through the park, she stopped and let me catch up with her. I was amazed about now of how fast she could move those little short crotch legs of hers. She asked where we were, and I knew, of course, but she asked me where she lived. I had to remind her that she had a seizure and the whole conversation about who I was, and what we were doing was enacted again. She was aware of who I was, but needed to be reminded, like I was an old friend she had just reacquainted with. She seemed to be moving in and out of the situation rather transiently. We got her license out of her purse and she seemed to agree that the information on the license about her address was correct.
While we were walking to her home, near our King Soopers, she asked me what had happened several times. Each time I became more descriptive of what we had done, and where we had been, and what we had seen. She became more and more agreeable with each telling of the story, gravely agreeing with each new gruesome detail. She was remembering. We got to her house and we laid down on her bed. By that time I was telling the end of what had happened for the fifth or sixth time in gruesome and graphic detail. She was soaking it in like a sponge and the she said simply, "Jesus. I'm so tired."
I'm not sure who fell asleep first, her or I, but I woke up with a start, with her in my arms at five twelve AM and realized that I had left that cola of weed wrapped up in Mylar with my fingerprints all over it somewhere in that horrific house...FUCK!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Chapter 15 "1238 Humboldt St"
1238 Humboldt St. was a modest looking Bungalow. It was in the old style, no pop top, or add on. It was as it was when it was built in 1932, well, from the exterior it was. It was just a little house, with a nice and wide front porch with an upside down 'v' pointed roof that featured a window at each end. It was situated, as all houses were on this street, on a little grass embankment above street and sidewalk level. In my estimation of property values at the time, in Denver, the house was probably worth about $350,000.
Not a house to be trifled with, in terms of how well off the owner, or owners, might have been. But, then again, the house was dead and dark.
Jaime reached the front door before I did and gasped just slightly. I hurried as silently as I could have, past the unkempt yard of weeds and grasses of multiple variations to the raised front porch of Freddy Kreuger's house. I said, hushed,"What?"
"THIS DOOR IS OPEN, DUMBASS!" she hissed. She indicated the main door, which was covered by a large metal screen door and she was pointing feverishly at the larger wooden main door that was open, cracked by about four inches.
"Well, duh!" I retorted in the same high velocity whisper. "The damn 'Killer' dog had to get his ass outta here somehow."
"Yeah, but who leaves their dog alone like this?"
"I dunno; I have cats."
"YOU HAVE CATS?!"
"Um...Yeah." She looked at me incredulously.
"Like you have...MULTIPLE...cats?!" She was saying this to me in that same high velocity, high volume whisper. I shrugged. Somehow, we had forgotten to break into this house for a moment. She crinkled her forehead, and regarded me for a second.
"Are you gay?"
"NO!" I almost broke our whisper as my voiced cracked slightly. She made this disgusted noise and grabbed the collar of my shirt and said, "You better not be, cause I'm totally turned on right now, so don't fuck up...cat boy."
"Pfff," I almost spat in her face. "Okay Nancy Drew, this appears to be another conversation to be had when we are NOT BUSTING INTO A HOUSE!!!" She composed herself and shot me a snotty look and grasped the handle on the screen door. She nudged open the heavy wooden door with her foot. It creaked open and we were hit with the musty hot air from inside.
I followed her sexy little butt inside with my right hand on her semi-naked waist. I mean, I felt a little soft flesh between where her jeans ended and her top began. Those two garments were trying to fight a quiet and gentle war between each other. Who could delicately hold in the most plumped subcutaneous flesh without giving an inch, or divulging the softest and sexiest under parts of her human shame? My middle two fingers were the unexpected benefactors of the DMZ that lied between. I sighed happily as I wondered how far this major felony (breaking and entering) could go without my extensive planning and oversight. (Wyatt and I had last cleaned out a house in Highlands Ranch with a U-Haul truck as our last little foray into major crime. We waited for family vacation, made elaborate costumes like the late teenager kids of the family that lived there and robbed the fuck out of that place for two hours in broad daylight. It was executed perfectly. This was...um...well...hasty.) Since I was mostly sure Jaime had never committed a felony in her entire life, I figured I was good for the times if anything got out of hand. I would protect her, to spite anything, at all costs.
We stepped into a really dark house. The only light, which was half obscured by our own long-cast-streetlight shadows, coming from the door, was pitiful, yet too much at the same time. There was too much contrast! All I saw was pitch black shadows and bright yellow reflections off of the white painted walls. All the blinds were closed. There was a zoo-like stench to the air inside the house; it was like reptiles and poop, and there was a big open room to our right and left and a small hallway straight ahead. My teeth clenched as I tried to expand all of my senses that were being overloaded by smell and touch to be sensitive to sight and sound. I concentrated, but there was nothing there to stimulate those senses.
Jaime froze two steps in front of me and my pelvis nudged into the small of her back. I somewhat jumped back off of her, but she stayed deadly still. Cold prickles stood up on the back of my neck and still, being the pervert that I am, I tightened my grip around her waist and crammed my cock into the nape of her back, and bent close to her ear. My left hand was on her shoulder. She was breathing delicately, but tightly. I whispered, "What?" She moved her ass backwards and up...onto me!
"Do you smell that?" she breathed. I made a smell sound, but already knew that whoever lives here likes animals, especially reptiles or like ferrets or something, because that smell is hard to misappropriate, but I whispered, "Yep. We might find something horrible in here." She shuddered against me.
We squeezed through the door and into a small hallway and arrived in the kitchen. If someone were privy to us, I believe we pretty much looked like a really friendly version of Shaggy and Daphne creeping about single file in a Scooby Doo mystery. Tiptoeing through the crushing blackness, with our pelvises touching...jeez. We kinda realized that it was a little weird dry humping our way through this potential house of horrors and we gravitated towards the light splashing through some hastily closed blinds.
There was a window and a round table pushed up against the window. Three chairs. My eyes were now seeing the shapes of a long galley kitchen that spanned the width of the house. Everything looked in order. Jaime looked up at me with sharp yellow blades of light across her face. She said, "This is silly."
Jaime bounded through the hallway, nearly fell, or it least it sounded like it, and threw on the hall light and fucking screamed, "HELLLLLOOOOOO! WE FOUND YOUR DOG SIR OR MADAM!" Adrenaline. I took a deep breath. "YOUR DOG ATE SOMEONE'S HEAD! WE THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW...cuz...Y'KNOW IT'S THE PROPER THING TO DO!!!" I'm staring at the ceiling straining to hear any sort of weapon cocking, or heavy footsteps, or screaming.
"HELLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOO!!!?" I'm looking at the floor now and grinding my teeth together. Worse thoughts, the owners are locked in some fucking panic room in the basement and calling the police right now. They are about to activate the home defense unit and blow us full of fifty caliber holes, all ED-209* style. I laughed out loud at that thought and made my way through the hallway to Jaime.
"IT FUCKING STINKS IN HERE YOU DOUCHE BAGS! FEBREEZE! EVER HEARD OF IT?!" I broke out laughing like I haven't in a long time. She was laughing too, but I think she was more or less laughing at me because I was really fucking into it. Her laugh was awesome, maybe with a hint of derision, but none the less musical. "YOU'RE DOG'S DEAD, YOU KNOW!!.."
"OK, ok, ok, ok. I think you made your point there, perky.” She was beaming at me. I heaved a heavy sigh, and affixed her with a furrowed look.
"After you, sir." She motioned towards the stairs. They went down on the northern most wall of the house. We moved through a small undisturbed living room with a large orange poofy couch and wooden end tables. TV, Stereo Hi-FI, fireplace...The smell was definitely coming from downstairs. Jaime smacked another light switch and the small room at the bottom of the stairs was illuminated. It was essentially a landing with a door. Where does it go? Jaime knows. She flies down the stairs and flings open the already cracked door. A shiny trash bag looking material billowed out and covered her followed by a cascade of white, white light.
She raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, and peeks beyond the billowing material, into the light. This is another fucking Kodak moment. She blinks.
"Holy Fuck!" And she passes into the white light room billowing shiny trash baggy stuff in her wake. I quickly tiptoe down the stairs, and sidestep the trash bag stuff, and seriously thought I had walked into the Land of the Lost. We found the portal through time and space into the CENTER OF THE EARTH! There was greenery everywhere, and giant bright industrial lights. There was the sound of flowing water and electric mechanical whirring, the air was circulating about, the air! THAT SMELL! WEED!
Jaime said, "All th-those plants are pot, I mean.." The whole room was filled marijuana plants of all sizes. The lights were on tracks and were slowly moving back and forth across this rather large basement room. There were sheets of reflective Mylar or something on the wall in some places reflecting copious amounts of light. To spite this, both of our sets of eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She was a couple of steps ahead of me, and looked down on the ground and recoiled, "GAH!" She bumped back into me. There on the ground was a five foot iguana. The lizard was fat and as green as the pot around it, with black horizontal stripes going down its back. It appeared to be a very healthy specimen of herpetoculturery. It was ignoring us gnawing on a piece of pink...iguana chow or something.
"They don't eat weed, huh?" I speculated.
"What?"
"Iguanas are vegetarians."
"It certainly looks like they eat meat to me!" Jaime said, more with her hands than with her mouth.
I dismissed it. "Naw. That's just...kinda gross is what it is." The iguana bit was covered in dirt and iguana spit. The green dragon before us finally grabbed a hold of the iguana bit and tilted its head back and swallowed it whole.
"Ooops. There it goes." She is just too cute.
I began to trace back the events of the day, and started to get a little light headed. I'm no stranger to the odd adrenaline rush, hell, even a prolonged adrenaline rush, but all of a sudden, all I wanted to do was jump into bed and sleep for days. I shook this thought off and was assailed by other terrible thoughts. "Jaime."
"Yeah."
"Do remember everything you've touched with your hands or fingers in this house?"
"I think so, why?"
"Well, maybe nothing, but this is big, and playtime...it’s over, now."
"I think you may be right."
I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and told her to go wipe down everything she touched. I was quite the second-story man and was quite sure that I had touched absolutely nothing...except for Jaime.
She started out the door and froze. "What about this fuckin thing?" She was indicating the Mylar over the door. I thought for second.
"Pull it down. We're taking it with us." I said in a more subdued and hushed tone.
"Okey doke, " she sighed and ripped it from the metal strip above the door.
"Just leave it there. I have a plan for it." She looked at me pleadingly, but continued upstairs.
I wasn't long before I had used a large pair of cutters I had found on a table, and, using my shirt on the cutter handles, manipulated them as to produce a three foot long, Popsicle shaped missile of the STICKIEST OF THE ICKIEST. I hastily wrapped it in the Mylar and headed upstairs. Then, for the second time today I heard someone scream in absolute terror. It was Jaime.
*ED-209 was the robot that went apeshit in the movie 'Robocop'...Youtube it.
Not a house to be trifled with, in terms of how well off the owner, or owners, might have been. But, then again, the house was dead and dark.
Jaime reached the front door before I did and gasped just slightly. I hurried as silently as I could have, past the unkempt yard of weeds and grasses of multiple variations to the raised front porch of Freddy Kreuger's house. I said, hushed,"What?"
"THIS DOOR IS OPEN, DUMBASS!" she hissed. She indicated the main door, which was covered by a large metal screen door and she was pointing feverishly at the larger wooden main door that was open, cracked by about four inches.
"Well, duh!" I retorted in the same high velocity whisper. "The damn 'Killer' dog had to get his ass outta here somehow."
"Yeah, but who leaves their dog alone like this?"
"I dunno; I have cats."
"YOU HAVE CATS?!"
"Um...Yeah." She looked at me incredulously.
"Like you have...MULTIPLE...cats?!" She was saying this to me in that same high velocity, high volume whisper. I shrugged. Somehow, we had forgotten to break into this house for a moment. She crinkled her forehead, and regarded me for a second.
"Are you gay?"
"NO!" I almost broke our whisper as my voiced cracked slightly. She made this disgusted noise and grabbed the collar of my shirt and said, "You better not be, cause I'm totally turned on right now, so don't fuck up...cat boy."
"Pfff," I almost spat in her face. "Okay Nancy Drew, this appears to be another conversation to be had when we are NOT BUSTING INTO A HOUSE!!!" She composed herself and shot me a snotty look and grasped the handle on the screen door. She nudged open the heavy wooden door with her foot. It creaked open and we were hit with the musty hot air from inside.
I followed her sexy little butt inside with my right hand on her semi-naked waist. I mean, I felt a little soft flesh between where her jeans ended and her top began. Those two garments were trying to fight a quiet and gentle war between each other. Who could delicately hold in the most plumped subcutaneous flesh without giving an inch, or divulging the softest and sexiest under parts of her human shame? My middle two fingers were the unexpected benefactors of the DMZ that lied between. I sighed happily as I wondered how far this major felony (breaking and entering) could go without my extensive planning and oversight. (Wyatt and I had last cleaned out a house in Highlands Ranch with a U-Haul truck as our last little foray into major crime. We waited for family vacation, made elaborate costumes like the late teenager kids of the family that lived there and robbed the fuck out of that place for two hours in broad daylight. It was executed perfectly. This was...um...well...hasty.) Since I was mostly sure Jaime had never committed a felony in her entire life, I figured I was good for the times if anything got out of hand. I would protect her, to spite anything, at all costs.
We stepped into a really dark house. The only light, which was half obscured by our own long-cast-streetlight shadows, coming from the door, was pitiful, yet too much at the same time. There was too much contrast! All I saw was pitch black shadows and bright yellow reflections off of the white painted walls. All the blinds were closed. There was a zoo-like stench to the air inside the house; it was like reptiles and poop, and there was a big open room to our right and left and a small hallway straight ahead. My teeth clenched as I tried to expand all of my senses that were being overloaded by smell and touch to be sensitive to sight and sound. I concentrated, but there was nothing there to stimulate those senses.
Jaime froze two steps in front of me and my pelvis nudged into the small of her back. I somewhat jumped back off of her, but she stayed deadly still. Cold prickles stood up on the back of my neck and still, being the pervert that I am, I tightened my grip around her waist and crammed my cock into the nape of her back, and bent close to her ear. My left hand was on her shoulder. She was breathing delicately, but tightly. I whispered, "What?" She moved her ass backwards and up...onto me!
"Do you smell that?" she breathed. I made a smell sound, but already knew that whoever lives here likes animals, especially reptiles or like ferrets or something, because that smell is hard to misappropriate, but I whispered, "Yep. We might find something horrible in here." She shuddered against me.
We squeezed through the door and into a small hallway and arrived in the kitchen. If someone were privy to us, I believe we pretty much looked like a really friendly version of Shaggy and Daphne creeping about single file in a Scooby Doo mystery. Tiptoeing through the crushing blackness, with our pelvises touching...jeez. We kinda realized that it was a little weird dry humping our way through this potential house of horrors and we gravitated towards the light splashing through some hastily closed blinds.
There was a window and a round table pushed up against the window. Three chairs. My eyes were now seeing the shapes of a long galley kitchen that spanned the width of the house. Everything looked in order. Jaime looked up at me with sharp yellow blades of light across her face. She said, "This is silly."
Jaime bounded through the hallway, nearly fell, or it least it sounded like it, and threw on the hall light and fucking screamed, "HELLLLLOOOOOO! WE FOUND YOUR DOG SIR OR MADAM!" Adrenaline. I took a deep breath. "YOUR DOG ATE SOMEONE'S HEAD! WE THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW...cuz...Y'KNOW IT'S THE PROPER THING TO DO!!!" I'm staring at the ceiling straining to hear any sort of weapon cocking, or heavy footsteps, or screaming.
"HELLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOO!!!?" I'm looking at the floor now and grinding my teeth together. Worse thoughts, the owners are locked in some fucking panic room in the basement and calling the police right now. They are about to activate the home defense unit and blow us full of fifty caliber holes, all ED-209* style. I laughed out loud at that thought and made my way through the hallway to Jaime.
"IT FUCKING STINKS IN HERE YOU DOUCHE BAGS! FEBREEZE! EVER HEARD OF IT?!" I broke out laughing like I haven't in a long time. She was laughing too, but I think she was more or less laughing at me because I was really fucking into it. Her laugh was awesome, maybe with a hint of derision, but none the less musical. "YOU'RE DOG'S DEAD, YOU KNOW!!.."
"OK, ok, ok, ok. I think you made your point there, perky.” She was beaming at me. I heaved a heavy sigh, and affixed her with a furrowed look.
"After you, sir." She motioned towards the stairs. They went down on the northern most wall of the house. We moved through a small undisturbed living room with a large orange poofy couch and wooden end tables. TV, Stereo Hi-FI, fireplace...The smell was definitely coming from downstairs. Jaime smacked another light switch and the small room at the bottom of the stairs was illuminated. It was essentially a landing with a door. Where does it go? Jaime knows. She flies down the stairs and flings open the already cracked door. A shiny trash bag looking material billowed out and covered her followed by a cascade of white, white light.
She raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, and peeks beyond the billowing material, into the light. This is another fucking Kodak moment. She blinks.
"Holy Fuck!" And she passes into the white light room billowing shiny trash baggy stuff in her wake. I quickly tiptoe down the stairs, and sidestep the trash bag stuff, and seriously thought I had walked into the Land of the Lost. We found the portal through time and space into the CENTER OF THE EARTH! There was greenery everywhere, and giant bright industrial lights. There was the sound of flowing water and electric mechanical whirring, the air was circulating about, the air! THAT SMELL! WEED!
Jaime said, "All th-those plants are pot, I mean.." The whole room was filled marijuana plants of all sizes. The lights were on tracks and were slowly moving back and forth across this rather large basement room. There were sheets of reflective Mylar or something on the wall in some places reflecting copious amounts of light. To spite this, both of our sets of eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She was a couple of steps ahead of me, and looked down on the ground and recoiled, "GAH!" She bumped back into me. There on the ground was a five foot iguana. The lizard was fat and as green as the pot around it, with black horizontal stripes going down its back. It appeared to be a very healthy specimen of herpetoculturery. It was ignoring us gnawing on a piece of pink...iguana chow or something.
"They don't eat weed, huh?" I speculated.
"What?"
"Iguanas are vegetarians."
"It certainly looks like they eat meat to me!" Jaime said, more with her hands than with her mouth.
I dismissed it. "Naw. That's just...kinda gross is what it is." The iguana bit was covered in dirt and iguana spit. The green dragon before us finally grabbed a hold of the iguana bit and tilted its head back and swallowed it whole.
"Ooops. There it goes." She is just too cute.
I began to trace back the events of the day, and started to get a little light headed. I'm no stranger to the odd adrenaline rush, hell, even a prolonged adrenaline rush, but all of a sudden, all I wanted to do was jump into bed and sleep for days. I shook this thought off and was assailed by other terrible thoughts. "Jaime."
"Yeah."
"Do remember everything you've touched with your hands or fingers in this house?"
"I think so, why?"
"Well, maybe nothing, but this is big, and playtime...it’s over, now."
"I think you may be right."
I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and told her to go wipe down everything she touched. I was quite the second-story man and was quite sure that I had touched absolutely nothing...except for Jaime.
She started out the door and froze. "What about this fuckin thing?" She was indicating the Mylar over the door. I thought for second.
"Pull it down. We're taking it with us." I said in a more subdued and hushed tone.
"Okey doke, " she sighed and ripped it from the metal strip above the door.
"Just leave it there. I have a plan for it." She looked at me pleadingly, but continued upstairs.
I wasn't long before I had used a large pair of cutters I had found on a table, and, using my shirt on the cutter handles, manipulated them as to produce a three foot long, Popsicle shaped missile of the STICKIEST OF THE ICKIEST. I hastily wrapped it in the Mylar and headed upstairs. Then, for the second time today I heard someone scream in absolute terror. It was Jaime.
*ED-209 was the robot that went apeshit in the movie 'Robocop'...Youtube it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Chapter 14 "Sevante"
Across town, a day earlier, Sevante is walking home. A billion different things, over and over again are careening through his head. He is calculating his worth against Colfax Avenue inspired thoughts. Every block, walking in the seedy bar broken A.M. is a new sob story, spoken about as fast as he could walk past. One mullet topped character drops a story about how he needs 14 bucks for a bus ticket to Durango. He hands him a buck. Another lady just pulls up her sleeve and shows a nasty infected hole on the inside of her forearm obviously from heroin. He hands her a dollar. Another Mexican boy asks him for some change because “Anything will help.” Sevante hands him a dollar as well. A man approaches him with a small card to read. Sevante reads the card and it explains that the man is deaf and if he buys the card he will be helping the man is his endeavors. He hands him a dollar and hands the card back. The deaf man is grateful and lumbers off. These are his people, from his neighborhood, but he can't help them all. He decides he won't anymore. When he was his poorest, he'd drop some change on every block. He'd carry a pocketful. Not anymore. “How exactly am I helping anything by dropping some change from block to block?”
Nowadays he is considerably richer than he was. There is a better way to do this. A grandiose plan emerges in his head involving small community centers on every block down Colfax Avenue, arguably one of the most poverty stricken areas in Denver. He is alternately thinking that he has six singles and about eighteen hundred in Benjamins, and sixty-nine cents in his wallet. God, if they only knew.
He drives an older BMW now. It's the 5 series. ‘03. It's in the shop, and this little scene, going from deep east Aurora to Capitol Hill is a simple bus ride. The reason he keeps walking is because he got on the wrong bus. The express bus stopped about fifteen blocks from his Capitol Hill home, a nice loft above a tattoo parlor and a coffee shop. Sevante calculates that if he spends a dollar on every damn person that confronts him, between here and there, he will spend about nineteen dollars. "It's kinda like paying ugly strippers." He said to himself with a chuckle.
Strutting down the sidewalk, he couldn’t be prouder of his accomplishments over the last few years. Sevante just had a meeting with a new punk band, and was excited about the outcome.
Sevante is a great guy. In the local music scene, he is a god. He has been responsible for promoting three hip-hop acts and one girl band out of Denver and into some notoriety. That's not easy, based on several circumstances. One, He's a black man working in this white man's ClearChannel friendly, country-bumpkin city. Two, the bands are all non-radio-friendly. ("Fuck and Fuck and Fuck" could actually be a song title on an album for every act he represents.) Three, Denver has been "blacklisted" by most record companies because the politics in this conservative cow-town are decidedly anti-gay.
Not to mention anti-Semitic.
"It's good to be a black king in this white bread town." He says to himself, quietly.
You're always afraid that your inner monologue is being overheard. The words are usually seconds, if not fractions of seconds from coming out of your mouth. This little morsel was tasted by the night air, and thusly tasted by him. The Wraith. Sevante never meant for those words to pass into the Colfax night, but his words bested his calm exterior because he had found a band, and this band was right for the times. He met with the lead singer and bassist tonight and listened to some demos and he was in high spirits, and Sevante was high. Weed high. Pot High. Mary Jane. The Chronic. Reefer. The Wraith was listening in a dark corner of Denver. He heard the words that escaped Sevante's lips like a whisper, and focused in.
"Life is never so black and white." It was a whisper.
Sevante froze for a second, then continued a brisk walk towards his home.
"What would you say to someone so desperate that they never dreamed anymore?" A voice called from shadows, from the alley to Sevante's right. He stopped and faced the alley. He considered the alley for a moment and in his state of gushy, weed induced good nature said, "If you get some good rest you'll dream again, brother." Silence. Sevante stood against a darkened alley, streetlights and cars blazing behind him. The demon saw him as a silhouette, black and crushing the neon cityscape behind him. Sevante's teeth were little white pearls set into the head of a fairly imposing man whose shadow leapt deeply into the alley so that part of it was enveloped by utter blackness.
"You're almost there," hissed a seductive voice.
"Yeah, wuddevah." Sevante started walking west again towards home.
"Hey!"
"WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER?" Sevante decided to act a little tough, and why not? He was a fairly large dude. He was brought up surrounded by drug dealers and convicts and general asshole-moron-gangbangers, and he knows how to handle himself.
"Ooooh, tsk, tsk, my brother," said the voice. "I wanted to ask you a hypothetical question." A shadow emerged from the alley. It was barely discernable from the walls, but at times appeared to be partially lit and sometimes seemed to blend into the flat, elongated shadows that the Colfax lights seemed to produce. Sevante turned to leave, but the seductive voice continued, "Imagine you had no option left."
"Man, I been there, guy."
"No option but to steal and rob and beg for your survival?"
"Look, man, I have been down that road." The shadow stopped and froze against a wall or a dumpster, it was hard to tell. A dry chuckle emerged from that side of the alley.
"No man who claims to be a king, has ever been a pauper. Why do I say that? Because any man who has been poor understands the faults of the rich, he UNDERSTANDS THE PROBLEM WITH THEM ALL. MONEY AND POWER ARE TRULY THE PATH OF WICKED AND CORRUPT PEOPLE!" There was a flash of khaki and grey and the Wraith crossed the alley in front of Sevante and disappeared into another dumpster's shadow.
"Whoa, man...Chill, dude. Look, I got some money in my pocket, it's not much, but, you know..." Silence. Then breathing. Not Sevante's. "Hey dude..."
"I WILL ONLY EXPLAIN TO YOU ONCE. THE POPULATION IS TOO BIG, TOO MUCH, TOO MANY SOULS, TOO MANY MEDIOCRE PEOPLE, YOU ARE COMPLETELY WASHED IN IGNORANCE; I CAN’T SMELL YOU. YOU SMELL LIKE NOTHING!! YOU CAN'T COMMIT TO ANYTHING, NOT EVEN A SCENT! YOU ARE USELESS TO OUR RACE! PERPETUATING, AND PROCREATING...WHAT?! WHAT, WHAT, WHAT DO YOU CREATE?! I'LL TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE THE CORRUPTION!! CAN YOU KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS?!!"
"Look, man I'm just trying to spread love and hip-hop...and maybe, after tonight, some punk-rock," said Sevante easily. He watched a flurry of khaki and grey dip around in shadow and flop around the dumpster. It was such a flurry of motion, that it appeared spasmodic and other-worldly. Sevante was transfixed, and took a step forward. He sighed, "And the punk stuff is..." Sevante was cut at the knees and throat at the same time. This was confusing. He was falling over and as he tried to say, "...a new venture into unknown genres." He found himself croaking out little bubbles of sound. His ears were ringing; his breath was short. He hit the ground with his arms up, but they were unable, they were too weak to protect his face. His face hit the ground which seemed to be an impossible angle from his knee which was bent in the opposite direction from which he should of landed. Sevante felt warm all over. It was nice.
It was unnatural. It wasn't right! He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He tried, but he could only muster a tired growl. He cranked his neck upward, and could look into the lights of Colfax. There were people walking by! He was only a few feet into this darkened alley. His call for help seemed drunken and lost in the din of Denver's busiest street.
There was a hand stroking the back of his head. Sevante put his head on to the pavement in the alley. A little rivulet of water touched his ear. In his mind, he thought that it was probably dumpster water. The soothing voice started breathing sweet tendrils of vowels into his ear. This demon was almost licking and sucking the air in a quiet and sensual whisper, like this:
"AEOOWAHATEE"
"OOWAYOOWITEEYAWEY"
"PIOOOOOOOHWAHTAEYEEEEEEE...sorry about this." The demon got up and walked to Sevante's broken leg and grabbed it and pulled it towards the darkness of the alley. Sevante's body followed, as the Wraith heaved, there was more pain than Sevante could ever remember feeling. Ever. Every moment became and elongated bubble of pain and confusion, and most disconcerting thing of all, a gurgle-scream of near silence. Why can't they see? Why won't anyone help me? Sevante's perception of the police slipped deeper into his memory, from evil white guys, to brave figures who only had designs to protect and serve. Is anyone out there with the balls to see what is going on at 12:45 AM on Colfax Avenue? Someone, anyone could save him with a glance in the right direction.
The Wraith turned him around on his back, if Sevante could gasp, he would, but he stared blankly, hoping this demon of a man would consider him dead, but he was looking into a black face, a shadow face. The Wraith said, "Oh now, don't play dead. You can't talk, but don't pretend. That reminds me of a song I heard once. Well, it wasn't really a song, it was a rap." Sevante spat blood. It dawned on him that he could be killed because he was a black man, and that he was into the wrong music. Fuckin lame. He squinted to see the face of his attacker.
"Stop it, bitch...you're looking too hard without your glasses," said that soothing voice.
"Check it!" The Wraith was about to rap but he was also feeling Sevante and his clothes up for some glasses. Sevante's glasses.
"Sometimes when you don't feel the same as playing the numbers game on the street when people that you meet are always gunning for the same end-ing...and it always amazes me, how a sawed off shotgun can break up a party, but I'd really like to know, which one of you fucked up bitches is endin ass up on my floor...so...it's me supreme, stayin away from dairy and fuckin up your scene, yo, cause I am he and who am I, but the same fuckin nigga that jams it in your eye, bitch...I got dat itch to fuck you up...yeah, you bitchass snitch, so here I go, yo, no more smokin the indo, where you want it in he head or the heart, yo?"
At that, after finding Sevante's glasses in the left front pocket of his shirt, the demon places them on his eyes.
Sevante sees the barrel of a large shotgun. It dawns on him like scientific theory.
Sevante is dead, he knows it. His mind hasn't really caught up with that fact yet, but he knows that those are the lyrics of one of his hip-hop acts. It's revenge or something. Sevante knows he's a dead man.
He is thinking he’d like an open casket funeral. He says, "HEART!"
It's a sledgehammer driven by a freight train to the chest.
It's an orange flash and heat.
Concrete is the softest thing Sevante has ever felt. His body rebounding makes it feel like a waterbed.
He is lifted up, but there is NO white light.
If Sevante could talk and tell you if heaven exists, he'd tell you.
Yes.
The best way he could explain it, would be this:
(Framed as a letter to Sevante's mom.)
Dear Mom,
The craziest thing...I'm dead. Here's the thing...Don't be afraid, it won't hurt...you'll actually be surprised...and you expect salvation, and a great white light...but it's funny, it's more like a great relief...you remember when Buster died {our dog}...you remember when we found him, after all that suffering, it was like a relief to find him all dead? It's like that.
There isn't actually heaven or hell there is just one last forever memory.
And blackness.
And that lasts forever too, but they coincide forever as your energy explodes into everything, so don't mourn me, because I don't care to be mourned. I am part of everything now. It is the most satisfying feeling you could think of.
It is a great release. I love you.
I have loved and so my life goes and goes, even in death, this imperfectness.
So I died.
So what?
I am in that great black silence that you fear, but it's only for a second, it's only repeating over and over and over into nothing.
Love,
Sevante
Nowadays he is considerably richer than he was. There is a better way to do this. A grandiose plan emerges in his head involving small community centers on every block down Colfax Avenue, arguably one of the most poverty stricken areas in Denver. He is alternately thinking that he has six singles and about eighteen hundred in Benjamins, and sixty-nine cents in his wallet. God, if they only knew.
He drives an older BMW now. It's the 5 series. ‘03. It's in the shop, and this little scene, going from deep east Aurora to Capitol Hill is a simple bus ride. The reason he keeps walking is because he got on the wrong bus. The express bus stopped about fifteen blocks from his Capitol Hill home, a nice loft above a tattoo parlor and a coffee shop. Sevante calculates that if he spends a dollar on every damn person that confronts him, between here and there, he will spend about nineteen dollars. "It's kinda like paying ugly strippers." He said to himself with a chuckle.
Strutting down the sidewalk, he couldn’t be prouder of his accomplishments over the last few years. Sevante just had a meeting with a new punk band, and was excited about the outcome.
Sevante is a great guy. In the local music scene, he is a god. He has been responsible for promoting three hip-hop acts and one girl band out of Denver and into some notoriety. That's not easy, based on several circumstances. One, He's a black man working in this white man's ClearChannel friendly, country-bumpkin city. Two, the bands are all non-radio-friendly. ("Fuck and Fuck and Fuck" could actually be a song title on an album for every act he represents.) Three, Denver has been "blacklisted" by most record companies because the politics in this conservative cow-town are decidedly anti-gay.
Not to mention anti-Semitic.
"It's good to be a black king in this white bread town." He says to himself, quietly.
You're always afraid that your inner monologue is being overheard. The words are usually seconds, if not fractions of seconds from coming out of your mouth. This little morsel was tasted by the night air, and thusly tasted by him. The Wraith. Sevante never meant for those words to pass into the Colfax night, but his words bested his calm exterior because he had found a band, and this band was right for the times. He met with the lead singer and bassist tonight and listened to some demos and he was in high spirits, and Sevante was high. Weed high. Pot High. Mary Jane. The Chronic. Reefer. The Wraith was listening in a dark corner of Denver. He heard the words that escaped Sevante's lips like a whisper, and focused in.
"Life is never so black and white." It was a whisper.
Sevante froze for a second, then continued a brisk walk towards his home.
"What would you say to someone so desperate that they never dreamed anymore?" A voice called from shadows, from the alley to Sevante's right. He stopped and faced the alley. He considered the alley for a moment and in his state of gushy, weed induced good nature said, "If you get some good rest you'll dream again, brother." Silence. Sevante stood against a darkened alley, streetlights and cars blazing behind him. The demon saw him as a silhouette, black and crushing the neon cityscape behind him. Sevante's teeth were little white pearls set into the head of a fairly imposing man whose shadow leapt deeply into the alley so that part of it was enveloped by utter blackness.
"You're almost there," hissed a seductive voice.
"Yeah, wuddevah." Sevante started walking west again towards home.
"Hey!"
"WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER?" Sevante decided to act a little tough, and why not? He was a fairly large dude. He was brought up surrounded by drug dealers and convicts and general asshole-moron-gangbangers, and he knows how to handle himself.
"Ooooh, tsk, tsk, my brother," said the voice. "I wanted to ask you a hypothetical question." A shadow emerged from the alley. It was barely discernable from the walls, but at times appeared to be partially lit and sometimes seemed to blend into the flat, elongated shadows that the Colfax lights seemed to produce. Sevante turned to leave, but the seductive voice continued, "Imagine you had no option left."
"Man, I been there, guy."
"No option but to steal and rob and beg for your survival?"
"Look, man, I have been down that road." The shadow stopped and froze against a wall or a dumpster, it was hard to tell. A dry chuckle emerged from that side of the alley.
"No man who claims to be a king, has ever been a pauper. Why do I say that? Because any man who has been poor understands the faults of the rich, he UNDERSTANDS THE PROBLEM WITH THEM ALL. MONEY AND POWER ARE TRULY THE PATH OF WICKED AND CORRUPT PEOPLE!" There was a flash of khaki and grey and the Wraith crossed the alley in front of Sevante and disappeared into another dumpster's shadow.
"Whoa, man...Chill, dude. Look, I got some money in my pocket, it's not much, but, you know..." Silence. Then breathing. Not Sevante's. "Hey dude..."
"I WILL ONLY EXPLAIN TO YOU ONCE. THE POPULATION IS TOO BIG, TOO MUCH, TOO MANY SOULS, TOO MANY MEDIOCRE PEOPLE, YOU ARE COMPLETELY WASHED IN IGNORANCE; I CAN’T SMELL YOU. YOU SMELL LIKE NOTHING!! YOU CAN'T COMMIT TO ANYTHING, NOT EVEN A SCENT! YOU ARE USELESS TO OUR RACE! PERPETUATING, AND PROCREATING...WHAT?! WHAT, WHAT, WHAT DO YOU CREATE?! I'LL TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE THE CORRUPTION!! CAN YOU KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS?!!"
"Look, man I'm just trying to spread love and hip-hop...and maybe, after tonight, some punk-rock," said Sevante easily. He watched a flurry of khaki and grey dip around in shadow and flop around the dumpster. It was such a flurry of motion, that it appeared spasmodic and other-worldly. Sevante was transfixed, and took a step forward. He sighed, "And the punk stuff is..." Sevante was cut at the knees and throat at the same time. This was confusing. He was falling over and as he tried to say, "...a new venture into unknown genres." He found himself croaking out little bubbles of sound. His ears were ringing; his breath was short. He hit the ground with his arms up, but they were unable, they were too weak to protect his face. His face hit the ground which seemed to be an impossible angle from his knee which was bent in the opposite direction from which he should of landed. Sevante felt warm all over. It was nice.
It was unnatural. It wasn't right! He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He tried, but he could only muster a tired growl. He cranked his neck upward, and could look into the lights of Colfax. There were people walking by! He was only a few feet into this darkened alley. His call for help seemed drunken and lost in the din of Denver's busiest street.
There was a hand stroking the back of his head. Sevante put his head on to the pavement in the alley. A little rivulet of water touched his ear. In his mind, he thought that it was probably dumpster water. The soothing voice started breathing sweet tendrils of vowels into his ear. This demon was almost licking and sucking the air in a quiet and sensual whisper, like this:
"AEOOWAHATEE"
"OOWAYOOWITEEYAWEY"
"PIOOOOOOOHWAHTAEYEEEEEEE...sorry about this." The demon got up and walked to Sevante's broken leg and grabbed it and pulled it towards the darkness of the alley. Sevante's body followed, as the Wraith heaved, there was more pain than Sevante could ever remember feeling. Ever. Every moment became and elongated bubble of pain and confusion, and most disconcerting thing of all, a gurgle-scream of near silence. Why can't they see? Why won't anyone help me? Sevante's perception of the police slipped deeper into his memory, from evil white guys, to brave figures who only had designs to protect and serve. Is anyone out there with the balls to see what is going on at 12:45 AM on Colfax Avenue? Someone, anyone could save him with a glance in the right direction.
The Wraith turned him around on his back, if Sevante could gasp, he would, but he stared blankly, hoping this demon of a man would consider him dead, but he was looking into a black face, a shadow face. The Wraith said, "Oh now, don't play dead. You can't talk, but don't pretend. That reminds me of a song I heard once. Well, it wasn't really a song, it was a rap." Sevante spat blood. It dawned on him that he could be killed because he was a black man, and that he was into the wrong music. Fuckin lame. He squinted to see the face of his attacker.
"Stop it, bitch...you're looking too hard without your glasses," said that soothing voice.
"Check it!" The Wraith was about to rap but he was also feeling Sevante and his clothes up for some glasses. Sevante's glasses.
"Sometimes when you don't feel the same as playing the numbers game on the street when people that you meet are always gunning for the same end-ing...and it always amazes me, how a sawed off shotgun can break up a party, but I'd really like to know, which one of you fucked up bitches is endin ass up on my floor...so...it's me supreme, stayin away from dairy and fuckin up your scene, yo, cause I am he and who am I, but the same fuckin nigga that jams it in your eye, bitch...I got dat itch to fuck you up...yeah, you bitchass snitch, so here I go, yo, no more smokin the indo, where you want it in he head or the heart, yo?"
At that, after finding Sevante's glasses in the left front pocket of his shirt, the demon places them on his eyes.
Sevante sees the barrel of a large shotgun. It dawns on him like scientific theory.
Sevante is dead, he knows it. His mind hasn't really caught up with that fact yet, but he knows that those are the lyrics of one of his hip-hop acts. It's revenge or something. Sevante knows he's a dead man.
He is thinking he’d like an open casket funeral. He says, "HEART!"
It's a sledgehammer driven by a freight train to the chest.
It's an orange flash and heat.
Concrete is the softest thing Sevante has ever felt. His body rebounding makes it feel like a waterbed.
He is lifted up, but there is NO white light.
If Sevante could talk and tell you if heaven exists, he'd tell you.
Yes.
The best way he could explain it, would be this:
(Framed as a letter to Sevante's mom.)
Dear Mom,
The craziest thing...I'm dead. Here's the thing...Don't be afraid, it won't hurt...you'll actually be surprised...and you expect salvation, and a great white light...but it's funny, it's more like a great relief...you remember when Buster died {our dog}...you remember when we found him, after all that suffering, it was like a relief to find him all dead? It's like that.
There isn't actually heaven or hell there is just one last forever memory.
And blackness.
And that lasts forever too, but they coincide forever as your energy explodes into everything, so don't mourn me, because I don't care to be mourned. I am part of everything now. It is the most satisfying feeling you could think of.
It is a great release. I love you.
I have loved and so my life goes and goes, even in death, this imperfectness.
So I died.
So what?
I am in that great black silence that you fear, but it's only for a second, it's only repeating over and over and over into nothing.
Love,
Sevante
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