Excerpt for Vanning by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Vanning



Vanning



Short by


Lucus Anthony Ren












Copyright

Vanning

© 2015, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Limit of Liability and Disclaimer of Warranty: The author / publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided "as is," and makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.







































For my wife, her passion, support.









































Preface





1809

The wind brought with it the smell off the mountains. A grey odour. A shifting. It drifted from deep within the source of mountains birth. Its presence was of a meaning not yet known, where age shut light and heat-less flame forever away.


1934

That wretched. Land will never be the same.


1965

Where is that civilized bus stop? She was wet thinking of the shifting colours in his eyes, their splitting orgasms. A wanted change in his odour from induced erotic pain. Madness. Addiction.













Grey


The shift came holding the mountains grace till travelers passed, flinging outwards drifting upon the caravan, a swirling-twisted thought, gently kissing, embracing, then secreted inwards. Men turned in their saddles looking skyward, fading minds thinking how odd it rained without clouds, opened sagging mouths wider, eyes rolled to showing their full whiteness. Animals slowed their once hurried advance, now mindless, drifted off the trail. Tethered they formed a drunken snake with no bearing in mind, only that of momentum.


The Kunuklar Mountains surrounded an expansively open plain the caravans travel. Always snow caped when sun shined they lit as beacons, eighteen peaks of white light seen afar. Somewhere within this range lay the grave of Princess Surimaklar whose reign ended only after six years when she was kidnapped, held for a never-paid ransom, then tortured and killed. The only proof of this laid in the form of a golden horse tattoo skinned from her hip and returned to her kingdom along with a brief explanation of her death.


The devastated kingdom thought her as The Lighted; clairvoyant in nature, knowing present and pending nature of many events. It's widely believed she expected this, therefore the ransom was not paid. Nor were trackers sent after her, for certainly if the Princess was in any danger she would have informed the kingdom before her abduction.


An immediate council was held upon return of the tattoo. Panic grew in the kingdom with news of murderous armies advancing; the prosperous region would certainly fall. Correct and profound action establishing a new leader must without delay be taken. Once achieved, the order would be given for scouts sent forth with one command in returning with those reasonable.


That same night those foreign armies slew all within the kingdom. Eighteen noble scouts were sent forth before this, and it is they whom stand upon the pecks shining their lights searching for the murders of Princess Surimaklar. To protect the scouts from harm the shaman blessed them with the ability of bending the environment. Due to the elevation very little grew from this white-grey soil, when danger neared the scouts altered colour into the world around them. It was widely known and believed in certain regions and groups of people, that the scouts would smell the colour grey when peril was near. Closing their mantels they would shift. Simply not be visible. Only that which remained behind this shifting was a fragrance having no definition. If asked, a person would state they smelled wet earth, or dust. Wild raspberries. Sweating horses. The scent of sex. No two could agree on the same, thus deemed uncertain. Grey.


Disorientation. Unsure footing, heavy in speech. Slow in thought. Man or beast it didnt matter, they were all affected, thoroughly displaced through the shift, removed from their norm. It was the scouts only defense, as they wore no protective armor nor carried weaponry. There wasnt a need, for their mission was that of finding and returning those accountable for the death of the princess. It was also the only way traveling over expansive-distance quickly. Shifting was not simply camouflage, but transport as well, and it was this which disrupted those as the shift passed through them. Delusionizing.


The scouts never found the murders nor the tomb. Word reached them of their kingdoms massacre, which only drove their seeking further. Eventually, they became the hunted. The last of the three were caught and feed alive to starved pigs, their heads shaved and teeth pulled saving indigestion on the pigs behalf. A pig can eat through bone in seconds, but teeth and hair were hard on the gut. However, their mantels with the golden horse of Princess Surimakalar embroidered thereon were not among any of the captured scouts.


Information came that a man would be found with three fingers missing at a council meeting of the elders in Tashmara, but care must be taken as many were searching for the last three scouts, and three fingers missingwould be one of the murders. The three scouts shifted, gently and without notice as they had done every occasion. They removed their mantles and replaced them with simple robes, which caused an alert. Why they did this isnt told. Caught by the delusionization that before had saved them.


The caravan of man and animal flowed forward, their minds adrift in softness, unaware of the consequences events long ago caused, and the changes made in their own appearance from it. They were no longer the same that departed two weeks ago with provisions for the camp, still four days out. Those experiencing the shift in Tashmara long ago would certainly notice the significant difference between then and now, for in Tashmara their skins were not turning grey nor were animals salivating such as in this case, and in quantities the pack animals did drool. Shifting simply gave you a heighten state of drunkenness, but only a few minutes. No animals were affected and there was a measurable radius of its impact of only several meters. This present situation was very different.


So in feeling rain it wasnt, rather that of their skin pealing open. They rode further over the plain hooves splintering on smooth sand. They managed another seven winding kilometers before the first horse fell into its own dust pile. Tethered the caravan simple stood there for several days till the last finally dissolved. The men however hadnt to wait that long. They blew away in that afternoons wind.

















Light and Deep


I cant stop it, Deep voice said.

Move, Light voice said.

Owner of the Light voice moved quickly. Agile fingers slipped but could not grasp the engaging work. Difficult as it was with the surrounding darkness aiding and hindering at the same moment, but it was the continuous scratching sound causing excessive irritation, seeping and giving birth into the very source of darkness itself. Relentlessly, it had gone on for days. Perhaps weeks. There was no telling. You knew little and grew more forgetful the longer you spent in it. The essence of time simply ushered out, replaced with a devastated sensation of expanding madness. Odours became reference points. The olfactory system being adrenaline injected flamed with a greedy survival purpose.


Notable hearing improvement would surface had it not been for the prominent, bellowing screech with its unknown origin. Not acknowledge at the time, it kept them from complete insanity; the ability of screaming without causing notice.


Reliance factor reduced to touch and smell the later becoming more acute especially in deciphering between human, animal, or something that was still a mystery. A moment where factors slip some, and particular, having points of reason attached to them.


Fingers of Light voice slipped with ease. The smell was both exhilarating and nauseous. Sweat steadily flowing into eyes, flies waltzing across face and neck as their host had no hands to bother them. Fly bit irritation didnt register in the brain of Light voice; too busy with thinking of how rude orchestral brass sections are. These flies themselves feeling hunger and thirst similar to their host, searching with flickering tongues softly absorbing precious minerals and fluids now produced in robust quantities. Darkness, slippage, flies. Ears deafened by relentless shrills, or not, rasping at sanities realm unable in seeing other thoughts.


Stale air mixed with rancid waste born from once flourishing times. Silence and freshness are dreams not spoken for fear of releasing unbridled sprites whose sole purpose be consumption. In this endless cracking, feelings appear in the distance. So many nerves never used before. Far away. And very long ago. First though only as a whisper, it glanced to areas holding the most promise. Studying the chance, weighing the elements, making logical choices, then finally advance. The stronger targeted first, less of a threat. Methodically was its suit. Always with a purpose, it strode hallways, shuttered chambers, swallowing the light. Those remaining became feeble, incompetent. Liars to all.


The norm was in killing and sex. The killed didnt really matter. Having sex with something dead or living didnt matter either. Simply an event in passing time. Essence of the roots. Little changed in all the time having plundered worlds, spawning, teaching. The act of inferiority. Trappings of a not so coherent time. Yet none possessing this fact, see themselves in error and still do nothing, or little in altering their evolution. So much for random, explosive violent fits. And we think we are clever. What do you think the reply would be from Deep and Light voice should you ask if they think they are clever? Light voice having a finer dexterity, still had problems grasping the present work. This work was now becoming very serious. Mind, and life threatening serious. Serious to a point of madness. So, does Light voice think, I am clever, and I will service this meeting my own ends,or is there some other demanding warrant? Of retribution perhaps?

Deep voice was of another breed. Asked what you wanted to be in the adult world nearing the threshold, Deep replied, Why, whats wrong with the way I am?Deep was a natural leader and found abundant satisfaction with the opposite sex due to charisma and honesty aspects. Learning came easy, one degree followed another. Job titles, travel, high-end lifestyle. Relentless pressure. So much for self-improving instinct literature.


And now this. The job was logistics, same as it always had been, but with a sordid erotic keyhole through which to gape. The tasks were simple and straight; appraise potential markets and report recommendations within the set time. The set time elapsed some time ago. And as in darkness there is little the understanding of time but mainly of bodily functions. Though the first seizure occurred just before the lights dimmed, leaving fingers trembling and sweat flowing under the mildest distresses.


The marriage was over. Faced with the fact the once then partner had trivial relationships to cleans ones own pain, and rid themselves of the entire affairdid little to persuade the choosing of this mission. The Company wasnt interested anyway in their staffspersonal situations unless they altered its objectives. Should these goals become more complex then a team assembled to deal with the case. Geared to handle situations at high political level too domestic, its leadership was out-sourced entities. With considerable finances nothing out of their domain existed. Deep was of senior standing, and scheduled for assassination. Light was to carry out that assassination. Sex between them was biting, intense multi-orgasmic psyche sessions relieving terrors, passions, boredom. Pressure holds, forced positions was foreplay, with thick-robust penetration lasting till exhausted. Both in their physiological prime nothing was obstructive, nor vulgar. Knowing the others advances assumed lame pursuit of non-required actions, sexually related or not. Pure ruts scent consumed them.


While employed, Deep always initiated their corporate orders. Light being its sword-end enjoyed the side producing results. Working together, expressing the common goal, neither understanding nor felt they had a reason, in wondering what each held in their hands. For never having met in the light dictated an erotic fashion helping describe their physic through odor, sound, feeling, movement, which home economics class in high school did not provide.


For them surface depicted only the mask. Illusionary teams of thought built willingness patterns. It's only wanted conscientious, that of an understanding essence. And wish. Or thought of one. A voice on the distant line gave certain details, ideas. Vision came from this, and promotion thus excused. Fumbling synoptic firing drew the hopeful, final lines. Passions, wants and needs, immigrant companionship of high intellect. A sad true reality of what evolution consisted of the feeble wondering to pass the time. And if chained how will that alter. That to pursue what is wanted. A dribbling, drooling hope pending on acceptance, or would it be that of vision.

Light was taken where sexed juices spilt mixing, consumed with lusts spastic cavity. Remembering the fondest, and wanting not in relinquish those times, willing to give none away, gout crossed its threshold. And it took. Stars wrathily shaped, whispering its past, Goodbye, sail-well, but when you return, Ill be older still. Then grey formed, along with Rad.















Time With Rad


When twenty-nine he ate many pretzels. Loved honey. Believed. Loving humanity, animals, and deep colouring sun as it hide for the night. Boarded situations make expanding fellows, so the march began of the course. Two months later he was released.


The texture of the mantel attire was always in the sounds heard. Orphaned, tied on a plank like many, defecating. Starved. Study programs and images, paintings of your loved ones on walls and ceilings, biting your finger nails, wanting sex again, the look of a mirror, smell of shampoo, cold beer. What most wanted abscond. The consented situation was that of twelve weeks. He dont want to remember the last weeks, but must as others having taken part moved on, and some way gained their balance. Three remained in remote contact. These being the closest. Thirty-seven attended the course. Thirteen died during in it. Seven ended life on their own terms afterwards. Besides the three, there is no word from the others.


This endeavor aimed at educating yourself on skills required in understanding the function of carpets. Three month was the term-course. We were all enthusiastic. It was their passion. The sun shined bright in what they wanted, adding that light towards sustainability.


He doesnt eat pretzels now. Drinks more, and instructed his silent periods needed improvement. He misplaced and forget often, but nothing they could understand would educate them on real, everyday happenings. And they often say words they often hear. Those that gives meaning to their efforts, though they should not be condoned. Some do care. Some simply dont and cant understand.

Rad took the groups remnant out for a drink, and was killed after they said goodnight while looking left, but not clearly to the right while crossing a street. The sole passenger not hurt from their autos message, standing, tottering over Rad with that unnatural thought we use to make lifes declarations, Am I responsible?


















The Committee and Ending the Carpet Ride


Rad introduced me to the Committee after the course. Fond memories. Committee people are focused, prepared and open. To the teeth. A granulated form of music having a tune that few outside that realm understood. Not being helpless in the fact we organized and promoted our projects the Committee funded, we in turn were bound. The governing body took as well as gave. If you had this pristine position having a funded project then you were in depths without any reasoning aspects intact. And so on such a mission I understood the meaning of vodka. Cigarettes. Honesty. Another use for toilet paper. And bettering my dyslexic aspects. The differed uses of contraceptives. That salt was good for you. Drugs were better and never-never land was a real place. I grew up on a farm with its nature, which came back traveling through Central Asia, the base for one of these projects. For the people there, and the project coordinators it became our time. Our commitment. We simply wanted to give. The laugh was when you came back asking the doctors for sleep induce medication.


Diagnosed with swing moods, friends, family, fellow associates, instructed me to seek professional subjects. The phone bills told of conversations building their consensus. The soft click of the filter on my teeth as the drag came in. Solidarity of floating smoked butts in water as to hold the stench, and mindless radio noise confirm certain facts. Often told eventually, I would run out, not being able to sustain such consumption. The fact in spending abnormal time on the toilet crossed minds. If they demanded me I was usually there, however not always in a sobriety state of their understanding, but then I wasnt tested with their venues of coherent thought either, till vanning.























Caravanning


Not entirely loss of sight, simply misplaced. Reversed virginity could be cruel. Yet that can be given and taken, but where can virginity be misplaced? If taken would it be vengeful when it reappeared?


Locals said while he recovered, it was in the air that he would see, not as before so well of course, but a fading from out towards the centre. Vision would always dampen, blurred slowly encapsulating his known world. He would be entirely bind within six to eight years, peripheral at first, ending with a tiny window in the middle, then nothing. Medication would help, but not prevent the sand twisting, burning deeper near imploding the eyes till the steaming brain dwindled. Prevalent winds took sanity, a prime commodity held while lead around for months with a stick and voices as guides. Mental balance jeopardized, eventually compromised. He became aware in this recess, of recovery. Slight crack opening just above the left eye, and knew his mind began leaking. He would lose dreams as it widened. Ability to reason, and lust for her would pool-up a foot deep on the surface of the camp floor where hed pass-out whenever possible.


He wasnt sure whats in the air. No sedation possible except native brewed booze freely at hand through envisioning local interpretations creating forgotten times with its excessive consumption. During frequent near spin-out episodes of being certain he was some hybrid reborn, he could understand two simply facts; locals knew, others not. So when the locals tied him to a pole and striped him naked while in one of these bastard states, he didnt refuse. He was simply at a wanted end. Locals needed peace, and hygiene as his cloths became a toilet frequently giving him infections, spilling pus and stench.


His proficiency in their language gave an understanding that if he argued, he would be taken to the trails and left. Autumn was near and nights grew cold. He would fumble around lasting a day or so till the wolves ate him alive as wolves take pride if youre out there in that condition. Nature rules acutely.


Being rather clever simply move among the camps taking whats needed so night becomes adventurously hideous. Trails are another entity breeding differently. Caravans up to ten men have been taken down. One form of protection is setting yourself on fire, grasping anything which come near, or running alight in any direction, preferably not towards the pack animals. This has on limited occasions only startled wolves, and more often simply delayed their meal. Burning oneself might be the better option of the two. It's curtain those lighted their fires died from burns, which the wolves ate anyway. It's chaos at best, and when faced with these elements the brain parachutes.


Naked he slowly withered on his ass into the mud which crept up the crack of his ass, slightly annoyed at the way it surrounded then engulfed his testicles. Real fear though came when he could not feel his dick thinking what had happened with it. He smelt something burning. Close to his face he felt a warmth prescience, then the smoke took him.


Smoke's in the wind,claw marks from ravenous memories. He simple inhaled finding again counting droplets of rain hanging from a chess board forgotten by its players, simply wasnt enough to control the churning his stomach made when he thought of biting her ass and how it tasted. Their first sex together was in question. Rumbling under sheets he asked her what she wanted. A fuckingreat orgasm,she rattled out, her long drifting hair consumed their space bonded them sticking every place sweat was. So the question he thought what have I got here?was never answered. With her, he learned to turn everything off. Her enigma caught him, buried deeper then hed have thought, and bored out his head in the end.


His time was up. Regarded extinct being from the Old World he possessed that gift of giving, which had its price. Seen as a frustrated, simple-minded fool who gave nearly everything away, therefore easily, and readily abused. Regarded 'them' as just awaking one day only to be wandering around, and not getting the picture, being paramount of course for most, left him aloft and shy. Making eye contact was peculiar, and is scraggly attitude put others off calling him the Snorting Pig. Lifes cagey atmosphere not being his dress he took to the trails, now tied to a pole, naked those drops started to swell under their board. They gorged and bloated even as the rain slowed. He thought hows it possible they didnt tip the board over? What if they, were going to consume one another, becoming a single authority? Not possible theyre just drops of rain with some freakish trick played such as, falling. Why dont these mutants drop? And who left the board out? Havent they any idea what rain achieves?


Delirium explains truths abandonment, no twisted tales, simply ones ability to exaggerate. Dust gathers greater in corners not used, and the mind functions best when not used while thinking much. Theres the gut feeling teamed against logic that practical stuff, and hope waits like a dog wanting a walk. If something gets you where you cant go on your own, do you use or abuse it for it was simple when it was simple? Sex for example. Whether abundant, or lacking its instinct leaned toward one direction; consumption. You spend time having, hunting, starving, rejecting it, still, the result is the same. Inhalation of burnt foraged material will change the norm. Now with his head covered smoke flowed freely through his lungs. The bag they used was course leading toward a tonnage weight on his neck. At times he felt a cool sip of air when the bag opened only to allow in more smoke. His consumption of having sex, and the hunger began.















Fish with Coca


She bit hard on his inner thigh. Jesuswas his only word before she cut him off. Dont be childish. I see you with horses they bite too and you dont whine. She started sucking the bite mark. Her tongue flicked increasing the sensation. Yea but horses and dogs like or dislike their humans. She stopped, looked at him, So take me like as dog, and slid over his body, breasts caressing his lips till he reach and grabbed her ass. She pushed down hard on his waist with hers feeling his arousal increase, she buried her lips on his open mouth. Her motion grew slow, she was wet from the bite and he felt that warmth. Her sliding fingers between the heat and cloths searched till she bite his tongue.


Her gift for spicy cooking hung in his mouth, then sank as he breathed her in. Cinnamon and garlic. Meat and something weird he had no idea flowed through their mouths. She mixed chocolate with just about everything and admitted its strong addiction. 'Coca and fish make you horny, she quoted with meals. In those odours, he simply dropped off, willingly taken by her scent. She, rubbed her hair with onions. Letting regularly grievous amounts of gas, she didnt take notice of those quivering when she entered their space. Foul and exotic a true free sprite claiming nothing. She took and gave accordingly to her own agenda. Most men feared her ideas, realizing shed forgotten more they'd ever know.


Unlocking from his mouth, in a single bizarre movement, she pivoted on top of his hard erection, then lifted and pointing her ass at his face and said, Bite me. Her heat inches from his face branded him. The fact that what she ate emanated from her crotch wasnt an issue. Her smell brought his senses telling his mind, 'eat this and be blessed'. He was starved, and feeling if he couldnt eat her he'll go blind, and inducted with remorse into that club of should I or, not?rivaling groups of what if?and is it possible?. So he ate.


Brown leaves fall when they are dead, or near so. Both their skin were near that deep brown. The contrast of her smooth, pearl-cream ass held open by his hands was death in passing moments, waiting their own circular revival. Colours simulated him, greater the difference the better. Years on the trails showed him wonders, she illustrated for him how to experience in touch what he saw. In feeling his hands move across her she slipped off that last thread of self-awareness, slowly sucking it in her warm, wet mouth. Lazily, she licked, moving her tongue over his hardness, raising and lowering while his hips twisting with their mouth dance. She pressed harder on to his burning, feeling her juice covering him, her orgasm nearing its start. Her hands massaged him, squeezing till she heard his paining moans, tickled his hard head with chocolate flavoured licks making him shake. Hands slid over him, stroked milking that cream shyly hidden.


Most thorns prick. His face, covered with her increased flowing liquor, didnt matter it hadnt chanced by a razor in days, it simply intensified the affect of licking her ass. Not driven by only what she was sucking on, also by what she tasted ambushed his belief, only crap comes from here, and no pleasure. Simply moving his tongue along her directional line gave reason to understand why chocolate was manufactured not simply for dessert. He kissed her crack, pulling her soaked pants bitten between teeth, then letting them snap back enjoying her throated groans. The trails took and gave. Dexterity and sensitivity in his hands diminished through the years leaving claws to handle the work vanning required. Having sex in the dark left some women asking men to remove those 'gloves' before going further, but she was different. She felt those hands and knew they were gifts as most men dont carry such tools, drawing one caressing her ass, on to her breast. It summed up at times, feelings are about the moments you come into.


The hand is what it is. To help. In his way he massaged her, gently. Held her breast firm and rubbing her swollen nipples giving her deeper thrusts from his lips, and horrifying pleasures he hadnt really understood till later. Her panties having enough were torn off. He licked her from the top of her crack down slowly, perishing under the weight the circumstances carried. Her ass raised, lowered, grinding as he kissed, bite, squeezed. Fingering her wetness moving in and out feeling her contract thinking, ' hell why use the finger?


It is that solitary fact you think of, but seldom experience for the fear of it. Absolutely alone. You can deal with your build, but not how youre built. Some elements simply arent possible to adapt in any recognizable or wished state. You can sit alone and figure out so much better than you ever could surrounded by others. Address issues dear or hellish. However if you are not careful youll end up on a different scale all together, that of insanity. If watching the cats play does it for you, excellent. If sex is chosen simply as a random commodity used for a tool to further onesinterests, then what? After all, sex for some is simply just that. Scientific or emotional sex is a couple of circumstances. Whether its the high flying stuff or done in secret shadows, it aims to enhance understanding why things work the way they do. Screw the neighbour, no problem. Hamsters go at it, sure why not. Partners exchange it with others not their own, naturally. Its like this weird image of whos who, what they got, and those from another planet just tuned in. Come for dinner, enjoy the show. Then it shifts.


There is a combination of those ruled by brains or hearts, and both. The balance could be a trick of sorts. An invocation of insight perhaps able to control recognition, and of recall. I love you, but I dont need you. When mastering one element we might miss out on others. Hurry up, then wait for nothing to happen. What is essential for home, school, and office, complete, authoritative and accurate? Honesty perhaps or illusion? What these two bring. And think if theyre in the same quarter? Is that enough? How should we improve upon the two? Make them confidant, their genre attached? Access to all?


Features become bungled, easily misread as communication falters. Hows its avoided between two naked lovers? When theyre apart? What form of communication brings souls closer? Before speech we conveyed through senses. Instinct. When did the drive for logical processing begin? At what point had one taken over another? How must we balance the two? Let them grow? Why must we communicate so intently? Even when its misinformation, we strive in the concept. Not want being left behind. Is that bad? Being not in the picture, fear takes us where it will, till the change happens. Survival.


Knowing we can go part way on hour own, and the rest with help. Sailors come, and sailors go, but its the men below that make the ship go. Being those vessels how then do we connect with our deck crews? As we etch our way do we find the engineers, and those top-side similar? Even separated by decks the need to converse pulls deep. Sink or swim became never so poignant. If you panic, you may drown. Dog paddle the way out. So he paddled to her.


In her dyeing her look grabbed hold yet clear sort of distant eyes instruct those watching them to find what they wanted. She sexed countless times with partners her own sex and opposite, wondered at its intensity, consumed by its simplicity. Her address towards life being no different. Ill mangle it cus its mineand slap fellow garlic lovers on the back before sticking her finger up their ass, should they inquire her lifestyles. It wasnt enough to drink like a fish, she was a medical doctor sent on the trails to a remote mining camp collecting samples perhaps showing toxicities. Monitoring alcohol poisonings wasnt required. It was redundant. Seeing products used in processing minerals had similar effects to that of booze, she inclined in believing both were partaken in. Understanding the conditions, she was compassionate towards those working the mines, and those caravanning stores, especially remote facilities. Where she headed wasn't clear. Signing the contact was a formality she looked little after. Mine owners requested her as word reached a particular mine running too high production costs, 380 miles away.


Male doctors wouldnt go there. Female ones never left the neighbouring cities and were rare to find at all. The owners never thought of asking woman medical professionals for such a task, the vanners themselves required heavy payment trekking there. Believing a women doctor was en-rout is the same as understanding the mechanics of how a monkey with a wooden leg kicks seeds out a pickle.


She was amputating a crushed hand in-field when hearing above the screeching, a voice brought for her work by one of the man kneeling on the screecher, Diz dont pay vhat yud make in da var wurks. She had to cut above the wrist being too far beyond repair. The sawing started just at the joint. It would have been a quick cut and what of the hand remaining, would fall away onto the dry desert floor. However, it was the task of holding him still and long enough, while using no anaesthesia to get it done taking five men to hold him, though little could be done as he simply was losing too much blood. His screams intensified regardless of this, and though she had secured the artery his pale skin suggested a winding down of the soul. They all stayed with him until he died thirty minutes later. She then turned asking what far works these might be, and noticed the man informing her wet himself brought on either from viewing her efforts, or simply the inability of constriction.


Mine owners in her eyes were lying thieves selling others for the profit. She could not tolerate deceitful actions toward others for a profit. Not far off the mark were others to gain whatever they needed or wanted through bullying and trickery. Christ, when occurrences of this nature happened she spat blood. Red hair with red foam dripping down the sides of her throat normally wasnt seen in humans. The bastard shit-licker has to have his balls skinned, and made to eat, she stated hearing a theft occurred in the camp and the mine owner did nothing in remedying the situation. She signed the contract on one condition, the findings of her examinations are made public. The owners agreed. Sent by the owners, the miner informing her of this opportunity would receive cash, or whore services for one hour. So in making the pitch his reward instead was point blank to the head, and left for the wolves.


She knew her orgasm would be strong, not with a man for several weeks made her mean. He was doing a fine job, but needing more she started rotating, rubbing and pushing hard as she felt his face in her while licking her wetness. She swelled. Tongue twisting, teasing, lapping deep into her. His hand squeezed tighter, massaging her hard nipple, then moved toward its twin. She felt his finger still gently moving in her thought it deepened its reach. He was a good boy she knew, one that could be trained well. He felt her wet tongue slip along, licking down. Her hands always caressing him, moving along to its head then down again. He loved her moans and panting, switching from on to another. Her forced-self on him was a delight as simply he laid, pillow slightly under his head she snuggled her crack between his lips and mouth. She jerked with spasms of multitudinous design. He had enough with fingers, her dripping heat, scent strong, lush, waved through and twisted them. He pushed her off. Letting go of him was worst now as he wanted his hardness deep in her. He slid out from under her spread legs and grabbing whiten hips he slipped into that soaked, dreamingly smooth wet hole shed teased him. Her head arched back releasing a series of cries which lit the animal flame buried deep in both men and the women. She was firmly tight, her muscles sealed around him as he pushed deeper into her. His orgasm jolted. She squeezed his balls tightly. It suddenly stifled his desire, she sensed his near ejaculation, held them firmly till his rhythm subsided. He knew what she wanted, slow and deep. Take the time.


The scent of trail sex and beastly moans lured several dogs which accompany the caravan. They drew-in aroma thrown about, their instinct in turn arousing canine ambitions providing animal sex runs parallel. He drove harder in her she balanced on one hand, the other clinching his ass and pulled as he pushed, brain heating as the orgasm neared. He didnt want this. Enjoying their rhythm blinded, a loss of sight gratifyingly surrendered. How she loved a mans penis deep in her till she thought it would tear her. She felt them as they spanked and bite in their games, how they lusted after her only to realize she could take three men at once, out-screw them all till they exhausted their shriveled dicks, and crawled away in shame. She took pride in having sex only when sober, but most men needed a drink being with her.


He was different. He drank some, choose his partners carefully. He was a sought after person among women as he knew how to be with them. He was clever in letting them believe they were in charge, then sharply pulled the reins. We wasnt cruel, but black humour was a trait which bore many offerings he took pleasure prospering from. His free sprite was his down fall though, carried in a youthful heart.


Those malformed droplets gathered. They couldnt resist clinging together, their weight tilting the table ground ward. Gravity he thought, being a dark glue keeping things just so. It pulled and held all except these chess pieces slipping over the tables edge and drifted, clinking together in the liquid womb that grew to the size of a wild boar. Why this particular creature he thought a reference mark wasnt clear. It simply skipped into his brain, and stood next to the massing water which nearly touched the ground. He was mad that is certain. Boar, water, chess. He was loosing himself and wanting, needing that eclipse of an inner-part with vision and purpose. Thoughts dangling around him showing increased exposure in their rotting roots. Those elements dragged along slumbering, weighted with classic concepts of a better tomorrow. Dont think too much dear,she said just before the explosion. They can work me too an early grave, but they cant touch the mind he thought smiling as the blast shredded them both away.


The boar eyed him. Its yellow-red tusks, one turned upwards the other down, noting a place where barbarism the norm. He though why is there an eye which looks left, while its twin rotates in the socket? Clear white then the pupil appeared, not a circular motion, but rather random, spinning a chaotic whirling dance. And who played the piano this eye danced too? The notes where all wrong. Wheres the sense of tone here? Whos responsible for this error in nature? And why, he thought, was it so damn important to be the loudest at family gatherings? Why had in their attempt taking each other, strive towards achieving nerve damage? It worsened when booze was added. Christ, then the circus folk came out, slapping each others with great welcomes, then giving the sabre to it. Madness was the prerequisite for attendance, that and blind faith trusting the hereafter for this must be karma. Tight and personal. His girlfriend attended such events, but first they laced their tobacco with hash, which helped the promised meltdown. Cigarette in one, glass in the other. A kinship of purchasing substance, enjoying it, and being illiterate its killing effect until announced years later. Had he known dabbling in such activates where currently reported to cause impotency, he would have written too those sources stating the widened sexual appetite such a drug induced, was one the authors of said reports should partake in themselves. But he didnt. He read it years later while having a crap during some camel milking session, was used to wipe himself accordingly with humorous, nostalgic tastes of greatness during the throes of passion. Without the piano.


A distant mosquito drone on the hunt becomes noise with intent of causing nail biting, and fouled pants. Waking in lock-up after unanswerable drunken fights is a pleasing welcome to that of which was coming from the boarsthroat. This loathsome uttering in a monotonous tone grew as the boarseye banged out the beat on its broken keyboard. He lost it when this swine curling-mouth smiled at him. His mother not meeting his father was a wish right then as he had only the slightest understanding of its impact and true meaning while in eight grade he snapped the bra as a dare from lunatic best-buddies of the star-pigskin-hurrah-boy-sweetheart. Caught, hustled to the basement, pronounced incapacitated by the school nurse when found an hour later, his father-mother relationship seemed cursed. Anything spiritual, anything remote in guidance was of high demand. If there is something greater let it strike. So the keyboard answered a gesture of sweet compliance moving an octave higher. How being with family, that abode of righteous souls during one of their feasts at that moment, so surpassing beauty.


In that smile the tusks thickened showing the boarsintent was not one of joy but rather sly wisdom in knowing, it had what it needed. Its throat bulged, swelling as a toad croaks suddenly vomit retched out in vile yellow pus spraying him. Before his eyes could close in self-defense, the damage held complete. The searing burns shot any consciousness still intact away to places a conscious goes for preservation. Licking its wounds the mind gave in. That alter element took hold of what remains in a soul whose shell carrying it sat naked in mud creeping up its ass, tied to a pole.











Absolutely Consuming


Laying restless waiting for the drug dropped an hour before to take hold, being his first experience hed really any idea what to accept. The doctors said you might feel dizzy, and sleepy. In a group with others they too volunteered for a case study program on its effects, reported the first of its kind thinking this would be an opportunity to make some money while having a nap. The doctors instructed the effects might last for up to an hour but not longer, with a reasonable amount of cash given after the experiment for their efforts the volunteers simply laid in rows of bunk bed and waited. Soft chatter between volunteers as doctors slowly walked along the rows of beds, scratching away on clip boards thoroughly you from a polite distance. Some had cameras recording the event, and some werent doctors at all who just stood in one place, in fact since he laid on his bed they, hadnt moved at all. He thought maybe they had taken the drug too and just were asleep as they had no eyes so you couldnt tell if they were or not. He was raising on his side for a better look wondering about these eyeless, pale-featured figureheads when the whispering started on the bed next to his. In looking at the whisperer he found his eyes tracing over ten foot distant between the figurehead toward a female whisperer wearing only a tattoo artfully engraved on her left breast of a cactus leaning toward the sun.


The ten feet travelled caught up to him a moment later while staring at the tattoo. The distance lagged like an expanded accordion, hearing in an echoing whiplash those begin their screaming, the black and white tiled floor breathing, raising and falling gently at first, suddenly large areas opened showing great teeth. If the floor was yelling, he wasnt really sure. It stretched and fell to the crazed distant drum beat caused by his fellow drug candidates hammering their heads against walls, metal bed frames, even clipboards yanked from observers hands. The substance was taking hold.


Engrossed in that sun tattoo on her decadent form, his mind heard a twisted and humping different beat of the doctors footfalls, to that of squeaky mattresses being assaulted by crazed beasts snarling and choking one another in heighten sexual acts. It meant nothing to him at all these same squealers, now gaining their vocal high-pitched whining caricatures, were voices coming from the figureheads, for my God was that sun absolutely consuming! His thinking went even further telling him, go ahead touch it, holy mother so sweet that will be!. He was about to when the floor inhaled pulling down and bending, he and his bed into a lethargic grin. Black and white tiles waved, sliding along the bed cradled in its grin, a rocking motion where on its ends the bed came above the floors level, then swung sinking below and up again to the other end. A fatigued, smiling see-saw adrift, its sole inhabitant on this maiden quest, partially conscious, he was on a mattresses delivered by a genie who left hope on the shore.

His arm reached for her. Needing that touch the brain forced his movements he, thought prior to that afternoon not simply possible, now certainly bizarre. In wanting her cactus seeing not just his arm moving towards her but its wraithian shadow extending, entwining, elongated fingers, with blacken red encrusted nails, clicking together, summoning forth a sound he hadnt heard in years, that of when out late on a scout night hunting desert snipes while blindfolded, senior leaders told him to best call the creature you must sit motionless, and rub your fingernails together. As fast as possible. Jesus, what was he thinking? This would actually work? For a snipe? They all had their laugh in the end as he finally pulled himself off the cold sand hed sat in for over an hour. Disillusioned from the event, not noticing the dripping blood from his fingers would feed micro-organisms upon the earth, he walked back to the camp fire, thinking it is people such as this taking the first volley in trench warfare. Cannon fodder.

His ship rolled on. The sun grew near, and animals hungered for the lowest on their food chain. Figurehead cameras humped away, burning figures into their reeling minds, his own lost in a symphony composed by some retched form within himself which neither snipes nor orgasm could get a hold on. A better understanding mattered now of how far the mind can go before shimmering out. He was almost there, bound to the fact youre caked in cold mud brings with it its own consciousness. A type showing phenomenons left alone, unwanted, damaged, but valuable. And in sitting nearer to mental collapse then one ever wishes too, he thought tied to a pole, freezing isnt a bad way to move on. That the pus-spewing boar had good intentions, and those leaving the chess board out, might have simply forgot, and leaning cactuses would be watched more closely.





Wood Returns


Driving unguardedly back and nearly he tore off the aluminum garage door, remembering was proper when installed years before. Limp and pulled down to the left in the rear-view-mirror appeared a dying, male genitalia now possessed it. This came to thought seeing his naked skeleton caught in the mirror yesterday. Smoking every day, yesterday was not just a grand day, it was sublime. Yesterday hadnt met today at all yet, so what happened today had no reflection upon it. What happened today took a huge step into that nonsense known as better times. He, thought if luck would have it should the car roll forward this stumpy door would fall to the ground. After all what appeared to be holding it upright was the car and whatever stopped it from cracking off in the garage, only he couldnt remember what was in the garage that kept this from happening, except the look of the door illustrated clearly, it wasnt something small.


Trying desperately in that odd meaning of the word, seeing through eyes burnt with pot, and damage from years before, gazed at that garage world he had lost. He gave up, letting the brake off and watched the pick topple into the back window blowing out the glass on to him. How is it possible the magnitude of crap could happen in such a short time? And how could glass break like that? Was the glass-guy responsible for its construct having a crying moment screaming Holy shit my life is so fucked, shes sucking that mother shit slinger bastard's cock!instead of minding his work? A defect in glass and its contact with a limp falling penis? Freak of nature? Physics? Geometry? As the final tinkling of fallen shards faded he knew glass-guy was in fault, that he realized his girl was chugging another guy, that caused such a disastrous effect, that he eventually made the papers by blowing her into small pieces, while the shotgun used was a gift she gave him for his love to kill things, now meaning her as well. No karma here for him to deal with, maybe a fact that glass-guy replacing the window was his neighbour, and did it as a favour because he enjoyed his company and pot. That the three would sit for hours rambling on, with only two knowing which cock was dealt with is a thought he sweep violently aside. His justification for this was direct. She was hot, loved to blow, and was very good, causing more then once a trouble fact in pulling the sheets from his ass. She would tie him and shove banana-scented oiled fingers and toys up him till he passed out. One time he woke with his back roped on a horses back. It was hot. Blisters grew from the sun. So did his erection in retracing the events till its blackness wedged into his brain. She would slip him acid, go for a drive then drop him off in unfamiliar cities with notes attached illustrating mental faculty disorders, and to please not feed.


In removing himself from the car to inspect this situation his dark glasses fell and the light was a snake bite. And, it bite again, but holding on and twisted till his knees hit ground, hands covering the intensity. Neighbours watching knew he was genuflecting toward a Greater Good and should do so every minute of his worthless life, for he was king of sinners and the Greater Good has burned his eyes with flaming whips and now will walk the earth in shameful great misery, all knowing his deed shall never be undone. His neighbours thought of him as such simplifying their lives knowing there is a chronic farting heathen in their flock which must, in redeeming manners, be cleansed. They placed it upon themselves to sever this demon and get him off their plane and into something more suitable for here is a clear case of I'm more then blind, doing drugs legally because it helps kill whats left of me quietlyand they wouldt tolerate such an asinine. In his praying for death act, and theirs for everlasting wanton flaying of his ass, his car simply rolled forward as the brake not being set, jumped the curb spearing his prick neighbours vintage car he thought the God of, seeing it was a Ford Cortina.


Authorities arrived pronouncing the near-blind a drunk, shameful entity, coward, womanizing bastard with shriveled genitals due to chronic masturbation and abusive usage in a wide variety of illegal, and possibly legal substances, and emancipated attire attributed to not eating meat. In this area animals are devoured at every meal. Thrills of finding a way to remove his memory from the annual neighbourhood barbecues was a high point for him. Entire streets are blocked off several days before the festivities constituting further the sense this was a golden sign from something far Greater than themselves, and should not be taken lightly. After all, bovines are made to be eaten. And justly so for great books written upon the subject and the need to uphold the standings of such literature was a prerequisite in meeting the Great Onesthemselves. Hearing this his thoughts turned to escape. In that moment, seeing their intent, he wondered were the Great Onesanyone he knew or heard about? Dead senators or emperors? Inventors, musicians? The patent owner for condoms?

His brain nearing its end, could only think as they questioned him, 'Why hadnt I used a stronger door?' As their voices faded in his falling forward, yet a fraction before his face bounced on the street he noticed a large wooden crate in the garage which caused this entire senseless commercial re-run he always had when he took too much, for in it was after all, the cause of his consumption. Then the road took his face for a holiday.


He slipped into his chair, reaching under, pulled out his stash and light-up. Hearing the taxis drown as it moved perhaps back to the hospital faring another victim, he drew hard and started dreaming but before that last small circle of vision floated away as he always slept with his eyes open slightly, a bonus at dull parties, to some extent a bizarre gift one obtains with eyes blasted from sand and various quantities of sulphur, copper and whatever else being mined, he slipped towards vanning. Smoking reduced the continuous pain his head gave him, and did the same with the newly broken nose, severely bruised right side of his face, and ego. Nothing better than having a smoke and drifting off he thought. And in going he often went to where he felt at least somewhat at ease, Central Asia.


He awoke and it was dark. Or maybe he was totally blind because what medical experts say isnt necessarily correct. They are after all gods in their own reckoning. And these gods said hed lose all sight within ten years after the explosion. It was now nearly twenty, maybe nineteen or twenty-eight as he wasnt really that sure, it was coming and thats it. What the hellitis he had no idea. Dark matter with an edge? Insight with after all a vengeful sort of a humoristic, psychotic attitude towards Oh please I just so much want to get off for personal pleasure.


The clock turned nine, or twelve. It would be evening he thought. Feeling his lower face wet he found the matches and light shown when struck. Touching his wet lips and chin he thought of an old friend lost years ago. His best friend, for dogs and horses dont lie. Either they like you or go for the groin. Some hump but most bite, in those thoughts the droll rubbed away held that same force which slaps ones attention out and down the road too a wise and greater place. The gut. He studied his friend often. It illustrated how honest animals are and how intuitive, resourceful, instinctive we are not. The fact his friend was shot dead always called upon him to think not so much about humanity, rather if a dog could shoot, would it? Spending years on horse back winding through geography most wished never to go, the brain may evaporate leaving nothing but the form carrying it. The soul departed long before any of this relinquishing its property. Qualms werent an issue. Accordingly, nature took back at conception.


The thought lasted too long and his fingers burned. He struck another, aimed at the candle and with a better glow he stood. Wanting heat from the fireplace, but in that up-right motion his head simply gave out. A scream of its own accord ripped through the house, a side of the world dark anyway, not his own, followed through whimpering sigh. From sit to stand, that ever so short elevation caused his blackout lasting well until the sun held high again, two days later.


The cold eventually reached in burning his lungs. It created a weird reaction causing an already weaken bladder to release, furthering the chill waking him. Wondering how shivering made him piss distracted a momentary thought of why the carpet tasted like salt. He gave up, went back to the salinity question, then further back, remembering he tried to get to the toilet after the first blackout, couldnt and pissed on all fours then curled up and dropped off again. He must be face down, lips on his piss. From the first pissing. Then he heard the mail dropped through the door. Not possible. Returning from the hospital Saturday afternoon, it must be Sunday. In fact, it was Monday. The brain wasnt working well, instinct branded into old, wiry muscles, pulling him up towards his first intention off getting the fire on. Many times on a dark trail near freezing, he built fires using numb fingers. Here should be little contest, yet it took several moments before his face felt the warmth and smells of heated wood. He did this with eyes closed, as light had its harmful intentions. He found as long as they stayed closed there was relief. Of a sort at least.


He consumed fire. Both lovers. Always there. It was his master, yet he, the creator. With scant resources and arduous conditions on mountain paths he always managed to get the fire lit and keep it. Pack animals loved him. Hed tethered them closely and call out 'the words' in a praying manner. Humans, seldom travelled with him, thanking whom ever they needed not being there. Those accompanying him, upon their return spoke that if it wasnt for his inability to feel the weather, they would have frozen. Human and beast in those times, knew of divine intervention. When thanked he only gazed into the fire, with slightly closed eyes. Most agreed there was little refection of fire in those eyes. Mostly darkness.


The wet crotch burned, walking very slowly with closed eyes toward the front door movements in any style produced painful waves flowing through a worn out form. Reaching for the post he found several letters one in particular larger than the others. He knew what it was as he received several other over the past month. Returning to the fire he placed this letter among the still unopened others. Anything outside the normal letter size deducted a whatever. It was a meaning he used when he didnt care, and when he thought answering a question or remarking to a comment, needed only one word that composed of several thousands.


In sitting he forgot to change the wet cloths, but it wasnt that which caught me. Fumbling through, he grew more interested in the amount of letters. In a day he might have two or three. Here lay more than twenty. Resting in the chair wondering the 'whys and ifsthere came the taping from the front door. Then a pause. More taping, and with greater intention. It stopped. The key turned. The door opened. A click of the light switch. The door closed. Foot steps. A voice. Smelling its odor. It came closure.


A lawyer was neither new nor old. The occupation had existed for some time, the amount of money made on cases differed, people needed them, being aggressive, ruthless, knew no free, always on the move, hunting, summed who started eating his brain after lifting a fraction of his eyelids seeing the shark before him. He knew it was watching him. It moved towards him and to the right, put something on the floor, and waited.



Continue reading this ebook at Smashwords.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-35 show above.)