It was a cyanide high.
Fucking her diseased mouth like that. Squeezing her deformed head with my sore thighs, I let her grunt and pollute my sensitive skin with the ulcers and boils in her mouth. Nothing but twisted imagery rose in my head during the act.
My heart had found its dismembered home.
She clawed my lower back when I gushed into her cavity. Fingernails biting into my bones as she gulped me down. My eyes rolled back into my head like a dead mans, my breath, beastly and liberated, exhaled climactic.
Together, we shivered like stranded leaves in the cold before a storm. Her body flopped a little, like last minute spasms of a drowned victim. I rolled over, she turned towards me, her snake like skin dry and excited. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hands now bloodied at the nails. My lower back smarted, and I knew she dug as deep as she could, just like she promised.
Her cracked lips broke into a smile at my silence as I sat there naked, dazed, opiate like. I could smell the burning hay of her hair as she lay her head on my scarred chest. Blood slowly crept from my nose; a normal phenomena after such acts of dire desire.
The trucks moving outside the boarded up bookstore signaled morning. Soon, the men in suits would come banging again, calling for our removal.
After much silence, she spoke in her ruptured voice, "have you thought about where the books will go?"
I shook my head, smoking black flowers from a china pipe.
"what about the eastern canal?"
"can't. count vapid is storing his caskets there…"
I could see some kind of sweat glistering on her snake skin but knew she didn't perspire. She was still horny and exuding pheromones. She wanted to rape me.
"get dressed." I told her suddenly. She crawled backwards, away from me and my tone.
"did I make master angry?" she was afraid.
"no. no. I'm sorry. I'm just expecting a visitor." I checked my watch. Ten minutes to arrival.
She was watching me, intently with her half serpent face. "who's coming?"
"one of the counts." Was more than I should've said. The counts were a blasphemy to her.
She wanted to bite me then. Wanted to kill me out of terror.
I tried to reason with her, she couldn't stop hissing.
She tried to strike me a few times. She shrieked into my discolored eyes.
She was almost getting out of hand with her venom when the count arrived and killed her.
Flesh falling apart from her face.
The trucks moving outside the boarded up bookstore were gone. It signaled night. The count had come, hours had disappeared. I am left with a body to bury.
"The birds will take care of it." The count said, putting on his gloves.
I cannot remember how he had killed her. Now he was just there, in his top hat and thin tux. His Salvador dali moustache and aged eyes. His young immortal face, his neon tongue. And she was on the floor, faceless, bloodless.
"Father needs us." He said to me, tipping his hat. "Make chaste must hurry down the light of zebra in the night sky. Do you remember the vowels?"
"I. H.I.I.R" I told him, almost an automated response.
"Good. We pack. Zebra eats."
I was to learn later that the satellite ship I was on is codenamed ZEBRA IN THE NIGHT SKY, and that it was the origins ship. The one that seeded the first proets, and here before me was the first count, from so long a surrealism ago/and I am with him, and we are returning to what once was the source but now merely an infant sun along its way to godhood.