O (Part 6 of 10)

Do you ever wonder where all these zombies came from? 

Her leg wraps around like an anaconda with the crook of her knee pressed against his neck.  She reaches out and rests one hand on the tip of her foot.  “Quien maneja aqui?” she asks and when he is unable to respond save for brief sounds of struggling she pulls on her foot and applies even more pressure to his neck.  She asks again, her voice more aggressive but she loosens her grips just a bit, “Quien maneja aqui?” “You” Tightening her grips, “Como? Quien maneja aqui?!” It is nearly impossible to speak, “Tu…usted.” “Asi es”.  Oh sweet fishnets.  Oh hosiery.  Oh you.  Nothing compares.  “Trainquilo.” 

It is trauma.  It is blood and the exchanging of fluids.  It is bodies bending and contorting and heavy breathing and steamy breath against sweaty skin.  A tongue licks a tooth or a cheek and moans rise from the bottom of the throat and escapes to the free air.  At yet here is such beauty, such pure experience.  You stick a taser against my skin and turn it on, first against my chest, then my neck, then my thighs.  When this current is surging through my body, my muscles tightening, tendons bulging, you tell me it is okay, everything is okay, “Todo esta bien mijo”.  Someone is shaking. 

And there is dancing under the mistletoe and crying and the sweet and utter dissolve of personality.  I want you to kill me in that moment.  I want you to kiss me and then obliterate me so there is nothing left.  I have no castle to offer.  We wander through this strange and horrific world and my shadow self is lurking behind every corner.  There is only one pure thing left. 

There is lace, cotton, silk and nylon.  Some of it in his mouth, some on her body, some forming a shroud wrapped around his face.  And perfumed souls.  There is rich suffocation after countless hours spent in the daily horror of life.  The parting of the leather opens the doors to the aromatic splendors mixed to perfection by the boldness of time and the glorious heaven sent moisture of the body.  This perfume of the gods – from skin to fabric to skin again – invades the senses and for a moment is the only thing in existence.  And the sweet pressure, gentle one moment and fierce in the next, everything in service to glorious subjugation.  Begging and pleading and choking and the room spinning faster and faster.  More and more layers are peeled and applied.  The denier is perfect as always.  The seam is traversed across the 7 different points of splendor, culminating in divine beautiful ecstasy.  Rivers of milk leading to an ocean of thunder. 

You are a slave.  A servant not fit to look at me or lick the dirt off my heel but that is what you shall do first.  Worship me.  I am your master and you are my pet.  Do exactly as I say and I will allow you to live.  On your knees.  You don’t look me in the eyes unless I give you permission.  You do not speak unless I give you permission. These are new shoes.  Do you like them?   

Please say his name, as the electricity courses through him.  Tell him how much you care while his bones are breaking.

I’m stumbling through the halls in a place I don’t recognize.  I scream and slam myself against the walls.  The lights are either blinding or I am in complete darkness.  I’m going into convulsions.  Tremors erupt through my entire body.  Muscles clench and unclench without any external instigators this times and my back arches.  My mind is spinning at an uncontrollable rate and I see flowers and people without skin dripping blood and stars crashing down into our planet and I see a pale face with smiling pink lips. 

Then I am standing, there is sun outside.  I try to speak, my mouth is warped and rusty metal and my tongue is dust.  I am learning to form words again.  I vomit on the bed and on the floors.  Water is almost impossible to keep down.  There are things coming to get me. Demons. 

“How…how…how long have I…been here?” I ask. 

Just a few days I think to myself, it has to be just a few days.  But I touch my face and there is a beard there, something is stuck to parts of it, probably vomit.  And the stench.  The place reeks like shit and spoiled food left out on the counter tops.  I remember.  I remember throwing up over and over into the garbage can by the bed.  I think sometimes I was not able to make it that far.  I threw up several times on the floor, at least once on the bed itself.  It’s on my shirt. 

Sam showed me the way but they were unable to prevent this from happening.  I had a grim thought of the palms of my hands splitting open to reveal fully formed eyeballs, teary and venous and endlessly searching. 

“Three weeks,” the cleaning woman says. 

I close my eyes and see you there.  I drive by old familiar places and my brain can almost recall the moments we shared.  There are so many nights spent alone with only my thoughts around.  He would kill for a bottle of her perfume.  And what might he do for that dress she wore, especially after she walked through the day in the summer heat?  There are violets in your eyes.  A field of violets at sunset.  And just beyond the field is the tower.  I am terrified to go inside. 

There are so many unanswered questions. It hurts knowing they shall remain unanswered for the rest of my life.  It is likely your spirit will have departed and I shall still be wondering.  I looked through a thousand different photographs to find you again.  For what it’s worth I know you are out there somewhere.  You’re the great mistake I never made.  I am filled with sorrow over this.  I like to look into the past at something that hasn’t happened yet.  Thank you for teaching me this.  I am forever grateful. 

What do you look like with your hair down? 

I miss you dreadfully.