Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I (7 page)

He had to
focus though, for he couldn't make mistakes. It was, quite
literally, a matter of life and death. On came the scrubs, he
wondered why they were backless, and what possible advantage it
could give to hospitals. He didn't know, but then he supposed it
was not his place to. There were many things about hospitals which
he didn't understand. He snapped the latex gloves on his wrists,
making sure they were tight, he relished the latex's sharp
immediate sting. He looked down at the body which lay on his table.
She was a beautiful girl, early 30’s. Blonde lengths of hair
covered her scalp the way a sea of golden grain covers a once
tilled field. He was happy that he had the privilege of working on
her, he'd spent many years honing his practice so that he might be
known as the best, and now he surely would be. He thought about how
much he'd learned getting to this point, and how many he had
helped, and indeed how many he'd hurt. He had to focus, and so
shook the thoughts free from his head. Gently, with one eye on the
pulse monitor, he cut into her. Delicate skin gave way as easily
wet tissue when it met the edge of his well ground metal
instrument. He was careful with his cuts, and precise too. The
blade went only where he wanted it to. The slim steel sliced
through her soft skin with grace. He made sure of it, he didn't
much like the sound of skin being cut, and he didn't much like the
dreadful metal smell of blood, or the glaze it left behind, that
horrible glaze, almost as if the slab of meat in front of him was
no human at all, but instead a black mass' main course. At least he
was nearly done. He neared nausea, sickened by the sight and smell
of her claret-stained body. He had a/c, but on a day as hot as this
it was no more effective than an exhausted frond waving slave.
Salty sweat dripped from his brow straight into her splayed
ribcage. It had been a hard job, but he was done, and so was
she.

He looked
down at the chopped up cadaver and listened to the bleating sine
wave alarm. He smiled. He tried to keep her alive for as long as he
could, he'd tried the same with all of them, but this one hadn't
been that lively to begin with; no screaming, no pleading, nor even
slight begging. Just dead resignation. It didn’t matter, soon she
would be left as all the others had been; soon she would be nothing
more than a collection of black garbage bags on the I95, or, maybe,
just this once, she would be interred. He just hoped the vultures
would stay away. Last time he had nearly been caught when they'd
torn into the bags mere minutes after he dumped them. As he pinned
her picture on the wall, next to the rest, he wondered who #25
would be.

Just then a
fly landed upon her red glazed bosom, enthralled by the unmoving
feast.

He missed it.
Damn, damn, damn. DAMN it all to hell! He would have to wait until
the light turned green again, but he couldn't be bothered. He had
somewhere to go. He had somewhere to be. He wasn't just driving
around aimlessly, he wasn't just another schmoe.

It didn't matter, the light
didn't listen.

“
Tick, tock. Tick, tock,” went his
turn signal. Patiently he sat and waited, wondering when it would
be his turn. He was tired of it, he was too important for this.
He'd already waited at other lights already, this was
unacceptable.

It didn't matter, the light
didn't listen.

“
Tick, tock. Tick, tock,” went his
turn signal. He felt his blood race ever faster through his veins.
He tried to be patient, but this was just too much. What the fuck
was the soccer mom in front of him even fucking
doing
‽
S
he could have gone, what a dumb
cunt!

It didn't matter, the light
didn't listen.

He got
angrier and angrier. Tick tock went the turn signal. Tick tock went
his heart. Suddenly he could not feel it anymore, as the signals
ticked the time away his heart was still. He tried to breathe but
no air came out. He tried to shout but no sound came out. He could
only liberate an anguished moan from deep within. He clutched at
his chest as pain shot through his left arm. Like a crazed gorilla,
he beat there where he thought his heart might be with his fist,
hoping to rouse it from its peaceless slumber.

It didn't
matter, his heart wouldn't listen.

Finally, it
happened for them. They'd been at it for so long and tried so hard.
They had almost given up all hope. Not even the doctors with their
mellifluous but useless news could help. Thankfully they never
stopped. Now they were pregnant. They'd tried for 6 long years.
They'd tried everything, yet nothing had worked. They'd been at it
like rabbits, to no avail. Not even turkey basters or Petri dishes
worked, but this time, it was certain. They had never been happier,
now they would be parents, they would leave a legacy. They would
not die alone, no matter what they'd at least have a child to call
their own. He caressed her noticeable belly and whispered to his
new daughter as she floated still-ly inside.

Warmth upon
her thigh.

What
‽

No!

Please
no...

she

knew,

her eyes
shut. She knew what was happening, but could not bear to realize
it. Her eyes welled up with tears. Her lips contorted into polygons
of agony. He looked at her. “What? Baby, what’s wrong?”. Flourishes
of anxiety weighed upon each worried tone. She kept her eyes, her
ears, and her heart shut. She could neither bear to hear, nor see,
nor feel. She gently grasped his palm and placed it on her warm,
wet inner-thigh. Now he too knew. As the blood trickled down, they
held each other and cried. So much time, so much love, so much
effort. All they had to show for it now was a pool of blood and
bits on their kitchen floor.

The couple
tried until the day they died. Day in and out, they worried and
wondered. All the while they cleaned one mess after the other, yet
never those they prayed to have.

Forgive me"
he cried.

“
No,” she said.

=== ===
===

"Forgive me"
he cried.

“
Go," she said.

=== ===
===

So he did,
quite far and wide. He sought that which would make her forgive if
not forget. He flew, he drove, he sailed, rowed, and sat in various
trains. The whole world over he searched. It was his fault, he had
been her necessary evil. So he would find a needless
fix.

He yearned
for the animal touch of another, for passion, and for lust. He
searched high and low, he searched wherever he could go. He
searched until his legs were tired, his feet calloused, and his
face a swathe of sunburnt skin. He searched until he was an empty
wrinkled sack. Only when his skin truly resembled rough burlap did
he finally find it: a beautiful fossil, unlike any other. Life
frozen in time, cradled in stone by death's cold, unforgiving
embrace.

He'd dug so
much that in those 2 short years that he gained 30 times as many,
or at least looked it. The whole 6 later he seemed an altogether
alien being. He named the unknown stone for her, and with it in
hand (or rather, truck) he went to find her one last
time.

“
H
ere. Tis
named for you; forgive me," he said.

“
Oh!” she cried. “I do forgive you.
Please stay” she sighed.

“
No,” he said. "All I wanted was
forgiveness. I do not love you now like I did not love you then. I
obtained what I sought, now I take my leave.”

She was
wordless, she was breathless. He would just disappear once more.
She'd thought him dead, yet the only death was that which he had
brought with him, that death which made her want to bring them back
to life again. There he stood before her, about to leave again. She
was left with relics only, just a skeleton and memories.

“
Go then,” she begged.

Go he
did.

He twitches
as if he is possessed. He can barely stop moving for his human is
nearly home. He prepares lovingly for her arrival; she comes and
goes the same time each day. What a strange thing...to live your
life like that...as though forced to abide those ticking black and
white tableaux. So artificial, so bizarrely unnatural. Even so, it
matters little, he loves his human. His human values life; she only
eats the insentient ones. Not perhaps to his own tastes, but even
so she surpassed the vile humans who survived off carcasses of
their friends, mutilated and embalmed in Styrofoam, then sold in
disgusting packages. The blood meant to keep them in life instead
stains white plastic foam. The humans even rob them of their names,
objectifying companions to make them easier to eat. No baby cows
but veal, no small sheep but lambs. No death, but steaks, and
chops, and breasts instead. Slabs of muscle ooze on their plates
daily, but not on hers. She loves our friends.

He slinks
across the sunlit room in stealthy shadows. His stomach rumbles, he
can not survive on air, but no trap has sprung yet. The sun's warm
rays glow through the glass and glint off his eyes with diamond
fire. Outside the window, he spies a quick black streak. Oh man,
that looked delicious. What had it been? The dark flash disappeared
just as quickly as it had appeared. He cannot fathom what it might
have been, but deems it tasty still. It shot above the jade-like
grass and out of view. How he wants to sink his fangs into it, to
pierce its flesh, just slightly mind. He doesn't like to kill too
quick, no hunt in that, no chase, no fun. No, he much prefers to
plant a kiss and then watch as their flesh turns black, he likes to
watch as it all goes amiss. That thing outside; it looked juicy and
crunchy sweet. His appetite is well whetted. He shakes his mind
free of extraneous thoughts and then creeps on faster still. He has
to hurry; she's nearly home.

As time
rushes by he becomes more and more excited. He had seen her mercy
bestowed unto many, even some that deserved little. He barely made
a distinction between outlander, threat, and lover, anymore. He
scurries on to his favorite corner. The one in which he hides and
waits for her each day. He loves her dearly of course, he truly
does. Perhaps he is just a stupid animal, but he is her stupid
animal. He had been since birth, and would be till death. One of
his traps springs, its silken the rope tugs at his leg. He rushes
over to it, his beady eyes scan the vicinity. There in the midst of
his fractal silken rete, an invader is trapped. It wriggles trying
to free itself, its wings beat furiously, but the strands stay
strong. Just as he rears up to pounce, the invader breaks free in a
daring escape and buzzes away before it can be eaten. He falls upon
the smooth strands, annoyed. The shock of his slight weight makes
the silk vibrate indignantly. The invader had escaped, but would
not for long, his traps are everywhere. He is hungry, his incisors
mash together in famished anticipation. He missed that one, but he
would dine soon enough. Each time invaders try to infect her home
he eats them, sooner or later he eats them, each and every
one.

He touches
her often, he even walks over her during the dark hours. Once he
even slept in her lap, and another time by her feet. He loves her,
and he knows he will perish first. Even so, he pledged many days
ago to protect and serve her until he stiffens and is dined upon in
turn. To his people he is a captain, to her an annoyance; but he
knows he can protect her.

He watches
the invader taunt him from the middle of the room with
loop-de-loops, barrel rolls, and other aerial taunts, his many eyes
sparkle with hunger. He lusts to taste its crunchy skin, to feel it
writhe for life once more, but this time, fail. He's titillated by
the thought that it will find only death, he shakes in anticipation
of that moment. The juicy sourness of a plump fly is unlike
anything else. He yearns for it, he yearns for the familiar pop,
the burst of fluid, above all he yearns for its slightly sour
flavor.

A click makes
him turn his attention from the fly towards the door. He sees her
through the growing crack, his master. Her face is sunken, saddened
and stressed by long days. He sinks, upset by this view, to him her
happiness is paramount. All preparations are in place. He crawls up
the wall behind her, he knows how to hide, and so he knows how to
be seen too. He can't wait to kiss her.

It's
happening, again!

Oh god! Oh
no! Please no, not again!

The last time
it had hurt so. She'd shrieked demonically during of the massacre;
none had heard, or none had cared. Tears welling up in her eyes
betrayed a long and tortured past. It's clear she knows nothing but
violence. On the verge of sobs, her disdainful expression evidences
a strong character. One born of necessity. She is no follower, no
mere turf to be tread upon. The scars on her face, neck, and scalp
stand testament to unknowable agony, the sort that induces sickness
by mere sight. Each frail inch is covered by scars, vertical
striations – smooth lines of expressionless tissue.

She healed
well, many months had passed since that last awful attack. Oh and
those months, how quiet too they'd been. True, they were cold, but
the snow kept her warm. More importantly, it kept him far. She knew
it was better to be ugly in tranquil death than relegated to an
excruciating exquisite existence. Even though few friendships
flourished in those months she favored them still. She yearned for
cold solitude and its safety. Maybe it was because she had fewer
friends, maybe that was why – why it, why he, left her alone those
long winter nights and short days. That was what she suspected
anyway, not that it mattered. Her peace would end, it was warm; it
was time. She would soon be mutilated, cut, and smashed. She would
be desecrated, hurt, and mashed. She would be lacerated, chopped,
and even bashed. All that and more, truly quite frightful gore. It
was coming. She was always at her prime, her most beautiful, most
welcoming when he came, and unfailingly, he came. The world's
toughest terrorist.