Gnam had always wondered what that sight would mean upon appearance. ‘It’s not as though we make a state of these things, rather the things breach our consciousness and we fall out of sight upon appearance of usurped alters,’ he told himself, ‘We catch sight of our thoughts and our surroundings and then we breach their antiquity or we fall out of sight.’
Gnam was a man of about 32. Presently, he is 42 – by our estimates. But again, that was a long time ago. “The guy has serious thought patterns, serious redbloods. He’s breaching our coordinates now: 32, 42, 75, 81… and gone. So much for that. Hard to track this one it is. Even with a lock on him he doesn’t really appear all quite there.”
“FUCK the shallow cost of your malady. THIRTY YEARS WAR!!! Tomorrow is all becoming of on-sight speech therapy recluse cosmic plunder.”
“YOU!! You two are wanted tonight for galactic TREASON. LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS. SLOWLLLLYYYYY…”
A sentinel appears in the foyer. It’s long past sundown and there’s something in the way she moves.. It’s serpentine like, then ape like, then that of a tiger, then timid like a lemur, once more savage like that of an abused komodo dragon. With blinding speed she sets out on her targets. Two men, age incalculable, they wear garments of oranges and greens while puffing chesterfield. The taller of the two holds in his right hand a can of mace and the other a silver briefcase. It won’t be long now.
The Callused Dodger awakes with a start. “Let me sip seminal fluid from your spine as we writhe amongst the lepers, my love.” A voice whispers thusly in his left ear. It’s his dead wife. You see, when she was 17 and he 19 her father found out about their marriage, and – more vitally, their premarital escapades. This is frowned down upon in the Muslim community (which Dodger does not subscribe to, all the worse) and so he set her on fire, genitals first. Naturally, the Dodger was less than happy about this. He went to the old man’s village with the most ill intent, but – to the old mans credit – her father had committed suicide by way of an Indian Necktie (this is when one’s tongue is pulled through the arbitrarily-imposed orifice created after having their throat slit so as to make it appear that they are wearing a certain fashion accessory.) I wouldn’t have thought it possible either.
– Zeid.
D E C A Y C A S T Magazine 