The Lack: Part 1

A/N: Work in progress for about 4 months, finally jotted down the final words last night. I like to think of it as one of my better planned works, but, then again, I'm not one for much planning :D Sort of disturbing and highly offensive to the squeamish, I should warn you. Better out than in, they said, so I poured all the negativity of 4 months into this. That been said, this was inspired by "A Clockwork Orange" and with that (finally), this highly irritating note shall trouble you no longer. Gratz to you if you read it :P
P.S. Title _sucks_. Sorry :D

There were only four stars I could see, three white and one red. They blinked down at me through a like veil of fumes, as if they weren't quite sure what they were doing up there in the first place. I blinked back, equally unsure of what I was doing down here. But alas, I was tracking my way through like a darkened path, side-stepping half-eaten ice cream cones and trod-to-death-ducks, the feeble street lamps barely penetrating the sparse, knee-high vegitation of Panda Park. There were no pandas in Panda Park; no one knew why in any hell it had been named after them, but everyone did seem to agree it was catchy. I sort of wished one would waddle my way so I could kick it, feel amused, lift my spirits, all that jazz. I wished I were raging at bitchy campers in an online game I wasn't even legally allowed to play yet.
 

But there I was, on my way to some retarded meeting with some pish-posh sir this-and-that who owned a big company and size 47 shoes. Oh, and was probably a vampire, judging by this nocturnal call. I cleared the park and looked at the stars again, a really rare sight in the city these days, what with all the toxic waste and street lamps and stuff. The cluster of stars was steadily moving towards the east – my bad, just a plane. Figures. As far as this place went, stars were merely a waste of space where something productive could be built, clock towers and apartment buildings being the running favorite.
 

I walked down a few blocks, turned a few times, mostly walked straight, shoulders hunched, eyes on my shoes, chewing gum working vigourosly between my teeth. Ten minutes later, I looked up to find myself there. A sprawling building, built with this certain splendor and massiveness in mind, instead of a practical view of how many stairs a human body can withstand climbing. Flanked by two smaller buildings, a hair dresser and a mortuary, it showcased its mightiness and like oomph with ease, but mostly it just reminded me of a horny old man's ding-a-long.
 

The doors were those sort of carousel ones, the ones you could walk around forever in, meant to dizzy you into entering through a doorway you never even knew was there, instead of the one that lead into a stylish mall. I found myself in a sort of lobby-like place, full of empty space, lush rugs, and sofas loaned from the Nazi torture chambers, covered in purple-red velvet. And by the heavens, that velvet was everywhere. On the chairs, draped over tables, hanging from the ceiling (banner-like), stapled onto the wooden desk behind which sat an accountant, her hair pulled up into a bundle, her glasses drooping on her cute nose, her eyes locked onto a computer screen.
 

I leaned on the counter and waited for her to notice me; it took her approximately 200 button clicks, or ten seconds, to do so. She looked up at me, a look of polite interest, her hand fussing with her hair, the other one pushing the wire rim up a few notches on her bridge.
 

”How can I help you, sir?” she asked, a wide smile plastered onto her face, as fake as the finger nails that were tapping the mouse.
 

”I had an, uh, appointment. Like with your boss, I guess.” I said, real business-like.
 

She looked at me pointedly, then at the trail of mud I had apparently wound across the carpets, and sniffed. ”Your name?”
 

”Mitchel.”
 

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, sending the odd clack at intervals. ”Hmm,” she said, her brow furrowed. ”It doesn't seem you have an appointment. I'm sorry, do come back again.” A smile, polite, yet patronising.
 

”Look,” I said, ”I just got a call from this boss of yours 30 minutes ago, trudged all the damn way over here and now you're saying I don't have an appointment?”
 

”Exactly so. What you do on your own time is of no concern to me. Now, please exit the premesis before I'm forced to call the guards.”
 

”Hey, hey, hey. No need to get all violent and shit. Just could you like try one more time? Maybe you missed me.”
 

The accountant smiled wider, more fake, said:
 

”Right. Full name?”
 

”Mitchel Freeks.”
 

”Freeks' your surname?”
 

”So I'm told.”
 

”Well why didn't you tell me that the first time? Here we go, Mr. Freeks, 1 o'clock.”
 

”You asked my name. It's Mitchel,” I said.
 

”You should have known I meant your surname,” she replied, smiling brightly.
 

I smiled back. ”You should have clarified.”
 

We smiled at each other for a moment, our lips hiding our snarls. Then she told me to take the elevator to the seventeenth floor in the same type of way people generally say, ”Fuck you.” I thanked her in the same manner as if I'd called her fat, ugly and, most prominantly, a skank.
 

The elevator rocketed up to the seventeenth floor and slid to a halt, the doors opening like from some sci-fi movie. I deposited my chewing gum on the handrail and entered a corridoral labyrtinthine mesh, lined with cubicals and vending machines and signs with arrows but no text. The arrows were clearly color-coded, some being red, some blue, others green, but I quite obviously lacked the code-breaking book that came with the workplace and I sort of wandered around, looking at things. Thankfully, I was early enough to have the time to be surely and annoyingly lost.
 

Deciding the mewling of my stomach was more important than random corridor stalking, I stopped by a vending machine. I inserted a few coins, contemplated my choices and pushed the keys 6 and 4. The swiveling, turning, pushing spring thingy inched forward my Snickers bar, right to the end, where it lay hovering practically in mid-air. Is it just me or does that always freakin' happen? Steaming, I checked the corridors on either side, peaking around the corner to be sure they were deserted.
 

”Just you and me, bitch,” I told the rebelling machine while I swung my foot back; I brought it into contact with the front of the vendor with a nice, loud thunk – the chocolate bar dropped and I stooped down to retrieve it from behind the overly strained swinging plate.
 

”'Gainst the rules. 'Gainst the rules. Oh boy, 'gainst the rules. Oh boy.”
 

I got up, startled, clutching the bar protectively to my chest.
 

”What? Why?” my mouth shot out before I noticed.
 

”'Gainst the rules, it is,” he repeated, whiskers quivering. A greasy dollop of hair sprouted out of his noggin, slithering down all the way to his pointy nose, half-covering his beady, in-set eyes. ”You can't do that. Oh boy. No, no.” His hands rubbed against one another nervously as oh boys and 'gainst the rules dropped out of his mouth like shit from an eagle.
 

I let out the air I had been holding and straightened up, placing myself like a head higher than the squirming man. This I could deal with. Cops were what had sprung first to mind; nothing wrong had I done, cops just tend to do so – just pop up.
 

”It's broken,” said I, ”broken, broken, broken.” I emphasized each 'broken' with a kick at the vending machine. The greasy little man shirked back as each kick landed. Someone less witty might've thought I was kicking him instead. I found it utterly hilarious and kept on kicking the thingy, watching him shrink in on himself with every impact.
 

Some kicks later he looked up at me towering over him and I could see him consider just how he'd make me suffer. ”'Gainst the rules.” He was hissing now, venomous-like, his itty-bitty dirty collar shirt strangled between his itty-bitty hands. ”Gotta tell the boss, yes, yes. Oh boy. Gotta tell.”
 

I stopped mid-way through a kick. I crouched down and looked the pint of a man into his eyes, them being the size and texture of two sparks. ”The boss, say you?”
 

”Yes,” he spat, though I couldn't understand how in so low of a voice for something so small he spat those words. ”Yes, and he'll make you pay, he will. And I might get a promotion, too, much money. And a plasma tv!” The last two to himself, muttered almost inaudibly. Then he scuttled off, on all fours, his oily hair trailing behind him.
 

I set to following him, amiably striding on, wondering at the vacant cubicles. My guide ran ran ran down on all fours, trying to shake me off. I strolled along in his wake, shortening my stride so as to not go ahead of him. No sense in over-taking a guide after all. I enjoyed the chocolate bar on the way, leaving the wrapper as a present to the janitor.
 

I discerned that the purple arrows lead to the boss man's room, but where the red, blue, yellow and neon blue went, I still hadn't a clue. My guide was like panting from strain and kept shooting me murderous glares, but I ignored him. So that's how we got to the door: him glaring, me ignoring.
 

They were a big ugly set of doors, they were. All clearly iron and wannabe gold-plating, with big, important letters: Big Boss Man. Or something very close. My guide was like scratching at the door with dirty, bloody fingernails, trying to get in or climb up – either or. I watched him go at it a while, him leaving splatterings of smudged blood where he scrabbled. Uncleansly as it was, I brought down my boot on him with a nice, meaty plump and he went shriek-squish.
 

I swept the bloody mess to the side and knocked on the doors, business-like once more. The doors opened two seconds later, swinging inwards on oiled hinges, stealthy as a cat in sneakers. Their maintanance for a week most probably cost more than my parents worked their asses off for in a year. A fine little red-head peaked timidly around the corner, eyes like saucers, the green-blue of dew hugging a flower bud. I made to smile at her and she burrowed her eyes into the ground, her dimples smiling.
 

I brushed past her, like gently 'cause she was so frail-like, and into what looked like a waiting room. It was warmly lit by a dozen small oil-lamps set at stragetic locations, the shadows shimmering excitedly in the corners. There was a desk on one side with stacks of papers, a computer, a lamp and the odds and ends that seem to clutter up everywhere. The right hand side of the room was dominated by an L-shaped recliner-meets-sofa, which sagged under my inconsiderable weight, molding into pure heaven underneath my body as I settled down on it. I threw my legs onto the glass table perched in front of it and waited, it being the waiting room and all. I figured I was about a quarter of an hour early, what with all the wandering and stuff.
 

The red-head (a secretary, I surmised) had returned to her desk and the constant striking of keys filled the stalking silence. After a while I noticed she had a distinct way of fumbling with her hair. The distinct portion of it was that she used it as an excuse to shoot shy glances at me, an unsure revolver, as if she weren't quite certain she wanted me or not. Eight discreet glances into the future, I decided to make it easy on her, she being like really cute.
 

So I got up from my lovely seat and sort of swaggered over to her desk, she getting nervous and missing the keys she was going for. I perched my form on her desk, her looking down and like adjusting her hair real nervous. My hand found her chin and I gently turned her head to look at me. Her eyes looked up at me, wider than before (I hadn't thought that possible) and her breath came in jagged drags.
 

”Hey there, sweetums,” said I. ”I couldn't help but notice that your seat seems uncomfortable as hell. You know, back there, there's a couch that God himself threw down for us to sit in and in which to enjoy his creation. I guess what I'm getting at here is I'd want you to come enjoy a nice... talk with me.”
 

She suddenly found the floor to be very interesting and her chest rose up down up down real fast as if drowning underwater, but I held her head steady, above the water, bending down close to her.
 

”What say you, sweetie?” I breathed into her ear.
 

Her saucer eyes found mine, glinting with subdued merriment and I smiled at her, gentle and unprovoking. A real nice smile. She answered my smile, leaning in closer to me. I could feel her hot, humid breath on my lips, as if she were licking my lips. I found it was me who was doing the licking, as if getting ready for the plunge, the heightened breaths, the smothering darkness. She purred. With a start, I realized it wasn't only me after all; her tongue danced along my lips, along my tongue, burning like sin. She looked up at me, a gleaming hunger in her half-lidded eyes, and she slowly parted my lips with her tongue, and then started the mock wrestling in my mouth.
 

Now my breaths came in pants as I leaned closer to her; something crashed to the floor, blithely ignored by both of us. She was on me and I was on her – we hit the floor writhing. My hands travelled across her body, caressing her curves, her perfume filling my head, her moans playing with my ear buds, utterly oblivious to another presence in the room until he coughed. I looked up, scanning for the source, disgruntled and annoyed.
 

”If you want to keep that pretty face intact, I advise you let go of her now.”
 

He was wearing a metallic-blue suit that strained against his lust for sweets and alochol, perspiration running down his fat neck like slimy rivers through the folds of fat lining his face. Gold chains hang from every part of him, the metal greasy and almost green.
 

”How 'bout you step back into your office and come back in like four minutes, Mr. Boss Man?” said I, real pissed off.
 

”Your funeral.” The disgusting slug heaved his shoulders in a shrug and collapsed onto the sofa, which was more than fine with me.
 

I turned back to the red-head. ”Now where were-”
 

She lunged at my face, jaws gaping wider than they should have, the tendons in her neck bulging as she screeched her hunger. I yelled in horror and back-pedalled furiously, throwing an arm up to cover myself. I felt sharp, horny teeth sink into the flesh of my arm and I screamed, wrenching it back towards me. Flesh parted with a horrendous rip-shred-howl and the old blood flew in a shimmering arch, splattering down splat splat splat on the wall and floor.
 

Clutching my wounded arm to my chest, I used my remaining hand to crawl backwards, fighting back cries of pain and horror. My chest heaved up down up down, but not from lust any longer. Terror lodged in my throat and I choked on it, wretching up bile that slithered down my chin. The red-head was all over the piece of meat she had ripped off me, tossing it into the air and catching it, shaking it 'round and 'round, growling prettily.
 

I felt the sofa behind my back and panicked. This was the end of the road, of the line, of the life, of everything. I watched as the red-head flung the gory flesh into the air, watched it spin around and then plummet down her throat, bulging up slightly before an audible gulp forced it down, and then a smack of perfect lips. Her eyes, taking up half her face, were on me again and she crawled closer on all fours, never breaking eye-contact. Closer and closer she swayed, and I couldn't help spotting the subtle roll of her hips, the roundness of her breasts, her feline grace.
 

Her face was in front of mine and she grinned, real wicked. Bits of tendons and shredded meat were stuck between the rows of teeth, outlined with blood, red blood, black blood, my blood. Her tongue found my lips again, and I could taste my blood on it, metallic and suffocating. I gagged and her tongue plummeted down my throat, slipping down seamlessly. I felt it probe the insides of my chest and tried to scream, but her tongue was there, blocking, so I gagged and gagged, the spasms wrenching my stomach.
 

And then her tongue found my heart. It wound around that pulsating object and the breath left me entirely. Tears streamed down my face, and I wretched and screamed and writhed and shouted in agony, all of it muffled by her tongue inside me, lapping away at my heart. She held down my twisting, grinding form with her body, rocking along with my throes of agony, moaning, her lips still locked around mine. My knotted fists dug into the carpet and my heels drummed the floor as she gently squeezed my heart, my eyes bulging out of my face.