Young Writers Society

Part 1: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=95446

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Gently, gently she applied more pressure, more and more, and I flailed under her, the pain too much. Too much pain. My head was thrown back, jaws open, eyes unseeing. Oh god. More and more pain. My back arched, threatening to snap my spine. Squeeze. Then I reached my limit, my mortal limit, I could take no more and my chest exploded with the pressure, ribs splitting with a crack. I looked down and saw the snapped bones poking out of my chest like the claws of Death, vainly trying to clutch at the meat and blood that slithered out into my lap.

Her tongue was still wrapped around my heart and now she pulled, strong and steady. The pain was like nothing before, a constant feeling of a terrible tension, only growing and growing all the time. She held my chin steady and looked into my eyes as the blood vessels snapped, as the flesh ripped, as she pulled out my beating heart. My eyes stared forward, lost in the depths of her's, swimming in turmoil. Her tongue receeded into her mouth, taking with it my heart. I could see the bulge of it pressing out her cheek. My heart beat feebly, spasms wracking the left side of her face. Then she crunched down on it and I screamed despite myself, the sound echoing through my excavated chest. I screamed until I could scream no longer as she straddled me, munch munch munching on my heart, smiling cutely.

”Now, now, my dear. Let the young man go, we have business to discuss, him and I.”

The red-head kissed me one last time, plunging her tongue all around my mouth. Then she pouted prettily and got off of me, looking back once, sadly, before she seated herself back at her desk.

The fat, slimy man bent over me and patted me on the cheek. ”I could say I told you so, but what's the use? Now, you were here to see me, correct?”

I found I could still talk. I pushed back what had just happened (I should be dead, dead dead dead dead) and answered his question. ”Yeah, I'm Mitchel Freeks. Writer.”

”Good to meet you, Mitchel. I've heard a lot about you. How old were you again?”

”Fourteen, sir.” (Death calls, death doesn't wait dead.)

”So young... But your literary prowess is outstanding, I'm lead to believe.”

”That's what I'm, uh (How, why, dead?), told.” (Psycho bitch. Death is death is dead. Not happening! Never happened. No. Still alive – no hole in chest. Life.)

”Let's take a walk, shall we?” The disgusting man offered me his stubby arm. I took it, my fingers slipping on the greasy flabs, and he pulled me upright. (Hope! Life! Not death!)

”Where shall we be walking?” I asked, hands staying pointedly at my sides.

”I'll give you a quick tour of the building. No sense going outside this late at night, what with all the muggers and rapists out there.” The Boss Man smiled invitingly and gestured for me to follow him as he began a ponderous looking waddle towards the doors. He moved with an utter lack of grace, slug-like and heaving fat dragging over the carpets, some of it trailing behind him like a king's cape, drag drag heave. I was real surprised when he didn't leave like a trail of slime behind him.

”Aight,” said I and followed along in his wake. I had to be careful of the ripples he sent through the floor, they looked like they would have easily bowled me over if I'd gone too close. It was much like that one time I'd gone water-skiing with my 'rents, except more vile and distasteful, but one gets the point.

We went through the doors, them opening up by themselves, and entered into a different realm than what had been before. Noise poured over me. The simple, small sounds of a real busy place wafted over me and left me dumbfounded. Typers tacked, staplers clacked, pens clicked, coffee mugs were slurped and sipped. I was so like befuddled that I forgot to walk and missed what the Boss Man was saying. I sauntered up real fast-like and nodded my head. He was saying:

”I am quite profoundly sure these slimewit slacking nobheads take breaks everytime I'm not patrolling the hallways.” He heaved a huge sigh, coffee mugs, empty and full, trembled and crashed to the floor around us. ”Such a pity, such a shame. Destined to haunt these corridors even before Death's Chariot chases me down. Destiny, now there's a pretty concept. How about it?”

I shrugged.

”It's been said that a wise man needeth not tell a lie, but the clever man shallt not utter a single word. Do you fancy yourself as clever, young Freak?”

”Sure.”

”Then you are probably a fool. A clever man has no fancies. Only fools entertain such trivial hopes.”

”A fool is deft with his hands and quick with his tongue. I hold no regrets,” said I, annoyed.

”Ah,” was all he answered. Cubicles full of life and other flailing concepts passed by on either side, but when I looked back, they were devoid of any busy-like activity; a heavy, murky silence had fallen over them like a smothering sheet of oil, waiting for the first spark. The Big Boss Man payed it no heed.

”Have you isolated a central theme in your upcoming novel, Mr. Writer Freak?”

”Death, decay, disorientation, uh, fragmentation grenades disguised as sexual toys stuck up peoples' asses. You can pick any-like you want.”

The Big Boss Man twisted his slobbering face into a sneer, making his left cheek look like an ass. ”How... innovative. Surely there's more to it, some actual factual truths about the world?”

”Actual factual? Fucking poetic, man.” I didn't like people making their faces look like asses to my writing.

I hadn't realized the Big Boss Man had stopped walking until I was released from the depths of an odor I had taken for granted like a second ago. I swivelled my head back to where I came from, the noises of the cubicles up ahead erased by the turning of my head. The huge man had a measuring look in his eyes, real unpleasant, those mole-eyes drilled deep into my chest.

Unconsciously, I held up a hand to protect my flesh from the fat rodent's glare. My hand met something profusely sticky, something warm and writhing. It came back distorted when I waved it in front of my face, lathered in gravy and dribbling chunks of minced meat. I looked at it, damn confused, then stuck the whole mess in my jacket pocket, deciding I'd eat it later.

”...,you know.”

”I'm, uh, aware,” said I, not knowing in the least. The Boss Man had shifted the seismic plates of his face into a caricature of the Cheshire Cat's grin. Unfortunately, the rest of him didn't disappear on cue.

”It'll be quite the wait 'till you nurture them into something resembling these bastards,” he said, slapping the trail of fat behind him, ”but you've planted the seeds early, I see.” He gave a great shriek of laughter. With a gnawing fascination, I realized that his king's cape wasn't greasy fat, but a greasy pair of balls. Not your average pornstar slick-and-oiled balls either; these were the real deal: hairy, greasy, writhing, squriming, wrinkly, huge and ready for action.

He must've seen me staring for he patted them affectionately and said, ”People just don't have them nowadays. Except for the ones at the top, like moi. The others like to keep their pairs in vaults, with all their other treasures, but I like mine where I can see 'em. This way no-one can accuse me of being a fluke. Come, boy, and feel greatness.”

His inviting smack set the gruesome twins on vibrate. ”Uh, maybe like, maybe later?”

”Your loss.”

”I'll live.”

”No you won't, ignorant child,” the Big Boss Man said. ”You don't live.”

My gaze furrowed, like evil, intent on him. ”Threatening? You? Me?” growled I, for life I held to my man nipples and gave suck.

The Big Boss Man stood still, the constant rippling of his torso quitting. It looked odd. He cocked his head, a sucking sound emitting where neck met shoulder. He seemed to reach a judgement.

”Let me bestow a sight upon your eyes. Do follow.”

He took a left and my eye-sight failed to track him; I went after him with a slight jog. Turning the corner, I broke out into a sprint. He was tunneling vigorously down the hallway, a worm in it's hole, a seething mass surging onwards. Before long, I had only my ears to track him with, the rumble of his passage bringing me, panting, I might add, to an elevator going 'Ping!'. In one fluid motion the Big Boss Man slurped himself into the small cabinet. The ride up was akin to being submerged in hot, sticky oil that managed to somehow stare at you, evil-like and disturbing.

I fell to my hands and knees when the doors opened up, gasping. Something long and bloody splashed out onto the carpet underneath me. I poked at it experimentally; it jiggled.

”Follow.”

I did as I was told; it seemed easiest. The Big Boss Man set a slower pace now and I had a chance to take a look around. We'd come out onto a balcony. The starless sky was smeared with blood, beautiful-like and real fancy and the wind was a soothing rasp of steel on steel. Birds could be heard screeching their death notes as their wings grew heavy from the smog, prettily chirping away at their bondage.

A heavy-duty hand rail, spiked, awaited me at the lip. I hugged its sturdy bars with my fists, peering down. Way down.

I felt a heavy weight settle on my shoulder. ”Do you see?”

”You gonna throw me down?” said I, my voice not trembling.

”No such thing. I merely want you to understand. For if a writer doesn't understand, who's to understand what the writer says? If you are to get signed, what will you deliver but trifling words, grasping at a man's intelligence, holding it hostage? You should be the hot burst, empregnating their minds, birthing intuition. Are you up for it?”

”Uh.”

”Wrong answer. For your sake, I pity, but it seems it will just have to be milked from you, as it must in most cases.” The weight shifted off my shoulders. ”Undress.”

”I..”

”Shut your mouth. Undress. Now.”

Seeing no alternative, I found myself shivering in the late night, my skinny legs causing a rickety racket as they trembled. My discarded garments flew off with the wind.

”It seems I spoke truly, with much foresight,” he commented, his gaze locked on my marbles. ”Many great achievements will these twins sire, much to the gain of humanity, I presume.”

I felt his scalding stare shift upwards and I gazed at him, confused, cold and irritated irritated.

”What's with the deep and like philisophistic words, granps? I can do without them, says I. Can I leave now?” I then asked, cold within and without. ”I think I've seen enough for such a night.” My stare was colder even.

”Quite surely you can.” I didn't like the oily smile that split the canyons of his flesh one teeny-weeny bit. ”The only way from here is down.”

”Fuck you, I'll take the elevator,” declared I, as I marched to the button, smashing it down. The Big Boss Man merely looked my way. I awaited the elevator, foot taptaptapping. I awaited too long for my liking, and pressed the button again – except, it felt unconditionally solid. I looked down the length of my arm, down my finger and onto the hard concrete under it. I looked and I looked, but that's how it was. No button, no door. Only way... Downdowndown. Slowly, like I were on death trial or something, I turned, no longer shivering outside, only on the inside.

”What did you do, bastardly fiend?” I demanded.

”Only what was neccesary.” The Big Boss Man spread his arms like an artist revealing his latest work, real proud. ”You will see, and you will grow. That, I am most certain of. Now. Fly. Leap into the abyss, stare into it. And then it will happen.”

”What will?” I hate myself for falling for the bait, proceeding to bite my tongue.

His voice dropped to a stage whisper. ”Then - then the abyss will stare back into you. And you will know. Oh, by the gods, you will know. Now, come here, my good sireling, come.”

All was a blur of motion and color, me being confused, and then there was cold under my soles and the wind plastering my hair around, my marbles clashing together like a set of maces, dueling for blood. It felt not nice at all.

”I'll tie this for you.”

I nodded. The Big Boss Man tied the end of something long, dripping and gross onto the railing, sturdily around a spike it was wound. The other end connected with my belly, disappearing into the creases of my naval where a serpent slumbered, coils upon coils, lidded eyes closed and unseen, yet staring through the claws of my ribs.

Indeed. My chest lay open; I could spy my lurching liver, slightly drooping. All was running wild with red, a rapids of gore. My insides were rippling, writhing in a pain that waited upon my understanding. Half of my left arm was missing, it ending in a ragged stump, two mangled fingers spasming nervelessly. The horrible truth was closing in on me, spirals tightening, tightening. A terrible, hurting shriek built up inside me and I decided to act before it came alive and tore me apart.

”Fuck it,” said I, and jumped.

The force of the plummet smacked me across my everything, slapping at me like a naughty child submerged in its ignorance. I flailed my arms, slapping back, not flying, just slapping for vengeance. A demented giggle filled my ears and I wondered who could make such lunarly unjust noises, until I stopped for breath and realized it was me. The fleshy tummy-tube flapped beside me, and I knew it wasn't long before it ran out.

So I strained against the flatulance of the world and gazed into the ever-creeping bottom below. From the balcony, I had seen colors, lights, cars, birds, houses. Now I saw darkness. Not just darkness, I realized. The lack of anything. I stared at it, mortified, this was like the real deal. This was the end of all things and the time before they were born. It was the continuous rebirth of an undying creature, the flaying of a metallic back, eternal and dark and...

Glorious.

Tears leapt out of my eyes to embrace this phenomenon. It was beautiful. There was no need for colors, their lack was implicitily colorful, no need for sounds, their lack stronger than their heralding prescence could ever be. I stared with leaking eyes. And then it happened, sudden as you like.

A massive eye, bloodless and all-encompassing, unlidded itself and declared dominion over my leather-bound, mortality-ridden soul. My plummet ceased, my thoughts shrinked and imploded. All was still, all was gone. I was immerssed by the Lack. I was drowning with a smile. My limbs floated and were cradled, no need for useless muscles.

There I lay, for how long I know not, when finally a single thought swept through the emptiness, the fin of a preying beast disturbing the murkiness. Heavily it leaned on my head, leeching in through my ear; I felt it slithering inside. Thus it unburdened itself unto my mind, a single realization. A simple truth.

Living is the lack of dying.

To truly know living, one must know dying. The ooze in my mind shifted, clawed for more space, a demented puppy softening the pillow. Otherwise, one knows not what they should be lacking. It settled down, comfortable in my awed regard. My smile widened, eternal bliss like covered my face. I gave the Lack a thumbs-up. The eye re-lidded itself, sucking in the Lack beneath its dying gaze. Fastfastfast it happened, get on with, it seemed to say. The lights appeared, the sounds appeared, the pain appeared.

A viscious sneer smeared unto my features and I gave the ground below me a foul middle-finger, my proudest one yet. Fast it would be. My tummy-tube ended with a sudden jerk in my insides and my plummet crashed mid-air, flipping me about. The seeds of my loin sprinkled towards the ignorant world below me and with a final twist and a jerk, I came alive.