Razor Wire Pubic Hair (8 page)

            I return to the hallways alone, waiting for Celsia to put her parts back together, come back to life as a zombie so she can fuck me again, just once more before she goes rotten, before my own limbs fall from my body.  Or waiting for my head to fall from my neck.

            The dismembered bodies are littering the floor like dirty clothes, stepping over them and ignoring anything that smells.  The windows, I see, have disappeared entirely, eaten away from the walls, the spaces where they stood now occupied by a patch of meat, veiny skin stitched into the house.

            In search for comfort, I climb inside of the incubator in the kitchen, the hairy cunt machine that Celsia’s ugly flesh bag was born from, curl up into a ball and go to sleep, back to the womb now dead and old and rotten, its warmth gone cold, crispy-black. Pretending I am inside of Celsia’s cold dead cunt.

            "Look at what you’ve done," comes a voice from my cunt.

            I curl my body, tilt-peering over there to my vagina inside the incubator muck.  The eyeballs have found their way inside of my cunt again, ogling back at me.

            "You’ve brought it upon yourself," says The Something That Lives Inside of Cunts from my cunt.  "The rapists were here to give you a reason to live, but now they are dead because of you."

            "I don’t regret the rapists," I tell my cunt.  "I regret Celsia."

            "You don’t know what you are saying," says my cunt.  "You’re goal in life is to fuck as much as your body will allow before your death.  You are a dildo."

            "What makes me different from Celsia?  Tuma? The others?  Why are they so normal and I am just a soulless fuck toy?"

            "You are not much different," says my cunt.  "They are also dildos.  Every living being was made for fucking."

            "There has to be something else to life," I tell my cunt.

            "Everything else is just killing time," says my cunt.  "All that matters is your sex.  All that you will be remembered for is your periods of fucking."

            "I want Celsia back," I tell my cunt. 

            "Celsia is dead," my cunt tells me, "She cannot fuck you ever again."

            And I pluck the eyeballs out of my cunt and flick them out of the incubator, clicking sounds as they hit the blank kitchen floor, my eyes closing tight to remember Her, remember having sex with Her, her beautiful razor wire pubic hair.

            "Get out of there," Celsia tells me, waking me from a long-long dream, her voice stained with cramps, like the mornings after drinking battery acid, a hangover.  And I feel quite hungover too.

            "You feel the hangover from your life," Celsia tells me.  "Life was like drinking, physical pleasures made us drunk, but now we are dead and hungover."

            I am dead, and I pull myself out of the incubator. 

            I see Celsia but something is different about her.  I can’t see her body, just a soul without meat, a sphere of energy, and I still want to fuck her.

            "Celsia, Celsia," I groan, trying to reach out to her and rub her breast, but my hands are light and awkward and pass through Celsia’s blob of body like a cloud. 

            She has no cunt. 

            I have no cock, no cunt, no tits.  I am no longer a fuck toy, but a soul.  I am something above the physical.  I cannot have sex.

            "Why can’t you fuck me?" I ask Celsia.

            "We don’t have the parts for it," Celsia tells me.

            "I don’t care," I tell Celsia.  "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

            But she ignores me.  I want us to still fuck, or try to fuck.  I want her soul to fuck my soul.  Our vaginas still touching in spirit.  But her soul just drifts away from my soul and doesn’t respond to me or fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

            There’s something not right about being dead.  The fortress is now completely flesh, no windows or doors left, wrapped in dark warm meat and closing us deep inside, into each other.  All the souls of rapists tangling up in the room, swarming each other, sad they can no longer have sex, not ever again.

            This something that is not right about being dead is not only not right, but it is terribly wrong.  I feel just gruesome and pathetic without skin attached, bare to the world.  The sense of touch and scent and taste -- everything to do with my cock and cunt -- have become dead with my flesh.  A soul is not that important, said The Something That Lives Inside of Cunts, and this is true.  Only my cunt was important, my tits.  I cannot have sex without them. 

            I want to be alive again.

            There are no cunts after death, so The Something That Lives Inside of Cunts is not here, and cannot answer my questions. 

            Our souls are just stored in this little container which has no resemblance to the fortress anymore, squeezed together in a crowd, glowing spheres of some energy similar to light but cannot be seen by the living.  I cannot tell which soul is Celsia’s anymore, there are so many and we all are the same, no one speaks just dizzy-swirling around each other still looking for a way to fuck. 

            No sign of Heaven, nor any God. 

            Just a tight space.

            Eventually, something happens. 

            A quaking outside of the container, rumbling and all the walls are vibrating, the rapists swarming faster now, leaving tracers behind them. 

            And then flying serpents, out of the walls these large white snakes ripple through the room to us.  They begin to swallow us.  One snake to one soul/meal.  The snakes expand their jaws and gulp down the spheres, leaving large bulges in their heads. 

            We try to get away from them, but they are quick to capture their prey and we are trapped inside of this little room, the walls still quaking all around us, faster-faster, makes us disoriented but not phasing the hungry snakes.

            From behind, without a chance to react, a mouth wraps around me, I can see it from all angles as it squeezes me inside of it, closes its lips over me. 

            Something has swallowed me whole and it wasn’t even Celsia’s cunt, closing my eyes - whatever’s on my soul that acts as eyes -- pretending I really have been eaten by Celsia’s cunt, the snake’s teeth like Celsia’s razor wire pubic hair.

            When my eyes open, I can see stuff-headed snakes all around me, their white bodies scurrying in circles, the walls still quaking violence around us.

            The snake’s eyes have become my eyes, my body has become the snake’s body.  Things are physical once again.  I feel like matter instead of energy.  And the others notice this, hoping their new bodies have parts to fuck with, swirling around each other looking for holes.

            And the rumbling gets so violent until it explodes, all around us a whoosh of explosion, and we are blown out of our little room, through the hallway of the factory, the long meaty shaft, blown out of there by the force of the explosion.  And then a new sexual urge creeps up inside me as I go hurling through the meaty walls.

            Something seductive in the far distance.  Not a cunt, but something just as exciting, using my new snake body to swim through the air towards it.  The others feel this sensation as well, all of us heading in the same direction to get to it first.  Swimming/flying as fast as we can, only one of us can have it, only one can fuck it.

            Inside of a new place, new warm place.  The others dead somewhere outside, their soul energy slurped up inside of my new home, the meat walls absorbing their lifeforce. But I am not alone in here, somebody else survived.

            Celsia is with me. 

            I cannot see her, but I know she is here with me, next to me.  For some reason, we both made it inside, to be together.

            She doesn’t speak, but she will eventually.  We will have a new life together, new bodies with each other.

            I cannot wait for us to be born again, so that we can fuck again and again and again.

            I have dreams of cunts getting wet, cocks getting hard. 

            Someone far away is watching me from outside of my dreams, licking His lips at me and masturbating all over Himself.

THE END