Frankenstein's Conundrum
Halloween comes early this year. Let this be my Treat to you. Try not to let the Trick bother you. I am a horror writer, after all. *Smiles wickedly*
Frankenstein's Conundrum
2009 by Eldyran
There is a tiger laying in the street in front of me, and he is dying.
There are others around him. Some are paramedics. Others could be friends or co-workers. I do not know.
Farther back others have crowed around on the city corner to see what is going on. Why there are flashing lights. Why cabs have come to a standstill on this side of the street. Their annoyed honks join the chaos of the sounds the city makes around us.
There are shadows darting between the paramedics, pulling at the tiger's cholesterol choked heart. They look like two sided, pot bellied imps. If they turn just right they almost disappear. Over the bells, honks, and jackhammers, I can not tell if they make noise. They might be giggling.
No one else sees them.
One of the imps jumps on top of the tiger's chest, bouncing gleefully. The tiger has a pot belly as well. From the coffee stains on his cheap tie he probably sat in a cubicle most of his life. A half eaten dough nut lays just beyond the tiger's unmoving, upturned claws. His paw tips have turned blue under the white fur.
The imp jumps off right before the wolf in the paramedic jumpsuit stops administering muzzle to muzzle and proceeds with chest compressions. But I know it is too late. The other imps have started to pull and tug at the tiger's own shadow now. It plops out underneath the body like a fat, wriggling grub. The body of the tiger makes one last shallow gasp and then lays still.
I pull up my SLR and snap a picture.
Everyone else is too busy or enthralled with the distraction to notice or care about what the large jackal in the over sized trench coat is doing. Aside from some burn scars crawling up the side of my right cheek under the black fur, to them I am plain and unassuming. No one has bothered yet to condemn me for my irreverence. They are also too busy watching the tiger die.
But unlike the impartial eye of my camera, their solemn vigil is fleeting. When the wolf in the blue jumpsuit shakes his head and calls in a coroner, the fickle masses move on. I keep my distance from the German Sheppard policeman dispersing the crowd on the off chance he might recognize me. The lunchtime show is over. Five minutes later, they have completely forgotten about his death. The imps are too busy dragging away the squealing grub to cause more mischief. They disappear with their prize down a sewer trap like murky rainwater, never to be seen or heard from again.
I move on.
Five blocks later I sit down on a bus bench. Few take this route, so I am alone on the bench. It does not bother me. A few minutes later the bus pulls up, and the pneumatic doors part. The horse looks at me expectantly, stealing an annoyed sideways glance at the watch on his wrist.
"You coming or what!?" He brays.
There are little pulsing lights dancing in front of his long face. Some sound like an incoming text message. Others sound like passenger grumbles. One sounds like an MP3 player cranked up at max volume. The smallest of the lights have not pulsed yet. It is the red blare of an oncoming horn that is not heard. Thats when I notice the buds in his ears.
"I will take the next one." I say softly. The horse has gotten good at reading lips, and closes the doors in thinly veiled disgust.
As the bus pulls away from the curb with a hiss of air brakes I look at the silhouettes of the passengers passing by through the tinted glass. They are all on fire. Except for one little girl. She is thirteen. The young antelope looks at me in passing as the bus drives off. We both share a sad moment, as if she can sense what I already know.
I can't see her Fate. But I know it involves rope. Maybe she will climb a mountain after the accident, meet the challenges of life and death head on. Even if she slips a little at the end. Maybe the nightmares and survivor's grief will become too much for her, and she will hang herself in a Halfway House closet years from now. I do not know.
I do not like to think about suicide. It is a pointless thing. I rub the scars concealed by the cuffs of my trench and walk the rest of the way to my favorite park. It is a blustery autumn day, and I enjoy it.
* * * * *
I snap some pictures of children at the park. It is my second favorite thing to do. The pups and kits and fawns tousle without care or prejudice. They climb on the jungle gym without fear of falling. They laugh like its going to be their last, and savor the fleeting moment more than any adult would without realizing it.
But most importantly, I do not see their Fate. Maybe it is because it is far off. Maybe because they do not obsess about it. I do not know.
I try to pretend I am snapping pictures of the houses nearby when there are parents around. Uneasy parents like to report my presence to the police. I do not like that. But today there is only one adult supervising the five young ones, and the gazelle is too busy watching her charges to worry about me.
After I have used up my spare roll I sit on a bench and watch the dry leaves blow about. That is my third favorite thing to do. I like watching them because I do not know which direction the wind will scatter them. It does not matter to me that they are dead. Dead things decay and give life to others. It is the way things are.
It is neither good nor bad.
I am so mesmerized by the leaves that I do not notice someone sitting down next to me. The coyote in a green college shirt and gray sweat pants has to touch my arm to get my attention. When I turn to him, a get a sinking feeling that this will not end well for either of us. He smiles at me. It is a warm, genuine smile. His fangs are white ivory, and his sparkling eyes are jade. I wonder if he would still smile if he knew who I was.
"Hey, that's a nice camera." He says, looking down at it. His fur had a touch of red to it, especially when the setting sun hits it just right. He could not be more than twenty. "Do you mind if I look at it?"
I shake my head no, and pull the camera strap over my head to hand it over.
"Is that a UV filter?" The coyote squinted at the top of the lens and turned it this way or that. I nodded my head. "And an EF 28-80mm, right?" His paw tips felt their way over the lens. His claws were well manicured, cared for. His paw tips looked smooth and soft, the paws small and feminine. They were so beautiful.
I already wanted to touch them. A part of me wondered if I chose to feel this way, or if I was supposed to feel this way from the very beginning. He continued to examine my camera, and did not seem put off that I looked at him. Maybe he was flattered. There are some things I do not know. And I cherish every single one of them.
"Looks pretty scuffed up though." He smiled up from the scuffs and dings from the plastic casing. He does not know I picked it up from a pawn shop. It was all I could afford. "Are you a professional photographer?" He asks me. I shake my head no again, but I attempt a weak smile, just to let him know this conversation is pleasant. "Would you take some pictures of me?" His tail swished about. It was a cute thing.
"I am out of film." I replied. It came out more of an excuse than an apology. I did not mean it that way. I would not be lying if I said a conflicted part of me wished he would stop talking to me and leave.
"That's okay!" He said, cheerfully. His tail did more of those cute swishes before he got up off the bench and continued his jog. He waved back, "Maybe next time!"
I waited until he had disappeared around a small bend of shrubs before I got up and left the park. I did not want to take the chance that he might make another round back. Instead of walking home, I hailed a cab.
* * * * *
The first thing I did when getting back to my apartment was to develop my film. I have a dark room set up in my bathroom. It is not much, but it is the best I can manage. Sometimes I use the tub if I have a lot of pictures to develop. Sometimes when I want to be alone and think, I come in here and pull cord for the red light. I will sit for hours on the closed lid to the toilet, reflecting about the past.
I try not to think of my future. Some have said you can not change your past. Can you change your future?
Once I am done developing the tiger and the five children I come out to the kitchenette. I sit for hours at the card table, aligning today's pictures in a scrapbook. They have to be set just right. It is the best I can do for them. After I am done I seal each page in plastic, that way their lives and deaths will be remembered long after I am gone. I stack the finished scrap book along the wall, where there are hundreds more. My one bedroom apartment is filled with them, but this is the last one I will be able to do.
My favorite pictures are spread out across the four walls. There are no more spaces. When the police finally come to investigate my apartment, many of them will find it creepy. I do not mean it like that. But no one seems to understand.
I do not make dinner. I want to be hungry for when the coyote asks me out to dinner tomorrow night. Instead I lay down on the bare mattress sitting in the center of my bedroom. It has no frame or box spring. I own no television or radio to pass my time. All I need to appreciate my free time indoors hangs on the walls around me. I curl up on the moldy mattress and try to fall asleep. The nocturnal noise of the city outside my window never stops. It is comforting. Crisp autumn air seeps over the sill. There is a bite of frost to it.
I dream.
* * * * *
I am back on a city street corner again. It is not the same street from today, but one from ten years ago. The first time I tried to save someone. The fox was about my age. He looked liked my ex-boyfriend from high school. Maybe that is why I tried to save him. I shoved him out of the way of a oncoming car, thinking I had done good.
Instead, a city bus ran him over from the other direction. Its huge wheels crushed his slim canid skull like a over ripe watermelon. The way his scream abruptly cut off still haunts me to this day. The bloody stain smeared across the hot summer asphalt was more vivid than his red fur had been in life.
But this time, in my dream, I just stand on the street corner and allow him to die the way Fate meant him to. Just before the brief impact, he turns and smiles at me, thanking me. I smile back. It is a good, clean death.
* * * * *
I wake up peacefully. It is still night, but I can not go back to sleep. I stare up at the ceiling where there are no pictures. My mind drifts as I let time pass on. My favorite singer once said that only the good die young. The truth is we die the same way we have lived. If we are happy in life, then we pass on without much complaint or regret. The rest die the same way they come into this world; bloody and screaming.
I once watched an artist die. Acrylic butterflies appeared out of the ether and swarmed her as she lay in a pool of her own blood. They were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. The mugger was still going through her purse by the time they took off, dispersing her soul into the sky with smudged paint trails. It brought me to tears.
Not for her unfinished works, but on how gracefully she moved on.
The mugger saw the sobbing jackal looking on from the shadows of the alleyway. He brought up his crimson coated knife, intending to put the blade in my throat. He stopped when he realized that he knew me. We had shared the same cell block for a few years. This was after the fox, after I pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter. Instead the goat with the gaping hole above his right eye took her purse and ran off. The police tracked him down a few nights later and shot him in the head.
I stare up at the ceiling as the night ebbs away. I think about how I will die. Up until my meeting with the coyote in the park yesterday, I did not understand it. Now it makes perfect sense.
It will be electrifying.
* * * * *
The next morning I go to work. It is an easy job, but it does not pay well. It is the best a felon might expect. I stock shelves at a small grocery store. The owner tolerates me because I am quiet, and do not complain when he asks me to work long hours without overtime. I am doing something meaningful and constructive. I am bringing order to chaos.
A sow looks up to me as I refill some boxes of cereal next to her. The young badger gives an awkward gawk at my extended under arms. Razor scars run down the lengths of them; wrists to elbow. My green store apron does not hide them. I am not allowed to wear my trench coat at work. The sow looks up to my neck and the side of my muzzle to the burn scars there. To her I must look like Frankenstein's monster.
Did I mention that I like children?
I attempt to smile down at her, like the reanimated, naive construct did in the movie. I must be a conundrum to small children. Large and disfigured. Warm and gentle. She smiles back, even if there are no flowers or rivers here. Her mother is not amused. The old badger snatches her daughter's wrist and pulls her away to safety. I cannot blame her. I have done bad things. I have had good intentions. I have paved my road to hell, and traveled back along it.
I once had a boyfriend in high school. That was a long time ago when I was foolish, and in love. We thought the only way we could spend eternity together was to die at the same time. He succeeded. I came back. It was not my time.
Something came back through with me. It is neither a gift nor a curse. I do not wish it would go away. I would not have learned the value of life otherwise. I would not understand how pointless it is to end your own life. I would not have appreciated the subtly of Billy Joel.
It was not always this way. Even after the fox on the street corner, I did not learn my lesson. A month after I got out of jail I passed by an office building. Everyone on the first floor who walked out for lunch looked burned and missing parts to themselves. An arm. A head. All I could see of one lion was his hind feet and the stumps of his charred ankles.
I obsessed over it for many days, waiting for the fire. On that day instead of just pulling the fire alarm, I snuck into the basement of the machine room. It was a long wait, but I hoped that by allowing the fire to start, Fate would be more lenient with the inevitable backlash. I contained the fire as best I could. When security noticed the smoke and evacuated the building, they found me there in the middle of the burning room, still fighting to maintain equilibrium. Still fighting Fate.
The judge accepted my guilty plea of attempted arson, and once I was discharged from the hospital, I spent five more years in jail. At my first parole hearing, I broke down in tears when I learned that a previously undetected gas leak occurred a week after the arson. It killed everyone on first and second floor before anyone took notice.
I continue to put away cans of peas and corn. It is an easy job. But it does not pay well. I know I am not smart. But I still enjoy life. And that is all that matters.
I am so absorbed in stacking can after can that I fail to notice the coyote from the park come up next to me. I must have lost track of time. There is only one can in his shopping basket. It is a can of green beans. Either he has not been shopping long or the coyote wants me to think that this is a chance meeting.
There is no such thing as chance.
"Hey there. I didn't know you worked here." The coyote is a good liar. His smile is genuine. His tail is slightly raised, as if in surprise. It is mean to be a white lie. A harmless lie. Even the most harmless one may become deadly over time.
"You live three blocks from here. This the only grocery store that stocks your favorite brand of vitamins close to you." I turn and smile. It is a more dark smile that I meant. "Of course you know that I work here, Colin."
The coyote's smile fades. Maybe it would scare him off. Fate can not fault me for being stupid. But instead of leaving, he blushes, tail swishing about. More cute things.
"Totally busted." the coyote admitted bashfully. "And it looks like I'm not the only stalker in the neighborhood."
It is meant to be a joke. I laugh. He laughs with me. He is bold and will not be deterred. He will ask me out for dinner. I will not have a good excuse. I have not picked up film more since last night. He knows I only work till 2pm on weekdays. And it is a Tuesday. I do not know why he is so fixated on me. Maybe it is because I am big. Maybe it is because I am quiet. Maybe it is because I like children. I do not know.
"So ..." Colin leaned in and squinted at the plastic name tag pinned on my green apron. He has just came off a jog. He smells like chamomile and fresh sweat. These are good things. He appreciates and enjoys life.
" ... Jake ..." Colin leans back hesitantly and continues. "Since you aren't doing anything tonight, would you like to have dinner with me?"
"Where are you going?" I ask, playing along. I already know where we will go. His favorite pub.
"This little place down by St. Martin. Whistle Binkie's." Colin made a sage face and nodded in appraisal. "Yep. You don't strike me as a drinker. But I bet you'll go crackers over their deviled eggs."
He put his paws behind his back and sways back and forth on the backs of his heels. It is another cute thing. He has no fear of what he suspects is an ex-convict. He is bold and reckless. Maybe he thinks I have interesting stories to tell. I do not know.
"That sounds nice." I admitted. I am hungry, and his company is nice.
"Meet you at the park around five then?" Colin's smile spreads wider. His fangs are straight and look like ivory. He takes care of himself. I only wish that he would do so around other males.
I simply nod. I have no good excuses. If I stand him up tonight, he will knock on my apartment door in the morning, in tears. Colin will not be deterred. He leaves satisfied. I go back to stocking shelves.
* * * * *
It is eight o'clock, and we are in front of his apartment later that night. I am swinging him around and around myself by his arms. We laugh like two children, our joys tumbling out into the night like dry leaves. We had a good time.
"Do you believe in Fate, Jake?" He asks me. I slow down his spin, my head already dizzy. When his hind feet touch down, our spin turns into a clumsy waltz. I know I am already in love with him.
"Do you?" I ask back. I dodge his question. He buries his cold nose into my warm shoulder. I hold him there. His back is thin and slim. My paws are large. The feeling is nice.
"I'm supposed to." Colin says with a wink. "You can't go to mass every Sunday and not have that malarkey drilled into your skull."
There is a pause. Some children in costumes run past us, giggling. It is All Souls Day. Samhain. Unlike the children, I do not need to wear a costume. Jackals have long been associated with the dead, and I already look like a monster.
"You do not strike me as Catholic." I muster up. I look down into his jade eyes. They sparkle with life.
"I don't strike you as a hedonist?" Colin fakes a look of shock, moments before he leans up and presses his muzzle into mine. The touch of their velvety softness is electric. His breath is warm, his taste makes my body tingle. I do not pull away. When our lips move, it is like the world stands still around us. It is foolish and not true, but you can not convince your heart of that.
Nor should you.
The coyote's tongue brushes against mine. It is no longer a chaste kiss, and the arms around my waist pull me in tighter. Our hips touch, and I can feel the heat of his sheath rub against mine, testing my reaction. My heart thunders. My sheath burns. This is what life is. And I should not run from it. Without warning, Colin breaks the kiss. His coy eyes glitter up to me. They are trickster eyes. Foolish eyes. He does not know who I am.
"Convinced now?"
With short breath, I can only nod.
The skin under my shiny black fur is flushed. I am aroused. It is a strange thing, but not unwelcome. It has been too long. Colin tugs on my paw, toward his door.
"You coming, or do I have to drag ya?" He meant it as a joke, but his wicked smile implies otherwise. Who am I to argue?
"Is this ... what you want?" I try not to have a sad look in my eyes, but it is hard looking into those glittering jewels without one. He does not know. Ignorance is bliss. That is why children are happy in life.
"Yes." Colin smiles impatiently. He tugs harder this time. "Yes it is. Don't make me wait for it."
* * * * *
We go upstairs to his bedroom. It is a nice apartment. It is clean and cozy and feminine. There are crafty Halloween decorations on the hallway walls. In his bathroom, there are lots of soaps and scents. It is meant to welcome all those who enter.
And there are a lot who enter.
His bed is softer than mine. His has a box spring, and it smells of chamomile. I lay him down on it, gently, like a flower on a river. He squirms to the side more on the mattress, but it is hard with his clothes still on. I lay down on the frilly comforter, and the bed dips to one side to accommodate my bulk.
My paws go to his slender form. It feels delicate. But I am gentle. They roam under his shirt and around to his back. The feeling makes him moan slightly. I press my muzzle lips into his open maw, our tongues dancing between our fangs. He wraps his legs around my body, our denim pants rustling against each other in the darkness. We lay that that for some time, teasing each other with grinds and squeezes.
After a while he pulls off his shirt, looking up at me expectantly. I dip my muzzle to his chest and taste of his right nipple. It is a treat I think I will savor. It is hot between my lips, perked and salty. He leaks a little into my muzzle as he pitches and squirms, whining into my perked right ear.
I love to give pleasure to others. It is my most favorite thing to do. It is a good thing. Very few bad things can come of it as long as I am responsible. But I do not think Colin cares right now if I am or not. He is too busy whimpering out my name, squirming on his comforter, begging for more.
I pull off my own shirt and lay on top of him, careful not to crush the flower. He sighs as I lower myself on top of him, press our naked chests together. He loves to be close to someone, but only for the moment. He is very lonely otherwise. It is his conundrum.
His paws roam over my back as I nuzzle and grind into him. He throws his head back and gasps, panting as I slide against his half naked form. When my paw runs down his belly, he stiffens in anticipation. My paw tips dip lower to feel over the hard bulge in his pants, and he moans. His claws rake my back, deep, but it is not an unpleasant pain. Life is painful. You should not hide from pain. It is a pointless thing to do.
One of Colin's paws drops from my back to fumble with the button of his jeans. He is impatient and clumsy. His paw shakes with need. I will not deny it to him, and once his pants are unbuttoned, I pull down his fly with a slow 'zip'. I am slow because I do not wish to hurt him.
"Tease," he pants. His claws play with one of my black ears.
I do not mean to tease him, so my paws slide under the waistband of his boxers. He gasps as my paw tips touch his bare cock. I pull his boxers down past the hard length. His arousal scent is strong now. My nose is close to his belly, the fur there so soft. I can not help but grasp the spear of pink jutting out from his sheath. I bring the hot flesh up to my muzzle lips. I sniff once. His scent is not musky like I thought it would be. There is already a line of pre drooling out of his slit.
His paw roams from my ear to the back of my skull. He pushes my lips closer to his cock head, insisting. It is my fourth favorite thing. I spurt in my jeans, the fabric of my briefs soaked now in the crotch. I can not help it.
I wrap my muzzle lips around his tapered head and slide my muzzle down on him. He shudders underneath me, calling out my name again. His paws clutch my ears, and I spurt again. I take him all the way down to his sheath, tongue rolling around the forming knot. It is salty from the pre drooling all over it. I pull off just to his tip, and repeat.
His moans get louder. I think he is already close. It is not a good thing. I have just begun.
I bob up and down until my muzzle lips cannot get past his knot. The dark room is filled with my rhythmic slurps. It is an erotic thing. My briefs are soaked, my own hardness floating in a sea of my own arousal. If we were to continue, I would shoot just from the sounds and taste. But his claws rake my back, his hips arching up to my muzzle. Colin's pleasured gurgle precedes the sudden flush of salt in the back of my throat. I begin to swallow before the first spurt can make me gag.
The second over fills my muzzle. His seed spills out, dripping onto his lower belly. It was a big load. The coyote's body eases back into the comforter. His panting, toned body is covered in sweat. He is no stranger to exertion. It is a good thing.
He will need the stamina.
Before he can do anything else I pull on his pant legs. He does not complain as I pull off his pants and boxers. Colin is naked underneath me, the look in his jade eyes relaxed but not sated. I can still smell the spunk on his stomach. I want to lick it off, and I do so. The coyote gives a soft moan underneath me. His paw tips sneak under me to undo my pants. Before I finish licking the fur of his belly clean, I look up to him.
The coyote has the same coy smile on his muzzle that he did outside.
"Are you going to fuck me?" He asks. His tail, pinned between his backside and comforter, attempts to swish.
I nod.
"If you don't mind ..." Colin's upper body twisted, and it sounded like he fished about a drawer in his nightstand. As I push off my own jeans, he presses a wrapped condom against my bare chest. By the questioning look in his eyes, I can tell it is more of an request than a rule.
I take it from him and tear off the corner with one of my fangs. I roll it down my wet tip, the pre lubed latex wrapping around my throbbing length like a snug moist glove. I like the feeling. But for Colin, it is a meaningless measure. It will be like an executioner sterilizing a needle used for lethal injection.
As I crawl forward on my knees, the queen bed wobbles. Colin pulls his legs up and spreads them, bent at the knees. When I lean forward, he hooks his ankles on my wide shoulders. In the darkness, I guide my own large tapered, wrapped tip to his spread hole, using the position of his legs as a reference.
I am clumsy without light. It is only my second time. But Colin does not seem to mind.
Instead as my tip hits home and spreads his hole, the coyote gives out a long rattling sigh of content. He tries to relax as I lean closer, letting my mass drive my larger girth deeper into him. He is tight. Tighter than I expected, so I go slow at first.
"You don't have to hold back ..." Colin's words came in short pleasured squeaks as I fill him. Although he had just got off, this is his favorite thing. And I will make sure that is done right.
We both grunt as I bottom out inside him, my balls touching the base of his tail. It feels so good to be in something so warm again. My paws roam down his legs, claws scraping the sensitive backs of his knees. He suddens and yips gently as I back out of him, only to drive myself back deep inside his tight ass.
This goes on for a while. How long? I do not know. A few minutes. An hour. It does not matter. Only after I change my angle does he start to whimper out, pleading. It is not the destination, but the journey that matters.
Colin throws his head back into the pillow with a sharp bark as I drive unto him hard. His own length is hard again, and another spurt flies out of his tapered length to stick against the wet, musky fur of his stomach. I drive into him again, arching a little more. My thrust bumps right into his prostate. He yips and spurts again. The look on his muzzle is one of tortured bliss. I do not think he is a sadist. And he is enjoying this moment. That is all that matters right now. I owe him this much.
Again and again I fuck him. I monitor my pace, keep my own building orgasm in check with his own. I can feel him start to clench inside. And I will drag it this out as long as he wants me to. The mattress pitches and sways with our tandem. He holds his scream back in his throat, but he can not contain it forever. I am quiet, but he lets me know he appreciates each of my small grunts by squeezing my ass cheeks. The rhythmic slap of my hips against his soft ass fills the dark room. Colin's own rigid cock slaps hard against his belly as I fuck him faster.
I am close.
My knot swells. I can feel it catching inside the coyote, grinding back and forth against his prostate. It sends him over the edge without warning. His scream cuts loose just has his undulating length slings his second orgasm back and forth between us. As his hot cream splatters against me, the feeling makes my inside clench. I can not stop it. I growl. It is a low, feral thing, and my ears fold backwards against my skull.
My hot load fills the condom. It squishes each time I thrust into the yelping coyote. But I can not stop. Nor do I want to.
This is what it means to be alive.
* * * * *
It is some time later. Well before dawn. Colin sleeps contently next to me, and he mrrs when I run a paw tip over his furry cheek. I have worn him out. I could have still kept going. Maybe I am a construct after all. Then why does my heart ache each time I touch his cheek?
Colin sleeps so deeply. He is warm, sated, and feels safe. He does not know who I am. He is like a child. Ignorant of the dangers around him. The danger next to him. I grab a paw full of the unused pillow next to him. It was embroidered by his grandmother, back in Ireland. It is soft against my pads, and I feel guilty for squeezing the pillow.
The pillow I am fated to kill him with.
He sleeps so peacefully. I wish I could tell him how much I love him, and how difficult this is. I wish he would be more cautious around other males, but he can not help who he is. If I do not fulfill his fate, he will eventually meet a ferret from Ohio who will cut him up and stick him in his freezer. The ferret is sick and is not gentle. He will be caught and killed by another inmate.
This is something I do not want to happen. But I do not want to kill the one I love, either.
His death is supposed to be gentle. At first he will not realize what is happening. His body will twitch. Then he will bat at his Grandmother's pillow. But I am strong, and will hold it down on his face until his feet start kicking. Maybe then, he will be conscious. I do not know.
It will not be for long.
I will know it is over when his claws dig deep into its stuffing. Colin's body will relax just as the blue outline to his soul drifts up. Most do not pass this way. Their deaths are symbolic of how they lived. But he was always himself. And that is why he will smile, even as he starts to drift past my arms.
His ghost will wrap his arms around me before kissing me one last time. He will not be angry. His soul will disperse like smoke in a gentle breeze, and I will cry until morning. Then I will call the cops and admit my guilt, as I always have.
I will get the electric chair for killing him. It will be a pretty death.
I do not want to kill him. But if I do not, someone else will. It will not be a good death. I think my favorite singer said it best: Sooner or later it comes down to fate. I might as well be the one.
Still I am hesitant.
It is my conundrum.
~ Fin ~
Dedicated to Lucky Fox, who remembers me when I have been quiet for so long. Memento Mori.
Many thanks to Tank Dog for her early impressions.
Life is ironic, yes? I have been working on the latest novella now since February, despite promising myself after 'The FLIR Conspiracy' I would write shorter works. And in the span of just eight hours, I churn this ghastly bit out.
In related news, I am currently seeking reviewers for 'Ein Wolf in der Falz'. If you are fluent in German, or, if you like complex and involving romance set in the backdrop of alternate 1915 - 1940's history, please send a PM through Yiffstar, IM, or email to Eldyran [at] yahoo.com
Thank you for tarrying with me down this long road, my paw in yours. I would not have it any other way.