Book Slut

When my eyes closed I could still feel her body against mine, the lingering warmth radiated throughout me as I relived the sacred experience with as much realism as possible.

The way her hands held mine as she straddled atop me, the intensity in those ice blue eyes that pierced through me with the waterfall flow of her fiery red hair framing her alabaster face to perfection. This was the pinnacle of my life thus far, to feel the passion and intensity of what she delivered was beyond all dreams and expectations. I was now a man who had lived, who had loved, and who could move forward to become greater than I was yesterday.

When she left, she took the large stack of bills on the table and walked out the door without a word. It was known that Cohortise didn’t repeat customers, that was not their purpose. They were bred and designed to be a once in a lifetime experience that would alter a man forever, and allow him to be better for all women after.

I smiled, grateful for the night, and looked forward to seeing my fiancée for breakfast.

Looking expectantly at Simon, the small crew of unkempt boys waited for him to tell the tale.

“You see sir, we found this ball, torn up and dirty when we were picking blackberries by the creek.” Simon felt most at ease when he was in the spotlight. He puffed up proudly as he continued, “And we figured it was as good a ball as any and we wanted to try some stick ball in that empty lot by the closed Pic n Save, and we planned just that.”

He took a breath preparing to go into greater detail. What he was saying was not how the other boys remembered it, but they all loved his storytelling so they never let on if it was a fib or not.

“Then we had to find a stick, but not just any stick, sir. No, it had to be the perfect stick, the perfect partner to this ball. It didn’t have to be pretty or fancy, no sir, it had to be rough and beaten up, to match that ball, sir.” He wiped his brow, “So we went on a quest to search for the stick, you see, and when we turned the corner and saw the tumbled bag of sweets we sort of forgot.” All the boys nodded emphatically, some lips still red from the treats.

“And we thought they were lost, so we could find them. They call us the lost then found club, you see sir, so we figured it was just another case of us finding something that was lost and putting it to good use.”

The man stood there suppressing a smile, even a laugh. “So you thought you’d pick it up and eat it all did you?” He was trying to use his harsh voice, but little bits of levity kept sneaking out. He remembered what it was like to be a boy. An unaccompanied bag of sweets was ripe to be plundered and he well knew it. If his daughter had not dropped it, or even said anything when she did, this wouldn’t be a situation at all.

“That’s right, sir. You see, possession is nine tenths of the law, sir, so the way we figured, we had all legal rights to it, as it had no possessor.” The boys’ mouths gaped in awe at him, this was the most brilliant argument they had ever heard come out of Skip’s mouth.

“Is that right?” the man asked, though he found this boy’s banter enjoyable.

“It is, sir. So we don’t think we did anything wrong. Besides, sir, those sweets couldn’t have gone to a more happy crew than ours, sir.” He smiled big motioning for his friends to do the same, and they did. They all stood there smiling huge, even with the candy dye still staining their mouths.

“On that point, I believe we can both agree. You certainly are a happy bunch. But what of your stick ball?”

“Holy moly! Mister you’re right! We gotta find that stick and get to playing!” He turned to go, but turned back, “That is, if we’re not in trouble, sir.” He looked as contrite as a 10 year old boy could be and the man just shook his head smiling and waved them off.

They ran in the direction of the empty lot whooping and hollering. “SKIP! SKIP! SKIP’S THE MAN!”

In the time before, there was no internet; no cell phones, no immediacy to anything. Time was spent together, in-person; you were present or you weren’t. No facetime calls, no snapchat or zoom, no text to see what’s up. All we had was that moment.

That coffee shop. The hours spent smoking shitty Marlboros and getting refill after refill of Farmers Bros coffee. The things they dreamed about were filled with magic and promise, making something out of nothing, finding something new, being something new.

Each night a new journey, a new fantasy of the future, or their lives. The caffeine-fueled tirades of which Stevie Nicks’ song was superior, or whether the Tower or the Ten of Swords was the worst tarot card, all ending in laughs and a firmer bond.

It wasn’t paradise or fantastic, it was filled with insomnia and words that evaporated into nothingness once the sun rose and they found themselves lying down to reset for another day. They preferred the tan from fluorescent lights and blushes from steaming fries, demands for sides of ranch, and choosing a diner based on which had the best. The rotation of who would pick where they’d go was the ruler of the night.

Despite having less, less knowledge, less technology, less money, they were happier and more satisfied with their life. Perhaps not knowing the shoulds and shouldn’ts are the key to just being.

The air was thick with humidity and sweat, bodies packed tightly in the middle of the city, suffering together in the unbearable heat. Each body drudging on like automatons destined to repeat their loop until death. The business suits covering the shame and pain of who they want to be, but aren’t allowed.

The overwhelming oppression of success staining each step, each Rolex, each Tesla. The cockroaches of humanity scurrying to the next crumb fallen from the latest and greatest hedge fund.

Lacking in spirit or hope, they carried on with the pointless nature of their NPC lives without notice or knowledge of the light and liberty that dwelled deep underground, where freedom seekers lived short, but meaningful lives. Offering their bodies as sacrifice for something more than an Upper Westside apartment.

The child peeked out from the sewage drain to spy on the machines she had been warned about. The soulless bi-peds who destroy and consume everything for what they can carry, discarding others without a thought. Her mother quickly pulled her down from the drain.

“Beuard! You know you mustn’t.” the woman whisper-yelled at the small child.

The child rubbed under her arm where her mother had gripped her too hard in her opinion. “I was doing no harm, ma. I just wanted to see them.”

The mother tenderly caressed the child’s soft brown hair. “I know, child, but they are such a terror, I wouldn’t want them to harm you.” The lilt in her voice sounded refined, educated, out of step with her dirty worn clothes and appearance. She smiled at the child picking her up and bringing her to rest on her hip.

Moving away from the light streaming in from above, she steps over scurrying rats and discarded cups with their faded and stained green logos. That was what the machines had done. Half alive, fueling themselves with caffeine, cars, carnal delights, and anything that would prove to the other machines that they were worthy.

The mother sighed, that’s not how it’s done. She smiled as she saw the heavy dark metal door before her. Waiting to be let in by Unger the overwatcher she put down the child who was eager to get home.

The door opened to an underground paradise lit up with bioluminescence throughout lush green gardens. People happily picking fruit, or weaving baskets, engaging with others, the glow in their faces evident to see. This is what they were hiding from the top dwellers, for if they discovered them, they would surely attempt to take everything they had built and destroy it, as they had done to the planet above.

Today I saw a funeral procession. A line of cars going back what seemed like forever, even blocking the intersection where that King Taco is.

Out of morbid curiosity I followed it. Who was so loved that they had at least a hundred cars showing up to their funeral? The matriarch or patriarch of a family? A child? A politician? I started building them up as I sat in the car at the end of the procession, no “funeral” label on mine, but was able to feign grief and get into the cemetery.

As I parked, I decided It was definitely a matriarch, the woman who made this family great. They all looked from the same heritage, many looked related, there were kids running around in suits with angry mothers telling them to behave. Luckily I was dressed for work in a black dress so I fit in for the most part.

Quietly I entered the chapel and took a seat in the back row. Outside the laughter and chatter of everyone was muted but you could still feel the energy of them. The joi de vie that was absent in this somber space.

The chapel was quiet, only a few people were there. Up at the front the casket was open. I had to see. I had spent 45 minutes in the car to get here, I had to see. So after those vacated the casket area I walked up the center aisle and saw the face of a beautiful man. He must have been in his late 20s, smooth skin, serene smile on his face, hands perfectly folded on his midsection, and he in a navy blue suit. He was the kind of man you stare at and hope they don’t catch you, but here in this frozen state of death, I could gaze unfettered.

What had his life been like? How had he died? I imagined he had a cocker spaniel that he adored and took everywhere. He cooked authentic dishes his Tia taught him, and never missed a week of dinner at his mother’s.

He saw me at the farmer’s market as we both chose eggplants, and that’s when the spark happened. I smiled coyly an irrepressible blush staining my cheeks as our fingers touched reaching for the same eggplant.

“Oh. Pardon me. My apologies.” taking my hand away from the vegetable.

“Not at all.” His voice was deep and smooth, an exotic lilt in it that made my body want to dance with each nuanced inflection. “Please, ladies first.”

I blushed and smiled to take the aubergine and place it in my crocheted sack.

“What are you planning on making?” He was talking to me. My stomach did a butterfly pas de deux.

“Me? Oh, erm, I’m going to attempt babaganoush, but I have few hopes it will be wonderful.”

He smiled. My god is face was gorgeous when he smiled, his eyes lit up like black diamonds sparkling just for me.

I was tapped on the shoulder. Looking up, I realized I was still standing at the casket in the small chapel, someone getting my attention.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re in the right place?” turning to focus on the source of the voice, it was someone that worked there. Shit, do I lie or confess?

“Hmm? Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I thought this was my nephew’s viewing. He passed quite suddenly.” I faked sorrow, but I’m a terrible actress.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I must ask you to leave and allow the family to grieve in private.”

That was that, but the fantasy lived on in my head. Not even the wretched traffic of the 60 freeway pulled me from the dream of a life with this departed man.

One more, just one more, I can do it, I can make it. My arm was immobile, my body filled with pain as it radiated from each spasming muscle, and my mind refused to accept it. I felt sluggish, like in a dream. Or was that the pain? The gray porous surface in front of me meant nothing. Words were thrown away in the wind, when I looked down and saw nothing but air.

My heart spiked to racing, my breathing quickened, but I still couldn’t move. The rope was clipped into a huge metal spike into the rock, then I was somehow tied to it as well. My voice was lost along with my ability to move. The blur of something beside me increased the fear. My god, what if I fall? Jesus fucking Christ I’m going to fall. The blur got closer and I could hear a voice, and then it disappeared again. The wind filling the chasms of my ears with it’s voice alone.

My left side was assaulted with more pain “PEOPLE LIKE US DON’T FALL FROM THE MOUNTAIN” came the screaming voice of my assailant. He then gripped the ropes holding me, and terror made my breath stop. Was he lying and going to undo the clip? In a click that’s exactly what he did.

And then it was just me and the air, the endless silence thundering in my ears, the nothingness of falling. In that moment, I let go of the fear, the anger, and despite those last words heard, I was, in fact, falling. Falling to the world beneath with only one inevitable ending.

People like us don’t fall from the mountain. What did he mean by that? And then to let go of the clip. People like us.

A feeling of warmth bubbled from my center, something growing and coming alive. It spread rapidly throughout my core, spreading through shoulders, hips, thighs, arms, hands and feet, then finally flowing up my head, like lava rapidly coating the land after the volcano erupted.

It was then that my eyes opened and I saw it all differently. The ground was not my destiny, the air was, and I could see it. See the tiny life forms in the wind that swirled around me. I reached out to them, summoning each amoebas cell towards me, directing them to surround my limbs, my core, all of me, and to retard the descent and allow me to float.

With that I was bobbing and dipping in the air, like a bouey in the ocean. I instructed to go left and began to fly that direction; the same with right, up, and down. I was flying, not like a bird, but this definitely qualified as flying.

People like us don’t fall from the mountain. Indeed. Beside me I saw him, his hand out, thumb up with a huge grin on his face.

“PEOPLE LIKE US DON’T FALL FROM THE MOUNTAIN” I yelled on the wind. He laughed and we continued in the air together.

She lay stunned, bruised, shuddering in pain. The silence consumed her head, ringing like air in a vast cavern. She opened her eyes and could see the final beams of light escaping the discarded body beside her. They radiated in shades of sunlight yellow, and orange fire.

Forcing her body to move towards him, the pain exploding throughout with each agonizing movement. She reached his immobile body, planting her fingers on the wrist to see if a pulse came through. All she could feel was her own racing heart. In panic and fear, she forced her broken body to move upward towards his face, maybe there was breath there, maybe some sign of life. Tears streaked down her face uncontrollably, though she doesn’t remember sobbing.

He wasn’t moving, no breath, no pulse, no sign of life. The light had faded from his form and she was alone in the dark cavernous space. Alone. Not just there and then, but in all things. There’s nowhere TO go, she thought. No one to go to. She readjusted to sit on the stony rock-littered ground, each movement echoing off the expansive darkness around her.

“Well, guess I fucked up on that one.” Her voice croaked out, the sound bouncing off the rocks.

She stood, her body was still riddled with pain, each movement was agonizing, but it meant she was alive. Alive in a world of death. A world she had chosen over the light and life of normality, and this is where she ended, failing in the one deed she deemed more worthy than living. Perhaps life is the penance for failure in not valuing it at all, she thought with a grunt. She was empty and she deserved that.

A sharp shriek echoed into the cave. She had forgotten about fear, or the fear of pain or death as she used to understand them. Now, after abandoning everything and everyone else, she had only one option, to follow further towards the sounds, towards the pain.

People ask me what living under the sea is like. You’d think it would get old or boring, but it’s really no different than living on the land, except it’s like 5 million times better!

Why is that? I’m glad you asked. You see, you’ve got vastly more space, it’s not really loud, especially if you stay deep, and you’re weightless all the time. Plus, there are some cool peeps down here. I mean Like really cool – I can hang with anglerfish, who are hilarious bee tee dubs, or a blue whale, man are those guys supportive.

I will NOT hang with any porpoises. Dolphins and killer whales – they are dicks with a capital ASSHOLE in the middle. They just love saying they’re the smartest ones on the planet. Fucking morons. Everyone knows that’s the seahorses, but because they’re not braggadocious no one seems to really know. Porpoises are basically the jocks of the sea.

But, they have to breathe water, so I can stay down low and avoid the assholes all I like. And trust me, I do. Please, take all of them and make bigger Sea Worlds with more ostentatious shows featuring their brilliant intelligence. Like you’re going to have a dolphin finish the New York Times Sunday crossword. Smartest on the planet, my amphibious ass. So yeah, take them. Maybe leave a few for sharks to eat, I like watching that.