Mirror

Ivan took his time shaving. He always did. The razor edge followed his cheek bones. His chin. The dip underneath his nose. He left the water running in his marble sink as he shaved. As he brushed his porcelain teeth. When he combed back his short black hair to a smooth perfection.

Closing the tap, he paused, staring at the man staring back at him. Ethereal. Distant. He did not recognize himself half the time. The other half, it was someone else. A reflection of a stranger. His father. His grandfather. Never himself.

By the time he walked out of the bathroom into his apartment, the phone rang. He listened only briefly to the woman on the other end. Pushing the pound button unlocked the doors in the lobby. Placing his phone on the charger, he walked behind the island counter to the kitchen. Taking from his open rack, Ivan chose a least expensive bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. He stopped momentarily before the reflective doors of the glass cabinets and examined himself. There was a knock at the door and he entered the living room, placing the wine glasses on coasters. Beside them lay miscellaneous tools.

A pair of electronic clippers.

Hair dye, black.

A sleek blue strap on.

A bottle of personal lubrication.

Walking to the door, Ivan looked through the peephole once before opening it.

She was lovely. As lovely as money can purchase. Blond hair, flowing in smooth waves around a beautiful face. Lips red as strawberries. Eyes a brown like his. She wore a dress coat over a black evening dress, a purse in her slender hands. Her cleavage was cut low, the breasts filling out the chest firmly. Her legs teased through a slit along the dress, feet ending in heels.

“Hi.” She said with a smile. “My name is Charlene.”

Ivan examined her, her cheeks and jaw line. Her neck. Her hair line. He touched his thumb against her lips and she smiled, flashing a white row of teeth. Finally, he offered to take her purse and showed her in. As she entered his apartment, Ivan closed the door and locked it.

“Please,” he said, indicating the wine, “help yourself. May I take your coat?”

She stood with her back to him, allowing Ivan to slip the coat off. Her shoulders were pale and angular. He gently gathered her hair up, exposing the back of her neck. She gasped at his touch and lowered her head submissively before he let her hair fall free.

Taking the coat to the closet he hung it up with her purse. Charlene had settled on the leather sofa, holding the wine. She was looking at the objects on the table.

“Do we take care of the matters first?” Ivan asked.

Charlene faced him and smiled. “It would be best.”

Ivan stood and walked to the kitchen. When he returned, he carried a fold of money. Charlene took it from him. She rose and made her way to the closet. There was a moment as she counted it, failing to be discreet. When she returned, her hands were empty. She sat back down.

“You understood before agreeing to come?” Ivan asked, sitting himself down in the chair across from her.

Charlene nodded with a frown. “If I'm not mistaken.” She said. “You want to...”

“I want to cut your hair.” He helped. “And dye it black.”

“And dress me.” She added.

Ivan nodded curtly. “Yes.” He pointed slowly. “You don't drink wine?”

She hesitated before smiling sheepishly. “You understand.”
He smiled, though it held nothing. “I do. A girl of your profession can never be too careful. No matter who you work for.”

She nodded and placed the wine glass down. Ivan stood up. Charlene rose as well.

“Then I suppose you would prefer we start.” He asked. When Charlene nodded, he returned it. “Very well.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Charlene was seated in a elegant wooden chair, placed on the tile floor of the kitchen. The clippers were buzzing loudly and she giggled as it rose through her hair.

“It tickles.” She said. Ivan smiled flatly.

Strands of blond locks fell to the tile floor, inches long. Ivan styled with precision, using scissors near the crown and his razor at the back of her neck.

“You've done this before.” She smiled, chin tucked against her chest.

Ivan didn't respond.

They sat once more in the living room. Silent. Ivan stared at Charlene. She stared around at nothing. Her was cut short, plastered flat by the hair dye. Black as the sky outside. Over her shoulders was a protective plastic tarp. In her hand was half the wine glass. She was naked, legs crossed, her small red nipples erect with cold.

“You live alone?” She asked. Ivan didn't answer. “You must be quite successful.”

He showed no motivation in participating with the conversation and she soon fell to an uncomfortable silence.

The egg timer rang from the kitchen and Ivan stood up. Charlene rose, placing her glass down carefully on the coaster.

“Let's get you in the shower.” He said.

Charlene washed in his patterned glass shower while Ivan sat waiting on a stool with her. He washed the thick black water follower her spine to the crease of her rear, dripping down her thighs before swirling into the drain. She stroked away the hair dye, cleansing herself of it completely. Turning, she faced him and smiled. Ivan nodded slowly. Her hand eased down a breast, to the shaven bend of her groin. Charlene grinned playfully and slid a finger along the pink lips.

Ivan rose. “Don't.” He said, leaving the bathroom. “Wash yourself and then come out into the living room.”

She came out from the warm mist like a new person. Her hair short and black. Her body was wrapped in a towel. On the sofa was a selection of clothes. Ivan waited at the chair in the kitchen.

“Please.” He said with a wave to the clothing.

Charlene let the towel drop and took the articles. His pleated black pants. A grey button up shirt. A black tie. A belt. She slipped them on, fitting into it well. When she was dressed, Charlene turned to him.

Ivan motioned for her to sit.

Smiling, Charlene walked over and sat down. Before her hair would dry, he combed it. Styling it. Shaping it. He meticulously floated around her, adjusting every detail. Touching each needed flow. Stepping away from her, he examined his work silently. Charlene blushed under his stare.

“Is it...” She said. “Is it as you wanted?”

Ivan stepped back, allowing her to rise.

A mirror. A mirror of perfection.

Before Ivan stood a replica of himself, the physical ego of his demands. His needs. Short black hair. Brown eyes. The cheek bones sharp like his. Jaw line straight. Like his. His shirt. His pants. His tie. He felt himself harden.

“Your breasts.” He started.

Charlene reached for the buttons. “Do you want to see them again?”

“No.” Ivan stated quickly. “They will have to do.”

He turned from her, to the coffee table. Charlene followed along. He reached down and took hold of the edge. Lifting, he slid the table along the rug, opening the space of the living room floor. He then took the strap on and turned to Charlene.

“Do you want me to lower the pants?” She asked.

Ivan gave it a thought and then nodded. She unfastened the belt and lowered the waistline, freeing the crotch of her pelvis. Ivan handed her the leather harness and Charlene carefully secured it around her hips. He stood back and stared at her.

Charlene. A split image of himself. Erection sticking out. Overcome by a sudden impulse, Ivan rushed forward and grabbed the rubber shaft. He pulled her close and kissed her.

She returned it with her tongue.

On the living room floor, they fucked. Charlene on her knees, thrusting hard against Ivan's rear. The phallic toy buried in his anus. She held him by the shoulder and grunting with each push.

“Say it.” She moaned. “Say my name.”

He bit his fist, on all four to receive her, and groaned. “Ivan.”

“Again.” She pushed on. “Say it.”

His arm was underneath, pulling himself quickly. “Ivan.”

“Say it.” Hiss Charlene.

He shouted. “Ivan!”

She pulled out of him and he scrambled around to his knees. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he bent Charlene down on her elbows and moved behind her. Pulling the back of her pants down further, he ignored the bottle of lubrication on the floor and forced himself into her rear.

“Ivan!” He grunted, pumping quickly. “Fuck you, Ivan!”

They lain on the living room floor. Ivan was completely naked. Charlene still wore the shirt. The tie. His pants had been lowered down passed her thighs. The strap on had slid aside, the lips of her vagina pink and moist. Her chest rose softly with each sleeping breath. The bottle of wine lay toppled on the floor, the contents long been drunk.

He rose on his elbow and examined her in the moonlight. The jawline smooth. His showed the signs of stubble, light where he had shaved. Her hair showing roots missed, golden as her hair was. Her neck lacking the Adam’s apple. Her chest rose and he touched it, squeezing a breast. Her stomach ran sooth and flat while his was ribbed with muscle. He touched the lips between her thighs where her sex went in.

Rolling over, he climbed onto her. She squirmed in her sleep. He pulled her pants lower, struggling to get them down until he could raise her knees. In her slumber, she opened her legs.

Ivan tried to force his soft member into her.

“Ivan.” He grunted, stiffening inside her. “Ivan.”

He began fucking her, slowly. She stayed asleep.

“You're Ivan.” He whispered. “You're Ivan.”

In the moonlight, everything about her that was Charlene seemed to glow. Inside her warm moisture he weakened. Pushing himself up on his arms, Ivan looked down on her.

“You're not Ivan.” He said. His penis slipped uselessly from her. “You're not Ivan.”

He put his hands on her throat and squeezed. As the crushing hold of palms cut the air, she awoke in shock and confusion. Looking up at him, Charlene began to struggle.

“Fucking bitch.” He spat. “You're not Ivan. You will never be Ivan.”

She fought to scream. She tried to push him off. She gasped and choked and pushed against him. In moments, her eyes rolled back. Her arms went limp. Her head slumped down.

“You'll never be me.” Ivan growled. “You'll never be me.”

He let go only when he was sure she was dead.

Standing at the bathroom mirror, Ivan washed his face. He combed his hair back. Stepping out into the living room, he looked down at Charlene. Her body lay twisted and distorted, eyes open. An illusion of himself in his shirt and tie. His pants down around her ankles. The fake penis hanging off her hip.

He took her by the arms and drug her aside to the bedroom. Opening the door, he pulled her in.

On the bed lay another. Smaller breasts. Shorter. Her hair was black, though longer. The colour showing her red roots. Her eyes were whitened. Lips blue.

He left Charlene lying on the floor and stepped out into the living room once more. Taking the empty bottle of wine from the floor, he brought to the kitchen. Ivan then pulled the table carefully back in place.

She was closer, he thought. Closer than the other before. The others. The many others who came to him. His search would continue. He could feel it. His search would soon be over.

Sitting down in the chair, Ivan sat and stared. On the kitchen floor, blond hair lay scattered about.

He would find perfection soon.

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

To Serve

   “I'm telling you, since Grieves took over most of the downtown businesses and the industrial park, things just haven't been the same, you know?”

Old Man Crotchet led the two officers down the hallway, passing one apartment to the next. The police men, both in uniform and built like bricks, walked behind the hobbling elder.

The taller of the two was Officer Holes. His partner, whose face will forever be scarred, was Deputy Tates. Holes and Tates, two veterans of the city district.

These two had seen it all. They walked the beat together, on the streets and off. They've seen the darker corners of the city, where hookers and dealers hid. They've been behind the locked doors of each sleazy establishment, into every crack house they could find. They were the most experienced duo to run the cruiser.

The apartment building belonged to Grieves, a name well known in the city. Over half the land and property belonged the the tycoon. He owned most of the businesses downtown, the industrial park on the east side and many of the residential accommodations. Old Man Crotchet was no more than a tenant, a pawn living and collecting rent in the building.

“I'm glad you two could come so quickly.” Crotchet said, each step led by his cane. “I wouldn't have been concerned had it been a simple bump in the night, you know? But stranger things happen in this building, I tell you.”

Tates glanced at Holes and was ignored. They followed in silence.

“I had one tenant jump out of a building.” The old man continued. “Just out of the blue. From the fifth story, you know? Though I'm sure you officers had already known about it.”

Holes cleared his throat. “We hear about it all.”

The hallway leading o the elevator seemed endless.

“Then you've heard about the murder on second, I'm sure.” Crotchet said. “A young kid, maybe in his twenties. Cut his girlfriend's stomach wide open. Ate the baby she carried. Guess it wasn't his.”

“The Parson's case. “Tate suggested. “Mike Parson. Murdered Christine Enjes, cut her open and ate the unborn kid. Jaferson was on that case.”

The old man nodded. They were about five doors away from the elevator. Originally used as a service lift back in the fifties, the elevator was now used by tenants. Despite its inconvenient location.

“Just a few months ago was that girl. Overdosed on the first floor.” Crotchet paused briefly to rest his knees. “Took something home made. Bought it from work. From some kid.”

Neither officer chose to continue the conversation. The walk resumed in silence until they reached the elevator doors. Crotchet pushed the down button and the wait was faster than the walk. They entered the steel cage and the old man chose the basement.

“This elevator has been here since the building was erected in 1958.” He informed them. Tates and Holes nodded in response.

The doors opened and they stepped out into a hallway, identical as the first. The two officers sighed as Crotchet began the painful walk.

“And what was the manner of the call?” Holes finally ventured, though the briefing had covered the details.

Crotchet seemed to move faster on the basement floor. “It's the storage room at the end of the hall.” He said. “See, this is Grieves' building, you know? And the door to the storage room is closed. Says he uses it for personal arrangements. Doesn't rent out these rooms below. See now, I usually ignore it then. None of my business what a man like Grieves uses the basement for anyway. Seems he does it with many of the apartment he owns. Janice, on Coddle street, she says she has one in her basement. None of our business, you know?”

Tates glanced over at Holes. It was returned in silence.

“But it was this morning, officers.” The old man went on. “came down over a burned bulb. Over in the end there. When I changed it, should have been it. But it wasn't, you know?'

Holes raised an inquisitive brow. “It wasn't?”

Crotchet paused to look at them. “I heard sounds. Voices coming from within there.”

“Perhaps Grieves then.” Tates offered.

The old man shook his head and continued. “No. Maybe. But the woman I heard was in distress.”

The officers exchanged a second glance. “Distress?” Holes pressed on.

“Yes. Distress.” They were reaching the end of the hall. A wooden door awaited them. “I heard a woman or a girl crying. Sort of pleading, you know? She sounded very troubled, officers, and they men with her sounded none too kind, if you catch my drift.”

“Did you go inside the room?” Tates asked.

“I could have.” Crotchet answered. “I have the key to the doorknob. It came with the set I was given back when I took charge of the building, you know? Figured I wait for the boys in blue though. Wouldn't want to get in the way of the law.”

“Good choice.” Holes said, drawing his gun and a flashlight. Tates followed suit.

Holes nodded. “Go ahead then. Let's have a look and stay behind us.”

With hands shaking from age, Crotchet took out his thick ring of keys and effortlessly drew the right one. Slipping it in the lock on the know, he turned and released it. Hobbling, he stepped aside to let the officers go through.

Cautiously, Tates opened the door, shining the beam before him. The room was bare but for empty metal shelving, standing in rows down one side of the room. Carefully he entered, followed closely by Holes. The latter paused to turn towards the wall and found the light switch. With a flicker, florescent tubes lit up.

In the room, towards to far wall, sat a table. When Crotchet stepped in, he gasped and dropped the keys.

“Dear God.”

On the table lay a woman, a girl by his assumptions. Twenty something, with brown hair falling over the edge. She was completely nude, her flesh bare to the cool basement. Leather straps bound her wrists and ankles to the table. A horse bridle was secured between her teeth. Her breasts rose slowly with slumber.

“What evil is this?” Crotchet whispered as the officers carefully proceeded forward.

Tates held the gun steady and approached the table. Beside it waited a smaller tray, the surface containing a variety of perverse tools. Sex toys, three in variety. The next bigger than the first. Wooden clothes pins. A ballgag. A funnel.

A knife.

Holes joined his side and looked down on the girl.

“Is she sleeping?” The old man asked.

Tates looked back. Crotchet stood near, writhing his hands nervously. “Is she a tenant of yours?”

The old man shook his head. “Never seen her before.”

At that moment, the girl awoke screaming. It startled the three men as she rose her pelvis off the table, struggling frantically against the binds. Her eyes were wide with terror, looking wildly around the room.

“Whoa!” Holes shouted, putting a hand on the girl's arm. “Calm down before you hurt yourself.”

When she looked at him, the girl froze. She stared at him in silence as tears filled her eyes, The look on her face was of pure terror.

“Jesus.” Crotchet supported himself against a shelf. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

Tates pulled at the leather bounds, first to the ankles and then the wrists. The girl began to weep, shaking her head slowly.

The old man stepped closer. “Can it be untied?” He asked. “I have tools you could use.”

Holes looked back over his shoulder. “Untie it?”

Tates turned and with a quick raise of the gun put a single bullet hole through Crotchet's forehead.

Holes stepped aside as Tates turned back towards the girl. Reaching in a coat pocket, he pulled out a cellphone.

“There there.” Tates grinned down at the girl. She continued to cry as he slid a hand between her thighs. “I've been hearing you're being a bit too loud.” As he began moving his fingers, she closed her eyes and bit down on the bridle. Her body jerked with each sob.

His partner spoke into the phone. “It's Holes.” He said with a pause. “Tell your boss we need a clean up in the Bantre Complex.”

Officer Tates pulled his hand away and the girl stared back at him in sorrow. His smirk deepened the scars on his face.

“I don't care. Tell him it's a mess and it will stay that way until he sends the Kids.” Holes put away his gun and nudged Crotchet's body with his foot. “No, she's not. She's fine. So to speak.”

Tates chuckled at the comment.

“We can do that but then he'll need to take care of two stiffs.” Holes continued. He withdrew the gun once more. “If that's what it takes, fine. We can always get another.”

“Maybe a redhead this time.” Tates chuckled. The girl, sensing the danger, began to panic. Her breath came in fast.

“Fine.” Holes said, turning back to his partner. “I'll see to it. Just send the Kids soon. Oh,” He added quickly. “And tell him to find a new landlord.”

With that, he hung up and put away the phone.

“She's getting loose anyway, right?” Tates joked. “Got four fingers in just now.”

Holes showed no humour. “I told you the bridle stays in when she's awake.”

“But then she doesn't choke.” His partner sighed. He turned to him. “Without that, I might as well be fucking her cunt.”

Officer Holes shook his head. “Only when they're asleep.” He said. “You fucked up, Tates.”

It took a brief second for Officer Tates to see where things were leading. It was too late. Before he could say a word, Holes had shot him in the head.

The body slumped against the table before hitting the floor. Walking over to the table, Holes stared at the frightened girl. Carefully, he grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed. She held her breath and closed her eyes tightly.

“Only with the bridle.” He whispered.

Officer Holes pulled the car in front of the suburban home. The front door opened as he stepped out of the cruiser.

“Daddy!”

A little girl with auburn pigtails came running across the lawn. He crouched to receive her hug.

At the doorway, his wife stood smiling. “Busy day?”

“Yeah.” Holes smiled back. He walked up and kissed her on the cheek. “To serve and protect.” He smiled, letting his daughter squeeze by into the house. “You know?”

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Mira and Her Brother Thomas

 Mira and Thomas were twins. Born a minute and a half from each other, the two carried identical features. They both had deep brown eyes, sharp facial structures and hazel hair. They both had sharp eyebrows and attractive smiles. Neither carried their mother's curse, possessing slender bodies with minimal effort. Standing side by side they were exact mirrors had Mira not developed curvy thighs and budding breasts. If she were to cut her hair short or if Thomas were to grow his long, from behind only Mira's feminine rear would give her away.

Cut of the same wood.

Unfortunate for the siblings, their blessed miracle was a hex on their mother's life. Upon learning that there was not one but two children, their father left. Gone with no word on his whereabouts. This did not sit well with their mother, whose body became damaged by the difficult birth of her children. Rendered weak and broken, their mother suffered from aches of the bones, a shattered pelvis and a weight problem she would never recover from. Mira and Thomas were forced to live according to the disabilities of their mother, remaining recluse as she grew larger and larger with each passing year.

Mira and Thomas grew up together. They were best friends. They were their only friends. What little the government supplied as financial aid was what they lived on. Their clothes were second hand and the food was meagre. Their mother was teacher, priest and mentor. They knew little of the outside world, the television their only window of escape.

Their mother's name was Kathy and within years from having her children she ballooned to mass proportions. Morbidly obese, Kathy grew to a weight of over four hundred pounds. Fat rolls morphed what had long before been an attractive figure. She couldn't help it. The dozen years after the labour was spent from a bed placed in the middle of the living room floor. She could not get up and she could not fend for herself. Most importantly, she could not satisfy her hunger. Kathy relied greatly on her children, having raised them by herself. She had trained them and conditioned them. Mira and her brother Thomas were her slaves, her aids and her tools. With them she continued to live.

Mira and Thomas, their relationship became focused entirely on themselves. When they had reached the youthful ages of twelve, theirs was already a life of hardship and ridicule. The trips to the grocer was one of humility and shame. People starred and whispered, talking of the twins raised to take care of their fat mother. Such ventures outside became painful for the siblings, forced to march the gauntlet of mockery and snide from their peers. So it was that Mira and Thomas travelled little, a daily trip to the mailbox, to the store, and back home. Their life existed only in their room, up within the attic of the house.

Their house was unclean. Filth and garbage piled up with dishes in constant need of scrubbing. These twins grew up in an environment unhealthy for such innocence.

Innocence they were not for the pathologies stewing inside their young minds warped to adapt, to survive in the life they had not chosen.

Adapt they did, for in each other they found the comfort they needed. Mira and Thomas. Identical twins with only each other to hold on to. When Mira began to bleed regularly and when Thomas awoke wet from perverse dreams, it was in each other they found freedom.

It was but a matter of time when the oppression of their unwanted life would grow. They became older, stronger and wiser. When Mira and Thomas were thirteen, the money stopped. They would need to be independent. They would need to survive.

They needed to break away from Kathy, their mother.

Forever.

Possessions were but fantasies for Mira and Thomas. Their attic room was not much more than a small mattress on the floor, laboured by unfolded sheets and two pillows. Posters torn from magazines hung crooked on the walls, of horror movies and fictional monsters. An old radio taken from the living room provided static-drenched music from a local metal station. Their clothes lay in forgotten piles, growing and torn through each day. The ceiling was stained with watermarks and the window was dark with dust. The curtains eaten by moths. The floor boards creaked and when Kathy would watch the infomercials at two in the morning the sound rose through clearly.

It had once been their mother's room but now it was theirs. The belongings Kathy had owned, the size six pants and sexy slips, they were all sold for food. Only a few articles remained. Family photos and memories were all stored within the basement.

This was Mira and Thomas's domain.

It was afternoon and their radio was on, blaring loudly to silence the cries. Kathy was below, in the living room, grossly unaware as she watched a talk show that above her, her children committed the sins of loneliness. Of confinement.

Over the deep drums of rock, Mira was on her knees, dressed in one of Kathy's old nightgowns, a purple teddy that hung loose on Mira's small frame. Her growing breasts visible as the front tapered low. Her hand pulling slowly as Thomas lain back, watching, nude. His member in Mira's hand.

"Mira!"

Kathy's cries carried up the steps, through the floorboards. They were muffled by the radio.

"I'm hungry." Mira moaned, both wantonly and honestly, glaring at her brother.

Thomas propped himself on elbows. "Don't talk." he grunted.

She grinned.

"Mira! Thomas!"

They could hear the second calling, their mother's grating high pitched voice threatening to drown the music. Drown the seconds before Thomas would come.

He rose himself on one hand and grabbed a fistful of Mira's hair. He pulled and she flinched. "Ignore her." He gasped. "Ignore the bitch."

"The cunt." Mira smirked, head forced to tilt towards his him.

"Mira! Thomas! Get down here now!"

And then the inevitable thump. The broom handle an extension of Kathy's arm, reaching up and pounding the ceiling. Pounding underneath the floor of their attic room. Directly underneath their mattress.

With a sigh, Mira slowed to a halt, holding Thomas's softening and distracted dick. "She won't stop."

"She never stops." He replied, taking hold of her hand and urging her to continue. His penis, however, lost its strength.

Mira shook her head. "No. She's hungry."

"She's always hungry." He said in frustration, still forcing her hand. "She eats and eats and it will never stop."

Mira pulled her hand away, leaving him unsatisfied and incomplete. Sighing, Thomas pushed himself up and sat on the edge of their bed, listening.

The pounding came. “Mira! Thomas! Come down here! Now!”

He looked at his sister, sweat beading his brow, his foreskin sheathing the unfinished tool. “We have no food.”

Mira sat back, wiping a sticky palm across the hem of her mother's night gown. “We'll just have to go buy some.”

“We have no money.”

His sister frowned thoughtfully. Her own stomach growled. “The bitch eats away what little we have.”

“We won't be getting anymore checks. There is no savings.” Thomas rose, walking towards his jeans so carelessly tossed aside. Mira watched him as he pulled them on.

“I'm not whoring myself.” She said.

Thomas glanced at her. “I know.”

“Did you find a job?”

“I'm too young.” He explained, walking over to the radio and turning it off. “They want me to go back and apply when I'm fourteen.”

“We'll starve before we reach that.”

Thomas didn't have a reply.

Without the music, their mother's voice was even louder. “Thomas! Mira! Mira! Thomas! Now!”

He glanced down at the precum stains on his mother's slip. Mira's gown. “You can't be wearing that when you come down.”

She rose off sore knees and raised the slip over her head, her young body bare. Tossing it aside onto the mattress for later, she was grabbing a brassier when Thomas opened the door to their sanctuary.

“What were you two doing up there?”

Their whale of a mother was forever propped against the living room wall. She sat that way. She ate that way. She slept that way. Every day, a constant blob sunk into the crushed springs of a mattress. Hair long and stringy, coated with the sweat of fat. Chins tripled, quadrupled beyond proportions. Arms as large around as tree trunks. In a constant state of nudity, no clothes fitting her. Massive breasts sitting on folds of her stomach, nipples stretched to serving platters. Thighs so overgrown they stuck together, flattened with weight. Her pubis lost underneath the layers of flesh. Feet but extensions to her legs, the ankles molded with the calves.

Her flesh reeked of sweat, layers brought on with sloth. The stench of her cunt blended with the foul puddle of liquified shit long seeped from her swollen anus. A bedpan was placed underneath the mattress, a makeshift hole cut for her rear. It was long ignored. Kathy, once beautiful and young, was a beast stewing in her excrement.

Mira, dressed in her jeans and an old shirt, folded her arms in disgust and glared at her mother. “I was giving Thomas a hand job.”

Kathy, her head the only moveable muscle in her body, shook waves of anger through her folds. “Don't even joke like that, Mira!”

“We were listening to the radio.” Thomas quickly interjected, wearing a wrinkled black dress shirt. “Just reading some magazines and listening to the radio.”

Mira continued to glare at her mother.

“It was too loud.” Kathy said. “What if I needed something? What if I was hurt or in trouble?”

“What, like tripping on the way to the bathroom?” Mira scoffed sarcastically.

Her mother flared furiously. “You watched your mouth when you talk to your mother, you little whore!”

Angered, Mira unfolded her arms and stepped forward. “If I'm a whore it's only to keep your fat ass fed!” She hissed.

Thomas pulled his sister back by the arm. “Enough, you guys.” There was little emotion in his diplomatic command. “Mother, you needed something.”

Kathy's eyes burned with hatred, staring at her daughter. “You ungrateful bitch,” she hissed, “if you had never been born-”

“If I had never been born you would have been dead a long time ago, you cow!” Mira challenged, resisting Thomas's hold.

He then raised his voice. “Enough!”

Both girls, slender daughter and massive mother, exchanged deadly stares in silence.

“You needed something, mother.”

Kathy hesitated, glaring daggers at Mira for seconds before turning her overgrown head to her son. Her face did not soften.

“I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry-” Mira began sharply.

Thomas pulled her back. “We have no money at the moment, mother.”

“Then make me some beans.” She replied stubbornly.

“We've eaten them all.” He explained simply. Mira avoided correcting him, to mention that their mother ate them all.

Worry beat the anger from Kathy's face. Her eyes shot between the twin quickly, disbelieving. “What about the checks? The government-”

“We've told you, mother.” Thomas said soothingly. “They've stopped sending them when we turned thirteen.”

The look on Kathy's face both saddened and infuriated Mira. “But we need to eat!” Their mother said stubbornly. “I need to eat!”

“We can work something out.” Thomas explained softly. “We can sell something-”

“Not my T.V.!” Kathy exclaimed in a panic. Mira's frown deepened in rage.

“No, not the television.” Thomas shook his head. “Something else, I'm sure. We have a few things-”

Kathy's excitement sparked with an idea. “The radio! You can sell the radio! And when you find a job you can get a better one!”

Both Mira and Thomas's heart sank. Neither showed it. “We could do that-”

“Go!” Kathy exclaimed quickly, almost pulling her back from the mattress as she raised an arm at her son. “Go! Get money! Feed me!”

Thomas wasn't ready to sell their only possession. Neither was Mira.

“Mother.” he said.

“Go! Get money! Feed me!” The strain of her efforts tired her out. Kathy rolled back into position, sweating profusely. Still, she closed her eyes and began to shout. “Go! Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

As the twins climbed the steps to the attic, Kathy's chanting had grown zealously, a pounding of excitement.

“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

In their attic, one of the floor boards rose easily. Underneath it was a shoebox and in it was 37.25$.

“This won't be enough.” Thomas said, counting out the bills and change. He was kneeling over the box with Mira standing behind him.

“That fucking bitch will eat us out of this house.” Mira hissed. Though the radio had been turned back on, her hate carried loudly.

Thomas rose and walked over to the radio. “We sell this today and tomorrow she will still be hungry.”

“I'm still hungry.” She said, walking up behind him. Her hands snaked around over his groin. “We're still hungry. No matter what we do now, she will always be hungry.”

Thomas stared at the radio silently, swimming with thoughts of helplessness. “That's how it's always been.”

Her hand slipped down the front of his jeans. “And how it will always be, Thomas.” She leaned in and bit his ear. He was unreceptive. “That's how it will be until she either dies of a fat-induced heart attack or...” Her voice trailed off.

He turned around, forcing Mira to remove her hand. Thomas faced his sister with a thoughtful frown. “Or what?”

Mira grinned, though darkness clouded her eyes. “Remember our twelfth birthday? When you and I discussed our wishes?”

His brow lowered musingly, drawing the curtains of memory. “Of course I do, but we were just daydreaming. Joking.”

She stepped in, pressing her body close. His hands came around and held the firm cheeks of her rear. Her face was pale and sunken from hunger. They both were.

“Were we, Thomas?” She whispered. Tilting her head, Mira's tongue brushed his lips. “Were we really?”

He was quiet, staring into her eyes. Looking for the seriousness, the intent. The fact over fiction.

“What you're saying we do-” He began.

She pushed her groin against the growing bulge of his pants. Her gasp floated like words over the dimness of their room. “Would set us free.”

Their lips locked and tongues twisted. Thomas pulled her against him, parting her ass within the jeans. Her hands cupped his head as they kissed, grinding her breasts against his chest.

When they parted, there was a fire glowing from her face. “We would no longer need to worry, Thomas. Think about it!”

He stared quietly at her, not saying a word. No more an action than his hand pushing down on her shoulder, urging her to lower. The devil's smirk on her lips, Mira descended into a crouch before him, hands unzipping his pants.

“We would never fear, never struggle again.” She said, her voice a song rising to his watchful stare. “We would never have to be slaves to anyone but ourselves again.”

The idea, the implications of such madness, began to seed within Thomas's mind. “We would be free.” Was all he muttered.

Her mouth enveloped him and sucked with the hunger of her stomach.

“We could get away from here, far away. We could roam the cities, the province.” He gasped, taking her in, staring at her with fever. His fingers trapped in Mira's hair, her pulled at her with each thrust of his hips. The moment was driven with their dire plan. With a harsh grunt, he came, feeding her. She swallowed before pulling away with a harsh gasp.

“We could go anywhere!” She exclaimed with a cough, wiping the back of her hand across moist lips. “You and me, until the day we die! Free off that fat cunt!”

Spurred with new energy, Thomas grabbed his sister underneath the arms and raised her. “We could be anyone we want, unrestrained! No longer children to her!”

“Yes!”

He wrapped an arm under her legs and cradled her, kissing her lips, taking in the taste of his own flesh. Thomas took her over to the mattress and tossed her down. She was unbuttoning her pants and lowering them over her thighs as he knelt before her.

“Then let's do it!” He exclaimed savagely.

“Yes!”

“Let's rid us of that bitch and live as we should!”

“Yes!”

He grabbed her jeans and tore them from her legs. Tossing them aside, he forcibly parted her knees, opening her thighs wide. A fury glowed from Thomas as he lowered his head between them.

Mira gasped and rolled her eyes. She sighed.

“Tonight, our mother will die!”

Kathy awoke from the queerest of dreams. The grogginess of sleep hovered like a bad cold, webs over her mind.

“Wha?” She mumbled. The sweet smell of meats floated in the air.

Mira shushed her softly. “Wake up, mother.” She said gently. “Wake up.”

A warm metal spoon touched Kathy's sausage lips and she licked hungrily, the strong scent assaulting her nose. Greedily she suckled, taking in the spoon and tasting the flavorful broth and chucks of beef.

“There you go.” Mira cooed. “That's better, right?”

Kathy struggled to open her eyes, swallowing the hot food. The room was dim, a faint bulb the halo to her daughter's form. “Mira...” She said brokenly. She was so exhausted. “Mira, my daughter, I'm sorry.”

“Hush, mother.” Mira said, stroking a fat jowl. “Eat. You're tired.”

She struggled to awaken. “Mira, I'm sorry.” She said. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you a whore. I love you. I love you both. If your father had-”

Thomas's voice carried from beyond, from the kitchen, from eternity. “Is she up?”

“She is.” Mira replied back, the shadow of her head turned towards him. “Mother is awake.”

“My child.” Kathy struggled to raise an arm but found it heavier than lead. An ache pulsed in her lower spine. “Mira, I'm sore.”

Her daughter looked down at her, the light behind her growing. The room coming into focus. “I know, mother.” She smiled kindly. “I know. It hurts.”

Slowly the light grew, illuminating the living room. With it came a sharp pain in her rear. “My ass.” Kathy grunted, straining in pain. “My butt hurts.”

Mira shushed her again, putting a finger on Kathy's lips. “Don't strain. You'll only hurt yourself.”

An unexplained panic was growing within the buried gruel of her heart. “Where's Thomas? Where's my son?”

Turning her head, she found him entering the room, a bowl and spoon in hand. He passed it to Mira.

“You found food.” Kathy smiled, sweating. The webs of sleep were stubborn. “You found a way.”

Thomas was but a haze, an apparition of himself. “Yes, mother.” His voice carried no emotion. “We found a way.”

Something in his tone sparked the fear in her mind, the tremor of worry. Something was off. He spoke so expressionlessly. Cold.

Cruel.

She struggled to speak. Something was off. There was a sharp pain in her right hip. “What happened?” She said. The light got even brighter. The world with all her harshness came into focus.

Kathy frowned. Mira was wearing makeup. Maybe. Thomas in the apron. Likely.

“What...” She paused, flinching in pain. Then agony. “What happened? What did you do?”

Mira brought the spoon to her lips again and she swallowed chunks down. “What we should have done a long time ago.”

Both of her children stared at her silently. Their eyes hurt more than anything in world. And flames. Her hip was on fire. Struggling to lift her own weight, Kathy pulled herself up. No effort could raise her. Panic. She fell back, unable to breath. Gasping, her heart pounding wildly.

“What have you children done?”

The shroud lifted from her, the world coming crystal clear. A pulse in her ears matched that in her lower torso. Mira's makeup, a red paint.

Blood.

She was coated with it. Thomas's apron, the badge of a slaughter house. Soaked with corn-syrup violence. Both of her thirteen year old children, bathed in gore.

Mira's grin lacked warmth. Only madness. She reached down and Kathy struggled to see, to witness. Her daughter lifted an object in her hand, bringing it close to her blood splattered face.

Kathy's right foot.

The horror caught in her throat and the pain grew.

“What... what is that? What have you done?” Her pitch rose, tinged with agony. The phantom in her hips grew into an inferno. “What have you done?”

“You wanted to eat, mother.” Mira's grin faded, replaced with hate absolute. She rose and began crawling onto the mattress, onto Kathy. In her hand, the severed foot was pale and cold. The blood thick at the cut. The toes flexed stiff.

“You cut off my leg!” Kathy grunted, vainly attempting to move. The suffering had grown. She was in pain. Paralysed and incapable of fight. Her own weight held her down.

Her daughter crawled onward, mounting Kathy's massive form until she was looking down on the woman who had given her birth. Thomas stepped in, holding a ladle in his hand. Chucks sat soaked with broth.

“Stay away from me!” Their mother gasped, dizzy with faint. The belief that her own children could do this, cut off her leg...

Mira took the spoon from Thomas. With a hand, she pinched Kathy's lips open and poured the stew into her mouth. Her mother sputtered, eyes rolling as sickness boiled in her massive stomach.

“Eat, you fat cow!” The girl screamed fiercely, spitting on Kathy's face. “Eat! It's all you do! Eat!”

Kathy shook her head, pulling away from the food. A strike of the ladle to the nose stunned her. A second, a third. Her nose popped from within, a bubble of blood bursting out. Mira continued, shouting.

“Fuck you! Eat! Eat!”

The darkness was returning, the gore on Mira's face changing back into paint. Into makeup. A humming sound came to her ears, intensifying with each blow to her face. The loss of blood made her weak and tired. She wanted to sleep but it could not break through the abuse.

Distantly, Thomas's voice came. “Kill her. Kill the bitch. Kill our mother.”

A piercing puncture in her fleshy throat, cold as electric ice.

Mira's voice cackled savagely. “Her neck's so thick! The knife barely cuts through!”

“Here,” Thomas's tone carried excitement, “let me try!”

The weights on her stomach, on the gut that carried her leg, moved. Kathy was numb to it, numb to her surroundings. The world was fading, closing like a door on life. Shaking her head, she widened her eyes, begging for light. Thomas hovered over her, a long kitchen knife in his hand. Waving it in her face. The taste of copper on her tongue. A choking fluid in her gullet.

The pain returned, the laughter of her children the last sound she would hear.

The dawn rose slowly over the city. On the porch, two siblings stood, identical in shadows.

Thomas turned to his sister and smiled. She returned the gesture and took his hand. He leaned in and kissed.

When they parted, Mira faced the world ahead and sighed.

“Let's go find us something to eat.” She said.

Thomas grinned. Together, they climbed down the porch of their home and walked away.

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Cattle Line

  The following story begins to give shape to the city in which the shorts take place in. Some of the names used will become common in the later stories.

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   The Black Tie Event looked like any other strip club. Located in the Grieves Industrial district, is was a popular joint for anyone wanting to watch some twenty-something year old stripper pull her pussy open and slide it down a pole. The waitress served drinkings wearing no more than a g-string while music pulsed to the theme of the dancers. Pool tables sat untouched on the raised level of the bar, while tables were scattered randomly around the stage. In the corner of the preforming platform, a clear glass shower stood sentient and curtains led behind to the dressing rooms. Pass the bar, the hallway leading to the fire exit held VIP rooms. Fifty bucks and the dancer of choice would rub her bare cunt on some bastard's pant bulge.

Behind the bar a door led to the stockroom. From there was the office and surveillance screens. They caught every piece of action going on through live feed cameras position generously around the bar. Should a grabby dick decide he would rather look than touch, the bouncers wouldn't miss it. Many a fool found himself waking up near the dumpsters out back, missing teeth and sore as hell.

The office belonged to Tony Calto. He managed the money, the girls and the inventory. He was in charge of the Black Tie, but didn't own it. The property itself, plus the 80% profit cut, went straight to the man himself, Mr. Grieves. Tony looked like any sleeve strip club manager, with greased back hair and a thin moustache. He wore suits everyday, tie-less with the shirt opened at the collar. Tony was a loyal yes-man. Wasn't shit that happened he didn't tell his boss. Such devotion to the job paid well and there was no way Tony would screw it up.

Mr. Grieves methods of disposing such mistakes was also good motivation. When people fucked up, they went missing. It's common knowledge in the city.

When Calto wasn't in the office counting coin, he often sat in the corner booth. It was from there he could keep tabs on the business best. The patrons and the customers. When idiots tried to cheat the staff, or touch them too much, he could quickly dispatch the muscle. These bulky monsters were Omar and Mike, two overly built bouncers who never left Tony's side. They were his lapdogs. His security. Slaves to the end.

It was in the booth that Tony was seated that night. Flanking both ways in were his golems, the buffed giants standing quiet. Beside Calto sat a young twenty year old, her hair and makeup done to the nine. Before her was the application, a single sheet asking pointless questions concerning a career in stripping off clothing for strangers. Under the table, her hand stroked her potential boss's cock, the short shaft jutting from the fly of his pants.

If a girl got that far, then she was hot enough to strip and usually got the job.

When Mike turned to Tony, the interview had to be cut short. Straightening in the seat, Tony spotted him at the entrance. With a wave of annoyance, he dismissed the girl and hid the dick. The man who had entered was short, with long banger hair and a thick beard. Despite the dim lighting of the bar, he wore sunglasses to match his three piece suit. Spotting Tony in the corner, he casually walked over to the booth.

The man's name was Eric Wood, a direct associate of Mr. Grieves himself. His job was that of an investor, by all sense. If Eric didn't like something, then the boss didn't either. And when Mr. Grieves doesn't care for something, he sends the Kids. The Kids were known for dealing with shit quickly if not efficiently.

In laymen terms, when the Kids got involved, people die. Eric was the ass Mr. Grieves' employees had to kiss.

When Eric approached, Omar and Mike were quick to give room, arms crossed nervously.

“Mr. Wood.” Tony began the brown nosing quickly. “A pleasure as always. What brings you here?”

With the glasses on, it was always difficult to tell his emotions. “Mr. Grieves has asked me to look into our little investment.”

“Well,” Tony smiled, a wave of his arm towards the busy bar, “as you can see, business is doing just fine.”

Eric lowered his head slightly. “Not the club, Tony. The project.”

This silence Calto momentarily. The project, as it was, was a side job tasked to him a week before. Nodding once, he shuffled out from his booth and stood beside Mr. Wood. Indicating with his chin, the two of them cross the strip joint, the two bouncers close behind.

They crossed behind the bar, where Jill stopped momentarily from serving drinks to glance nervously towards Eric Wood. The two of them entered the office, where sat a third member of the muscle, Gary. He rose from the desk the moment he spotted Eric, but the man paid him no heed. Following Tony, they went on to a door opposite that leading into the bar. Tony knocked once and it was opened from inside by a forth man. He was not an employee of Mr. Calto, but a security measure placed by the big chief himself. This man was known for talking little and stabbing frequently.

Beyond the door, a set of stairs led below. At the bottom, a light glowed ominously. With Eric close behind him, Tony descended. Omar and Mike stayed above. They were not allowed in the basement.

That was Grieves's territory completely.

The two men, now followed by Grieves's personal brute, walked down a short corridor, the walls made of stone. Florescent bars lit the way. At the end was another door, made of iron. Behind it was their destination.

The moment they entered the room, the smell was strong. Piss and shit. Bare and open, the walls were of the same foundation bricks, a single support post in the centre. The concrete floor was cold even through the soles of their shoes. The space was well light by suspended bulbs, pull strings hanging.

In one corner, three naked girls crouched huddled together.

“There they are.” Tony presented them with a hand.

Eric Wood walked slowly towards them, bending for a good look at them.

The girls themselves, they were pretty despite their situation. A blond, brunette and natural redhead, they were each fit and curved, with firm round breasts and shapely ass. Each of them had startling eyes and lush lips. Each of them were too young to be in a strip club. High-schoolers, blondie from the upper Estates, one from Downtown Public and the brunette was from the french school, Ecole Marrier.

These girls were not the usual wares. Not the sort to come looking for a strip job at the prestigious Black Tie. They were daughters, youthful and innocent. The kind of girls that would never submit to the pull of easy money and degradation. Not at all what Grieves hired, but exactly what the common John Smith wanted.

The three of them were not intimidated by the presence of Mr. Wood. Quite contrary, in fact. They grinned sensually up at him. The redhead reached up for him but stopped short, the wrist bound by a leather strap, the chain leading to the wall. All three of them were secured this way.

“They always smile this way?” Eric asked.

Tony joined his side and the girls looked towards him with the same warmth. “Yeah. It's the drug. You'll never find more willing bitches as these three.”

Mr. Wood reached out with a finger slowly. The brunette opened her mouth willingly and he slid it in her lips. She sucked on it suggestively. When he withdrew his finger and rose, she pouted.

“How often do you give it to them?”

Tony paused, as if the question caught him. “Um, as directed. Once in the morning.”

“And their appetites?”

“Uh, as you can see, quite big.”

Eric turned to Tony with a frown. “I mean for food.”

Tony felt foolish. “Oh, that. Not much. We have problem feeding them. They would rather fuck than do anything else.”

Eric considered it a moment. “Quite submissive, then?”

He smirked and indicated the three girls. “Feel free to find out if you would like. When these cunts aren't taking the hit, they fuck each other nuts. Wild shit. As if none of it is good enough.”

Mr. Wood stared at Tony a moment, rendering him uncomfortable. “How often do you test this?”

He was taken aback. “Well, fuck, not me. That guy you sent earlier this week. He came and fucked them. They fucked him, really. Had him stumbling on his way out. The girls just went crazy with him. And he did anything with them. They just let him do it.”

It seemed almost as if Eric would smile. “Good. Like a cattle line, bred to perfection. We've had a few setbacks recently that has upset Mr. Grieves.”

“Setbacks?”

When Mr. Wood started for the exit, Tony followed. “The boy who came up with the drug. He was found murdered. By his friend.”

“No shit.” Tony got the door for him and the following bouncer.

“Turns out he told someone and that someone thought it would be a good idea to use it on his girlfriend. Shit went down and he ended up dead. We had the Kids take care of the fucking thief and his girlfriend.”

They reached the stairs and Eric paused. “Then we had a suicide. One of the cunts working the streets. She jumped from the Deer Cross bridge.”

Tony suppressed a laugh. “Bitch wanted out I guess.”

“Free will is a bitch, Mr. Calto.”

When they entered the office, the door was closed behind them, the forth man staying within the stairway.

“So,” Tony dared to question, “is Mr. Grieves putting an end to this operation?”

“Not one bit. The formula was saved. This drug will proceed as planned. The only issue is the food. The girls given to the boy, they were found starving and wasted to nothing. They didn't want to eat. They wanted to fuck. So badly that they did it to themselves. Continuously.”

Tony chuckled. “Viagra for cunts.”

Eric suddenly closed in close to Calto and he recoiled defensively.

“This is serious, Tony.” He hissed. “There is a lot of money invested in this drug. If the girls won't eat or drink, then they won't be of any use to us. The idea is to create whores out of the girl next door, not skinny starving junkies.”

Calto nodded quickly. “For sure. For sure.” He said fearfully. “I get it completely. No use making hookers out of babes if those babes keep dying.”

Eric stared intensely at Tony a moment, the man's face reflected in the shades. Stepping back, Mr. Wood adjusted the coat of his suit. “I'm glad you understand the importance here, Mr. Calto. This drug is still in a very delicate experimental stage. We don't know yet of any major side effects other than the eating that we need to watch for. We're expecting that you keep a good fucking eye on things here, Tony.”

He could only nod. Satisfied enough by the obedient response, Eric turned and left the office.

When he was aware that the bouncer in the room was staring at him, Tony spun and snapped. “Watch the fucking screens, not me.” When he slicked his hair back, his forehead was damp with sweat.

Little heed was taken to the man behind the door. Or to the agreement he had with Gary, the sentry watching the monitors. It was a well kept secret between them that once the bar closed and they found themselves alone, Gary would knock twice on the door. The man within would open it and money was exchanged. Gary would then walk down the corridor to where the girls awaited.

It was three days later since Mr. Wood had paid a visit. Three in the morning and Gary entered the cell, greeted by the anxious smiles of the girls. Grinning with anticipation, he closed the door behind him.

The man at the entrance waited the allocated amount of time and once an hour had pass, he proceeded towards the room. Opening the door, he was immediately met by the blond. She stood before him, blood coating her chin, a wild look in her eyes.

“What the fuck?” Was all he managed before she reached out with one hand and grabbed his shirt. The other was missing, the stump at her wrists chewed through.

That morning, Tony arrived early as he often did, letting himself into the bar. Crossing the club, he made his way to the office. Immediately he was concerned to find Gary missing. More importantly, the door leading beyond was wide open.

“Gary?” He called out, hesitantly approaching the doorway. Cautiously he headed forward, into the stone hallway. The cell was open, pouring out light. The primal grunts of a woman echoed his way.

“Gary.” He called out, trying to see within the room as he came closer. “You better hope on your life you're not fucking the cunts. You left both doors open.”

He entered the room ad immediately the smell of blood filled his senses. Nausea struck him like a blow and he leaned against the door frame.

In the corner was the red head., splattered with crimson. She was lying back, legs parted with her knees raised. She was gaunt and pale as sin, her cheekbones showing prominently. In her hand, she held an arm, once belonging to Gary the monitor guard. It had been torn from his lifeless body which lay naked in the middle of the floor.

In the other corner, the blond lay cold and still on her stomach. Her severed hand stuck out of her buttocks, blood smeared all along her back. It blended with a copious amount of semen.

The red head looked up at Tony with a hungry gasp. With the arm, she was masturbating furiously. She was bleeding profusely from her vagina, the insides torn and broken.

“Fuck me.” She moaned, a hallow tone that rumbled in her chest. “Fuck me. Please! It hurts!”

Doubling over, Tony Calto clutched his stomach and threw up.

Mr. Eric Wood had closed The Black Tie Event for the day. The girls who were scheduled to dance were compensated greatly. In the cell room, the red head was dead. So was Tony. The bullet hole he received after leading Eric down to investigated bled out onto the floor.

Of The Kids, Bacca and Jar were present, working together to pick blondie up off the floor and carry her out. Killy stood beside Mr. Wood, staring at the red head. It took her three shots to the chest to die. Each bullet didn't keep her from crawling, grasping pleading as she begged to be fucked.

“It's a pity we will need to inform Mr. Grieves of this.” Eric said, taking off his glasses. His grey eyes reflected the light of the room.

Killy smirked and nudged him with her hip. “Fuck it, I'll do it. I know how to soften the big guy above.”

“I expect you will.” He said, pocketing the shades. “He will be quite disappointed.” He faced her. “And what about our guard, Anvil?”

“He can't hide forever.” She smirked. “We have ways to find people.”

“Don't be messy about it.” He said sternly. “We don't need another mistake like last time.”

He turned and left the room.

“I'll be good, daddy.” Killy teased. Looking back into the room, she glanced once more at the red head. Her hand lay limp over her groin, a finger curved in. Even in death, the drug's lust consumed her.

Smiling, Killy stepped out and closed the door.

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Friday

   Mom, or maybe dad. When you read this, I'll probably be dead. I'm sorry.

I'm looking down the barrel of dad's pistol and I can't help but wonder how this happen. It's ludicrous but that is the underlining thought in my mind. It wasn't supposed to go this far. When shit started to hit the fan Monday, I figured I would just wait it out. See if I was just stressed or something. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't have waited so long. Then maybe Harvey wouldn't be dead. He wouldn't be dead and your little girl wouldn't be minutes away from blowing her brains across the cellar walls.

I'm not sure what started it. Maybe I ate something and it was tainted, like in a zombie movie. Some government secret bio-weapon sneaked its way into my sub. Or it could just be a ticking time bomb finally caved in my brain. A chemical reaction that spread, driving my insane. I don't know. If you figure it out, make sure to tell my story. Please. I don't want to be remembered for what I did to Harvey. I want to be remembered as your daughter, as the girl who did alright in school and hosted the prom party. The girl who took riding lessons. I want to be remembered as the kid who drew a picture mom was so proud of, she framed it.

I don't want to be thought of as the sister who murdered her own brother.

After lunch on Monday, I went back to the store. It must have been around two, and there were two girls going through the jeans rack. When they asked to use the change rooms, I unlocked the doors and went back to the counter. I don't know, maybe I thought they were taking too long. I went back and was going to knock on their door and see if they needed anything. I couldn't believe what I was hearing so I stole a peek through the seam of the door.

They were fucking. Sorry mom, or maybe dad. By this point, I don't think your little angel really needs to watch what she says. What I saw wasn't love or romantic. The girls were stark naked in the change room, fist deep in each other. To the wrist. There was blood on the lips of their pussies and they were making out like dogs in heat.

Flustered, I hurried back to the till, dreading having to make eye contact with them. I knew the moment would be awkward for me, despite not getting spotted. An hour passed. Then another. After many customers, I went back and tiptoed to the door. What I saw made me scream.

One of the girls was lying dead on the floor. Her stomach was torn open. The other girl had pulled the guts out and was fucking herself with it. She had a torn end of the intestine pushed in and was coming like mad.

I screamed. I ran. You know that part already, mom. Or dad. You know about how I claimed I saw something in the change rooms. How the security guard and a police officer came.

And you know already about how they found nothing. Charlene sent me home early. Told me to get some rest.

That was Monday.

I awoke Tuesday after having a horrible dream. Even now, with the gun pressed against my chin, I can't recall it clearly. There were crying babies in the dark and I felt a sharp pressure against my ass. I think there was a skull and I remember feeling incredibly sad. When I sat up in my bed, I had pissed myself. That's why I hid the bed sheet. You'll find it in the corner of the laundry room. It's under the old wash sink, in a box.

The shower was weird too. That's why I chose to stay home. I wasn't sick. I stayed home because during the shower, I did something with the shower head I had never done before. I don't think I even meant to do it. It just happened. As if I wasn't myself. And no, I'm not talking just masturbation. Let's be mature mom, or dad. I'm nineteen. I've gotten off in the shower before. Only this time, it was very different.

I felt so dirty after. Disgusted with myself. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I was embarrassed and didn't go in to work.

Katy called in the afternoon and invited me to meet her and some of the guys at the park. I wasn't going to but in the end I needed to get out of the house. I wanted to get away, to be with friends. I should have stayed home.

Walking down the street, I knew immediately things were off. The sky was a weird purple colour without a single cloud in the sky. A plane passed far overhead and I could have sworn I thought I saw fire. As if the plane was burning up. I could almost hear the screams.

When I walked passed Mrs. Richard's house, her front curtains were open. I could swear I saw her running through the living room, being chased by two men in ski masks. She was naked. I think they meant to rape her. I know it's stupid to ask, but please check in on her.

At the stop lights, I waited. Down the road was a parked car and the windshield looked coated in blood. From inside came this terrible scream. I hesitated but finally approached it. I was horrified to confirm that the front window was indeed splattered in blood and more. I walked up and pressed my face against the passenger side.

There were so many babies. All small, naked babies of different gender and race. Each one was coated in gore and crying so loudly, writhing around like larva. I was sickened and panicked. I ran away crying. I don't know where I wandered off to, I was lost. Everyone I passed seemed to be smiling at me. Leering faces watching me go by. I realized I was naked.

I ran through the neighbour's yards. That's why Mr. Green called, asking if I was alright. I didn't say anything mom, or dad. By this point I knew something wasn't right and I just wanted to hide in my room. I should have told you. I'm sorry. I just wanted to hide.

Wednesday started fine. I figured I was better then. Even sat down and played Wii with Harvey. Thank you for asking me and I wasn't lying when I said I was alright. I even figured I would go to work on Thursday. I didn't think I had to bring anything up.

Just before noon, while you guys were out, Harvey and I were watching television. He loved SpongeBob. Oh god. I'm so sorry.

I heard the sirens outside. When I went to check, I told him to stay inside. There were so many sirens. Police or fire trucks. Ambulance. I'm not sure. They were coming from everywhere and the sky was a bright orange. I got quite scared and hurried back inside. I thought there was an emergency or something. Maybe a nuclear bomb or some horrible thing like that. I got Harvey and we hid in the spare room downstairs. I don't know, maybe I thought we would be safe there. He was terrified. I didn't tell him anything. I simply told him we had to hide. I'm not sure why I did. He listened, like a good little brother.

Lying under the bed, we waited. And this isn't easy to admit, but I started to touch myself. Inside my pants. Harvey didn't notice at first but as I got louder, he turned to me. Having him watch made it go faster. I had an orgasm while Harvey watched. He seemed both confused and troubled. Scared even. He didn't know what to do or say. I don't think he understood what I had just done beside him. Then I threw up.

That's why Harvey told you I was sick. He didn't comprehend that I had fingered myself beside him. He maybe thought that I was just being ill, that the convulsive grunts were part of it.

I don't blame you for asking me, mom and dad. I guess if my daughter had a few days of weird moments and then a sudden sickness, I would think pregnancy too. I've had sex but I always make them wear a condom. Just the two you've met. Again, I don't blame you for thinking that. I wish I had agreed with you guys. I should have gone to the hospital.

That night, I fell asleep on the couch. You guys were in the kitchen. I don't know. I doubt it now that it actually happened. I saw you, mom. Under the table, giving oral to dad. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I feel so awful for saying this but for some reason I can't explain, I was so jealous. I wanted to be under the table. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to give head to dad.

I know that's not me. I know that I would never think to do that, mom. I was just so overcome with hate and envy I had visions of cutting your head off. I really wanted to cut your head off. I think now that if I hadn't rushed upstairs to my room, I would have. I wanted to take the kitchen knife and do it.

I'm sorry but I need to tell you this. I have to explain every little detail. I wanted to kill you, mom. I wanted to give you head, Dad.

That night I awoke some time around two. I left the house.

I went down to the neighbour's house. Jim's house. I pressed my bare breasts against the patio window and defecated on his lawn. I urinated in his bird bath and washed my face with it.

When I woke up in my bed, I was bleeding from my vagina and smelled piss on my face. I rushed and took a shower. By this time, I considered going to see a doctor. I called the clinic. You guys don't know this. Doctor Lyle wasn't in and I had to wait until today to go see him.

I figured I could hold out for one more day. It turned out that was going to be one of the worse yet.

I tried to look up mental conditions on the Internet but every time I did a search or something, I found myself on a porn site. Not just any kind of porn site either. These were rape fantasies or extreme bondage. I can't distinguish fake and reality anymore but if you see them in the browser history please understand that it wasn't intentional. I kept trying to search for medical information. After a while, I just gave up and looked at the porn.

I lied when you guys asked me how I was feeling. I shouldn't have agreed to watch Harvey.

He really wanted to go to the playground that afternoon. I almost snapped at him then. Remembering how it made me feel to see you and dad in the kitchen, I took Harvey to the park. The walk seemed simple enough, though the sky was a blood red this time. I was so hot but Harvey was not. I kept complaining about it, offering anything just to go back home. Passing a backyard, I saw a dog through the fence. He was chewing at an arm. A cat lay dead beside it.

I knew that it was all in my mind. I kept trying to ignore it and it kept getting worse. I saw a man running down the side walk on the other side of the street. He was naked, dick flopping around. He was carrying a bloody axe. In someones yard, a woman stood in her house robe smoking, tits out. She was pouring gasoline on a pile of children. Three boys. She dropped the cigarette, igniting them and herself. She seemed so bored. At the lights, we waited. A man on the other end stepped out before a bus. It didn't stop when it hit him. He was smiling at me moments before it happened.

At the park, I stayed near a tree and watched Harvey play. He was climbing the slide. A girl was chasing him and I really wanted the hit her. I kept imagining what it would be like to stomp on her head until it was nothing more than pulp. I wanted Harvey to have sex with the body after.

When I started crying, I called out to Harvey.

I didn't say anything when I got home. Harvey didn't even notice there was something wrong with me. I'm sure he would have. I should have come to you mom, or dad. I should have told you guys about the things I've been seeing.

Staring at myself that night in the bathroom mirror, I thought I had figured it out.

I was in Hell. I was in Hell and this new world would be forever. An endless barrage of twisted visions and feelings, or sex and violence. I knew that I was in Hell , that I had died somehow on Monday and would suffer for all eternity.

I shaved my vagina and masturbated with mom's perfume bottle.

That night I couldn't sleep. I was scared to. I lay in bed all night listening to the voices. They were coming from the darkness. I cried but they never went away. They said things. Horrible things. They called me names and whispered to me. They told me to do terrible acts on everyone. I couldn't stop them.

Today, you guys left early. I don't even remember agreeing to watching Harvey.

This morning, I stuck a fist in my ass and purposely broke a tooth.

I'm so sorry mom, and dad. I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't myself from the moment I got out of bed. I don't know what this is, this sickness. I'm truly in Hell. I've lost my mind, myself, somewhere before the events on Monday. I've become something I am not and you know, you know I would have never hurt Harvey. It's not me. It's the Devil. His inside my head and he won't get out. I'm no longer your daughter. I'm no longer human.

I'm a monster.

I watched Harvey play Wii for a bit before I finally did it. I told him to lie down on the couch. He thought it was a game. I told him to touch me and he wasn't sure what to do. I helped him. I helped him touch me and made him penetrate me. I made him take his pants off. He started crying when I put him in my mouth. I couldn't make him hard. That only got me angry. I started pulling at it until he was wailing. He ran from me. To his bedroom.

I was carrying dad's hammer when I crept up the stairs.

I wish I could say he didn't suffer. He did. I'm so sorry. I kept him alive for so long. Why did you guys have to leave him with me? Why did you? He could have been alive right now. He could have still been downstairs, watching SpongeBob. He could have still been a little boy being chased by girls at the playground. He's dead, bitch! He's dead and you left him with me. You left him with the Devil.

I broke his ribs and tore out his tongue. You guys won't find it because I ate it. His penis is in dad's sock drawer. His eye is in the fish tank. One of his testicles is still jammed in my vagina. I don't know for sure what I did with the arm. Check the dryer downstairs.

I'm just glad I never left the house today. Outside, there were screams. They surrounded the house. Men, women and children. Crying babies. They were screaming from an outside that was crimson red. I passed a wolf in the kitchen and he was humping a dead woman. On the television was a priest ejaculating blood on an infant's face. A man was banging at the living room window, the head of a horse in his hand.

And me?

I'm on the couch, writing this. Dad's gun in my hand.

I'm sorry mom, and dad.

I'm so sorry.

Goodbye.

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