As the horrifying entities continued to be flung back from the harvester, their predecessors slowly began disappearing, vanishing into thin air. The heads were being engulfed by the pastures as quickly as new ones could be thrown upon them. The land was indeed feeding off of the human heads, but the devastating visual evidence didn’t linger around long enough for any of the villagers to notice. They had no idea why the Pleasure Harvester was so efficient. They didn’t care why. They only cared for the wealth and joy it brought them. As long as it continued to harvest pleasure, they would continue to dance and kiss in the village. “It’s a good thing we have God’s saliva,” thought the senator.
Chapter 12 – The Silver Platter Lifestyle
“Raw ecstasy served all day accompanied by uncensored sex sipped from a glass until morning has further exposed the elusive contrasts between the full and empty voids.”
Buttermilk pancakes are a beautiful thing; they start out dry, then turn moist, and then evolve back to such a crisp, dry form that syrup and butter are needed to wet them enough to be digestible. The taste is as golden as their color and the sound of rich butter sizzling in the frying pan crackles like crickets in a field of yellow wheat. The whole experience of cooking pancakes stimulates every sense so aggressively that our synapses are fooled into feeling as if our body is in a solitary meadow kissed by sunbeams. But the most irresistible thing about making buttermilk pancakes has nothing to do with the sound, smell, sight, taste, or touch. The most irresistible part is how easy they are to make. Each pancake can be completed from beginning to end in two minutes; five pancakes can be cooked and served on a silver platter in ten minutes. This must have been why Winston's smile was so big as he lay naked in bed waiting for breakfast to be brought in to him.
A slender, dark-haired young Thai woman named Oi entered the bedroom carrying a silver platter full of pancakes in her right hand and a jug of fresh orange juice in her left. She wore nothing but a pair of white pajamas embroidered with an arrangement of pink hearts so erotically cute that they could pull Winston's eyes from her perfectly shaped breasts that were bouncing inside her tank-top. He picked his head up to cherish her momentarily and then laid it back down on his pillow to relinquish himself to the transcendence she bestowed onto him every time this happened. “My God Oi,” he said to the ceiling as he remained in a spread eagle position underneath the white bed sheets. She giggled as she climbed into bed beside him. They sat and ate as they stared out the second-story veranda windows to the beautiful ocean below. Winston had been living this way in Thailand for a year with Oi. It was heaven.
But perhaps we should go back to the story of why they moved to the small town of Naiplo. Winston had arrived in Bangkok in an attempt to leave his failures and regrets behind and to start a new life three months prior to ever meeting Oi. He partied every night and lived like a tourist, engulfing foreign excitement like it was as delicious as bee nectar. He bought a Harley Davidson and traveled around the country frequently. The most difficult part of his days was harnessing enough courage to drink that first hungover beer every morning.
On one of his getaways from the city of Bangkok, he traveled to the small island of Ko Pha Ng-an. He stayed in a hotel owned by his buddy for free and spent his days fishing and drinking. He was an excellent fisherman and a swift businessman; every fish would net him ten dollars from the hotel and they would serve it in the restaurant. He stayed for several weeks and made lots of friends. He also met lots of women and indulged frequently in the detached pleasure of intense temporary love. His belly was full, and his desires were always satisfied. His heart didn't long for anything, but it did still beat. The heart is so fascinating; when we sleep it still pumps blood and when our eyes are closed it still searches for love. Winston wasn't looking for Oi, but when they randomly met and exchanged phone numbers, his heart stared deeply into her soul and latched on. “I'll call you later and you'll come to the full moon party with me tonight?” she said innocently.
“Love to,” he warmly replied.
The result was a double date full of excitement. Winston had developed a strong liking for Oi, and they spent most of the night dancing and kissing on the beach under the glimmering light of the full moon bouncing off of the ocean. It was paradise! It was as if heaven had relocated to Earth. A pearly gated nirvana in Thailand it was, until the other male component of the double date was struck with a devilish idea. “Let's pop ecstasy,” he announced. “It makes everything better.” Winston refused by stating that better than the present moment was impossible. The gentlemen responded to this by jamming the small pink pill into Winston's face and by proceeding to grind it into his teeth. Before he knew it, he was higher than he had ever been, and it felt remarkably good. The devil's advocate had been right. This was even better.
They danced all night. At sunrise, Winston and Oi took the boat back to his apartment in the town of Surrat. He had gone to the party with only the clothes he had been wearing. He returned home with the new love of his life, two ecstasy pills, two grams of weed, and one hell of a buzz. He went to bed with Oi and slept soundly through the day. Soundly through the day until he was awoken by the knocking on his door by four on-duty police officers.
“Hello sir, we're police offic... Ah, could you please cover yourself up sir? My God!” Winston had, in his drug hangover, not dressed himself before opening the door.
“Oh fuck. Yes, yes of course.” He scurried to the bedroom to throw some shorts on and, when he reappeared, the officers were already searching his house.
“Are you alone in here?”
“Um no sir. I have an American girl lying naked in my bed.”
“Alright then,” the officer said as the four of them continued to search the premises. This was another example of how smart Winston was for a dumb man, or, to look at it from another angle, how dumb he was for a smart man. He knew that the officers wouldn't search his bedroom if there was an American girl in there. If he had have said that it was a Thai girl, they would have searched for sure; prosecuting a Thai girl would cause far less trouble for the officers. This was the intelligent component of his actions. The fact that the drugs were on his veranda and not in his bedroom was the numb-skull constituent.
The cops found the ecstasy and the weed easily. They explained to him that he had parked his motorcycle outside of the locked gates and that they had been scared that it could easily be stolen. If he hadn't have greeted them in the buff, they would have never thought to search the place for drugs. Winston got off lucky, however. They didn't arrest him. They simply told him that they were going to notify all of the neighbors of the day's events and that his punishment would be to live with the terrible reputation that would ensue. Two weeks later he and Oi moved to the countryside.
Chapter 14 – The Rule of Invisibility
“When what is right in front of your face is not allowed to exist.” - Sexually Frustrated Author
“Oh my God that was good! Oh dear, you certainly outdid yourself Oi. That dessert was delicious!” Winston praised as he stood up and pulled a white t-shirt on. He sat down on the edge of the bed and strapped on his leather sandals.
“You're welcome Ducky. I had a wonderful time too.” Ducky was her pet name for Winston. “You need to hurry. You'll be late for the fights.”
“I'm gone baby. Wish me luck.”
Good luck Ducky,” she said as she slipped her panties on and rolled over onto her stomach. Naiplo was a small village located outside of the tiny town of Kanam. Oi and Winston lived in an ocean side bachelor at the end of a small dead end road. Their neighbors were all exceptionally poor and exceptionally sweet. The village was quiet and life was very simple. But Sundays were an exception. Sunday was fight day and there was business to be conducted.
“Hey Sean, what's going on?” Winston greeted.
“Hey Winston, how ya going mate?” Sean was an Aussie who had moved to Thailand to start a new life of his own. He had found his calling in Naiplo.
“
How are the chickens today my friend? They feeling feisty?”
“Ah ya mate. Let me show you Larry, he looks like he's a bloody legend.” Sean pulled open the heavy door of the oversized chicken coup. The squawking pierced their ears and the smell stung their tongues. Feathers flew everywhere as the 50 or so chickens jumped up and down against the walls of their cages. They walked past the cages until finally stopping at one containing an unusually small black chicken with bold red combs. “Ain't he a beauty mate? I mean, look at him, he's faster than bloody lightning.”
“He's a pretty small chicken though, isn't he Sean? He looks puny.”
“Oi, that's the beauty of it mate. You'll be the only bloke who bets on him. And trust me, that other chicken ain't gonna be able to touch him. I've been running him in the yard every day and I've never seen the like. Trust me mate, it's a god damn guarantee.”
“Fuck it Sean. Let's do it.”
Entering the arena was just like tearing the metal off of a can of sardines: not another member could be jammed into such a tight space, and the smell was so pungent that one would immediately question their sanity. Sean entered with Larry in his travel cage and went directly to the fighter's area. Winston strolled in gingerly and crowded in with the locals, money in hand. They were yelling and waving their money in the air as two chickens pecked and clawed one another to death on the concrete oval floor. Everyone was sweating, and the oxygen concentration was decidedly low. “Ayeee!” The fight was over. One of the chickens was dead.
As inhumane as the racket of cockfighting was, the echoes were almost beautiful in a morbid sense. To Winston, Larry was and always would be a chicken. But to Sean, Larry was a god damn hero. Sean idolized his chickens and held them on the highest of pedestals. He spent his days exercising them, bathing them, and massaging their tired muscles. He gave the chickens the very best life. Then he threw them into an arena to kill or be killed.
The cages lifted and the fight was underway. The scene encapsulating the arena was much like that of a typical boxing match between two hungry men, but the action inside the ring was tremendously different. The chickens don't feel each other out by easing into the fight with quick jabs and head fakes as men do. After the first initial peck and fluttering of wings, the fight turns instantly vicious and brutal. Larry received the first peck, and blood shot from the back of his neck as he jumped into the air in an attempt to fly away to safety. To no avail, his feet landed quickly back to the ground just in time to receive a malicious peck that narrowly missed tearing out his left eye. “Time to go to work Larry!” Sean yelled as he threw his arms towards his beloved little warrior in an attempt to toss urgency into the little bird's body. Winston cringed as the third blow opened a deep wound into Larry's chest, turning his jet black breast into a shiny pink eye-sore of exposed muscle tissue. Winston turned away.
“Ayeee!” yelled the crowd, and Winston knew that his money was gone.
“Beautiful Larry. Fuckin' beautiful!” Winston turned to see Larry running in circles around the outer perimeter of the fighting circle, the other chicken chasing behind. “He's getting knackered Larry! He's gonna be downright knackered!” Larry continued to run while his opponent started to slow down. Finally, his enemy dropped his head from exhaustion. Sean placed two fingers to his lips and let out a deafening whistle that infuriated Larry. He stopped running, and then proceeded to peck and claw the face off of the other bird swiftly and gruesomely until the damage rendered the bird unrecognizable. As the bird fell to the floor, he continued to tear at its neck with such possession that it looked like he hadn't eaten in days and that chicken was his favorite meal.
Smiles were wide as Sean, Winston, and Larry walked along the beaten grass path back to the coup. “Those are some nasty scratches you've got Sean.”
“I know mate. He's a bloody bugger to put back in the cage when he gets going. My fuck he hates it when I whistle.” Two long, deep cuts ran across Sean's left forearm that looked tormentingly familiar to Winston. Winston's face tightened up and a tingle ran through the wrinkles on his forehead until it reached his left ear drum. He pressed his hand to his ear and the pain caused his jaw to open. “You going alright?” Sean asked with concern.
“Yeah yeah, I'm fine. That was super strange. I just felt like I was somewhere else for a second. That was really weird. I haven't thought about home in a really long time.”
“Yeah mate, it's hard sometimes. Nothing a couple of pints can't cure I reckon. Let's cruise to the pub and skull a few.”
“Yeah for sure. That sounds like exactly what I need.” The two of them gave Larry a quick bath, a big supper, and taped his wounds shut before heading to the village's watering hole to celebrate their momentous day. Four hours later, they exited drunk, happy, and singing. They hugged each other goodnight.
“Honey, I'm home!” Winston called foolishly as he happily stumbled in the door of his place. Silence replied back as he opened the fridge door and pulled out a dish of leftover chicken and rice. He sat himself down at the table and moaned as he shoveled the first cold fork-full into his gullet. “Oh fuck that's good chicken,” he announced to the dark, empty room. Stray chickens wandered around everywhere in Naiplo, and people often tried their best to catch them for dinner or for cock fighting. The only unwritten rule was: if the chicken was to be captured for eating, then it had to be fat. If you were to steal a skinny chicken, then you had to take care of it. Winston's dinner had been the fattest chicken in the neighborhood and was caught rather easily. He set his cold beer down after taking a massive slug, and a piece of paper sitting on the middle of the wooden table stretched his eyelids and erected his eyebrows. Again the tingle shot across his forehead and he thought he was reliving the past all over again. He pulled the paper up to his face with his left hand wrapped around his trembling right wrist. He blinked hard twice and then read:
Sweet Ducky,
I love you very much and I will never forget the fun times that we've had. When I am by myself, I often lay in bed smiling and remembering when we danced all night under the full moon. I loved dancing with you, but we don't dance anymore. I miss dancing so much: the unspoken excitement, the awkward nervousness, and the anticipation of an answer to a question that was never asked. I'm not ready to be in love Ducky. My heart wants to fall in love many more times before it can forever be in love. I'm so sorry Ducky. Don't let this ruin you. Please.
Love always,
Oi
And just like that, she was gone. Winston could now choose to endure countless months of pain to preserve his memories of her, or he could erase everything beautiful about her from his thoughts. Both options would produce scars. The first option would tear painfully into his flesh but eventually heal. The second choice would allow him to feel no pain for many years until the day finally arrived when the damage caused to his insides would manifest into the terminal disease that it was destined to precurse. “Smash! Thump! Smash!” These loud noises ran through the air of the apartment, bouncing back and forth off of walls and suspended splinters of oak. What had previously been chairs were now a pile of timber on the floor and the kitchen table looked like a broken umbrella. Winston stood there gasping from exhaustion with the last chair still held high above his head. He set it down gently and sat in it with his weeping face cupped inside his hands.
“Fuck this shit!” he said to the pain inside his chest. 'Fuck this.” He picked himself up and calmly walked into his bedroom to exchange his shirt for one without chicken blood stains. He then set out on the beaten grass path to Ko's shack in the marsh.
Ko's shack was actually a barn that was tucked in between bulrushes and swamp grass on the outskirts of Naiplo. It was gray and rotten from wind and rain. It was, however, extremely well insulated. Frogs croaked and splashed as Winston's feet stomped across the wooden planks leading to the old, rickety front doors. He knocked three times and a small wood panel slid open at eye level.
“Yes?” two dark eyes inquired.
“
I need some whiskey.” The panel slid shut and Winston could hear several dead bolts sliding. The heavy gray door slid open and a thin man in a white bandana gestured him inside. The frogs fell silent and drums pounded. Bright strobe lights flashed, revealing topless women clinging to poles, and thin tattooed Thai men running their fingers up and down thong straps. Winston immediately noticed that he was the only white man in the shack, but a few shots of Jack Daniels soon made him forget that detail. He talked loudly and, within an hour, he was identical to the rest of the men at Ko's shack: he danced on tables and groped women' butts, and he chain-smoked cigarettes and drooled on himself. But nothing he did could change the color of his skin. The moment he began making out with the Thai woman under his left arm was the moment he crossed the invisible line.
Three thin Thai patrons pushed his drunk ass out the front door and formed a circle around his staggering body. He was scared, but he was too drunk to properly utilize his adrenaline. Instead of running, he harnessed the powers of the potent chemical to clench every muscle in his body and to grit his teeth. One of the men slowly exposed a long machete and began yelling in Thai. It didn't matter what he was saying. Winston knew what he had done, and he had no idea how to change it now. The first blow knocked him to the ground. Four hands grabbed him from above to steady his body as a bony knee pressed into his chest and pinned him to the ground. The knee belonged to the man with the machete. The man's smile glimmered brighter than the blade as he slowly ran the knife down Winston's cheeks. It cut very deep and Winston would forever wear the scars. It hurt terribly, but only for a few seconds. The crushing pain from the head-stomping he received afterward took its place.
Searching for the Fountain of Youth Page 7