Disinterred
Only the innocent are healthy. It's reasonably true everyone is corrupted. Everyone is sick. The innocent a vanishing breed, as nearly all of humanity is dead. Waiting to be exhumed.
This place ranks the best of planted seeds on bad ground. Your life worth little here, and what life before, is worthless now.
But I have a plan. The Host and Nok will love me for this. Short and sharp sort of plan. And her. If not for her I would have no plan for she gave it.
While nursing cracked fingers, now set somewhat straight by Nok, thinking of her and my sons the thought came. The Host said if I'd not produce then I'd be given. Alive. To the Warns.
Something had to give and she did. We spent time on the riverside, laying under shadows, legs in cool water, playing with our bodies. That first kiss of her soft tongue, sweet, merciful. Her scent triggered a stiffer erection, wanting her damp warmth, which she did not give for several weeks. Being shy she held herself correct, yearning what most others wanted or already had, but also her spirit not found easily, anywhere. I hadn't in anyway seen anything, like her before. Nor since.
One among hundreds; one adventure after another. Our time together, so being linked in that endless chain. Before then we knew disparagingly what life could be. Alien. Without ground. Frenzied. Of all those turns and stops. Waits and want nots. Should one fraction be altered we would not have met. Writing for the Host is not easy. He requires a sound business plan after leaving here. One not questioned with able resources. Now the brain splits in two with her and Him. If Nok appeared here I would lose all scenes, there is only enough room for the three of us presently.
As I work with Him I am drawn more to her. Our sons. That time and where to start now? What are their names? Are they feminine in nature? Jesus what is that from? Just a thought. Look at this place. You know what goes through the minds around here. Yes I do. Yes, and memories. Vague memories all dim and confused, like the glimmering, shapeless view of a stone in the bed of a swiftly running creek. Shadows chasing one another across my mind, but would not fuse into any picture. Strings of memory in the realm of feeling, and still I could not remember, truly who she was. It seems I must have dreamed of all these figures, must have dreamed often and vividly. And yet they had only been the phantoms of a dream. But true. The letters are real. Substance.
With the only good hand present, it needed a dream. The other with its fingers splinted made for a holiday and wouldn't be back any time soon. Given the pain it's fortunate I had drugs. And these were good. Just one and you're off for half the day. My imagination took hold leaving that shell scribbling notes, plans. Drawings. My God I'm writing an epic! When things quieted down it wasn't nearly that. At all. It seemed though. If I only had some paint! What I'd give for a little god damn bastard paint!! You weren't able to think very well while on these. You simply lost track of time, only when coming down did you feel tick tock rearing. Pass the time. You would do just anything for that. It's always deleting my definitions. Paint. Fuck it.
The memories interrupting thoughts affecting my present. How can you think when most of it is governed by past recognitions? Hell with this. I need a plan and quick or Nok is on. He and the Host set me up the cunts. I gave them the names of two lousy shits whom the Host needed for examples. Fact one, these two where low-level bankers in a drugs cartel. They each had three years to finish. Then outward. Host saw them as threats. The way I worded it, saw them as threats. Fact two, they couldn't find their own ball bag. They were just that. Dirt, shit, scum, unable to do fractions. Fact three, my giving the names branded me snitch. Fact four, I thought Host and Nok wouldn't announce how they got the names. Fact five, I was wrong.
I outlined to Host potential risks. And he wanted names. No harm giving something. Turns out Host already decided who and when. How was up to Nok who torn them apart, partially with his teeth though primarily using the hands and his patented razor rope. He claims it's his invention, an extremely sharp, thin wire that cuts incredibility deep and quick. Seeing it only once I believe it inflicts nasty, fabulous wounds. Nok told me he carries it hidden in his belt. What one can achieve when locked away.
Now the population here knows what I did. The Host showed retribution being served with the shoe-to-hand dance. And I will never be able to walk alone in the halls. That extreme, vile, personified bastard Host knew all alone, and spiking me in the dick hole good kept me breathing His dark, stale air. Either I'm with Him or the Warns start their feasting. But I want to be with her. I want the letters. I want out. I want to live long enough to be a problem for my children. I want to be rich again. I want the Host as my bitch just as the entire population is of this government. Nok told me there were two letters, that I could have one if the business plane was flawless. Jesus. What the hell does that mean? If I had a flawless plan would I give it to you? Would I be in this shit if I'd a flawless plan? FLAWLESS PLAN? You stupid naked brain dead fuck. Christ I'm sick of all the totally mindless want-to-be's, non-lateral thinkers of, 'Oh hello I'm Mr Flawless, please have a seat while I skin you alive starting from the legs up'. If you shoot me will it hurt? Much? Now that's thinking for this group.
The drug marched on, the brain loved that, and the and I doodled freely. The papers filled with warm crafted ideas, none linking with anything important, except with the hours passing. The paper slipped and dropped on the floor. And spun so I was looking at what I had drawn, but upside down. In that moment I noticed something different in the lines and dribble I played with. The thought came; hours passing. Passing hours. Passing. Reverse that. And expand. Interesting. Yes, it might just work. Lovely. That world of uncertainty, anchorage for myths of metal afflictions.
Last Two
I spent the remaining day and night going over the details before saying anything. Nok brought food, I kept busy making notes. A happy couple. The plan emphasised decision-making tools. No fixed content for it. Rather the content and format is determined by the goals and audience. It represents all aspects of Host's business planning process declaring vision and strategy. Host told me very little of internal works, only his ‘idea’ formed with 'make it happen' attached. Therefore, I placed sub-plans alongside to cover finance, marketing, operations, human resources (it could apply) as well as a legal plan, when required, if any, yet most likely not.
At first not even articulated. Held numbly, conscious of only having an idea. Then reaction settled in. It had a great many risks, almost too many to depend on it. It was a process which developed in my mind along odd routes, directed, fruiting when necessary. Whatever straitjacket had been about me sloughed off. It seemed both brilliant and impractical at the same instant. The complexity toward it made me excited and troubled, close to laughter. There was only the necessity and one’s own reactions to it, concluded in its final analysis.
Nok uses kinetic energy. It needs release. Host works with this exceptionally. Nok loved him, as both gained varying capacities. Being only required for a moment in their environment had its source. I realized when Nok returned with cotton shoved deep so not to lose concentration. Sharp, sudden noises bothered him he admitted. A great deal. Cotton reduced their screams in his brain while he worked. His focus intense, competing with a fierce purpose. Art created is not natural. Nok is a masterpiece of walking artwork; accomplishment from another place. His study of pain anatomy mastered, applied with care in knowing most deserved this attention, smile saying, ‘When lovers fade, they walk through that search of earth’. If ever torn apart, I’d want him for that.
When it was quit, later that night the Host appeared. I wasn't sleeping and watched his manners opening the cell door. So feminine, his dark evil princess shadow drifted toward me. Then stopped. 'I understand you have something of mine,' speaking openly unconcerned with residents, the tone sharp with business intent. My testicals chilled. 'Yes.' I am not for sale. I sell, but not myself. That's what I wanted to say, instead I grunted something which irritated him as he couldn't
understand the contracted bowels I experienced and thought I lost my bearings. I knew this. At the moment I grunted he was upon me and I felt the blade under my left eye applying discomforting pressure. In a moment it would either pop my eye out or start slicing. 'Well...?' breathing up my nose, amplifying his garlic, alcohol reek. His weight shifted more onto my chest causing the knife to move slightly downward and out towards my ear. He felt my stiffening. Not wishing to move, knowing he’d push the knife deeper, I slowly breathed out, ‘It’s not written.’ He smiled. I felt the skin tightening on my back. ‘And it’s complicated.’ His lips became horizontal, stiffly whispering, ‘Let’s make it like bread then.’
In his eyes bread’s attuned with family traits describing wholesomeness, simple. I spoke slow and deliberate, always watching his eyes. They never left mine. It was his manner. The right he had of seeing your own self. Seemed born with it Nok said; as long as he’d know the Host he’d always have this infliction, this disturbance, allowing none the grace of escaping his presence. You became drawn toward him. Seductive sadism. Love attached. You wanted to be there. With him. He took you away and gave you, carried for you, cherished you. You were in His light. Stupefied. Caught in a group with other clowns to short of a circus, you gave in.
His thoughts shifted, the slight movement in his eyes gave Him away. I stopped wondering, it became clear. He didn’t think much of the plan. I felt a grip on my shoulder. Nok forced me deeper into the mattress. The knife left me. He stood, walked over to the chair and sat down. His back to the bars I couldn’t see the face, only His hand moving across the side of the neck. Comprehending He stayed there. Nok stood back next to Him. That’s the last I remember of the two. When I woke they were gone. Next to me lay one sheets of paper. Sticking the match the candle was just enough light…
Naked Letter Page 7