Lust Demented

{L}

THE COPS LEFT ME ALONE to die on the street. I couldn’t remember if I signed the statement or not. The pen was still in the gutter, which I guess could be a good sign. I tried speaking. Nothing came out. It was strange to have no voice. I held my hand up and stared through the hole in my palm. The top half of my body had lost most feeling. I could only move my legs. I kicked my legs up, bouncing my feet on the pavement as they passed. The tunnel was a chamber of sound.

I could hear footsteps and gossip blend together. A couple’s outline flashed down the sidewalk across the street. I could hear them cough and shuffle along. They were coming closer. I flopped wildly like a fish in the sand. Our eyes met. I pleaded for an ambulance. They looked away wishing their eyes were playing tricks on them. Wishing they were blind and belonged to a different world.

“Farrow will you stop leaving these fucking pages everywhere.” Missy rolled the vacuum over the pages I left on the floor.

“I’ll write them again. Next time they’ll be even better.” I was lying sideways. Exhausted after a long night’s voodoo possession. Watching the vacuum gag on the pages, should’ve made me sick, but instead brought me pleasure.

“You’re a demented child scribbling on everything you see. Look at me. Don’t you like women anymore? You used to want me. Now all you love are books. All you lust for. Sober up Farrow. You exist here. Streets aren’t paper. Skies aren’t computer screens. People’s hearts don’t beat to the rhythm of typewriters.”

Missy’s fingers stayed perfectly still as she held the needle under the plastic lighter’s blue flame. Gently, she pressed the tip of the needle against my skin. It fell below leading the thread to follow in loops. After a rapid barrage of stitches, her whole body tensed up theatrically, leaving the job half done.

Scanning the area, Missy gravitated towards the pen until it was in her hand. She placed it in her mouth, loosening the tip with her teeth. With a flick, she tossed the vial of ink in the street. Resting the empty pen on my chest Missy began feeling around below my wounded throat, stopping in the soft valley of skin below my Adam’s apple. She jabbed the scissors in, quickly throwing them to the side. Next she held it the empty pen up, carefully positioning herself. I was lost in the pen’s beauty.

Air returned into my lungs. As it spread blissfully through my body, I noticed Chiara still on Missy’s back. She didn’t seem bothered by the sight of me. Just the opposite she reached out towards me with a silly smile as Missy tied the remaining stitches to close the wound on my neck.