I live with Madness. We are two, trapped in a cell with walls that reach to infinity. Smooth walls, that we can not scale. There is no way out. We turn to each other, our nails grown long and gnarled, our stomachs and minds hungry. We tear and rent skin, we snap at flesh, we crunch on bone.
I clutch Madness. She, protean, changes in my grasp. I hold an old woman, a moment later, a snarling child slips my grasp. There are feral glints in her eyes. In seconds, she matures into a full-grown woman. She walks with pride, there is beauty and grace in her movements. But I see jealousy, I smell anger, her tongue flicks out, like a dragon, and her breath is hot with fire.
There is a flaw that beats in her brain, like a pulse, polluting her blood, infecting her senses. She sees black in white, and darkness where there is sunshine. Where there is beauty, she sees ugliness, where one finds pleasure, she is tortured by pain. Her moans poison the air, fill my ears. I clutch my head, press my fingers into my ears, to block her sound. But some particle slips past and swirls into my head. I am infected, Madness blossoms inside of me. I hear her laugh, her manic laugh in my brain, and I feel her fire burn my insides.
I douse myself in cold water. Madness retreats. It is now just a slow poison that blocks my brain and leaves me sluggish.
Meanwhile she has changed. She is a starving, wide-eyed child. Her skin hangs off her bones, her jaw falls slack. She looks at me, but doesn't see me. When I approach, she shies away. When I touch, she bites me. I stare at flesh, blood drips - she sucks at my wound, and the madness is borne away.
I hammer at the walls. There is no way out. Every day, the walls move closer. I cry, I shriek for help - but no one comes. I hear nothing of the outside world. There must be world, beyond this - I think - beyond her and me.
She is dying at dusk. How do I know it is dusk? The sun is too far overhead for us to see, this walls stretch to infinity. But the shadows darken and lengthen. She lies on the floor, her flesh weak.
I force food down her throat. She struggles but I pin her down.
She falls asleep. I wonder if perhaps, we are the only two in the world. I have never seen anyone else. Perhaps it is just us.
I scream. A hand seems to grasp my heart, squeeze my breath out. The walls move closer, the ground seems to tilt. She sits up now, stares at me. She pulls me away from the wall. My nails are bleeding - I stare at them. I hear howling. Her mouth is closed. I am howling.
She smiles. She places her hand over my mouth. I bite her palm. She jerks back in surprise. There is anger in her eyes, in the twist of her mouth. She bares her teeth, and wraps her hands around my throat. She presses down, choking me. I struggle, my vision blurs. I kick, I ram my hands into her soft, child-like body. I dig my nails into her arms.
Finally she falls off. Now she lies, spent, on the floor.
We both lie, unmoving.
Night comes.
How will it end, I wonder? I can not remember how it began. But we have always been here, her and I, in this cramped space, in this windowless, cell.
I wonder if there is a God. A demon. Good and Evil. Sometimes, I think, if there is only two of us, one of us must be God, one of us must be the devil. One of us with the power to create, one of us with the power to kill. But here, trapped in this space, our powers cancel out.
A vision visits me. I am clothed in diamonds and black, she is wearing pearls and white. We stand next to each other. I wear a crown of blue feathers, she wears one of red. I smell blood. I look down. There is a headless body before me, sprawled on the ground by my feet, blood staining the edge of my robe. I touch my hands to my face, there is blood dripping down my mouth. I spit out a bone. I look at her, her mouth is red, her teeth sharp and pointed. She opens her mouth wide, I glimpse an eyeball on her tongue.
A moment later we are running through a dark forest. A herd of townspeople follow us, crying in rage, bearing pitchforks and torches. A sorcerer leads them, he weaves a spell and flings it at us. We are caught, in his spell, and around us, jagged boulders rise, like teeth, from the earth. We are trapped. The sorcerer laughs, and the spaces between the stones disappear. We are imprisoned in a room, with high walls.
I wake up, screaming. She is leaning over me, her mouth open. She grabs my hand and brings her mouth down on it. Her teeth pierce my skin, graze my bone. I scream and shake her off. I throw her against a wall. A bone snaps, and she lies, broken.
Was it a dream or a memory?
Madness lies asleep, her bones have healed. I try to dig the ground, but it is hard stone, and refuses to budge.
I wonder what I look like. Do I look lke Madness? Is my face the same as hers? Sometimes, when I look at her, I feel like I am staring at a mirror. But I do not know what I look like. I have forgotten. I know only the shape of my hands, the shape of my body, but I do not know what is on my face.
When Madness awakens, I take hold of her. I push down her. She wraps her hands around my throat and squeezes. I look at her face. I am suprised. There is no anger, no fire. Her eyes are tired, pleading. There is a question, a word - that eludes me. But I think I know what she means. She tightens her hold. I tighten mine. We both squeeze, strength ebbing. I do not let go. Her hold slakens for a moment, but then, from somewhere, she finds the strength to go on. I can not breathe. My vision turns pink. I can not see Madness, I can barely feel her....there is numbness spreading across....I hope, I hope so much...I hope that...
this
is
how it
ends
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
THE LIFE OF A CITY
In the mornings -
Men and smart young women walk briskly to offices, laptop bags slung over one shoulder, a leather handbag or brief case clutched in one hand, a mobile phone clasped in the other.
School buses shudder across roads, crawl past manholes, and jolt over speedbreakers. Screaming children hang out of the windows, waving soot-spotted handkerchiefs.
In the afternoons -
Old women sit by their window sills, parting curtains covered in soot and grime, drinking weak tea, watching cars and cycles pass below.
The sound of a hundred rival soap operas playing on a thousand television screens, the sounds of snores, of love-making, of phonecalls and barking dogs push past closed doors, and merge into a blurred cacophany.
In the evenings -
Mothers bring their children out to the parks. They sit silently on benches covered in pigeon droppings, and watch their children play. Their hair is pinned up, hap-hazardly, in a straggly bun. There is something strange in their gaze - at once abstracted and familiar. They look as if the world is passing them by. They sigh, absently, and move a lock of hair back, as the wind stirs.
In houses, husbands and wives glare each other. A heavy silence hangs between them, full of unsaid things. A door bangs, a tear falls, a car speeds away.
A child sits, by a window, watching the sunset. He jumps up, when he hears a car back into the garage. But it's the neighbors. A maid comes in, with dinner on a tray, and leaves it on a nearby table. The child pushes the tray away.
In the nights -
Lovers meet, for a tryst, but they are tired and fall asleep.
The beat of a nearby night-club keeps a secretary, living alone in a squalid, one-room apartment, up the whole night. Unable to sleep, she gets up and crouches by her tiny window, watching beautiful, rich young men and women cue outside the night club. A glint of gold jewellery catches her eye. She turns to see a young woman, her age, dressed in a tight red skirt, with stiletto heels. She is laughing, one hand wrapped around a handsome man. The secretary recognizes the man - he is an actor from a prime-time soap.
A car drives past, stops and blocks her view. When the car passes, the couple have disappeared.
She sighs, and tries to go back to sleep.
Past midnight -
The city is asleep. Men and women toss in their beds, in the clutches of Dream. As one young man, writhes. He moans, he sweats. He grimaces, asleep, in pain.
Finally, he awakens. He rolls across his bed, opens his drawer, and pops a pill. He sinks back into bed, and falls asleep. A dream uncoils from his head, slides out in a whispery, grey vapour from his ear, and drifts into the sky, to join a poisonous Cloud of Dreams, hovering above the earth.
The cloud shrieks, flashes, and moans. It rolls across the sky, and goes to torment the sleep of others.
.
When the young man awakens, he can not remember his dreams.
And so the days -
Are changeless, mornings fade into afternoon, lapse into evening and slip into night. The months march past, patterned by such days, the seasons move in a steady progression, as the stars slowly shift their places in the night sky.
Thus years pass.
The people of this city live their lives in this constant, unvarying fashion - a life of mornings, evenings and nights, a life of absent dreams, pregnant silences and forgotten longings.
Men and smart young women walk briskly to offices, laptop bags slung over one shoulder, a leather handbag or brief case clutched in one hand, a mobile phone clasped in the other.
School buses shudder across roads, crawl past manholes, and jolt over speedbreakers. Screaming children hang out of the windows, waving soot-spotted handkerchiefs.
In the afternoons -
Old women sit by their window sills, parting curtains covered in soot and grime, drinking weak tea, watching cars and cycles pass below.
The sound of a hundred rival soap operas playing on a thousand television screens, the sounds of snores, of love-making, of phonecalls and barking dogs push past closed doors, and merge into a blurred cacophany.
In the evenings -
Mothers bring their children out to the parks. They sit silently on benches covered in pigeon droppings, and watch their children play. Their hair is pinned up, hap-hazardly, in a straggly bun. There is something strange in their gaze - at once abstracted and familiar. They look as if the world is passing them by. They sigh, absently, and move a lock of hair back, as the wind stirs.
In houses, husbands and wives glare each other. A heavy silence hangs between them, full of unsaid things. A door bangs, a tear falls, a car speeds away.
A child sits, by a window, watching the sunset. He jumps up, when he hears a car back into the garage. But it's the neighbors. A maid comes in, with dinner on a tray, and leaves it on a nearby table. The child pushes the tray away.
In the nights -
Lovers meet, for a tryst, but they are tired and fall asleep.
The beat of a nearby night-club keeps a secretary, living alone in a squalid, one-room apartment, up the whole night. Unable to sleep, she gets up and crouches by her tiny window, watching beautiful, rich young men and women cue outside the night club. A glint of gold jewellery catches her eye. She turns to see a young woman, her age, dressed in a tight red skirt, with stiletto heels. She is laughing, one hand wrapped around a handsome man. The secretary recognizes the man - he is an actor from a prime-time soap.
A car drives past, stops and blocks her view. When the car passes, the couple have disappeared.
She sighs, and tries to go back to sleep.
Past midnight -
The city is asleep. Men and women toss in their beds, in the clutches of Dream. As one young man, writhes. He moans, he sweats. He grimaces, asleep, in pain.
Finally, he awakens. He rolls across his bed, opens his drawer, and pops a pill. He sinks back into bed, and falls asleep. A dream uncoils from his head, slides out in a whispery, grey vapour from his ear, and drifts into the sky, to join a poisonous Cloud of Dreams, hovering above the earth.
The cloud shrieks, flashes, and moans. It rolls across the sky, and goes to torment the sleep of others.
.
When the young man awakens, he can not remember his dreams.
And so the days -
Are changeless, mornings fade into afternoon, lapse into evening and slip into night. The months march past, patterned by such days, the seasons move in a steady progression, as the stars slowly shift their places in the night sky.
Thus years pass.
The people of this city live their lives in this constant, unvarying fashion - a life of mornings, evenings and nights, a life of absent dreams, pregnant silences and forgotten longings.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Laughter of God
The first time
It was a black day, when it first happened. Dark, heavy thunderclouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun. Lightening flashed, followed by the dull roar of thunder, and a moment later, the first raindrops began to fall.
I sought shelter in the doorway of a bookshop, standing beside a woman, with lank, greasy hair. She reached inside the pocket of her oversized, battered leather jacket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She was polite enough to offer me one, but when I declined, she shrugged, and lit a cigarette. The smoke rose from her mouth, from the glowing cigarette end, and hung in the air for a moment. In that moment, it seemed to me, the smoke took on the semblance of a form - a grinning horned sprite, with red eyes. The sprite opened his mouth, to reveal a flickering, snake-like tongue, and rows of pointed, sharp teeth. He began to laugh- a horrible, mad sound.
The sound of terror, the sound of chaos.
How can I describe the sound? It was the sound of horns blaring, sirens wailing, children laughing and dogs barking. The sound of the universe tearing.
I shivered, trembling, my palms slick with sweat, my heart beating hard in my chest.
The woman next to me, the one who was smoking, tugged at my sleeve. "You okay?" She asked, a little concerned. "You look like you're coming down with a fever." The wind rose, as she spoke, blowing away the mad, grinning face of smoke.
I shook my head, stunned. She turned away, and took another long puff on her cigarette. I watched, mesmerized, as she exhaled, waiting for the smoke to transform into another strange, animated vision. But nothing happened this time, the smoke remained smoke, ascending in a slow, sleepy spiral towards the heavens.
The next time
I was sitting at a coffee shop, alone. In the table in front of mine, a man waited, watching the clock. Minutes passed, he grew more agitated. He pulled out a cellphone, flipped it open, and scrolled down for a number. His finger hovered above the green call button, and as the seconds ticked by, his indecision mounted. Finally, he flipped his phone close, and laid it on the table, in front of him, watching the LCD screen.
Nothing happened, no one called. He pulled his phone towards him, and repeated the same ritual over the next fifteen minutes, innumerable times. The last time, he stared glumly at the glowing LCD screen, before pocketing the phone. He moved to rise, but just as he did - a woman strode into the coffee shop, breezing past the waiters and the other customers. The man's forlorn face broke into a smile. She
reached him, and pecked him on the cheek. They sat down, and he reached across the table, to hold her hands, as he whispered to her.
A look of confidence spread across her face. She looked like a cat, with a rat in her grasp, and as she smiled, at her lover, her tongue flicked across her lips, a serpentine, flickering tongue.
My coffee came. I read my book, drank my coffee. When I finally raised my head to summon the waitress, the couple in the table in front of me had left. The waitress came, took down my order, and removed my coffee cup.
There was stain, where the cup had been - a faint, wet ring on the table cloth. Even as I watched, the stain shifted and changed - it was now a face, a grinning, horned face. A smile writhed across the face, and lips opened. Laughter sounded - a sound so loud that it blasted my eardrums. I raised my hands to my ears, to block out the sound. I stumbled across my chair, in an effort to escape the grinning face, the horrible laughter. I shut my eyes.
Moments later, I felt a pair of soft hands on my shoulder. I turned around, and looked up into the waitress' face. She murmured something soothing, and grasping my hands, led me away. As I turned, I saw the table had been overturned, a plate had splintered into pieces on the ground, a chair had been toppled.
Was this the beginning of madness?
The next day
I took the day off from work, and stayed at home, watching clouds sweep over the sky. It was a bright day, the sky was blue, and the clouds looked soft and fleecy, like sheepskin.
A solitary crow flew overhead, giant winds spanning the breadth of the cloud, and darkness descended, as he flew past the sun. I shuddered, suddenly cold, and wrapped my arms around me. A moment later, warm sunlight streamed down again. I smiled, and turned my head, as a black shape flickered at the corner of my eye.
The crow sat on my window sill, watching me.
I was paralyzed by fear, because there was intelligence and menace in his fierce, bright eyes. I was suddenly aware of his sharp beak, of it's capacity to inflict damage. I could imagine, that sharp beak, diving into my soft skin, bright red blood dripping.
But the crow simply opened his beak, and a violent noise filled the air. It was the sound of manic laughter - the sound of chaos and horror, fear.
Was this what the Gods sounded like? What language was this?
I screamed the crow to stop, to shut up. But he cawed, even more fiercely, and I closed my eyes and tumbled into darkness. But even there, in the darkness behind my eyes, the laugh continued to sound.
An eternity passed.
When I opened my eyes, my hands were covered in blood. There was a bloody mess of black feathers on my lap, and there were feathers in my hair, on my hands. Here and there, were sharp, incisive cuts across my hands.
But there was no crow.
What had happened?
Sometime Later
I sat at my desk, in my office. Colourless, blank walls rose about me, and I was confronted with a blinking white screen on my computer. Letters danced before my eyes, I rubbed my face, and the letters and numbers settled back into sentences and phrases.
What was I supposed to be doing?
I frowned, shook my head. Grabbing my mug, I headed for the coffee machine. A pair of lovers - a secretary from Supplies and an accountant from the Fourth Floor hovered by the coffee machine, faces wreathed in smiles, giggling. Their laughter stopped, as I walked into the tiny cabin. The silence was tense, and the accountant left first, hands in his pockets. The secretary left a moment later, after directing a fierce, intense look at me. There was hatred in her eyes. Why?
I returned to my narrow cubicle, and my blinking computer screen. Moments later, a telephone rang. I started, and turned to my right. There was a bright red telephone on the right side of my desk. It was a strange thing - an old-fashioned telephone, the kind with a rotating dial.
I stared at this foreign object. I had never seen it on my table before.
It rang again, insistent. The noise was deafening.
Slowly, I reached for the phone, and picked up the handset.
"Hello?" I ventured, cautiously.
There was silence for a brief instant, and then there was the sound of that same, fiendish, black laughter. It flooded my ears, and paralyzed my brain. And even as it did, the letters and numbers on my computer screen rearranged themselves - into the black form of a grinning, laughing, horned face.
The sight of that face, the sound of that laughter.
I screamed, trying to shut out, blank out the laugher with my scream, but to no avail. I shut my eyes, stoppered my ears, plunged sharpened pencils into my ears, to pierce my eardrums, to stop the sound.
The blackness came, finally, soothing and peaceful.
When I awoke
I was in a white room. There were white walls and white ceilings and white floors - whiteness spreading into infinity. There was no one else here, just me. At first, I didn't mind it, because there seemed no way that the face and the sound could follow me here.
But I was wrong.
Now, I shut my eyes, because even my shadow betrays me, and shapes into that grinning face, with that horrible mouth, and the terrible, earth-shattering laugh.
But I can not shut my eyes forever. And there is nothing here with which I can pierce my eyes, gouge out my eyeballs.
When I open my eyes, the face is in front of me, as large as the entire wall - it's mouth huge and growing. The face spreads and grows, and now it is the size of the entire room, and the mouth is before me, longer and taller than me. The mouth opens, and I see a red, wet tongue, and rows of sharp, pointed teeth, the size of trees. The walls dissolve, and then there is only the face, as big as a mountain, before me.
The tongue slides out of the parted lips, and wraps it's long, sinuous length around me.
I hear the laughter of the Gods, for one, last time.
It was a black day, when it first happened. Dark, heavy thunderclouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun. Lightening flashed, followed by the dull roar of thunder, and a moment later, the first raindrops began to fall.
I sought shelter in the doorway of a bookshop, standing beside a woman, with lank, greasy hair. She reached inside the pocket of her oversized, battered leather jacket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She was polite enough to offer me one, but when I declined, she shrugged, and lit a cigarette. The smoke rose from her mouth, from the glowing cigarette end, and hung in the air for a moment. In that moment, it seemed to me, the smoke took on the semblance of a form - a grinning horned sprite, with red eyes. The sprite opened his mouth, to reveal a flickering, snake-like tongue, and rows of pointed, sharp teeth. He began to laugh- a horrible, mad sound.
The sound of terror, the sound of chaos.
How can I describe the sound? It was the sound of horns blaring, sirens wailing, children laughing and dogs barking. The sound of the universe tearing.
I shivered, trembling, my palms slick with sweat, my heart beating hard in my chest.
The woman next to me, the one who was smoking, tugged at my sleeve. "You okay?" She asked, a little concerned. "You look like you're coming down with a fever." The wind rose, as she spoke, blowing away the mad, grinning face of smoke.
I shook my head, stunned. She turned away, and took another long puff on her cigarette. I watched, mesmerized, as she exhaled, waiting for the smoke to transform into another strange, animated vision. But nothing happened this time, the smoke remained smoke, ascending in a slow, sleepy spiral towards the heavens.
The next time
I was sitting at a coffee shop, alone. In the table in front of mine, a man waited, watching the clock. Minutes passed, he grew more agitated. He pulled out a cellphone, flipped it open, and scrolled down for a number. His finger hovered above the green call button, and as the seconds ticked by, his indecision mounted. Finally, he flipped his phone close, and laid it on the table, in front of him, watching the LCD screen.
Nothing happened, no one called. He pulled his phone towards him, and repeated the same ritual over the next fifteen minutes, innumerable times. The last time, he stared glumly at the glowing LCD screen, before pocketing the phone. He moved to rise, but just as he did - a woman strode into the coffee shop, breezing past the waiters and the other customers. The man's forlorn face broke into a smile. She
reached him, and pecked him on the cheek. They sat down, and he reached across the table, to hold her hands, as he whispered to her.
A look of confidence spread across her face. She looked like a cat, with a rat in her grasp, and as she smiled, at her lover, her tongue flicked across her lips, a serpentine, flickering tongue.
My coffee came. I read my book, drank my coffee. When I finally raised my head to summon the waitress, the couple in the table in front of me had left. The waitress came, took down my order, and removed my coffee cup.
There was stain, where the cup had been - a faint, wet ring on the table cloth. Even as I watched, the stain shifted and changed - it was now a face, a grinning, horned face. A smile writhed across the face, and lips opened. Laughter sounded - a sound so loud that it blasted my eardrums. I raised my hands to my ears, to block out the sound. I stumbled across my chair, in an effort to escape the grinning face, the horrible laughter. I shut my eyes.
Moments later, I felt a pair of soft hands on my shoulder. I turned around, and looked up into the waitress' face. She murmured something soothing, and grasping my hands, led me away. As I turned, I saw the table had been overturned, a plate had splintered into pieces on the ground, a chair had been toppled.
Was this the beginning of madness?
The next day
I took the day off from work, and stayed at home, watching clouds sweep over the sky. It was a bright day, the sky was blue, and the clouds looked soft and fleecy, like sheepskin.
A solitary crow flew overhead, giant winds spanning the breadth of the cloud, and darkness descended, as he flew past the sun. I shuddered, suddenly cold, and wrapped my arms around me. A moment later, warm sunlight streamed down again. I smiled, and turned my head, as a black shape flickered at the corner of my eye.
The crow sat on my window sill, watching me.
I was paralyzed by fear, because there was intelligence and menace in his fierce, bright eyes. I was suddenly aware of his sharp beak, of it's capacity to inflict damage. I could imagine, that sharp beak, diving into my soft skin, bright red blood dripping.
But the crow simply opened his beak, and a violent noise filled the air. It was the sound of manic laughter - the sound of chaos and horror, fear.
Was this what the Gods sounded like? What language was this?
I screamed the crow to stop, to shut up. But he cawed, even more fiercely, and I closed my eyes and tumbled into darkness. But even there, in the darkness behind my eyes, the laugh continued to sound.
An eternity passed.
When I opened my eyes, my hands were covered in blood. There was a bloody mess of black feathers on my lap, and there were feathers in my hair, on my hands. Here and there, were sharp, incisive cuts across my hands.
But there was no crow.
What had happened?
Sometime Later
I sat at my desk, in my office. Colourless, blank walls rose about me, and I was confronted with a blinking white screen on my computer. Letters danced before my eyes, I rubbed my face, and the letters and numbers settled back into sentences and phrases.
What was I supposed to be doing?
I frowned, shook my head. Grabbing my mug, I headed for the coffee machine. A pair of lovers - a secretary from Supplies and an accountant from the Fourth Floor hovered by the coffee machine, faces wreathed in smiles, giggling. Their laughter stopped, as I walked into the tiny cabin. The silence was tense, and the accountant left first, hands in his pockets. The secretary left a moment later, after directing a fierce, intense look at me. There was hatred in her eyes. Why?
I returned to my narrow cubicle, and my blinking computer screen. Moments later, a telephone rang. I started, and turned to my right. There was a bright red telephone on the right side of my desk. It was a strange thing - an old-fashioned telephone, the kind with a rotating dial.
I stared at this foreign object. I had never seen it on my table before.
It rang again, insistent. The noise was deafening.
Slowly, I reached for the phone, and picked up the handset.
"Hello?" I ventured, cautiously.
There was silence for a brief instant, and then there was the sound of that same, fiendish, black laughter. It flooded my ears, and paralyzed my brain. And even as it did, the letters and numbers on my computer screen rearranged themselves - into the black form of a grinning, laughing, horned face.
The sight of that face, the sound of that laughter.
I screamed, trying to shut out, blank out the laugher with my scream, but to no avail. I shut my eyes, stoppered my ears, plunged sharpened pencils into my ears, to pierce my eardrums, to stop the sound.
The blackness came, finally, soothing and peaceful.
When I awoke
I was in a white room. There were white walls and white ceilings and white floors - whiteness spreading into infinity. There was no one else here, just me. At first, I didn't mind it, because there seemed no way that the face and the sound could follow me here.
But I was wrong.
Now, I shut my eyes, because even my shadow betrays me, and shapes into that grinning face, with that horrible mouth, and the terrible, earth-shattering laugh.
But I can not shut my eyes forever. And there is nothing here with which I can pierce my eyes, gouge out my eyeballs.
When I open my eyes, the face is in front of me, as large as the entire wall - it's mouth huge and growing. The face spreads and grows, and now it is the size of the entire room, and the mouth is before me, longer and taller than me. The mouth opens, and I see a red, wet tongue, and rows of sharp, pointed teeth, the size of trees. The walls dissolve, and then there is only the face, as big as a mountain, before me.
The tongue slides out of the parted lips, and wraps it's long, sinuous length around me.
I hear the laughter of the Gods, for one, last time.
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