Chapter 18 – They Dig Places for the Ornaments
The night was the thin purple cold of extremely late summer. Archie stood on fat planks. He felt the pin in his knee. He felt the ache in his heart, and better in his guts and the fuzzy scenery of her necrotic being.
Whisper to his neck, “Archie honey, get the keys from the box on the wall.”
Nervously, “Why? You don’t want to go somewhere now do you? Like this?”
“Like what, Archie baby?”
He is sweating a sick sweat, bile on the bumpy protrusions of his body covering. Archie was becoming inhuman.
Headlights pass. He hugs the wall and gently slides to the door frame. “I can’t go like this, darling, sweaty in my nightclothes and adornments.”
Are you going to stay here staring into my hair, the circles on my belly all night? Are you going to stay here in a fit because my eyes haven’t come out right or are you going to go out, out into the perfect air?
Damn you, Elizabeth. The material squealed and rippled as his hairless chest expanded in a fury.
Life had turned slick and gray under these sheer extravagances and pools on splintered tables. He could barely hold himself up. The stench was rising. And everywhere in the late hours of this strange galaxy, seaside and gloomy, warnings wailed in the streets and walks. Could one ever belong to him?
Written by Brando
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