I was on the
3rd hole, playing alone, when I prepared to take my next shot. My foot
perched in something soggy, and next thing I know, I’m falling into a hole on
the green. My legs went straight in, I gasped in shock. Where had this bog come
from? What was it doing here?
I’m up to my
neck in water. This secret puddle had caught me by surprise. Before you
know it, I’m doggy-paddling for my life. WTF! It was then, in this
surreptitious little hollow underneath the earth, that I realised that I wasn’t
alone.
There was a
woman in there, a strange alien woman with an over-wide smile. If not for the
smile, I would have been scared. The fact that something existed in here was
frightening. She had been born there and she lived there, a secluded hush-hush
life form who had seen nothing but the 3rd hole lawn all of her
existence. Age? Hard to say. I reckon about mid-twenties. But she wasn’t human,
so I couldn’t approximate. A mermaid?
I climbed
out, and pulled her out too. Her smile was so infectious, so endearing, that I
fell in love with her instantly, at the drop of a hat. I put her on the back of
my bike. We rode through the city blocks, sniffing their pheromones, showing
her a different life, smelling street food and pollution and fountains. She talked
to me in a language I understood perfectly, she said that she has always known that
someone would come. She said that her name was Count Etna.
It was
wonderful, with an alien in the city. Magical. But soon she started to suffer
from dehydration, and I realised with dread to approaching raw fear that we’d
journeyed too far away from her home. And people were staring.
A gang
accosted me. They said that they were going to take my newfound bestie ‘up the
arse’. They were from a clique named ‘The Stuff’, and they ran things around the
neighbourhood. They were a violent and harmful and lethal mob. When one of them
put their hands on my darling Count Etna, I grew a pair and started calling
them all bullsh*tters.
“Youse are nothing
but bullsh*tters! Leave us alone. Or do what you’ve got to do!”
My threats
withered their composure. Stand up to bullies and they shrink. But the leader
exposed his already-hard member and threatened to rape her. They’d narrowed us
into a dark corner.
I stuffed
Count Etna into my caddy bag. Her jelly-ish flesh fitted in with quite a
struggle, but it was the only safety I could afford her. Then I held the bag
close to my chest, and nutted the leader of the mob. As I ran away, I heard
Etna squealing inside the bag. By the time I got back to the golf course, and
to the bog where she belonged, she was stiff, like an old porno magazine. I
tried peeling her limbs away from each other, she was such a delicately small
bundle, so balmy and breakable, and it hurt her every time I touched.
“I’m not
going to make it,” she said. “But thank you.”
I slipped
her body back into the hole, weeping. Her family came up to claim her. They were
crying too. But they were smiling like Etna had also.
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