This is Rosy Cheeks 2Feat. Kali the 2nd
Uploaded Thursday 28 May 2016
Produced by Art Till Death
For Anvil Samsara, Wheel Of Life
Zombie Publications ©
“I don’t want my clothes washed. Why the hell do you do you to suddenly wash my clothes? There’s nowhere to wash them.” I pushed her away.
She came back at me in an embracing lurch, pinning me down, leaking out that sloppy white fluid from her mouth onto mine. I wiped it away, rolled off, and exclaimed unto the heavens: WTF! MY shaman just died. Now you want sex or something! Who are you? Where did you come from? What do you want? All the rest of it.
“You brought me here,” she murmured.
Closer inspection of her revealed pale white skin beneath a black torn gown reaching down to her ankles. She looked desperate and sickly and pressed for time beyond measure, as if any second a portal would open up and transport her away back to the place that had spewed her forth – my mind.
She sat on a rock, scratching her calves with wizened fingertips. That white fluid dribbled down her chin and flowed down her ample bosom. There seemed to be no end to it in her narrow yet deep well of a mouth.
I could see she was a banshee, or Irish wailing spirit. My family and peers had warned me of them growing up in the region as a kid. I had never experienced one. Dad said they only come along once or twice in a lifetime, even if you spend all of your time cliff-hanging, which I didn’t.
After the hook in the arc, it’s important to have a trigger or a surprise. I don’t even know what a trigger would look like. Maybe it would be her yellow teeth or something, inspiring me to kiss her. Maybe it would be a cop showing up and blasting her away with a real trigger. Cops always showed up in the stories I liked. Usually they got shot up and gone before having time to draw their gun. Sometimes they were the heroes. Often characters showed up in movies or stories and demanded instant gratification, casting a new POV upon the plot. They were likeable and funny.
“Can you get me halfway down the mountain? If You can, I can meet my noble grandfather, who can collect and return me.”
I eyeballed the banshee. I had heard of their powers. None of them were good if you were a weak innocent human unoccupied in the obscure drab outdoors after the watershed. Really I should declare her off me, renounce her life, and have nothing more to do with the offbeat, off the wall, far-out being, before she got to work with using some of her supermundane ministry on my unsuspecting senses.
But I saw something in her.
It wasn’t beauty. Far from it. It wasn’t anything empathic. None besides it. It was…it was…it was…I dunno, something.
I glanced at my Motocross four wheeler dirtbike. This is the surprise part of the arc, a slinky machine all in my possession. She wouldn’t trouble the suspension too much if I offered her a seat on the back. She must have only weighed ten stones. Mumbling something underneath my breath, I gunned the engine, blanking out the mechanical rapid clicks of crickets, and flipped the lights, upsetting the hypnotic traily pattens of motes swirling in the beams.
All we could see was rugged rough terrain. I sat on first. “Okay, climb aboard, I’ll take you to your grandfather.”
We shot off, shooting dust behind us. All I could feel was her soft cuddle around my waist, and the sheen of wetness from her drool on the back of my neck.
Kali the 2nd loves the wind.
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