There she is, just a second away right in front of my eyes. There she is, grinning that stupid grin and pretending like she matters to the world.
Stupid, filthy white tee shirt, the bitch doesn't even have a bra on as usual. One wet tee shirt contest you just don't want to see and it's just sweat, all sweat. All tucked into those dirty, disgusting shorts that cover more of her stomach than her backside and anyone would swear that if you were on the ground looking up, well, you'd be looking down faster than a scared jackrabbit running to hid, retching your brains out.
And as always, that God-awful smell. That smell alone is a shock to your system like nothing else. Maybe it comes from her sweaty pits or maybe her hair, but most definitely it spews out of her mouth and you just can't get away. She loves to play that stupid dance of "Hey, I'm going to be in your personal space and don't you try to change that."
Pop her in the face, just do it. Curl in your fingers but don't tuck your thumb, bend your elbow and pull it back. Just do it. Ground your balance, centre yourself, pull that foot back just a touch. In the face. Tense the arm in all the right places, deep breath, then swing but don't miss. Remember the follow through. Do it. Do it now. Burn it into your memory, the sound of her bones shattering. The face. The face. Do it. Now.
And wouldn't you know it, just your luck, there won't be any follow through, no siree. No bones shattering and no follow through and no tensed muscles because all there's time for is that step backwards. A step back and she doesn't even have time to start the dance because she can't think anymore, no she can't. There is not pop, no crack, no badda-bing badda-boom, just the crunch as the bullet hits her between the eyes and the splat as her brains go all over the steaming hot pavement. Splat!, just like the game.
And then it's another shock to the system, but this time it's okay. This time it's good. Good for you, red alert for the guys in your head. You have about 1.3 seconds before the system unfreezes and inside your head the guys are running around starting up processes you've never run before, and all the while you're just holding your breath, waiting to get started again. 1.2 seconds later The Big Guy clears the air and he says, because he always knows what to say and what to do, "All right, you sons of bitches, it's about to get mother-fucking loud and it's gonna get hotter than Hell on record heat, and if any one of you stops working I'll personally make sure you bleed..."
But suddenly the world rushes up to greet you and explodes into sound and The Big Guy was right, it's hot hot hot and you just have to breath out again or the air inside might cook you. Speaking of cooking, it's so hot her brains might be frying right there. Hey, Ma, look! You always used to say it was hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement but gee-whiz you should come look at this, I bet you never thought you could fry brains, too!
Wait, what was it The Big Guy was saying? Bleed? Bleed like a stuck pig? Well, that's sure what happened to the bitch in front of you and hey maybe those Grunts saw that, maybe they'll do their job now because they sure as fuck don't want to bleed like her. Shit, you don't want to bleed like her, oh what the fuck is going on, and right on cue The Big Guy tries to take over again and so does Something Else, and The Big Guy says to Run you Mother-Fucker, run! but Something Else freezes you like a deer in the headlights. Shock to the system, and the system is running slow.
Oh, where has the time gone, what do you mean it hasn't been an hour yet? Blood and spinal fluid are still dripping from the shattered egg that was once her head. Are her knees really still buckling? That bitch better fall backwards, they always fall backwards and I don't know what the fuck I'll do if she falls forwards, no fucking way I don't want to touch that, she smells and oh fuck her brains, her brains are all over the pavement what the fuck!
And then The Big Guy comes back, just a split second too late and screams screams screams at all the Grunts and even the Something Else has to hide because it's no match for the vein popping out in The Big Guy's neck and his bulging eyes and his throat going raw telling you that if you don't run, Mother-Fucker, you'll probably be next and then what are you going to do, you'll be dead and there'll be a total System Failure kind of like that bitch in front of -
--
Anyone else think I've been reading too much Stephen King? "Under the Dome" is quite spectacular, though. A nice step back to the past.
Rewind, stop time, step back, back to black.
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Labels: prose
