Assignments #3

He strode into the room with confidence. His shirt un-tucked, smelling of sweat, sex, and stale alcohol. He could feel the crust in the corners of his mouth but refused to drag the backside of his hand across the desert of his face. In a tangential sort of way, he dug in his nose inspecting his jaque custeau’esque treasure smiling at him on the end of a dirty slender finger nail like a worm in a rotten apple at his last right. He flicked the rotten invertebrate into oblivion and proceeded to slowly walk towards the mauve colored roofless prison. His shoebox was comfortable. He sank into his chair; folding the white paper tissue around his shoulders and head. Unlacing, curling into a ball. His swivel chair turned slightly to face the entrance of his voluntary cage. His slow revolution was like 15 inches of wax, caught on a steel plate, awaiting the sting of a needle and the deep base of an amp. Music gurgling forth like vomit making its way up a one way street.
Softly tickling the esophageal cells; tip toeing down the stairs in watery one-sy dotted with pictures of carrots and peas. Exploding at the site of the Virgin Mary condemned to spend her holidays atop this glitter glam horror show paying homage to her passion-less life. Electricity pulsating through her shell of a body. She wanted to fall 6 feet and smash into a thousand pieces exposing wires and a chaotic glimpse of spending the night on a cot with your mother’s arm slowly rubbing your back while whispers creep over your shoulder and bang against the stubborn waxy build up that refuses to let reality in.
His evaluation was today.
He couldn’t think straight and began to tap his toes against the shiny plastic incasing his cubicle desk. He was perched on his ass and heels looking like a disgruntled vulture ready to swoop down and make everyone sorry for making him feel like a necrophiliac. He looked crumpled, but in a fastidious sort of way; as if he had been attacked by a drive-by professional Hollywood make-up crew. He picked at a scabbed over pimple on his chin; striking ooze he celebrated by shooting a perfect rainbow 3 pointer with the hardened crust.
The cows in the barn started to stir. They had detected a disturbance in sector 9 and were ready to gear up for an all out assault on the invader. The Commander was all up in arms about a difficult episode she had suffered over the weekend with her children. Now full grown, the Commander needn’t beg for attention. Instead she shoved her bovine hips into an unsuspecting conversation, the gaze of which fell on a different section of the star spectrum but nonetheless found itself being shifted to the quadrant the commander felt deserved attention. She was a gluttonous pile of excrement. A walking receptacle of toxins and poisonous mental treats left for the neighbor’s cat. She baited the innocent with her weight and used gamey elbows that dug into your side like a cowboy riding his steed hard in order to get back to that one prostitute that made him feel as if the world was worth going insane for from the gonorrhea. Her large nostrils flared and a combination of snot and hot pursuit dripped from her cavernous orifices. She became elated at the fact that the fox had finally made his way into the galactic barnyard.
The game they played was like watching a herd of wildebeests. Frantic and impatient, skittish yet firm. Dust drifting into the African atmosphere from bristle thick hair, on edge as the peak of their blunt noses dipped into the placid luke-warm waters of the wicked watering hole. The snap of the alligators snout crushing veins, bones, ligaments, tendons, and puncturing flesh and skin was like the sound of a bullwhip. In the second that it took to realize what had happened the immense fear was rippling through the herd like signals traveling at light speed down the mylenated sheath of axons and nerves. The afternoon sun pushed through the curtain of disturbed earth blown into the lazy motionless safari scene. A grey muscled leg kicks for a foothold as warm blood soaks the ground.
The restless hot herd re-settled yards from the crime-scene, literally keeping one eye on the attack zone while turning from side to side.