Dedicated to Poppy Z. Brite and her “Lost Souls” novel.
He sat naked in the old clawed feet bathtub chewing on the Tootsie-row. Chocolate spills down from the corner of his mouth fusing with his stringy black hair plastered to his cheeks. He hears laughter in the living room from the party that has gone on far too long. A phone rings, his two friends that have traveled far with him comes in. The female glares at him and hands him the phone,
“Tell him!” as his fragile male lover hides behind her. He puts the cold receiver to his ear.
“Is she all right? Are you taking her with you? God, I can’t stand this any longer.” There is a sterile voice behind him saying words of clam. August can sense the father shrugging off a person behind him,
“Where is she? She is going with you isn’t she? Promise me …” he breaks down, starts to mummer and cry, “promise me that you will bring her back unharmed. Don’t leave her all alone somewhere.” August glances up at his two friends. They shake their heads, and the female makes a pushing motion with her pallid hand pointed down, the sharp black nails gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the open French doors.
Suddenly, the bathroom walls dissolve from the modern, spacious house to catacombs where fallen bricks lay exposed from a crumbling wall behind which light from a fire glowed upon vaulted ceilings. Party voices mummer. August recalls his rape by the three escaped convicts who had found him alone in the catacombs after his friends had left to find food. He caresses the way he had become increasingly more aroused at each savage thrust of their cocks as they took turns amusing themselves with his naked body. How he had yowled with delight, tucking his head down to view his rigid cock spray white cum and to watch the red blood trickle down his thigh as the last convict rammed his huge cock into his anus. And how he had laid splayed out in bliss, face down in the cool soil staring at the vacant eye sockets of a human skull eating dirt as the criminals curled up to sleep off the liquor. But the humans of dust had become too drunk to abuse his nocturnal friends when they returned with the raw meat for their supper.
By the time the cons had awaken from their stupor, August and his two darklings had slipped away and were long gone. They had found the airy, clean mansion positioned among the hills where rich people lived, empty except for one lone fragile female. Ever aware that the brutal convicts were on their heels, August still had taken her to bed. There, he gently seduced her with caresses and kisses over her pale body, touching each sacred spot with his tongue and licking at the saccharine moisture of her tender skin. He let her touch him in her own time, delicate hands skipping over his smooth skin, letting her pull on his velvet cock while all the time holding back from his ferocious orgasms so as to not startle her. Their souls converged as their bodies conjoined during intercourse. But he had sent her away, feinting a mission just to get her out of her home for a good length of time. The animals were coming.
August suddenly became chilled in the old tub as the spout dripped rusty water down the drain hole. He stares at the gapping pit, his limp cock laying on the chipped white bottom of the tub, and thinks to himself, “I can’t go on like this, lying to everyone including to myself.”
“Mr. Joel, I am going to leave her here even though her and I have become very close. Aya is like the lost half of my soul, the female half and the better half. I would do nothing to bring harm to her. I love her, but she can’t follow me to where I am going. I am going nowhere.” Abruptly, he knew that Aya’s father had stirred him, made him feel pity not only for the father’s quandary, but also for his own little troupe’s plight. He had to save her.
“It’s a dead end road,” he whispered into the frigid phone. August shivers in the bathtub even amidst the warm water flowing around his bare ass and his cock lying flaccid against the bottom. The walls crowd in like they too were listening. He can feel his friends’ eyes burn into the back of his head as he crouches with the receiver of the old phone to his ear,
“I can’t take her with me.” It is finished; the truth has been laid bare. His two lovers start with a low guttural sound,
“What do you mean telling him that? Are you crazy? You are going to blow it!” they growl one after the other, seeing the kidnapping money blow out of their claws. He only hears the silence on the other end of the phone, but he perceives a human happy, silently blessing him. The only blessings he will ever receive whether in heaven or in hell. He turns around to look at his friends’ cloudy faces,
“Go back to the party, entertain them before they come in and ring your necks here in this house before we can get them into the bloody car!” They come to their senses and obey, leaving him in the old tub with the lion paws. August slides down into the tub and decides that it is time to cleanse himself of all sin. He puts his head under the facet to wash off the sticky chocolate, and splashes fresh water over his willowy pale body to wash off the road grim, sweat and dried blood.
“I wish that I could stay in this cool, airy house. Dump my brains and get new ones. But no living thing in this world wants me, loves me. And the one being who does love me, I am going to leave behind.”
Suddenly, he feels immensely alone. The bottom of the tub changes from white to the black intensity of the vacuum of space, stars dust the dark velvet, and then it too slip out from beneath him. He is in a car’s front seat, riding down a dusty dirt road. Ahead, a blinding silver factory spirals up to the white-hot sky, thin metal stacks thrust at the heart of heaven, piercing the heat-laden sky. The convict beside him laughs, enjoying wheeling the large, old convertible. August’s friends laugh in response, unaware of the murderous thoughts of the criminals in the car with them. Or are they just heedless? As one, they will react.
August leans close to the driver, the faint wrinkles visible on the leathery face, neck exposed, his dusty brown hair whipping in the sizzling hot wind. How will this man’s flesh taste? Sweet and tender, or bitter and stringy like his soul? August bits a chunk out of the man’s neck. Blood spills down from his mouth, sharp jagged white teeth gleam behind a bloody smile,
“Oh, I have leaned in much too close … poor guy.” He laughs as the old beat-up car heads towards the oil processing plant controlled by a dead man’s hands. The last thing August hears is the screams of his friends before the fire hits.