The Midnight Crawler: Creepy & Chattery Crawlers
By Homo sapien …. .. ………
– Not suitable for the faint of heart –
A cold boney hand slips down my bare back. I wake up. I suddenly gasp for air. I find myself being sucked by a vicious whirlpool in a sea of red. Fragments float around me. It is night yet the water is warm.
A camera pans over the hairy hand of a sleep deprived man, who is expeditiously stirring the contents of a white mug, from which the medallion of a cheap tea bag is dangling.
Cut! Do I now have your attention? I don’t know, and I care less as your tired eyes have already jumped to the next line to see if what follows is worth the read.
911 words in one sitting; not too long and not too short as my gray and wise former editor would say.
It has been a while. For an imaginary moment the white piece of paper rejoiced as my hand that held the pen brushed against its smooth surface. The piece of paper moaned. Every single pore in my weathered hands gasped for air.
It was just writing…
Well, it seems that I am imagining things again: The flickering bar turned into a pen, the blank Word document turned into a piece of paper and my handwriting was still intact.
Give a headless chicken a quill that was taken from another, whose dismembered body is now in the boiling pot of a gluttonous man, and it will turn out to be a better calligrapher than I.
A year passed. The olive wood colored bodies of Hamadryads sadly swayed with the blistering wind as the axe of the man bearing David’s star, treacherously struck. Silent stood the failing and cowardly gods as they watched an unholy war waged against women and children. When will this bloodshed of innocence stop? Damn the gods and the unjust world for if such is the way may the Mighty Atlas soon relinquish his worldly burden and eternal darkness prevail!
Months have passed since my last diarrhea yet the asshole is still feeling awkward; must see a good doctor soon. I pity the medical lab technician, who like a clueless cockroach, will dabble in shit. Then again is a cockroach venturing into your toilet clueless?
Next time you see one make sure you ask it a few questions before you shoot—ehem—I meant step on it.
A poor cockroach is lying motionless on its back with three of his feet crushed, one severed and a half open lower part. The disgusting little creature sums up its courage and before the sole of a black shoe delivers the coup de grace it yells, “Stop!”
“You can speak?” a young man, who clumsily reaches down to pull up his pants and underwear to cover his shame, yells.
“If you weren’t busy listening to your own voice you would have heard the thousands of pleas that my race blurted before being cast into the dark Chasm of Evermore,” the cockroach retorts.
“Do you have a name?” the man asks.
“Yeah my name is Clint?” the cockroach, with confidence, answers.
“Really, they call you Clint?
“Fcuk no you idiot. We don’t use names to define ourselves we go by our charming characters,” the cockroach with mean sarcasm answers.
“So what were you doing in my toilet?”
“It’s not you it’s the human race?” The cockroach answers.
“Us? How can you blame us for what you do? Venturing into our toilets and violating our excrement is our own fault?”
“No! I mean it is the human race that your race have long ago created. Sadly time is of no value anymore especially that now everyone else is chasing after it. We are all running around like a frenzied and rabid white rabbit whose hand is stuck in his pocket. The golden watch is slowing it down. It should cast it away and embrace the signs of the Lord and Lady Light on the one hand and the Duke and Duchess of Darkness on the other hand,” the cockroach with much eloquence explained, “you run after money to buy food that you ingest, digest and dispose through your anus. Why burden yourself with such a daunting task? Do as we do…”
“You see we cock…” the cockroach was about to say when a sudden and swift thud was followed by a slow disgusting crunch. The sound of clasping steel echoed in the cold corners of the white tiled bathroom before a strong flush followed. The man folded the newspaper and went to bed.
“Talkative little bastard,” the man said to himself before slipping under the warm sheets that sheltered him from the cold hands of the night. The cracks of a triumphant smirk formulated over his pale face like the ones left behind by a seismic activity that no one seems to notice.
And the nude crashed bodies keep on piling up.
These bodies will dissolve into the earth, the very same earth that once withstood the weight of their mighty footsteps, where they will be absorbed by a golden seed that in time will grow into an enormous tree that will for certain go through the pearly tiles of Eden the same way a fig tree will one day bring down a large wall built by bricks molded from hatred.
To be continued or not…