Die Writing

Rough slice

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on January 10, 2013

Dust Brothers.

A picture of hell, that man, with eyes sharp as tacks. Matted hair – chunk missing – mud on the suit. Smells of booze and puddle piss. You are used to seeing this sight and crossing the street. But where you would normally see empty eyes rolling on the sidewalk – a stare so penetrating and intelligent you feel like a child. Some swagger.

Is he even aware of the gun in his hand?

What devil thoughts are sharpening themselves under that skin. It’s like the remains of cheap meth are visible in his veins. There is a man who took the society’s demands and set them to flames. Drugs, sex, debauchery, all that is wicked and wanton, all of it palpable on his very skin like ink. Is that blood on his coat?

It’s fine. It’s not all his.

He grins with chapped lips and cracked teeth and an eye swollen shut. Someone stuck him in a cement mixer with a barrel of gravel and hit “blend.” He plunged from a great height of humanity. In his freefall he broke through every boundary set for us human beings, all that is sociable and reasonable. He vomited blood on the rock bottom and looked for the manhole cover.

“It’s ok.

“To destroy.


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