December 31, 2015
3:45 p.m.
It is the dawn of a long overdue hunt, and my jaws are already slavering at the thought of a kill. Fresh cloth slipping between my fingertips, the feel of flesh ripping as tapered plastic worms its way into my ear. Ah, I can barely keep from giggling uproariously with unbridled glee. However, I must curb my excitement and initiate that infuriating practice:
Patience.
Today the hunting grounds are crowded, and I must bide my time. If I strike too soon, my time will be wasted shouldering past other predators and awkwardly reaching through the gaps between bodies to get at everything. Too late, and all the prime selections will be long gone, buried beneath a thousand other things daddy’s little girl just had to have.
I slink to higher ground, deciding to fetch a cup of life-blood and spend some time surveying my surroundings.
Today the coffee has an almost tropical aroma, and a hint of coconut is definitely present in the customary bitterness. I sip leisurely, leaning back on the bench and pretending to be absolutely fascinated with a pamphlet I’d found in on the way in. It’s Christian-themed, though it leans a bit more on the “thumper” side, as most of it describes Hell’s tortures for every sin in existence. All of the information is alphebatized and labeled for convenience. I read it quickly, however, and soon my eyes flit back and forth systematically over the top of the brochure, following passersby.
A fascinating dance of nature is spread out before me. Creatures of all shapes and sizes prowl about, making sounds and causing a general ruckus.
Someone’s loin-fruit has escaped, and is screeching at the top of its lungs, ducking beneath cafeteria tables and plants to avoid its estranged caretaker. A group of around 20 Hispanic people surges down the hall like a stampede. Civilians scream and leap out of its destructive path.
In the corner of my eye there is a flash of flourescent light off of gaudy jewelry, and I turn my head towards a flock of a new, but fast-growing adolescent breed.
Whorelings.
Each one of them wears brightly patterned, ass-hugging pants that I can only describe as “eye herpes”, and most belly-buttons glitter with some kind of dangly object. Some have cleavage to show and some just have pimply, flat surfaces, but all of them wear plunging necklines. I’m just about to debate what the combined cost of all their extensions would be, when I sense a glaring presence beside me.
Oh god.
It’s Lord McDouche-canoe of the Pansy-ass Douchebaggery Department.
From the grin on his face and the way he brazenly throws his arm up on the bench behind me, I can tell he expects me to jizz at the sound of his flatulence. I cringe outwardly, which I think only leads him to believe I’m the shy, cutesy type. He laughs and leans OH GOD WAY TOO CLOSE JESUS FUCK NO IF I CAN COUNT YOUR NOSE HAIRS YOU NEED TO BACK THE FUCK UP SIR.
“Hey babe,” he purrs “I see you’re sitting here all by yourself. Why don’t you have somebody to keep you company?”
“I’m running errands…” I mutter, staring down at the pamphlet. Ah yes, burning fires of Hades. Good stuff.
“If I was your man I’d do your errands for you…”
Oh here we go. I lift my left hand up to my chin, putting a certain sparkly accessory in Asshole McDick’s full field of vision. “Well he’s at work, so I figured I’d do them myself.” I wiggle my ring finger for a little emphasis.
Unfortunately, long-term committment to a separate party creates no hinderance for this mating dance, so the rogue male continues his advances. “I guess you’re pretty independent huh? Babygirl makes all her own decisions, huh? I love females who got their shit together.”
Babygirl?!
This guy’s way overreaching, but he decides to put a little icing on this bullshit cake he’s been pushing out. “If you’re so independent then why you need some guy holding you down? You can do what, or whoever you want right?” He finishes THAT off with a laugh, a long hungry stare and hand on my knee.
Irritation has already been slow-boiling in my belly, and as his pinky creeps towards my thigh, my lip starts twitching, itching to curl up over my fangs.
Patience.
I inhale deeply and turn to him, fluttering my eyelashes and snagging his hand in a death-grip. I pop my voice up eight octaves and make it sickly sweet. It’s the voice I reserve for especially difficult tables.
“You know, I never understood how God could send people to such a terrible place like hell,” I hold up the pamphlet, “but when I meet people like you, I suddenly understand His desire to throw them into a lake of fire that burns hotter than a thousand suns until the flesh melts from their bones, on and on for all eternity.” I drop the pamphlet in his lap and rip his hand from my knee, shoving it at him as I stand up. I don’t look back, I just stride off in the opposite direction. The hunting grounds have cleared, and it’s time to claim my prize.
5:32 p.m.
Another success has left me almost physically satisfied, and there’s a proud jaunt in my step, only slightly weighted by spender’s guilt. I’m ready to head home, when a patterned blob catches my eye.
It’s the whorelings again, gathered around Orange Julius, though this time they aren’t alone. King Asshat IV is among them, flashing a toothy grin and stroking the pubes clinging for dear life to his chin. They’re fawning over him, gushing over things that really don’t make up for the pedophilic age difference.
“Ohmigawd you have a caaaaaar?” That he probably sleeps in.
“Woah you have like, your own job?” Oh yeah, Taco Bell leads to a REAL career. He’s only a cashier until he moves up to bigger and better things.
“Yeah I can find weed for you! I’ll just steal it from my older brother teehee >;3” Hope the 3 minute sex you get is worth that ass-beating.
I breeze past, making eye contact with the proud conquerer. For a moment, he wavers, and before I’m out of sight I decide to be an asshole. I look him dead in the face as I cross myself and mouth the Latin words. He pales visibly.
I emerge into the waning daylight, the sliding doors whooshing closed behind me, and sigh with relief. The hunt is over, I return home victorious, with a little sick satisfaction to make it all the sweeter.
God is good.
A Dark and Strange little place. 