The Hunt Under the Green Moon

Prowling through the trees of the sub-tropical jungles in the undisclosed mythical country of Zuu, the beast tracked the scent of his prey. Pawing through the foliage he would get quick glimpses of the object of his hunger. It was quick, but its scent was strong; and with every breath the beast took, the scent would set his body into a state of excitement. Anticipation was what he felt, anticipation and intense desire. He desperately wanted to consume after days of tracking. He was so close now and soon he knew the chase would end and his need would be satisfied. He was hesitant though and focused his energies on his hesitation in order to centre himself because to lose control after gaining on his prey would be unwise and the chase would be all for naught. So the beast breathed frequently and deeply, moving steadily and cautiously with controlled steps.

A glade suddenly revealed itself exposing the beast to the glow of a pale green moon. His liquid honey eyes intensely glowed in the soft green light, taking in his surroundings but yet betraying his position to his prey. The beast hissed under his breath in both frustration and excitement. He knew from ancient experience that at this point his days of hunting could end with this sudden, unanticipated situation; or, it could continue at an exciting pace – one in which he could let go of some of his caution and let his experience and spirit drive him.

He tensed his body, muscles rippling with sweat slowly dripping around their bulging curves in the humid air of the jungle, leaned back on his haunches and quickly disappeared back into the trees. It was all a part of his strategy. His prey had tensed upon seeing him and would have been out of his reach in a split second had he not re-entered the forest. Those few moments of exposure were enough to let the beast gauge the surroundings, and as he ran through the forests he decided on where he would intersect his prey and take delight in what its flesh offered.

The beast’s breathing quickened as he came upon his prey. She was still in the clearing, but cautiously making her way out of it, making sure the danger of his sudden revealing had passed. Her eyes were focused on where he disappeared into the forests, but soon she would catch his scent once the sacred winds of the east picked up and carried the aroma of his excitement in her direction. He wanted that … he desired that. He wanted to see her tremble in helplessness before he made his move. So he waited in patience and quiet contemplation, steadying his spirit in the quiet moment. And then a howling interrupted the silence and the wind picked up. His prey perked her head in his direction with bewildered fear and the beast could not help but grin. His tense muscles fired and he was off and on her in less than a blink of an eye as he released days of anticipation into his conquering pounce.

She was in his arms, she was struggling, and she was deeply moaning. Her figure brushed against his and he felt fire shoot up through his veins. The hunt was over and she was his. The beast’s tight grip would prevent her from leaving. He pushed her down onto the soft grass of the glade and his glowing honey eyes stared at hers communicating permission. The hunt, of course was a ruse, a play, a game. She had agreed to be hunted by him, and she was a very challenging hunt. In the end, she was always the one in control, always the one who could end the hunt and freely leave if it were too much. She persisted and his excitement only grew, and she knew this but still continued. Ah, and now the beast, with his willing prey in his arms, was charged to let loose the excitement days of hunting had built up. She looked back into his eyes and granted him the permission he so desperately sought.

Devoured … the beast was devoured instead. She leaped on his exposed flesh before he could claim her and devoured him entirely. He hissed and growled at this unexpected but welcomed move. She teased him with her prowess and made sure to quench the burning he felt deep in his very being. The beast leaned his head back and gave out a low grumbling growl. He raised his head again and looked at his prey through half closed eyes relishing in this exquisite pleasure she roused in him. He gripped her tightly and guided her in intensifying his pleasure, but she already knew what to do and soon his every nerve was on fire forcing him to abruptly let her go and growl again, deeper.

Enough, he’d had enough. He wanted her and could take it no longer. So he ordered her with his eyes and she whimpered but obeyed. The beast held her and murred gently into her ear going slow, but she cried out. He hesitated but she dug her nails into him, and her warmth was too tempting, so he continued at a slow, steady pace until they were comfortably joined. Her cries were sweet to his ears and her quivering body gripped him in such wonderful ways. The tension from his days of hunting eased away with every move of her curves or grind of her hips into his. Ah, the beast slipped her legs up and went in for the kill. His thrusts became violent and her cries became desperate, deep and pleasureful. Soon they were almost guttural as the beast devoured her senseless with the power and intensity of his body melding into hers. His shoulders crushed hers and held her firm so that all she could do was take his power and lose control from the heavy load his body was putting on her senses. The beast reared up and pressed his hands into his prey’s shoulders, holding them tight, and thrusting deep. He growled, loudly, impaling her. She cried with a wild pleasure, weakly working her arms around his back and pushing her palms into him. He thrusted and growled deeply again and she responded louder, wilder. He did this one last time and she sighed and gaped at the power coursing out of his body into hers, his intensity electrifying her … killing her; and when he pulls away from her, she dies and curls up in the grass into a shivering ball as the beast stalks away.

He later returns, strokes her still and slowly cooling body and then commences to feasting on her flesh. She was a great hunt and he felt sorrow for he would have liked to have enjoyed her flesh in that way for longer, but it had to end the way it always ends …

Some reflections from the haf awake

I'm stuck in this box with an uncertain future at my doorstep. I look around at my reality - okay yea, it's all brain signals. I think to myself one day I can manually alter those signals and yea maybe if I meditate really really hard I can make batboy appear and it will take me off kicking and screaming into gothic Fantasia for an orgasmic good time or at least that flying machine of blasted future technology that I can pilot off into a heavy metal future among the stars. Meanwhile though I'll be in a catatonic schizophrenic state at some mental institute but I'll be perfectly content with that. Let my mind be separated from my physical body while it rests in a safe place where it can be abused by inefficient workers and forgotten by family but at least the gem, my mind intact. I can rest my mind and body for once and take blows and not even flinch.

But I confess that living in this world is so addictive. The fear makes it addictive. I ride my motorbike to and from school everyday thinking of the most horrific ways for me to get chucked off and my body ruined. Oh, that truck is speeding ... what if I lost control and went into its lane; okay these roads are slippery I wonder how destroyed I'd be if I slid going 60 around that corner. Shudder shudder shudder so I ride responsibly and curse at cars who tailgate me so I can ride to my doom. I'm addicted to this world, I don't want to be ruined damnit! And when I get to my destination, I hop off my potential death inducer and go about my day as if nothing was the matter because responsible brushes with death are addictive.

A childhood fantasy of mines was pretending I could turn into a veloceraptor. I'd flee into some steamy jungle and embrace the wildness inside my soul without the constriction of society. Or I would wonder how I could fight society in this monstrous state. They'd be afraid of me and I would see them as dangerous food. Incidentally someone made a short story about this in this book of dino short stories. I took that as a sign that I wasn't quite so alone in my desire. But see I was a tween emerging into adulthood looking for an identity and my most favored was the believer of an altered society. And now I feel like I am transforming into that beast. Not a bad thing but it's a frightening thing that at times has great fights in my mind with my family's desires for me and society's sway on my role in the world.

So living is addictive because I am transforming and not giving a damn but it is unsure and taxing and tiring because in the end it is either I am successful with my transformation and I escape in the jungle, or destroy the world; or, I am shot down and gutted like a carcass because I failed to find a way to live (I don't wanna live in harmony with this filth!). I just want my role in this world to be that wild energy sweeping through the most remote and desolate places in the human soul. So now I'm angry and I yell and curse "I'm not your slave"; or now I'm sad when things make me sad and I cry and slip into a mire instead of grinning and saying it's alright come stab my heart again you're making me feel better; and now I'm lusty and reserved and I when I select you I make it clear "I want you damnit! Don't you know I can't be denied or that you are in for so much trouble when I have you!"; and now I'm mean and bitchy and humble and nice rolled up into one shifty package of gratitude and fuck you. That tempting state of catatonic bliss ever creeps beyond my view to terrorize me in my moments of low down scariness. Nirvana is a catatonic schizophrenic's vision of paradise.

Insurance for the Doomed

I am sitting at my desk in the call centre for Peffico Insurance. It is close to 9 pm and my day is almost over. It had been an uneventful day, like every other day at the company. Very few people ever got the chance to reach us before they succumb.

Close to 9 pm, the phone rings.

“Peffico Help Line. How may I help you?” I professionally greet.

“I think its happening!” The caller responds in a panicked voice. They always panic when they call in.

“Are you absolutely sure sir?” I open the log program on my computer and prepare to take the standard information from the caller.

“YES!” He yells into the phone.

“Lower your voice sir!” I sternly interrupt. It is for their safety lest they are noticed and drawn in even deeper to the point where they can’t be helped.

“Sorry … sorry … Yes, its happening. I’ve seen and FELT the signs.” He says more composed.

“I see.” I start tapping my fingers on my desk trying to prepare my mind for the worse.

“What should I do? This has never happened to me before and I have a family and I just can’t deal with it! What about my job, my life. God! It’s so not fair! It’s …”

“Sir!” I interrupt again. It is best not to let them badger on. Every second counts. “Remain calm.” I say that firmly, spacing each word out to assert my authority and make them feel like they can depend on me. It is best if they feel that way. “Have you read the manual? Mind your CEBref!”

“Yes. Close eyes, breath, focus.” He croaks out. His breathing becomes deeper. I note that. I need to get the ball rolling on this.

“Good sir,” I coo. “Try to do that. It will help you.”

“Help …?” He trails off.

“Yes sir, you called for help. This is Peffico. Mind your CEBref sir.” He is clearly in a bad position. Already he is forgetting. Reaffirming CEBref usage should get his mind back on track.
There was a pause, as if the man put down his phone, and it lasts uncomfortably long. I start to worry a bit, but soon I could hear the man breathing again. Thankfully the breathing returns to normal. He begins humming softly. Sometimes people may do extra little things to help them focus on their self importance. It is so crucial that they focus on such a shallow thing. If they do not, they will be lost. It is always the ones who do not see themselves as important that often fall prey.

“Okay” the man calmly says, and then continues his soft humming. In the background I could hear someone squealing.

Now that the man is calm I could proceed to more formalities. It was unfortunate in such an emergency situation, but Peffico’s services are not for free. It is one of those things I dislike about my job.

“Sir, are you still here with me? Do you remember sir?”

“Yes, I’m here and I remember.” He stops humming. His voice is very weary. His battle to retain his sense of self must be tough. Time is running out.

“Okay sir, before I can proceed with giving you more aid, I need your name and account number.”

“My what …?” He sounds puzzled. That isn’t good.

“Mind your CEBreF sir. What is your name? Look in your wallet and take out your Peffico card.”

“Peffico!” He sounds startled, and there is a fumbling sound as, I could only assume, he was retrieving his card from his wallet. “My name is Claren Malum, C-L-A-R-E-N M-A-L-U-M. My number is 202118.”

“Claren Malum, 202118?” I quickly repeat back as I type it into my computer.

“Yes.” He says, and his humming returns.

“One moment please.” I click on the search button and wait for his information to come up.

“Please hurry!” He pleads. “The longer you take … God!”

“Mind your CEBref sir!”

“Hurry …”

Finally the data pops up on my screen and I feel relief. From this point on things usually got better. It’s just keeping the caller alert and aware of their self importance to this point that is usually the tough part. But when I look at the screen, there is a stamp on the upper right hand corner that reads “EXPIRED”. My blood turns cold.

“Ahem, sir,” I think about how to break the news, “It appears that your account has expired.” I feel sick to my stomach.

“What! What!” He rages. I could feel his pain. No one would want to be in his shoes.
I scan down the screen looking for the last time he paid. Sometimes the computer would let you overlook a day or two late. What I find is sobering, and I suddenly feel great pity for this man.

“Sir, it says you haven’t paid in a year”

“I … I just paid!” He cries in desperation. I could hear a laugh track playing in the background. My head hurts. “It hasn’t been more than … than… I’m forgetting! This is taking too long! What if one of them tries to talk to me? I’ll be lost!” As he laments, I get an idea and quickly initiate another search, typing in the man’s name and seeing if he is in any shows. What I find sets me aflame.

“Sir, the books say you haven’t paid. I’m so sorry. The computer has locked me from doing anything for you. I suggest you try to call a nonprofit organization like Cocumef. I can put your right through to them. They can help you right away.”

“But I’m stuck! Help me! Please miss! You’re the only one who has the time to help me! I’m forgetting … You’re sentencing me to death!” His desperation is intense. I could hear people talking in the background. There is another laugh track. Someone calls out the man’s name. My heart skips a beat. Time is running out. He is right, it is me or nothing, but there is nothing I can do.

“Sir, I am going to connect you to that non profit organization …” There is a click and then a dial tone. The connection is lost. In sympathy I try redialing but I am too late.

A message in a female automated voice comes on the phone and says “Sorry, but Claren Malum is in the middle of a tv show and cannot be reached by outsiders at this time.”

I look at the tv show search I did earlier. Claren Malum has been stuck on a popular show for the past 5 years, and in that time his insurance expired. Until that show ends, whenever he awakes, he will forever think his nightmare is just beginning.

The sad truth, if people can’t contact us in time or haven’t paid, they lose their memories as the tv show takes over their minds, subjecting them to the sadistic whims of the writers as extras - utterly helpless pawns and fodder for the great horror that is the plot.

I shiver and pop one of the pills the company gives all its workers. In a few moments everything will feel, thankfully, numb, and I will stop feeling any guilt. Another day over.