It was a slippery, shiny thing with a nice bite. Slippery, shiny thing liked to bite. Hungry. Red. Hungry. As if there was a river of life and death and even Hades might ooze into the earth. Little marks and surfaces with spindly frames and coverings of silk white.
At first it had come as a calling. It sang in it’s little sharp, dragged voice, singing the thirst and the drive and the willing to do what was unspeakable in no name at all. No reasons, no morals just everything that there truly was. Blood and flesh and all the ripples of disgust and urgency. Like a little light making it’s way into the darkness. Then there was the enlightening., the realization pushed on by all stirred emotions and awakening dreams. What was monster was angelic in all it’s tangled and twisted briars of ‘know’, as if there was now a shape to the mess. It was a shape of power, or horror and of silence.
Never before had it been this way. Before there was some sort of structure but it needed hacking down with a big blunt axe because it was deserved. Drink from the river of life and thou shalt be saved. Everything took it’s place from chaos and destruction and lunacy then perfected itself like the ornament which hung in the sky and spoke things, terrible things.
The thing sang and slithered into it’s hand and called and screamed for attention. It said ‘see there?’ ‘It’ saw there. There consisted of a woman and a pram surrounded by little specs of life and light and death. The pram and her moved down the empty street. It was not late but it was dark and the winter months mocked the clocks. ‘See there?’
“Yes.”
‘She wants it. She needs it. You saw her? Too much life and not enough of the other stuff. Nice dress huh? Just a little squirt huh? Just a little colour? Gonna help the pretty lady?’
Still, there was a little ‘something’ left among the nothing. The little wheels rolled and there was a little wonderment in how it was done. That line hadn’t been crossed and deep down, down into abyss of darkness, something sparked and called out. It was the last part that lived and would it be smothered?
The ‘thing’ recognised the hesitancy and sighed. The ‘thing’ bit the ‘it’ and the ‘it’ wept.
‘Two by two and four by four and a little dolly on the wall.’
The ‘it’ began to move with the ‘thing’ by his side. Swaying rhythmically like the tail of a grandfather clock. She moved and the pram moved and they moved behind. Not close enough to injure her protective instinct but just close enough. Close enough to rush for a bite.
There was a wave of emotion which knocked him to his side, only to meet with a wall. He no longer understood what ‘feeling’ truly was but it made him think, secretly. For the first time he tricked the ‘thing’. He said he simply tripped and began moving again. Swaying and swaying. A little plan was mastered.
The pram kept rolling. What a burden, the ‘it’ thought. She has to push that thing all day. It must be heavy.
The ‘thing’ rose into the air and shone and sparkled with demonic airs.
When the ‘ones’ came they took away the ‘thing’ from the ‘it’. The ‘it’ was pleased. The ‘it’ had won his freedom at a small fee. Indeed, it was a small expense. How it gurgled, how it frothed and the pretty lady just screamed. Screamed and dance.
He thought about it and how it made his insides scratch and wiggle like little worms. How he laughed and laughed and laughed. They put him away and all the insides poured out and croaked and giggled, clawing at the bars.
Now she didn’t need to ‘push the pram a lot’.
