Link to Paragraph Four: http://m-a-w-h.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-tag-1-para-04.html
He shook his head, trying to erase the memory, but there were so many of them now and it never really worked. Pamela was replaced with Darren was replaced with Keith was replaced with Ariadne and so it went on, back through time. Pamela, of course, had been too easy. The old “flame from the end of the finger to light her cigarette” routine and she was damned forever. Too easy... Far too easy. Sometimes he wondered how far down these humans, of whom His “Merciful” Highness still seemed to have far too high an opinion if you asked Max, would allow themselves to descend before they just decided to pull the plug once and for all and decided to let the cockroaches have a turn at the top of the food chain. Max shook his head, and the pain from his burns momentarily erased Pamela’s face from his mind. “That works!”, he thought, but this brighter moment was swiftly extinguished by more pain from his vague attempt at a smile. He decided to dive deep, hoping that despite the salt, the water would be comparatively soothing, and plunged below the choppy surface. Visions of the future and the inevitable apocalypse filled his mind, and he tried to shake them away. There was no way he was going to let that happen. Despite all their many faults, he thought that this human form was pretty damned comfortable and he was damned if he was going to spend a couple of million years in the form of a cockroach. Mind you, he reminded himself, he was pretty much damned already. Then, just for a moment, he thought he heard Tamara’s voice calling out to him. “No”, he thought, “I must be imagining things...” But then he thought that he heard her again. “Damn!” It was his own fault, of course. Just thinking about the apocalypse was enough to get her juices flowing. Tamara and her faction had always been trying to bring about that little bundle of fun. He thought back to Cuba and to what he’d had to do to get that little situation to calm itself down. Then he remembered the price he’d made them pay for it. Still, after Marilyn had paid for the election, it had only seemed fair, to be perfectly honest. Things, he felt, were getting out of hand. Tamara would know what to do, he decided, she always did, unfortunately. He’d better try and track her down, just so long as he could persuade her not to just bring down the end of civilisation as he knew it just to spite him.
The saga continues...?
Link to Paragraph Six: http://m-a-w-h.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-tag-1-para-06.html
Link to Paragraph Six: http://m-a-w-h.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-tag-1-para-06.html
Tamara rolled the dice. They flew across the dirty concrete of the alley, hit the grimy wall and bounced and tumbled until they came to rest; a perfect double six. “Mine I think.” she said, allowing the smoke from her cigar to float up into the bright blue Cuban sky. She’d come a long way to get these two, stepping into the slip then out again at just the right moment. She’d known exactly where to find them; the same broken down hotel where they’d raped her repeatedly all those years ago. If only they’d known what she really was and had cared a little more for their pathetic souls and a little less for their even more pathetic dicks. It wasn’t the sex that had annoyed her, it was the way they’d rifled her purse when they’d finished, throwing a few coins onto the bed where she lay huddled and feigning terror. They’d left laughing, slapping each other on the back and tossing her purse back into the room. Well, they wouldn’t be laughing much longer. ‘Time to pay up,’ she said as she shifted; and the short fat Cuban who was Tamara, the one with the cigar clenched firmly between his teeth, began to smoke gently, small flames bursting into life across the surface of his grubby white suit. WHOOSH! And Tamara stepped out of the pillar of fire reaching for her rapists. “Mine I think.” She repeated as she walked towards them, her soft platinum hair moving in the still air as if it were alive. She puckered her lips and blew them a kiss, the skirt of her flowing white dress floating up as if caused by a subway grill beneath it. “Remember me boys? Yes, I thought so… and I remember you, I remember you both very well”. Walking towards them, her hands tuning to balls of flame, she reached out. “Time to pay your dues,” she snarled: “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Mr. President…” They turned to run, but she was on them before they’d taken a single step. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” She said, crossing herself for effect… and then they were. All that remained were two piles of soft white ash where the rapists had been standing only a spit-second earlier. Tamara turned towards the wall, reaching down she picked up the dice; she always liked to bring something back from her travels and these would make a nice addition to her collection. Oh well, on to the next job, there was still so much chaos to cause and she didn’t want to be late for her meeting with the others; horsemen could get so impatient. Stepping forward, she felt the slip as it enclosed and entered her and then she was simply gone leaving only a giggle behind.
ReplyDelete((I thought that I might as well publish and be damned... but it might take a while for my next response, unless, of course, someone else decides to play in the meantime...)) M.
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