Lust Demented

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IT WASN’T EASY TO RECOGNIZE Percy. On first glance, somebody had stabbed him several times, stuffing him with what looked like ritualistically chosen snippets of absurd literature. Pages placed inside him similar to the way a grandmother cut slices into a ham roast and stuffed garlic. Blood dried in branches of rosemary. Body crushed and crumbled on the splattered step.

What really made me gag were the mutilated pages. Books on the floor reduced to binding. Shelves torn from the walls. I fell into a sneezing fit trying to blow the stench of death out of the room. The exposed brick came alive with sinister people trapped within frames. Spotted up snapshots of Percy’s hanger-ons. Their cavernous eyes. Their glimmering fangs. Percy always bragged that he had a lot of enemies. He never once mentioned a friend.

One picture stood out from the rest. It was of Percy and Missy lounging together on a deserted beach. Clear ocean swallowed up by a curtain of depraved sky. Missy occupied another dimension, deep off in the starlet pose with everything overflowing. Percy appeared ancient, a mere bystander next to the dime piece.

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