The Beast
By Chuck Oliver
I suspected it was him when I heard the footsteps outside my door. I'd seen a brief shadow just a minute before it passed by my window. But, I wasn't sure until I smelled the Lysol chlorine of its breath. Then, there was no question; it really was him.
Carefully, I reached into the back of the closet behind the wolf's tooth jacket and the woolen horehound's jacket and felt the cool smooth steel of the carbine. I took it out, cocked it and released the safeties
By this time, the stench of his breath was so thick that my eyes burned and the mustard gas sweat so strong my skin started to blister. So, with the carbine ready, I put my back against the wall and slipped down on the old oak floor to wait.
The dogs knew to cease their Pavlovian responses. They'd seen this all before and knew it would sense the scent of their saliva. They were there when it last came around when John and Peter were sacrificed on altars constructed of ant hills back when it hadn't yet grown immune to the blood of martyrs carried on the legs by millions of praying insects.
Now it was believed the only effective weapon was the carbine with 15 rounds of bullets coated with Prozac and baking soda. At least that's what had killed one over in Hickory just 6-months ago, but not before it managed to kill 35 Scientologists that had tried to hide in the kennels; because for all their advanced knowledge of the way of things, they knew nothing of its attraction to the saliva of hounds.
As I sat there on the floor, I wasn't afraid. The priests had instructed me just weeks ago at the training center how it would go. So, I knew that from the second I caught a glimpse of its image, I was already dead. But there wasn't any fear because it was like my death had already occurred, that I'd already been embalmed and was now in a disassociated state watching it all play out from afar.
There was no way to kill the thing without dying and no way to escape once you were in its presence. So it all had a preordained peacefulness to it. All fifteen of the Prozac baking soda bullets had to hit the kill zone at the center of its mass within the seconds required for it to start and complete its charge. But knowing you were already dead kept one from being afraid or flinching and missing because you were hoping to escape and not die. I knew that once the combination of Lysol chlorine breath and mustard gas sweat mixed with its caustic blood a potent neurotoxin would be released and would paralyze all the synaptic impulses in my body instantly resulting in an immediate painless death.
My wife had been allowed to see me just a few weeks earlier at the training compound of the priests. We were able to lie together one last time and hold hands until the sleep came. And now, she was being held in safety until my mission was complete.
The rifle was ready; I was calm; it came through the wall. The bullets sprayed with lightening speed and all made their mark. The vapor came over me like a mist, and with my last breath I inhaled the scent of ambrosia and Bordeaux, a final gift of the priests. Just then, I heard the dogs barking. They knew they were safe to salivate once more.
- - -
Registered Nurse, try to be writer and a minor poet, just keep scratching at the paper to see what kind of freaky shit flows.
By Chuck Oliver
I suspected it was him when I heard the footsteps outside my door. I'd seen a brief shadow just a minute before it passed by my window. But, I wasn't sure until I smelled the Lysol chlorine of its breath. Then, there was no question; it really was him.
Carefully, I reached into the back of the closet behind the wolf's tooth jacket and the woolen horehound's jacket and felt the cool smooth steel of the carbine. I took it out, cocked it and released the safeties
By this time, the stench of his breath was so thick that my eyes burned and the mustard gas sweat so strong my skin started to blister. So, with the carbine ready, I put my back against the wall and slipped down on the old oak floor to wait.
The dogs knew to cease their Pavlovian responses. They'd seen this all before and knew it would sense the scent of their saliva. They were there when it last came around when John and Peter were sacrificed on altars constructed of ant hills back when it hadn't yet grown immune to the blood of martyrs carried on the legs by millions of praying insects.
Now it was believed the only effective weapon was the carbine with 15 rounds of bullets coated with Prozac and baking soda. At least that's what had killed one over in Hickory just 6-months ago, but not before it managed to kill 35 Scientologists that had tried to hide in the kennels; because for all their advanced knowledge of the way of things, they knew nothing of its attraction to the saliva of hounds.
As I sat there on the floor, I wasn't afraid. The priests had instructed me just weeks ago at the training center how it would go. So, I knew that from the second I caught a glimpse of its image, I was already dead. But there wasn't any fear because it was like my death had already occurred, that I'd already been embalmed and was now in a disassociated state watching it all play out from afar.
There was no way to kill the thing without dying and no way to escape once you were in its presence. So it all had a preordained peacefulness to it. All fifteen of the Prozac baking soda bullets had to hit the kill zone at the center of its mass within the seconds required for it to start and complete its charge. But knowing you were already dead kept one from being afraid or flinching and missing because you were hoping to escape and not die. I knew that once the combination of Lysol chlorine breath and mustard gas sweat mixed with its caustic blood a potent neurotoxin would be released and would paralyze all the synaptic impulses in my body instantly resulting in an immediate painless death.
My wife had been allowed to see me just a few weeks earlier at the training compound of the priests. We were able to lie together one last time and hold hands until the sleep came. And now, she was being held in safety until my mission was complete.
The rifle was ready; I was calm; it came through the wall. The bullets sprayed with lightening speed and all made their mark. The vapor came over me like a mist, and with my last breath I inhaled the scent of ambrosia and Bordeaux, a final gift of the priests. Just then, I heard the dogs barking. They knew they were safe to salivate once more.
- - -
Registered Nurse, try to be writer and a minor poet, just keep scratching at the paper to see what kind of freaky shit flows.
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