ShortScale.org

I dug this out for another thread so I figured I may as well post it here while I'm thinking of it. Here it is as originally written, spelling and grammar errors included. Enjoy.

Temporary

It always amazed Trixie when shit like this happened. Sometimes she'd have time to fix things, sometimes she just had to get out of town. This was one of those get out of town circumstances. There was nothing that was gonna save that poor bastard, he was definately dead by the time she left. And the whacked out girl that whispered of fairies and demons all night... well a girl on peyote caps is capable of many things, murder is the least of them. Recreating the future investigation in her head, Trixie felt secure that there was nothing to link her to the crime. Maybe some DNA traces on the girl, but forensics wouldn't pick that up... who checks the suspect for alien fluids.

She'd hauled ass out of there so quickly she almost forgot to pull the tape out of the camcorder. The meth was definately effecting her thought process, she could bare keep the sequence of events in order. She got the tape, she wiped her prints, she took the cash... there were things she knew she was forgetting, big things. Death is an odd thing, the way it just creeps up on you. One second a guys paying you 300 bucks to choke him while he's getting off, the next minute he's not moving, not breathing, with a Piggly Wiggly bag pulled tight acrossed his face. She didn't want to but she knew she'd enjoyed it, feeling him struggle... watching his leg kick that last time. She knew when the twiching in his arms stopped that he was dead... she knew it but she kept hold the bag anyway, just like that dizzy tripped out bitch kept fucking him into the beyond. Killing him wasn't her plan, not at all. It was just one of those things that happened. One of those things that only happened to Trixie.

A few blocks away now, she imagined the girl still fucking the corpse. Riding it hard, screaming in languages not heard since god purged the earth of eternal darkness. Trixie wondered what that moment was going to be like, when she snapped back into reality. That dead dick in her... would the cops be there yet... would she even remember it. Pity welled up in the corners of her eyes for a second, and then the second was over. 

The night was hot, far too hot and far too moist. Each short gasp she managed left her with the feeling of a noose slowly tightening around her throat. The air was thick, thick with sweat and cum. She felt as though she could taste the whole city, as if all the vice was evaperating and creating a noxious fog of sin. She was far enough away that she could stop so she ducked in the first shop she came across to buy something to drink, and wash the diseased taste of the city our of her infected mouth.
The piggly wiggly was bright, meth made everything brighter. But grocery stores use some unholy form of devil lighting, concocted by wretches of the void to forcibly make that box of cocoa puffs look a little more appetizing. It was the light of purgatory, bright and souless... and Trixie knew it all to well. She remembered back to her days as a checkout girl named Mary Beth. When "The Pig" payed her 5.60 an hour to lose her mind one customer at a time for 16 hours a week. She remembered how comforting the monotiny was, how the fake lighting and constant repetion of faceless customers and their idle small talk made her not think it was SO bad of a job. "The Pig" was trying to suck her in, force her to become one of it's chain smoking, dim witted baby factories. "The Pig" was making an army of them, those that were too dumb or just too tired of life to escape. Fuck "The Pig", fuck him in his pink cartoon asshole. 
She grabbed a bottle of coke and slapped a 20 down in front of the check out girl. Who without glancing up, took and changed the bill. She whispered an empty, "Have a nice night." and handed Trixie the change and receipt.
As Trixie was wandering out into endless night, she turned back to the young cashier. She leaned in do that Trixies lips were nearly pressed to the girl's ears and spoke the exact phrase that a girl about to give her life over to fat America needed to hear,
"It's only temporary, it's only ever temporary."

still great. moar?

hotrodperlmutter wrote:still great. moar?

I gots a few, have to dig'm out. Will post when I find.

found teh quasi part 2 of this, actually written before this oddly. Needs some touch up but I'll post t today.

Written non-sequentially... here is the prequel... or sequel... or something.

Reality hit Fru-Fru with the velocity of 180 pound man tossed out a tenth story window in an aluminum trash can. The effects weren't much prettier either.
"The peyote must be wearing off," she thought.
Fru-Fru was naked, sweaty, and facing the tv in her apartment. There was something new in the room, a camcorder on a tripod, her image was on the tv. She was on her knees, stradling a man lying flat on her bed. And something else that she was surpirsed she hadn't yet noticed. There was a girthy cock lodged deep inside her. From her postion perched atop him she could only see his legs and feet. Hardly enough for positive ID. Still impaired by the peyote caps she could not place a name to her carnal companion. She decided to relieve herself of the meat cork currently causing her great amounts of dicomfort.
She pushed on her knees and began to lift herself off of the still nameless vaginal intruder. Shockwaves of pane shot through her lower pubic area. It felt like his member was layered with sandpaper. They must have been fucking for hours, she had gone completely dry. Biting her lower lip she allowed one last push on her legs and forced herself forward, nearly falling off the bed. For nearly 15 minutes she layed there in the fetal postion, half off of her bed. Her inner thighs quivered in pain. She began to wonder exactly what had happened tonight. All she could remember was scoring the caps, she didn't even recall eating them. Fading visions of goblins and foggy specters still danced on her brain. Digging in and taking massive chunks with them as the dissipated into reality.
Finally she had the strength to rise up off of the bed, and examine her companion. It only took moments for her to realize it was Rex. She could tell by his cock. It was a majestic member, standing tall with the staisfying thickness of the neck of a 40 oz. The head sat atop of it like a pink fist, raised in defiance. It was what she considered the perfect cock, often referring to it as "The Handsome Dick." It was lacking in veininess, odd curvature, and the strange bends that are notorious for making the flesh tool an unpleasant sight.
Rex was not looking quite as well as his dick. There was a plastic bag wrapped around his head. It was indented deep into his gaping mouth. Her stomach began to twist, things were not turning out well. She pulled the bag off, and wanted to scream but couldn't find the voice to do it. Rex was most certainly dead, mouth opened wide... eyes open wider. There was no breath, no pulse, just an erect cock.
Fru-Fru burried herself into the corner of her room. It didn't make sense, nothing made sense. She just kept banging her head against her knees. Trying... trying to remember how things had gone so horribly wrong. Then it hit her. Like a memory that had just blossomed in one of the vacant areas of her drug induced mind. She remembered, the room... on the bed... fucking... kissing... kissing... kissing... another woman! Who was she? What had happened? Which one of them killed Rex? Then her neck began to move as if forced by an invisible hand from beyond. She just stared at it before the puzzle pieces locked, then she realized it held all the answers she needed... the camcorder.

What happens next?

haven't the foggiest, I've always been better with description than plot. This is how it's sat for about 7 years now.

now tell it from david carradine's side.

like. especially the end.