A Little Bit of Fear (part 4, Words Are Weird)

In the distance there were chickens. Chicken? Chiken? Words are weird.

That face is sanity revived. It is the essence of purity distilled out of its quiet shambling shell and put before me to remind me of what could have been. Yet there is something different about this creature. It has not yet settled into quiet desperation that defines most of these strange straight standing monkeys that have the arrogance to think themselves Gods. Common in children, though.

"BEING A CUNT IS LEARNED BEHAVIOR."

Bear's voice resonates between the low garage to his left and the now-deserted dwelling to his right. Blood, fresh blood, is spattered across his broad chest and down the fine curve of Jasmin's hips. Ten feet in front of him is a small girl, between knee and hip height.

You didn't really expect Bear to know how to tell the age of children, did you?

She is the last living thing in Desolation. Unless you count Bear. I'm not entirely sure I would, but I could see your point if you wanted to make the argument that he was.

At least, the last living resident. Like I said, in the distance there were chickens.

She is not afraid. She does not beg for the sweet release of infinity. What is that she wants, staring at me that way?

There are only three ways most women look at Bear, and none of them are very wholesome.

Why does she not cry? Children always cry when they see Nature for the first time. Unless this is not the first time. Yet, no... what is it?

"WHY DON'T YOUR EYES MAKE JUICE, TINY VICTIM!?"

"I'm not sad."

Lies. Children are always sad. Sad when they fall, sad when they are refused, sad when they see Nature. Sometimes they laugh, but that is only the harmony to their sadness. Everything must have its harmony or else it would be singing a solo, and the Universe has no need for egotistical soloists. There are no Egos in Nature. That is the faulty conceit of man, and it gives in quickly to fear and hatred and release...

"MAKE TRUTH WITH YOUR FACE."

She blinked, looking away from him for a moments to squint into the twin suns on the horizon. She spit.

"Don't you think it's time you gave up? You're not nearly as edgy as you think you are, you know."

Bitch.

"AAARRRHGHGHHAHRHSRHRH."  

What? You fucking tell me how to write an unintelligible scream, and I'll go back and edit this shit for you. No? Haven't got anything for me? Okay, good. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish the story.

She sees into my soul. Do we have a soul left? There definitely used to be something where one goes. What is the nature of these ectoplasmic abominations? They, surely, are the cause of all pain and suffering that has ever been known across the length and breadth of the Universe- and whichever of the other dimensions you'd care to measure in, as well. Without them there would be no pain. Only Release.

"Jesus. Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"

"YOUR NOISE OFFENDS."

"Quit yelling."

A flick of his wrist and blood and hair splashes in a tight pattern down Jasmin's thighs and onto the dirt between Bear and the girl.

"Feeling lucky?"

The little girl has a gun.

"THROW YOUR SADNESS AT ME!"

Before Bear can move, she pulls the trigger. A bullet rips through the flesh in his left bicep, exploding through muscle and tendon and bone and getting quite tragically lodged there.

Ahh, yes. Pain, our old friend. We remember you. Your first lover never truly leaves you, no matter how hard and how far you might run away from her. She lingers in your essence, coiling about the things you would never admit to anyone, until you can scant tell where you end and she begins.

"LIKE BARNACLES! HANG LIKE TESTICLES! BARNACLES!"

Wait...

"TWO MEANINGS, ONE NOISE!"

Bear is delighted.

"What?"

"TWO MEANINGS

"Oh my God, shut up. You're not nearly as clever as you think you are."

Which one of us is she talking to? Does she know I'm here?