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Assistant executioner
I move myself against my dark will. Click before the take, jumping the synapse before a destination is in frame. I feel like I’m drifting, but I’m really being hunted. That’s right, I’m job hunting on the web. Internet safe color. FFF halo. Chromium white.

Join me. I want you to. Every job I’ve ever had, I’ve never wished on anybody. There’s always a horrible feeling of pity. But it’s almost comforting that I’m doing what no one else would want to do. Work for the census. Work for collections. The family business.

There’s a pain in my shoe, whichever one is heaviest. There’s always a heavier one. It comes around the corner, or just up the curve charting inactivity to sidewalking down the city. And it’s met with a slam of the door, a flash of teeth, pearly. A hot pain and another day is done. That’s working for the census. I wouldn’t want that on you.

Tell me it’s over! Tell me you and me can end this right here. I’ve never met such intimate desperation as I’ve been managed to reach through the telephone line and strangle out of people. Walking home alone, all I see is a sea of debris. Shipwrecked homes. Souls drifting out endlessly, that was working for collections. I want you free.

When you get right down to it, the home business of making wine isn’t all that glamorous. But glamour isn’t what we were intending in my family. We were intending to get drunk. Caduceus this isn’t. Branded as Serpentine, because of the feeling of crushed grapes beneath the toes. I had to step out; Dionysus in a white garment at least.

Out the window there’s a deer content, nose in a salt lick. It’s a crystalline scene.

Back to the screen in front of me, it emerges from the haze of this dark room. Changes into a scene of bloody murder. Fingerprints, evidence of struggling hands reaching for the passer-by, for help. A side-bar news story in itself. Gross. Greasy. Wiped clean.

What I’m searching for; let me pull up the page. There’s a public place where people can find jobs, cars, video games, antique broken chairs, porcelain, whatever the heart desires. I go there because it feels safe. Like landscaping. I always liked that, when I had land.

There’s a job! It looks like it’s local, right down the street. Well, I’m going to go there tomorrow. LANDSCAPE ACHITECT, BASE PAY PLUS BENEFITS, HOURS NEGOTIABLE. This is as simple as turning off the light, thumbing the button on my pants, kicking them to the curled up pile… like a pet… by the door. Dream of white.

There’s a taste of cinnamon, though it’s something new to the air. Maybe it’s fall. Leaves burning. That’s good. Good that there’s no sidewalk, I prefer walking on the street. It’s public, like a hallway, someplace you’re destined to meet someone. Today the sun is beaming down, it’s early in the fall. I start to sweat. Gotta stay cool. Think I’m cool.

Welcome neighbor, well this is the place. Funny how I never met these people. Private residence, but they’re almost in my backyard. I get to the door, cinnamon is gone. Hello, it’s my savior! Neighbor, sorry, I should calm down. This guy gives me a look like a brick wall. Maybe it’s the plaid pattern. See his wife, dressed in natural cotton. Smile.

It’s time you showed up! We’ve been looking for someone just like you for so long. The ad, yeah, that’s been up there for ages! Listen. You’re a local right? That’s good. Honey, we’re going to be fine. This is a dream job. We’re well endowed.

The yard back there is ours. There, you can almost see your house! Through the trees. Now, We have a thing about trees, that’s where you come in. During the fall, and all winter long when the leaves are gone… Privacy! Yeah – you got it!

The cross bars, no, what did they call them? The vertical stakes stand like vertical lines to the dollar signs in my mind. It turns out the job was real simple, erect three crosses at the points where they would block out view of neighbors houses. They wanted a natural feel. So first I cut three big birch trees. Interesting pattern, white scarred black.

Was this a religious thing? Who am I to judge? Thoughts began to distract my mind at work. The couple were getting older. Lot of time people embrace religion more as they get older. They still seemed vibrant. The woman reminded me of a famous actress. The man, like any local authority. The crosses looked quaint. Scarecrows. Cinnamon leaves.

I began to think of my house. The comfort of home. After a long day’s work all I wanted was to take my shoes off and get something warm to eat. Animal panic, like waking from a dream caught me off guard. There had been no talk of contract. How was I supposed to live. I had spent all day here, and I could have been searching for a job this whole time!

NO. Look at it. From here inside the back-parlor, looking out the plain glass door, you can barely see the crosses. Look it’s not your fault. The project’s not done! Is it dear? The wife comes in from the kitchen. She offers a glass of water.

They explained it all, a dream of a living altar, while I sat exhausted and mesmerized. Hun! You wouldn’t mind if we got started tonight would you? Come here! Strong arms gripped my shoulders. Shock set in, and fright.

Something about the water slurred my words. Home…need to get things done…feed the cat…rake the lawn! That wasn’t making sense, and to make it worse I started coughing up spittle. The man started telling me things that weren’t making sense. Not until he started doing things to me. The air was almost warm, not when he took off my jacket.

Strong hands were all it took. Now I’m naked and standing infront of the cross. His left arm held my left wrist, tied a piece of white rope to it. Tied both arms behind the post. I started to suffocate then and there. Like a child’s asthma attack, on the track at school, I felt more naked and in public there than I ever have. It’s ok. I wasn’t in public, I thought.

Something was wrong, she was there. I could see her looking from the window, past the back porch. I could see her smile, and I felt something in my core that I haven’t felt in a long time. The air on my belly, was like a finger from someone trying to be comforting. That sensation of nudity made me uneasy, as I was most uncomfortable.

Hang in there! He lifted my left arm with such force, he lifted my feet right off the ground. Held to the crossbar, he fixed the knot that was prepared. I dangled there, arm burning as the rest went numb. Every sense was focused on that weight.

After tying the other, with a grunt this time, the old man must have been reaching his limit. I was too afraid to shout! That’s all I could think, as the rest was done. Feet were tied. And nails, yes nails, punched from a nail gun. My wrists. White heat, red blood.

Being crucified kept me alive. That’s the only way to explain it. The body goes into a survival mode. No matter how much pain the mind is facing, the body will fight for every breath. I was horrified of that strange sensation, that I wasn’t myself. That there was another entity taking control of me, it was enough to piss the white loin cloth they on me.

Look up! I could hear him in my head even though he went away. He wanted me there. I looked at my feet, coarse, the roughness of birch bark. Ironic. But not as tough. As night moved in, I could feel the cold come to me. Close to me, like being buried in snow. My hairy legs don’t deserve mention. They are like anchor beams to a foundation.

As little blood as is coming from my wounds, I feel light headed. I look up eventually and notice where all the weight is – in my chest. My ribcage is pronounced like a done inside a cathedral. Living monument, I laugh. The whole religious context is blown out of the water, when I feel that other thing taking over, and my sex gets harder.

Starry night. Pain comes from the cosmos like random comets, I keep moving, as much as I can. Hips in full swing. Fingers and toes reaching. Trying to avoid the shocks. At last my moment has arrived, when my neighbor comes out into the cold night.

You aren’t going anywhere. My wife, she likes this. That’s why I gave you that towel there. To protect her! Innocent. But she’s sleeping now. So it’s my turn for fun. See this is a salt lick. And this is a rubber band. Excuse me, while I… we’re both grown.

He strapped a salt lick to my sex. As he leaves, I moan and moan. I can’t see, but he seems to enjoy this. Something about him not saying anything about the noise I’m making suggests this. My tits are hard. I hope they don’t turn black as it gets colder. I look to the side, I start to wonder. The deer from the other day, is it older or younger?

Each step seems to come from right beside me. I can’t swing to see. I cough, because I can barely breathe. There’s a beast out there, I wish I was a hunter. I could have killed it in its youth. Along with its others. I get so scared that I tense up and rise up above the cross bar. I scream out in pain. I scream and scream, hoping it will go away.

With a breath of acceptance, I slide back down my cross. This is my world now. This is my will. My chin is just about down to its nose. The deer from before, knows the salt lick is hers. She looks at me for a moment, unafraid of my protest. And a hot tongue licks on it. My cross, my sex. Her tongue in defiance of all that is sacred, now I get religious.

There are no thoughts of tomorrow. Dear god, I just want to come all over this deer.


Assistant executioner
The question I'm asking myself is: "Is this too odd?"

I figured I would aim high and throw in about as much taboo stuff as I could think in there. But now I'm wondering if it reads well, is it cohesive, or just a mish-mash of images?


Assistant executioner
zarathustra said:
The question I'm asking myself is: "Is this too odd?"

I figured I would aim high and throw in about as much taboo stuff as I could think in there. But now I'm wondering if it reads well, is it cohesive, or just a mish-mash of images?
You most certainly did. Which made it quite an excellent story!
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