In Hell We Dance

Quiet

-Isaac-

Cute little kitty. Whatchu doing here? Damn thing looks like a stray. All frizzled and scared of its own shadow. I manage to chase the thing into Hell, where it meanders about, darting every time I try and grab the little bugger.

I follow it into the zen garden, watching it scurry along the bridge, towards the willow tree. I drop to a crouch, thinking I'm all stealthy and shit, and wait, observing my little mangy friend rub its fur all over the bark, eyes held in pure ecstasy. Shit, I didn't think of that. It would make a damn fine backrub.

I go in for the kill, but she senses me and shoots off. A few minutes pass as I hunt my dinner tonight. OK I kid, I kid. I'm not desperate. I actually think it'll be pretty fricking neat to have a feline friend around here. It's awful lonesome without my Connie.

Oh shit. Bitch is pawing at Bonita and Titanic. My two favourite ladies—I know all my kids' names. Be proud, bitches! Sweet Cheeks, Knobcheese and Fish Schlong are my homies—I feed them worms and shit every day!

It doesn't scram as I charge at it, but when I try and grab the bastard, it scratches me. Fuck!

I chase the little git until it dives out the open back door and disappears into some bushes.

Sucking my wounded fingers, I slump to the ground and feel the quiet envelop me. The damn quiet. Too much, always in my head. Louder and louder, howling like the wind. Imagine that. The quiet is so damn loud I want it to shut the hell up.

That shit don't even make sense.

Connor should be here. I want him here. I need him.

Shit. That's not true, is it?

I want Hell. Crave it. Crave the company of perfect strangers, clouds of smoke to take us high, and a never-ending supply of liquor at my fingertips. I want...

Eh, what does it matter what I want? No shit has changed. I'm still feeling that same hollow punch to the dick. It's gut, isn't it? Punch to the gut...

Whatever. Hell is still a pipe dream, and I'm forever here, chasing fucking cats.

I named a fish Titanic! Cause it kept sinking below the other fish. Like, how bored and f'ed in the head do I have to be to...

Ooh, looks like my desperate friend is back. Good. We're all hungry, famished. There's never enough, and we don't share. Can't even get any fucking scraps most days.

I sniff, stomach groaning, lips cracked, fingers trembling. We can settle the score. I'll wring it's neck and—

"Hey, hey! Cut that shit out, man!  What are you...?"

The little bastard rubs up against my leg. I think it wants a scratch. I hesitate, its dirty gold eyes staring me down, daring me to fuck this up. We ain't friends. Why would...?

Smart cat. It knows if it cosies up to me, it gets exactly what it wants. We're so alike. Fine then, we'll play her game. I raise a hand, and she hisses, but then I take it real slow, real nice. Like I would a beautiful girl until the time for ravaging was upon us. Take it easy... Take it...

Contact, baby! I run my fingers down its neck, stroking at the rough matted fur. It's all prickly like a thornbush, yet still there's a softness underneath. Every sharp thing is holding some gentle heart within. It warms up to me real nice now, purring softly as I pleasure the beast. Soon enough it crawls over and around me, and I think she's earned a name. Yeah, they say it's harder to kill something if you give it a name.

Hmm... Hellcat.

Nah, too on the nose.

Dildo...?