Streets of Nak

The moon parcel looks blue when it’s this time of the year. It's bloated with teenagers riding their bicycles along the roadside, listening to Floyd for hours, passing rubber chews between their mouths, hand in hand. It wasn’t long before they saw the van with the girl in it. They gathered around and saw her disappear before they could react. The flock of riders stopped near the side of the road, where the cars had slowed down.

One of the kids:

‘Is this a murder we just witnessed?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t think she’s dead yet.’ Twoshoe cried at Randolph. Both of them were as quiet as a naughty robust crane with a clotty cotton prick around its rummaged-through neck.

Some of the other riders came in just as fast, jostling for their jugulars.

‘Think we should follow their lead?'

‘I don’t know whether or not this is a smart idea.’

‘It is and we must follow it wherever it leads, otherwise who knows what they might do to the young girl they took away from us? They kidnapped her and most likely intend to do the most horrible thing one could imagine!’

‘That sounds nasty, but how are we going to stop them?'

‘We have to try something at the very least.’

They failed to notice the strange flying, bloated orangutan-like cast above them with the iron-poisoned skeletons and strange access points that sprouted from its body. As it happened, as the creature bled for a while, each of its sides split abruptly like a scoop of leftover lard cream. This scoop was then pounded with rusted forks, until only a few distinguishable features remained. These features looked as if they were drawn from another dimension and were by no means part of it. As a result, the edges of the features were sharp, and they projected a nickel-like surface deep within the lower layers of the street. A pair of dark heads were popping in and out, simian-painted skulls in ivory black from the looks of it, with glowing red crystals that looked like flares that couldn’t help themselves but keep the engines running. Dripping below them, the cars were no longer on an incline.

There was no shame in waiting for their mouths to open since most of the bikers' heads weren’t even attached to the rest of their bodies anymore. The road was tapestry-bland and coral red, too lovely to tear and rip, and for the first time they utterly lacked control over their actions. They sniffed as well, however they weren't dogs and the kidnapped girl wasn't a bitch in heat.

In the hour that had passed, they had attempted to address this matter to either of the parents who may have been present around the time and the house they ventured into, and even though it appeared it was nothing more than expected, they were met only by the scowls of adults coming out of the buildings next door. Their guts were chained and exposed, and their bodies looked as if they had been forced by the militia into being completely contained. Their faces were open and their arms appeared to push in and out, until their dark limbs were numb. Adults fell in large numbers, breaking the city as they fled. Some seem to have split their heads open and were forced to run backwards, lost.

Inside the van:

They were all entangled by the time they reached the control panel. However, their insides were also put through the same process and wasted into the basket of disease.

'I'm almost there; I'm almost at the point where I can pray directly to what's left of him. I see my god and I wonder now, who has taken him away from me? Who had cut him as such? And who might I be able to call upon now that my time has come to an end?’

‘You asked us to allow you to die with him, perhaps?’

‘Anything but to lay, with what is held and what it is; I seek to live in ignorance and in bliss.’