Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

“They’ll have to get jobs and get married and fuck once a week and
have 2.3 children and a dog that wags its tail altogether too much and a
mortgage and…no, it’s much better if I continue to live this lie. I don’t
do it for myself, you see. I do it for the good of humanity. I am a warrior
upon the battlefield of eternity. I am mighty and I have legs like tree
trunks. I am full of shit,” he said, defending her current opinions and
behaviors. In her mind, he maintains some dignity. Everything she did
was a flight, an escape. Because they are incapable of sweating, Pigs like
to wallow in mud.
Nothing. She wonders where he went. She is trying to remember how
to feel. To feel for real, to be for real. When she was little she learned she
could impress the big people if she did a little dance.
“The bees!” Johny screamed. “They do a dance…”
She grew up and made herself out of porcelain, a warrior girl trained
to do battle in transparent nightgowns. In her mind, the intentions were
all pure. But wait, there’s more: The fish lie! Death to the fishes! And
there’s the elevator, down the hall.
Meanwhile, a commercial was blasting out of the television, always
running in the background: IF YOU EXPERIENCE VAGINAL DRY-
NESS, TRY THIS! IT’S LIKE YOUR NATURAL VAGINAL MOIS-
TURE! IT HAS NATURAL ALOE AND ITS SAFE TO USE EVERY
DAY. At the same time Agent was thinking
more more more more more more more more…
“AHHHHHHHH! Yeah, I feel better now.” It was three years ago,
and he was in his dorm room, blowing an eight-ball of coke with some
friends. Equine dollar-bills a George Washington-deep in cocaine.
Childhood decisions a Mother Hive Brain deep in decay. The flashbackwards
was too fast; before he could get the dollar bill to the paper, he
was four and thinking to himself: I’ll beg my mummy and tell her she’s
big and sweet and it’s my birthday and I’m pretty. I lost myself in the
supermarket and cried out for mummy’s linen. Mummy was doing cheap
tricks in the seafood section, and came back with a bucket of prawns.
The dragon laughed at him: “Lavender stockings! Lavender stockings!”
“Little girl!” the duck added helpfully.
Agent 139 had always been the little girl.
She hasn’t breathed since she was two. The constriction in her throat
is unbearable sometimes. Tonight she tries. They won’t have that kind of
power over her anymore.
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