Read Online I Will Rise by Michael Louis Calvillo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Louis Calvillo
Ads: Link
that animals have an uncanny intuition about these things. Earthquakes, ghosts, danger. But can Paunch actually see my hallucination? It’s in my head. Imagined, not real, not even imminently real. It’s not about to happen, it is happening and it’s doing so in my skull apart from the world. Apart from the animal kingdom.
Regardless, Paunch, yelping and yipping, suddenly wants nothing to do with me, but alas, he is moving through the air much too fast to stop. His snout slams into my palm. I feel nothing, but Paunch’s body goes rigid and hangs frozen in midair. It begins to buck and shake and slowly disappear into my hand.
As before, the backside of the hand is unbreached. When I lean forward and peer around for a better look at the front, the palm has become that gaping, endless void and it’s sucking Paunch down. I try to pull my arm away, but it’s locked up. Like always the little bastard gives me no leeway. The world has completely fuzzed and the hand-trick freak-out is in full effect, except this time it’s not just me caught in the maelstrom, it’s me and Paunch. Well, me and what’s left of Paunch. His hind doggy legs kick and kick and his tail quivers, pulled down low with fear. Just before his entirety is swallowed up, his legs become still and his doggy tail droops limp. The remainder of Paunch goes in dead and sick, sick, sick, I become jelly.
My hand shoots skyward, arching and contorting, leaving me to dangle and wait it out. I feel my heart sprout gnarled, evil thorns when I think that I have just killed a dog. Yeah right. In the real world good old Paunch is probably gnawing on me, effortlessly subduing me while Officer Lumpy makes ready to haul me in. All of this has to be an extremely detailed, realistic hallucination. And I thought things were intense at the library. This is by far the worst freak-out ever. My palm ate a dog?
The world swirls and swells and my dream centers start vomiting up crazy shit. I am no longer a man, I am spiders and leaves, pollen and semen. I am heat. I am that ecstatic tingle at the base of your spine, the bubbling fluid that licks your brain into action. I am everything and nothing. I am Paunch turned inside out, dog organs steaming and unhinging, structured mass becoming pulp and blood and shit. I am emotion gone sour, yellow and thick, drunk down, corruption, curdled, dried-up systems. I am defeat. I am gone.
From out of the black, Annabelle comes raging across my mindscape, red demon, naked from the waist up, breasts on fire, riding a wild-eyed, panicky Paunch. She digs her nails into his hide and lets out a vicious peal of laughter. Paunch bucks and leaps and snaps at the air. Releasing her grip and leaning forward, Annabelle seizes Paunch’s snout. She begins to work her fingers into the crevices between his gums and his lips. With a terrible ripping sound she begins to pull and pull and pull. Rivers of blood and flesh travel down her arms and her stomach. Paunch whines and shakes, his skinless head, now a bloody maze of tendons and sinewy muscle mass, looks slick, streamlined, feral, alien.
“Come on, Charles!” screams Annabelle, breathy, blood speckling her chin. “All of this could be yours!” She pushes off Paunch, who barrel rolls out of sight.
Arms outstretched, bosom gored and heaving, nipples pointed and stiff like fleshy little knives, Annabelle floats within the center of my mind’s eye. She gives a little twirl and in an instant she is clean, unbloodied, wearing her hallmark uniform. This time the T-shirt says Got Death?
Images fracture and fragment.
Inner vision becomes a television test pattern accompanied by a long, drawn-out beep.
White.
“Hands up high!”
I flicker back into reality and see Officer Lumpy ten, fifteen feet ahead, gun drawn, visibly pissed.
“Both hands up! Now!”
To my surprise I am not on the ground being incapacitated by a police dog. I am not getting mauled or beat down with Lumpy’s nightstick. Instead
Regardless, Paunch, yelping and yipping, suddenly wants nothing to do with me, but alas, he is moving through the air much too fast to stop. His snout slams into my palm. I feel nothing, but Paunch’s body goes rigid and hangs frozen in midair. It begins to buck and shake and slowly disappear into my hand.
As before, the backside of the hand is unbreached. When I lean forward and peer around for a better look at the front, the palm has become that gaping, endless void and it’s sucking Paunch down. I try to pull my arm away, but it’s locked up. Like always the little bastard gives me no leeway. The world has completely fuzzed and the hand-trick freak-out is in full effect, except this time it’s not just me caught in the maelstrom, it’s me and Paunch. Well, me and what’s left of Paunch. His hind doggy legs kick and kick and his tail quivers, pulled down low with fear. Just before his entirety is swallowed up, his legs become still and his doggy tail droops limp. The remainder of Paunch goes in dead and sick, sick, sick, I become jelly.
My hand shoots skyward, arching and contorting, leaving me to dangle and wait it out. I feel my heart sprout gnarled, evil thorns when I think that I have just killed a dog. Yeah right. In the real world good old Paunch is probably gnawing on me, effortlessly subduing me while Officer Lumpy makes ready to haul me in. All of this has to be an extremely detailed, realistic hallucination. And I thought things were intense at the library. This is by far the worst freak-out ever. My palm ate a dog?
The world swirls and swells and my dream centers start vomiting up crazy shit. I am no longer a man, I am spiders and leaves, pollen and semen. I am heat. I am that ecstatic tingle at the base of your spine, the bubbling fluid that licks your brain into action. I am everything and nothing. I am Paunch turned inside out, dog organs steaming and unhinging, structured mass becoming pulp and blood and shit. I am emotion gone sour, yellow and thick, drunk down, corruption, curdled, dried-up systems. I am defeat. I am gone.
From out of the black, Annabelle comes raging across my mindscape, red demon, naked from the waist up, breasts on fire, riding a wild-eyed, panicky Paunch. She digs her nails into his hide and lets out a vicious peal of laughter. Paunch bucks and leaps and snaps at the air. Releasing her grip and leaning forward, Annabelle seizes Paunch’s snout. She begins to work her fingers into the crevices between his gums and his lips. With a terrible ripping sound she begins to pull and pull and pull. Rivers of blood and flesh travel down her arms and her stomach. Paunch whines and shakes, his skinless head, now a bloody maze of tendons and sinewy muscle mass, looks slick, streamlined, feral, alien.
“Come on, Charles!” screams Annabelle, breathy, blood speckling her chin. “All of this could be yours!” She pushes off Paunch, who barrel rolls out of sight.
Arms outstretched, bosom gored and heaving, nipples pointed and stiff like fleshy little knives, Annabelle floats within the center of my mind’s eye. She gives a little twirl and in an instant she is clean, unbloodied, wearing her hallmark uniform. This time the T-shirt says Got Death?
Images fracture and fragment.
Inner vision becomes a television test pattern accompanied by a long, drawn-out beep.
White.
“Hands up high!”
I flicker back into reality and see Officer Lumpy ten, fifteen feet ahead, gun drawn, visibly pissed.
“Both hands up! Now!”
To my surprise I am not on the ground being incapacitated by a police dog. I am not getting mauled or beat down with Lumpy’s nightstick. Instead
Similar Books
