Read Online Slag Attack by Andersen Prunty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andersen Prunty
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dog is covered in maggots. They’re squirming all over its hide. And Vincent’s forcing the maggots and the stink into her hose, into her mouth, and she thinks she’s finally losing it. A person can’t be subjected to this and then expect to come back.
She vomits.
Throws up all over the dog. The puke runs down and covers Vincent’s hands.
And he’s using the dog’s head to hit her in the face and shoulders, rubbing her puke back onto her.
She continues to cry and murmurs, “Daniel Johnston.”
“ You’ll never learn. You’ll never learn! You’ll NEVER LEARN!”
He stands up, leaving the dog’s crawling carcass on her body, and heads for the open door. In the doorway, he braces himself, vomits, and looks back over his shoulder. “Say it!”
“ Vincent Severity!” A shout from a burning throat.
She wishes she was dead.
She hopes he’ll forget to shut the door but he doesn’t. It slams shut and she hears the bolt slide into place and then the lights cut off.
She doesn’t know if it’s good to not be able to see the dog or bad to not know where the maggots are.
8.
Since being taken prisoner, she has grown very adept at working with her hands behind her back. Once she adjusted to having them there, her whole range of movement consisting merely of the expanse of her buttocks, she learned to use them quite well. Not a second has passed when she hasn’t thought of escape. When Vincent comes in, he can’t see her. She has watched him from her place on the floor. She has watched him open the door, squint and blink. The next time he comes in, she thinks, she’ll go for it. The lights flick on. It doesn’t take them long to heat up. She looks toward the pile of Boy on the floor. What used to be Boy. Oh God, she thinks. Then blurts, “Trent Reznor!” The dog has been reduced to a pile of bones. The maggots cling to the bones, make them wriggle and look alive. The maggots spread out all over the floor. Some of them are on her. She closes her eyes against the heat, against the sight of all those maggots. She thinks she might not be the only one in trouble.
Vincent enters suddenly, surprising her just enough to throw her finely honed design all out of whack. He slides the door open and stands there wearing only his stained white briefs. He’s dragging a television beside him. The television is on a cheap metal stand. The kind with wheels. The kind usually found in the seediest motel rooms.
He looks sick and wasted away.
“ The whole world’s gone to hell,” he says. “You ain’t Wanda. Wanda ain’t never comin back.”
He flips the television on. The picture rolls and then comes in staticky. It looks like the news. He crosses the room toward her. As he gets closer, she can see his skin bulging and twitching and she imagines him filled with maggots.
“ They’re callin em slags,” he says. “They say they’re everwhere.”
He grabs her from behind the neck and pulls her out into the middle of the floor, kicking the bones of Boy away.
Amber watches the television and realizes not even the names could keep the plague gods away.
Vincent kicks her knees out from under her and forces her onto the floor, onto her stomach. She thinks he’s going to kill her and thinks she’s blown her chance.
He circles behind her.
“ You ain’t Wanda. You ain’t never gonna be Wanda. First you kilt Boy and now you’re killin the world.”
He drops to his knees behind her and she hears his underwear slide down his thighs.
She watches the television.
The dour newsman drones: “New York. Boston. Chicago. Miami. Atlanta.” He continues reading off his list of major cities. He looks tired and gray and Amber hopes it’s just the television making him look that way. Vincent is pressing his cock between her legs. He’s spitting in his
She vomits.
Throws up all over the dog. The puke runs down and covers Vincent’s hands.
And he’s using the dog’s head to hit her in the face and shoulders, rubbing her puke back onto her.
She continues to cry and murmurs, “Daniel Johnston.”
“ You’ll never learn. You’ll never learn! You’ll NEVER LEARN!”
He stands up, leaving the dog’s crawling carcass on her body, and heads for the open door. In the doorway, he braces himself, vomits, and looks back over his shoulder. “Say it!”
“ Vincent Severity!” A shout from a burning throat.
She wishes she was dead.
She hopes he’ll forget to shut the door but he doesn’t. It slams shut and she hears the bolt slide into place and then the lights cut off.
She doesn’t know if it’s good to not be able to see the dog or bad to not know where the maggots are.
8.
Since being taken prisoner, she has grown very adept at working with her hands behind her back. Once she adjusted to having them there, her whole range of movement consisting merely of the expanse of her buttocks, she learned to use them quite well. Not a second has passed when she hasn’t thought of escape. When Vincent comes in, he can’t see her. She has watched him from her place on the floor. She has watched him open the door, squint and blink. The next time he comes in, she thinks, she’ll go for it. The lights flick on. It doesn’t take them long to heat up. She looks toward the pile of Boy on the floor. What used to be Boy. Oh God, she thinks. Then blurts, “Trent Reznor!” The dog has been reduced to a pile of bones. The maggots cling to the bones, make them wriggle and look alive. The maggots spread out all over the floor. Some of them are on her. She closes her eyes against the heat, against the sight of all those maggots. She thinks she might not be the only one in trouble.
Vincent enters suddenly, surprising her just enough to throw her finely honed design all out of whack. He slides the door open and stands there wearing only his stained white briefs. He’s dragging a television beside him. The television is on a cheap metal stand. The kind with wheels. The kind usually found in the seediest motel rooms.
He looks sick and wasted away.
“ The whole world’s gone to hell,” he says. “You ain’t Wanda. Wanda ain’t never comin back.”
He flips the television on. The picture rolls and then comes in staticky. It looks like the news. He crosses the room toward her. As he gets closer, she can see his skin bulging and twitching and she imagines him filled with maggots.
“ They’re callin em slags,” he says. “They say they’re everwhere.”
He grabs her from behind the neck and pulls her out into the middle of the floor, kicking the bones of Boy away.
Amber watches the television and realizes not even the names could keep the plague gods away.
Vincent kicks her knees out from under her and forces her onto the floor, onto her stomach. She thinks he’s going to kill her and thinks she’s blown her chance.
He circles behind her.
“ You ain’t Wanda. You ain’t never gonna be Wanda. First you kilt Boy and now you’re killin the world.”
He drops to his knees behind her and she hears his underwear slide down his thighs.
She watches the television.
The dour newsman drones: “New York. Boston. Chicago. Miami. Atlanta.” He continues reading off his list of major cities. He looks tired and gray and Amber hopes it’s just the television making him look that way. Vincent is pressing his cock between her legs. He’s spitting in his
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