Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Squalor...the Begining

Bring on the profanity.

Warning: This one starts out as vulgar as a story could be. It takes place in a futuristic apocalypse. Old idea, I know, but this is my version. One where you have to wade through hell to get to heaven...

Just enjoy the depravity, unless you're easily offended. In which case, you may not want to read this:



She said she knew the way to paradise. I should have known better than to trust a hooker. She winked, and smiled, and spun her web over coffee and a line of gold dust. I watched her brown tits bounce as she leaned back, snorting deep. Whores never suffered from the inhibitions of other women.

I thought about Mandy from back home. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing lines, let alone naked. But you can’t really expect a farm girl to act like a cash whore. Gigi, the hooker, told me I could find paradise for fifty bucks and my dad’s gold watch. Sell a memory for paradise? I didn’t buy that. My hand clenched protectively over the watch. Gigi smiled that sick, ‘I’ve done one line too many,’ smile as she pulled on my dick.

“It’s paradise, baby. Heaven. No pain, no worries, and all the fuck you can handle.” She winks at me knowing I’ll take the bait. She pulls my dad’s watch off with her teeth and I’m so busy staring at her pussy that I don’t care. She climbs on my lap, white powder dusting her dark nostrils. She fucks me and I know she’s done this a million times.

A voice in the back of my head says, “Use a condom you dumb fuck.” But the feel of skin to skin has me moaning, closing my eyes. She’s velvet liquid sliding over me. Besides, what's a little death anyway? I don’t see her put my dad’s watch on her arm. But when I open my eyes, buzzing with dust, she’s got it wrapped around her bicep like a barbarian goddess.

The gold band winks at me. It knows things that I’m too dumb to see. I push the diseased whore off me and throw fifty bucks at her. “So where’s paradise?” I look at her expectantly, wondering how I ever found this bitch interesting. Her brown face is full of acne scars; her wild hair looks unclean. There is nothing exotic or beautiful about her too-thin frame and coke-head eyes.

She smiles again. Typhoid Mary come to wreck my world, she leans over to whisper in my ear. I cringe when her tits touch my arm. My come clings to her crotch like a raging yeast infection and I fight the bile crawling up my throat. It’s ridiculous what I’ll stick my cock in sometimes.

“Paradise lives in Squalor.” She licks my ear, a parting infection, no doubt.

Gigi picks up the gold ensemble that I ripped off her gaunt frame. She dresses as if she’s the hottest thing in this quadrant and I try not to roll my eyes. Squalor? Everyone knows that Squalor is the local name for New Mars. I look at her with disgust. I say, “Is Paradise the name of another whore…a friend of yours?”

She winks at me and walks off without a word.

My gut screams, "You’ve been tricked!" I get up to chase her, wanting my dad’s watch back. But I’m naked and covered in whore sweat. I go to the window of the run-down hotel. She’s hustling another guy on the street below. I scream, “Give me my watch back, bitch! Gigi! You hear me?!”

She looks up and shouts, “My name is Gloria. You got the wrong whore, babe.” She gets in the guy’s car and starts to strip. I can see her tits through the windshield. She never even cleaned my come off her crotch. I vomit where I stand.

The gritty hotel has a bathroom, but it’s as ugly as everything else. Roaches have set up camp in the tiles and the water runs orange with rust. This quadrant is the worst in the galaxy. Nothing but depravity lives here—if you can call it living.

I scrub my body with the orange water, eager to get the stench of slut off my skin. The water runs cold after a few minutes. I towel off with the rag hanging next to the stall. What could she mean about ‘Paradise lives in Squalor?’ Was it just a scam?

I’d bounced around since I retired. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was adrift, as if nothing in my life made sense. I dressed and ran down the stairs to the street where Gigi/Gloria had been, but she was long gone. I found a man selling health tablets on my way to the ship dock. I bought one, hoping it wasn’t a placebo.

You never knew with these street people.

I’d take a trip to Squalor and see what was there. It was probably a wild goose chase, but I had nothing better to do, so what the hell? Anything had to be better than this district. I stood in line with the day workers. An azure-skinned Arcairian took my money and scanned a bar code on my hand.

I’d never get used to this mix of alien and human populace. Some people didn’t care. But I remembered the aliens bombing Old Earth. I remembered Mandy dying. Rumors that survivors were carving out a life in the charred crevices of Old Earth’s surface abounded. No one knew if it was true, but I hoped it was. It’d be nice to have someone to envy.

Besides, I was sick of seeing the human race whoring themselves out to the Arcairians or turning mercenary, like me. This homeless, nomadic lifestyle was no way to live. There were other alien races, but none harvesting humans for slavery like the Arcairians. Most of the other species ignored or forbid us in their districts—we were the roaches of the galaxy.


To be continued...

4 comments:

  1. That's a great start. Squalor is right, I feel like I need a shower myself, after reading that. But it's not the first Sunday of the month yet, so I'll skip it.

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  2. Lol. You're awesome!

    Thanks, btw.

    ;)

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  3. Hi Kat. Love your blog. I will be back to read the next instalment.

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  4. Wow. Thanks for that. You're welcome here any time. :)

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