Tommy: Game of Hangman: IV.
From last:
He begins to suck on her vagina, sweat crossing brow. She watches the colours of Hell paint pretty pictures across him.
“I ask but one thing, Master.”
Left his bloody face from her snatch: And what’s that?
“ Please. Oh please,” reaching orgasm. “Please don’t take me back there.”
I won’t. Just do as I say.
Heaving hips, knees upward, pelvis thrusting madly, Judas Priest thumping beats loudly, Eyelids explode open. Her pointed focus causes her to look Tommy squarely, eye to eye.
Fuck! No! Tommy’s mind hit’s a guardrail from the impact of her eyes connecting with his. Her eyes in perfect focus. His soul, open and exposed.
Feverishly pounding into her again and again to the beat of JP’s Out In the Cold.
Her moaning with every guitar riff KK Downing threw down, legs spread, heels digging into Tommys back.
Either by being wasted, in an odd place or just submitting to an absolute strangers dick entering her repeatedly, frantically, she tries to focus.
Looking up: Contorted face, black ceiling spastically flashed with a rainbow of colours. Lasers beaming blues and reds, sometimes making Spirograph logical shapes.
Ears, her ears, picking up screams not born of ecstasy so much as pain.
Focusing on him, her him, this him, with both hands, she draws him to her face.
Bolts of pain cut through the absinthe and coke as his hair wants to leaves him in expedient fashion, stopping joyous pelvic pumps. Stopping him dead in his tracks.
WHAT! What the fuck do you want, Bitch.
Gasping, reaching for air whole heatedly, pushing words with each exhale: “ W-w-w-we n-need t get th=th=thuu-the fuck outta HERE!”
Reading her, sensing urgency from the look in her eyes, he backs solid penis from her as he lifts further above and out of her.
Bent over, Tommy extends right hand to her.
Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here!
Taking his hand, muscles still twitching in mechanical movements, she stands on legs uncertain.
Standing, they square off to one another. Nude as birth, covered with many a road map given over years of use, seeing each other as their buzzes quickly fade.
Embracing, violently yanking each other closer, smashing flesh to flesh without sexual penetration. Heads drawing back, they share a kiss. Some insane kiss of innocents of knowing they do not belong here.
Smiling, embraced, they turn to leave. They begin to walk in unison, timing to a new song blaring from the JBL’s by JP: Locked In.
After several steps, Tommy stops and plants his hands firmly on her shoulders: STOP!
Doing as told, she halts soundly and turns toward him.
“what would you have of me?” she asks, sudden saddened fear hitting her face.
What? What would you do if I said we should stay here? Voice solid, steady, loud and aimed at her.
Without hesitation, she takes her opened right hand from her slender and shaking right hip and places it momentarily on the left cheek of her ass.
Taken by the strobe-lighted motion of her nice breasts, slow motion, lazy, intoxicating, brain slowing down. Mind movies taking shape.
Off guard, Tommy stands there, defenseless.
WHOOOOOOSH!!!
SMACK!
“WE NEED, HAVE, TO GET THE MOTHERFUCK OUTTA HERE BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE FOR THE BOTH OF US!” Hand stinging from the blow to his left jaw, wincing slightly, gaining ground of herself.
Yeahhhhh. YeAH, YEAH, WE DO!. Getting the reaction he had prayed for many a decade from any of women he’d known, responded with the speed of a bullet leaving the tip of a barrel.
Taking her hand left hand in his right, fingers mating between each other, he tugged her toward The Door that brought them here.
Walking across blood flooded floor, at places reaching 2 inches deep, thick smell of iron and sweat and a disco-ball tossing beams of light haphazardly, they made slow progress.
‘SHIT!’ Irina yelled. A hand clamped on her ankle. Looking down quickly, eyes going from the hand that stopped her, wrist to forearm, elbow the shoulder, to the face of something that had half it flesh removed, muscled bloodied half carrying a maddening eyeball fluttering about madly occasionally meeting her.
THWUNK! Tommy kicks it in the head causing it to release its grasp from Irina.
“uhhhhhUHHHHHHH!” Half-face whipping quickly in a 180, neck snapping.
“Thankyou, “ said as if a single word, she speaks.
50 feet for The Door.
Judas Priest stop abruptly. All lights die suddenly. Blackness to all but the cat-people that possess extreme night vision. Non present in human form except to military visitors with proper equipment, usually dressed in Goth.
Tommy and Irina stop. Damn, he mutters to her softly, wishing not to draw attention.
“AAAAWWWWWWW! A ONE! ----------TWO! ----------A THREE! ----------FOUR!” a voice yells with the tone of a man speaking through some 1940’s steel mouth horn.
Flashpots blast like that of a KISS concert intro, high-lighting the dead and dieing. Still-motion pictures, a frame at a time, imprinting negatives to the mind with eyes closed.
\
Over amplified JBL’s begin a beat. “Ah-Ah-ah AH! Ah-Ah-ah, Ah-uhhhh!”
Debbie Gibson’s Only In my Dreams takes the room, fitting with the flashing images of this place like that of a size ten foot attempting to fill itself in a size two shoe.
This is not good, Tommy thought, drugs fading, clarity enveloping around him.
MOVE! NOW!
They ran to be stopped by a green haired chick in overalls and high heeled shoes. “No.” her husky voice spoke. “not so fast, Lovers.” She raised a machete and pulled back.
Irina left Tommy’s hand, ducked and rolled forward. Standing fast, right hand thrusting upward, nailed this bitch with a massive uppercut, sending her reeling back, machete flying off, slicing those that stood in its way.
She, coiling back, grabbed Tommy.
“MOVE!”
“only in muhhhhhhh dreeeeeaaaaaaams“: Debbie sang on.
25 feet from The Door,
Spoiled pork, dank and rotten, humid eve of a back alley.
Tommy about took Irina’s arm from his socket as her veered suddenly to this right.
This way! We gotta go this way!
“But the door is this way….”
That door is that way, but the way out is this way! Trust me!.
He kept her behind him, protecting her, as we waded in the shoulder high dancing blood covered throngs before him.
“SLAM ME! FUCKER, SLAM ME!” a zombie cried.
Hadn’t he killed this asshole once tonight? Mind rambling backward, snapping abruptly to the here and now. Shaking head and stray marbles, going toward the worst of stench.
15 from the smell.
“Where do you th-” a guardian of Hell tried and failed to complete as Irina’s foot kicked him to the nuts causing him to fall into a pit of spikes. “LOVING THIS! CUNT, LOVING THIS!” as his body was pierced through.
Sweating, the scent of the prey drenching Tommy and Irina’s nude bodies as they cautiously pressed on.
Mirror balls casting multicolored light everywhere, softening tones of Debbie coming to a halt.
10 feet.
“Whoa, Sir!” the brunette that took him stated in a calm voice. “Do you have a request of the DJ?”
Still walking. Tommy looked at Irina. There’s something to her. Something…
Okay. You got Boston’s Something About You?
“Why yes, Sir. Of course we do!” smiling she said. “Maestro, Jam it!”
Less than two seconds, a beckoning, single voice mixed with quiet guitars slammed into the loud signature sound of Boston.
Frenzied light splashing fluorescent vibrancy's surrounding all in Hell.
“….There’s was something about you---- brought a changer over me… It isn’t easy…. IIIIIIIII knooooooow… to believe in a man like me…….”
They broke into a run, passing the brunette, for some reason thanking her.
3 feet…
Closer and closer, each step like that in a B-movie where the bad guys just walk as you run and they still catch up.
Boston’s three and half minute tune, while playing fully, fading fast.
“Attempt to go no further!” a quartet with scratchy, hideous harmony like that of the Oak Ridge Boys of the damned proclaimed.
Four men dressed like decaying Mafia enforcers stand before them. Black suits, once expensive but no longer grand with maggots, worms and rats covering them. Gnawing, holding, tearing about the last of the fabric, chomping on what is left of their human flesh.
“Did you really think you’d leave here alive? Your guilt and your sins brought you here, didn’t they?”
Stopping again, blocked, final steps covered by something not undead but soon would be so. Tommy and Irina looked to their right and left. Irina turned toward Tommy, looking for something in his eyes and finding none. Futility setting in as he stared at the four.
“Aren’t you going to ask for our last request?” Irina said the four men, who now seemed mounted on horses. One carried a trumpet, leaning back to blow on it.
“Yes, Madame. We’re always happy to grant that. What is your wish?”
Fierce low voice, growling, but not screaming. Her body loosening, resigning, willing.
“Missing Persons: Windows, please,”
All light is gone, thickest of dark takes hold.
Hells DJ seeks, smallest of blue surrounds it. Probing.
Tommy hears her steady breathing as she pulls him close. They hug fast, death descending around them like a well deserved vacation.
Music and light begin to prance about. Synthesizers, guitars and an eventually squeaky voice rise in both volume and blinding flares of colours.
“something feels so strange tonight” Missing Persons sing.
Remembering her brothers love for some stupid thing the so richly believed in.
She yells.
“HUT! HUT!……HIKE!”
Snapping to, following her lead, the two hunker down as one and charge the four riders of someones apocalypse. Some willing to give up at the final gate before them and peace after a lifetime of pain, desperation and self made hells.
Slowest of motion with each step and action taking minutes more than seconds. Tommy remembering of a car accident he’d had years before. Impact, time slowing down to slightly less than a halt: painful memory, each grind of crunching metal, screeching tires and screams in voices warped tonal qualities down, to take hold of him.
“All I need is a window to look through. All I want is a window to look through…”
One of the death-riders, that holding the trumpet, meeting lips slightly. It made the try of the most valiant of first graders in their debut Xmas concert plays: “VRUuuuu’’’’mptptptptssssssppppppppppp!”
Horses freaked, tossing riders to crimson soaked floor.
Three of the four stand with horse between them.
Dead don’t fear the living. Dead don’t care.
What is the worst the dead can suffer?
There already fucking dead.
Siamese twins joined at the hip, Irina and Tommy slam them head on with power unknown to them.
Impact. Living souls smashing for the last dire sense of life.
Not quite enough. Staggering back, stunned. Regrouping.
Collective mind reeling for a solution. Flank? Not end around? A Joshua Chamberlain’s day=two charge at Gettysburg? What? Fucking what?
“it’s the only thing that I-Kk c’n do Annnnkneee wayh!” blasting out the loud speakers.
Got it! Tommy tells Irina as he reaches down, her hand tightly, nearing crushing fingers between his.
I GOT THE BALL, COCKSUCKERS! Tommy screams, lifting back to throw.
HAIL MARY! He cries, tossing a severed head to the left of the three.
Instinct of males prevailing once again, the near dead guys dive for it like a football, clearing a path for them to sprint that through.
“HUHRRRRRRR, RURRRRR, MIIIIIIIINE, MYYYYYYYNE…HRRRRRRRRR!”
8 inches.
Panel wall before them. Freedom, sanity, escape just a spit away.
Irina stops Tommy cold in his tracks.
“Look at me, asshole!”
Forlorn, sad, feeling every ounce of life a fading with a loss of her betraying him in final moments.
“Do you come here often?” Smiling, she shoves him through the panel that takes him to the stinky alley he’d aimed them toward.
Falling to uneven red brick road, nose first hitting piss-mixed water finally snapping and braking.
Stars. All he saw was stars in his eyes regardless of where he looked. Tossing his head viciously he began to scream: IRINA! IRINA! Irina! Irrrrrrrina, voice turning to sobs as he cried.
Finding his sobbing, limp body a day later, with weak stats, paramedics took him to Mercy General Hospital. Dehydrated, high tox screen, suspicious moles on his body. Unresponsive to family and friends.
Two days later, family and friends by his side, a nurse came into the room to change his IV and evacuate his urine bag.
Saying hi to his family, introducing herself to them. They greeted her with tired smiles.
Switching that which sustained Tommy, she whispered in the sweetest of tones.
“hut hut hike. You need a window, tommy?”
Pulse rate climbing, breath increasing, limbs tensing.
Eyes slowly opening. Brightest of white light without focus, blinding intensity.
The nurse watches the monitor and Tommy equally. Hope growing further as his stats come back.
Family watching him looking less like death to become and more like the living.
Whoa… Why can’t I see right? Okay, not as bad… Getting better and better…
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Faster and faster the chimes ring for those coming back from the near dead, guiding them back for another round in the ring.
A silhouetted face, black against white tiled ceiling greets him with eyes not yet focusing completely.
“You’re back!” he hears, but cannot place its owner.
“Thank god!. I knew you weren’t done!” Ditto to him.
“Good! You ain’t dead. You can still pay be back….” This getting greeted with sour looks and a few gasps by those surrounding Tommy’s sterile hospital bed.
In the softest of voices, the nurse speaks to Tommy: “can you hear me?”
Shuddering about, fighting a world of illusion and pleasure in this limbo-land he’d come to embrace. Muscles cramping, body beginning to arch from heel to back of head.
Fighting.
Struggling
Go the voice, you dumbfuck!
“Tommy, can you feel me?” kindest of wanting, she sends to him.
Going past blurry images of unicorns, nude babe-twins, free wheeling sexual pleasures.
Steadily walking faster past weak experiences \of a life he no longer wishing for if living.
Running now: passing booze and drugs giving no regard for them….
A voice. Voice…
Run, man, LET’S JUST FUCKIN’ RUN!
Single thing guiding Tommy, One song.
Her Voice.
Listening to you, I get the music.
Following you, I’ll climb the mountains
I get excitement at your feet….
His hands come to life, ripping out IV’s, pulling tubes from his throat. This causes a shock to pass through all but his attending nurse.
Staring at blank grey wall, mouth dry and threatening dry heaves from stomach.
Seeing the words: PUSH OUT IN CASE OF FIRE in white letters backgrounder by fire engine red.
He turns his head toward his left. Gaining more of his senses every second.
“from you, I get the story” Irina says looking down at Tommy as she begins to cry.
Meeting her eyes, coming back to another reality, arms going for her as hers plunge toward him.
I. I I. Throat far too dry to speak, frustrated, hurting, trying.
Taking a Dixie Cup of water, leaning toward him, eyes never leaving his. She first takes a sterile cloth, dampens it and places it to his dry lips.
Wanting her lips, her, against him, and for the first time in his life understanding patience, he just goes with the flow.
Gentle hands tipping cup to place a few drips of water to him. Smile coursing her face sublime.
Back of throat feeling less parched, coming back to life, taking time.
Thank god, I’m not dead yet….
“Touch me,” Irina sobbed looking at the only man that made a difference in her miserable life.
Feel me, Tommy said. This is the only that gave me any area of worth. Mind running back to the terminator that made a difference to him, “Just don’t take me back there, Please.”
Amazed by some of family and friends, flabbergasted by others at what happened next.
Tommy’s hands grabbed Irina by her shoulders as she jumped on him, thrusting hands around him against the bed.
Simultaneously embracing. Loving. Intertwining once again.
You pushed me through the panel…
“Of course I did. I love you, Tommy.”
But you didn’t come after me.
“I did, just after I saw you pass out.”
Why?
“Had I picked you up from the pavement, would you really have appreciated the simple sound of a voice?”
No. I wouldn’t have.
“I’m not going anywhere from you. Ever. But you are totally fucking rude. Your family and friends are here.”
Tommy’s life changed.
The End: MWD 07292012.
___________________________________________________________________________________
AUTHORS NOTE: Hardest thing I have ever finished: period. Longest project by me.
I had no clue part four would write as it did. I could not have predicted this at all.
I can give the deepest of thanks to those that helped me write this:
Play this song for these credits as those that helped me deserve a parade.
Garbage: Parade <play it on you-tube>
Dave and Cindi Rose, Jesse and Danielle: You are family to me in the sincerest sense of the word. You have always been there for me. I hope I have done the same.
Dave Torres: Constant companion of my writing going back to the Drunken Emails with stories that were never completed. You always showed interest…
My sisters Holly and Heidi. You don’t like where my blog went and its subject matter, and I am most surely thinking you hate this multple entry of Tommy. I know you support me though, means much to me. Kind of like watching a sibling you know could be a college scholar and his not doing such.
I hold you both most high.
Angie: Thanks for keeping touch me and all the Opie incarnations. Girl, you are most special in all respects! You keep runnin’ in your pink shoes!
Maria: Through FaceBook, pictures and such we have shared. This means a great deal to me. MOOOOO! Cows are good! Keep smiling, always. Mexico rocks for having you!
Audrey: Damn, the photos you have shared with me blow me away! My friend from Malta. Nice chatting with you! I hope I can return with my photos with what you have bestowed on me.
I personally like you asking me about going to sleep when it was like 8am your time and it was like 1 am my time. How cool is that.
Vidhi: India. Thank you. Our chat was very nice and live a million hours apart.
Jonathon: Though you were silent on this series, you have given me much to post about. Thanks, bro!
Alinia: Ukraine. Pressing words and challenges by you. Most grand. Thank you!
Sara: Sarah, sassrah: Australia; Been around, reading and sending me emails. Thank you so much for your thoughts on Tommy.
Lisa: UK. You have the driest of wit and I so love it! I will always raise a glass to you, fair lady across the pond!
Thermo Nuclear Warrior: Ukraine. Love what you think and what you express.
Bnttopnr: Ukraine: Your words and pics inspire me.
Crystal: USA. Thank you.
Katerina: Greece. Optomist. Upside in all situations. Sharing unabashed, thank you.
Aja: Singapore. You told me you where a whore. We’re all whores. We’re also the stars in our own movies! Hang fast, Aja.
Ingrid: Norway; Thank you for your inspiring emails.
Helle: Germany. So grateful I wrote something that pissed you off. After a shitload of time we did meet an understanding. Much hope.
Tabitha: Oslo Norway. You think so much as me. I am so glad to talk to you and bounce madness between you and I. Comrades in Arms, you and I. Thank you for being my friend.
Irina S. Ukraine Your support, words and emotions expressed are huge. The calming sound of your voice comforts me endlessly. I wish for you to be my pillow.
Abigail: USA. The first responder to the Blog. Fuck, woman! Did you ever think we’d go this far? I didn’t. You are so the cutthroat bitch and I so embrace this about you. You are so everything where you are. I am so fucking glad I met you in the flesh. I still can’t believe you sang to me an Abba song: Knowing me Knowing You…
I know you are right.
Holding close, dancing to Bryan Ferry Slave to Love. We sang.
Sea of flames…
Slave to Love,
Thanks, Abbey.
THANKS TO ALL!
-Mark William Darus.
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