by Stephen Biro
When her eyes opened she saw the Chief smiling, happily clutching a knuckle full of intestine as if it were nothing more than a strip of jerky. Everything that followed dissolved into a wave of nothingness.
By her count weeks had passed since her escape into the jungle. The nightly visits by the Chief had become nothing more than a thing of routine. To resist meant the horror would only go on longer and leave her in more pain. She had come to expect what he liked, knowing the right times to moan and most importantly, when to scream. Some nights he would bite too hard and degrade her but she vowed never to shed a tear for him again. Every night she survived without tears was a night she chalked up to a tiny victory for herself.
The village had taken her in as one of their own. Meals were prepared every morning and evening, to be shared with the Chief. Exotic fruits and animals were often the source of the meals. The women of the tribe would take her to a river where she was expected to bathe herself. Their eyes, watching with such malice she could not help but expect that at any moment she would be led into the jungle to never return.
It was during the return of one of her baths when the sickness first came over her. The wave of nausea hit causing her to expel the morning’s breakfast. For the first time the women approached her with what appeared as genuine concern. The woman took hold of her, rubbing her back to comfort her. The sudden change in behavior, instead of putting her at ease seemed to leave her with a chill into the pit of her stomach.
Time continued to pass in the village. Sophia lay in her hut with her hands folded over her slowly growing belly. Only after she was starting to show did the nightly rapes come to an end. Tonight she could hear the screams from the Chiefs hut. She knew too well the pain that was being inflicted and felt relief that she was free from the harm of his touch. Her fingers caressed her belly. She thought back to the pictures in her biology books and of the drawings of fetus’s developing within the womb. Her teachers had been so careful when discussing the act and warning the students about STDs. Somehow the teachers back home neglected to tell her what to do after being raped in the wilds of the Amazon.
The days stretched on as the women of the village looked after her. The men were kept at a distance, as her body was nurtured by the women. Loneliness continued to take its toll, Sophia would make attempts to communicate with the women but her attempts were in vein. The women though gentle and maternal in seeing to all her needs, not once could Sophia recall ever maintaining eye contact. Their sole intent was on the wellness of the bastard she felt growing inside her.
The elder woman would come into the hut burning plants and saying prayers over Sophia. She was the only one who dared to look Sophia in the eyes. She would talk boisterously with Sophia in her native tongue and laugh till she was seized by a rasping coughing fit. This interaction was all Sophia had to look forward to. Though neither understood the other, Sophia was convinced a bond had developed between them. Sophia often times took a hold of the gnarled wrinkled hand and squeezed it as the woman would stroke her tiny hand in return. It would conjure up the memory when her mother would sit at her bedside singing to her or merely hold her hand till sleep embraced her.
Things took a turn for the worse during the twilight of her eighth month. She remembered the scream above everything else, a primitive roar that curdled her to her core. She opened her eyes to see Sheepa sitting over her with a fresh jagged scar across her face. Infection was consuming what remained of her flesh. Sophia could smell the rot, the spoiled puss filled with tiny maggots squirming beneath the skin. In her hands, Sheepa clutched a blade that she held across Sophia’s bloated belly.
Sophia struggled but Sheepa had her over powered.
“Help!” Sophia screamed. Sheepa slapped her across the face as she lay helpless beneath her.
Sheepa cursed at the yellow haired girl beneath her. She had taken her husband from her and he had cast her off like the rest of the village whores. She went to him in mercy, pleading to give her a chance to bare him a child. He had cursed her name and cut her with the very blade he had cut and killed many of his whores and wives with. Now she would have her revenge, she would take from him, all that he had desired and waited for. She accepted this would mean her life would be taken from her. The girl screamed beneath her as she cut along her belly. Sheepa took pleasure, feeling the blood flow across her hands. Oh, how she desperately wanted to taste the blood of the yellow haired whore that had taken everything from her.
The screams had awoken the village as they all emerged from their huts rushing towards the hut of the Chiefs pregnant bride. They surrounded the hut with their weapons in hand, ready to kill their new Queens attacker. The Chief emerged from his hut with a large machete at his side. Another scream filled the quiet jungle air, followed by a more anguished scream. The Chief quickened his pace as he barked orders to the villagers to be ready to attack. Bracing himself he entered the hut.
The villagers followed behind their chief. Sheepa turned to face the Chief, a vicious smile invaded her face. His eyes darted from Sheepa to Sophia. He saw the massive amount of blood, falling to the dirt floor. He lunged at Sheepa with the machete, raised overhead but she was too quick, moving just in time for the blade to cut through the empty air above her. More of the villagers flooded into the hut. Spears and knives glinting in the fire light as they thrust at Sheepa. The blades pierced her chest and back. She screamed. The villagers crowded more tightly around her. They continued to bludgeon her with their blades.
Sophia stared at the top of the hut. The sounds of the screaming and stabbing being drowned out as she began to feel lighter as everything began to fall out of focus until all she could remember was black nothingness.
When Sophia finally awoke the commotion in the village had finally settled down. It was early morning; just enough light entered the hut to reveal two men standing guard. Her stomach prickled as she sat up. A green paste had been smeared across her wounds. She supposed it was to help with the healing process. The men standing guard turned their attention to her. She smiled, trying to assure them that she was fine. They must have understood, their attention returned to some activity they had been watching.
Sophia shuffled her way to the doorway, the guards stepping aside for her to pass. As her eyes adjusted she could see the body of her attacker on a giant spit, being rotated over the fire. Her skin was charred and her hair singed off and her mouth ajar in a grossly contorted way. Her final scream had been frozen in time. She walked closer to the fire. The village was silent. She could hear the flies buzzing around her, the sizzle and popping of the burnt skin, the wind through the trees overhead. She looked closer at the body of her attacker. Watching tiny flies landing on wounds, their tiny feet tracking along the cooked flesh. Instead of repulsion what Sophia felt was far more alarming. Her stomach gurgled. The smell of the meat was intoxicating, the back of her hand was quick, to wipe away the drool from her watering mouth. It was the hunger that sickened her. Staring upon the fire ashamed she wondered what she had become.
At the river Sophia stood motionless, her fingers allowing the current of the water to flow between them. Her mind raced as she recalled the yearning she felt as the burning flesh was served to her on top of a banana leaf. How she had licked the charred blood from her fingers as she consumed every bite and relished every morsel. These were the images that had filled her thoughts as she watched her tummy move as the child within kicked.
This was to be her future and the life her child was sure to endure. She cried as she caressed her stomach. It was out of love for her unborn child that she understood what needed to be done. Out of love, it would need to be spared from the life of horror and depravity. In this moment of clarity, Sophia looked to the sky, to the tree tops swaying in the sunlight, the canopy that enclosed her within her prison of foliage.
“Forgive me,” she spoke nearly above a whisper.
It was at this precise moment she felt the warm fluid streaming from between her thighs followed by a quic
k stabbing pain. Sophia screamed as she collapsed into the water as her body gave out from beneath her. The women splashed towards her from the shore, taking hold of her and keeping her head above water. Everything began to spin and blur together.
In the cave of her conception, Sophia awoke. Her arms spread and bound as the elder woman knelt over her. Another shot of pain ripped through her as she pushed, trying to expel her child into the hands of the old woman. She could feel the old woman’s fingers inside her, the pain taking her breath away. She continued to push, her insides trembling till finally the pressure was relieved. Her breath was taken away as the infant boy slid into the elder’s hands. She delicately wiped away the fluids caked across the tiny body. A shrill cry came from the child. The Chief hurried over to the elder scooping the child out of her arms. He cradled the baby proudly as it continued to scream.
Sophia continued to lie on the damp cave floor. She recalled all that had happened to her that first night she found herself in this very position as the Chief thrust his member inside of her. The pain of that night was reawakening the pain her body, continued to endure. The elder wrapped her hands around the umbilical cord and cut it with a small curved knife she had hidden on her.
The Chief held his child overhead as he marched proudly towards the entrance of the cave where the rest of the village awaited their arrival.
The old woman knelt over Sophia, reaching over her, untying her arms. Sophia looked upon the woman’s face seeing her joy beneath the blood stains. Carefully Sophia sat up looking up at the Chief as her son was thrust overhead as though he were a prized animal. The old woman’s attention returned to the chief as she made her way to the cave opening. The cheers echoed along the walls as did the screams of the infant child. Sophia turned away from the scene with disgust and pain. Resting against a rock was the knife the elder used to cut the umbilical cord, its ragged edges looking back at Sophia with a jagged smile.
She could hear a set of drums thumping with the cheers. The drums felt as though they were in cadence with the beat of her heart as it pounded inside her chest. She carefully got to her feet as a wave of unease rocked her back on her heels. She could feel the umbilical cord hanging sliding against her thigh as the remains of the placenta and other fluids oozed down her legs.
As the cheers died down the Chief lowered his son and cradled him. He looked into its tiny blue eyes that stared up at him, its little body wriggling in his hands. He looked proudly upon his son, his heir to the village. He thought about the hunts they could share together, the stories of his people he would pass down as his father had done before. He smiled at his proudest moment, the moment that made him whole and a true father to the village as well as its leader. The yellow haired woman had given him what none of his wives before could; it was true that she was his destiny.
It was as these thoughts ran through the Chiefs head that Sophia had shuffled the last of her many painful steps towards the Chief. The knife hung precariously in her hands as her body wobbled. Her knees ready to give at any moment. Just a little further she thought to herself. Her grip tightened around the knife as she plunged it into the arch of the Chiefs back. His grip on the child tightened as he pulled the child to his chest. She twisted the handle feeling only a slight resistance as it pierced deeper through the flesh. He turned to face her. The knife, deep to the hilt as blood flowed in a thin stream. He stared at Sophia, his eyes wide with shock trying to understand what was happening. She reached to her crying son as the villagers looked on frozen in horror.
She grasped the tiny baby staring at it a moment unable to see her child but the face of the man that had raped her. Her hands squeezed the child tighter, her nails digging into its skin. The child wailed in pain. Sophia shook as she continued to look into the screaming face of her child until finally she screamed.
She brought the wriggling infant to her lips as her mouth spread into a snarl. Her teeth sank into the soft flesh. The blood sprayed into her mouth as her teeth sank deeper ripping through the artery. The blood pumped into her and down her throat as she shook her head side to side in frenzy. The tiny body buckled in her hands and she clutched harder feeling the tiny bones breaking in her grasp. She lifted her mouth away chewing on the bits of flesh that were still warm and tender.
Sophia looked down upon the Chief as he lay helplessly beneath her. She remembered the feel of his engorged member inside her and her fury returned. Clutching the baby in one hand she took the other and ripped at the genitals and tossed them to the irate villagers. Cradling the child she peered down at the infant that lay limp, its tiny pink tongue protruding from its lips. She swallowed and bit again. Her teeth clamping around the pink tongue and tugged. Feeling little resistance it snapped free and hung from her lips as though she wore the face of a rabid beast. Her hands swung the child against the cave wall with a wet smack.
The Chief cried out, his hands helplessly clawing at the air as he watched the white woman grasp his son by the legs and smack the child into the rocks again and again. He watched the blood trickle down the cave wall as his child hung limply in her hands as she continued to pummel it across the walls. The tiny head was broken, clinging to its tiny body by only strands of flesh. The Chief cried out pleading for Sophia to stop. She turned to him. Her eyes filled with hate as she held the body in her blood spattered hands. She spit the infant tongue at him slapping it across his face. He recoiled from the pink fleshy bit.
Sophia turned to the villagers lifting the dead child overhead, allowing the body to shower her in blood. She stared at the villagers as her heart raced, her breath labored as her body began to shut down. She never felt the impact of the rock that smacked across her head. More rocks came rocketing toward her as the villagers closed in.
The Chief watched helplessly as the Villagers surrounded his yellow haired queen, his eyes never leaving hers. Perhaps he had imagined it but he believed he saw the woman smile at him before the darkness took him away.
MAGNUM P.I.
AND THE AUTOMATED BUTT-CUTTER
Brian Harris
It was almost like being caught in a never-ending time loop, a non-stop cycle of festering shit, forced to endure the same mundane existence every time he opened his eyes. Home from work, off to bed, up in the morning, work all day, home from work, off to bed, up in the morning; there were days he toyed with the idea of simply laying down on the conveyor at work and letting the ABC Machine slam down on his head and put him out of his misery. As Magnum slid the next torso into position and pulled the lever, he couldn’t help but wonder whether it would be a quick death or not.
WHAM!
Wincing, he thought to himself that it probably wouldn’t be with his luck. Flicking the smoldering Anti-Rad Qool Lite to the floor, he began prying at the massive, gore covered blade of the chugging monstrosity; the last time it got stuck they ended up docking him pay while maintenance men took all day to repair it. Before he could loosen the wedged part of the greasy guillotine, a surly voice boomed over the intercom, almost eclipsing the roar of the factory’s machines.
“Magnum P.I. to the management bureau. P.I. to the management bureau!”
Removing his apron and gloves and tossing them onto a pile of putrefying organs piled high on his work station, Magnum slowly made his way down the long hallway and up the rusty stairs that led to the management bureau. Getting called in always made him nervous. Stopping in front of the door he reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a half-eaten chunk of Cajun Caucasian jerky and crammed it in his mouth. This is it, he thought, I’m a goner for sure this time. He entered without a sound and slid into the metal folding chair sitting in front of the desk as he swallowed half-chewed jerky. There sat Arnold Drummond, a short, squat little man with squinty eyes, a stringy black comb-over and green-rimmed teeth as brown as shit. How any woman could kiss that face without vomiting is beyond me.
“P.I., this is the second fluggin’ time this happened on your shift.”
“It really wasn’t my
fault Mr. Drummond, I think one of the torsos must have had a few pins in the spine or something and…”
“Listen queer bag, you know as well as I do that pins, plates, joint replacements and everything else are removed before the torsos get to you!” Droplets of spittle flew from his mouth, landing all over the timid worker’s folded hands and lap,
“It is your God damn assignment to make sure the blade comes down at the right fluggin’ time!”
Brushing the backs of his hands on his pants, Magnum leaned forward in an attempt to get a word in edgewise but was quickly cut off.
“Your Mommy may have sucked high-ranking Authority plumbing to get you this assignment but I’ll be damned if you break my fluggin’ machines! Do your assignment right, you wormhole!”
Grab him by the face and rip his beady eyes out with your teeth! Don’t let him speak about Mother that way! Don’t let him speak to you that way!
No matter how much Magnum fantasized about killing Drummond, he knew it would never amount to anything, just like his life. His Mother used to tell him that only men of action would be remembered, only men with the drive and ambition to take what they wanted would make their own way in the New New World. It was either ‘eat or be eaten.’ That was her way of letting him know that he was both a deep disappointment and that she wasn’t wearing panties and it was time to call it a night.
“Are you fluggin’ kiddin’ me? Yer day dreamin’ right now, aren’t you?! I told you to get your sorry ass down to your station and get that machine runnin’!” For the first time since he’d met Drummond he could have sworn his tiny eyes were bulging from his bloated face as if they were about to tumble out and land in the pool of saliva on the desk.
