Furnace

by Livia Llewellyn

  I felt a hand on my foot, and I whipped my leg back, swallowing my scream. My mother, crawling past me. Grab a knife and a net, she said. We have to harvest the eggs. I watched her move past me, blood on her broken nose, blood trickling between her legs. My arm is broken, I said. Then use your other arm. She threw a machete at me, and it landed against my legs, slicing open my skin. I glared at her, but she just walked past. I followed her, limping, tears running down my face. That’s for the punch in the stomach, she finally said.

  When does the dancing start, I said.

  Don’t start that shit with me, she replied. She didn’t look back, only kept walking toward the giantess. The other older women were limping and crawling to the cages, grabbing knives, helping the younger girls get up, heading down to the large stomach. Some of them were walking around, sticking their knives into the creatures that weren’t quite dead. Some of them stuck them into the girls.

  My mother walked down to the woman’s neck. Her breath was so shallow now, she was almost gone. She wasn’t moving at all. I stopped in front of her eyes. I’d never seen such large eyes in my life, and the colors—I can’t describe them. Like no colors on earth, and the colors moved and shifted like strands of jewels dancing in starry waters. I think she saw me. I’ll never know. She gave a shudder, and one long sigh, and then I could tell she wasn’t staring at me or anything else on the beach anymore.

  Come on. My mother, standing in a river of blood, her machete and half her body red and wet. You killed her, I said.

  She was dying anyway. She comes here to give birth on the beach and die, that’s what her kind does.

  And she gives birth to us? That’s how we were born?

  Mom nodded. That’s right. We don’t give birth to girls. We’re not allowed. And this thing, she pointed to the body, only gives birth to females. So, I got you here, and my mother got me here, when we came out of the ocean in someone like this, many years ago.

  But Dad said we’d be coming back with a boy, remember? That you were going to have a boy.

  Mom pointed to one of the creatures. That’s what he does. That’s what he’s good for, every time. Next year, we’re both giving birth, and we can keep them if they’re boys.

  In the distance, the women let out a shout. They had split open the stomach with their machetes, and masses of blood and placenta were spilling across the beach. Inside the thick gore, round objects, no larger than beach balls, rolled and spun.

  But Mommy. I was starting to cry. I didn’t understand what she was saying, what she meant. I placed my broken hand against my stomach. I’m pregnant? What happens if I’m pregnant with a girl? What happens to the girl babies if we’re only allowed to have boys? And Mom let out this long sigh like I was just SO stupid, and gave me a funny, tight grin, and said, What makes you think your brother and your dog are the only bodies buried in the backyard? And she walked away from me toward the eggs, dragging her empty net.

  I walked back up to the woman’s outstretched hand, and stood there for the longest time, my five small fingertips against the massive whorls of her rough skin, thinking about all the smooth flat rocks I sat on and skipped across in our backyard, and all the times when I was really little and Mom wore those pretty loose-fitting dresses and how instead of hugging her, she would only let me hold her hand. And then the sun broke through the grey clouds, and it was really low in the sky, and everything just lit up so lovely and bright, all the black sand and the steaming red mounds of organs and the white hills of flesh everywhere and the woman’s beautiful dimming eyes. Wide rivers of shit and afterbirth and viscera, blossoming into dark clouds as they slid under the waters. And those eggs being packed into the nets and dragged up to the empty cages, those gross pink sacs that we, that I, were stealing out of the dead giantess, that a bunch of strangers would be mothers to for the rest of their lives. Just like all the women on the beach. Just like me. And all the seawater and semen running down my purpling legs, and now the walls opened up and men in hazmat suits came out with giant axes and bone saws and ran toward the body, and wet shards of the dead giantess spurted into the bright morning sky and the seagulls went joyfully insane.

  And I looked up at the sunlit wall, all those black-suited men and boys staring and talking about the other women and me, still making their little observations and notes, still with their cocks in their hands, laughing and staring down. And this was the beach I was born on, the beautiful beach of my childhood, and everywhere I looked, there was nothing but grime and foam and ugliness and death.

  And that was the end of summer.

  The Dunes, August 29th

  Anyway. Yeah, so. Family reunion.

  I don’t know what happened to all the parts of the giantess’s body. More men came, and carted everything away, and then they worked nonstop on dismantling the wall. It’ll be shipped off to some other town that needs it next. We’ll be driving back to Tacoma in a couple of days. And then school starts, which is just so weird to think about that I can’t even. Funny, though, how all the boys I could never find all summer long or who were never interested have suddenly shown up, hanging around the cottages of me and the other girls, totally paying attention, totally competing for us, making sure we don’t forget them when we’re gone. Even the man who pretends to be my father looks at me strange when the woman who calls herself my mother isn’t around, although I stare him down so hard he knows he’d never fucking dare. I don’t know, now that everyone knows I’m pregnant, maybe they think I’ll be a good wife, a good mom to what they hope will be their son. Yeah, everyone wants a good catch. Or maybe they’re just pretending. Maybe they’re keeping track of me like they were on the wall. Maybe they’re afraid of what I’ll do to them if their backs are turned, what I’ll do to them like the wave of a hard ocean storm.

  Someday.

  and Love shall have no Dominion

  craigslist > hell > district unknown > personals > missed connections > d4hf

  Date Unknown

  human star, are u my gate to the world?—(central park west, August 2003)

  it was the night of the blackout—do u remember? time is as one to me time is nothing to me time is nothing, but in ur linear existence it was Then, it was the night the city closed her hundred million eyes. one hundred degrees and still rising as heat bled up from the buildings and streets, anxious to escape into the cool of space, never again to be bound. u were walking up the western edge of that manmade forest in the hard pitch of night, humans stumbling all around, flailing and quaking under an unfolding sky of stars they had never before seen, or simply forgotten existed. humans, brilliant with the Creator’s life like star fire and u the brightest of all, but red and gold and white like my fallen Majesty, my sweet Prince, shining in the cesspools of earth he eternally spirals through, a necklace of diamonds crashing over shit-covered stone. and i? i was wandering to and fro upon and over the world, as our divine Prince taught us, and as i glanced down i caught the faint flash of a spark. that is what drew me down and in, the force and fuse of life that comprises ur soul. u felt it 2. do not deny: i know u saw the thick branches of the trees bend and toss in my wake, rippling and bowing before my unseen passage. i saw ur eyes widen, and the bright gold fuse of stargodfire coil in ur heart, darken and drop lower. u quickened ur pace, but u never stopped staring into the primal green mass, ur desire rising with the heat with the wind with every thunderous vibration of my coming. mystery power and the unseen currents of un-nature, revealed in the absence of confusion of unlight and machines—these things drew ur most inner self toward me even as u turned away walking up the long walled side of the forest, running ur hand against the ancient rock, fingers catching thick moss and small weeds, soft fingers scrabbling over hard cold granite sparkling-veined with the crushed bones of things long past. and the wall became my body my horns my mind and i lapped at ur creamy thoughts and the city shuddered in unease, and so did u.

  all parts of u all fissures all hollows all voids will i fill until u open u
r mouth and there is only my voice open ur eyes only my sight touch ur cunt only my cock / slice ur flesh bleed only my tears.

  no need to respond. u will. u already have.

  Date Unknown

  a thousand times ill-met, yet not met once—(fifteenth floor, office building, midtown, 2005)

  u were at a work machine, shaking a malformed manmade thing—fine sprays of obsidian liquid shot up, landing against white silk and skin. the last of the ink, spent against lonely flesh. do u remember this day? laughter, floating across the floor. and u dropped the object, put ur hands to ur throat as u fled to ur women’s rooms, where u sat on cold porcelain and cried, wondering what to make of such a life, a life so open to wonderful wide pain, and yet so mean, so small. u wept, and i licked at the tears—u felt me. fear leapt and coursed through ur body like a hunted hart. but u did not flinch or scream or draw away. i have trained u well—contact such as this in the public arena of slithering man has taught u to suffer my touch in silence, feigning ignorance. my talons slithered up ur thighs, leaving beaded trails of red against ur skin, and while u shuddered in silent terror and pain, i thought of many things.

  i thought of u.

  i have traveled now, many times through time, threading back through ur life to childhood, to the very first breath. with each stitch i stole, with each nip of the needle and thread of my will and desire, a moment of joy, of hope, of love, of beauty, of wonder was snipped from ur life like cancer, working open the hole through which i will inevitably enter. age two, sitting in ur front yard under the spring’s warm sun, watching ur father plant flowers that later burst into glorious blooms—/—that later withered into putrid stinking masses at the touch of my vomit and piss. ur first true memory, forever changed, because i made it so. ur dog ate those decaying flowers, and died. u wept in ur little bed, and i sifted down through starry night and raised u high in ur nightmares toward them, showing u the whorls of the milky way as i nibbled the tears away. working working working, i stitched myself into every moment of ur life—even at the start, when my clawed hands twisted u from ur mother’s womb in a gyre of blood—until the pressing horror of my unseen presence was as familiar and constant as the rain, the hole as wide as the reach of the magellanic. i am everywhere and everywhen: there is no moment when i have not existed for u prepared for u planned for u / toiled for u. and now, there is no moment in ur life when u have not existed for me. do u love my work, love?—but u love nothing now, nothing u can see, nothing u can taste or touch with the meaty cage by which u are bound. this is my work, and all those unbidden moments of heart-cracking loneliness, covering ur years until u can barely take a breath, until u long for anything except where and what u are? u are welcome.

  despair of everything, my love, even ur pretty blouse, but never despair of this:

  we shall soon meet.

  Sat Oct 23

  of all the things I’ve made—(apartment, west chelsea, 2009)

  u are the finest. our terror / our pain our horror our screams our blood that pours from ur skin as i rake it with hornstalons/teeth. my flame-haired shooting star plummeting to earth and u know it is me u are falling into, and u cannot stop. i clear the path like a maelstrom—books and crockery dashed to ur floors, chairs swept aside, food rotted and flyblown with my single breath. unlights explode, and in the darkness i expand like disease, driving friends family lovers / life from ur world. do u not understand? when we are as one, there will be no room for any of this in ur world. no room, no need. only our need. only mine.

  u were sitting in that part of the building u have claimed as ur own, curled up in the corner of the largest room, on the largest cushions. images flickered in and out from a screen, and u watched them in silence as u drank yet again from the glass cup in ur steady hands. many times had the sun risen and set over ur city since i last touched and tasted u, laid waste to the possessions u think u love. the screen flickered. u swallowed ur wine and smiled. i watched the soft glint of hair at the back of ur neck, the fine lines around the corners of ur mouth, the curl of ur plump pink toes. untroubled breath, as even and smooth as the beat of ur heart. life, creamy placid and it washed over me, and and andand outside, afternoon sank and evening spread indigo feelers throughout the canyons of machines, and all over the world the swarming insect masses lit their candles and fires and devices, desperate pathetic futile in their attempts to hold night at bay, but firm in conviction. safety like their prayers, false and comforting. no different than u and i. and the little machines ticked the time away and the screen grew dark and u crept to bed. unlight washed in from the streets, dappling neon flashes from cars and signs, oranges yellows reds. and carefully, carefully: i hovered over ur sleeping flesh, sinking as slowly as the constant decay of space. ur heartbeat weakened, ur breath deepened—i tasted fear, felt the cold familiar terror envelop u. a dream i came to u as—a nightmare, and u frozen in my grip. but yes. yes. i descended, sliding my arms around u, the phantom lover of ur dreams, dark and dangerous, all-enveloping. and u unfroze, ur body pooling against mine. we lay together under the unfurling universe, my exhaling breath caught by ur inhalations. so soft and warm, so perfect a fit. as if this is what we were made to be.

  do u remember Catala, on the beach, thirty-six years ago, before it sank into the sands? u were only twelve, and u fell through the rotting deck of the beached ship while looking for treasure. i stayed with u for a day and night, until they found u. i made the cold ocean waters warm and kept the crabs and gulls at bay, and i put my hand on ur heart and held u ever so tight, my horns and wings ur shelter, my body ur bed. i thought u saw me, through the veil of your tears. i thought u smiled. i thought i kissed ur lips. i may be wrong.

  no, that memory is gone. it never happened. i ate it away; and then i broke ur legs.

  human star, do u remember this night, this moment? remember it now, for tomorrow i shall wander to and fro again, back into the night into this pocket of time very pocket this NOW and i shall cut and fuck and burrow and rape my way into us and devour devour DEVOUR us until it has never happened until until we have never until until until FUCK FUCK FUCKING COCKSUCKING CUNTFUCK laksd WOEIFF

  D; kd Ski;fkLKFKDsdjSkdL LKDF ll;SIE ldssd;

  o

  Sat Oct 23

  iron fist in a pale-skinned human glove—(apartment, west chelsea, 2009)

  star nursery of my desire, womb of my existence, do u remember this afternoon remember this afternoon and how it bled into the night like the child u had in windy ellensburg, the girl u left in long glistening strands of plasma redblack gouts of soft flesh blood on the floor of the bathroom as i stroked ur salt-wet hair, great rending sobs and the quaking pain splitting through ur curves ur tears lost like catala in the fires of my touch

  no.

  NO NO NO

  do u remember this afternoon, pale and grey in ur endless grey city, open-mouthed ziggurats gnawing at the sunless sky? u stood at the window, wine glass full and dribbling in ur hand, staring at scudding clouds tentacling their way over silent-screamed rooftops, that familiar buzz undrowned by the drink, that familiar whisper and soft thundered deja-vu that this day was happening again. yes. ur breath fogged the window, and u placed the glass on the sill, raised ur hand to wipe it away, and—within that sliver of a second as the tiny beads of moisture floated off the glass u saw me behind it, saw the glint and gleam of my eyes, the curve of my fanged smile, the heft of my fist and all the attendant power and glory of the universe, all the secret places the Creator has forever kept from u all the stretches of dark matter and the knowledge that blossoms under the light of a hundred billion alien suns. u saw all, and the blood rushed into the core of ur flesh surrounding the stargodfire and u staggered back from the glass, pissing urself as I burst into the room, slamming through u like an errant asteroid. U hit ur head on a table, small moans seeping from grimacing lips but no time to scream or shout because this isn’t happening how could this happen this only happens in dreams. I grabbed ur ankles and swung u around,
my footfalls like lightning strikes against the polished stone, and ur fingers grabbed at tables chairs fallen books the edges of doors, and I rose u high like a flag, ur hands sliding up the doorframe, little threads of blood left behind with ur nails, and I ripped ur garments like tissue like breath like clouds and thrust my wriggling claws up inside, and finally u screamed, and in the bedroom against the quilts and childhood blankets I threw u down, pressing pressing and still u screamed in a city that only ever screams, only ever the sound of our breath the low dark explosions of my heart and clap of wings and the endless thrum of traffic and the uncaring world outside. I punched ur face and blood sprayed benedictine against our mouths, broke ur wrists down against the cloth, forced ur legs wide open my talons biting ur flesh ur cunt dark red and raw like a setting sun and I sunk into u my barbed cock splitting working working the hole and o god the bright gold fuse, the Creator’s spark so close and my tongue deep in ur throat and my fingers against it choking and ur breasts soft warm scratched a thousand times by scales and I rammed u rammed u rammed u and this world so close now so close to everything that had ever been torn away

  small fingers against the curve of my tail, u smiled

  what have i

  there, there, and ur sobs so soft and low and u spoke a word, a single gold fused plea passed from ur lips to mine i drank it in a gossamer silken wisp of the Creator, of u: and i slowed, i slowed. o my love, i slowed.

  Sat Oct 23

  is this what Humans want?—(bedroom, west chelsea, 2009)

  this day i have plunged into a hundred thousand times, and all about us the universe spins and reverses, spins once more, once more. do u remember this day, this afternoon, this evening, unfolding again and again and again, unfolding like the bruised cream white of ur thighs, the swollen purple dusk of ur sex, the blood-split lips of ur quivering mouth? i sliced into ur beach like the catala, i thrust the sands apart, and there was no resolution, no joining, and the golden red stargodfuse flickered and floated in the unreachable distance as i lay spent between ur wet dunes, rusting, sinking into entropy and decay. that moment, that slow delicious moment, i have yet to find again. u said nothing u say nothing, every troy-like day upon day, u flinch and grimace and turn away and i pin ur face like a wriggling insect crushing ur jaws with my nails until the bones grind and bend, roaring and biting obscenities into ur tongue, and still u do not speak. do u remember it, that single slow moment when our eyes met, when u truly saw me, when u touched and whispered to me as a lover? i think i no longer do. i think it was a human infection, a trick of the Creator, a cancerous dream.