Untitled

Strewn across a white floor like toys to a toddler were detached faces that, even in their sluggish peeling from muscle and vein appeared to still scream in their final memories of identity. Eyeless, lipless pink cheeked or pale skinned masks wrinkled, slightly elongated and folded. He picked them up like portraits of happy families he yearned to join. Would stare at them, then frantically with sloshing, shoving, twisting and pushing, he’d mash the mask onto his face. Then like puzzles pieces cursed to never fit, each face would slouch until finally sliding and plopping itself onto the ground. A floor above, from a one way glass box, men in nice hats reserved for beach vacations with designer, colorful clothes and glasses watched through large black cameras.

The one sitting down, with his arms folded and one foot propped on opposite knee, looked displeased. The man’s attempts were not enough. The crimson masquerade below would not suffice. Without words he arose from his chair and exited through a backdoor hidden in darkness. He descended stairs and soon appeared at the door containing the actor.

The metal door was large and looming, dwarfed the man. A cold breeze escaped from a crevice that wasn’t there. He opened it and stared at the actor, large hunchbacked man that murmured growls for words. With his hands he killed him. He wiped the blood on his Christmas tree green button down before removing it and tossing it to the floor. He whistled, and to his answer came a dog the size of a mutt. A well groomed black creature with small ears and a panting, foul smelling tongue that hung from its mouth. Its features were small, cute ears and paws, but its head, doubled its torsos proportion.

“Eat.”

The dog responded in rabid barks. Attacked the man and was met with a kick to the mandible. The dog was hurled several feet. It paws clawing the ground while it slid. It attacked again. Its clawed feet sounding like little horse hooves against the floor. This time it was kicked in the stomach, raised to chest level like a soccer ball and when gravity returned it. He punted it much further. The dog’s body made streaks out of crimson dots leaving its black, shiny fur with a tinge of red. It snarled bearings its teeth and pink gums, but before it could charge.

It found its mandible pressed into the floor, its skull pressuring closer to combustion. It did not whimper instead swiped at the air like a turtle on its side. He removed his foot from the dog’s skull and it returned to his feet with the look of a properly beaten rival.

“Eat.”

The door closed behind the man and when he returned to his station. Their remained only the masks, the blood stains and a new face to the collection. The dog prattled its way to whence it came and already readied for departure. Were two of the gentlemen in the glass viewing box.

“We’ll go get another.”

They said to the man with one foot propped on opposite knee.

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One thought on “Untitled

  1. I GUESS I’LL CRITIQUE BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE HERE WILL D:<

    Hi Leon. (:

    I immediately saw what you were doing here. The first time I ever submitted anything to a writing critique group (and this was a listserv I joined with hundreds of good writers on it), I pockmarked it with flowery bullshit. I'm glad that's what you went with first.

    I'm curious to know what all you snuck in here. Care to share?

    Oh, and Dr. Coffey would love this. 😉

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