No Future Pt.1

Revisit Death Prompt 5: Splatterpunk smutt horror

This will have a copious bit of smut (sapphic) and leads into a splatterpunk nightmarish fever dream. If this isn’t what you like to read turn back now.

Dialogue heavy, this is probably the heaviest dialogue piece I’ve ever written.

I met Drew Valdez and ( Edward prior I forgot to mention) on the Stream of Consciousness POV workshop I host for free for writers. Will probably have time to run it after we land a spot. Truth be told, I never read their work until the workshop. That was an incredible for shame moment for me. Drew Valdez does excellent bizarro horror and working on a fucking amazing collaboration with William Pauley III, called Endless Static. Can’t wait to see where that goes, looking forward to Dog boy.

If you like writing that makes you squirm and weird ideas, submit a story or read one.

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[Random photography I found on the web, distorted by yours truly no photographer could be named, if you find it let me know.]
Stream of Consciousness POV, Zero Draft.

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Drained my bank account. Seven thousand in 100s stashed in little zippers. Rabbit nests, treasure hunting for fools. My girl was fucking the general manager seven leagues deep into her pussy, I could barely recognize her face if it weren’t for her tramp stamp. She got it when she was sixteen. 27 club.

Cream, milky white dresses her lips and cheeks like a baby who needs to eat. I slipped behind a fake banana plant and watched them in the corner. I let her take my heart in her fingers, getting this outlier to cum and smash it six places sideways. She was named after a gem, Ruby.

“Ruby, you feel better than my man.” Outlier speaks.

Ruby pulls her head up from between her legs. “I’m your new man, now. Forget about him. You want the real thing, don’t ya darling?”

It’s all I needed to hear five, six, seven years down a drain. I slipped out the side hall and pulled the fire alarm. Walked out the exit that set off alarms. It was over.

I just left. Got all the things I needed and bounced out of this shit hole town. Friends fuck friends. Work wives become future dreams. And the real dream? Well, if you’re lucky. Infidelity isn’t an option.

My name’s cursed, my mother named me Glory. Not Gloria. Glory. As if I wasn’t already fighting for scraps my whole life. Breaking locks to dumpster dive because most food thrown away isn’t rotten. They’re edible. It’s free. Beats the lines that stretch for miles for SNAP.

Welcome to the American dream. Everyone dies, and they’ll die hungry.

70 miles out of the city and my Volvo made a noise hungry for its own juice. A dark lit gas station skated in my purview. Said fuck it. ‘Cause I had nowhere to be. I could side hustle in Vegas as a temp tattoo artist if I wanted. Everybody loves a tragic story that they can fuck.

Pull up and I see money slots because everything else is boarded up except for one circle behind bullet proof glass. Holes to speak. Some guy is reading a magazine and jerking off to it. Don’t even want to know what it was. Sounds of poppin’ his wang was enough for me to steer clear.

This was not a Love’s stop travel gas station. Neon lighting that used to be was all the way off. Pumps were on. Those kids on the West Coast don’t know what they’re missing.

Lit my cigarette before I pumped the gas. Needed a moment to collect myself. The imagery stained my brain with guilt. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t putting out, doing everything in my power to keep Ruby happy. How long was she using me?

My head turned toward the road and shivered, a slight breeze. Icy enough to burn your tongue. In the distance, the city looked like stars you can’t touch. Serves them right.

Outliers man’s gonna find out. Ruby will come home to the great empty. No notes. No cards. No one to save her.

I sucked the cigarette hard hoping that five thousand wrinkles would land on my pretty face, my insides replaced by the outside. My skeletons reach out from their closets and walk away from me. They gotta die on this road too, ‘cause a woman can’t grow until she burns.

The dollar bill taker ate my 100 dollar bill and I began pumping the Volvo. I am leaning in my Carhartt spray painted black and covered in patches. It wasn’t even six minutes of waiting until I saw a black BMW drive goin’ race car into the gas station. Fucker slammed on his breaks.

“Fuck you bitch! You’re not paying the rent anymore. I’ll find another hoe to serve me.”

“I’ll die out here! Please give me another chance!”

“Nobody gets two chances. Times up.”

A man’s foot kicked a woman dressed to the nines in black sequins and a fur coat. She landed directly on the gravel and dirt road until trap music cranked louder than the howls coming from the men. I could hear her whimpering through the low wind. Gotta be kidding me. I don’t want another problem.

She wailed louder, cocktail glass empty beside her. Not shattered as it should’ve. It glowed underneath the moonlight, hues of pink I’ve never seen.

I walked over to help her up. “You okay, lady?”

“Do I look okay to you?”

I bit my lip. It was a stupid question. “You got someone you can call?”

She breathed through her teeth. “No.”

You’ll have to sleep eventually. You can’t drive all night even if you wanted to. Maybe you can give her a night’s rest to cool her head. If you saw her, she was all of 140 lbs. You could throw her through a wall if she was high on ice.

“Give me a second.” You waltz up to the guy who finished jerkin’ his wang and pounded on the window. “Oi! Hey my man. You know of any hotels, motels around these parts? We need a safe place to sleep.”

His nose was pointed like Adrian Brody gone wrong. Someone made his nose bumpy and crooked on purpose. Had to hurt. He wasn’t a looker. Magazines were the only way for pleasure. Didn’t want to judge him for it. Some noses are hot when they’re all scarred up. If they’re on women.

“My cousin owns a cheap motel just up the way. I can call them? Room for 1?”

“For two. You see that girl behind me? I am not leaving her in bumfuck nowhere.”

“Smart. I wouldn’t. We got scavengers out these ways. They would rip her to pieces. I would hate to see another woman die.” He trailed off, but the last part seemed definitive. Crony knew something, but I didn’t have the patience in me to ask him what that meant.

He pulled up the old cord phone and rang his cousin, “Hey cous, you got a room for two? Some ladies got stranded out here.”

“Uh huh. Yeah I don’t know them.”

“Some rich BMW, probably one of the boys, dropped off one of their whores like they do every Tuesday.”

Tuesday is a cursed day, as bad as my name.

“Nah, I don’t recognize her. The whore.”

He pulls down the phone, “Look if you’re just looking to stay the night, they can give it to you for 80, out by noon. No trouble though. Some people live in these motels, you understand?”

“Just for the night, but if I need more, would they be fine for a few days until I figure out a safe spot for the lady?”

He pulls away from the window, “Would you catch a deal for a few nights to help the lady out? Seems high class.”

“Yeah. Uh huh. Sounds about right.”

“Listen. What’s your name?” Half unimpressed he turns to me, phone still strapped to his ear.

“Glory.”

“Right. Glory. If you can give them an answer by breakfast they can get you in for 280. For a few days. I don’t know if Frank can stretch it. The motels are connected to a strip club, so you know how things are. People want more than dancers, sometimes.”

“Tell Frank to wait for Glory. I will be there. How far is it again?”

I honestly don’t remember him saying shit.

“A few miles. It’s called the Pink Pony, has a neon girl with a cowboy hat on and pink tits you can’t miss it. All the big rigs will line up on the right. You can park your Volvo in front of your room whenever you get the card. Cous doesn’t mind if you hit up the club. You know those girls get real lonely. Could be nice to have some normies roll through, if you know what I mean?”

“If we get bored, we’ll drop on by.”

“Good girl.” He says it in a slimy way that sent shivers down my back. Pulled the phone up to his ear. “Yeah, they’re rolling through no promises for the girls, but if they do could let them know on a whim.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not the 80’s anymore, Frank.” He clicks the phone down.

“If I were you, Glory, I would collect your lady and get this show on the road. It gets real hairy out here past midnight. Better safe than sorry. Oh, and sorry about the dollar bill change. We don’t have real change out here. Just bills.”

“Yeah. Thanks man. We won’t stay here long.”

The girl is leaning next to my Volvo at the trunk weeping. Her makeup isn’t stained and you wonder if it’s glued onto her face. She looks like she doesn’t belong here unless there’s some secret team of photographers trying to capture the beauty in somewhere rustic. Rich people love dirty places they’ve never been, making them feel alive, ‘cause they already got the STDs to match it.

“Didn’t catch your name, lady.”

“It’s Morgana.”

I lean against the pump, “From what I gathered this is death row out here. I am going to hit up a motel with a smokers room if that’s alright with you. You’re welcome to join me. In fact I would rather you come with me. It sounds pretty scary out here.”

She’s still sniffling. “I can’t pay you.”

My face relaxes. “I don’t need your money. I just want you to be somewhere safe for a little while. Until you can figure out your next move. Does that sound fair?”

“I can get along with that. Hey. Did you notice the change is only in bills out here? It just keeps pumping money.”

“Ugh. Yeah he said so.” Frank and him has to have a deal to get people in the mood for midnight ballerinas. “If you wanna grab the dollar bills and sit in the passenger side, it’s unlocked.”

“What if I steal from you?”

“What all of thirty two dollars, what a fuckin thief.” My body grins, don’t know if she caught the snark on my lips. “I am not worried. It feels creepy staying here. I can feel people watching us. Take whatever you need.” Nobody gives a fuck about thirty two dollars when their head is on the line.

I wiggle the gas pump handle a bit, and put it back in its place. Pop its cover and turn to the driver’s side.

“Morgana, my name’s Glory. Our next stop is close by. Listen, I know it’s attached to a strip club, but don’t think I have any ill intentions. I am just trying to get the fuck out of here.”

Her voice is sultry and less shaken, “Oh, The Pink Pony? Those are some real nice girls.”

My eyes squinted in disbelief. Is this a set up? “So, you’re from around here?” I click on the car. My voice quieter, more cautious than I would like it to be.

“Oh, no. I am from LA. We can get into it when we go to the motel. I need a drink. It’s been a long day.”

“LA huh. Long way from home. Glad I ran into you. This place is a shithole.”

“It has some rustic charm. It’s the people that makes the place, right?”

It stung a little when she said people. Ruby was people. Now, Ruby is third wheeling her life between the legs of any girl who says please. I scratched underneath my beanie and popped a half smirk. Play it cool. Morgana was just in the wrong place. You can’t trust men from their boots to their throat if you want a real answer. Red flags everywhere these days. You might’ve been the only butch in that entire town. Everybody’s gotta eat.

“Right.” Stare at the yellow lines, pretend it’s just another Tuesday or Thursday. It’s hard to hate it completely. Morgana pulls up lipstick from her bag and smacks her lips.

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Pink nipple neon signs, I’ll never forget them. Right tit sizzles on and off, as if the midnight ballerina is already riding the bull. You imagine it, your ears and throat feel raw, and wet. Tumbling together in some fucked up paradox. Volvo stops at the entrance, it screeches because they’re old wheels.

“I am going to grab our room. Two beds if they have it.”

“Good luck. This place is a fuck den. I will be waiting for you.”

It creeped me out a little when she said it, so sly to someone she met less than an hour ago. Her face is unfettered by the whole situation, not weeping. Not tense. Relaxed. A certain kind of somebody can do that, and wonder if it was me or the fact she wasn’t face planted in the gravel waiting for her executioner.

At the reception was a person with a half cut sitting on a chair with their high tops against the desk. Most of it was a mess. They had a lollipop in their mouth, cherry. Figures. The one medicine parents had to force down your throat like crazed animals rabid, and full of vermin.

“You must be Glory.” They smacked the lollipop. “Names Frank, I go by they/them but if you’re a trad mother fucker you can call me she.”

I put my hands up like they got a shottie in my face. “Theys fine. I just want a room for myself and this lady friend.”

“You’re really in luck, Glory. Our top client left for the weekend. It’s the only room I got open. Since he pays so well, got yourself a discount.”

“Thank the gentleman, it’s been one hell of a night.”

Frank leans over the desk, showing part of their ink. Under the damp limelight revealed skulls from their hands all the way up to their biceps. Purgatory of people screaming. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“My partner of seven years cheated on me with her heffer GM and I set off the fire alarm.”

Frank leaned back smirking, holding their lollipop. “Well, serves her right. People want what they can’t have and after they get it— it’s nothing they’d expect. Something called limerence. I say it’s this social media. Everybody is trying to be somebody that ain’t themselves. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, it still crushes me, but I am trying not to think about it.” My eyes dart to the floor, the ground is purple and green swirls, leftover bowling alley carpet. Felt it hadn’t been renewed since the 1970’s. It was worn thin. Barely even rug texture.

Frank snickers, “Don’t feel sad darlin’, you’re out here playing Capt save a hoe. Are you really going to try to save her?”

“Yeah, I think maybe at least two nights. I need a long sleep.”

I threw down three hundred. “It’s fine in case we need another day. Consider it a deposit.”

“No change, sugar?”

“I don’t plan on seeing this through to otherside, if you catch my drift.”

Frank pulls out a card with a red heart and slaps it down between their palm. “You’re pretty, don’t let stupid girls get in the way of what you’re trying to do.”

My hands touch the tip of the card. “Escapism is a drug on its own.”

Frank lifts their palm from the card. “Mmm. I like you. If you want to stay longer, stop on by and give me a kiss sweetie.”

“Yeah, if I’m feeling up to it. You’ll be my first.” I picked up the card, white background red heart. It reminded me of colors from Alice in Wonderland, as though the Queen of Hearts herself was going to strut out of that elevator and demand allegiance.

“Number 13, love. It’s on the first floor. Drive the car till you hit the corner to the left. The door is painted blue.”

“Cards red, why not make it blue?”

“I don’t make the rules, Glory. I just work here.”

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Morgana was smoking one of my cigarettes staring outside. Lipstick smudged on the filter. Her face was Hollywood. There was something else in her too. I couldn’t make the shape of it. The way her hair hung down her shoulders, the color of her skin, the sweat rolling down her brows. She had secrets in her eyes.

“You find us a room, Glory?”

“Yeah, it was their last one. Hope it’s good.”

“What room is it?”

“Number 13, you know it?”

“That room is usually booked, damn. We’ll actually get to take a peek inside.”

“Now, I have nothing against midnight ballerinas, but what did you do here?”

“A little of this and that. I was also largely burlesque, hence the costume. I know most girls by name out here. Good girls. It’s where we’ll get our cocktails later.”

I bit my lip, “What makes you think we’re going to drink?”

Morgana laughs, “We’ll both need a drink after we get to know each other.”

My eyebrows raised, there was no denying the clusterfuck I just barely escaped. Morgana was easy to talk to all things considered and she wasn’t high on ice yapping my ears off.

I slide it into reverse, and right as rain yeah piles and piles of big rigs just coasting in the middle of the darkness. It must change people, you know. Total isolation from one wasteland to the other.

We make it to number 13, the door isn’t completely blue. There are emblems of gold engraved all along the sides. If I didn’t duck my head, I would’ve slapped my face into some handmade wooden windchimes. Step inside and flick a switch. It’s immediately clear what kind of place this is supposed to be.

One bed heart shaped, the ones with the white and red pleated sheets. In the corner there’s a Jacuzzi which can fit about four people on a good day. Shaped like a wave. Not sure how people fuck in it. Ocean wave. Whoever designed this place was thinking of home not no flatlands hate fuck.

On the wall before the hallway to the loo is whips, bondage, chains, paddles, dildos, and anything you could ask for and a crusty ass gag ball. Tape gets the job done if you want to have fun. That’s how Ruby liked it. She said if you can’t turn me red, you’ll never be mine. Fuckin’ liar.

“Not too shabby.” Morgana slips by my body and I side step where I don’t feel her body next to mine. Morgana is still a stranger. One finger on the lucky strike filter, ‘cause what the fuck is this place?

Morgana sits in a leather chair all sprawled out, “You got any clothes? This dress is killing me, Glory.”

Hands underneath my beanie, a nervous tic. “Uh. Yeah. You might swim in them though. We’re not the same size.”

“You’re so polite. I just want to wear pillowcases instead of itchy sequins, you feel me? Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Much.”

Turning away, I pretended I didn’t hear the last part. I walk to the trunk and pull out two duffles. Biting my lucky strike filter, my jaw tries not to rip it in half. The tension is palpable, it’s in the air when you’re around Morgana. There’s a part of you uncertain if you want to fuck her or hold her. Hand on your throat, you lodge off the sweat. People are watching you. Back turned, the feels of somewhere uncanny. The last thing you need is for someone out of the wood works to see you as prey. It’s the fastest way to meet your maker.

All my weapons are in the backpack and I didn’t need any ammunition for Morgana to slit my throat and steal my cash and car. I wanted at least one more day on this planet and before I fucked off this world. Fade to the quiet. No thoughts, and the spineless speakin’ prophecies. Silence, pale on pale.

Had to be somewhere rural, where it would take years to find me. Eat a note that says, Fuck you, Ruby and let my body digest it. Just me and spirits knowin’ what it meant driving her bat shit. The thing about Ruby, it didn’t matter what I said. Someway and somehow she would make it about her. She’s so self absorbed she could crack every statue in Paris.

I drop the duffles down and shut the door behind us.

“Pick whatever suits you. I don’t know shit about what feels comfortable for you.”

Morgana raises. She’s fuck you money tall with those pleasers. If she ever takes them off you’ll be able to witness her actual height. It feels weird to watch someone else rummage through my things, this isn’t some test. Lucky 13. Time to wander. If she needs help, I am one hundred percent certain she will ask for it.

The ground had business 80’s carpet, the brown ones. Not soft enough for feet but if you fell on it, you’d definitely get bruises, rug burn, and catch a disease. You touch the BDSM gear, all leather, all real. No fuckery fake shit in this joint. Turning to the right there’s a two person shower with hand cuffs one open linked to a rail and a toilet with a bidet. Better keep that asshole clean. Glass see through. Good way to catch a ride into somebody else’s skin.

Behind the bidet is a wide screen mirror, leanin’ on the counter you flip a switch. Bright LED lights. It immediately blinds your ass. Hospital fuck you, I can see every injury type lights. Should check myself into the asylum. Grippy socks land with no phone calls. Just me between insane people and psych doctors deciding if I want conversion therapy because half of this country is hell bent on praying the gay away. In the deep south no one cares about your name, you’re just another number for them to hide and throw away the key.

I hear Morgana make muffled yelps, and I dart towards her. She’s not in danger, is she?

No, she’s fiddlin’ with her zipper. Fingers slide up and down, struggling to find her place. Her eyes are bright and shiny when she mouths me to help her.

I hold her body weight with my right arm and with my left I zip it down to her hips and toward her ass cheeks. Hourglass with meat. Her rolls are perfectly shaped with two tiny dimples right underneath her hip bones. My hands are cold and I feel her pulsate. Goosebumps raise to the skin.

“Better now?” My voice is husky when I whisper it to her ear. I don’t let her fall. Not on my watch.

She falls into me, “I want you to undress me as though I am the only one in the room you can see.”

It breaks your heart, because you hear her voice go soft with uneasy vulnerability. The thing about people who’ve seen some shit is most of the time no one can see them as they are. That’s why we’re all cracked vases with shitty glue roped together, we hope we don’t leak out the sides.

Yet, it happens that way.

My hands feel like stone coming undone as I peel her dress down beneath her shoulders. She breathes light and slow. My right hand moves her arm with a ginger tug and it slips down. I am the first to notice she’s not wearing a bra. Morgana places my hands on her tits and they’re soft round plush toys. Lips to the nape of her neck, I kiss her. She gasps and my hands go deeper into her flesh, her scent vanilla and peaches in humidity rain.

“More.” She fights the words out of her mouth.

Morgana stands and lets the dress fall, her thong gripped by her ass cheeks. My mouth lets out a soft growl before I unleash my jaw into the lace. Cheap, plastic. Rip it straight off her body with my sharp canines. She’s naked besides her pleaser heels.

Morgana twists her body and climbs her pussy onto my lips. Ruby washes away from my brain for the rest of the night, as her meaty juices fill my entire mouth and thimble sized clit, its magic round ball engorged against the foundation of my tongue. She’s not moaning yet so I grab her legs and push her closer to me where her thighs clamp harder around my skull. Three fingers in and in motion, I pull in and out in tempo.

I begin counting time, as it becomes a marathon. Her sweet saline juices make me hungry for more as she squirts into my mouth within five minutes and I don’t even know her last name.

Her legs are trembling between my head. Pull my fingers out rolling her forward. Her eyes are closed mouth ajar. Know the ecstasy feelin’ when I see it. Euphoria peaks, bodies become movable dolls. We’re drifting out to sea together. Lost bottles. No notes left behind.

Morgana is an easy target, lifted her without strain. Flipped her joyride body stick on the stomach, ass out in the air. My knees move to spread her cheeks as I lick along her tight shiny hole. Fingers back from behind rubbing her cherry.

She moans, a voice I have never experienced in all of seven years. Not performative, a real lightning explosion as she releases into rapture. God rested her pretty little head as I felt her flush of hot sticky cream.

“I can’t handle you. You’re a monster.” She says between moans as she grinds her hips into my fingers.

“Tell me when to stop and I will.”

“I can’t. No. I love the feeling of your body inside of me.”

“What about those cocktails? Your story?”

She lets out one loud yelp and squeezes my fingers out of her pussy.

“Fuck, okay. I will tell you my story. If you stop.”

My head pulls out of her ass and flips her again. Rags to riches made all the wishes, effortless. From my jacket, I pull out two lucky strike reds and light them at the same time. Her mouth barely opens, I slip one in the center against her teeth. Lips unmovable. Sucks it deep, good girl.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. We got the rest of our lives.”

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Part 1 done, incoming Part two staggered tomorrow.