SHORT STORY 4

2013

L O C H - F U C K I N G - N E S S

SHORT STORY 4

2013

LOCH-FUCKING-NESS

DISCLAIMER:

I wrote this while at Loch Ness, from 25th June - 2nd July 2013. It's written in the form of diary entries directly after the events took place.

"A man is not a man until he has accessed his raw, untamed energy and taken pleasure in his capacity to fight and defend himself. Only then can he transform his blind rage into the power to commit himself, to handle tensions and to make difficult decisions. A feeling of inner security also develops; it is based on his realization that, whatever happens to go wrong, he can get help from his inner resources, from the basic energy of his aggression." Guy Corneau.

ENTRY 1.

None of this was what I had planned. This was not how I had envisioned this vacation. But shit-fucking-happens. So, fuck it, this was how the game evolved, with me here, across those black waters from Boleskine House. Let's be honest however, I knew this was coming. It had been an upbeat couple of months with girls, girls, girls. But whenever I'm in a good mood for long enough, the pendulum swings back with a-fucking-vengeance! And from good times comes the birth of repulsion and sheer fucking hatred! It was unavoidable. This was just how the tide of emotions work. I have my ups, so in turn, I have my fucking downs, just like everyone. We are all fucking meat! Though, what had been planned was a road-trip through the Fatherland: from Edinburgh, up to the Highlands, and then down the west coast. I had even prepared a four-disk soundtrack of relevant music to accompany the drive. But what became of that road-trip? Female self-pity and her 'right to be jealous'. That's why I'm alone and sitting in the wood-scented lounge of an isolated hotel in the Highlands.

'She', an ex who'd come to the Fatherland once before, was going to do the driving. I've never gotten around to getting a license for myself. But due to her need for being the center of the fucking universe, she returned to Berlin after only two days away. Women, what absolute contradictions. She says one minute, "I want to know these things!" And then the next, "I don't want to see these things!" I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. So, I laughed. But that only pissed benzine on the fire of narcissistic feminism. Fuck her! She can fuck off back to Berlin if she truly believes that I hate her entire fucking existence! Yet if I didn't want to spend time with her, I wouldn't have invited her on vacation

-

I had awoken on Tuesday 25th June (the very morning that we left for this trip), and found a text message on my phone, "I just want to let you know that I might not stay the whole time with you in Scotland. I will come with you today and stay at your aunt's place, and then I will decide what's next. Just to let you know." It was only the latest of many threats that she had made about canceling our road-trip. We soon met at the airport, though, we didn't talk during the whole flight. Not a single word. Eventually, we eased up on the bus into the Edinburgh city, where we had out last dinner together on the Royal Mile. While in the middle of eating, she demanded that I apologize for bringing another girl to a friend's place on Sunday. Apologize?! That wasn't going to happen! I might have been jealous of her many toy-boys, but I never complained to her, because she wasn't my fucking girlfriend anymore! Neither of us had the right to fucking demand anything from each other. This conversation was over!

Nothing like hissed spite into the face of a lover with vicious whispers. I would have yelled, but suddenly last Friday I lost my voice for no apparent reason. Had I caught something from screwing this new nineteen-year-old?

After dinner, I considered my options while she booked a flight back to Germany, so that she could go fuck some new pretty boy that she bragged about. She had a tendency to fall for male models with lame personalities, and then she'd say things like, "He's so damned good looking, but so fucking boring."

I however, had nothing left to say to her, and won't until at least six months have passed under our burnt bridge. There's plenty more fresh meat out there, and I don't care if a girl's boring or not, as long as she fucking swallows!

My hatred is just an equal opposition to how much I had once loved her.

-

On Thursday 27th June, it was pouring with rain when I alone caught the train to Inverness. I found myself seated next to a New York mother of three. Talking openly about cultures, philosophy, relationships, art, and drugs, I eventually admitted how much I was looking forward to going somewhere where no one knew who I was. I wanted nothing more than anonymity without any association to my past or present reputation. Isolation from the preconceptions and expectations of others. But I quickly realized that that was an unobtainable idea, once she asked about my tattoos in contrast to the King James Bible on my lap.

Yesterday, when I bought the Bible at Waterstones on Princes Street, a voice came up from behind, saying, "The Holy Bible?"

I turned slowly, eyeballing some chick in black, as I replied in my hoarse voice, "You mean, holy shit."

While leering at me like I was a whore on the curb, she smiled, adding ambiguously, "It's never too late."

We can never escape the prejudice of everyone else. It's a human instinct to judge others upon first impressions. We all suffer from superficiality.

My first impression of the Highlands was of the strangeness of the mountains, I guess they were defined as 'mountains', though they were more like rolling-ranges with smooth curves that faded into low hanging clouds. The Scottish landscape, with its blankets of patchwork shrubs, was nothing like those picturesque Swiss Alps. Yet even at the end of June, spots of snow were still visible among the lonely gray mansions dotted about that immense emptiness of a bleak vista. Seriously, where were all the people? The countryside seemed utterly abandoned.

Three and a half hours later, the train arrived at Inverness. I was expecting a large city, but it was merely a township of pale rock-chiseled churches and moss-coated homes with soulless windows. The hills were deserted. The only thing I took notice of was the pretty Eastern European girl in the missing-persons poster on the walls of the train station. People disappear under suspicious circumstances whether civilization was there or not.

I couldn't remember the last time I was in a bus driven by a suicidal lunatic. Once we were just out of Inverness, I realized how loosely the bus was traveling when we hurtled past a vast graveyard at the feet of some mountain of stone. Heading south, we shot by a blur of trees next to a meadow, before Loch Ness itself suddenly emerged through the forest. This flat mass of water appeared between a dark haze of rushing branches. At the velocity in which we were racing, I wondered if the driver was trying to make it into the Guinness Book Of Records for driving a bus faster than the speed of terror! Glaring at the loch, I soon noted that there could have been a Russian nuclear submarine in there, and no one would have ever known. The loch was fucking huge! You'd need a fleet of aircraft-carriers to do any kind of serious search for anything lurking in the depth. Again, I surveyed the desolate woodlands, and asked myself, where the fuck was everyone hiding?! There were almost no houses anywhere. It was a great land of nothing.

Evening was settling when the bus dropped me off at a three-way intersection. Turning on my heels, I found the bungalow-like hotel sitting quietly across the road, with only three other buildings nearby: a craft shop, a general store, and a public hall further down the road. And that was it. Remote to say the least.

After checking in, I decided to go for a stroll before dinner, and came across a waterfall beneath the woodland road. Heading right, into the forest, I climbed onto a broken-down stone bridge not far from the modern highway overpass. Studying the river, I was curious as to why the water looked like crude oil as it slipped down the valley and around the steep cliffs before it inevitably poured into the Loch. A fish then leaped up stream, only to be washed back down the rocks. It was cold looking shit. Not the sort of spot that welcomed idiot skinny dippers, yet this gorge seemed hungry for the dumped bodies of dismembered runaways. The place was fucking decrepit – just like me!

So, I have four nights alone at Loch Ness, with nothing but the Bible and my own spiteful devices for entertainment. Fuck peace of mind and fuck this tranquility!

ENTRY 2.

After a late dinner, on my first night at the loch, I went for another walk. It was 10pm and still light. Not chilly but cool. I only came here in my dress shoes and wasn't prepared for hiking. The crossroads led in three directions. The road that my bus had taken came inland from the loch for about a kilometer to the hotel, then it turned left and followed the river back to the water and further south. The third road headed west with the river. I decided to go back the way the bus had come. Back toward the loch. There was no footpath, so I crept along the side of the road. Though, if I had thought that there was very little traffic earlier, the place was beyond dead now. A field lay to my right, leading to a cluster of large trees on a tiny hill. I kept aimlessly drifting along with the faint breeze, until I came across a gateway above a modest cemetery. The arching trees looked inviting, so I stumbled on down the path. Old gravestones looked forgotten by the world of man. It was a damp and secluded place. There I stood, scowling up at the looming mountain on the south-side of the river. The woods seemed much denser than they had first appeared from the edge of the road. Still, I felt nothing.

Moving back to the road, I continued toward the loch. Usually, I'd be walking while listening to my MP3 player, but the only thing I wanted to hear was the steady sound of my shoes on the asphalt. Slow and careless. I didn't know if there was anything ahead, or if the road just ran north through the woods for the next thirteen kilometers, back to the next town. But then I came around a slight bend and found a driveway heading askew from the main road. I couldn't tell if it was a private or public road as I stared at those two stone pillars either side of the entrance. It appeared as though it led to the loch, so down I went.

Soon, I came across open fields to my right, and a distant, bright white, manor house shrouded by all that gloom. Ignoring the building, I finally saw the water's edge further down. I ducked under the warning sign on a closed gate and followed a trickling creek on my left. And there I was, standing on the shores of Loch Ness, the mouth of the river directly on my right. Mist clung to the summits of the ridge on the east-side of the loch, and not a single sign of another human's presence was anywhere to be seen. There was just me and those fucking insects.

The water was wide and still. Gently lapping ripples stretched away from my fingers as I crouched down and touched that brownish surface. Funny how we humans always have to touch something just to know that it's really there. Got to have that tangible experience accompanying the visual input. Right then, as I stood up, I heard a SPLASH! I fucking saw something, a splash of water way out there where the river spilled into the loch. I paused. Of course, I didn't believe that some fresh water dinosaur might suddenly raise its ugly head and give a cheesy wink while I fumbled for my camera. No, but I absolutely saw a splash in the middle of those otherwise dead calm waters. So, I stood still. Watching. I then had a vision of a killer-whale leaping onto the muddy shore for a giant mouthful of my ass. So, I gently took a step back. And then logic came to mind, and I recalled the salmon that I'd seen leaping up the waterfall back by the hotel. A salmon. There you go. Thank you, rational brain. However, I had always heard that the waters of Loch Ness were dark, but honestly, they were fucking tar, smothering my senses with unease.

Suddenly I was attacked by a swarm of angry fucking mosquitoes! Turning, I walked the fuck away. Heading up the thin driveway, I noticed how much darker everything had become – just like my mood. From bitter to worse, I was alone! This wasn't how I fucking wanted this vacation to go! I hate this fucking place! I absolutely fucking hate it! I hate her! But I had wanted her to be here with me! I didn't want her to simply abandon me here! But perhaps she was right. I fucked it all up. I did this. It was my fault. I soon became acutely aware that I wasn't even thinking about her – it was all about me! Looking around the forest, I sneered with growing anger at the blackened shadows of the trees. And I remembered fear. Remembered it, but I couldn't feel it. I remembered being a child and having a fear of places like this. In fact, this whole situation would have driven me to tears as a sniveling insecure brat. But now, I stood on a road in an echoing silence. I was utterly alone. And I felt only anger! No fear, no intimidation, no fucking importance! They say 'anger' and 'sadness' are different forms of the same energy. But it was all so fucking meaningless! Everything was empty! "So, this is Scotland!" I hissed through my mangled vocal-cords, scanning that all-encompassing forest of vacant worthlessness. This was the essence of disappointment. No girl! No road-trip! No monster! No fear of any-fucking-thing at all! Yet all my disappointment only pissed me off even more, as I marched up the center of the road. Fuming with intolerance and self-hatred, it occurred to me, I was about to start going through withdrawals. Been here before. I was in resistance. Dwelling on my own misfortune. But I've always known that I've always been alone. Remember who the fuck you are! Let go of these fucking delusions of female pretension, and appreciate that I have always kept the myself company! Let it go! Yet I still took it all so fucking personally! This was the constant conflict between the emotional and rational processes. Why did it bother me so? Because there's a weakness about myself that has been exposed. The ego was insulted, therefore it demanded defense! However, wherever you find yourself most uncomfortable, there's room for growth.

Strolling up to the hotel, I sat on the porch, lingering on how fear used to haunt me when I was a fucking child. And just as I no longer had nightmares, I no longer cared for the approval of even my lovers. Like all females, they're the only ones who have ever truly disappointed me. I myself however, have never let me down! Women, I could tell you a thing or fucking two about fucking women and their back-stabbing, whining little fucking ways. How does that Tom Waits song go, "There are a few things I never could believe. A woman when she weeps. A merchant when he swears. A thief who says he'll pay. A lawyer when he cares. A snake when he is sleeping. A drunkard when he prays. I don't believe you go to heaven when you're good. Everything goes to hell, anyway." If there's one absolute rule you can always stand by: a crying female is a lying female! Whenever a girl starts to tear-up, I smile. Partly because I enjoy watching anyone in misery, but mostly because I know they're faking it! I absolutely believe that no female human being has ever cried for any reason other than to manipulate another person. People rant about how females are the empathetic-gender, and that males are merely tools. Wrong! Females are conniving, unscrupulous traitors! While males are overly gullible and easily enslaved! I say, fuck this unquestionable worship of the unjustified yet self-appointed 'goddess'! I say, see these fucking whores for what they fucking are: devious, attention-seeking fucking parasites! Females will betray you the very fucking instant a better fucking deal comes along! Do you see what I'm fucking saying here? Do you understand? I say, if you study women closely, you'll learn how to think like the devil! And then beat these cunts at their own fucking game! Show them no fucking quarter!

Always remember: a crying female is a lying female!

Women = meat.

ENTRY 3.

I woke up late on Friday morning, after plenty of those usual dreams of people trying to kill me. As I was lying in my antique hotel room, I considered my troubled thoughts from last night. About who was at fault. Ultimately, I'm to blame. No one could make me feel anything, only I could. It was me who allowed myself to become disappointed. Therefore, my ex has no effect on me. No one else has any power over me. One person alone is responsible for my actions, emotions, and state of mind, and that motherfucker is me!

Lying in bed with my hands behind my head, I thought of other girls back in Germany. There was always more meat in the market. No one was special. None of them. They were all just fleeting images over my retina, and temporary sensations upon my flesh. Yet how I loved the skin on skin. The danger however, was in letting the stimulation form delusions of my own external importance. For as you are for me, I am for you: u-n-i-m-p-o-r-t-a-n-t! We are all alone. No one sees anything from anyone else's point of view. You can't see these trees outside my window right now, and you'll never understand exactly how the leaves are falling in the breeze. These words are like everything I've ever said, here to be misconstrued and reinterpreted by whoever the fuck reads this and applies their own agenda to, unconsciously or otherwise. Do you see what I'm saying? No, of course not. I could never articulate the complete intricacy of any visceral situation or abstract thought through the mere communication of words. Some shit just needs to be dealt with first-hand.

ENTRY 4.

It's evening now. Spent the day performing blasphemy and self-indulgences. I started with a walk down the south-side of the river and ended up on the edge of the loch directly across the mouth of the river from where I was standing last night.

It had been a warm morning, until I stepped onto the rugged shoreline where the wind hit hard. I buttoned up my jacket and took a seat on a large rock where I watched the waves come quivering in. The gusts were frosty, and the sky was overcast – except for a perpetual hole in the clouds where the sun beamed straight down on me as I tried to relax. I was becoming Bark again. My frame of mind wasn't exactly pleasant. I had hoped that once I left the water's edge, I might witness a collision between a truck and a school bus, so that I could stand back and watch all those screaming little fucks burn alive! But no such sight presented its awesome glory. I hate this fucking place.

I had a pot of Earl Grey on the porch of the hotel and sat glaring bitterly at the random meat that happened to drive on by. Looking up at that mountain facing the hotel, I recalled the tourist guide stating that it was called: Sron Na Muic ('Nose Of The Pig' in Gaelic). With a brilliant name like that, I would have to climb it and pay homage to the pig in all of us.

But first things first. I collected my Holy Bible, along with a few ballpoint pens, and quietly made my way over to that local graveyard. Jumping a moss-laden stone wall, I tread over the churned-up dirt of a large paddock, while the highland cattle shuffled about at the far end. Then I scaled that steep mound of a hill crowned with a cluster of tall trees. My instincts had been correct, this was the perfect spot to begin my desecration.

Sitting on the grass with the wind at my back, I opened the first page of the Bible and wrote my full name. As I read on, I began underlining violent passages, while I proceeded to scrawl 'FUCK GOD' upon each and every page! I am Bruce Stirling John Knox!

As I sat in the shade of the trees, violating sacred scripture, the sun came out again, and all seemed right with this degenerate fucking world. But beauty was only perfect when it was forced to suffer something truly fucking awful. Yet did the clouds part and the angels come down to confront my cursing of Moses? No! No one fucking cared. Because no one fucking knew exactly what I was doing out there. All those happy fucking families down in the parking lot licking their fattening fucking ice cream in the sunshine had no clue as to what that guy on the hilltop was really up to. Give me what you hold dear, and I will contaminate your daughters. Trust me. I'm fucking charming. And they're all whores anyway!

By the time I reached Leviticus, those creeping winds had chilled me through to my bones, so I walked away Scot-free, as if I had just murdered a sleeping infant in some third-world slum where law and order was a myth afforded by none. I knew that I had more exploring to do. The ridge behind the hotel was calling me. I could smell sacrilege burning in my veins. God's hatred for mankind lives through me! There is nothing precious! I shit on your fear of god!

However, when I got back to my room, I was shivering. Not from the cold but from withdrawal. Not psychological withdrawal from my ex abandoning me, no. Withdrawal from sex. It was Friday and I hadn't fornicated since Sunday. I was getting the shakes! Finding some photos on my laptop of the nineteen-year-old from Hamburg, I masturbated while staring hard into her adoring eyes. She wanted it. They all did. They couldn't help it. Just like I couldn't. And I smiled. Sadistically. Thinking of her. How we fucked. I already called her 'mine'. Yet she was just like every other lover, not mine and never was! Value was merely whatever I fucking made it. You're mine only if I want you. But that didn't mean she would ever submit fully. Even though she already had. I love fresh meat.

At dinner, I discovered that the building had come to life. It was a safe bet that the hotel's tavern was the only venue for miles that any old prick could get a hot meal and something cold to drink. One of the Eastern European waitresses took me to the last available table, where I noticed a new girl behind the bar. She was petite, shy-looking, with her mousy-brown hair in a ponytail.

After dinner I ordered another pot of Earl Grey, and the new girl brought it into the lounge for me. She placed the pot on the coffee table with a mischievous smirk as she looked me straight in the eye. I guess I wasn't like the usual type of patron that they had around these parts. Yet, glancing at all the antlers mounted on the walls, I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn't so different from the locals. Trophies are trophies.

ENTRY 5.

I just got back to the hotel. It's after midnight. And pissing with rain. I think I'm beginning to like it here.

After my pot of tea, I grabbed my Bible, and hiked up a steep, zig-zagging trail behind the hotel. Following the path that led upward in a north-eastern direction, I left the beaten track and ignored the warning signs.

The woodland got fucking intense. Some of the places between the trunks were blacker than pitch. So, I stared into every abyss with welcoming fucking eyes. It was the fallen trees with their up-torn roots that seems to harbor the darkest nooks. Dead trees had disgraced tendrils hanging over ugly orifices in that moss-saturated earth. Moss was common place, for this land was too inhospitable for any grass to grow.

After a decent trek, I found myself upon the exposed peck of the ridge. It had casually taken an hour to reach that summit, but the view over the loch was worth the climb. Up there, I watched the setting sun at 10pm. Not another human being was anywhere to hear a scapegoat scream. I hadn't been this isolated since I got lost in the forest north of Berlin, eight years ago. Maybe I've never been this alone. The wind was cool on my face, and I wanted nothing more than to stay right where I was.

But like they say, what goes up, must get his fucking ass back down the mountain before it gets so dark that he gets lost, and then stumbles off a fucking cliff, never to be seen again. On my way down that overgrown trail, I was annoyed that there were no public benches anywhere that I might sit upon and continue my violation of the Holy Bible. But soon I discovered how dark those shaded stretches of the woods could become at this time of night. Black and foreboding as fuck! I walked on with a psychotic grin across my manic teeth. How at home in that emptiness I found myself. Alive with spite, I tempted fate while I spat in the face of devils lurking in the unseen absence of illumination. Yet I could see them all! They were part of me! I was surrounded by myself and my own imprisoning hostility. I fucking hated them all for not ripping my head off my fucking shoulders! Then I suddenly saw something! Something further down that twisted path. A weird shape. An erect form. What the fuck was it? I continued moving closer. Then I recognized that I was confronting little more than a woodland dear. The creature darted backward a few yards at the sight of a man's off-colored teeth. Was this the worst that the forest could conjure up? Then that little thing shot up the hillside and was instantly lost among insidious shadows that enshrouded everything around me.

I'd been listening to my headphones playing Tool the whole way up the ridge, and just as the song Opiate came on, I felt the first droplets of rain upon my head. I had been growing my hair for last two weeks, and now it was soft on my palm as I ran my hand over my scalp and down my face – when a figure appeared on the path. It was the bar-girl from the hotel. Sweet fucking temptation had once again come to lead me astray. We walked up to each other, meeting at a narrow path that headed away to my left, toward the loch.

"You lost?" she asked, with that sexy fucking Scottish accent.

"Do I look it?"

"You're the tea-drinker. Everyone's wondering why you haven't touched the single malt yet."

"Everyone?"

"The girls were talking about you in the kitchen before I left this evening. I like your tattoos." She paused, taking half a step to her side, "Oh. I see. You're a man of god. Since when did priests not drink? Oh, gosh! I'm sorry father. I didn't mean nothing by it."

I guess being dressed all in black and holding a Bible really did make me seem somewhat type-cast.

"You better watch your step, father. Once it starts to rain this track can be the death of you."

"Please... Don't call me that."

And then, just like that, the rain came.

I hunched and began walking off without another word from my raspy throat.

"Wait, father!" The girl glanced at the Bible in my tattooed hand. She hesitated for another moment, and then smiled warmly (did I mention her teeth had braces). "Come on. Come with me. I'm staying nearby. It's safer than risking getting washed away."

She hurried down the private footpath to my left, as the rain hammered through the canopy of pines and whatever the fuck those enormous trees were.

"It's set in for the night!" she called back. "Come on, father! Quickly!"

The last lines of Opiate echoed through my thoughts, as I tucked my headphones into my jacket pocket: "My god's will becomes me. When he speaks, he speaks through me. He has needs, like I do. We both want to rape you."

So, the little waitress led me around the hillside, while I focused on her tight ass in black jeans. My loathing toward women was only matched by my attraction. And then I looked up as a pale monolith appeared through those prison-bars of dead trees. Putting it simply, there was a castle on the side of that steep valley. Well, no, it wasn't exactly a castle, but a three-story mansion fashioned with towers, spires, and battlements. There were grand bay-windows topped with countless chimneys upon a macabre roof. The place looked like it had been abandoned for at least a hundred years. Vines choked the entire backside of the house as if they were slowly pulling the very building into the guts of hill. A sharp granite cliff dropped off from the edge of a narrow front garden, displaying a splendid view over the glen and the loch. Even though I had been higher on the summit, it wasn't until here that I really appreciated how far up I had traveled. That sheer drop made me stay to the backside of the leaf-clogged gravel path, but I nearly tripped over a strewn statue of some defaced Greek beauty. The little waitress laughed at me and skipped up the stone steps to the front balcony and entrance. The key she used looked like a small medieval weapon, yet the solid oak door swung open like it weighed nothing. Before I stepped inside, I noticed that above the doorway was a speckled slab of rock with the statement, The Old Grahams. Huh, and I thought of what my aunt had told me about my grandmother's side of the family.

"Father?"

Ignoring the little waitress, I turned slowly, glaring down at the loch. Huge clouds were drowning the mountains with misty curtains of rain sweeping over the land in slow motion. Ah, this was the Scotland that I had anticipated: dismal!

"Father?"

"My name... Is Bruce," I sneered, yet found that the girl had vanished somewhere within that gloomy interior. Only her jacket lay dumped in the middle of the wooden floor. I remained on the doorstep, watching as the little waitress returned with a lit candle. Candles? For fuck's sake! She moved to a corner in that large open space and fiddled with a fuse box on the wall, and then, let there be light! We had electricity again. Thank fuck! Stepping inside, I shut the front door, when I was suddenly struck by how much I was going to miss my ex in these next six months. The duration I'd have to wait for any feelings of attachment to suffocate and die. Just like leaving mice in an airtight jar, all you have to do is neglect them. It's worked with all my other girls. And in six months from now, she will mean little more than holes that I used to fuck. "So, what's your name, kid?" I asked, wiping the rain from my face, but again that little waitress had disappeared. I stood still, examining the reddish color of the floor's woodwork. It was a dirty honey texture. The wallpaper was black-green with gold details. Black and white etchings and photographs hung among old rifles and animal-head trophies. Nice place.

"Would you like a tea?"

"Sure," I slyly replied, turning left where I saw the girl sticking her head around a doorway. Stepping closer, I stared right back into her pretty eyes – until she glanced at my Bible again, and then she ducked behind the wall. Fucking kids.

The next room was like the entrance and had a two-levels-high ceiling. There was a library at the far end and a grand piano next to several leather sofas, so naturally I sat at the piano. Lush scarlet drapes were tided back yet still obscured half the view of the loch. I placed my Bible face-down on the lid of the piano, as cups clattered from another corridor. Scanning the dusty furniture, I eventually gazed at the batteries of rain clawing at the tall windows.

Shortly, the little waitress and I sat at the piano sipping on piping hot black tea – without any milk or fucking sugar! I hid my frustration well. Her name was Rachel. Twenty-two. From somewhere I can't remember and didn't care to. She was baby-sitting this house during her holidays, while she also worked at the hotel, and wrote a paper for her studies on the relocation of wind-farms in Great Britain. Maybe it was her braces, but she looked half her age in the dimly lit library. A leopard skin covered a portion of the piano where thick gold-framed photos of hunters with dead animals made me ask more about the building. She didn't have much to say: an historical house kept in some Trust. I soon spotted a row of scars on Rachel's left forearm. She was another troubled female who had slashed herself up in her teens. If only I had a dollar for every girl I've met with this exact same story.

"What happened to your voice, father?" she asked. "Too much yelling at the congregation?"

I looked away as if she had just slapped me across the face. Staring at a dead grandfather clock, I wondered how long its pendulum could swing before it needed winding. There's no such thing as perpetual motion. Everything decays.

"You're not like ministers I've met before," Rachel pushed. "Maybe they do things differently in Berlin. You like it there? Got a large folk under your wing?"

"Kid, no one ever listens."

"Just like you don't answer direct questions."

Rolling my jaw, I lifted the lid of the piano. I can't play, but I still softly pressed the odd random key, listening to the timid tone purr within that empty space around us. Notes that faded into the echoes of the rain.

"So? Have you had a crisis of faith?"

Even though I was facing the piano, I could feel her eyes stroking my right ear. "No, not at all. The polar opposite in fact."

"Ah, so you're refreshing your convictions." She leaned her elbow upon the edge of the black wood, resting her head while she watched me. Glancing at her, I listened as she continued talking, "What's it like? Being you? I mean, with your take on how the world works, despite most everyone having modern technology and information, with science free for all to see. How do you maintain your belief system at all?"

"How old is the human species?" I interjected.

"A few million years, at a guess."

"Why don't you know exactly? The information is out there. Why don't you know exactly and in detail everything already discovered and perfectly measured?!" I demanded, when I heard a creaking noise coming from another doorway.

"You admit taking advantage of people's ignorance?"

"We're all being played by someone." I glared at the door as the creaking became louder. "It's all a fucking game."

"That's a funny attitude for a holy man."

"When the fuck did I ever say that I was holy?"

"Ah, see. You are having a crisis of faith. Don't you think you're good enough?"

"You're confusing me with my ex."

"Ex? Ex-girlfriend?" Rachel slowly sat back. "So, you're allowed to... You know..."

"Be a sodomite?"

"Well, you know what they say about priests," she smirked, but then put one hand on my shoulder and the other over her mouth in embarrassment, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Really, that's incredibly inappropriate of me. I do apologize."

Leaning in close, I looked her in the eyes and slowly said, "I... Forgive... You..." And I think I genuinely grinned for the first time since I had been on this fuck-up of a vacation.

"You're not what I was expecting," she whispered, pulling her hair out of the ponytail. That distant groaning noise then turned into rattling, and Rachel finally noticed my distraction. "Don't worry about that, it's nothing. Literally, it's nothing. I couldn't find where it's coming from when I first arrived. Just ignore it."

I'd rather ignore her wet clothes as I focused back on her glistening collar bones. Her throat was slender and milky. I could see it split open to her spine, like a bleeding vagina, gushing all over my fingers.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced, standing up as she pulled her shirt out of her jeans. I glared at her exposed belly right in front of me as she unbuttoned her shirt while still eye-fucking my silence.

"Don't forget to wash out your filthy mouth," I hissed. "And behind your ears."

She smiled, then didn't as she came ever so slightly closer, arching over me. I could smell her skin, her perfume, and her breath. Then she spun and strut away. I didn't blink once as I watched her go.

I sat for a long time staring at the rain on the windows. There was nothing else worth doing.

Until that creaking noise came back again. It was drawn out and gradual but fucking persistent. I rose to my feet and went straight toward the sound, heading into a thin dark corridor. Around a bend. Up a few steps. Another corner or three. And suddenly I had lost all orientation. There were doors everywhere, so I grabbed at one. Locked. The next. Locked. All of them were locked. Then that noise again. Fuck it. I kept going. Turning a corner, I came to a large staircase bathed in impenetrable shadows. Wait a second, that noise wasn't getting any louder, it was a constant crackle at a maintained proximity. I studied the stairs with their intricate woodwork, when the noise slipped away. Above the staircase there was a large rosary window on the next landing, rimmed with creepers. The wind was battering this backside of house even louder as the trees scratched at the walls. Surveying the area, I took another passageway. Things were either pitch black, or barely silhouettes against dull shades of ebony. But onward I went. Slowly finding myself in utter darkness. My hands reached cautiously forward. Calm and curious. Then a wall. No, a door. Found a handle. It wasn't locked, but it was jammed. Putting my shoulder into it, I incrementally shoved that cunt open – and I stepped back into the main entrance of the house. Glancing about bitterly, I wondered how I had ended up on the opposite side of the building from where I had begun.

A scream!

Turning my head to the right, I scowled up the main staircase. I could hear Rachel calling out, saying something muffled. Up I went, but I ran for no one. On the first-floor landing, I saw light from a doorway down a corridor. There, steam came spilling out. I tapped on the dark wood of the door. "You okay in there?"

Another shriek, followed by, "Oh, Christ! You scared the shit out of me!" Rachel yanked open the bathroom door, while holding a massive white towel over her breasts. I looked her up and down as I leaned against the door frame, admiring her still wet thighs and hips. Then she smiled, "The hot water died on me, that's all. Gave me a terrific fright."

She turned her back on me and started drying her hair. For the love of fuck, she stood butt naked, and I took a good long fucking look.

"Here, hold this." I heard her say, but I was already walking back toward the main staircase. Something then caught my eye. Something that moved. There was another door party ajar. Staring at it, I approached, though, heard nothing. Yeah, it was just my fucking imagination. So, I went to the library, collected my Bible, and was about to leave, right when Rachel came down the stairs in a long gray pullover and nothing else. "Don't you want another cup of tea?"

I had the front door in my grasp but paused. There was something desperate in her voice.

"It's not safe out there," she insisted. "Please, stay the night."

"Thanks for the tea. You have a good night now." And I walked out.

This is the first time I have ever gone on vacation with an umbrella, yet the only time that I really needed the fucking thing, and it's not with me! Cunt! I had one final moment of hesitation as the cold rain sunk into my scarf, and I pictured images of what Rachel's warm body would look like pressed hard against a bed as I fucked her flat – but then something was in my way! I squinted through the dark rain and stopped where I was. It was a big black highland cattle. It looked like a great bull with its wide horns hunched low as it slowly exhaled through the cold downpour. I have no idea what it was doing up there, but what the fuck do I know, these cattle are probably let loose to roam wherever the fuck they like on the mountains. And it stood right in the middle of the footpath glaring at me. I grinned, and held my hands out wide, welcoming it. I've always wanted to go head to head with a fucking bull. Hopefully it might drive one of its massive horns right through my fucking rib-cage and pin me to a fucking tree. However, all it did was snort, before moving on up into the woods. Fucking chickenshit!

Eventually, I made it back to the hotel in one piece. But who would have thought that it was harder coming down a mountain than going up.

Thinking of Rachel and our serendipitous encounter, I needed to remind myself of why I had left her there alone. Because it was pure luck that our paths had crossed! Nothing special! Without meaning nor relevance. We just happened to meet. A random coincidence. And she just wanted to fuck. I was human-filler to her. If I had been in a better mood, I'd have seen nothing wrong with a spot of spontaneous fornication. But she simply fueled my fucking antipathy for human emptiness. We are nothing but meat! The only question however, was how much longer could I tolerate the taste of their skin before I had to eat them alive?

ENTRY 6.

Saturday has been the coldest day so far. Had a pot of Earl Grey for breakfast. Rachel had served me with a smile as if nothing had happened last night. But then again, nothing had happened.

I then went for a walk past the graveyard, toward the shores of the loch. This time I headed down a different path to the left, into the grounds of a private property where I found a farm house. So, I turned right and went down the hillside, making my way through the trees to the loch.

Moving past a couple of ponds of murky water, I came to a tiny fishing cabin on the water's edge. I was pleased to find a table made from a large slab of stone right next to the shore where a healthy-looking rowboat was chained up and bobbing in a small stone marina.

Taking a seat, I continued my desecration of the Bible.

The wind blew straight off the loch and soon brought in light showers. Yet I persisted with my work. What more could I fucking ask for on my vacation, but the cold wet indifference of the fucking universe. I was like a pig in shit.

Later, I walked further along the side of the loch, heading north. I wasn't going to stroll all the way to the next township in the weak rain, but I kept going for a lack of anything better to do with my fucking time. There was an open area of sloped grass, like a slender field with the woods on both sides and the highway up to my left. The stretch of grass led slowly into welcoming pines. Soon I found that the way had become an overgrown dirt road, that then turned into a muddy foot path, and eventually I was without a guide at all as I walked straight into the unadulterated wilderness. Again, I considered that if I simply laid down and died, would anyone even find my corpse this decade. No one knew exactly where I was. Another stupid fucking tourist gets lost and is presumed eaten by the monster. What a shame. Crowd weeps. Boo-fucking-hoo.

I got back to the hotel about 4pm. Had a pot of tea and was sitting in the lounge when a van of guys pulled into the front parking lot. Then I saw Rachel leaving. Her shift must have been over. One of the young guys grabbed Rachel by the shoulders and they both laughed about something. When he stepped inside, I heard him call back to her, "Yeah, cold hands but I got a warm heart."

This kind of approval-seeking bullshit always makes the bile burn at the back of my throat. I sipped on my tea and stared out the window as Rachel turned, glancing straight back at me. Her hair wasn't brown, it was actually slightly red. She's a fucking ginger! Soulless whore of Satan! She then hurried up to the outside of the window and said to me, "Come over later. I'll get milk and sugar for your tea this time."

I smiled without emotion and nodded reluctantly.

Sitting on the floor of my room, I continued ritualistically defacing the Holy Bible. One page at a time. Quote after quote. Violent slaughter after immoral justification. God is only as great as he is abominable!

Later, I went down by the river. Standing in the woods, I questioned the meaninglessness of dying alone in the wild. Yet people die every day in the city with just as much disregard. Death goes unnoticed until the stink seeps through the walls. Alone in the country or alone surrounded by millions, it makes no difference. When the end comes, it's all about how you fucking perceive it. But fuck this death-obsession! I came here of my own choice, therefore I'm still alive! However, what the fuck have I learned from this retreat? That I need to focus! Become the worst I can truly fucking be!

After dinner, I did some reading, and then continued committing sacrilege in the peace and quiet of my room. It's all starting to look much better.

I took a moment to write this, and then I'll put on my jacket and head up the north ridge to The Old Grahams place – so that I can finally find out what Rachel's tongue tastes like.

ENTRY 7.

There were more low hanging clouds about the glen this evening, and the further up the ridge I went, the lower the clouds came down to greet me. Why hadn't I brought my fucking umbrella this time?! Though, soon I made my way down that shaded path splitting off from the main trail before any rain came. The moment I glimpsed that giant house through the windy pines, I stopped. And turned. That black bull was standing behind me and growling. I didn't think bulls could sound like that. But I gave it the middle finger and spat in its general fucking direction. "Come on then, try something you fucking piece of shit!" But it didn't. So, I walked on, wondering where the fuck the bull had come from so quickly?

As I rapped my knuckles against that formidable front door, the deluge burst forth from those howling gales. Punching at the door until lights come on, I impatiently held my breath as the bolt was drawn back.

"Oh, you poor thing. Come in, come in, father," Rachel exclaimed, tugging at my arm. "Would you like a towel?"

We moved to the library, where Rachel had a desk set up with her laptop and a lamp. She grabbed a tartan blanket that was hanging over her armchair as we sat on a sofa near the windows.

"You always carry your Bible wherever you go?"

"It's a great way to pick up chicks in the woods."

Rachel faked her shock. "You're very forward, aren't you."

"Is that a question?"

"I don't know. I've never... Not with a priest."

"That makes one of us."

She looked even more horrified. "You mean you were..."

"Hasn't everyone?"

"Well, I don't have a penis."

"That makes two of us."

This time she smiled. "You're fucking with me, aren't you."

"Not yet."

She pathetically shoved me in the chest, whispering, "Maybe I should call you daddy instead of father."

I burst out laughing at that one. "If you get me an Earl Grey with milk and four sugars, you can call me Uncle Fingers for all I care."

In the kitchen, I watched the rain pound the overgrown windows panes. The kettle had just boiled when I glanced at Rachel. She stood with her back to me, staring into a blackened corridor. Casually stepping up beside her, I tilted my head toward that absolute darkness. There was nothing there. Fuck this. I stepped into the corridor – Rachel immediately grabbed my wrist. Looking me in the eyes, she smiled nervously at my aggravation.

"Water's ready!" She dropped my wrist, laughing faintly. "Cup of tea?"

Back in the library, Rachel and I chatted about places far from here, and subjects that were more entertaining than intelligent. It got on for 11pm when I suggested that I leave before it got too dark again.

"No. Stay. There are plenty of beds."

"All depends on if I get the best one."

"Which one's that?"

"The one you're in."

She didn't look impressed.

"The power of Christ compels me," I added, and we both laughed anxiously at the lameness of my comment. "Yeah, I should go."

"No! Really, I want you – to stay," she insisted, and then suddenly straddled me! Before I knew it, she had her tongue down my throat. Well, okay then. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, I was fucking her against those big windows. She stood, legs wide, her elbows and face pressed to the glass as I pounded her from behind. Nice view, if you know what I mean. And she was a screamer. It was a good thing that no one else was in the house, or anywhere on the hillside for that matter. So, scream, bitch, scream! Louder! Harder! Longer! Fucking scream!

I came while yanking back on her ponytail and saw something that I couldn't honestly be sure of. Something outside the window. My first impression said that it was a person, but then logic argued that it was merely the wind in the trees. It was just a distortion of my post-sex, blurred vision. Whatever it had been, it had my attention despite the naked ass of that little waitress right in my hands. Though, not for long, as after I took the condom off, Rachel dropped to her knees and sucked my dick clean like a trained professional. With her braces reflecting the golden lamp light, I couldn't help enjoying that view of perverted innocence. Tick that fantasy off my list of shit to do before I die.

In an upstairs bathroom, while Rachel was showering, I took her eyeliner and looked in the mirror. There I proceeded to draw on my forehead, the Egyptian hieroglyphs for The King Of The North And The South. As above so below. I am the imbalance pendulum.

When Rachel stepped out of the shower, she must have seen the big black pentagram tattooed across my back for the first time as she froze dead still. "What kind of priest are you?"

"The unholy kind."

"You... You make no sense whatsoever."

"You're not the first, and you won't be the last, to say so."

"Father, you definitely weren't a virgin the way you fucked me. Ouch."

"Tell it to a priest or someone who gives a damn," I hissed with a grin. Turning away from the mirror, I reached out and took Rachel's hand, ignoring her confusion at the symbols on my forehead.

Back in Rachel's small and depressing bedroom, I laid her on the bed, spread her legs wide open, and then used the eyeliner pencil to draw a large sun-disk around her vagina with the wings of a vulture stretching all the way down the inside of both of her thighs. I used up the whole pencil filling in the details and black snakes, and then I took her red lipstick and painted her entire genitalia within the sun-disk. Here was the one true god worth worshiping. Worship and violate. You cannot have one without the other. The divine contradiction. To hate what you want! What the fuck is wrong with me? I then fucked her again. Paying penance to the holiest of holes. For I am the serpent just as she is the vulture. The red and white crowns worn as one upon the head of the son of Osiris. But I am Bruce Stirling John Knox, so I fucked that pretty little waitress in her asshole just to deny the importance of her cunt! Coat me in your shit and let me smell the fucking waste of your rotten insides!

Rachel passed out almost immediately after I was done with her tight rectum. I however, wasn't tired in the slightest. So, I let her lie, and headed back downstairs, with make-up smeared all over my sweaty flesh. Returning to the darkened library, I grabbed my Bible, selected five candles, and then sat cross-legged in the middle of a large Persian rug. I lit each candle, placing them in a circle around my person, and there I continued desecrating the Bible while the storm screamed throughout that ill-gotten night.

Fuck god!

Hail thy-fucking-self!

I made it to Psalms by two in the morning. The rain had mostly blown itself out by then, but the wind was relentless. I stumbled back up to Rachel's distant bedroom – only to find the fucking door was locked! Well, don't I feel like a denied whore! Wandering naked, I once again found that all the other doors were bolted shut. It felt as though my consciousness was floating disembodied, as I walked through such darkness. Unable to see my own feet, it seemed like my vision was adrift in vacuums of neglect. Until the path led into a random room upon the third floor. Ancient furniture stood in the morbid glow from the slithers of windows. That's if you could even call it a glow. The night outside was only slightly less blackened than it was in there with me. I stepped up to the drapes and rested my head against the dusty cloth. The landscape outside was indistinguishable from a world of coal. Everything below had forsaken the lights of civilization, just as above, the restless sky hung utterly hopeless. That was when I saw them! Down there in the shallow garden next to the edge of the cliff, I saw figures! Individuals standing in a circle. Despite the sheer black, I was very much aware that they were all staring straight back at me. And then I smiled. Statues. Of course, they were just statues. No one ever sees me in here.

BOOM!

I twisted. Waiting. Listening. Nothing.

BOOM!

What the fuck was that shit?!

BOOM!

It was coming from downstairs!

I moved toward the door – when suddenly a loud snarl rose from behind another door to my left. It then rattled violently as something slammed against the other side! Unconsciously, I lunged at the shuddering door, yelling as loud as my broken larynx would vent, "Go fuck yourself!" The door went silent. So, I grabbed the handle – when what sounded like a dog began growling from behind. The door was locked, but I punched at it out of pure intolerance! Being as naked as a sinner, I stood stroking the paneling with my hand while listening to that thing as it clawed at the other side. I then proceeded to take a piss on the floor. The puddle extended under the barrier between us, clearly marking my fucking territory. In turn, the grunting slowly faded.

BOOM!

That distant sound was like something really fucking heavy being dropped on something wooden that wasn't handling the stress. As if a giant battering ram was trying to free itself from some place rather unpleasant. It echoed all about the house as I marched back the way that I thought I had come. I quickly found however, I was nowhere familiar. The mansion was a fucking labyrinth. It seemed like the old house had had extensions built onto the original foundations, thereby leaving uneven hallways and strangely low ceilings. I soon found myself where several different generations of extensions had come together, but that still didn't explain why this section of the architecture was so utterly fucked. I went down and around a claustrophobic passageway, then up a step, over a bump, around a stone pillar, past a crack of a window, ducked under an arch, tripped over my own two feet, and then kissed the fucking floor!

Getting to my knees, I spotted another doorway further along that tunnel that opened of its own accord. Crawling to my feet, I stomped toward the door, just as it slammed shut right in my face! I grabbed the doorknob and bashed that cunt wide open – only to be struck by a freezing wind. A broken window sneered at me from where a branch had long ago penetrated the house. Shaking my head, I was about to walk away, when a glint of light bounced off something on the wall. I took a moment. It was a dagger. A Sgian-dubh. The kind Scotsmen kept tucked in their sock. My father once had a collection of the nasty looking knives. I should have kept them after his death. So, I took this one instead.

Somehow, I found the central staircase, and when I made it to the front door, I heard that BOOM once more! It was coming from the library! I unsheathed that short blade and walked calmly to where my clothes still lay with Rachel's bra and panties. But there was no sign of anything causing such a noise. No, there was something different. The clocks were all ticking. I stood right next to the grandfather clock as I slowly looked about that darkened space. There must have been half a dozen hand-wound clocks now ticking at different intervals and with various intensities. Maybe I had just never noticed them earlier. Rachel had probably wound the clocks before I arrived this evening. Seemed logical. Fuck it. Who gives a shit about clocks. So, I went to grab my pants – when that thing crashed down right behind me with a deafening explosion! BOOM!

It was the fucking grandfather clock! It shattered upon impact with the floor as if it had been dropped from the second level! I cringed and backed the fuck away as that tall coffin-like case splintered apart like a tree struck by invisible lightning. My brain was really straining to come up with any kind of fucking rational explanation for this little motherfucker. Though ultimately, I knew there was only one fucking culprit.

I went storming up the main staircase and found Rachel's bedroom door was wide open. Stepping inside, I found her 'asleep'. Yeah, right! I ripped her blanket away, and saw her lying face-down, spread-eagle. I loved that ass of hers. Creeping up over her, I had my knees on either side of her warm hips. I still had the knife in my hand as I glared at her pale skin. Her face was lying on its left side. Pushing my left palm firmly against her skull, I placed the tip of the blade against her tender throat. It was so easy. Just apply a fraction more pressure. But she slept on. Her breathing was slow and deep. REM sleep. I was disgusted. This explains and excuses nothing! And then I don't know what happened. The room grew even darker. It was as if a black cloud filled the air. An abominable blindness that was wretched and full of rage. And I loved it. Maybe I was blacking out. Yet I could feel the blackness breathing upon my skin.

I woke up the next morning and found myself alone in Rachel's bed. To my surprise, there was no blood anywhere, despite the dreams I'd had and the fact that my knife was still in my hand. Dreams that were golden with atrocity.

-

A couple of hours later, on Sunday morning, I typed this in the hotel lounge. From here I can see Rachel in the dining room as I sip on my tea. She glanced at me as if I was any other guest. But of course, that's all I am. I'm just another magician in hermit's clothing, though, I can still smell her cunt on my fingertips. My only regret from this vacation is that I didn't take a single photograph of Rachel. I wish I had recorded a video of her licking my erection while staring longingly into my fucking eyes.

ENTRY 8.

It's after 9pm this Sunday evening. I'm sitting in the hotel lounge while two Russian-sounding bar-girls chat on Skype, as a third waitress browses Ebay. There had always been Wi-fi available at the hotel, but I've had no interest in connecting to the outside world with any of its past associations. Only when in complete isolation from all reputations and illusions of external expectations can you walk with your own true-will. Or as another wise man once said, "Be yourself, by yourself." I am vile and loathsome and repugnant to the core. And I find it all quite superb. Patience and social politeness are lies. Truth is ugly in its smothering entirety. So, I delight in the lies, but relish the underlining obscenities kept hidden. Kept safe. Kept tucked away. Kept to myself.

I spent the day focused on defiling the Holy Bible. Sitting on the broken bridge, I busied my scornful little self. A few random tourists and the odd pensioner happened by, but how could they know what I was really doing.

It began to rain at one point, so I moved under the cover of trees, and continued my violations. Whether you stand face to face, or alone in the woods, your demons are your own to deal with. But who ultimately reigns over whom? This was not what I had hoped this vacation would become, but capricious experiences are always intriguing with the process of how I will deal with the situation. Left to myself, I saw all others as hosts to victimize. For they always will, and always have, left me alone to rot.

I had some shortbread for lunch, and then continued with my disciplined desecration of the Holy Bible in my peaceful room without intrusion.

At just after 6pm, I reached the New Testament, so I took a break.

Rachel served me dinner. After which, I skimmed through the photos in my smartphone. Ah, all those pretty girls I've had fun with. Glancing out the dining room windows at the mountain forest, I realized that I would have no time to scale the south-side mountain. I had other plans once the tainting the Bible was complete. There's always more to do. And then I noticed one of the other waitresses: blonde with big tits. See, there's always more.

While sitting comfortably in the lounge, I listened to Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds, And No More Shall We Part, and came to appreciate how appropriate that song was for my time at the loch. Yet how many times have I felt this empty sensation in my chest brought on by someone that I had once loved. Loved and lost. I must remind myself that she never made me feel anything, only I affect myself! We were always apart and never together, even when I was inside of her.

Anger is a better construct than sadness! I had no time and no use for sadness, so I returned to my room to spite Matthew, Mark, Luke, and fucking John. Fuck you all!

ENTRY 9.

Ten minutes before my last midnight at the loch, I finished The Great Indignation – of the Holy Bible.

I got dressed and walked straight out of the hotel into another indigo night. The street was wet while the sky was overcast, though, nowhere near as black as the woods. I passed the graveyard with a sneer of growing belligerence and reached that last street lamp at the crest of the road. It was all downhill from there. Down to the endarkened loch. I couldn't wait to see the surface of the water in the absence of sunlight. Onward I marched with the Bible firm in hand. The further I went down the road, the more my contempt boiled in my chest. Memories filled my head of when I was seventeen and walking home in the small hours with absolutely nothing to look forward to. It was quiet all around. No birds, no bugs, just the wind rustling in those fucking trees that loomed everywhere about me. Soon I marched down that driveway leading off from the road, past that white mansion of stone, and onward with devils whispering in my ear – when suddenly something lurched within the bushes to my left! Instinctively I snapped sideways with clenched fists as I slammed both feet hard onto the gravel! Glaring savagely into that impenetrable forest, I snorted through flared teeth, as I heard that thing run off through the dry leaves and up into the hill. It didn't go far. I wanted to fucking kill it! I didn't know what it was, but I wanted it dead by my own two bloody hands! Disappointed, I became fucking enraged that that thing, that threat, that physical-metaphor had just run the fuck away. So, I continued stomping down the driveway until I came to that other dirt road leading directly to the water's edge.

There she lay, pale and shimmering. Loch Ness by night. With no one else keeping us company, I knew she was all mine. For these things I must do by myself. See for myself. In order to make them mine. Make her mine!

I opened the Holy Bible and flicked through each and every page. There I witnessed my handy work in the meek light. Simply another worthless act of sacrilege produced by my own devices. Yet these acts were not worthless if value was made meaningful by the very motivation behind the commitment. It was important to none other than myself. Crouching on the hushed shoreline of the loch, I cupped the water in my right hand, and then held that indignant Bible upside-down in my left. Thus, I baptized it with spite!

These things I do to myself. And once it's done, I am still here. Why do you climb a mountain? To see the view, but mostly to see what you've done with yourself. Looking over the loch, I saw things in my head. Things I knew weren't there. Things not of this world. Devils of my own invoking. There may have been no Loch Ness monster, but there were undeniably beasts that swam within myself! I then whispered, "Does this change me? Does this change me? Does this change me?!" Expecting the very water itself to answer, I heard instead, only the trees. I knew I would never see this place again, so turned my back on the water's edge with hatred saturating my every breath. Marching back up the driveway, I glared at those blackened woods and listen for unknown things hidden in their depth. But nothing came. And I knew, I knew it in my fucking bones, that it is they who were now afraid of me! "I am the son of man! I am the son of man! I am the son of man!" I kept repeating over and over with venom. My hands gripped that corrupted Bible so tight that I wanted to beat a fucking saint to death with it! Slowly scanning the tree trunks, I needed something to challenge me! I wanted some-terrible-fucking-thing to try and rip me limb from limb! Any-fucking-thing at all! But in my lucid mind, I knew that there was absolutely nothing threatening out there for me. For I am the son of man, and it is nature that is timid! I was the worst thing in that fucking glen – a human-fucking-being! And that infuriated me no end! "This is not my home! I don't have a fucking home!" I spat resentfully. Returning to the main road, I continued muttering incessantly, "I am the son of man! I am the son of man! Man: god's one true regret!"

Eventually, I reached that street lamp next to the graveyard. My body was shaking with a rage, and I realized that tears were running down my cheeks. I guess they're right about anger being the same as sadness. I owed honesty only to myself. But I was so pissed off, that I couldn't even fucking walk straight! Stumbling up the parking lot, I took a seat on the front porch of the dead calm hotel. Collecting my thoughts, I was fucking livid! Why hadn't god struck me down? Why hadn't I just walked into the fucking loch and never turned back? Because there was always more to do! So what other personal atrocities could I do to my own piece of shit soul? What more torment could I put myself through? And I spoke aloud again, "Does this change me? Yes! 'Cause there is nothing else beyond me! There is nothing beyond me! There is nothing beyond what I fucking perceive!" There is nothing out there that is not just a projection of my mind! There is no sin that I deem offensive! No virtue that I see exempt from reproach! I am, after all: the fucking son of man! Just like all of you – wickedness born of flesh! Innocence and purity were put here to be abashed! Dignity was a porcelain mask worn by a child-whore after her plump lips had been cut off and stapled around her anus so that we could all make-believe that sodomizing her was just as glorious as ejaculating down her pubescent peach fuzz! Everyday lies were what we all told ourselves in order to rationalize the sheer enormity of our immoral fucking existence! You say, 'lies'. I say, 'lip gloss'.

Returning to my room, I typed up these recollections while my eyes dried out. And then my phone rang. It was Rachel. She sounded as if she was crying and begged me to pick her up from The Old Grahams house. It was 1:32am by then. If this was a booty call, she didn't exactly sound horny. However, after my fuming midnight pilgrimage, I had no inclination for sleep. Women: my worst weakness!

ENTRY 10.

It's just gone 11am on Monday morning. I have already checked-out of my room and I'm sitting in the hotel lounge typing this up. Outside there are brief moments of sunshine which continually fade behind those ever-returning clouds. I have two hours before I catch the bus back to Inverness, where I'll travel by train to Edinburgh. But all I can think about, is what happened last night.

After my midnight at the loch, Rachel phoned sounding frantic. However: a crying female is a lying female! Yet still, I went up to see what the fucking problem was, out of sheer insomnia. I'd become quite familiar with the steep path up the mountainside in the pitch black. There was no rain this time. But, it seemed as though The Old Grahams place was constantly being battered by gales, no matter what the hour. And there I found Rachel dressed in little more than a singlet, panties, and socks, huddling outside the house next to the drooping trees.

"Cold enough for you?" I asked, as she ran into my arms, trembling and sobbing. I remained unresponsive to her insecurities. Slowly, I pulled my jacket off and put it over her shoulders as she clung to me for dear life. She was fucking petrified. I had one of those relative moments of reflection: as a kid I always admired my father for being a rock of fearless certainty. Whenever I was frightened out of mind, I knew that he was laughing at my terror. Now I was finally filling his shoes.

"Please, take me away," Rachel whispered. "I can't go back in there. Please!"

Perplexed, I glanced up at the lightless building.

"Please! Let's just go. Please!"

Looking at Rachel's socks, and knowing the murderous path I had just scaled, I replied, "Do I look like I'm going to carry your ass all the way down? Where are your shoes, for fuck's sake? And for that matter, where the fuck are your pants? What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Please!" she strained to keep her voice down.

"Fine, you stay out here. I'll get your stinking shoes – but I'm taking it out on your ass later–"

"No!" She grabbed me tighter.

Impatiently clenching my jaw, I glared at the loch far below.

"It's... I... I just can't... Don't...," she stuttered incoherently.

I pulled away, holding Rachel's shoulders in both hands. "Sorry, I don't speak retard."

"Are you really a priest?"

I turned my back on her and started to walk away. Why had I even fucking bothered coming up here?

"Wait!" Rachel cried out, as she stumbled on the rough gravel. "Please!"

I heard her trip and fall, but I saw something further along the path that drew my eye. Was it a tree-stump? Another highland cattle? I was about to disregard it – until it stood straight up with the clear silhouette of a man. The figure was about twenty meters away, and he had no feet! No fucking feet at all! I mean he literally faded out. A black torso that went transparent below the knees.

"No!" Rachel screeched, as another figure rose up closer within the garden. It too was blackened, naked, and standing still. I stared fascinated at that second thing. It seemed to be emanating some kind of smoke. Taking a moment, I examined how impressive my delusions had truly become. They were fully realized, self-determining hallucinations! The power of the mind is incredible! Then Rachel shrieked! Seriously, that girl had some fucking issues. She grabbed my arm, as I saw several other figures spontaneously surround us. These things were just figments of my imagination that I've visualized many times before in my art. However, I admired how rational and calm I was at this unexpected confrontation with my own psychotic break.

But it turned out they weren't just in my head, Rachel was shitting herself in their presence! Screaming, crying, and babbling complete hysterical nonsense, she dropped to the ground, clawing at my legs.

Whatever those things were, they started closing in.

Decision: move! Grabbing Rachel, I dragged her feeble limbs back to the house. She squirmed as those figures came for us, so I picked her up in both arms and carried her up the stairs, and through the wide open front door. There I paused, looking back at that gathering of blackened figures with deformed features, and heard one of them sneer vulgarly with a voice that was not exactly human. I immediately dumped Rachel on the floor and slammed the front door shut! Locking it, I headed toward the fuse box. Finding the main switch, I flipped it. But nothing happened. No light. Nothing. You son of bitch! I scanned around. Fuck this shit! But then I felt breath on the back of my neck. I slowly took a step and turned face to face with one of those things. It was black. Without detail. No eyes or anything. Like a black-hole that smoked around the edges. It breathed like a distressed horse in slow motion. Was it really there? Studying that thing standing only a foot from my person, I watched as it raised both hands toward me. And I asked in a mock tone, "Are you the devil?"

"Are... You... The... Devil...," that thing replied, with a voice best summed up in the word: disturbing! It reached for me, but I had had enough of this bullshit, so I advanced faster, stepping right through that unclean thing! Wow! That was a fucking experience! Like being dropped head-first into freezing water. Invigorating! Unfortunately though, then the pain came! The cold took a second to seep into my nervous-system before I dropped to my knees and hunched over in agony! It was like that feeling when the dentist pokes an exposed nerve with that metal prick-like instrument. It stung like that throughout my entire fucking body! Absolutely fucking breath-taking! But you know what they say about cold showers, they wake you the fuck up! My eyes bulged as I pressed my forehead hard against the floor. Jesus fucking Christ!

Then footsteps. The floorboards around me creaked and groaned. Struggling to gain control of my faculties, I saw footprints appear on the dust-coated wood. I saw imprints from bare feet, as well as markings that I simply couldn't recognize. Yet there was nothing there. Not until I looked up from my misery and found myself totally encircled by those silhouetted things. Of course, it was I who held the keys to the bottomless pit, so let us rejoice at my suffering! I was responsible for this encounter! Though, then again, how are any of us responsible for how fate plays out in the end? We all evolved from great giants that came before us, and we're set on a path laid out by destiny long before we were even conceived. Was that why I still felt no guilt?

Then, over the breathing of that multitude of jinn, I heard Rachel's cries of delirium. I couldn't help but smile. The circle broke and those passive-aggressive shadows of the ugliest black parted so that I could witness the torment of that poor little fucking waitress. Getting to my feet, I felt the cold pass from my body as my blood began to course with acid! I was burning within! My bones had become brimstone, and my flesh was on fire inside! I had to get free on my clothes. My skin was cooking. Stripping naked in a fury, I shook my feverish arms and legs while trying to watch Rachel as she was lifted off the ground by other unseen powers! She was held high, as if crucified upon some invisible cross, and her own clothes were then torn apart! More and more of those inhuman things crept out of the very fucking ceiling and corners. Bestial creatures that came with a great hunger. Here they beheld the meat for the sacrifice. All predators were the same. Either alive or abominable, they were all carnal carnivores. And I moved through those devils with the same lust. Some slithered out of my way as I crept closer to the front door where Rachel was impossibly suspended. All science-taught understanding and resistance to the supernatural was behind me. I had neglected the material trappings of my forefathers. Rachel screamed and lashed out as she was tugged at by demonic hands. Her silky white body was then scratched so viciously that her blood began to rain down. I could see exactly where her extremities were being held by those invisible hands. I saw it all. Savoring every discernible detail of her and of those translucent forms that were fading in and out of existence. Listening to the cracking sounds of Rachel's bones being pulled out of their joints, I paid particular attention to the extreme horror on her face which made it all so much more marvelous! The gathering soon became violent, thrashing and howling. Animalistic shrieks filled the room like a tortured frustration knowing that they could no longer remember how to form the very fucking words they needed in order to express their endless fucking anger! Anger! Those things stank of hatred! No mercy, no pity, or any concept of sympathy was felt for that fucking female! Only her anguish gave us any fucking pleasure! So, we all screamed, demanding that her guts be ripped from her vessel of weakness – but it was her legs that were pried apart. Opened wide and exposed to all.

BOOM!

Suddenly there was that same thunderous impact that I had heard the night before. I felt it strike through my chest like a shotgun blast! Rachel dropped to the floor like a dead body. She lay strewn, no more pretty than a rag doll. I remained on all fours and then found myself quite alone. All that darkness had vanished the moment that great collision had filled the high-ceiling chamber of the entrance. It was interesting how bright an empty room can seem at night once the devils choose to hide themselves away. Twisting, I glared up at the staircase landing overlooking the entrance. A girl stood up there. She had wild hair and was draped in a pale sheet that was almost transparent to her naked body. In her right hand she held a long spear. It was about the length of a javelin, with beads and ornaments hanging from the bladed top. For some reason she seemed fucking familiar, so I rose to my feet. She stared at me with revulsion and began muttering something in a strange language. I don't know what the fuck it was about that spear, but I fucking wanted it like no lover I've ever stalked! Without thinking, I charged up the stairs in a rage, as if that cunt had stolen the spear from me in my sleep! Suddenly there was a stomping at the top of the staircase, and some creature with great horns and massive shoulders materialized as black as that eclipsed horde. It blocked my path, but I didn't give a flying fuck about its snarling threats, and despite the pain from before, I shoved straight through its lack of physical form! Again, I dropped like a stone to my hands and knees in utter shock! But I couldn't contain my unrelenting 'want' for that glorified stick in the woman's grasp. Coughing against my shredded throat, I crawled onward. That self-righteous female however, turned with insult in her eyes toward my obnoxious presence. My hand reached greedily toward her. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted! I had to take it! The impulse was that basic. But suddenly she held the spear above her head with both hands – and then slammed its blunt end down on the floor!

BOOM!

Doors burst open! Framed pictured fell from the walls! I'm sure a grenade going off in your mouth felt softer that this kick to my guts! As I was blown away, some big black dog leaped out of nowhere onto my fucking back! I grabbed that prick, slamming it into a wall! Clutching its paws, I swung it right over the fucking banister and it plummeted to the floor below. For the moment that it flew through the air, I realized that it wasn't any dog. It was the right size for a Doberman, but it was some mutilated thing with stumps on its back and had a head more like a pig-sized tapeworm. Pushing away from the balcony, I lunged at the spear in that female's grip – she didn't move an inch. Instead, she thumped me in the chest like I was a fucking loaf of bread! I kid you not, I literally flew back off my useless feet and into another fucking wall! Dropping to my naked ass, I gagged for air. All this crap was really beginning to knock the shit out of me. I just needed to catch my breath, but I was already crawling again. I needed that spear! I needed it beyond belief, and I drove over that new-found threshold of pain. I wanted what I fucking wanted! But the girl struck me across my back as I came slithering on my belly! I wasn't going anywhere after that. It felt like a ten-ton weight upon my shoulder-blades. Managing to turn my head, I scowled up at that fucking bitch, just as she pushed her bare foot right down on my face. She then began grinding my skull into the floor, and the pressure on my back pushed down harder still. I could hear the floorboards straining below, or maybe it was my ribs breaking. Even though she was crushing me to death, I kept reaching for was that metal spear. Suddenly I saw those blackened figures surrounding again. Watching those individuals without legs emerge from the very air, it seemed to me that they came back just to witness my destruction. They wanted to hear my confession of how I had now replaced Rachel. I had become the sacrifice. The meat offering.

But.

I am the son of man!

I am the son of man!

I am the fucking son of man!

My jaw began clenching, not from the pain, but with fucking intolerance!

Fuck acceptance! Fuck passivity! Fuck this shit!

With both hands, I grabbed that foot pinning my head down, and I took a fucking bite right out of her sole! You should have heard her scream. She was then immediately torn away, and I was set free. Rolling on my side, I realized that it was Rachel who had the upper hand. She was using a mounted trophy of stag-horns to beat the living shit out of that other female! Things happened fast. Rachel was knocked down. I didn't plan on catching her fall, she just happened to land on me as I lunged at the other girl, who moved with insane speed. She was somehow, with one giant stride, at the far end of the balcony. Rachel and I reached for her. Instantaneously, that unknown female moved around a corner and vanished down the corridor. I was fucking infuriating! This must have been how cats felt about laser-pointers. As I went running after that fleeting bitch, Rachel grabbed my arm.

"Don't!" she begged, trying to hold me back, "It's not worth it! Please! Just leave it!"

I tore my fucking arm loose, and cared nothing for her pleading, as I threw myself further down that fucking house of deprecation! Smashing my fists into every-fucking-thing I came across, I ran faster. I was having the ultimate fucking tantrum! Ripping paintings off walls, I bashed lampshades to fucking pieces! I had regressed to a fucking caveman. Stomping past open doors where more of those blackened figures lurked, I spat at them! Lifting a small set of drawers, I heaved it straight at the head of this old man with a hunchback! The drawers shattered apart, and the old man merely looked away. I'm pretty fucking sure that was Satan himself. I knew it was him intuitively, like I knew my own fucking name. That was when, the floor became a mass of bloody, severed limbs. The walls were now the stone of an angular cave with the roots of dead trees growing right out of them. The fucking ceiling went up forever. Dozens of black snakes hissed among the rotten arms and legs, trying to sink their fangs into my ankles, but I kept going. Ducking between roots and fighting my way through an entanglement of noose-like tentacles, I found that the path forked in three directions: there was an opening straight ahead leading into a tight darkness, a door to my right, and a stairwell to my left behind a locked iron gate. I chose left. Venting my lungs as I shook that gate, my hands actually broke that son of a bitch clean off its fucking hinges! A dismembered hand from the floor then grabbed my calf! I brought the heavy gate right down on those disembodied limbs like the mother of all guillotines!

Down I went. Up came the stench of human piss and shit, until I was knee-deep in that cold wet sewage. It was a pitch-black place with nothing and nowhere to go. Though, it was by no means quiet down there. Constant echoes moved all around, yet my breathing was louder. I stood there, glaring into the void. Fists at my sides. Hoping that a rock would drop onto my fucking head. But nothing killed me. Something then moved to my right. Something in the liquids of this subterranean swamp. Tilting my head, I watched as it slowly swam around me. It was big and long. Fucking big. There was only a dim, fractured light coming from the stairwell, but enough to reveal the whale-sized shape of the thing as it moved smoothly ahead of me. It then raised its elongated head from its broad body. When it finally turned, I saw enormous jaws stretching open like the mouth of an alligator. Yet it didn't face me. It just rose up as if to glance back and see if I would follow. I did nothing. Just studied its dripping silhouette as fear finally consumed me. A dreadful sensation expanded within my chest, had I gone too far? Was this the confrontation that I really wanted? Yes! Yes, it was! Fuck the Loch Ness monster, I have seen the great Ammit! In that moment of conviction against desperation, the creature sank back into the endless filth, continuing further into the deep. And once again, I was absolutely alone.

Then screaming came from my left! I found a faint glow coming from a different corner in that ancient cavern. There was another staircase. The shriek intensified and the distress in the female's voice was an aphrodisiac. So, I dragged my way though that tar-like sludge and climbed a stone staircase. The screeching grew shriller the higher I went. It hadn't felt like I had gone down that many steps on the descent to that sewer of human abhorrence, but now it was like scaling the spiral staircase within the Wallace Monument. Up and up and up and up and – I slammed into a solid door! Shoving it open, I fell awkwardly into an attic that was loud with the trampling rain upon its roof. That screaming however, was entirely understandable once I saw that unknown female being disemboweled by unseen claws in midair! Both of her arms and both legs were suddenly torn from her torso! An explosive burst of blood sprayed forth from her silenced throat! Transparent devils finally decapitated her, and her head struck the wooden floor with a loud, bowling-ball-like THUMP! I glanced about as a circle of blackened figures became visible next to me, but they were transfixed by the blood spreading across the floor. I could see where their invisible feet stood as the blood pooled around them. From what I could tell, some of those figures had the ability of becoming half-visible, yet it was the unseen demons that possessed the real strength to actually tear living meat to fucking pieces. Some entities were not meant for mortal eyes, and true danger is what you cannot prepare yourself for. As I approached that ungodly circle, I found that the dismembered female's spear was nowhere to be seen. Stepping right into the midst of the circle, those devils clearly weren't happy about my fucking presence, until I crouched and reached into the tattered remains of the dead girl's belly. Mmm, still warm. Her blood had that familiar, coarse texture on my fingertips, the foul fucking shit that it is. That circle of fucks then tried to close in on me, but I heard something else outside. Walking straight through one of those figures, I hardly felt a fucking thing this time. Rubbing my hot palm across a grimy window in that A-frame attic, I stared down at the thin stretch of garden in front of the house. Rachel was out there. Outside in the rain. She was doing something. She was with something. I spun, disregarding those contemptuous spirits. I'm sure I went out the same door I came in, but the staircase was new, yet down I went.

I reached the front door in record time, discovering that the entire entrance was utterly alive with insects! I saw my pile of clothes not too far into that overwhelming infestation, so I shuffled my shit-coated feet through that flood of bugs and scooped up my jeans and shoes. Shaking them clean, I quickly dressed. I lost my shirt to a five-foot-long centipede with the head of a bat and eyes of a giant spider. Nothing was natural about anything anymore. Once I had my shoes on, I crunched my way across the masses of beetles and other nasty little invertebrates. However, I was only half way across the large room, when I heard a soft voice say, "Father." As those insects had already begun crawling up my legs, I kept moving, though saw a child no more than three-years-old standing naked in the middle of all those swarming critters. The kid blinked at me with big, black eyes, when what looked like a tentacle rose out of the insects. That giant headless serpent slid around that child's pale body, and before I could react, the kid was crushed like a rat in a fucking trap! The tiny body splintered as bones punctured the skin. I smirked and kept going. The wind was blowing hard as fuck, and it took all the strength I had left to force open that fucking door. Glancing back, just as the door slammed shut, I saw that the entire chamber was now full of dozens and dozens of naked, blood-soaked females. Every one of them was missing their fucking head – it was unequivocally beautiful!

Turning from the sealed front door, I looked up just in time to see Rachel cry out in ecstasy! She was being lifted high and raped by a cluster of things that I couldn't tell head from tail! They were not humanoid in any sense. Fornicating and stabbing at that meek girl, those devils attacked as a myriad of lion-sized leeches. Convulsing, they writhed in a towering column of wet black flesh. Talons and long sharp extremities whipped about in a frenzy. My first impression was that Rachel was being eaten alive, but she was loving it. I saw her face flash between the bodies of those creatures. Again, she screamed out – just like she had when it was I who was fucking her. So, I stood topless in the freezing rain with my back to the house, watching this infernal pornography as I wondered what the fuck had become of that spear?

"Bruce!" Rachel called out, but her voice had come from behind me. Turning, I found that the front door was gone, in fact the entire front wall of the house didn't exist anymore, and out came those females. Headless and crawling on all fours, they swarmed past me. Down either side of the two front stairs, they filled the entire garden around those copulating demons. They kept coming. Endless headless whores. Looking beyond that twenty-foot-tower of inhuman perversion, I scanned the distant loch. The rain moved in vast waves of mist. Both the distant and surrounding forests then spoke to me. The entire fucking valley, mountains, and loch revealed its ultimate self. The abominations were unfathomable! Hell was in the shadow of the Earth! The son of Osiris had failed! Apep had devoured the sun! And I fucked Rachel upon an altar of the spilled guts of the seven-headed dragon! I was utterly saturated in visions of mutilation and tortured females! Everything was screaming! Screaming hateful lust and envy! The landscape was consumed with an infinite mass of blackened forms. And then, beasts so towering that only their knees reached through the storm clouds, came closer with deafening footsteps! Yet above and beyond, they opened their great jaws and spoke of the most ancient of calamities! I could see it all. The very ground was diseased flesh, bleeding and crippled with the teeming parasites of wicked descent. And I was one of them. One with them!

I am the fucking son of man!

-

I woke up later that morning in my hotel room, with Rachel in the shower. Sitting on the edge of the bed, still caked in mud and other crap, I didn't care about how I had gotten back there in one piece. When Rachel stepped out of the bathroom, she never said a word as she looked me dead in the eye. Maliciously glaring back, I too had nothing to say. She dressed and walked out with secrets in her stride. I would most likely never see her face again. But her kind of meat is cheap. The human-filler kind.

ENTRY 11.

While I stood on the side of the road waiting for the bus to Inverness, I looked back up at the ridge, behind the hotel, to where The Old Grahams house was hidden in that steep forest. Somewhere in all those trees and shadows, I had thrown a set of drawers at old man Satan.

The bus ride was quiet, and I soon spotted Boleskine House on the east coast of the loch. Had Crowley seen these things too?

While I was queuing at the train station at Inverness, I stood next to a cluster of four dustbins where I saw what suddenly made me freeze. I then realized why that strange female's face was so fucking familiar last night. I had seen this same missing-persons poster when I had arrived here four nights ago. According to the details, her name had been Yulia Solodyankina. She looked a lot cuter in that poster than when she was trying to grind my face into the fucking floor. But what the fuck was she doing at The Old Grahams house? Did Rachel even know who she was? Ah, who gives a fuck! She was just another discarded fucking female!

I spent the whole train ride back to Edinburgh watching the scenery go by. This might have been my Fatherland, but it wasn't my fucking home. Nowhere was. Yet everything was mine to contaminate. I am Bruce Stirling John Knox!

I stayed one last night with my old aunt, where I faked my manners and we avoided talking of my ex.

-

On Tuesday, I flew back to Berlin where I was met by the nineteen-year-old blonde at the airport. I fucked her the moment we got back to my place.

Later, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with that little teenager asleep on my arm. They say every single cell in your body is replaced every ten years, therefore, whatever inner child I once had been was no longer here, yet I was still alive despite walking freely into the heart of true fucking darkness. The young blonde then moaned in her sleep, and I thought of all those other females and their attraction toward me. Couldn't they find a better man? No! Because... We... Are... All... Evil! 'She' is the devil in me, just as I am the devil fucking her.

The external world should have stopped me. I was defenseless. But what is the external world but an extension of the internal. Or was it the other way around?

Bruce

THE GREAT INDIGNATION

 

© 2013 BRUCE STIRLING JOHN KNOX