affame_le_geant_angels_turn_away
fyn gula in the failing evening light, which went fast in stages from mellowing yellow-red into dusky grey, filtered through the trees, the sun set below the horizon. it was in this setting that puppertwinkle witnessed the horror of feignez having her wings ripped from her body. puppertwinkle felt the breath escape his lungs like an angry teenager that cursed her mother, slammed the door, and would never return home.

"quizas ella es muerto, senor." the little dog said, wretching his words with acridity in the release. he was not sure if he wanted to go on with these merciless people. his thoughts were that the bird was dead. he briefly reminisced the fall of birds, proina's rain of pajaro muerto, and perhaps you would think seeing so much death would have calloused his vision. on the contrary.
feignez had worked her magic on puppertwinkle. she used every resource of the con artist to deceive him into believing. saumboo's words snapped him out of his clouded reverie.

"es nuestra intencion pero no conseguimos siempre lo que deseamos," he said, looking at feignez's motionless body. it was their intention, but we don't always get what we want.

and so, as frau werzenwozen folded her stiff arms back along the sides of her body and returned to her place of dreamstate repose on the futon of the wooden cart, feignez suddenly began to flop about in a small puddle of her own blood. it was obvious she was in shock. she muttered words out of a distant childhood when the term resposibility was without meaning and objective was play. but soon, pain yanked her from the gates of heaven and agony said,
"not yet."

it was not enough to kill her.

she thrashed about fighting survival.
"i want to die. let me die!" the angels turn away, hearing, but unable to help.

saumboo bent down on his knees and felt along the ground searching for feignez. at first he found both wings and tossed them aside. then, his fingers slid along the warm puddle of blood until he bumped up aginst her flopping body. she shrieked with fear, frightened he was going to continue his atrocity.

saumboo roughly picked her up and brought her close to his face.

"i am staring into the face of evil," feignez said, her eyes wild with horror. her heart racing with frenzy.
"you are an irrational, merciless madman!"

and then she bit his hand, her vestige of strength and might allowing her to strike hard, her sharp beak breaking his black skin. although he bled instantly, he did not give her the satisfaction of knowing she hurt him. he did not wince.

instead, he transferred the pain into further hostility and squeezed until the intense pressure silenced her.

perhaps he would continue until he pressed the life right out of her.






and here, he stopped, but it was not because he wanted to. it was as if his hands were not his own, more like he was a puppet and someone else was making him stop.

as if he was required to contemplate her existence. should he kill her? or was she more valuable alive to them?
020721
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from