Storyz

Ratsugi felt his essence leave his body. Through blurry eyes he saw it as it snaked through the tube and into the wall. The tube contracted around his penis again, and he groaned another teaspoon of semen into it. Ragged breath misted his oxygen mask around his nose and mouth, and the reciporating pump of the resporator clicked into life again. The air was scoured and cleaned, then fed back to him in the same breath. Another tube filled with a protien and anti-oxidant supplement forced another milliliter of the gel into his viens, and another device sensed his filling bladder and sucked away the urine through yet another tube. He shuddered again, and more of his sperm traced its way from his room.

This is how Ratsugi spent his days, hanging in the middle of this holding cell attached to various life sustaining devices. Although his body kept the same amount of musculature since he was kidnapped, his mind, after months of being in this state with no contact, had lost considerable will and strength. He could no longer remember how he arrived in this situation and even his name was a mystery most of the time. In some weary portion of his brain, the vague image of his cream impregnating scores of his female captors appeared, but it quickly faded. The tube had its way with him again.

My door's got no handle outside. It opens and closes on its own, I don't know where the draft is coming from. Nonsense words begin to appear on the laptop screen, scrolling up, as if invisible fingers are pressing the keys. Maybe it's my head. Phone line frayed away to almost nothing. Leaflets for attractions mostly closed or fallen down anyway. Dripping tap in the second-floor bathroom, with a corroded smear I can't get rid of on the porcelain. Scratch marks on the door, someone's desperation or constipated boredom. Bolt ripped off, leaving a ghost outline of itself in the paint as evidence. My memory's fucked. The stupid crap people do shouldn't be remembered anyway. Evening seems to come in chunks. I don't notice it getting darker until it actually is. Steven's naked now apart from my blood, disco dancing to a red hot cut only he can hear. Watch where you're going, you fucking- there's a shadow by the pool. It exhales cigarette smoke and points. I am drunk and you are ugly but in the morning I will be sober. Six of them, rabbits in my torchlight. One of them's got something in his hand. There's a sound like spare ribs cracked by a spanner. And the lights go out. It's getting colder now. Everything's cruel. I don't have anybody. I have the cold night. I'm tired. Choice has gone the same way as opportunity. My brain feels like it's on a stick in the sun. I dream a funeral. Take your fucking puppets with you, Sammy.

That red plastic really does stink.

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