TFW CH 20 BREAKFAST

Lost Innocent World   by Gogol Bordello   

Sven watched his prey slip about with the rubbery clump of nose and cheeks from a panicked hand and the stump of a blood-spurting wrist.  His hand flopped about, hanging by tendons from it.

He howled, and Sven joined him.  He harmonized with the Chauffeur.  It was a pretty mourning tune, just before first tea and ciggy.

The Chauffeur’s face fell onto the floor as his eyeballs depleted their contents.  He saw white light.  In addition to physical sensation, the human eye interprets pain in its own way and then and delivers its message of bright white light to the brain, you see.

Sven stood back and marveled at his good fortune.  Indeed, if he had been sloppy and announced his attack, it would have went the other way for him.

The Chauffeur slumped down to his knees and began to beg for his life.  That was Sven’s favorite part.  It was like music to his ears.

He had done this many times before, you know.  He kicked the man down onto the floor, bent over him, and shouted into his mess of a face. 

He said, “Good Morning!  Breakfast is ready.”

He sat down on the man's torso, knees on those flailing arms, and inserted the carver into the throat of the man and cut out the voice box.

He had always enjoyed the sounds his victims made while he dined on them, but he was new to this place, and wanted to be stealthy.

Yet, he was simply ravenous.

While he chewed and savored the cartilage of the man’s adam’s apple, he heard a knock on the front door. 

He straightened right up and his back jolted with a lightning bolt of white hot pain.


He yelped and fell hard into the pool of blood.  He twitched about in screaming, silent pain, much like the man beside him.

He spat out the chewy clump of cartilage.

A woman’s voice called out from outside the front door, echoing down the hall.

He looked over at the man who squirmed beside him in the spreading pool of bright red fluid.  Sven hissed at the living skull on the floor of the bathroom.

He said, “Don’t make a sound, bony face.  Otherwise, will be very bad for you.”

Sven rolled over and eased onto his knees.  He placed his forehead onto his forearms and stretched his back to the ceiling with gentle breaths.  As he got his spine at the highest point, he paused for a moment.

This was going to hurt.

He exhaled all of the way out, pointed his vertebrae up as high as he could, and then inhaled with sudden vehemence against his injury.

He felt and heard his back make a loud POP noise and the intense pain shoved him face-first into the puddle and then convulse.


He was completely bathed in blood.

Lovely, exquisite pain enveloped his mind.

As he slipped down into the depths of release from the endorphins his host’s brain afforded him, he heard the knock again at the front door.

He heard a young woman’s voice echo down the hallway, and down the slippery walls of his darkening mental well. 

She said, “Hello?  It’s Shelly!  Hello?  Are you in there?”


There was no response.


She said, "Are you OK?"



Nothing.



She said, "I'm worried about you!  I'm coming in."

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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