The Fuckno Wars Ch 7 There Were 36 Hours

Lay Down by Alberta Cross

They didn’t think I knew what I was doing.

They were correct.

They said I didn’t know my own strength.

I had no strength.

36 HOURS 

UNTIL 

WAR

In that lovely little city of Clovis on the other end, over the top of the disparity and desperateness (despairity?)  of Fuckno, a young man enjoyed the “fucking bacon cheeseburger” that he wanted to taste for his first meal outside of prison.

He did not regret knowing people and calling them friends; those folks who couldn’t be bothered to welcome him to his earned freedom.  He had gone to jail to protect them.  He had taken their fall.

You see, he knew that his friends were otherwise occupied.  One had drowned a hearse that belonged to a fat punk rocker with purple-died red hair, and the one near him had kept the first from drowning them both.  They slept in the daylight after a long night.

The third friend was hidden in a little truck he’d pinched from the hospital where he’d delivered a girl.

She was dead upon arrival.

But now, she was whispering to him as he finished his meal.

He was fortified from that meal. 

He would have to do some rescuing, and he would have to find a place to take them all before all hell broke loose.

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On the bottom end of the ugly king of the desert, which here is a reference to “The Asshole Of Fuckno,”  a Walkin had been busy in the night.  He was quite full from devouring the flesh of the living, before making them dead.

The only thing he’d done wrong, well, for his own set of rules, was this:

He had eaten the flesh of the dead.

It was a small appendage.  No, not that, you naswty minded person. 

It was a toe from his first victim, after the poor soul was dead.

The poor soul had been a mass murderer in his own country, and now, the Walkin was infected.

Poor soul, indeed.

If you ever witness a poor soul who rises into power and then remains in power by the use of death, then you will know about a Walkin.  Evil walks the Earth, baby.

That one, he went by the name of Seen.  He inhabited the body of a friend called Sean.  That Walkin, he knew that he could become the King of Fuckno.

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A young man waited by the horse stables in the dark.  He hated himself.  He had nowhere to go.  He thought about going back inside, but he knew that he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He had the fear of death, and rightly so.

He concentrated on how to go about saddling up some horses for himself and his friends, but you know, he didn’t have a clue about horses.  City Messican.

Then he saw the headlights flash from cars pulling into the circular drive in front of the huge mansion.  He heard plywood boards ripped away from the front entrance.

He was stuck in his tracks, like a deer in the headlights.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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