The following morning, I’m snorting metre long lines of cocaine off the hookers’ stiff corpse. The body is on her side and the white powder line runs from her knee to just before her armpit. I have her doctors cert, a piece of paper declaring that she has a clear bill of health, rolled up and I’m using it to draw in the coke. The tip is wet from my running nose. When I finish the line, I flip the body onto her front. Her handbag was emptied onto the floor last night in a fit of passion, when we were looking for a mirror to break and cut ourselves with. Along with rolls of Euro bills and books of the morning-after pills, her handbag also held a variety of different coloured lipsticks. I grab two from the pile, green and red, and I begin to draw roses on the hookers back and ass. Long green stems with thorns and leaves, I accentuated the petals so that they flowed from the stem and separated like the sluts legs.
As I was finishing the second flower, my phone vibrated and scattered am open bag of snort that I left beside it on the lamp stand but I didn’t care as I knew it was Ian updating me on his adventures.
“Ian, how do?”
He yawned into the phone, a healthy and alive sound that inspired my brain to wake itself up.
“Ah Rob, I hoped you fucked the shit out of that bitch, last night. Gave her a good thrashing.”
I poke the corpse with my ring finger, and then wipe it off the duvet.
“Yep Ian”, I smile as I said this, “She’ll remember it for the rest of her life.”
Ian laughs sensing my jovial temper.
“Good man. Glad to hear you in a good mood. I’m just about to enter the Islands HQ, and I thought you might enjoy listening in, eh?”
The idea gives me an erection.
“Oh yes Ian, please do.”
The dead whore began to look more attractive on her front, all of a sudden.
“I’m putting you on speaker phone, punk.”
The earthly sounds of the Islands environment shuddered through the phone, the call of birds on top of rustling leaves as Ian moved towards the Headquarters.
A loud crash I recognise as Ian forgoing the door and just moving through a wall hammers through the phone.
I hear a moan.
“Shit” swears Ian.
“What is it?”
“I’m surrounded. I count… eight. Yes, eight camels have flanked my position.”
My heart leapt into my mouth and I had to swallow it back down quickly before it induced a quick bout of death. I could hear Ian running and jumping, following by a squishy sound and the wail of a camel.
Something mental was happening, as I could clearly distinguish the terrified cries of the eight different camels, each one yelping a note in the song of carnage. I tapped my foot along, recognising the tune, realising how long it had been since I last heard it. But it ended all to soon and after a minute’s silence, I spoke up nervously.
“… Ian, are you there?”
The phone crackled and all I could hear was a suck of a cigarette and then a relaxed exhale, long and deliberate.
“I thought those camels what it’s like to fuck with God’s favourite son. Those humped back motherfuckers won’t forget my face in a hurry as I fucked all eight of those bastards in their asses.”
I was impressed, all eight in just a few minutes, deep carnal knowledge.
“This Island”, continues Ian, “is a cock sucking whore. It deserves nothing less than a toxic pile of my shit, for forcing my hand.”
And what followed next was the detailed reverberation of the actions involved in staining the earth, details which I will spare.
“And the stink shall inherit the earth.”
My insides revolt against me upon hearing the anal explosions of a man intent on destroying the planet, on creating a barren wasteland with no other tools but his ass.
“Ian, if you are finished, you must continue into the building. You must discover what’s lies within.”
“Shut the fuck up, faggot. I know.”
And he hangs up.
And after all of that butchery, I needed a release that only a dead hooker sprinkled with magic dust could provide… and I was in luck.