A female Movac stares at me with a gurgle-leak coursing down her neck. Her brain citizens have built elevators from her chin to her breasts, where they can relax on the soft flesh before taking a shuttle to her toes. Through my swirly eyes, I see her body as an arousing work of architecture. A sky-scraping building that I wouldn’t mind laying over a mountain to inject my whale-sized shank through its front entrance, knocking the doorman out of the way and flooding the lobby once I am finished with her.
The Movac woman must’ve had her dark-pools eyeing into me because she knew I was about to fantasize about her, and wanted to give me a good stare-down before I performed the sex thought, licking some brain citizens from the corner of her white lips to dissolve in thick mouth water. I’m embarrassed, but I shouldn’t be, not at alclass="underline" she’s known I was going to do this her entire life. It wasn’t a shock in the slightest, I’m sure.
“We’re going through the walm,” Mortician tells them.
“We know,” they say, pig-drippy.
The female, the fantasy building with large vacation breasts and the leaky saltwater entrance, approaches us, stiff-moving with her city built on her insides, trying to keep the brain citizens from falling into the ocean. She glares into my eyes again, her pools gathering hints of purple and silver. Black cave of a mouth… shingles for teeth… opening with pearl-expression…
“Let’s go there.” She turns and heads to the walm light.
I wonder why she is taking us rather than any of the other twelve. Is it because I’m attracted to her? Is she attracted to me as well? Will she take advantage of my weakness to alien women before allowing me to escape through the walm?
I hope so.
She leads the way, through the vapid humanoid crowd emerging from the light. Her walk patterns are mechanical. Her backside is so sensual yet it’s like a machine, just how the blue woman’s seems to be, but the blue woman is an animal-like machine and this Movac is a machine-like animal. I’ve never been attracted to mechanical women before. Now I guess it’s becoming a trend in my life.
The walm emotions go squirrely here, as do my eyes, running up the tree bark and chirping. Brain liquid drools from the Movac woman’s head, and I watch it slowly licking down to her fleshy rounds that are inhabited by the lower class of her body’s citizens — the salty odor thickens the air down there — then slipping between the crack to her thighs where it weeps into the miniature ocean world.
I’m paying so much attention to her absorbing body that I don’t realize we have reached the source of the light. My head fixes on the lower parts as she stops, then it looks up at the sublime doorway, the walm, eyes fixed without much dizzy-swirling.
The door is a giant vagina. It’s lips are spread out wide and emit a green light in all directions. The Movac female statues herself next to it, arms out at diagonals and chin up. Then her muscles go tense and it looks as if she is absorbing energy from the walm, as if she runs on soul-fuel as well, soak-slurping it from the reserve that the walm has collected.
Then the walm door dilates, the green light melting our skin color to lime. It awaits our penetration. On the inside of this thing is our future, our new life. Everything chaotic about this world will be uplifted from our crusty old shoulders. Now the human species still has a fighting chance against extinction.
“I’m not going,” I tell Mortician.
“What?” His face goes into shock, or maybe it’s disbelief.
“I’m going to wait for Christian.”
“You want to wait longer? We can wait for him longer if you want, but I’m not going in there alone.”
“You won’t be,” I say, brushing mud out of Nan’s half-conscious eyes.
“Come on, Leaf. Let’s go. You know Christian isn’t coming.”
“You go,” I tell him. “Take Nan and the history book and get out of here. If I Christian gets back here I’ll… Look, I can’t just leave him.”
“Well, I’m staying too,” Mort says.
“No.” I shake my head lightly. “I’m willing to risk myself to save Christian, but I’m not willing to risk the future of mankind. Get out of here now before the walm takes anymore of your soul.”
“Dickhead.” Mortician spits at me. He nods his head and puts the history book of Man in his belt. He takes Nan’s arms around his shoulder and she hugs into him, embracing to keep herself from falling and shattering on the ground.
Before he enters the fleshy lips of the walm, he turns back to me and gentle-smiles. Then he tips his pointy head up as a salute. Before I can salute back, he disappears into the walm and its lips press slowly around him, sucking him into another world far away from here.
I’m only giving Christian another hour or two. If he doesn’t show, I’m leaving him. Even if he’s wounded, another hour is plenty of time to get here. Otherwise, I’ll know that he’s lost too much soul to make it. He has the ability, but he might not have the will.
I glance back at the walm and realize the light it issues is no longer green, but purple.
“What does that mean?” I ask the Movac.
She turns to me, a cricking of gears in her neck. “The door has opened to a different world.”
“You mean I can’t go to the world my friends just went to?”
“This world and the world your friends now inhabit will not share a doorway until the cycle is finished,” she says.
“How long will that take?”
“Twenty-four hours.” She turns away from me and begins to absorb more energy from the walm. She will possibly be absorbing my energy from the walm if I stay for too long.
My words come out soft and slightly panicked. “You mean I’m stuck here for another day?”
“Exactly another day.”
Scene 26
Ten Commandments
I wait for several moments of time, curled in a ball, soaking in the thick brain sweat of the Movac woman and sometimes rubbing against her fishy leg for erotic purposes, over and over until it becomes droning.
I stare up swirly-visioned at the Movac woman, waiting and waiting for her to say something to me. She has nothing to say. It stands next to me, protecting the walm from my wandering eyes. My head-sickness gets too strong when I look out across Punk Land, so much life-chaos of colors, crowds, all around me. A melting pot far beyond what the United States had been, the melting pot of the universe. And not one of them seem to be human.
“Why has this happened to us?” The words, directed at the building/woman I guess, slip out of me without asking first. The woman was already glancing at me, knew the precise moment to turn her attention. She knows much more about me than I do.
The building/woman answers: “God Hates You.”
My eyes wet with brain juice, little brain people crawling through my hair, sometimes sneezing when one approaches a nostril.
The Movac woman speaks to me, “God doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. He hates you.”
“I’m sure we all know that,” I tell her. “But how can He possibly hate His creation? That’s like a mother hating her child.”
“Sometimes mothers get sick of their children. Sometimes they steal all the love out of one child and give it to another, a more desirable child.”
“That makes God superficial, irresponsible. Maybe even white trash.”