Sweaty Jade...by aeon
He finished adjusting his hair and stood up, grinning at himself in the
mirror. He was nervous, but ready. First dates were always a bit scary.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped outside.
The streetlights cast an arcane light down upon the cracked pavement, their
orange glow seeming to mock the half-assed smile of the man far above the
dome, out there in the sky. He leered back at the man up there, cocking his
head to one side like HE did. He laughed and an old couple looked at him
strangely, their plastic hips creaking in unison. He ignored them and
thought of her instead. She had a smile like that, sort of crooked and
leering, like...
LIKEEVERYONEELSESHESTHESAMEJUSTLIKETHEREST...
...HIM up there. Lost in thoughts, he almost walked right past her
apartment.
He went to knock, stopped himself short, then gathered his courage and
knocked twice. Hard, probably too hard.
"Just a minute." They always said that. All of them had.
YESALLOFTHEMHADSHEISTHESAMESHEJUSTWANTSTOHURTYOUSHE...
There was a swishing noise and he heard her breathing on the other side of
the door. It was erotic, hearing her but not seeing her. He could have stood
there all night, just listening. She was saying something.
"Who is it?" she asked again, impatiently.
He told her. She opened the door and he walked inside, grinning at her.
GRINSHEGRINNEDWEMUSTKILLHERNOWDOITSHESLIKEALLTHERESTYOUMUST...
(...no...not again...not now...)
"Wait here. I'll be right out." She wriggled into the bathroom sensuously,
erotically, like a little grey slug. Her robe was short, too short, coming
to just below the bottom of her ...
She raised her arms to towel dry her hair and he was suddenly very ...
YESNOWSHESLIKETHEOTHERSTHEYDONTLOVEYOUTHEYLAUGHATYOUTHEYHATEYOU...
He shook off the thoughts and stood, walking about the living room,
adjusting his wrinkled pants and admiring the place. He picked up a bust of
some fat old man, admiring the curvature, put it back down. He looked at the
statue of what appeared to be the same man nearby, realized it was a Buddha.
He laughed at his own ignorance. He was surrounded by Buddhas. He went into
the kitchen and grabbed a rag, brought it back into the living room to wipe
off the oily smears his nervous fingers had left on the jade.
He placed the small bust inside the rag like some lopsided bowling ball,
began to shine it. It was good luck to rub the Buddha's belly. He stopped,
looked at it. The Buddha grinned back at him, a lopsided grin.
JUSTLIKEHERGRINSHEISBADSHEHATESYOUSHEMUSTPAYTHEYALLMUSTPAYALLOFTHEMTHEYMUST
PAYFORWHATTHEYDIDTOYOUITSJUSTLIKEHERSJUSTLIKEHERSJUSTLIKEHERS...
(Just like hers.)
YES...JUSTLIKEHERS...
She came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her.
(...no...she isn't like them...she's different...)
She grinned.
YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESSSSSSSSSSSS...
(...no...no...no...n...)
YES.
He killed her.
The Buddha lie shattered on the rug, jade slivers mingling with the blood,
green and red and white and grey. Ho, ho, ho. He dropped the rag across what
remained of her face. She grinned up at him, that lopsided grin he loved so
much. Hated so much.
Walking past the television, he turned it on with a flicker of his aura and
walked into the hall, closed and locked the door behind him. Maybe Buddha
wanted to watch.
