God of the Game (Dreamstate) (43 page)

The cavern of my mouth opened is a hippopotamus’ maw, and my giant tongue is spiked with hundreds of pink phallic protrusions, p
rickling Anna all over, sniffing her sensitive spots out. Another huge tongue, one akin to an adult-sized bolster, is coming from the belly of this beast to lick her like an enormous pet dog welcoming its mistress home. Her hormones released are driving mine insane. She’s squatted in the large jaws of abomination, receiving cunninlingus from this fat, inscrutable ET.

    Th
en as if JC changes the setting from landscape to portrait, dimensional reality is tilted ninety degrees to the left, and Anna Doreen is suddenly hanging from a cliff. What you see of me from above is just a gigantic chasm lined with sharp rocks of teeth, and evil tongues lashing out at her heels from a deep abyss.  

I am hungry. I wanna
ravish Anna Doreen. I want to eat my wife so that she will be mine; one body, one flesh. I succeed. I drag her into my cave and masticate her into tiny bits. Snacks. She disappears into a lotus of clear white semen bubbling and aerating out of my oesophagus, dissolving her flesh as her toes are dipped into the vicious liquid. A scarlet gown flows out on the surface as Anna submerges and sinks; she screams a silent ‘o’ as the pleasure of pain strikes her quick and fast, and a rose remains where Anna had been, jettisoned and afloat, terribly and acutely lonely; that’s how I feel, as the waft of her pheromones blow into my somnambulant apogee.  

Then I
belch a disgusting bellow and shit out her indigestible leftovers, like trinkets, and shoes, and pieces of raiment; unnecessary clothing. Hidden in her undigested hair coiled round dung and bone fragments that was once the person Anna Doreen, I locate the inimitable wedding ring I proposed to her with under that humongous tree.

    What do I do with it?
Now that she is gone, in my spirit and soul forever, that expensive metal and stone circlet of commitment is just worthless souvenir. I should have known by now, known that I am insatiable. I can’t fool myself with marital bliss. In the end I will destroy all that I love. That is my nature. I seek, and I take,
and I fuck
. Then I chuck and don’t even bother cleaning up or taking out the trash. Anna Doreen, she just lies there and decomposes, till she is compost and part of that Great Mama.

70

    Again and again I screw myself and others I so call loved: Sharon, Anna Doreen, Gee Ni, Sanguine Lover and another girl in youth, all hopelessly lost. But what about them? It can’t be entirely my fault. It takes two to fuck up a relationship. What about
their
bad points? Control freaks, clingy, insecure and selfish, they were not entirely angels. The burdens these babes had on them, the emotional baggage they weight-lifted, carried on from earlier relationships, family troubles, paranoid friends, what acquaintances and even strangers would opine, debased estimations of themselves, these were loads I had to halve and share shoulders. Some were chasing their own tails, never finding a solution. But that’s the problem with women, they don’t want an answer, they just want to talk and wallow in their situations like piglets in mud. Because secretly, these ladies of mine were savouring the attention their weaknesses garnered. They had no intentions of changing; they only wanted
me
to alter my ways. How unfair is this!? And on their side, they could prolong the mawkish character flaws which drove me up the wall.

    Sorry, I’m bitching. There is no resolution.

    I left Anna in the state I last remembered, that is, a piece of shit, and trudged down the corridor to the exit door. In the last room on the right, I caught someone familiar lying in comatose. Jai-I, asleep. This place is full of surprises. 

   “He’s been like this ever since.”

    I turned around to face a disconcerted Trekz.

   “Ever
since Nimrod stole his domain.

   “Do you want to see him?”
Trekz added. “Perhaps with your gift of getting under people’s skin, only
you
can help.” 

    And with that
Trekz flashed me a boob.

71

Trekz’z Tit

    I climbed into Trekz’z third tit, the same way Jai-I demonstrated the last time round at the
Hound
. The mammary is cramped, and I felt like an astro-chimp. Windows lined fat walls, and the view of space is majestic with the trillions of twinkling suns. Through the intercom, Trekz’z voice says to buckle up and prepare for a hyper-jump. We’re going to the other side of this universe. In the astral leap, I caught glimpse of Planet Muthafukker, a movie trailer inviting me to subscribe to its two-dimensional hedonistic psychosis. I think I will visit someday, a premonition of a finale flashing in my mind. Weird things happen often during intergalactic travels, some re-alteration of time and space is unavoidable.

    Touchdown. “Where exactly am I?” I enquired.

   “Spatially, you’re in the last planet in the final solar system of this universe before entering our neighbour’s, Leper and the Gunk’s, mansion,” Trekz announces, “but dimensional wise, you’re in Jai-I’s mind. Careful, Nimrod’s troops are barging in, and you may find yourself ported off to the boy-king’s domain.”

   “Is it?” I said, “I thought I’m riding in your breast all this while.”

   “You are. My boob and his brain are the same thing.”

   “Enough said.” I winked.

    I feel like I’m in a B-movie. This world doesn’t seem at all real; even the rocks appear to be made of papier-mâché. They aren’t, but are of some milky and mushy substance. How the liquid holds in the shape of stones is so bizarre. And did I mention the colours? It’s like living in a pack of M&Ms.

    It’s a
hilly landscape of jarring hues, perfect camouflage for anyone dressed as a clown. Trekz tracked before me, shape-shifted as a talking Labrador.                                               

   “So
, how yer been?” The yakking dog asked.

   “Good,” I replied, “been discovering loads
about myself. But not all I like...”

    Then I added, “How is it that Jai-I is in JC’s hospital?”

   “I sought his dad’s advice, and the father said it’d be good to bring the son in for observation.”

   “J
ahr and JC are pretty close, huh?” I stated.

   “They have some business deals in negotiation.”

   “Yah, Vesper mentioned...”

   “O
h, Vesper; how is he?” Trekz enquired.

   “He’s got some mild reservations,” I mentioned
, recalling Vesper’s view on
Kreator
and
Nephlim
alliances. 

   “I mean
, how is he in general?”

   “Oh...I see...” I paused, “he’s good. He helped me lots in my self-discovery.”

   “And what about you?” the furry canine wanted to know, “What are your thoughts on the
Kreator
and
Nephlim
alliances?”

   “It can’t be that bad. That’s what I think. We shouldn’t get petty. Sure, it may impact mortals, but cross-dimensional beings like us that can access infinite heavens, it doesn’t affect us much.

   “Political allegiance of the gods should do well for those poor somatic souls,” I concluded. Then I stabbed in my inevitable pessimism, “Of course no one’s really sure what the real agenda is. Vesper thinks they are control freaks.”

   “Jai-I would
opine similarly,” Trekz commented, “that’s one of his problems with his dad. You know how much of an antichrist he is. On Earth, god, then to his mortal mind, seemed liberated. Now that Jai-I is close to becoming a superstar deity himself, he feels Jahr is restrictive, repressive and overtly regimented. Perhaps that explains Nimrod. Jahr’s discipline at work.”

  
“
Kreators
are often subtle,” I shrugged, “They make their ideas sound like it’s your own.”

   “They have to
; it’s an anarchic system everyone does what they think right in their own eyes. God’s an anarchist, remember?”

   “Yah, everything’s down to the shadows. We’re all programmed to do the will of the ones who are the strongest.”

   “Right,” Trekz ended, “
Kreators
and
Nephlim
, they could just be puppets too.”

   “By the way, why are you dressed as a dog?”

   “Jai-I’s resolved to guerrilla warfare, ambushing Nimrod’s soldiers here and there in the hippocampus. I think Nimrodititis has eaten quite a bit of his brain. Being a rebel is possibly the only way Jai-I can stay sane.”

    Then
Trekz just had to add this: “Nimrodititis is making my breast itch.”

    Coming from a Retriever
breed, it
does not
sound at all appealing.

   “Having the olfactory senses of a mutt is the easiest to track him
with. Don’t worry, I’ll change to something more attractive once we find Jai-I.” Trekz looked back at me and panted, as if retorting to my silent judgement.

    In the Caves of Absalom he plots his bitter revenge; armed with cannonballs and the witches’ brew. Jai-I is a cauldron of madness. Anger has consumed him, and he’s planning a final assault that will either overthrow Nimrod or exile an adopted son of Jahr to another plane. One where he starts again, perchance even begin life as a mortal baby once more. Both Trekz and I are sure he does not want that condemning outcome.

   But at least Jai-I manages a smile as we enter his lair. The Caves of Absalom is one place beyond Nimrod’s hand of conquest. It is the deepest and darkest regions of Jai-I’s divine mind. It is terribly illusive and surreptitious, for even Jai-I could not detect it initially.

    Son of Jahr mentioned Nimrod’s advances had forced him to be a vagrant in his own land. Contemplating the prospect of resigning from this life by the edge
of Leper and the Gunk’s magic blade - which Vesper had presented as an amulet; which Vesper had won from me in a fair fight - he suddenly saw in that short sword a reflection of his innermost soul; and a hooded Oracle spoke to him, refreshing him, and sustaining him with raisin cakes. The avatar of that enigmatic knife disappeared, but left behind a map of Jai-I’s entire consciousness, and with it as a guide, he found the Caves of Absalom.

    This is his major advantage,
for Jai-I believes, with both map and magical dagger, and the tactical supremacy of clandestine in the Caves, he can uproot the vermin Nimrod and send him back packing in a wormhole to wherever it was he came from, which, according to my deduction, pulsated from the place by which Leper and the Gunk’s cosmic sway too arrived. There must be some high power at work in another sphere parallel and in proximity to this one.

    We must
also thank Vesper, for that sagely one has surely researched in his studies, possessing the foresight concerning the potency of this ornamented weapon, and visiting Jai-I in this torrential time of his need, and ultimately, gifting the one precious article that could free the son of Jahr and set him in the image of his father.  

    Jai-I hugged me a brotherly welcome
, and loaded me up with arms. On seeing Trekz, he softened. The Shape Shifter was now a gorgeous man fresh from a therapeutic facial and body scrub, a relaxation treatment and beautification procedure. Jai-I was the contrast; stubbly, sweaty, shiny and pumping with male musk, blackened by the sun and dirtied by mud, a warrior, a man of machetes and spilled blood. They kissed, they embraced; they are going to his cavern, and they want me to come along.

    Inside,
Trekz undresses Jai-I’s muscular frame. Tosses the soiled apparels into a fireplace dug from rock, and passionately licks him all over. There is little water in the hideout, so it’s mainly for drinking...and not cleaning up before sex. Trekz will have to do with the stink, but he is not bothered. He bathes Jai-I with his saliva, moisturizing him with a long and scented tongue. Jai-I’s skin is waxy at the touch of his lover’s wet organ, covered by a yellowish substance similar to lard hardening over the pores of his skin. Trekz says it is a rejuvenation process, one that starts from Jai-I’s exterior, and slowly, absorbed into the soul. After he is done, this heir of Jahr’s empire will be combat worthy. This practice is an ancient ritual passed down generation after generation, ancestors to descendents; Trekz’z asexual clan, always before battle, cleanses the warriors, protects them with charms, and proclaims the spirits’ blessings upon the violent endeavours.     

    T
he Shape Shifter seductively peels and unravels the wax Jai-I is cocooned in, and a warm amber glow seeps through the spots where the wraps fall onto the granite ground. Inside, emerging forth, a new Jai-I is born, girded as an archangel in battle array.

    One could feel, as if a physical presence, the trepidation lifted, and Jahr’s glory descending
into the humid air of the underground den, transforming the cold, rough walls into a vision of an army roaring at Jai-I’s command.