Bitch's Brew by Brian Jackson

Gazing over this field of meat, I find patience awaits my special attention -- the bite of my true love. Please, please, my subjects cry, don't stick that needle in my eye. Don't drink my inky life away -- let flow through wicked fingers. For I am special, I am unique, that one star amongst the multitude worthy of concern.

What care need I for one so small, so weak, so naīve, and afraid. Were I to care, I'd find such need that care is all there'd be.

So, you'll take my special attention, you will! You are nothing but when my attention washes over your weasel form. Your blood exists only to warm my flesh, to lubricate my love. I rend flesh, expose meaning, and sift life -- reading tea leaves in search of purpose. You are nothing but what I make. Raw clay awaits my ministrations to take form, desperate to expose a life too long smothered in ill use and flippant disregard.

And were I to spurn your need, others would heed your bleating. For there is not but one who matters -- more weave this bitch's brew. Come sit on Daddy's knee tonight, some candy little girl? Stand straight, do right, don't think that way! You've done wrong and must be wronged. I watch the others, remain unseen, lest we feed upon each other before the fold.

Now you await my ruling: yea or nay. Shall you be next, or another? You dance upon tiptoe in excitement. Will I love you most? Will I make you real, or make you wait, usurper in your stead?

Raymond was harshly drawn from his thoughts by the tolling of a bell announcing the end of the school day.

"Okay, everyone," Raymond cast before a wave of sound expelled by a flood of youth cascading from their seats. "Finish reading Chapter 4 this weekend and be prepared to discuss its contents come Monday," he concluded. Then as an amused afterthought added, "And remember, you must continue to travel in groups until the curfew has been withdrawn."

Young flesh flowed past Raymond, buffeting him as if he were a rock amid a vigorously rushing stream. Raymond watched life's potential pass, withholding the desire to cull the finest from the herd as his eye alit upon each prime cut.

The rush of children had slowed to a trickle. Raymond finally allowed a busy hand to slip from his trouser pocket and fall upon the shoulder of a passing girl. Peering down at the now immobile form, he relished the look of desire in the blue eyes cast his way through a pair of thick, black framed glasses.

"Cheryl, I was very impressed with the science project you handed in this week." Raymond said with a smile, thus beginning the dance. Receiving a shy grin in reply, he stepped to the beat of the music. "I'd like you to stay after school for a short time this afternoon to discuss the prospect of submitting your project to the district-wide science competition," he continued. Cheryl's gaze became riveted on Raymond, her adoration now unmasked, her desperate need laid bare. "How would you like to have some special attention paid to you this afternoon?" Raymond asked teasingly.

The dance remains the same but music's ever changing. Bondage begets cries for special attention, beautiful calls for release into existence. The sex is kept unreplete by withholding ones essence, extending the pleas for love late into the night. The screams grow in density as the digging goes deeper to pull a new life into being. Finally, the orgasm of birth and death must be joined as another star winks into existence, then quickly out again.

And we forever search, doing what we must to become whole.