Wallowing in Destiny – Keko Prijatelj

June 9, 2023

Deliverance

 

In my room there is this cool underground band from Japan, and they’re jamming, and nude girls are dancing to the jam, and the milf in the corner is trying to grab my attention by sticking naily fingers up her ass, but I can’t get my eyes off the beheading that’s happening next to her, and I can’t decide which is grosser. I’m trying to get things done. I’m trying, but these defiant Latinas twisting to the drums under the kitchen lamp, to the riffs on the table, with winsome Slavic tree-hugging flowers that just stare along… I simply couldn’t decide, but I’m trying to study and oh, how I love Japan! Still free to be sick while we’re only allowed to feel traumatised. I’m trying to master Correction of Pronunciation. To master that craft, to overcome this stepping stone of a class in this space where I raise my head only to step into water. The problem is that my obligations are tied to the Internet. They are far less attractive than Japan, South America, South-Eastern Europe… Right down there with the naily anal milf and the beheaded heretic. Or was he an infidel? Perhaps I still get to change the course and learn the language. I like the Sufis. Were they heretics? What happened to them? In my room there is this cool underground band from Australia, and they’re hitting it hard, and the nude girls are cumming and thanking me, while the Sufis are reading their poetry and flash fiction. I just can’t decide, but my heart is full.

My head is falling, so the room empties, everyone off to their bed, happier and wiser than yesterday. My heart is full, and so are my lungs. My chest is heavy, back stiff, neck ossified, my head couldn’t retain any information; it’s bound to fail. I’m going to fail, yes, my head is a failure, the chest even heavier keeps on growing, shades my head, squeezes my body and usurps the whole of me. Obviously, I’m going to die. Out of the blue, a prayer materialises on my lips. What an embarrassment. An atheist praying. A coward! I’m the one who leaves his comrades in the battlefield, I’m the one who deserves nothing less than a bullet in the back. And I only remember, the last thing I recall on my deathbed is our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Is this his will? Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but I’ll never forgive my professors; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. But if he’s the one who made everything, who made the earth as he did temptation, why would I plead with him not to lead where his will is done, why wouldn’t I want to participate in his will? Am I your creation?! Just deliver us from fucking evil. Fucking cocksucking evil.

 

 

That Which Should Have Never Happened

 

Days of physical unawareness ended. The games and whatnot all turned against her. She would have learned the new rules, but she hadn’t met the prerequisites. The mirror had turned away at the sight of her hips, grateful to be spared from witnessing the facial bones growing like cancer from the ancestral crime. She couldn’t cry because tears were afraid to show on such a surface. The Sun shied away like a pregnant woman from a retard when she would open her morning eyes.

She met a boy, or rather, a boy introduced himself to her, biblically. The ugliest male she’d ever seen. Even worse, short. Very short. A lot shorter than her. But brawny and agile, he eeled himself into her. A dynamite of despair, resentment, and plain hate. He assumed she was ugly enough to take anything. Her ass looked like it had regularly been eating anything the lower depths of cauldron had to offer. It wasn’t a fat ass though, just amorphous, from a distance resembling a desert, close up a swamp. It was a done deal. He stuffed all of the rejections into her, every occasion in which he had to submit, deaf to high-pitch screeches. When the pain went numb, the repetitiveness calmed her with a picture of a baby being rocked in a cradle. He was gone before she came around, yet another repulsiveness embraced by the night. A couple of weeks later he will have been killed semi-accidentally over a pack of cigarettes at a tram turnaround. Dustmen, having had mistaken him for a run-over rat, scraped him off the rails and into the dustcart. One of the biggest rats they’d ever seen.

She couldn’t get an abortion because no doctor would believe that she managed to get involved in any kind of sexual activity with another human. Such ugliness breaks the sound barrier of thought and finds itself in a place with no self-esteem, no gravity, and thoughts float. She couldn’t even convince herself that something had happened. Her belly was growing and it was no mukbang. If only she were a legal child of a nobleman. What a misfortune to inherit old sins without old money. It came to her in a dream that she was indeed pregnant and there was no god involved. She wasn’t a virgin anymore. A kindred body came into hers and kneaded a third one. She tried to imagine the fecal life her fetus would lead, every hope an appendix conceived in a stew of the two most vile, nasty existences the Sun has ever seen; she tried, but each thought floated out of her head and to the shore, to spare that soul of seeing its reflection as she saw hers for the last time. Reflection so abhorrent the fish wouldn’t touch her, thus the sea blew up the body like bellows and crashed it into a yacht. All the models sunbathing topless on the deck started throwing up, their panties filling with discharge, and were later unable to perform, which is why the yachtsman had to go to the berth to find his sister.