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A Place for the Outlaws whp-literature

The following work is an act of un-researched fiction. A running joke. Over the next few weeks, a few random posts will continue the serial update of this novella, it is worth pointing out that as at the time of writing this disclaimer, only half of the intended draft of this work has been finished, and the remainder entirely depends on request and reception of this and subsequent updates. The language contained herein may be excessively vulgar, the imageries may sometimes be considered extremely dark, and the narrating style constantly evolves. I look forward to really reading your thoughts and comments as we try this journey into my mind.

First Draft…
       Mummy always had a few words about them “ratchet ass boys” that the TV did show. But I was intrigued by the vanity of it all. I could care less about the vivid consequences of fire and hell. Something about the world was an infinite high. I was stuck in the midst of it all. The constant sexual innuendos, the sexualized precept of the very things we try so hard to make seem normal.
     But the ribbed men on TV were a fit distraction, the sweat glistened charade of their naked skin seeming the perfect muse for my tensed spur. I lock the doors again. I sit, comfortably hidden from all windows as the TV played. Something about the way the oil rubbed on the body of a man caught my inner demons, I feel the moisture building in. “will I cave to these urges again? “ I pondered. A knock comes on the door.
    I am back to reality; the walls around me seem distant as I rush to set the room straight. The knock comes again; the violent thud makes me boil with a concealed fury. I finally opened the door slightly, I peeked through and the face behind the door is Selbi’s. He seemed rather tensed and relieved as the door opened a little further. His brown eyes seemed to carefully ask me if he could come in. I stare at them. Selbi is a beautiful specimen of all young boys, his rather muscular build, revealed a “fuck specimen” for most young girls like me.
     “Do come in” I finally said and he move swiftly past me. He stops midway through his intense walk and turns
     “You’re alone right” he asked, his eyes seemingly hoping my answer was yes.
 I nod affirmatively and his mood brightens. He slumps down on the couch that I had just been on and I stare at him. Selbi and I had grown in two different realities. He always seemed the withdrawn, cute and fluffy type and I was the wild, no rules kinda girl. We know each other pretty well because he has saved me from myself a couple of times.
     The party girl that I am seemed intent on ruining everything good about me. The first of those times that Selbi became more visible to me was when I was drunk and horny. He seemed the perfect guy to take advantage of me and I wanted him. Even in my barely dressed outfit and my cuter than all poses, his eyes seemed taken by something else. It seemed awkward to be totally blanked then so I made an effort to really get into him. He seemed partially lost in the moment when I drew him close to my almost nude frontier. I had sprinkled a little water to make them glisten and he seemed drawn to them. When his eyes were on me, I moved suddenly, falling into his lips. The motion that we had was sensual, moving in the circles of our lust filled vanity.
        Yet when my hands reached down to caress the bulge in his pants, he withdrew.
“You’re drunk” I recall him saying and I laughed hysterically.
“That is what makes it more fun” I replied.
“No, I could care less. But I can’t be just a drunken muse” he replied casually looking away.
I was taken aback by his condescending way of putting me off.
“A girl basically throws herself at you willing to be ravaged and fucked and all you do is whine, you are unbelievable” I retorted, my voice a little louder than the casual flirt voice. I remember him looking at me with an intense passion. His eyes was in there with me, our naked bodies cascading under the dim light, the ecstasy, the orgasms and the powerful depth of his thrust all lit up his eyes but he seemed bent on caging them in.
 “I do want to make love to you, but not while you’re drunk, it’s meant to be a passionate conversation that doesn’t just work out when one party gets to forget it the next day. He replied.
I stare at him in disbelief and in a moment I was gone.
The cavalier scene of the party with the youngins meant the depravity was always tense. All around, the filth carried us all. I drifted for a bit till I met a curious case. This guy had me in all modes of disgusting aggression. The stench and drivel that poured from both his body was so intense, I felt a nauseating need to grapple with his neck till my hands could peel the life out of his body, but my thoughts always were stronger than my body. I stayed. But this guy felt that the drunken phase meant that I was as good as a shot in, he seemed to touch me with an unnerving sense of confidence. I pushed him on more accounts than one but he returned each time more focused and intent on fulfilling his dirty linen.
    I pondered the cruel fate that somehow, the dirty stinking boys always had the confidence and the audacity to reach to the often subdued urges. I wanted to be laid, but not by a smelly skunk thumping his worries and stench on me.
   Selbi was my rescue that day, it happened in a bright second and I cannot recall the exact details, I only remember the cold, angry hands of the boy pinning me to the walls, feeling me up disgustingly, he dragged my pants from underneath me, telling me I’d be sooner satisfied even though I acted like I didn’t like it. When I fought back a little he seemed flushed, like the sense of helplessness in me satisfied him. The room went quiet as I closed my eyes. Then a loud bang and a few seconds later, my eyes opened and Selbi was posted over the body of the boy, he punched him a few times again, even when the boy could hardly move. He seemed a different boy to the cute but respectful one that refused me a couple of minute earlier. He was rage, and his fire captured me. But something different sparked in me as I watched the blood trickle down the boy’s nose. It felt beautiful, drab, a sort of violent drug enticing me to its colour and honour. I cringed as Selbi placed me on the fire-man carry. The journey home remains a blur.
    Selbi now calm and in my living room looked so beautiful, I move across and sit cross legged next to him, he turned sharply, held my hands and fondled them, he had something on his mind I could tell, something that seemed too big a burden to stay for long, something that scared him.
“Say it” I implored, all the while feeling the sensation of love on the surface of my skin.
He looked at me calmly, feeling me up, gauging all my securities, this seemed to be the moment, I needed this, he was going to give up that beautiful body, he was going to lay it on me like I had never been ravaged before, a deep sensation of his growth feeling my moist hole. I stare at him, waiting for the inevitable kiss.
“I murdered a Regal” he softly says.
    The room goes silent. We are two different puzzles now.
    The world has always been a little queer, rushing into the facts of infatuation, living in the tight extreme of hopeful belief and timid craze. Was it before a few brave cohorts made the diabolic mundane? The world as it is known cannot always recognize itself. The constant blur of urges and the dark desires that strip man, ensures that the wordings of any page is guided in moral code.
   The world as we know it now is divided into three factions of very different inclinations. The regal were the dominant elite, all powerful, brutal. No moral standard guided them. But like all worlds before, the thing they had most was power and resources and a self preservation that meant that what little law was left after the great annihilation was subservient to their views.
  The liberal were as much conceited as the very nature of liberals past encouraged, seemingly okay with most things that preserved their self worth.
  The religasi were the queerest of the group left, constantly torn into a world of religion that seemed obsolete in the world of endless treachery and profanity. They maintained an admirable moral code and stayed away in colonies that allowed them access to whatever faith they seemed drawn to.
     This was the world as we knew it. A conscious disintegration of the old order. Driven by the same mechanics of self flagellation that had laid waste to generations long gone.
   “How easy is it to kill a man” I once asked my father, he seemed genuinely interested in my question and set about trying to make a lecture out of it.
 “Twists here, a nudge there, a gun, an arrow, the technique; there are different ways to kill a man. It is both an art and a sport” he replies enthusiastically.
    We talked about guns, the time between a kill shot and the seconds counting down, the very fragility in life in the final few seconds before deaths peace envelop man. We talked about clean scrapes and bloody massacres. We were both infatuated with the idea of death.
  I know it is bad, but watching my mother die from the gun of the son of the man who raped and killed my twin sister spurred me. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to enjoy it, I wanted to revel in it. The son of a bitch should see the smirk on my face as I pinch every worth out of his life.
   But daddy always warned me, he said that we lived in different worlds, the regal took the world when it changed and made it theirs. They could take all and we all had to look away.
  So I did, I did look away when I carried the revolver and let its bullet coarse through the young man’s gut, I did look away when I dragged him across the empty lawn of his own father’s treasured kitchen. I looked away when I peeled the skin on his forehead, each slice brought me a whimper of relieve. His agony was just like a drug. He could cry and be in all modes of self pity but I was not about to look away. But I did look away when I had the drill in hand, softly placing it directly on his navel, I looked away as I pressed the handle and with a splatter of blood the drill bored its way into his gut. I looked away when I pounded his fingers with the hammer, each crack of his bones musically imploring me to go harder. I looked away when the gun kissed his open mouth, life half gone from his tortured limb, and I reveled in all of it. But then I stood over his lifeless body and the emptiness returned.
    As I made my exit through the lawn, a chanced encounter with the maid caused an upheaval, she did see my bloodied wear.
Long before the wailings could come, I had made a conceivable plan, it seemed foolish when the words come out,’ I killed a regal” I pondered still. The severity of the action never quite enthused on me.
   The Calvary comes to my abode, long gone was I, they found my weary soul of a father, tortured by the loss of his wife and daughter, he became a familiar concession for the moment as I drifted stealthily across the nimble streets.
    I killed a regal.
The words seemed vague, the room darkens, I don’t know why I came to her first..
Cali stares intently at me.
The look on her face said it all.
“We need to leave now” she says finally.


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