Author S. K. Nicholas

Some Brazilian kid slumps by the side of the road. Some other comes and points a gun at his face. There’s no blood, only a muffled pop that makes the kid fall backwards into some bushes. It happens quickly. The sun blinding me as we run across the road, I slip my fingers around your waist and squeeze tight. Biting my lower lip, the stench of death is eased by the good weather, for it lifts my moods and enhances my complexion. Everyone runs in circles and howls at the horror of it all, but this kind of thing happens all the time. Last week I read about a group of children burned alive somewhere in Africa by the Boko Haram. As devastating as it was, the only thing I could think of doing was fucking your brains out. It was the only answer that seemed to fit. If they knew my thoughts- if they could read my mind- they would surely snuff me out. Swatting flies and hailing a taxi, we move from district to district searching for whatever takes our fancy. My hand inching up your leg as the vehicle cuts through traffic, I sink my fingers in causing you to shudder. You tell me to stop, but it turns me on. To see you at the mercy of my desires is what matters most, for it makes the night last forever. From Spring to Summer as your mouth trembles on mine, our fire burns brighter with every beat of your quickened heart.