RuKsaK

Who? – part 1 starts here.
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This is the end – literally.
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‘Pull yourself together from everywhere you can you torrid fool.’
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She got to sitting down without a sound. Despite the excellent pressed tailoring she was wearing, not a single faint rustle emanated from her, even as she glided her rear onto my sofa. I’d barely looked at her face as I was still in my stupor, but when she spoke I snapped back and grew afraid of an embarrassing hard-on arising.

She was actually a rather plain beauty, one of nature’s prototypes, just to show us the top design human possible. There was nothing quirky about her looks and nothing distinctly suggesting any particular nation. Her dark hair was tied back, shiny, but not too prim. Her eyes seemed half bored - perhaps knowing everything. The rest of her face gave off a Hollywood soft-focus somehow. Yes – she was beautiful, but next to the way she spoke she was nothing much at all. I doubt any face could afford to live up to the way she doused her words in pleasure.
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Of course there was a catch to all this, and my ripening balls were grateful for that. Her message was enough of soberer for basically anything.
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‘What do you mean?’
‘This folly has to stop. I’m here to refresh the balance.’
‘I really don’t understand.’
‘It’s all created. Your wife and daughter are no more solidly existent than the fat, greasy Caucasian you dribbled about in June or the defecating you did for a boy a couple of months back. I’m here to give you an ultimatum.’
‘Wait - are you talking about my blog?’
‘I am indeed talking about that spillage of yours. And, enough is enough. Sordid cockroaches, your clumsy, description of my voice – it has to go.’
‘Hang on, hang on! Who the fuck are you?’
‘Prime example of yours. Rash, vulgar, indulgent, lurid and mediocre as a mushy result.’
‘Wait. I need some answers now! This is too fucking weird even for me! Who in the name of cunt are you and what do you want?’
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She leant forward with the least awkward smile I’ve ever seen. A smile that conquered my anger and confusion immediately. She graced my ears once more:
‘I’m here to tell you of fiction. You are utter fiction and this RuKsaK nonsense you’ve been wallowing in for almost a year either stops completely or transforms from the pretentious stain of writing that it is. You’ve got until the twelfth of October for this. On that day your rottenly amateur discourse either undergoes some radical shift in talent or ceases all together. That day your fiction of a family’s return is purely based on this condition.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Please don’t make degrade my voice down to your level of parlance.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Right – I’m leaving now. Now, listen one more time. On the twelfth of October I go to this RuKsaK cyber-blemish. I want some writing worthy of a voice such as mine or a dead and buried link. Otherwise, you’re stuck alone with the thing - alone. Goodbye.’
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She left as silently as she entered and I know I’m not going to hear from her again. I’m not staring or smelling anything now. I’ve got some writing to do.
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The end.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Who? - part 6