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zombified zombie

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Конкурс фантрассказа Блэк-Джек-20
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  meltdown as in reactor cores is always on the way especially on the terrace of some japanese style cafe in the outskirts on the border between the rainy chill of the shadow and damp hotness of the june sun after a thunderstorm which drove us there in search of a shelter initially the thunder was far from delicate with its rattling and crackling shaking poor ravaged quarters we found ourselves in to the ground resonating perfectly with my weather-generated headache that blinds deafens overloads every nerve until i go down and resort to uncontrollable mumbling would cry if i was able to but the alternatives ain't much better so deep down i'm thankful that it's the sky cracking open instead of my skull pouring down with heavy rain soaking us through i recall telling him that whenever i see lightnings i can't help feeling curious if the titanium plate under dat scar on my head is able to lure them closer the same way lightning conductors do
  guess getting struck by lightning wouldn't even prove very surprising at this point and i have no doubt i'd survive simply because all-father is not ready to have me over apparently he is not happy with my endless war with my own body and wants me to put all that energy to a better use before he's done with me that much is clear but what is harder to explain is that it's a fight for control that's been lasting for the whole 23 years of my existence and neither of us has been willing to yield so far so i can't be fucking bothered with his precious heroic achievements until i'm through with this shit welp i failed to make it clear to all-father the last time i got a chance so
  meltdown as in reactor cores is always on the way with that mutant beast in the vicinity close proximity because his presence turns my perception inside out overwhelms me immediately up to the point where i stop comprehending myself and lose self-awareness which is the greatest trap of them all that bliss of unawareness postmortem clarity of a coma up to the point when i can't focus at all be it his speech or mine doing something going somewhere can't be bothered with trivia cos of the drastic need to do something to vent it to let the steam off before it melts a hole in my skull to do something it's unclear what exactly but disintegrating everything around would fit well enough so that there is nothing left to move or make noise to combine colors in the sky into that perfect sunset harmony every evening to breathe to shine to reach the recording devices in my tiny black box
  he makes me feel nuclear and for that i hate him as much as for the constant necessity to pull back before i accidentally melt down into that feeble ghost of myself paralyzed with fear incapable of anything but dragging behind that thing Rider got so annoyed with eventually when the nearing end became clear and i couldn't help it anymore
  he makes me feel nuclear and the core gets critically unstable at some point on that terrace when the romantic couple from the next table gets up and moves on leaving us face to face aside from a lonely waitress by the entrance and he patiently waits for me to finish pronouncing another automatically generated sentence so that he can press his thumb against my lower lip and run along it slowly corner to corner he proceeds with hiding that thumb inside his own mouth and only then it occurs to me that i forgot to lick my lips after finishing my ice cream and the realization of how stupid and lame i must have looked all the while combined with his freezing cold stare through the glistening filter of glasses fixed on me from across the table make me wanna evaporate and i can feel my ears and cheeks burning so badly it stings and he won't look away and neither will i & not reacting will only make it worse and reacting will only make it worse so it's a genuine zugzwang at that small table on a terrace of a backwater cafe right after a thunderstorm and that unbending blank look on the indigenous perfection of his face is enough to make me feel like a seizure my own personal thunderstorm with its own thunders and lightnings just like a thunderstorm it always comes unexpected and never when you truly wish for it yes of course in the end i succumb and jump up from the table to drop back into my favorite solitude of a toilet cabin where i usually just stand and breathe with my eyes closed imagining myself locked in a space shuttle drifting in the middle of nowhere in the outer space to cool off before my skull cracks and the demons start spawning in flesh right from the portal born from that crack wouldn't be surprised if it turned that way anyway
  surgical precision of his features minimalistic almost sterile ageless indefinite and pure a perfect fit for a face of death but he gets me wrong every time i call him deathface so i've taken to keeping it to myself those features of his held with samurai elegance of his manners on top of his devilish might combined with his inhumane measurements are enough to humble me and astonish always challenge me to submit which is another reason why i hate him and never miss a chance to bully him or catch him contradicting himself to embarrass cos that drastic desire to submit makes it impossible to ignore my inclinations which i hate on their own no matter if i chose them or not to begin with i hate having these needs in general satisfying them in particular sitting across from the best way to satisfy them i've ever stumbled upon all the more
  moments like this it stops mattering how much he himself submits to my whims outside of those needs or that freedom of choice he provides and cleverly stresses all the time all the doors left open on purpose no promises no obligations no verbal arrangements at all only add to the addiction which i can suppress for some time after i force myself to move away from under his nuclear presence for a month or two as pressure slowly builds in the back of my mind until the rage becomes blinding and i start worrying over accidentally breaking something fragile and dear like my Mischa or snapping at the dear leader which is inexcusable and the mutant beast always senses it in time to come back around softly quietly non-intrusively random silent and aloof just a mere fuse to set off my charge i assume that from his side it all looks very different since he obviously hates it when i dehumanize him reducing to a simple set of means to feed my needs times i try he always interferes forces me to acknowledge his presence grabs me by the jaw to prevent me from biting off his tongue in a kiss cos i prove too rough it annoys and confuses the beast who is ready to make sacrifices eager to concede willing to belong openly longing for gentleness yet refuses to comprehend how much that gentleness hurts makes me weak in the knees the very hint of the idea that it could be not just some beast but my beast my own mutant ubermensch from the depths of Hel leaves me breathless provokes panic makes me feel cornered makes me wanna die very badly
  and so i die everytiem as soon as there's no clothes left on and my skin melts away under his searing touch silken tongue tender lips sharky teeth leaving me numb and fading fainting panting fuzzy with electricity dizzy with excitement drunk with my power that is the power of nuclear decay it radiates feral waves shoots particles to gnaw away at the worlds separating us from each other in congested intimacy of motel rooms in dubious shelters of ravines deep in the woods flooded with greenery basked in fake sloth or whipped up by my feverish rush & that rage that makes me harsh and confuses him so is addressed to myself & my inability to stop neglecting this fucking impediment of my needs turns me into a parasite inside my own body rather than a pilot i was supposed to serve stuck inside bound to observe as it shivers with spite when he kisses its thighs as it gasps with gloat as he sucks on its dick having pinned it down on a dusty table somewhere in the murky depths of a crumbling school building in the desolated district it's so quiet there i can hear every breath and every heartbeat every chirr of a grasshopper and whisper of grass growing through the cracked tiles on the ground it never stops looking back at me to establish its triumph as it teases him out of his mind provokes the beast makes him angry and greedy overwhelmed with that pitch black sorrow of his ready to lock and load a full clip into that awful defiant meat puppet of mine it enjoys itself with shameless intensity as it gets the projectile it had asked for that gorgeous shell shoved balls deep in makes it feel safe and content full and complete and i can't turn away can't black out to skip can't zoom out or unfocus bound to watch meagerly as it grins back at me with contempt with its triumphant spite toxic gloat arching its back in high voltage ecstasy diligently polishing his rocket with its velvet hot guts and the only function i serve overwhelmed with my rage and disgust and neglect and reproach stuck watching this shit from afar is spicing its ecstasy up with that minty ting of victory cos it always disobeys always prevails in the end no matter how much i abuse and punish it in return when left to my devices later as it's far dumber than any dog way more stubborn than a mustang
  that aside from the fact that an emotional attachment is a form of addiction and is to be avoided at all costs because the very notion of attachment ruins the ability to interact with the object of choice the same way that provided a chance to form that attachment in the first place
  and yet he refuses to understand that critical error crucial conflict of myself he sets in motion every time and yet he always picks its side between the two whenever he gets to choose unconsciously because he's unaware that there are sides to pick in the first place since i may talk a lot but i remember to keep the vital part to myself
  why i end up so grumpy why so serious why so eager to stab someone in a dark alley behind the bar deep in the moonless night so eager to retaliate and devastate and i can't just tell him that i need this random someone to stab so that i don't stab himself in his sleep as a simple way to get rid of this endless challenge he provides
  which i'd rather not because any demon is safe as long as it's in plain sight and he does a great job at dragging it into the daylight every time and no matter how i probe at it from all sides in the end i can't help feeling that i myself am that demon stuck in a puny meat puppet that would've been long dead weren't it for me animating it unwillingly to watch it suffer and retaliate and it has always been that zombified way before that whole shit started going down that it had been dead way before the coma before the car before the redhead before the shovel that it was a stillborn that just appeared in a suitable moment in time and interlaced with me passing by accidentally following some sophisticated sadistic plan of all-father and who's to tell me if it's a struggle to persevere or a perverted refining process like those they conduct in alchemy
  necromancy gets fairly easy to grasp when you're a zombie of your own creation after all
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