Carnivore by Jonathan Lyon

Author:Jonathan Lyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2017-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

He slapped me awake. I vomited.

‘May I please have some water?’ I asked as a joke.

‘Drink this.’ He thrust two fingers into my mouth – and my tongue tasted latex and semen.

I vomited again.

‘You seem tired, my dear. Your body is weary, but your spirit cannot be weary. Your true labour is not yet begun.’

He pushed me off the chair onto the floor, on my back, my face towards the window. Clouds obscured the hour, but it seemed high night outside – as though I’d been asleep in ice for hours. My body barely worked. I felt like a tongue attached to a throb.

And my tongue wanted to babble, break character and mock him. ‘You’d like the poetry of William Blake,’ I said. ‘He invented his own metaphysical friends.’

‘You can’t mock me,’ he said. ‘You can only prove yourself to me.’

He sat in the chair with his feet on my stomach, and took the pipe out of his pocket. From its heated bowl, he sucked more ropes of smoke, until his jaw stiffened with serotonin.

‘You can’t mock war. And this is war.’ He looked over to Francis, huddled against the bedpost, his head between his knees. ‘Don’t avert your eyes,’ he told him. ‘War happens to bodies one by one. And we are bodies, happening to each other, one by one. War is a test of fertility. And through it, we are made men.’

He placed his pipe on the table. From his pocket, he removed a plastic syringe. He held its tip to his dick and carefully drew up his semen into the barrel. Carefully he squirted this out into the bowl of his pipe – to dissolve the meth residue there in his semen – and then carefully sucked this mixture back up into the syringe.

‘You have been cleansed, and now you can receive me.’

He kicked my un-cuffed arm away from my stomach and squatted over my thighs. I gazed away at the window, trying to think of a poem by William Blake – but could only remember Satan’s most obvious lines in Paradise Lost, which I whispered to myself, failing to smile with irony.

‘“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep,

Still threat’ning to devour me, opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.”’

Kimber wasn’t listening. He lifted my flaccid penis between thumb and forefinger, unhooded it, and forced the blunt syringe into the hole in its head.

‘You shall feel eternity,’ he promised, pushing down the plunger.

The meth in his semen scalded the tender tissue of my urethra into swelling – and as it heated, it spread to my blood. Its chemistry countermanded the opiates of my afternoon – and soon all my muscles convulsed with amphetamine instead. Still holding the syringe in place, Kimber reached past me, fumbling on the dead constable’s belt for the key to my handcuffs – and unlocked me.

‘I was sent a son,’ he said. ‘And for years I was his father. But he disobeyed me.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.