Prey for Delivery

         There’s something telling. Beaches in winter, sunlight on snow-white skin. Babies buried in the sand. Drift wood. There’s something telling.

         The conduit is old and losing its impossible battle against time, rusty. The riders are old and losing their viability with time. Times two. Holes in boot soles.  

         I like the idea, the first tells the other, pulling on a big purple coat, just not the execution.

         But it’s so good! the other tells the first.

         They walk along the sandy path from the road to the beach, discussing whatever it is that they are discussing. The land is trying to be green and the trees are twisted and bent away from the sea.

         Upon their arrival to the cove, the first turns to face us, where we’re seated upon this somber cliff. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts up to us, My name is Evelin Chamberlin, and this is my girlfriend, Sandra, but I like to call her Peaches! Evelin Chamberlin, as the first wishes to be referred, laughs and pushes Peaches. Peaches laughs too. Evelin pauses, looks back up at us and shakes her head; we’re just sitting here, nearly frozen to the edge of the cliff, feet clutching the edge. So?! she shouts, her voice, sonorous, filling the cove. If you want to come with us, just climb down!

         She turns back to Peaches and Peaches calls us Freaks.

         We pull up our legs and scoot away, out of view, almost.

         What’s wrong with you?! Peaches shouts. Quit creeping on us and just come down here and talk to us! We’re just people, you know!

         We don’t move a muscle. We know the game. Silence first. Noise later.

         After some time, the women begin removing palm fronds from a pile of palm fronds that we cannot see below. We sneak up and peek over the edge of the cliff and a bit of dirt and pebbles tumble down the rock face. We spread out our bodies on the ground. We hold fast, don’t worry, not a problem. Peaches brushes some of the dirt from her bleached, red-rooty hair and flips us off. Hey, asshole! Go the fuck away! Peaches shouts. The women continue their work for some time.

         Our mouths are dry. We drink from our canteens.

         Under the pile of palm fronds, there soon appears an upturned row boat. The women tie their bootstrings across the backs of their necks and pocket their socks, flipping and hauling the boat across the frosty sand. They roll up their pant legs and step into the water, hardly trying to keep their feet dry, but anyway they’re tough, so it’s no problem. They’re off and paddling. They don’t try to overtake the tide or anything like that, but they just paddle out of the cove and traverse the inaccessible side of the island, rounding the bend. We don’t hesitate to follow; our mouths are dry again. The crags or snags or whatnot don’t seem to bother these women; they’re tough; they’re probably from Portland. I hear you bearing down on the enamel of your teeth and scratching your wings together. You been to Portland before?

         …

         Oh yeah? That many times?

         ???

         I was born on Hobo Island.

         Below, the women are occupied with their paddling. Now’s the time.  

         You’re up! Come on! Up to bat, kid! 

         You reluctantly swoop in on the women below. I was right, they’re definitely from Portland. Evelin Chamberlin heard you coming from a mile away! You poor bastard. She grabs you by the beak and spins your neck, breaking you. I almost come down to try and help you, but my feet won’t go. They won’t. They cease up at times like this and just won’t go. I watch Evelin Chamberlin twist and grunt over you and I figure that’s it, but then quickly comes Peaches from the back of the boat and steps right into your face. It’s a gruesome death, that death.

         Well, Evelin Chamberlin and Peaches keep right on paddling until they reach an opening in the rock, the cave. It’s there that I lose sight of them. Two of you fly up and perch beside me on the cliff. That was quick.

         What are we going to do now though?

         …

         You know they’re in there. Should we try and get in there?

         ???

         You never could make a goddamn decision, pea-brain. Stay out here if you want to, I don’t care; I’m going in.

         Upon entry, with you still pussy-footing on the cliff’s edge, I see the sight of sights – the split. Evelin Chamberlin’s legs splayed in that strange way. Her pink insides visible now as she splits at the full, final stage, while Peaches holds her hand and chants such phrases as, You’re doing great, You’re almost there, and You’re so strong, my love.

         Then you, Johnny-Come-Lately, and your other, flutter clumsily beside me, grabbing the women’s attention. Nice going, pea-brain. By now, Evelin Chamberlin is two and Peaches is beginning to split. We’re really screwed if we don’t get down there quick. So, we put on our stimulation visors and fly over them, dropping our seeds upon the pink mess of Peaches, praying that this will work. It feels nice to try at least. 

         After that, it’s a waiting game. So, we follow, pleased to see that Peaches does not complete her split, but sputters blood and mucus upon the stone cavern walls. It’s worked! Two Evelin Chamberlins see us in our helpless after-seeding state and climbs up the cliff – her claws piercing the rock –, belching, red-faced, and baring sharpened teeth. What a woman!

         She ate your other first, as it was new and slower than us. Feathers and blood and we thought that was pretty fun, so we laughed and tried again, failing to throw much at Evelin Chamberlin. She simply swallowed and continued, this time breaking your head off and shoving it down my throat before consuming us like a stuffed turkey.

         I told you she’s the best! Now, with Peaches seeded, we are closer to fulfilling ourselves in Evelin Chamberlin’s stronger forms and making our way toward magnificence. It’s important for a man to have a dream.