BIGBUTADORABLE.BL0GSPOT.C0M
"I want to be a stream of wind..."

The words echo over the sound of the waves. Jeremy hums the lonely melody on the deserted beach as he rises from his seat, an empty beer can in his hand.

With the damn jackal gone, he is finally completely alone. But freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Only half the day can be spent in peace. When the sun goes down, he'll be in heat. He will writhe in agony, barely able to fall asleep before passing out. His cheeks grow paler by the day and his face takes on a sullen hue.

I don't know what the difference is between living and dying anymore.

Jeremy thinks as he brushes the sand off his pants onto the side of the road. It's been several weeks, but the middle-aged man never gets used to the heat, so he often finds himself fidgeting at dusk, only to find himself stranded on a remote island with no one to listen.

Ssrh ssrhh ssrh—

Jeremy, dragging his feet somewhat helplessly in the sand, purses his lips, thinking he feels hot. This damn island is too hot in the middle of the day. And it's very stupid to be drunk on a day like this.

Yeah, well, if I get sick with no medicine, I'm the only one who loses.

Thinking he should go home, wash up, and go back to the store, Jeremy throws the beer can in the trash bin in front of a convenience store.

There is only one person on the island who uses that trash bin. The pile of cans is a clear indication of how much Jeremy drank. He feels sorry for himself for spending half of his waking hours drunk, even though he knows it is useless.

"......"

Damn it, when the Jackal doesn't show up, the middle-aged man really have nothing to do. In desperation, Jeremy had picked up his carving knife again, but his dexterity wasn't what it used to be, so he threw it away and crawled out onto the beach.

As Jeremy walks home in the blazing sun, nature greets him. The landscape before him is still. It is completely devoid of life, except for a line of white foam moving along the beach in the distance.

"Haah..."

Looking at this beautiful view, the middle-aged man used to feel almost suffocated. But now, every time he remembers that there are no people here, a chill runs down his spine. It is an eerie feeling, as if he is floating in deep water, out of reach of his feet.

Jeremy is exhausted. Though he has regained some of his strength from the nerve-wracking days of the Jackal, his bones are growing weary. The shadows under his eyes grow darker by the day, and his beard grows unkempt after days without a shave. He has also been wearing the same pair of pants for days.

Jeremy can't afford to worry about his appearance when no one will look at him. He has nothing to do now, and he is always on edge, always feeling like he is being followed.

He doesn't know when the monster will swoop down on him again unannounced; it could be a nasty surprise, or worse, he could get cocky and do something terrible to him.

He dares because I dare.

The ominous imagery makes the middle-aged man feel even more drained. Standing at the gate, Jeremy tugs at the handle with a clammy hand. His sunburned body is hot. He needs to go inside and get some water or take a shower.

Inside, the house is too bare.

The house is too deserted. Jeremy walks in, closes the door behind him with an awkward step, as if he were visiting someone else's house, and heads straight for the bathroom.

He feels sick to his stomach. He can't tell if it's from too many beers or if something else is going on. His clothes feel clunky, and everything that touches his skin feels uncomfortable. His frustration reaches its peak on the way home from the beach.

Jeremy steps under the shower and turns on the cold water, hoping to somehow quell his rumbling mood.

"Haa...haah..."

Jeremy lathers up and vigorously scrubs his entire body. He scrubs frantically, as if he were covered in some kind of extreme contamination. But that doesn't make the uncomfortable feeling go away. Instead, the subtle tickling sensation only intensifies as every inch of his body is touched.

"Ugh..."

His breathing becomes ragged. Even though it is still hours away from the heat, Jeremy's body is already feeling thirsty.

Jeremy stops scrubbing his body, just stands still under the water, biting his lip and wiping his flushed face. A lustful tingle creeps up his groin and he feels like he will come at any moment.

"No... What am I going do at night when I'm already like this...?"

If he masturbates here, he won't be able to physically handle it when he ejaculates. Masturbate, get aroused, pass out, wake up, get aroused again. Not wanting to get into a vicious cycle, Jeremy keeps telling himself.

I am a man... I'm a human being who is not easily overcome by lust.

When he finally steps out of the shower, Jeremy's fingers look wrinkled from the cold water. As he dries his hair with a towel, the middle-aged man tries to suppress the rumbling desire in his stomach, but the more he does, the more the heat rises in protest. He feels like punching himself in the stomach.

"Please, please..."

The middle-aged man's voice is now tinged with irritation. He can't believe how much this bothers him. There is no way he is going to make it back to the store or get something to eat. Finally, Jeremy staggers back to his bed and sits down on the edge.

"......"

All he wants to do now is rest and not think about anything, but he's afraid he'll have terrible dreams if he falls asleep alone. Besides, this is the bed he shared with that monster.

"Haa..."

Jeremy remembers the long, black arm wrapped around his plump body. Ugh, why can't he stop thinking about that damn monster? Even in the shower earlier, he imagined Asterios groping his body.

Shit, what the hell am I thinking?

Jeremy shakes his head like a man who's had a terrible vision. Don't think about the damn monster, he reminds himself, it's just a demon toying with a human.

For now, Jeremy continues, pulling at the sheets, I am just sick, the lack of sleep and the nightmares have weakened my mind. I don't need a demon taunting me with words and deeds, forcing me to mutilate myself.

That son of a bitch was imitating Max, the sneaky basterd.

Jeremy's stomach still churned at the thought. Thinking he has a headache, the middle-aged man curls up into a ball. He feels like an idiot for being so old and not being able to sleep alone.

It's not my fault. I have every right to be angry.

A pair of golden eyes staring back at Jeremy's blue ones in the factory flash through his mind. What was the damn monster thinking? Is he surprised that the cowering human has suddenly started talking back to him? Jeremy hates the way the jackal looks at him, like he's seen something he can't understand. He feels an unbearable pain every time he is observed by the monster, treated like a piece of livestock.

Basterd.

Jeremy buries his head in the pillow, trying to shake the images from his mind. Every time the fluffy blanket and the feel of the bed wraps around his body, he feels as if the monster is about to grab his ankle. The space he shared with his lover has long since been imprinted on his mind as the place where the monster ravaged him.

Jeremy Rogers can't cope with this loneliness and fear alone. His recurring mood swings and nightmares have left him physically and mentally exhausted.

With a last wish for someone to be with him, the middle-aged man lies down and closes his eyes.




PREV   •   TOC   •   NEXT