Hello again readers! If anybody even reads these little blurbs up here. Honestly I don't even know why I'm saying right know, I guess one too many coke zeros can loosen a guy's tongue. I ate at a Margaritaville the other day and I was honestly disappointed by the lack of Jimmy Buffet playing in there. We, the old lady and I, were there for what felt like over an hour and they didn't play a single one of his songs. Wtf! If you couldn't tell, I am a fan of his music and the whole island escapism culture. I like a lot of that hippie/jam band shit like the Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers. Not that anybody cares! I really am just putting off writing more, what a spiral.

So yeah, I return with another short chapter, I do not know if there is going to eventually be PORN! or not I really don't know. The devil speaks through these wicked fingers. Anyways, more meat for the grinder.

"Eyes of the World" by Grateful Dead - I really like this song

-XOXO Gorble

-Chapter 2-

He bolted up from his rest gasping violently for air. He could feel his stomach turning inside out causing him to dry heave repeatedly. He rarely threw up from these morning convulsions, but he made it a routine turnover in case he did vomit. Spit rained from his mouth onto the mud below as he heaved for several minutes. Mornings were spent in mental and physical exhaustion, still reeling from the traumas of his time.

Lives doomed to be extinguished spending their last moments screaming in torment visited in his dreams, he could see it so vividly at times they followed him to wake.

The weight of death hung on him for a time. What followed was even more horrifying, he had iced out. Dealing in death became so mundane that often the thought of further violences never strayed far behind. Men had become no more than obstacles in his path, to be hurdled or trampled whichever led him to his goal faster.

He killed for love, bodies lay to form the mountain he would climb to reach his beloved.

It consumed his mind. For love he would think as he watched the frozen face of fear as he rang the life straight from a man's neck. For love, as the revolver pressed against his skull and he pulled the trigger, only for it to click and that was 5, to moments later shoot unlucky 6. For love, as graves swallowed the souls of the many men who would not go beyond the barbed wire again. For love, as his sharpened stake ripped the life from just a boy in a uniform, no older than 15. For love, as another was tossed onto the great bonfire.

He remembered the smell of lavender and he knows that his path does not end here. There was a promise. The fire will burn on.

He spit what remained of his morning weakness in the mud to join the rest as he stood up. The mud below felt like jelly and his knees threatened to buckle. He groaned as he straightened, feeling the tug of matted fur across his body. Each step ripped clumped fur from his skin as he walked. Months had gone by since he had seen a shower. It rarely bothered him anymore, nothing seemed to. Not even what felt like thousands of tiny mites crawling on him, no matter how much it made him want to rip his fur off. Self preservation didn't allow for any reservations. Regardless, all other sensations dulled at the warble of his brain, a siren that constantly blared for water.

It had been days since his last drink and it would be days more by the look of a clear sky. There was no strength to search, only enough to take another step. When he felt that he couldn't bear on any longer, he would smell lavender and the next step would come.

Somewhere between minutes and hours had passed, the thick canopy of trees made it hard to track the sun. Even if he could see it, there wasn't strength left to think beyond each step. The constant struggle of critical exertion, blanked his mind beyond pain and lavender.

Through dazed eyes, he saw two shrubs in front of him, swaying in time with his motion. Minutes, hours, maybe years had passed and he realized they were upon him. He couldn't feel the hands on his shoulders only noting his lack of forward progress. Inertia had been the sole force that kept him moving, as soon as he stopped he could feel the weight of fatigue collapse his frame. Before he faded he used the last of his strength to speak, "I need to use the phone."

The cat was above him again hands, on his chest to brace. He could see the pleasure in the other's eyes as they bounced and moaned. The cat crashed hard, at apparent orgasm based on the panting. Lips pressed against his and light faded.

He gasped and rocketed to a sitting position, feeling the familiar knot tie itself in his stomach. The combination of artificial light and white decorum blinded his maladapted eyes. The bleached interior gave the impression of some kind of medical facility.

"By God, he stirs." Instinctively, he reached toward his waistband where a pistol would have rested if it had not been taken.

"Easy cowboy, don't pull out the IV." The man was in his view now, he could see a long white coat and a clipboard hanging loosely under arm. He relaxed as the pieces finally fell together in his mind.

"Doc, where am-" Fire erupted from the stomach as all his abdominal muscles clenched and spasmed. He tried to lean over the side of the bed but a hand caught his shoulder. Either the doctor was a very strong man, or months of running on E had sapped about all the gusto from him.

"It'll pass son, there ain't nothing left in your gut to up chuck anyways." The doctor sighed to settle into the nitty gritty.

"We cleaned you out, pumped your stomach, something was causing you a lot of problems. It might've been the malnutrition, it looked like you were bout' ready to blow with the wind." And maybe he wanted to.

"Say, how long you been out there alone?" He swallowed back his spit as the queasiness died down to slow pang. His breathing still ragged.

"About three, maybe four months."

"Alone? And where's all your gear, and your tags." He used the clipboard to tap on his collarbone.

"Gone, stripped us to our unders."

"My God, you're a POW ain't ya?!" The doctor's tone was incredulous, he didn't have the strength to address beyond two words.

"Yes sir." The doctor cursed, pacing back and forth frantically before deciding course of action.

"You best lie back down, somebody's gonna talk to you when you're in good spirit." He was pushed back onto the cot, unable to resist. He wanted to ask about a phone call but a lump settled in his throat. Settling for telekinesis, his eyes followed the doctor as he left, no fortune telling in his future it seems. The world blurred as his eyelids drooped with newfound weight. The stress of unfamiliar conversation wore him down and sleep came easy.