January 26, 2014

Algolagnic Trimmings
By Michael Fotos

It was an unearthly grey tinged with an unheavenly char.

Sit, my child, the devils workman told a young woman.
But Ive done no wrong, she explained as she cried, chunks of breath losing their way
in the esophagus.
Did you not bat your eyes at the Ark Duke, Resevori? the man arrayed in blacks and
silver asked.
The woman, pulling desperately at her arm, said I did no such thing.
You lie, said the man, Now sit.
The woman tugged viscously, but tumbled over, unable to escape the mans grasp. The
woman cried out, Please, Misuer.
Pleading never worked, never stopped him before.
Please, she continued, The day was particularly cloudy from the dust of the markets.
Sit, the man demanded.
The woman stared at the tool that would bring about her expiry. A stone, flat and long, a
slab of rock. Upon the center lay a corrosion of black soot in lumps commencing a revue of
charring, a singeing into dust. The brass furnace underneath sounded its existence with whistles
and knocking. The stone burned a glossy red.
Where is justice? When will the killing end? the woman let out, swinging an arm at the
man. It caught upon the corner of his chin. He dug his fingers into the sides of her arms.
Sit.
The womans chest juddered, her shoulders caving in as her knees were forced to give,
bending unwillingly. Steam traveled up her legs and warmed her bare skin up to the naval. She
felt the burn before making contact.
This was more than a chastening example for the woman. It was more than an arduous
challenge of bearing. It was a torture for a harrowing public audience.

Men hailed before the melting skin. Women snickered as flesh mutated into boils. Kids
watched wide-eyed at the bonding of stone and leg. The scream woke infants and intimidated
winged animals. The causticity of the smelting-rock played roles in the dreams of women who
were awaiting the same fate.
The man in black rags and silver link pressed a foot onto the womans lap. She no longer
screamed, but foamed at the mouth until her innards spilled over her body. The liquids steamed
upwards as it trickled onto the stone.
With a quick pull the man severed the skin that had morphed with the rock. The woman
had given up tissue and muscle. She was flung over the mans shoulder and carried to a dock of a
lake that warned of danger, of imminent infection. The woman was dropped in. The sting of the
water surrounding fresh wounds battled between the pain the wind had carried as it beat against
the pink of her legs and buttocks.
Water and disease filled the womans lungs as she greeted the women who dared not
reveal their faces, but lie with their lacerations, burns, and amputations available for viewing
pleasure.

(Word Count: 479)