Saturday, October 15, 2005

"CRIMSON CATERWAUL" is an extraordinarily special fast fiction based on this wonderful little work by my man Manfred Naescher. Manfred is an artist par excellence who can also kick a soccer ball like nobodies business. Once a week he organizes a friendly game of footie-for-artistes, a kind of sports-salon for those who prefer laughter to competition. He is remarkable.
If you find this whole illustrated fiction (or to be more accurate for this site - fictionalized illustration) thing inspiring, you might want to check out this competition to illustrate Yann Martel's Life of Pi.

But for now slide back in your vodka and cranberry juice filled kiddie pool which takes up your whole living room and enjoy...


"Which one's that constellation ?" she asks with her finger pointed to the sky. The tip of her finger shimmers with moonlight on earwax. She puts little stock in hygiene but he likes her all the same.

"That's called Parachuting Buffalo. You know all those buffalo runs where hundreds of them would run off a cliff ? Well this one had a parachute. Can you see it ?" He traces his creation with his index finger. He rests his cheek against hers to get as close to her point of view as possible. The left arm of her glasses digs into his cheekbone.

A hunger for any kind of flesh rises deep from within him. It's nearing midnight. The hour of the change.

"So I don't remember learning any of these constellations in school. Where'd you pick all this up ?" Her smile inflates her cheeks which raise her heavy framed glasses an inch on the right side of her face. With his head holding the other side firmly in place, they rest at a diagonal angle. She hates them but needs them to see the stars connected into constellations. She was worried they'd break this strange spell that he's under, this attraction that he feels for her. But now all she feels is the side of his head against hers.

"Oh, you know. Here and there. My father designed telescopes. I mean he was blind but that's what he did for a living." He smiles.

She giggles and he goes to kiss her while her mouth is open. Her glasses poke him in the eye.

A red wave of anger surges up within him. He can feel the change happening. He will taste flesh soon.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she says as she turns red and redder.

And redder yet while an army of angry bones, organs and sinew within her rearrange into something horrid and new.

It's midnight and they're both turning into beasts ready to feast. Their primitive minds have no room to acknowledge this coincidence. They are simply ready to fight and then feast.

The constellations above keep their shapes.


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