"How many generations We destroyed before them, and they cried out when it was no longer the time for escape!"


Ashamed of himself for having to strike those early blows repeatedly in conjunction with his first kill, Ahmed practiced long and hard. With teenage gusto, bent on mastering every hand-to-hand technique, he proved a more efficient killer when next he struck.

Stale breath / flabby skin, the consistency of lard / outlandish make-up caked and smeared and clogging blackhead-studded pores / a cloying excess of cologne / her sex a wedge of rancid brie / endearments guilefully conveyed between a spate of grunts and farts / gross provocations to commit the act—too quickly—palms to cheeks / a sudden twisting motion / SNAP / her neck lay limp; the deed was done.

Except its surgical precision left young Ahmed unfulfilled; instead of torturing, death had flexed its scythe too swiftly.

How recoup? How wring repentance from a sinner whose extremities, pale and cold, already testified to a wicked soul's departure?

Rank / obese / her carcass prostrate / poised to countenance Ahmed's rearward penetration / lobes of lax inanimate buttocks wan as bean curd / pockmarked / cleaved / their tandem portals, brown-stained puckers of salacious importuning, would corrupt, with filthy kisses, Muslim customers nevermore, deserving scourges better felt than borne by nerve ends rendered numb.

To make his point, what other choice did Ahmed have? His knife, unsheathed, began engraving gruesome characters into mounds of lifeless flesh, its blood retarded, oozing sluggishly, blade tip sunken one inch deep, lines cut in parallels to ensure each letter's boldface legibility—carved, then joined within their borders, tidy flaps of tissue peeled—the word "TAHOUTI" (agent of Satan) thus incised.

The image fades... to be replaced as by its negative: White turned Black, Joleena's torso (yet unmarked, intact, still breathing) bears the brunt of Ahmed's gaze. The look he levels, in an aftermath of degenerate excitation, is perverse. He stands aghast at his own depravity.

Allah's slave? How claim that most exalted title in the wake of foul debauchery? How upbraid transgressors, much less slay them, when disposed to sin oneself? For do not blind spots of the righteous, when exposed by moral mirrors, indict such lashings-out as forms of self-recrimination?

Ahmed groans, dispels his pending contradiction with an abnegating wince, extends his hand and grips Jo's scrotum where it sprawls in a swarthy pool. Sleek thighs and bubble buttocks harbor squashed and flaccid, childlike genitals; Jo's appendage maddens Ahmed with its bite-size, plump allure, its starchy wellspring over-laden with the serum of forgetfulness. Stirring. Yawning. Waking up and shyly peeping from its foreskin, Jo's erection fills the palm of him whose ardor likewise stirs / a naughty wiggle signals readiness / Ahmed shifts, assumes position, fits his phallus to the anal ring and thrusts / Jo's ass, impaled, begins a peristaltic action unexampled to its visitor / fingers kneed the meaty mushroom, mold its muscles to desire, allow an all-embracing suction to engulf, engorge, inflame, then milk the marrow from his bone-hard link / anatomies thus conjoined / Jo's haunches shimmy; Ahmed's member vents. The pair expels one sigh, then each collapses, interjoined like overlapping carcasses.

Shame—resurgent—urges one to disengage, perform an action / palms to cheeks / a sudden twisting motion / SNAP / Jo's neck goes limp.