~Journey to Triazolam~

By WordWulf, 24th Jan 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/26tigyhx/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

~Today she is in perfect position, having analyzed angles of entry. She smiles to herself, pleased to have chosen so well, then winces as the first needle is spiked into the roof of his mouth.~

~Journey to Triazolam~

Having been there before, he knows well enough to dress himself ready. Once there, he will have no sense of such things as apparel. He smiles to himself as the last bits of preparation line up in his mind. ‘Hide the gun from yourself. Be sure you won’t be able to find it.’

Once dressed, he closes his eyes for a moment. A necessary part of any trip is preparedness. His clothes are in order. The return home key is in his right front pocket. He may rob a bank or romance a mermaid. Who knows; when you’re in Triazolam all things are possible. Most importantly, he has arranged for a driver, someone he can trust implicitly. She is the final piece, that which has made it possible for him to don the masque. She will pick him up soon... then..

His mind slips as he imagines her nude body, his lady driver, alone between the windows of the automobile. Having driven him before, she knows to travel without clothes, has cast off her inhibitions. Blood and bone fragments are impossible to remove from clothing unless dealt with immediately. In Triazolam there is no regard for the morrow, each delicious moment only. She is here as attendant and driver, blood second and witness. She will never allow him to touch her in that room, Triazolam. She drives him and waits, never participates. He imagines her mounting him, then...

His erotic thoughts are interrupted by her voice attending. “Will you be ready to leave in ten minutes? We have to be there a bit early to fill out paperwork. I left it last time so I could get you home and lain in bed. There was so much blood...”

“I’m ready now,” he smiles. “I will not open my eyes. Just tell me, have you taken off your clothes?”

She kisses his closed eyelids. “I am as you find me.”

With an effort, he doesn’t reply. Flesh is best devoured at the end of a long wait... hunger, ignition, key. He floats. They are in the car. He doesn’t wonder how they arrived there, is simply satisfied that they are on the way. Blue, green, yellow, snap. snap. snap. Frozen in the window frame, pedestrians appear, disappear, then reappear. They are a flat back digital occurrence, odd squares of data... save as.. save as. He clicks the mouse door handle open. She slams on the brakes, reaches across him to close the door. She is upset. “What are you doing? You can’t get out of the car until I stop, do you understand?”

Her breasts press into his lap. He makes an intentional and spontaneous decision to concentrate on that fact rather than answer her redundant questions. A perfect decision, tongue wets his lips. He likes that, imagines touching the smooth skin of her bare shoulders, lick. She sits up after closing and locking the door. Somewhere behind them a car honk honks its impatience. “Blow it out your ass,” he says calmly as his body begins to levitate. He manages to stay in his seat by holding on to its sides because, as everyone who has been to Triazolam knows, the harness thing would crush him. ‘How could she do that?’ he wonders. Surely she knows that her breasts were the only things holding him down, awesome pendulum globes. He hopes one day she will allow him to sit on them.

When they arrive at their destination, she tells him to remain seated. She will open his door and help him out of the vehicle, then walk him to the building. He is disappointed for a moment, caught hoping she might reach across with her breasts to open the door. She is treating him like a child. He enjoys the anticipation of having her breasts in his lap but acting the child has its rewards. When he is climbing from the car, he will slip and his hands will actually get to touch them, one for each.

They have reached Triazolam. They enter and she walks him down the hall. She directs him to a chair, center room, sits herself in a corner to watch. She has learned to pick her corners well here. The Master Inquisitor’s bulk obscures her view if she chooses wrong. It is unthinkable to change seats once she has chosen. Today she is in perfect position, having analyzed angles of entry. She smiles to herself, pleased to have chosen so well, then winces as the first needle is spiked into the roof of his mouth.

They are costly, the smooth chromium of the Inquisitor’s wares. He is the Master and maker of pain, undisputed king of Triazolam. Blood tools all in a row, he makes short work of the man masque beneath him. The man is now a puff face as he follows his woman obediently from the room. The Master makes a joke behind them and the lady laughs.

Most times Triazolam goes home with them for a while. He spoons food into his mouth, grins stupidly as it dribbles down his chin. She kisses his forehead and they hang just above his lap as she wipes the juices from his beard. The nurse comes and helps her put the man to bed. “Where is my pistol?” he wonders aloud. “I may need to shoot those whom threaten Triazolam.”

She has gone to see the nurse to her car. He hears them laughing, women chatting, then looks about the room. It is vaguely familiar but no... Triazolam. Tomorrow is blood on the pillow and puffy face pain but he doesn’t care. Today, the now of Triazolam, holds him secure in its embrace. He closes his eyes and enters a rainbow room of dreams. By the time she returns, he is gone, this soon citizen of Triazolam.

She stands for a moment, looking down at her man. A slow smile finds her lips. She whispers, “Some folks just go to the dentist.”

Meet the author

WordWulf
Tom Sterner lives in Redding, California and Arvada, Colorado with wife Kathy. He has been published in numerous magazines and on the internet, including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review, The Storyteller, and Flashquake. His interne...(more)