The Last Heartbeats

Country's changing so fast these days, kids on the streets, their devil talks had me charmed, so pardon me if I can't trade fucking curtsies.

A northern slut, yes. Country accent as she stumbled out behind me on those slut shoes, thought by dressing like a fancy whore she's actually worth one. I think her bowels died before she did, and just started going off wild right outside the doorsteps, rolling up those ass flaps and grunting like the piggie she is. A bit premature, considering the parts of her that doesn't think will be doing plenty of that before the day's gone.

She actually thought she could keep that and get buried in it. Suppose she's considerate, suppose she want her brother or whoever to not have to clean her when they claim the rest of her, suppose my girls also don't want it crusted with her puddle when they get it, the neck blood already's going to be a bitch. 

God those turnip hands, turnip ass, and a turnip legs, suppose we were lucky she's not cursed with a turnip face, fuck! Northerners, coming here with their lips, if they were all this ugly I'd pray for a famine every year.

Didn't help with Nagata chortling over everything on her that make him laugh, mostly to himself. Marbled ass with eighty 's patron's rots, blue and black like their marks still waged a civil war there. The burn he made there with his pipe, a brand the shape of his mon. The rest I won't repeat, as I stopped listen long since I wish I could be charged with taking his head instead.

Townsfolk's little eyes' on me, they ain't going to do much. Love that they think the pieces of craps we hold really have the souls of some great warriors in there, well, did see pap kill some mean rats with it, suppose that was something, something before he died face down drunk in that ditch. I guess the trapped souls of mean rats are enough, one swing in the air and they'll break like...fuck, can't think- whatever that breaks.

Big watery eyes keep looking at me, I know what she wanted, all the while she kept her back to Nagata's grinning yellow teeth. Her eyes were shifting all the while that rush cooled out from her core, eyes from serious to a little bit feathery itch, to something like a little bit hurt, then a little desperate, now just plain begging like she's going to cry if she's not getting some thing from me. As if I was the better of the pack.

I ain't. I ain't got the kind of barrel chested sentiments she needed. But didn't mind playing along. She was kinda...different and I suppose it'd be fun to finally play with a head before it's off. So I leaned down and gave a decent face, as if she's one of my nieces. There was some hinting, some questioning, some shy pleading, until she properly asked. 

Until we three understood properly, that she was mine and mine alone to kill. I can feel Nagata was pissed.

That stupid grimace twisting on his face, his toad cheeks a flushed brats'. His fat hands playing with his ugly foreign lapels, the way he does whenever he's fuming. Well, fuck him. He was still three ranks away and a billion fucks away.

I took the longest time half closing my eyes and stared flatly into his kiddy outrage. What, surprised that she want anything to do with you after you ripped apart her taint? Surprised that he gave her those stitches, those two dead kids and then came in the name of the law? Damn fool, what do you expect with that night- hopping, rape first come back later for more gimmick? And still have the galls at the end of this, making out all of this to be some cosmic injustice for ~him. That's how he see them, every pair of lips that talked back to him was an outrage. Never hear the end of it. 

Yum, I think he's embarrassed, embarrassed whenever in the sight of any equals, never quite right what he cannot ravish or scrape in front of. I just smiled and his damn little face collapsed. Buddha always say to live is to be fearless right?

With the worst disguised grunt, he gave me her reigns. I took delight in leading and hinting her with the rope and she was miraculously more obedient with her new master with the lithe supple strides of a gratified beast. The purest and perhaps only intellectual outlet for northerner whores.

Nagata twisted his foreign lapel again. 

Maybe he will call his Firangi friends. I thought about troubles with some yet encountered yellow hair, and some red hair fuck that followed afterward. 

Western trash with fucking flash boxes. Who came with their ships and their lies, hated our food, our lords, our ways. Only like the way our swords look, but who doesn’t? Just feed him a few stories, tell him somehow its all about a more pure version of honor, and he'll trade you spice, snuff boxes for it, if not those damned fume drinks they gorge in. Swear the way they talk about it, it's like it reminds them of something, maybe they had dick once, on one of their ancestors when they had dicks...before their guns and abstractions. But suppose if it's those guns and abstractions' enough to beat a continent of pigtails it's something.

Foreign fucks, selling rifles to us and rifles to the Shoguns, and take the rifle money to buy more fumed drinks to get drunk on and exploit the poor pigtails with opium. All greed and no morals. Suppose when the day come to put them all in their place I'll quarter a yellow hair and maybe make a red hair take his picture. Fun thought though. One day we'll kill them all, just need enough rifles until then.

I guess they are like us in a way. Take perversion with sober portions, polite during the day. A word here and there about how the girls here feel like how real women supposed to be. At night though...they are like us, sneaking with those flash boxes to the execution grounds, taking private series of “scientific curios” of everyone of those girls before they rot. Suppose they are sensitive to see beauty in all the ugly places too. But I can't see why they don't use their sober mind, turning the fertile memories to a sacred envelop, and flip through them at your mind's leisure. 

It's better that way, you'll still see whatever you wanted to see imposed before the plain walls, a ceiling, an outhouse, see their pretty faces all still float in front of you. Their half dying face so close to your face you could touch it and make it bleed again...

Wasn't till then I realized the folks were still looking at us. A few dozens behind the windows, now a hundred eyes. Each felt like the mote of warm candle lights.

I loved it. It felt like the eye of the storm in these...heroic moments, I like to imagine them imagine what it's like to be like me. A hero of all the past and present, fucking his enemy before every pairs of eyes, with a willing head at my leisure. The true expression of man and female. Tis' the life, standing this tall I felt like stretching like a wicked cat. 

The sword still matters, if all dies tomorrow, I'll still have this.

I smiled into her eyes, truly gratified I alone would end her evil ways, my itching blade blessed with curious multitudes of destructive powers. To which she smiled back without irony, except perhaps at the changing winds.

I've been know to do great in good moods, bet it will take at most three strokes, definitely no more.

Gladdened, I whistled to the pair and tugged her rope.