The summer night was warm.

Humid.

Cruel.

It didn’t bring a blessing but a curse.

It was the moist breath of a beast panting in the darkness.

It brought demons.

It brought horrible thoughts.

It was a mother burying her child.

It was a dead brother, his head crushed and shabbily put back together by bored morticians.

It was the gaping maw of loss in the broken heart of an abandoned lover.

It was the Golgotha of a drunken girl receiving cunnilingus against her will in a cheap motel room, tired of struggling, being betrayed by her own body as wave after wave of mind-melting and desperately unwanted orgasms wash through her flesh, filling her with immeasurable shame as her cunt riots around that unfamiliar tongue and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and clenches and unclenches and clenches and unclenches.

It was a crucifixion in slow motion it was Christ saying fuck your sins I’m going home it was God dying and leaving a fat fetid ferocious corpse on the face of the World it was the universe imploding under the weight of our collective self-loathing.

The summer night was warm.

The man sat like a gargoyle on the roof that night, half a pack of cigarettes in his pocket and a large tumbler of iced coffee in his hand, the light from the lamppost on the street painting his face the sickly yellow of rancid fat. A bead of sour sweat crawled down his face like a spider or an unholy memory.

Cars passed by. People passed by. Waves of electronic signals passed by. The Holy Ghost passed by. Sanity passed by. Hope passed by. None stayed to chat.

The man lit a cigarette and looked across the street, at the narrow pair of windows. At his Love. He didn’t see her but he knew she was there. The chiaroscuro of lights and colors cascading upon what he could see of the wall within those windows meant she was watching television. Or at least it was turned on.

Maybe she was with a new lover. Probably not. But the thought of her being touched filled him with rage and sorrow and his cock saluted his despair.

The window of the apartment building was about a hundred paces away but the gap between his heart and the woman in that room was the breadth of a universe that had grown tired of waiting for a Messiah.

He texted her. Something innocuous. An hour passed. She did not reply. He didn’t really expect her to.

His cigarettes were gone. His coffee was gone. His soul was gone. Spent.

He got up.

He came upon the gated entrance of the apartment building and the night watchman looked at him. He had not been here for a few weeks now but the night watchman knew his face and so didn’t stop him.

Two flights of stairs going up.

At her door he waited. He could hear the television. It was turned way up. Underneath the electronic ululation, he could hear her whimper.

Was she, after all, with a lover?

No.

He knew what she was up to instinctively.

He tried the doorknob. It was locked. He pulled out his key. He had said he would give it back in the morning. The door opened. The television was loud enough to mask the click of the lock betraying her solitude and safety. He closed the door. Didn’t bother to lock it again.

She was naked, her hair tied in a tight, neat bun behind her skull. She was sitting on a chair, her legs propped against the wall.

She was pleasuring herself.

She was angelic.

Right hand squeezing the globe of a largish breast left hand massaging her sweet button of a clit toes curling like dying slugs abdominal muscles tightening like ropes of steel mouth opened in abandon girlish sounds vibrating in vocal cords breath ragged and electric head tilted upward eyelids like crescent moons eyeballs rolled up to the top of her head as if in the grip of a revelation beads of sweat forming on her nose and above her lips back glistening with mystery mind scattered like stars the orgasms one after another intensifying in strength and frequency until her whimpers turn into grunts until she starts cursing and calling upon God until her body is wracked by geological upheavals until her heart forgets its rhythm and starts making one up to the insane beat of African drums until her nerves start thrumming until her blood sings hallelujahs until her flesh dissolvs into cosmic dust until her soul explodes until the Sephiroths become one like seeing the true color of Nirvana like hearing the voice of forever like the light of Ra triumphant unbearable unbearable unbearable supernova of ecstacy!

On the tsunami of a gargantuan orgasm, she squirted against the wall and sagged on her chair, shaking uncontrollably, gasping for air.

His jizz shot forth and met the back of her neck. It shot out again as she was turning her head and it hit her cheek. It shot a third time as she was trying to get up on weak knees. It shot one more time as she tripped and fell on the floor.

What shot out next was his fist.

What shot out next was his foot.

What shot out next was his knife.

And then she was silent.

The summer night was warm.