And into the massive abyss

I fell.

A world within a mind,

a universe untouched.

Reality is all my own –

this is now a dream awakened.

Those men come marching –

their faces of ticking clocks,

though backwards with time,

spinning wildly.

They open their mouths to me.

And, like fireworks,

out erupts a flock of songbirds,

carrying with them a tune that ignites the magic from within my soul.

A serenade for me.

Then –

the great eagle descends.

Watch how the oaks bear their arms

for his perch.

And I revel in this mastery,

this mystery.

The giant bird sits –

he watches my pondering,

and stares at my thoughts.

The limbs of those trees

extend far beyond their own capabilities now

as they strip me bare

to this fantastic, colorful land.

A liveliness in nature.

A parade of faceless images appear –

and under the ashen smoke, the navigate their dance so precisely.

So uniquely. The intrigue stroking at my sanity.

The luminescent soldiers come forward now,

touching me.

But what a wondrous surprise in their cuff to my flesh!

Making me quiver

in only what I could imagine a great holiness to be.

A metallic, 4-dimensional rainbow bursts alive –

oh, how it streaks about so confidently

along the innocent blue skies.

Its glowing spirit of essence

illuminating the mossy earth below my feet.

I feel it awaken -

a childhood memory to everything the universe has eyed upon,

all it had ever felt,

and it covers me.

A warm, safe blanket.

Security. Peace.

I am not afraid,

sheathed in a gloss of an ever-living dream.

And, oh, how so tenderly it cradles me in its arms –

I can taste upon the breast,

and of the life inside,

as those distant, soothing melodies venture towards my ears.

I can feel the swell

of a new evolution begin.

A renewal.

A birth.

The wings of the eagle spread –

and how exquisitely they are seen,

displayed bravely,

as they shine of a peacock’s dandy nature.

I see.

Falling down upon me,

twirled sensually in an emotional vision,

is a dimly lit brightness lost in the freedom of a feather’s flutter.

Painted.

Artistically captured

though its intensity to never be shown face.

It surely is a vision to behold!

I stand,

and with newfound eyes I see,

the beauty in me.

As the festive dance of a perfect season’s day expands,

and ever so cheerfully,

a bewilderment that lays in the anarchy of happiness reincarnates –

and how that old and mutated cocoon shed itself

from the pricks of my skin!

For I now have wings!

The eagle calls to me –

I follow.

This place is now my own;

a belonging.

WARNING: raunchy and ridiculous comedy.

Wha—what the hell happened? Oww, my head. Hey! Wake up, Enigma! Oh God, what have you done now? And why do you smell so bad?!

“The fuck? I didn’t do anything! Owwwww… my body hurts like a bitch. Hey! Where am I? Hey?!”

No one answers. I can barely raise my voice because my mouth is so dry. I’m all alone. Well, almost. With my eyes starting to focus, I begin to look around…

“Umm, there is a giant asshole staring right at me… literally.”

Why are we in a barn?! And whose horse is that?!

“How the fuck could I know if YOU don’t?”

The horse’s reigns are tied to metal post in the center of a large, open animal stall—and for some unknown reason, I'm in here with him, laying on the floor. His tail swishes side to side and he begins to shift his ass even closer to me.

“Whoa there, Seabiscuit!”

I try to lift my body up but I can’t move. My wrists are tied behind my back to my ankles.

“What the hell… They hog-tied my ass?!”

Who are “they,” exactly?

“Again, if YOU don’t know… *sigh*. I’m just saying the general ‘they,’ okay?! The only thing I DO know is that me and Seabiscuit over here are both tied up.”

Great. Typical Enigma shenanigans.

“You’re one to judge!”

I can hear the noises of other horses around me. Ugh, the smell in here is worse than my headache. I look up and see a sign that says “Sick Bay 1”.

“What the fuck?! What did we do to end up being tied down in the Sick Bay? THIS IS HORSESHIT!”

Spoken like a true prophet…

“Oh… no… no, no, NO!”

I can’t scoot away in time to escape the shit-splash of the massive diarrhea-dump pouring out of the horse’s asshole, mere feet from my head. I feel the spray hit the back of my arm as I lean away.

“DUDE!!! Whyyyy?! You could shit literally ANYWHERE ELSE!”

Hey, he’s sick—be nice. Maybe you are, too? Well, I mean, you’re DEFINITELY a sick bastard, but maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for all this. Whatever the case, just stop yelling at the poor thing.

“YOU stop yelling!”

First of all, I am you, dumbass. Second, no else can hear me. Third, whatever you’ve done to get us in this mess, yelling at an innocent animal won’t help us get out of it. You’re gonna spook that horse if you don’t calm your ass down. Do I need to remind you of that girl who got kicked in the face by the horse? BAM! Take that memory from your childhood!

“Holy FUCK! Yeah, I remember that. You’re right.”

Of course I’m right. Now, what’s the plan?

Suddenly I’m distracted by Seabiscuit’s baby-arm-of-a-penis as it stares right at me with its evil-eye.

“Dear God…it’s so… big… and angry. Ugh! They should call you American Phallus (hah). That’s GOTTA be some kind of size record. Oh, the horror. The horror!”

Focus, Enigma! C’mon now, THINK. How did you end up in a horse stall?

“I MUST be trapped in a lucid nightmare and this HAS TO be one of my Sleep Paralysis episodes ‘Gone Wild’… literally. That’s why I can’t move. Yes! That’s it! This is all just a Sleep Paralysis nightmare!”

STOP IT. You can’t avoid your problems this time. This is REAL. You are REALLY tied up in a horse barn!

“FUCK! Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK! Okay. You’re right. FOCUS!”

I keep talking to myself out loud to stay alert. As I scan my foggy memory, I look down to see that I’m wearing my little black dress. I hear faint sounds of music in the distance. I can feel the spikes of my stilettos pressing into my sore ass chee—

“HOLD THE FUCK UP! Why is my ASS sore?! Wait! My dress! The music! The wedding! The FUCKING wedding!”

Yes! Mama’s wedding!

My mom had just married that no-good-son-of-bitch… Fucking Richard. We were having the reception at a fancy ranch owned by some millionaire cowboy. We were drinking and dancing, running through all the Shuffles ’n’ Slides. I brought it down, down, down with the Cupid Shuffle (which cued my flirtation with that SUPER HOT six-foot-five Mister I’d been eying all night). Then, I was killin’ the Cha-Cha Slide ’cause I Cha-Cha real smooth y’all. Fucking Richard was to my left when we all sliiide to the right—

“That’s it! It was Fucking Richard! He poked my ass with a needle!”

Ew!

“No! Literally!”

Eww!!!

“NO! Like, ACTUALLY literally! When I was looking the other way, he injected me with something!”

Oh. But still, gross.

“Yes, dude. Fuck this shit. I’m getting out of here. Whatever that sick fuck is up to, he won’t be for long. He’s always been such a prick… literally.”

Damnit! This is no time for puns! Concentrate!

“Ugh, but he’s such a motherfucker… literally.”

GROSS! Will you stop it with the fucking puns?!

“Just the fucking puns? Eh? Ehh?”

*brain silence*

“Sorry! He’s just… a huge asshole!”

Uh-oh…

“Oh no… no, no, NO! Not again!”

Another steaming pile of runny-shit from Seabiscuit’s giant ass plops next to me.

“I gotta get the FUCK out of here.”

No shit, Sherlock. C’mon, Enigma! Summon all those decades of ballet, MMA, and your BDSM shenanigans and un-fucking-pretzel yourself! Stop fuckin’ around!

“Fuuuuuuck! I’m trying! Argh-ugh!”

I wriggle my fingers around to feel the knot securing my ankles to my wrists.

“Wow, did this moron use a bowline knot? Clearly he thinks I’m some frail damsel in distress who can’t fend for herself. What does my mom even see in this douchebag?”

I use my spiked heel to hook the knot, and like a two-dollar-whore, I’m able to fist myself (hah) free from my ankles. I roll to my back, sit up, and shimmy my arms under my butt to bring my hands to the front of my body. I use my teeth to loosen the binds around my wrists enough to squeeze one hand free. I hurry to untie the rope around my ankles and kick it away.

“Yes! I did it! I knew all my shenanigans would come in handy someday! Just gotta get this rope off my other wrist.”

Do that later, moron. You’re still next to—

“Oh, no… not this time, Seebuttscat!”

I hurl myself away from the horse and take cover outside the wall of the stall.

Really? You’re gonna torture Seabiscuit with puns now? See-ButtScat?

“What?! That was clever.”

Maybe, a little. But this isn’t the time or place. Get the FUCK outta here! Look, the barn doors are wide open. GO!

I start walking toward the exit—

“Shit! Someone’s coming!”

I quickly hide behind the lip of the next stall over, hoping they haven’t heard me talking to myself in here over the loud music outside. Lucky for me, I’m once again trapped with another shit-squiring sick horse inside “Sick Bay 2”. Must’ve been a bad batch of hay. I watch Fucking Richard and some guy walking into those open doors at the opposite end of barn. He’s younger than the Dick, 40s maybe. They’re cackling like the cock-heads they are, but they won’t be laughing for long. I keep listening to try and make out their conversation…

“…and she really thinks I’m in love with her—hah! What an idiot! Let’s hurry up and handle the daughter. Everything is in place now that I’m the lawfully wedded husband, and that ‘Little’ Enigma is the only thing left standing in the way of our payday. ‘Little’ my ass, the big bitch was heavy!”

Doc? That’s certainly not OUR doc. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Yeah, and it’s ‘Lil’ damnit, not ‘Little’. I can’t help it if I’m a bloodline Viking! As if tall and muscular is SO bad—he’s just jealous ’cause he’s short and fat! *pout*. Hasn’t he ever heard of a nickname before?! *growl*.”

Really? THAT’S what you’re worried about? *brain sigh* Yes, you’re a gorgeous Viking Princess… who also glows in the dark. You’re like a fucking neon sign that says, “I’m right here, guys!” Now SHUT UP and STAY LOW before they catch your big ass!

“Did you bring all the tools, Doc?”

Tools?

“Yup, everything’s in the bag. This isn’t my first rodeo, Richard.”

Doc is carrying a large black duffel bag, and I can hear the clinking of metal inside.

“These bastards are gonna KILL my ass!”

Shh! You CAN talk to me with your inside-head-voice, ya’know!

“Right! You’re so smart!”

Duh. I’m a brain. You’d be dead by now without me. YES, LITERALLY. Pay attention!

“How much does a set of Type-O kidneys go for on the Black Market these days, Doc?”

Just then, I notice the already prepared electric lift off to the side, covered in a plastic sheet. Along the wall I see massive gloves, rolled up plastic tarps, and funnel-shaped containers.

“This cock-hole is gonna kill me for my organs… in a breeding barn?! What in the Dexter is this shit? How did he even know I’m a universal donor?! And was he planning on using an ANIMAL DOCTOR on me?! What the actual FUCK is going on?!”

Shh! Listen!

“Look Richard, I already told you what your cut of the deal is for every viable organ. No more haggling.”

“I always knew he was a no-good-son-of-a-bitch!”

“Hah! Me? Haggling? Nah… Just making conversation, Doc! And don’t you worry, I already convinced the wife to get that MILLION DOLLAR Life Insurance Policy for us BOTH to keep the cops off my ass. I’ll be selling that old bat’s house and land the second she’s dead, too. As the grieving husband, ‘I just can’t bring myself to live where my beloved wife died.’ Haha! A little accidental overdose on her meds will do the trick. So uh… just let your boss know I’ll pay off my debt, in full, real soon… o-okay?”

“Oh HELL no! NO ONE hurts Mama. The Enigmas ain’t nuthing ta fuck wit! I’m gonna open a can of Wu-Tang whoopass on these cocksuckers!”

Be serious! They are two strong MEN! We are running out of time! What are you gonna do?

“You are right brain… time for some creativity… don’t you think? Eh? Ehh?”

I swear, I will checkout and leave you comatose RIGHT NOW, Enigma!

“Okay! Sorry! Jeez, no need to go all bat-shit crazy on my ass—wait! That’s it!”

*brain gasp* Brilliant.

“It’s time to get this shit together…”

Don’t…

“Literally.”

For the love of God!

I kick off my stilettos, undo the rest of the rope from my wrist and wrap it tightly around both palms, leaving a few inches of loose rope between my fists. I gather up a huge, disgusting pile of goopy horseshit in my hands (a nasty number two, courtesy of Seabiscuit No. 2). I slip back into the lip of the stall and wait silently for these limp-dicks to pass right by me. Doc is the younger and taller of the two, clearly he’ll be strong, so I need to take him out first. And Fucking Richard doesn’t deserve a quick death. He’s gonna get the Enigma Special tonight.

“C’mon, Richard, I’ve got other appointments—enough with the chit-chat. Let’s get this bitch taken care of already.”

“Who does he think he’s calling bitch?”

Fucking Richard takes off his tuxedo jacket and unbuttons his shirt, while Doc bends down to place the heavy duffel bag on the floor and begins rummaging through the tools.

“Yeah, I left her right over here-uh… wait… OH NO! DOC! BEHIND Y—“

I sprint toward them at full speed and Haduken! the heap of shit right into Fucking Richard’s dumb face, sending him blindly scurrying and choking on dung. In the same motion, I jump onto Doc’s back and hoop my shit-covered fists over his head and around his throat. I lock my forearms tightly into the base of his neck to take him down in a Flying Rear Naked Choke. With my feet locked around his waist and my rope-reinforced grip around his neck, there is absolutely nothing he can do.

“Hey Dr. Doom! Here comes the BOOM! You’re MY bitch, now! And if you really are a doctor, then you know I’ve got ALL your jugular and carotid vessels on-lock. You’ve got about 3 more seconds. Night night! Keep your butthole tight!”

The threat on his delicate little bootyhole gives the doc one last burst of energy. He flails and tries to punch me as his knees hit the ground, falling unconscious before face-planting onto the hay covered floor. I quickly unravel the rope from my hands and use it to tightly tie his neck off. With the remaining length, I securely tie him to the stall post to finish the job (shenanigans FTW). His brain won’t receive another drop of blood again, and unfortunately, a peaceful death will have to due for the doc.

“Guess you lucked out on the butt-stuff, Doc. Wish I could stay and party, but now I’ve got a huge Dick to handle.”

Ew! Just go get that jerk before he recovers! Hurry!

“Fucking Richard. You old dirty bastard! How did I know you were a worthless piece of shit all along? Sorry, what’s that? Can’t hear you, ass-goblin! Sounds like you’ve got some shit caught in your throat… literally!

You don’t have to say it when it’s that obvious.

“May I continue here? It’s not like we’ve been waiting my whole life for this opportunity or anything.”

Carry on.

“I mean, marrying my mom to take all her hard-earned assets was to be expected, and you WILL pay for breaking the heart of a true angel… but to kill me for my very valuable organs?! Even I have to hand it to you there... THAT was creative—as if it was my own sick idea! But, I’m not here to break walls (*winks at the camera* ;) I’m here to break your life. You fucked with the WRONG family!”

Yeah, motherfucker!

“Not anymore he’s not.”

“Little Enigma, please. *cough* Have mercy! You always say that we’re all just human! I have a *cough* I have a sickness! A disease! I can’t help my gambling addiction!”

Is he really pulling the sympathy card? Fucking—

“Richard, you’re right. You DO have a sickness…”

I put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“…But any horse doctor can tell you—well, maybe not the dead one over there—but any OTHER horse doctor can tell you, that when one horse has an incurable disease, the whole herd suffers. The only thing you can do… IS PUT IT DOWN!”

As he’s hunched over, still choking on shit, I pull his shirt over his head like a hockey player about to get his ass kicked. Once in my grip, I summon my inner Chun-Li and swiftly and relentlessly kick him in the dick, over and over, utilizing the most vicious Lightning Kick known to man—the Hyakuretsukyaku (the Hundred Rending Legs). Then, just as he’s about to fall forward from dick-death, I use my knee to Shoryuken! uppercut him in the face, which sends him flying back onto the tarp-covered animal lift.

As he squirms, I rush to grab my Stilettos and the rest of the rope he used to tie me up with. I tie both of Fucking Richard’s wrists to the horizontal bar over his head. He just lays there on his back, sprawled out on the surface of the lift, writhing in pain and crying like a defeated toddler who’s thrown himself on the floor. I look around for more rope to secure his legs…

“Oh-ho-ho… horse hobbles… BINGO.”

You wouldn’t.

“Oh, but I would.”

I look down the line at two horses in particular at the front end of the barn.

“And they DEFINITELY wood.”

*brain silence*

“Hey, don’t act like you’re some innocent bystander. You’re the one behind all this madness. You’re MY fucking brain!”

*brain silence*

“Well?!”

FINISH HIM!!!

“That’s the FUCK I’m talkin’ about… LITERALLY!”

Yeah! Fuck him! You don’t hurt the innocent! And poor Mama, she’s so pure of heart. *brain cry*

“Shit! Mama! What am I gonna tell her?”

She can’t know any of this. It’ll destroy her. He has to die in some freak accident so she never knows the truth. It’s better to lose love than to be betrayed. Check the doctor’s bag!

“Good idea.”

I find rib crackers, scalpels, horse tranquilizers (probably what they used to knock me out). Thank God for shenanigans and a high tolerance. I keep looking to find plastic bags, surgical scissors, and…

“BINGO.”

Heroin? And will you STOP saying bingo, already? We don’t need anymore repetitive one-liners. So, this asshole was a drug dealer, too? I’m glad you killed that fucker.

“Same. Okay, I’ve got the murder weapon in the bag for Fucking Richard’s accidental suicide. Finding out your husband was a struggling heroin addict won’t seem all that bad once she’s got a MILLION DOLLARS from his failed Life Insurance scheme. All that cash will help the wife and ‘grieving stepdaughter’ move on somewhere far away from this cowboy country shit-hole. Best Uno Reverse Card in history. Let’s do this.”

I grab one of my Stilettos and put the spike into Fucking Richard’s dick.

“If you move, I will hop onto this table and use these sharp heels to stomp your dick RIGHT OFF! Understand me?!”

Fucking Richard cries out in compliance as I quickly undo his pants with shenanigan-expertise. I yank his slacks completely off and get a huge whiff of his nasty old man cologne. Instant stank-face!

Eww! Does he spray it down his pants?! Yuck. Who does that?

“Gross dudes with cheese-dicks do that.”

*brain barf*

“Wha-what are you doing? Oh, please! Please don’t hurt my dick anymore! OH GOD! Not my dick! PLEASE!!! Not my d-i-i-i-ck!!!”

Men. It’s always about the dick. I swear, they must love dick more than women by how much they always talk about it.

“Fucking Richard! Calm your tits, man! If you comply, I’m not gonna hurt your chia-chode anymore. You’ll be doing ME the favor. Just shut up and do as you’re told. But, uh... by the looks of that little baby-dick, all the swelling is doing you some good! Hah!”

I secure his ankles into the horse hobbles and use the rope to connect them to the horizontal bar above the back of the lift. And with an easy tug of the simple pulley, Fucking Richard’s feet are forced over his head up to his tied wrists.

“Touch your toes, bitch.”

“AHHHHH!!!!!”

Save your screams for later, buddy.

“Come one, come all! The Pink Starfish is open for business, boys! Half price on all Pink Lady Cocktails tonight!”

We are going to hell.

“WHAT?! You sick bitch! You sick fucking bitch! You wouldn’t dare! Untie me, you cunt! Just you wait until I get out of here! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!”

Pffft… he’s making this too easy. Like, who didn’t figure this out already? Oh boy, should we tell ’em?

“FUCKING *clap* RICHARD *clap*!”

Ohp, here she goes.

“Don’t you get it?! Not only will you be pinned for the doc’s murder, YOU won’t be fucking OR fucking over another woman EVER *clap* AGAIN *clap*! In fact, once I slide these heels back on (that you ruined by the way), and sashay my sexy ass out of here to rejoin the party… YOU WILL BE THE ONLY BITCH LEFT IN HERE! And uh, if you haven’t noticed… those two studs going ape-shit all the way down at the front of the barn… they’re primed and ready to mate. Wanna know how I know that? Because those two have been losing their raging, hormone-fueled FUCKING MINDS ;) over your stinky ass cologne ever since you walked in here! They think YOU are their mare… their BITCH. You’ll fucking kill me?! Oh no, no, no waffle-dick…”

I lean down right next to his face and start off with a whisper…

“Cock O’ War and Butt Admiral over there are gonna FUCKING KILL YOU... LITERALLY!”

He flinches from my war-cry right into his ear. I stand up straight and start tracing my finger from his ankle all the way down to his exposed rump.

“If you fuck with The Enigmas, WE FUCK BACK!”

I slap his ass cheek so hard that it leaves a perfect, pink handprint. Too fitting as he cries out like a bad little girl.

Jesus, Enigma. Are you SURE this is how it’s gonna end?

“You know what…”

What? What?! Stop with the dramatics!

“I’ve changed my mind.”

*brain shock*

“YOU HAVE?! Oh thank GOD! Thank YOU, Little Enigma! Thank youuuu-oo-oo-oooo!”

I reach over Fucking Richard’s head…

*brain gasp*

….and push the “UP” button on the animal lift.

“Don’t want the horses to get a back ache from having to bend over too far. I hear standing and thrusting your hips is SUCH hard work *rolls eyes*. There we go, that should do it. Oh… and it’s ‘Lil’ Enigma, ass-cheese ;) .”

Fucking Richard continues to berate me, but it all just fades to background noise. I hear the music off in the distance and I’m reminded of my poor Mama. She’s gonna be devastated for a while. But, for tonight, I’m gonna show her the time of her life. I use a bucket to scoop some water from a horse trough to wash myself off and casually wipe my hands clean on his white undershirt. I slip on my heels, dust off my little black dress, and grab the heroin out of the duffel bag for safe keeping in my bra. Wouldn’t want an innocent animal accidentally hurting itself on this nasty shit. I also find a fresh pack of cigarettes and a chrome Zippo.

“Ah, menthols. Nice job, Doc!”

I give the dead doc a nod as I pack the cigarettes on the wall above his head. I flip the Zippo and spark the flame in one, swift motion (as badasses do), and light my well deserved cigarette. I notice the single red rose that fell out of Fucking Richard’s tuxedo jacket. I pick it up from the floor and stick it behind my ear.

“Perfect. I’ll be back to clean up after I enjoy the rest of your wedding reception, sweet-cheeks.”

Damn right. Fucking Richard interrupted our Cha-Cha Slide. Hopefully that sexy six-foot-five Mister is still there. We deserve a prize for this shit.

“Oh, you can count on it. I’m gonna ride him for the Triple Crown ;) .”

I’ll give you that one. Let’s go.

“Night night! Keep your butthole ti—“

You already used that one.

“Shit. Fuck it. Enjoy your ruptured colon, bitch!”

Well, that wasn’t funny.

“Can’t win ’em all, I guess.”

I begin my promised strut down the catwalk—cigarette in hand, winning rose in hair, Cha-Cha-ing real smooth back to the party. I lift the locks on the last two horse stalls as I exit the barn. I swear, I can almost hear Fucking Richard’s asshole pucker as they kick open the doors behind me.

“And they’re OFF!”

Go horsies, go!

“AHH! HELP ME YOU BITCH! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

FATALITY!!!

“Fucking Richard…”

Literally!

.

.

.

.

.

THE KENTUCKY DIRTY

A “Those Damn Enigmas” Production

Special Thanks to the following legendary racehorses: Seabiscuit, American Pharaoh, Man O’ War, and War Admiral. Your talent was no joke.

Honorable Mentions: Dexter, Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and Wu-Tang Clan. Your badassery is unmatched.

Songs Quoted: “Cupid Shuffle”, “Casper Cha-Cha Slide”, and “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing ta Fuck Wit”

No animals (or men) were harmed writing this story.

All rights reserved blah blah blah.

.

.

.

.

.

“FREEZE!”

*brain fart*

“Hah! Just kidding. Just my finger gun. You’re the daughter, right? Where’d you go? Been looking for you all night. I, uh… I thought we had a connection on the dance floor earlier…”

I look up at the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. The hot six-foot-five Mister is even bigger and more gorgeous up close. But my racing heart stops as I look down to see his real gun and badge on his belt.

“Oh. You really are a cop? So you’re a badass on top of being the hottest guy here *bites lip*.”

Run! *brain panic*

“Shut up, brain! He’s a total nerd. And hot as fuck. I got this.”

No, YOU shut up! You’re gonna get caught! Ughhh I’m spiraling! This isn’t happening!

“Ahem… Detective, actually. But I’m off duty now. So, what are you up to out here? Man this is some ranch, huh? Oh cool, looks like there’s a barn over there.”

Do I need to remind you about what’s in your bra?! Or maybe the assASSination happening in the barn as we speak?! Oh, God. What are you doing to me, Enigma?! Now I’M speaking in puns!

“Ohhh you know… just the everyday, normal shenanigans *giggle*. Hey—”

“Is for horses! Hah! Sorry, I’m full of dad jokes.”

God hates me. This is my hell.

“Well, God clearly still loves ME ’cause he’s PERFECT and I'm in heaven!”

*brain cringe*

“So, you were saying? About the dance floor? *bites lip again*.”

I make the first move by grabbing his giant hand to lead him back inside to the reception.

“Maybe we could pick up where we left off? The party’s still hoppin’, you’re looking all kinds of fun, and there’s this song I want to request from the DJ. Something about ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’…”

Is your head getting smaller? Why is it so tight in here?! Is this what brain death feels like?

“Well, I don’t have any mushrooms on me, but I’m known to be a real fungi! I’m surprised a pretty little lady such as yourself would enjoy a dirty song like that.”

Yup! This is FOR SURE the end. Goodbye cruel world!

“Well, I’ve been known to get a little ‘Kentucky Dirty’ every now and then… (*winks at the camera*;).”

TO BE CONTINUED…

When someone puts a loaded gun in their mouth and pulls the trigger, the human head opens up like a flower. This flower formation can happen from GSWs to knee-caps and even the groin area, but nothing compares to the head. It’s utterly horrifying to see, but maybe by the time you’re done reading this, you’ll see just how beautifully poetic it can be.

The only reason I know all of this is because I am so privileged to once have had an almost promising career in the medical field, and I was going to eventually specialize in Forensic Pathology after becoming a general surgeon. Fourteen years of schooling sounded like a fucking dream to the nerd I’ve always been. I was the youngest-ever candidate chosen for an exclusive summer program at University Medical when I saw my first and only self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. And just like myself, this person applied and was approved for Full Body Donation—so I was free to do hands-on study of his remains (thank you for your service, Sir).

The first requirements you need for that line of work is a strong stomach and an eager love for the science. However, to keep you there requires a genuine desire to help others. I am an advocate at heart, and the crux of what a pathologist does is give a voice to the voiceless. I’ve always been determined to leave this world in better shape than it was given to me, and this was my way of helping people. Studying those precious former lives under the most phenomenal doctors was by far the best professional experience of my life.

So, of the dozens of autopsies I have taken part in (both in person and through video/photo lecture), one of them, sadly, was this suicide I mentioned. He was a middle-aged male and the cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot into the mouth. It’s not the only suicide I worked on, but definitely the most visually memorable. The pressure a gunshot creates inside this air-tight, fluid-filled compression chamber we carry on our necks forces a human head to open up like the fully-bloomed petals of a lily. Any remaining teeth become forged with pieces of skull and brain because the force and heat of the explosion literally turns any hard matter into the shrapnel of a pressure cooker bomb. Ever observant as I was, they allowed me to remove a tooth I identified that was lodged into one of the petals of the human head flower.

Unfortunately, I never even made it to medical school because life threw too many punches at me at that time [*ba-dum-tee* formerly-abused humor anyone? Eh? Ehh?]. Just joking! I’ve always said, “If I couldn’t laugh at my life, I would’ve fucking killed myself a long ass time ago.” But aside from comedy saving my soul countless times, that suicide case is seared into my amygdala—from the sorrow and duty I felt toward this man and his family, down to the smell of his chewing tobacco still stuck to portions of his gums. Clearly enough to give anyone reservations about that second of bravery it takes to just fucking do it.

This was the case which also piqued my interest in the funeral business. Any Funeral Director/Embalming Specialist who can put that train wreck back together to resemble anything of the man his family and friends love so dearly, oof... to me, that is art of the highest caliber. Only the most skilled specialists in the world can pull that off well. Most families will opt for a closed casket in these cases, and you don’t get a “body funeral” if you’re signed up for Full Body Donation—but I wanted to be the one-of-a-kind talent who not only performed autopsies to the utmost perfection, but could give families their beloved back, looking beautiful, one last time.

Death wasn’t just my calling to help the world… Death was my life’s passion. I might still have a chance at the funeral business someday—that is, if it’s not me who ends up on that cold, stainless steel examination table first. Death has reappeared in my life, in a bad way, and that fucker is lurking ever closer, each day.

The majority of my physical and emotional scars belong to a single bad man who I will soon introduce y’all to in my darkest tale of woe. This man is solely responsible for the loss of my ability to continue my education and accomplish these dreams I once had. I had to plan nonstop for my escape because he was so cunning. And one day, the plan finally fell perfectly into place because he’d given himself a little too much heroin. He was completely zonked out and nodding off so heavily that I simply walked right out the front door. I told him I was off to send a gift to his mom, which he easily took me up on since he’d forgotten her birthday. He let go of my shirt and I slipped away. I escaped nearly 20 years ago, and to this day, he still finds ways to contact me online.

As long as this bad man stays away, I wish him no harm. But the videos he’s been sending me lately are what struck my desire to start writing again. Not only do I need to finally heal this pain once and for all, but I need to document what he did to me (just in case):

1) My beautiful body, gone.

2) My beautiful mind, gone.

3) My beautiful career, gone.

4) My beautiful life, FUCKING GONE.

This bad man has delusions that I will always be his property. I truly feel sorry for him, but I can never forget what he stole from me. How could I? His torture is all over my naked body every time I look in the mirror. The stalking and obsession seems to be growing, and because he was so smart, I can never call the cops on him again (long story).

So, my only choice was to finally agree to have a gun in our home full-time (specifically, when Mister is gone). Thanks to the Traumatic Brain Injury from this bad man, I’ve been a nervous, stuttering klutz ever since—so not only did it kill my once surgeon-steady hands and ballerina grace, naturally, I was always scared to be responsible for my own gun. However, I have too many lives depending on me now. She’s no Colt .45 with a pearl grip, but she’s definitely a stealthy bitch that’s more than willing to do the job. Her name is “Kiddo,” named after Uma Thurman from the Kill Bill films. Pretty fitting, don’t you think? Well, I’m proud of it—proud of my Kiddo ;)

If he ever finds me again, the play-by-play of what would happen is now also seared into my amygdala—from the fear I feel just imagining seeing him again, down to the smell of his black leather combat boots and body odor. I’ll know he’s here, and the memories will all come flooding back:

It took almost 1 decade to escape him for good. It took 2 decades to have the courage just to write about him. It took 3 decades to meet the first kind gentleman in my entire life. It took almost 4 decades from the day I was born to find self-love. He is NOT taking a single thing away from me again.

But this massive man with his roaring voice will surely be black-eyed and screaming at me. I need to remember what matters. I can’t get distracted or crumble into pieces. I need to remember what Mister taught me:

1) Just breathe and focus on your target, not the gun.

2) Keep your arms strong and grip tightly.

3) Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.

4) Keep your eyes open, and never shoot to injure (only you can finish it).

If he tries to attack me or step foot into my home, it’s either him… or him. Turns out, I can still contribute to the morgue of my dreams, because Kiddo and I have unfinished business…

*click-click*

1) Heart: for stealing my life’s passion.

2) Lungs: for every time I couldn’t breathe.

3) Dick: for every time he forced me to my knees, screaming.

And just like the first time I escaped his captivity, the last words he ever heard from my beautiful voice, that I still have:

“Shhh it’s okay… go back to sleep…

I’m just going to send your mom some flowers…”

4) MOUTH: for my condolences.

Human Head Flower

A “Those Damn Enigmas” Production

Based on true events, but no one was harmed writing this story.

X,

You chided me. Said I spent too much time on that “shitty app”. What did you call it? “like Twitter and Facebook for wannabe writers”? That is was nothing more than a social media dumpster fire, “full of drama” and for “mediocre talent”. You called me naïve and too quick to join the “clique”. You regarded my interaction with other writers with utter disgust and jealousy.

Your words stung. I’m not sure if it hurt more because of coming from a lifelong friend, or from a fellow writer I had always respected. You being both, it certainly hurt. But this is not the reason for my email. I want to let you know I am leaving everything behind in order to focus on my writing.

First, I want to tell you ‘thank you’. Thank you for fortifying my suspicion that I may indeed have a story within worth telling. Without your disparaging words regarding my talent and social habits, I may have never taken this drastic step of cutting ties and pursuing seclusion. Your harsh words have ignited a fire in me to write like I never have before. Thank you.

Second, goodbye. Do not reply to this email. You will not hear from me again. I am excited for life’s upcoming chapters; I feel they will be some of my best yet. Our friendship is now a mere footnote of regret in a book forever shelved. Be well.

Wannabe writer no more,

Mariah

May 14, 2023 at 4:20 PM

Hey guys!

Y’all are probably wondering why I’ve disappeared. I no longer have a reason to stay in the city now that Mama is gone. So, in the years I’ve spent taking care of her, I learned a lot about myself and life in general—especially what it means to put another’s needs above my own. I will never know a more precious soul than our mother’s, and now I want to try and live up to her example. Mama made everyday a joy and a privilege to take care of her, and I want to be the type of person who will be adored the way she was. I would gladly spend the rest of my life lifting her paralyzed body, brushing her teeth, changing her diapers, and everything else that came with her care. I would give anything just to have more time with her—you can be sure of that!

Please do not worry about me as I am in the best hands with Mister. My solitude is his solitude, and we can finally be together full-time now that he’s retiring. You know my big guy will protect me from any wild animals or soulless monsters that can lurk deep in the woods. As scary as that sounds, it’s just time for me to find out what I’m really made of. If I don’t do this, it will continue to burn a hole in my heart and I’ll never find my peace. Let’s just hope this novel won’t be complete shit! Mama’s disability already put us through financial Hell! Eating expired garbage from the food pantry destroyed my body—not that you guys would know anything about that! Haha! Anyway, I gotta run. Take care, my dearest siblings!

Sincerely,

Your sister

PS: Mama’s ashes are with me, where they belong. If my novel wins any awards, she will be placed right next to them. Oh, and please make sure you don’t lose my email address (for emergencies) because there is no cell service where I’m going. I’ll check my email once, maybe twice a week in town. And you need to stop being so stingy with those pictures of the kids! I want to know those adorable little bastards! It’s too late for them to know their grandma, but maybe they can get to know their aunt (now that I have freedom like you guys)! Oh yea, can you believe I found Mama’s cookbook?! It was literally under my nose the whole time! I found all her secret recipes that we always gobbled down as kids! I heard you enjoyed my confectionery gift (I even added a creamy twist)! OMG I went ape shit baking during the pandemic to treat myself after losing my job, so that’s probably the best I’ve ever made her chocolate pie! Cool, huh?! You guys deserve to treat yourselves, too. Write me back when you get this, and let me know how it turned out, fuckers! LOL! Sending all my love!

————————————

You only have one mother in this world—cherish her. Even if she isn’t/wasn’t perfect, forgive her and set a better example for future generations. If she’s still with us, she won’t be around forever. The time to love her is now. And remember…

Karma is a patient, maniacal bitch.

Happy Mother’s Day <3

I’ve walked a hard, hard road

full of heartache and suffering

like a wrench twisting your soul,

a screwdriver driving into your mind,

a hammer to the head,

a vice shrinking you in on yourself,

an implosion of sweat and blood.

I’ve walked through a rain of drugs and bullets,

floods of alcohol,

a hail of pills,

blizzards of cocaine,

guns pointed at my head in the ghetto

as I try to find my next fix,

my next drink,

my next night of poison ecstasy.

I’ve walked through car wrecks of heartbreak,

the mangled bodies of rejection,

flashing light ambulances of loneliness,

lying alone in hospital beds

beneath fluorescent white lights

with nobody but myself

and my jagged metal mind

to keep me company.

I’ve walked past Jersey wall prison cells,

past cops pointing guns at my head,

shouting threats and shaking fists,

through bullies and bar fights,

with me coming out limping,

bruised and bloody,

and dropping unconscious in the gutter.

I’ve walked through traffic jams of insanity,

the long hours of depression

when time slows down to a standstill

as you wait for life

to stop passing you by,

the fiery explosions of mania,

the backfires and blasts of PTSD,

dreams of blood and death and darkness.

I’ve walked through the daily doldrums of the city,

a wife and family in the suburbs,

a dream that melted into shadow before it started,

and left me clamoring after four young kids,

trying to keep our heads above water,

trying to keep us all alive

as depression and exhaustion set in,

leaving me a shell of numbness

going through the motions.

I’ve walked a hard, hard road

of concrete and rock

full of potholes

to knock you out of alignment,

full of spikes

to shred your tires,

full of oil slicks

to send you crashing into trees.

And I’m hard, hard like iron,

sharp as steel swords,

with the green eyes of a hawk,

the ears of a cat,

the song of a wolf

howling at the silver midnight moon,

and if I’m being prepared for something,

I’m ready for anything.

And if I see you walking beside me,

I’ll give you some water,

reach out a helping hand;

I’ll carry you on my back if I have to

and I’ll never leave you behind

and I’ll never let you go

because we all have to walk

this hard, hard road.