Friday, March 11, 2005

First Installment...

The following is the first installment of a fiction piece I have been working on, tentatively entitled, "The Yellow Gate." It's still quite raw, so provide feedback... if you dare...



Part One

Climbing in and among the newly scattered debris were the dumpster-divers, the howling, yammering ladies-of-the-night, the mangy, disheveled desert whores that Yermi had come to identify exclusively with the land of Israel, the little Bedouin slut-cats and their infinite spawn. Amid the twisted metal and concrete, they appeared to be the lone survivors of some tragic nuclear accident, the ancient feline progenitors of a cannibalistic, humanoid, underground-dwelling species that had thrived in the putrid sludge of the settlement’s septic system. He raised the tip of his M-16 and aimed it toward the gate, sighting an anthill-shaped chunk of cement that clung to the gate's upended mooring, imagining that one of the ever-pregnant slut-cats had accidentally stranded herself there. Moments later, an imaginary spray of caramel-colored confetti blew into the night, as several tiny, squealing embryonic kittens plummeted to the pavement.

A pair of headlights winked over the ridge of the main road, dipped once into a groove in the pavement, and began its furious descent into the settlement with the calculated determination of a smart-missile. Yermiahu squinted through the thin mountain haze and saw, instead of headlights, a pair of glowing eyes bolting down the hill in the darkness toward him, the combined, unmistakably hateful glare of eight or nine terrible, toothless, asswipe-colored Arabs, their shredded fatigues barely concealing their protruding, Third-World ribcages, their eyes glowing yellow with the same type of devolved, feral rage he heard every night in the back-and-forth, fight-and-fuck yowlings of his little Bedouin bitches. He re-sighted the M-16 and plugged-away at those glowing eyes, smelling in the same instant gunpowder, burnt tar and splattered gasoline as the jeep’s flaming corpse tumbled end-over-obliterated-end into the settlement's communal dining trailer. Another series of explosions and mixed-language death shrieks buoyed itself up onto the desert wind in one resounding, stultifying whuppp! which, overlapping with the oscillating whine from an invisible speaker mounted atop the steeple of a mosque on the next hill, announced to all interested parties the nightly call to worship…

3 Comments:

At 4:40 PM, March 12, 2005, Blogger avionroad said...

Quite evocative for anyone who's ever done shmira in Bat Ayin, but I must say I was a bit offended by the discription of the Arabs

 
At 3:56 PM, March 14, 2005, Anonymous chill-ant said...

Some A-rabs ,much to the distian of our P.C. self reflections , are indeed the skin color of skid marks. Thats okay when I take my shirt off in my dark bedroom my lady friend asks if I can shut my bleach white been-in-yeshiva-to-lond- chest off.
I think a new title would be cool- i don't like that gate!

 
At 4:14 PM, March 14, 2005, Blogger Chazarmaveth said...

sorry avi, but don't tell me that when you were guarding that gate at night, you didn't have horror fantasies about some ignorant group of terror-driven fucks driving down there in a jeep and blowing a big bloody hole in your guts... i know i certainly did, especially between 1999 and 2001... i'm just trying to get at the "us" vs. "them" mentality that you get when you're strapped with a semi-automatic weapon by yourself at night in the mountains...
b.t.w. to chill-ant -- the yellow gate will become more significant as the story continues, don't write it off too soon...

 

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