Short Story Weekly: In a Garden Most Divine A "Short" Short

   I've not posted for #MondayBlogs in forever! I've done it several times before, and it's always fun to be one of the earlier bloggers, but I've been fascinated by the response I get: many more readers , and a whole lot more retweets. For this Short Story Weekly post, it'll also be a Monday Blogs post, and it's looking to be perhaps my most complete, and perfected story yet, despite its length. This short story is unique to anything else I've written so-far, not that the stories I've done are really that similar to begin with, this one is special. 

   I wanted this story to showcase the sort of progress one can make when they perfect their craft over time. Over the past year, I've done stories that span all sorts of genres, all kinds of moods, and they are some of my favorite, and hated writing I've ever done. I want this story to be wonderful. It will not be my magnum opus, but I hope it becomes the example of excellence for the Malacast Editorial, and Short Story Weekly respectively, 

  

So here is this week's Short Story Weekly, and #MondayBlogs post: 

                                                           In a Garden Most Divine:  

   

  "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be along now, it's just a sprinkling for the May Queen." 

                                                                                                  -Led Zepplin, Stairway to Heaven

    And as I wandered through the forest night, a trinket of souls gave off a vivid light. When the bodies began to shine, a lucid dream of supine waking, quaking, condiulted voracious matters. The faires fluttered in nightingale flight, all through the garden most divine. What beatitude shining lit from Mother Moon, emblazoned by the sun' slight, reflected in humble humility by her Mother, lighting my way through the soft wet grass of the garden most divine. She held such light, that I saw the carapace of the world, shielded by invisible cloth, swaddling us all in some gesticular bubble. 

   The night was long, but tempered in this garden most divine. Rabbits bobbled from out their burrows, to take a sampling of daisies, and a playful tug on taproot. Those nightingales sang of sweet serenity, pummeling the winds with symphonic noises of angels in the garden most divine. Tortoises sigh and smile with ancient wisdom, owls unprecedented with googily eyes veer outwards on the most silent of wings, peering above the garden, angels of death, but angels nonetheless, keeping a balance most divine.

    I settled amongst the wicked leaves of thorny bushes covering rose-petaled walls. Shrubs of red and hybrid white, overshadows much smaller hibiscuses, whist glistening with man-made porcelain shine. In a garden most divine, even Beatrice would blush, even Dante would sin. Nature in its sophilsim, naivety of childhood bliss, running through the sod, the earth one's shoe, is all one can stand, the garden most divine, so heavenly, it's somber death. 

  So with one last trudge, with a gallant leap, I float on light air, and nestle on semisolid verdant joy, I fall in a deep, immortal embrace, in a garden most divine. 

   

   Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial. This "short" short is one of just a couple I've done over the last two years, and it's a humble return to contributing to Monday Blogs. I'll be doing several posts like this for Momdays over the next few months, but I'll be quite busy, and things will become very, very interesting, especially for June. Either way, thank you for the support, it's always appreciated, and it'll be exciting to make sure all my posts land at the right time. 

Short Story Weekly: Part 1 of 2: Rotten Tog

   This week is another two-parter, not that I couldn't tell it all in one-shot, but I think it's a story that will actually need some tweaking at the second part. This story is heavily influenced by films like: A Boy and His Dog, The Hills Have Eyes, and game like, of course, Fallout.  I find this story is worthy of two-parts, but it allows for people to fully read this whole story, and have time for the second part. Granted it's not as much a thinker like say The Harrowing Inheritance, which had to be split into three parts, but the point is I find these "short" stories are ironically not really that short. Still, stories like Enclosure are long enough to be one-shot, but sometimes, it's rather easier for both myself, and the reader to split up these parts, but it allows for me get these stories out in time, but also to not  encumber the readers with a ton of posts. I'll be releasing part two next week, then the following week (the last week of April) will be another story, which will be a one-part story. It seems to be two-parts to one-part stories every other week, but it's been allowing me to be the most productive, and quite frankly, I'll go back to shorter one-shots eventually. 

    Regardless, I hope to bring great stories to the masses, and however they are received, I'll try my best to complete a short story every week, and give you a very applicable, entertaining tale. Granted,mi can be hit-or-miss, but this project when started early last year, and has been a goal of mine for nearly seven years, is going swimmingly, and  although all criticism aside, it could be going better (things can always go better) I find these Short Story Weekly posts are the only recurring posts I've done that seem to be minimally acceptable and moderately successful. 

      I will do my damnedest in the future to make each Short Story Weekly post into one whole post in the future. For now, I'll give you Part 1 of 2 of my abstract look at the post-nuclear world in a buddy story that's both obtuse, and yet something very, very familiar in:

                                                                   

                                                                       Rotten Tog

     A bastard winter came forth with assault over the wastelands, immeasurable amounts of irradiated snow came floundering downward, leaving clumps of nuclear atrocities blanketed in burning cold. Morose fauna able to withstand the radiation wish for death every waking moment they have to venture off into that maelstrom.  David Kafferty watched two pathetic curs with barely flesh to hide their salted bones toss around a jackrabbit carcass that was more reptillian than lappen. The world was always cruel, but the fallout forced a violent change in life to survive, life reacted accordingly, it replaced the moral compass with a nautical GPS, shark-like in it's deadly accuracy to seek out and kill whatever remnants of life could be surviving. David walked away. He knew the beasts had their burdens, but his were heavier, like a crown of hematite. 

    His right-hand companion, Tog, an eleven foot-tall monstrosity was carrying the jaw of a sperm whale, carved out into a hackney blade of spike teeth that weighed over sixty pounds each. Irradiation had made the ocean the stuff of nightmares, and David had been forewarned by his monstrous ally that it was a hellish domain. Tog was something formerly human, and yet something entirely new to this world. David Kafferty had heard rumors of monsters in the shadows, the cryptozoology memoirs that sold books, which in-turn had made such horrid Sci-Fi films was now standing besides him, and could pinch him out of existence. 

   He met Tog, a burnt-skin of deep ambers and darkest vermillion hue, on the outskirts of the wasteland, known as the Outside, a malcontent region of the new nightmare that not even the Wild Beasts  dared to roam. David had to go out there for some credits, about a million of them, and retrieve something from the old world. David had lived a long time, he rememberd the world before the M.A,D. Effect killed everything. He ever loved. The instant burst of radiation had made his cells impervious to age. For seven hundred years he carried on, not sure why he didn't just try to kill himself to end the nightmare. At one point, he really thought that this was his personal Hell. He had come close one time to ending it all, but found bullets could not even penetrate the irradiated armor. He had starved for days, and after a month without food, he then realized that even if he were to commit suicide for the inside, it wasn't going to be enough. 

 He knew a million credits was a drop in the pan, especially for a job that could even end his assumed immortality, but the Outside was never seen by human eyes, only from a distance did early observers of the Wastes even acknowledge the Outside's existence. Heh, falsely named, thought David, it sounds like sanctuary, rather than the most irradiated, most criminal of regions that this new world had to offer. 

  Tog, a juggernaut of a fiend, lumbered about in the distance, carving his whale jaw club, the ivory bludgeoning spearheaded a slice in the green sky. He was a mountain amongst bucket loads of rubble. David Kafferty gazed upon the mountainous Tog, there were acidic buzzards circling his head, and the ground shook underneath his girth of gelatin-cooked skin. Kafferty knew he had to scour the Outside, and search out the artifact that his employers held so dear, but what precise plan he had, went away at the size of this lumbering brute. 

   There was an artifact, as old as David himself, perhaps older, and his employers would pay a ton of credits for it. David wasn't sure just precisely what it was, but knowing how naive the world has become, it could be a weapon, or a dog's chew toy. The Outside was full of pre-apocalyptic junk, David saw strewn garbage; rusted and piled in fused chunks of Old World contraptions. David saw Tog first, the lumbering monstrosity was hard to miss, seeing as he stretched to the sky. At first David was terrified, as most people would be when confronted with an unnatural freak of a Nature, but he was more concerned with finding the coordinates of the sought-after artifact, and returning it for enough credits to get the  hell out of The Garrison, and make his way up to the  Coast, even buy a boat, and get as far away from the epicenter of the nuclear hell. 

    That's when he heard the rumble, and Tog looked at him with eyes as red as a volcano's heart, and David believed he was finished, yet Tog approached him with caution, not ferocious tenacity.  As he approached the 5ft 10in David, it was abundantly clear to the man, that this monster was truly a walking rock, and filled the landscape. Still, he stood his ground, picking up his minigun, and aiming it at the approaching monster. The gun started rotating, but this was met without concern, and this frightened David even further. 

  "You, puny little man. Put down weapon, a Tog mean you no harm." The voice was equivalent to a hole in the Earth growling out hallowed words from Hell. 

  "I think I'll just keep this chain rolling, if it's all good with you, I think you may want to keep a clear distance, I can clearly hear you from China even if I had half an ear." 

 "Funny little man, but that rolliepollie firecracker won't hurt much. You better believe that like smash you to little bits before you fire a shot. Why are you out here? This place is the Outside, humans not welcome. You should leave now."

  David held his ground, and lifted the minigun even higher up, making sure that a clear shot to Tog's head was precise. 

  "Ha! You're funny, I respect a fearless ant!"

  "I'm looking for the Spire. An Old-World  relic, my boss wants it, and he's led to believe it's somewhere in the Outside." Tog smiled a mouth full of gravel, teeth gnawed down to pulp. 

  "Spire? I've not heard of such a thing...describe it for me, mayhaps I've heard of this instrument."

   David wasn't sue whether or not to trust such a brutish beast, but Tog seemed partially intelligent, if not some sort of savant, either way, he was the master of this domain. So he described the Spire as his bosses have: a long spike with a battery pack that was red and blue, and five inches in diameter, and about four feet in length. Supposedly it connected to another artifact that was already in his bosses' possession. 

   Tog nodded. The cranking of his brain echoed loud enough for David to become eerily perturbed by the gurgling grinding sounds. 

   "I may have seen such a thing, little man. However, I'm not sure I can trust a gnat as you with his little firecracker pointed so firmly on my crevasse brow."

   David's mammalian mind wanted to believe that Tog meant him no harm, as Tog was an intelligent being, thus he could be reasoned with, but the reptillian brain had seen many men reasoned from out their lives by far more intelligent beings than the skycraper hovering over him now. With some remorse, he let the barrel of the gun spin down, until the cranking mechanical sound tapered off onto the toxic winds of the Outside, and a desert whispering clouded out an natural sounds the world once made. 

  "Good, good, now we reasoning, bargain. Tog help you, and you help me. This land, it's covered in salts that burn, and sands that punch with fists of malice. I ask you little man, for...quip pro quo? Many think Tog dumb, many think Tog monster! Tog reconcile differences, and know man judgmental, regardless of good-nature. My brain functions, my memories are intact. Tog know of your Spire, Tog certain of this, you take me with you from the Outside, I'll accompany you to this Spire, and give it to you personally. 

  "I plan on leaving this land, heading out to sea, I want to get away, find some sanctum of humanity not irradiated by this hellish radiation. I've lived for over seven-hundred years, I've tried to die, I've tried to live, and all I know now is that since I can neither, I must move on, it's all I can do, if even for nought." David knew now that if Tog wanted to, he would've crushed his bones with a single swipe. Maybe it'd have been better for him to have done so, Death was always a welcomed benefactor to the irradiated soul down deep in his decayed body. 

   "Tog not sure that's a safe plan, Tog has seen the oceans that surround this land, Tog travel a great deal over the course of many sunshine units, and has been granted this implement in a battle that be written in the stars. I took the whale, and that is but the most docile of monsters that lay down in the dark, green deep." 

  David smiled, his teeth surpringly white for being older than modern dentistry, he heard the warning,,knew that it would have to be braved, but the oceans were his salvation, and his escape from the world that had taken everything from him, he'd rather die, and not give a fuck about the circumstances that would come from the dire beasts of the deep. Sharks, whales, even pissed-off irradiated manatees with seventeen breasts, would not keep him from leaving the epicenter of nuclear catastrophe behind.  

  "Then we are at an impasse my Goliath friend. I seek the seas, you clearly have a piece of it that makes you fear going back. Normally something that would make a monster, and I say that with all-due-respect frightened, would normally keep a saner man at bay. However, becaue I'm no longer sane,nor am I truly anything left of a man, I'll seek to see the sea, and depart once I'm given my pay. Now, I will deliver you from Outside Tog, but from there, you will be on your own. I seek new land, and I urge you to do the same. The world out there is as cruel as this place, formulated with beats of burden, tapped in glowing glares, ready to kill at a moment's notice. The seas are mine to conquer...if you care to join, I will assure you safe passage."

  Tog looked over David, who had not shown one ounce of fear this entire time. The man had intrigued him, this living being had more courage than most mutated meanies he had come across in all his travels. With that, Tog knew he had to agree, he would help David. 

 "Then it is so, these days, life is too short to compromise. Tog will investigate the pyramidal ruins to help find the Spire. Then Tog shall accompany you on your travels, in return for helping you on complete this task."

  It was done, the two have made the complimentary alliance, and they knew now that the trek was halfway through. With a few trudging thrusts forward, a sprint with tree trunks, the two were at the pyramidal building which was to host the resting place of the Spire. Tog smashed through the plexiglass ceiling, and dropped through. The two were met with some minor obstruction, as giant insects attacked out of predatory nature. The jarring whalebone jaw smashed the insects into crystallized dust, and that was enough for the two of them to move forward unhindered. 

   Tog led David to a room of sandy brown, and irradiated green, clouds that would make a Geiger counter sing Mercy Me. If they were anything but monsters the world has made them, death would've met them in this aptly-designed tomb.  Tog smashed through walls, cushioning David from falling debris with surprising efficiency with the ivory weapon of ungodly terror. 

They both surfaced from the radiation-filled debris, clouding the room with a haze as hot as the sun's surface, and behold! The Spire awaited their less-than-trivial excavation. 

  With Spire in hand, David Kafferty was feel at peace for once in nearly seven centuries. He aspired to grow out of his funk that had left him feeling more a zombie than a man, and now he had enough capital to make his way: loading up on enough supplies that a man of his condition could ever need, and a boat large enough to house ten Togs, and the whole of the Wastes, with enough room left over for a tennis court. He missed tennis, and his lire before all this shit went down. 

 He barely remembers life before the radiation enveloped the earth, society succumbing to a demise of its own design. Still, the sentiment remains the same, feelings of nostalgia never leave a human mind, even if one forgets why nostalgia even resides so heavily In the heart.  All he remembered was a boy named Ashely, and a girl obsessed with a mortal idol named Daisy Duke. That's all he remembered....and Denver Omelettes, you never forgot Denver Omelettes. 

   The two raced out of the crumbling pyramidal building, apparently smashing down walls to a pre-apocalyptic building that was more shell than scaffold was plenty of destruction to have to come crashing down like an avalanche of metal and glass.  Tog ran with David on his back, along with the whalebone jaw, and the Spire snugly gripped in David's hands, he rumbled and rolled about to strands of chain that were tied around Tog's shoulders, a makeshift chain armor that was more aesthetics than protective. 

    It took David over a day to trudge through to the Outside, and merely two hours, maximum for Tog to jog out to the clearing. both could see a horizon of daylight steak across the visual irradiated rays, and with  one last sprint where speed was actually picking up on the over one-story Tog, they had reached the end of Outside, and beginning of the Wastes. The two of them made it relatively easy through the harshest part of the Wasteland, but now became the most deadliest part of the journey: now David had to deal with his boss: Roger Salamander, the Bastard of the Scourge. David knew that it wasn't the creatures of wasteland morphed by man-made horrors, but the men still untouched by such horros, that think they own the world...because deep-down, nobody is left to tell them otherwise. Hesitantly, David and Tog pressed on, towards a million credits, and the Bastard of the Scourge. 

  And so concludes Part 1 of the two-part story: Rotten Tog. Take your time reading this one if you want, and although there's going to be a far-thrilling conclusion to this story, but it will not be out until Friday of next week.  I feel this gives people time to read up on one story, with some time to digest in-between. I appreciate all of you out there who read these short stories, and I assure you that part two of this story will be exceptional work because I think it will be a truly unique approach to the story we all know and have seen so many times before, yet we never get sick and tired of it. Thank you for readin the Malacast Editorial, and have a wonderful week! 

Enclosure: Part 1 of 2 Short Story Weekly

This Short Story Weekly is going to be a two-parter, and a rather extensive story.  There is no theme this month, not intentionally anyhow. Still, I am very excited to write this story which is a pseudeo horror noir, but really this is the sort of storytelling I take pride in, and sharing it with the world is not only an honor and a privilege, but I hope embodies the sacrum of what it means to be a writer. This will atypical to the short stories I've posted on here, but it so more affluent to my favorite style, thus giving me the chance to showcase in grandiose style skills that wouldn't necessarily be shown. 

   Despite the content of these short stories varying from point-to-point, I have to now give a full disclosure warning of adult content that will be prevalent in this particular story. I have not completed the whole story at this point-and-time, but I feel obligated to say the content may be disturbing to some readers, so I'm giving you fair warning before reading this piece. I assure you thwt warnings in the past may not have been equivalent to content, but for this one, I can verily assure the readers that it will be graphic, and I cannot stress the word graphic enough, because it was written with no holds barred, dirty, filthy imagery that I really wouldn't want younger audiences to read. 

     Still, as I cannot control those who read my blog, or view every individual who reads my blog, I can only give you this long-winded explanation, so nobody can say I didn't give fair heed to the content I'm about to present. It will be violent, sexual, and both parts will have details in them that are not for younger readers. Granted, I'm likely not to have younger readers, but just in case, this is not a story for those under the age of 18, in the U.S. anyhow. 

   

With all that said, I would like to present to you Part 1 of 2 of :Enclosure

      The enclosed pond. I sat by the pond, watching extraterrestrial avian swim and dive bomb solid surface, breaking the tension of the water with  beaks of carotene driving apart the water, and raising up wiith slippery demons of the deep, kois with whiskers that sing in resonation like those of my this dragons. Down gullets like gunny sacks, they swallow whole, already digesting deep in the sanctum, flopping as acids smelt scale to solid waste. The mixture of blood I. The water turns the stolid ponds of whimpering waves into blackness. The festering stench of organs, friended and slopped out in a visceral barbarism is now just vestige of life skimming above the pools. 

   The stench of the water isn't from it's caged enclosure, but from the feral biting and scraping that leaves particles of morbidity behind, it is the stench of past death. I once saw a tiger tear through the meat of a cow, it wasn't dignified. It was messy, gnarly a crimson dreamscape, chalky and fingerprinted throughout the dusty exhibit. This was after hours, when just skeleton crew were present, but more likely automated systems ever functioning. The zoo was lovely this time of year, but the heat and the wench of excrement, and the grinding bones of what is to become waste is enough to entrance the mind with thoughts of rugged primitives fending in a world so familiar to the senses, yet so far removed from the mind. 

    My name? It really wasn't my name that so-much mattered anymore. I've been raped of it's meaning. I have been ravaged of a name long-ago. I go now by Loin, Steak, or Chop. The best modifier though, should be Ground Beef.  Oh! That reminds me: only thirty minutes until they feed the cheetahs a calf. Lucky bitch was going to have veal tonight, and I was chomping down on a melting snow-cone just to avoid heat exhaustion. The beasts in the cages are the lucky ones, it's when we're free roaming do we then suffer. 

      I straggle my way towards the lions' den. The fleeting cries for it's mother trail far off, as young ones are ushered out of the zoo. Children who are fascinated by the beauty and hubris of the wildlife, but far too impressionable to see the plight of nature when prey is massacred by predator. The calling of the calf grows louder, and like a siren's song, I'm drawn towards the cacophonous moos. The cheetahs are already circling around, chirping and growling. These beasts of speed, now forced into an enclosure not nearly narrow enough for them to correct course, are waiting patiently for the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. 

       The dapper monsters in their spotted suits readied for the gate to lift, and the prodding of the calf turned into squeals of pain and fear. Even the simplistic of prey know when the end is about to unfold, and that is the brutal, yet beautiful truth of the world. 

   "Hey! You can't be here! Zoo's closed! Head to the nearest exit!" 

    A zookeeper came running up to me, but I paid him no mind. I was friends with the owner, and Charlie, the manager of the big cat exhibits, gave me the go-ahead to watch this battle for survival. Besides, I paid good money to hang around. 

   "You must be the new guy! I'm Daryl, a good friend of Charlie, and might I say, a good friend if Mr. Saturday. Ah! Greg Saturday, a good man! Knew his father, we had an understanding, but young Greg, never quite understood my habits. I'm allowed to be here, Mr.?" 

  "My name's Richard, I've just been out in charge of the aviary sanctuary, but I noticed you were walking towards the Big Cats, and it's feeding time, so we really don't allow patrons to be around when the feeding begins. Normally we have fresh beef for the cats, but cheetahs need to chase down their food. It seems cruel, but I assure you, it's not something one wants to witness."

 I smirked, as Charlie came running up to me, but he was ushering me towards the feeding, which was moments from beginning, and I felt a slight flicker in my pants. 

  "Evening Jake! Mighty fine of you to come out tonight. Mr. Saturday was saying he hasn't heard from you in a while, he appreciates that grant you gave to expand the alligator sanctuary! We are just about to have the evening feeding, so please make your way towards the exhibit, I'll be along shortly!"

  I walked away, but couldn't help but catch the off-handed commentary between Charlie and Richard. 

    "Jeez!  What's with that guy? Why would anyone wanna watch what's about to happen? It's a bloodbath!" 

    "Relax, Dick! He's a valued customer, and he pays extra to hang around for the cheetah feeding. Jake's a good man, he's just a bit eccentric, you know? He's also the best damn job security we have right now."

   I heard the bickering as I walked pass the enclosure housing the howler monkies, hooting and raving at the carnage that would begin shortly. Adjusting my waistline, I moseyed towards the cheetah pen. Cherie, the resident feline was already licking her chops in anticipation for the game she was about to ravage with claws and teeth. She chirped with desire, her hindquarters flex and spasm with itching muscles steadying for the inevitable cranking  of the gate being lifted. The bleating of the baby antelope perked up Cherie's ears, she purred with delight, flexing killer claws. She was the sexiest creature I've ever dared to lay eyes upon. No other feminine beast on earth can compare to the sultry, seductive mannerism of the cheetah. I adored watching Cherie work, eating her meals with meat and beings torn from ligaments like God intended. Still, she was so calm, so serene in those moments of carnage, it looked more peaceful than death in sleep. 

      Suddenly, my anticipation grew, an arousal that entranced my eyes as the creaking gate began to turn. A chirping Cherie was stiff like a statue molded in lapis ludis, diamonds glistening in onyx off her fur in extravagant print. The antelope was dropped out of it's cage, and began to cower in the corner, as prey does. The slow cranking continued, as Cherie jumped around in delight. She must've been ravenous tonight, my dear, sweet Cherie was practically squeezing underneath the gate, and the premature start ensued. Bursting through the seams at over fifty-five miles an hour, towards an antelope thwt could run at barely forty miles an hour, was a burst of raw energy. Cherie pounced on the beast as full sprint, the antelope glided at a valiant effort, zig-zagging as instincts guided it to try and survive the onslaught,mbut to no avail. First, the claws came out, and then the teeth mangled the throat of the antelope, breaking and twining around blades of enamel, and now she stood wearing a jowl of red. With the deepend black ridges about her eyes, she looked like she was dolled up for the ball. The antelope lipstick, and her ear tag were as close to a debutant than any in this sleezy enclosure. 

My heart skipped two whole beats,then pounced back in at 120bpm, as the adrenaline kicked into overdrive. I've seen this all before, but never had it been so forthright, so extravagent....so brutal.  The deed was red, pink, and flesh-tinged, like the sun kissed the insides, blessing them with their first exposure to rays. The moonlight  glistened off the moisture, and it was wonderfully gruesome. Cherie's face was made up for the ball, meat slopping off the sides of her clicking jowls. The mangled body kicked several times, but it was just actions of an afterthought. My heart filled with such bliss, watching the natural order take place in man's oldest experiment: that nature can be trapped, that beasts are safer caged. 

  Cherie's head went down,mand wrestled loose a femur, the tiny hoofed leg came up with a tearing noise that reminded me more of rubber bands snapping than say a tree limb cracking. The crunch was brutal in it's own right, but when she laid on top of it, all that heavy weight crushing down on the fragile body, she had made a bed of her meal. It was natural for cheetahs to be brutish in captivity, but there was something more instinctual, something primal in this unnatural space 

"Blessed girl, you've done well." I was very pleased by her, she was the most sexually provocative creature I've ever seen on earth. Her movements were sulfurous and dangerous, curves with teeth, but like a sports car, Cherie was wild speed. She's my one true love. 

  After Cherie was done with the carcass, She was ushered back into her enclosure, and she napped on the concrete floor, packed full of protein, and ready to rest after a hunt well done. I was elated by the capricious moment, still captivated by the nasty imagery that came from the slaughter. As quickly as it happened, I found myself already leaving the zoo, satisfied by the insatiable beauty of nature's fire. 

  I tossed and turned with dreams of sinking my teeth into beasts of all shapes and sizes. The sensation was exquitwely pleasing to my subconscious senses, and meats bled out with rose petals of jubilation; they clumped up in cascading clots onto the floors of my imagination.  I slept well inside my sizable bed, it allowed me the freedom to spread out with exasperation, and wriggle with beatitude. Dreams of tearing flesh from bone, and bedding down with the Queen of the Serengetti: Cherie. 

  I was obsessed with the beast, I wanted to become one with the beast, entangled in an anthropormorphic twine of unnatural hedonism. Her variegated fur against my bare, dark flesh, un fathomable, but yet, so pure...so wild...so heathenish. I had to have a part of that, I had to be a part of that, and I knew it had to be tonight. This wasn't about obscenity, but lust, desire, and months of anticipation building up....this would be my only escape. 

  Mr. Saturday and I went back to childhood friends. He was an eccentric man, who had made money in businesses all over the world. His real desire was animals, exotic beasts that in other situations would never be allowed to be owned without years of appeals to higher courts, and listening that would cost him millions of dollars a year if he were to have them as mere pets. So when he discovered that most zoos were losing money, he had found himself in hot water. Mr. Saturday was desperate, and reached out to me for help. I had made him a very, very, generous donation to keep his zoo alive. Granted, he was not without money, but Mr. Saturday was vehemently against any business that didn't turn profit after thirty-minutes its grand opening.

  I did not hesitate to throw him a couple of dollars, it was enough money to run him on empty for at least two seasons, and I could tell by his shocked expression, it wasn't what he was expecting. 

    "Jake! You didn't have to make such a donation! I should've had my accountants stop you. I was about two seconds away from selling this damn money pit! Worst investment I've ever made. When I was told that the zoo veiled an anonymous donation of nearly twice what I paid for the damn thing, I knew it had to be you, crazy motherfucker that you are! Don't get me wrong, I'm sincere Jake, but tell me: why would you not only bail me out, but give me enough money to turn this dump into the most profitable zoo in the country?" I could remember his excitement. He invited me up to his offices in a shock when it was ousted to being I who had donated the millions. 

  "Come now, Saturday! You and I both know I help out my friends, I've bailed you out quite extensively over the years, and I've had my share of run-ins that your influence was all that was needed to make the problems go-away. We are meant of wealth and stature, Saturday, and we are always perceived as the enemy.  We are friends by experience, let thwt speak for itself, but we are also compatriots by association of our wealth. Now I'm sure we are both familiar with quip-pro-quo?"  I smiled that wicked smile that he loved to see. 

   "Oh, how I know of your quips, Jake. How I know what obscure, tantalizing hobbies you have had in the past. Let me guess, you want to fuck one of the animals, right?" He laughed and laughed at his bemused observation, but for it's callous repertoire of cackling and unintelligible jargon, he was not far off from my mater plan. 

   "Ah, always I. The gutter, my dear Saturday, but not quite my intention! No, I have confirmation that your zoo will be qccuiring a young female cheetah, and it has been attempting to get one since Day One."

   "Yes! But how could you have known that?! I've received word but merely an hour before-"

    "Before our meeting here? Yes Saturday, I know becaue I'm the one who made sure that the transaction went through with the Jordanians. Don't look so shocked, Satruday! I promise you,MIT was your money, I just coaxed them into providing the healthiest creature, not some starved pathetic mongrel that was on it's last page. You really shouldn't deal with that sort of riffraff, Saturday. They never deliver on their promise. Poachers and over glorified trappers, they don appreciate the fine power of a beat of such power and grace."

   "Well then, Jake! This is a cause for celebration. Allow me to pop the cork on this bottle of Dom-"

    "Before you bring out that overpriced bottle of monk's drink, perhaps I wasn't clear....I done want money, we both know I could do to lose a but of it, as I'm always finding myself behind the proverbial eight-ball becaue of it! No, I only ask to watch the beast eat, once a month, at my discretion."

   Saturday was shocked by request, his jaw nearly dropped as the cork flew out of the bottle, nearly taking out the hanging light fixture above his desk. He regained his composure, returning to the businessman that I've known to buy out corporate towers for anthills. Saturday used that sort of tone I've heard before when he wanted to negotiate. I knew then that I was in. 

   "Park regulations  do require us to make sure the park is vacant during feeding, too gruesome for the kids apparently. Yet, I'm certain we being the close friends we are can work out a deal. I don't see why you couldn't watch us throw some meat into the cage. Big cats in captivity tend to get a bit restless and shred whatever meat is thrown into the  cage. Normally it's chicken or beef, whatever is closest to their regular meal. So when we go to feed her, I'll even allow you to toss in the meat to the enclosure, how's that sound?" I sups this was supposed to make me feel enthralled to b e apart of the whole zoo experience, but thwt was not my intention.

"Actually, dear Saturday, I have other plans in mind for the feeding of your newest commission. You see, I'm not going to have you scrounge up leftovers for a creature of such power. This cat isn't some lazy lion that only takes down the slowest calf, or the smallest buck. No! This animal is the sports car of the cat world. It's sleek, sexy, defined by nothing but muscle tone and teeth. She will be eating only fresh, young antelope, and she will chase it down like sport. I have already put the schematics out for a runner,,where she can exercise, and chase her prey. She will do this only once a month, when I want to see it done, the rest of the time she will be fed fresh, not frozen and thawed meat, and this will only be small quantities once a day. I have hired you a trainer that will run her right, and keep her in the healthiest shape any cheetah could be in, is that fine with you?" I was direct, and made all manner of negotiation null and void. 

  "You mean...living prey? But that's unethical! It's against regulation! I can't allow a baby antelope to be murdered for your pleasure! Sorry Jake! I will not allow that! No! Take your money, take your trainer, whoever the hell it is-"

 "Charlie."

"Charlie! And go to hell! The whole point of this place is to teach people the value of exotic animals! To get kids interested, and have them have close, safe encounters with these majestic beasts. This is a place of learning, not a killing grounds!"

"You see Ssturdy, this is why I must politely say that you're full of shit! You want to teach these people about life, about Nature, well Nature brutal, it's one dies so others can live, it's being relentless in your fulfillment of hunger, and always taking more than you need becaue tomorrow you may go Hungary! It is just as applicable, just as beautiful to watch a predator on the 'killing grounds' as you call them, than watching them sit in captivity, wishing to be running wild and free, on the plains. So are you going to deny me this?"

  Saturday looked down at the spillage of champagne on his desk and noticed it was leaking lightly down I to his trousers, making a distinctive line down the crotch to his shoes. 

   "Absolutely! I'm not going to see some baby animal killed for your amusement, Jake! I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of watching some animal be killed just because you demand it...no! I appreciate our friendship, and the help you've been, but I cannot for my greater conscience allow for an animal to be kille DNA harmed in my zoo!

    "You see, Saturday...you don't have to watch, I know your not a strong stomached guy, but there is a point to be made here....you're just afraid of watching not because of some poor, innocent antelope being shredded to bits, it's becaue you're the same....you've always been the same."

   "Excsuse me, tread lightly Jake, don't think that you're too big to get your ass thrown right out of here!" Saturday's threat was empty, as was the groin of his pants from the outline that was forming. 

   "You see, Saturday; you've always acted like you're the big bad predator, always thinking you'll topple industries, and make fortunes on other people's loses, but that's not a predator, that's a scavenger. You're merely a diseased vulture, not worth eating, but you pick off the carcasses of whatever's left over. You're not a mogul, your an opportunist.

  " I'm the one who bankrupts my competition, I'm the one who takes all the riches before you swoop in and fill yourself on the pickings. We are complete opposites, you and I Saturday, but thwt is your biggest fear. You see us as equals, I a predator, you a scavenger, and you believe we are mutual components to the same feast. Yet you know that at any given moment, you can become prey, but never be the predator, the apex moniker. So go ahead, toss me out of here Saturday, it's within your power, but just remember who can turn that chagrin beak of yours into an appetizer before the main course." I smiled at him, speaking and with a cold, powerful tone. He went white, and sweat poured out, the scent of fear. I merely put out my hand, and he took it in his clammy palm, and I shook until I nearly broke his fingers. Saturday was a good friend, but in-the-end, he was merely there to clean up my mess. 

     I awake to my mundane life. My housekeeper had set the dining table for my breakfast: rare steak with a side of eggs, and a  thimble-full of caviar. The only green on my plate was a garnish, which I fling to the side of the plate, and devour my meal with exquisite delight. I was ravenous form my somni-like excursions, but I wanted to taste the real deal. Tonight...it had to be tonight. In that moment, I felt happiness, smitten with joy, and a slight tingle in my prick. Tonight would be just right. 

Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial. Part 2 of this story will be out next week, and will be the conclusive ending, albeit the longer part of this story. It will be released with a similar long-winded warning as was given to this part, but I will contest that this is the return of Short Story Weekly in full. I space site your patience, as I've been busy with several other posts. I also did some slight editing on my Street Fighter V review, it's more for aesthetics, rather than content. So if you've enjoyed Enclosuree, I will have the conclusion next week, but the following week will be something completely different, and less likely to need any graphic warnings, so if you are new to Short Story Weekly, you should know that this is not common to most content reflected on this blog. 

    Thank you again,mand have a great week!