Page 8 - and the man who loved cats

Her delicious smile never vanished. It was fixed
and glistening and hard like porcelain. It calmed
and perplexed him. A part of him wanted to give
itself up to her.

With the slopping of her arm upon his shoulder
he perceived a glistening flash of oily dark green,
almost black.

The thinness of the atmosphere before the
chasm began to seize his thoughts. Although it
was incomprehensibly still, he sensed the threat in
it.

Moments before the kiss he noticed her hair. It
was dark and matted, glued to her head in a
slippery gloss that appeared viscous and fixed:
lacquered. But the edges of her were wrong. He
could think of it no other way. It was similar to a
film where something is poorly super-imposed
upon the background so that the edges are fleecy.
More than this it was like a shimmering tear in the
fabric of reality. Like a pullover becoming
unstitched it was as if the substance of the world
had come apart. The reek of decay came through
this rip. And it was she who was piercing the
structure. She who was from the other side.

Page 8