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From: "S Farragher" <farragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6: RED BOOTS: Laurie Slays Abel   Repost
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Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2005 14:10:01 -0500
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Taxi Murders Web Site: http://taximurders.com <http://taximurders.com/> 

Poetry Site: http://seanfarragher.com <http://seanfarragher.com/> 

Long Poem: Work in Progress: http://byzantium2001.com
<http://byzantium2001.com/> 

(9-11-2001 and Terrorism of the Child Abuse)

http://blastmagazine.org <http://blastmagazine.org/> 

From TxM6: RED BOOTS: Laurie Slays Abel

 

TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults.

Copyright (c) 2000 and 2005 

 

 

RED BOOTS AND BLUE STONES

Laurie Slays Abel

 

Home at Last: August 29, 1992

 

"Can we ever know the end?"  -- Laurie Fallon

 

Laurie Fallon wearing nothing but her dead mind and one red 

leather boot stood in front of the mirror washing her face 

and massaging the ends of her fingers endlessly.

 

Bloodstains ran as rivers into the middle of the sink 

swirling closed.

 

Clean, I love it, she thought.

 

Laurie watched her eyes open and shut marking the surface of 

the mirror with her breath and then quickly writing and 

erasing Abel and Lilith's name in the steam.

 

Carefully, on the surface of the mirror, she imagined a thick 

cock growing from inside his name dividing her tongue from 

pallet.

 

Restoring the details of his face, she anticipated the 

sequence how she had cut out Abel's heart.  First, Abel stood 

in the center of the room lifting his cock like raw meat. She 

loved how it curled and how comfortable he felt holding it in 

his own hands. Thrusting his cock at Laurie's face, he 

snapped it against her half open mouth, pushing it between 

her closed lips to force the length of it inside until she 

choked.  Laurie resisted. Biting him hard with her teeth, she 

dug them into shaft as he pushed his cock through the wall 

into her mouth. "Easy," Laurie said, hardly able to speak.

 

Accepting it for what it would be, Laurie swam with Abel's 

cock rocking it between her mouth and imaginary razors.  How 

perverse I am, Laurie thought. I am his prisoner but he is 

mine too. I do not want him, but I want to him to share my 

grief.

 

Laurie resisted Abel until the end, and he pushed at her face 

until she could not speak. The more he fought to work it into 

her, the more she wanted him, and the more she resisted.

 

Neither Able nor Laurie could quit.

 

Searching the motion of her gray eyes, desperately, Abel 

waited for one sign of one end before he let his semen 

bubbled on her lips and chin.

 

More glue than come, it was thick and obvious.

 

2.

 

FUCKING ABLE INTO DEATH

 

When Abel came in my mouth, when his hard breathing rasped 

loudest, I pulled a thin table knife from inside my red boot. 

Striking him furiously under the ribs ripping out the blood 

and sinew from inside his chest, I pushed harder and with 

each stroke desperately, ranging higher into his chest, I 

knew the relief of fucking death and had no available mercy.

 

The blood ran down my arms pooling into the cuffs of my 

blouse. Only my right hand stained red, and the left drove me 

home hiding Abel's heart in my deepest coat pocket. As he 

died, I climbed up and over his back pressing upon him the 

force and strength of my legs and arms, using rage and 

patience as my weapon of choice.

 

How easy death makes its daylight.

 

 

3.

 

ORGASM END

 

Five minutes after Abel's heart had stopped, leaning on her 

arms, half on the floor and a soft chair, Laurie examined 

Abel's face and body parts as a mortician or a pathologist 

would a specimen. Pushing his face in, pulling it, probing 

it, she opened it like a box, looking down inside her lover 

and antagonist's throat. What could she hope to find.

 

 

Disease. Prophecy. Maggots. Nothing.

 

Not content, wanting to know inside his skin, Laurie stared 

at the brown stains on his teeth while simultaneously tracing 

the ridge of his nose. She played with the fat on his ass 

finding more of it than she had suspected. 

 

Although appearing reverent, Laurie opened his mask as an 

object left behind that was both dangerous and beautiful. She 

pissed on him watching on the pee ran off his mouth and onto 

the floor. Squatting there, she played with her clit finding 

it quite pleasurable, wishing she could leave some darker and 

more obvious for the Cops to keep track of and mark as 

evidence in their notebooks.

 

Fingered Abel's cock, she extending it, sucking it she drew 

out fluid she imagined was death's semen.  Laughing at 

herself when it did not harden, she became frightened when 

she imagined what she would have felt had her mouth worked it 

up into his ordinary spectacular erections. They say bad men 

are not hung. He proved otherwise. Weak men can have huge 

cocks and great men nothing. Size is meaningless Laurie 

thought, but then she opened another miracle taking a glass 

rod she inserted it into his dick, thinking of it exactly as 

that, and when it was stiff she smashed it wishing he could 

feel it all. Laurie suddenly stopped fondling cock and body 

parts when she realized it would be soon stored in jar on a 

shelf until it thoroughly rotted. Formaldehyde doesn't keeps 

nothing fresh and when the flesh held in that suspended 

animation is exposed it becomes the mush that only death can 

show up as a floating object in the ordinary space that the 

absence of love propagates.

 

Not content with the after taste of watery copper salted like 

stale semen, Laurie searched her in complete memory for 

another man with unlimited appetites. She would search for 

him immediately. In the glow of her ascendancy, she saw Henry 

as less than perfect. I know why I want a young man she 

thought, but then Henry is all ages. That is what his 

publicity advocates now, Laurie laughed at how fickle she has 

been. Wonders if she should change, but just so completely 

happy that she would soon be free to at least breathe outside 

the rigors of this blue stone house. Yes, I know many are 

available, but few would be suitable.

 

ESCAPE

 

Searching for the keys to Abel's car that she knew he kept 

inside the top drawer of his desk, Laurie planned her escape. 

Suddenly, she feared Abel and Lilith again. They must return 

interrupt her impatience. Perhaps he did not die.  Fearing 

it, Laurie searched for Abel's cadaver. She sighed when she 

felt his cold skin playing with his cock one more and last 

time. No, I won't cut it off. That would be tedious.  No, I 

will cut out his heart, and keep that pickled with my 

journals as testimony. Laurie's temporary refuge darkened in 

daylight. Her walls grew plain and smelled ironically of 

fresh paint and varnish. Abel was dead. Laurie should not 

have worried. Maybe Laurie would tell the story a new way, 

after a time, allow Abel to live. Laurie would realize she 

could not build a life on suffering.

 

Who says, so, you Laurie lifted her voice to me the narrator. 

Go fuck yourself, she said. Who the fuck needs you, asshole.

 

 

 

FACT:

 

Laurie Slays Abel but did not murder him She was his victim 

and must be allowed a certain opportunity for revenge. She 

just wants to savor the moment of his death, knowing she 

still lived.

 

Covered in Abel's blood, Laurie drank from the tap water 

before carefully dissecting his heart and part of a lung from 

his chest.

 

4.

 

NOT AN EXIT

 

Leaving Abel's blue stone house at 1099 River Road, breathing 

sunlight from the wet grass surrounding the fortress, Laurie 

marked a bloodstain on the decorated doorframe. She needed 

more evidence. She did not fear detection. She expected that 

the world would want to know she had won. Laurie was of 

course wrong.

 

Opening the car door, Laurie drew a circle and a star in 

blood on the window. Getting inside she rolled the window 

down shifting her mind and fact the boughs and leaves of the 

maple reflected sunlight as a shimmering image drawn into 

substance.

 

Is the dream that acts in the present real or fictional? 

virtual or physical? 

 

Laurie considered these ideas, and laughed to herself.

 

Driving away in Abel's white Porsche, leaving his mutilated 

corpse behind to rot into plastic on the living room floor, 

Laurie fingering the wet and heat of Abel's still warm heart. 

He was her token for escape. It feels like a warm cunt, she 

realized, saying the phase Abel has a cunt aloud. Leaving the 

driveway much too slowly, Laurie slid and scraped first the 

left and then right door of the car as she banged into the 

street just missing by seconds a black and silver police car. 

He might have stopped her.

 

"Abel is dead," Laurie sang. He back in his grave, but his 

heart is missing. How cruel, Laurie giggled, if this all were 

a dream. Perhaps, life (dream or not) foreshortens when we 

quit knowing the most complex parts as intuition and not 

words written down.

 

After all, what we desire we rarely obtain. If we did, then 

nothing would move. Can I be satisfied with an ordinary world? 

of everyday motion?

 

What a rationalization for murder. Laurie resisted gloating. 

Ten, twenty years later, when the suffering was long past, 

assuming she lived until tomorrow, Laurie would never 

remember her doubts. She would keep the positive inflections 

of her experience at this moment. Only human. 

 

Why do you, Laurie, speaking to the author again, want to 

fuck my life up. Get out of here. It is good now, I am out, 

and maybe you can find a way to fuck me too. That is what you 

want after all.

 

No, nothing changed. Laurie no longer held as a captive of 

Able and Lilith fled on the wings of hang glider into the 

wedge like wave of the western sea.

 

Laurie believed writing this all down made it so. 

Is fiction an illusion? Can the characters we created become 

the next generation of humanity as life not delusion?

 

Nonetheless, in this rare dream, Laurie reversed Abel's life 

transfiguring her, absorbing part of his flesh. She did this 

honestly without doubt by sharing reasonable fears with mute 

accomplices. Taking it inside her skin, she blessed the fugue 

of it with a solo erotic dance that was no longer lonely. 

Yes, as the author, I love her. Do you blame me? She is my 

daughter and my artifice. She is the unknown, unknown spell 

we unleash when we sit down and mark words into poems and 

stories.

 

Yes, I am breaking great rules here. The Internet does it for 

me. There are no longer rules but those that art sustains.

 

If I am wrong history will find me foolish. If I am correct, 

as I believe, the light on my future value as a guide to this 

time will settle not in books but in media yet to be 

designed. I am truly a person of both centuries.

 

Will you shut the fuck up you mind stealing mother fuckers.

This is Laurie. You are stealing my fucking space. Am I ungrateful?

You bet I am so live with it mother fucker, but I will kiss you

gently if you let me lounge in your mind while you make me

even more beautiful.

 

 

 

5.

 

MORNING AFTER PILL

 

Did Laurie feed it backward to Abel? Will he become pregnant? 

in the sequel?

 

Abel sang in the bathroom where Laurie had dreamed he had 

bled to death. 

 

Lilith rode her exercise bike cursing at the TV remembering 

how she and Abel made Laurie fight for more not less sex last 

night.

 

Laurie slept in the conjugal bed of Able and Lilith held 

prisoner by the pair one of her ankles fastened by silver 

links to a blue stall.

 

Naked, open, her will and cunt lips swollen and exposed, 

bloodstains had dried inside both of Laurie's thighs.  

Reaching slowly down the subtle turn of the inside curves of 

her thigh, knowing she will be beaten if discovered, Laurie 

loosened her cunt matted with blood, separating the lips 

prior to forcing her own orgasm. Laurie knew the stain was

menstrual. How unfair to have cramps when she could not

defend her.

 

Menstruation returned, and Laurie wakened spoke that line to 

herself, letting her fingers strip her self of Abel even as 

returned to force his child inside her skin.

 

Laurie realized that Abel was never a dream.

 

 

FUCKING WHILE ON THE RAG

 

Smearing the blood against her inner thigh, Laurie imagined 

how Henry loved to suck cunt when his women bled fucking her 

between the leaves of his legs letting the blood stain him.

 

Henry told Laurie that he imagined the period to be one 

mythical stop at the end of a serial sexual sentence. Walking 

the lips of her sex, he eventually pulled himself inside the 

lift and kick of orgasm, and theories described he passed out 

of her skin into his own plenitude.

 

Able, oh Abel, Laurie sighed, on the contrary. My sad 

ordinary killer hated the devil's blood as he called it. How 

odd the confusion. When they discover my condition, my sign 

of renewed breeding, Abel and Lilith will change with my 

desire becoming the inside of my mind and will if I can stand 

it enjoins passion as an experience and not an exercise.

 

Fuck it, Laurie thought. Leaning back, Laurie opening all of 

herself. No longer concerned with discovery, she wanted more 

than suffering and orgasm.

 

Directing the dance of vulva and clit, now, Laurie imagined 

the clashes of her orgasm as a corrupted symphony caught by 

surprise when the timpani anticipated the conductor's 

intentional omission of sound and space and the drive of a 

restored work made words out of notes. Disorder rising as 

art's accomplice became calm or at least reflected a past 

status that was almost earned.

 

History is sometimes not kind to conservative ideologies. 

Revolution seems more spectacular, but often change is an 

illusion we keep locked up out of harm's way.

 

That is why war may seem more popular than peace. For 

soldiers who have fought hand to hand or dropped an arsenal 

on the ants below their bomb sites, nothing but the blood of 

the books made resolved. War sucks. Simply said, and now, I 

know it too Henry, Laurie spoke and was complete for a time.

 

Yes, Laurie came triumphant closing her legs on her arm 

hiding the ordinary knife of her dream for escape. 

 

Marveling in prophecy, another discordant melody, Laurie 

remembered when she was twelve how she thrust the head of a 

Barbie doll inside her cunt until she tired of pretending.

 

Racing down to the bar, Laurie quickly seduced two men and 

one woman at once wondering how her ass would take so much. 

When it stretched beyond the boundary, she was relieved. Who 

would not be? 

 

Was Laurie frightened of pleasure and needful of pain?

 

Fuck No, CHRIST TINA. I just want to get laid.

 

Yes, she did have limits. What were they? You will have to 

ask her yourself. There were no obvious answers, but Laurie 

promised Henry, if she saw him again that she would show him 

the layers of her mind, but first he must suffer her to be a 

hermit for a year. 

 

Perhaps I will spend a year in prison. Why not. I am not 

innocent. Who the fuck is? Certainly not the author. He wants 

my skin inside his and for that I am pleased.

 

No, I will not promise you the same escape, answered the 

author and Henry at once time allowing them a moment to dream 

of a double stuff with her as the strawberry divided into 

illusion and fact. 

 

How can we do anything alone CHRIST MOTHER? We share the 

same name? How can we even kiss, Henry when Abel plots 

the acts to answer some of his loneliness. 

 

Henry, I love you. This is Laurie. You are the only reality.

 

Now, enough of this "go fuck yourself." I am not currently 

available thanks to your madness. You got me in this mess. 

Get me out?

 

Yes, I promise.

 

What?

 

You think any of us -- fictional or actual -- can truly know

before hand how as my grandmother once said, before death,

it will all work out.

 

 

 

_______________

Note to Readers:

 

I have posted and now I am reposting from 2000 many of the stories

of TxM6/Taxi Murders. One reader suggested I put together an index

that is under construction. Another suggested that I make the story line

"simpler" and not have the pregnant women die. Laurie survives. All do

not die. Laurie becomes the hero of heroes, and after all, it is a story 

and has no resemblance to people or persons alive or dead. 

 

Recently, someone suggested that Taxi Murders must be based on actual

crimes as parts of it seem as if they come from the newspapers. As TxM6

is entirely fiction, I take that commentary as the finest of compliments.

I welcome responses from readers of TxM6. farragher@nj.rr.com 

My email address can also be found at my web sites.

 

 

 

 

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