PHQ-Nickname:
SonOfMan
Halfquake:
Screaming Deth
Level:
40
Total kills:
3,688,748
Birthday:
September 01st 1974
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| Filth & Fetish Inside and Out: 1 |
 Alighting the train, I crossed the city on foot. Arriving early, I sat in a dismal park nearby, cooled down and waited. At ten minutes to the hour I crossed the street and entered the building. At five minutes to the hour I arrived at the reception on the 12th floor. I politely introduced myself to the receptionist while making full eye contact and thinking about how I'd like to, you know, fuck her right there on the desk. My right hand leaving marks on her throat, my left waving in the air like a rodeo rider's.
She looked at me like she wanted me to do it. I swear on your mother's life that was the look she gave me. She narrowed her eyes just slightly and tipped her head to the right by the tiniest margin. As I was about to say something charming a door opened and I was led into a corridor of beige walls and grey ribbed carpet of a durable fabric. There were two other doors from this part of the corridor, one had a sign that said 'copy room' and the other said 'ladies'. We continued past the doors and turned to the left, the corridor went to both the left and right. Here the corridor continued, the same as before, but hanging on one wall was a print of some wilting flowers in a narrow pine coloured frame. A door said "men" and there were two other doors without signs.
Again we continued to the end of the corridor but turned right this time. Here the corridor opened up into a square, on either side in the recesses of the walls there were sofas of chrome tubing and sky blue fabric. The fabric of one sofa was stained with what looked like coffee. On the other side of the square from where we had entered the corridor continued along as though nothing had happened.
I was motioned to sit here and wait. I chose the stained sofa. There were no ashtrays, only a small waste paper bin containing some crumpled up copy paper and the discarded wrapper of a chocolate bar. My guide had gone on down the corridor and was out of sight. I took a packet of Marley Milds from my jacket pocket and lit one with a match. I sat smoking and tipping the ash into the waste paper basket.
I got up to go to the mens' room and dispose of the butt I found myself cradling. The mens' room was spacious and clean. I guessed, as it was close to the reception, that it was not in use by the employees but reserved, or too out of the way, for anyone but visitors. I hung around for a while listening to the buzz of the lighting and the silence that surrounded it. Maybe I could get that secretary in here with me, I thought. If I came here one day without an appointment and had a bit of luck no-one would see me. It could be hours before she would be found, probably by the cleaner the next morning. How would I get her in here? She might not want to, you know, fuck in a mens-room. Some girls are prissy like that. They want roses and romance.
When I got back to the waiting area there was a lean looking man in a dark blue suit waiting there. He was not sitting and when I came to within a couple of meters he asked if I was me. I said I was. He introduced himself. I politely shook his hand and allowed myself to immediately discard his name. It was not him I had come to see.
He led me further down the corridor which was to then take an unusual turn. No longer the geometry of the spaces between reception and this point, here the corridor doubled in width, curved slowly north and inclined upward. There were no windows or doors. The only features I observed were what appeared to be concealed panels in the walls set at regular intervals. The lighting was concealed in the ceiling panels. I imagined a tidal wave of blood rushing toward me, and me, stuck halfway along this passage, unable to run anywhere but back down to where I had come from or toward the wave of blood. The wave did not come by the time we arrived at a double door of polished black wood. |
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