Free God of the Game (Dreamstate) by Kit Yan Page B

screamed. Her nerves whacked confused, colliding with pleasure, pain, awe, disgust, disdain, comedy, tragedy, hysterics, dementia, schizophrenia, fun, funny, haha ...boohoo. Tears, death and the climax of sexual catastrophe. She inhaled, she received and revered and lived it all. Breathed it all. She was the sacrifice. The altar, too. Burnt offerings were placed on her being, set alight, consumed and accepted by the Kreators .
        And another tentacle burst from her. From her belly this time, like a fountain shoo ting a spray of red paint, evolving to a bloody pissing competition. And the room was drenched. Wet graffiti art slowly taking shape. Her arteries and aorta were entwined with the humongous testicular cords somehow, making her the source, the mother of fucks and games. Eyes rolled up white; a giant flesh-eating flower was blossoming from her stomach much akin to a malicious potted plant. What used to be digestive organs blended and spewed red carnage, like a Gatling gun firing nonstop; chunks of meat chugging as if an invisible hand was drawing a twisted circle of territorial pissing. Picture an inept kitchen help, absentminded of the lid for the blender, pressing start - a massacre of mince pork, or should I say human flesh, flying out. The chef outraged, the kitchen help finds the blade of the blender encrusted on his forehead, similar to a shuriken thrown by a household appliance, a mechanical ninja.
        She was taken up to heaven on a chariot like Elijah; a new born goddess is crowned, one with inseminating intestines swimming out of the belly. An avenger of women. Welcomed and embraced in the arms of Jahr, ensconced and protected in his family, given a seat and position in the courts. The wives, concubines, children and gay lovers of the great god congratulated her. And her eyes opened. Pearl white. Aflame. A stabbing stare sliced my sight. The celestial beauty was coming for me, lusting revenge. Lady octopus reached out with one of her many limbs. I scurried; I panicked. I wet my pants. Twisting and turning to run, but my escape was barred. I clawed at the bloody walls, fingernails scratching on bricks. They peeled, stained with chalky dust. Was behaving as a dog locked in a car at noon, ripping the cushions, but only to be found dead three hours later. A dog timid, scampering from its aggressors, continuously turning back to look at the proximity of the threat.                        
        My eyeballs were marbles. From the c orner I see my ruin. A slithery serpent shaped hardened claw tangled round my neck, choking the wind and food out of my trachea and oesophagus, lifting me off ground. My arms and legs flew, pathetically; wetting myself again. The limbs were jerking in minute combustions. Legs kicking, but running nowhere. Another spiny limb slid up my arse, a tentacle in the hole. Penetrating. A cavity search, an anal probe. I sang a song, a broken melody nauseating out of my mouth uncontrollably; pitching problems, jumping octaves whenever her spider-like arms stretched from her abdomen, squeezing an organ inside my body. Lunch came spewing, slimy and drooling, I danced a funny dance of twitches, spasms, as if I were a puppet in the hands of a ventriloquist deity. I look funny, odd, like a parrot under mind control, mumbling high and low, humming a popular tune, but not very discernible.
        In the end, I started screaming; so horribly, so terrible and petrified, the sound a man makes without his dick, begging, “ Pl...please...help…help...me...somebody…argghhh…” I gurgled, “Please...I’m...sorry...I...promise...to...be...good...promise...not to hurt you... pl…please...for...give...me...don’t...hurt...me…mummy…please…please…argghh…argghh ” It wasn’t my usual tone of voice; it was a girl’s screech. I’d lost my Adam’s apple just as I’d lost my balls. But to no avail. She was uncompromising. Instead, the queen, this female god, my