The Number of the Beast

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The shards of last night passed through Dick's skull and into his brain where they aggregated into clanging, shrieking chaos and woke him. His chest was a mess of cuts and scratches. If he moved more than an eyelid his body would break into its component parts - quarks - and evacuate to the four corners of the universe, or maybe more than four. Experimentally, Dick rolled his eye around its socket. At least his ceiling was still intact. Dick remembered something about a panda or a woman dressed as a panda, a profile picture at ChinaBuddy.com. She was called something-something: Chingching, Jangjang, Dongdong… something double. Dick remembered falling down the stairs in the club. He saw Pingping stumble in front of him and tried to catch her but fell himself and somehow hit the bouncer and the landing before she did and had cushioned her fall. The bouncer had been very unbouncy. Tuktuk had sat on his face in public, hard and fast. Running the film slowly backwards he recalled the discovery that tequila was only five quai a shot (50p). He remembered that Numnum had ordered them two pint glasses of something that looked like pond water. Dick wondered what had happened to her.

Quimquim had her head between her knees. If she did not move or make a sound, the horrible nightmare would end. Or she would fall back asleep, or wake up, or whatever. She felt like she had been beaten, mainly on the head, with a baseball bat, and then fucked with it. She allowed one eye to flicker open and the light which struck her retina caused her to emit an involuntary groan.

Dick heard something sigh and meow. It was in bed with him. The Panda woman was in bed with him. Dick began to wonder if he could - physically, emotionally or legally - fuck her again, and what she looked like. Dick moved his foot slightly, prodded at the curled form at the bottom of the bed. It made another noise like a small pig.

Dick sat up and threw the sheet on the floor. Her ass was towards him and one eye peeped from between her knees. Quimquim was both the smallest and most perfectly formed human being he had seen outside a freak show, assuming this wasn't a freak show.

They fucked on her end of the bed, then on his. Then they fucked on the floor and on top of the fridge, in the shower and back on the bed, They fucked in the corner between the TV and the radiator. "I have to leave,' said Quimquim over and over and over. "Stay" said Dick every time.

Prostrated on the bed, Dick was unable to obstruct her passage any longer. She collected the remnants of her clothes, assembled them about herself and made to leave.

"Phone number," croaked Dick. "Pho-o-o-o-one Nu-u-u-u-umber." A pen scratched across paper, his door clicked shut.

Later Dick tries to call her. Her number is 88.

Can you write better than this? Click here to prove it.

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Comments

[rob]

WTF!
it's a travelblog, not telling stupid story or a novel, shiaaaaT!!!

[Luncheonmeat]

These are my travels. I notice most people here are only eating food, sitting on buses and vandalising temples. I seem to be having a better time.

[Mark]

He certainly does!
Seriously.. this is quality stuff. I can’t wait to get to china on the first leg of my trip! In your opinion, other than the obvious how do travellers vandalise temples?

[Luncheonmeat]

You know, taking photographs, being 'awed', staring at things, asking dumb questions...