Thursday, February 10, 2011


Jonathon and the girls were lingering over their nightly sponge baths. Aura looked particularly fetching in her new, gold choker. It went so well with her rich, olive skin. Sylvia's was a bit different, her skin I mean. She had a rosy glow and for that reason prefered jewelry of a lighter shade, say white gold or even silver. She wasn't fussy. He dipped the cloth into a bucket of warm water and dribbled it over their skin. Then he took special care with the sensative places, so they'd be clean and fresh. The sisters appreciated his ministrations. And they were equally diligent when it was their turn. Bath time was a happy time. On that, they all agreed. What would they do tonight? How would they fill the hours? Silvia wanted to visit the book shops. Trips to the surface were special treats. Aura felt the same way. She favored pizza joints, any pizza joint. Red hot and cheesie. That's how she liked it. Not too much in the way of calzones and pepperoni specials underground. You can  bet on that. Their mole-daddy didn't exactly approve of their nocturnal safaris. He understood just how dangerous it was up there. But the girls were good girls. So let 'em have a little fun. Jonathon dried them off real nice. And they covered their nakedness with sharp, little outfits he'd brought down for them. Not like hookers. Well, not exactly like hookers. They tidied up their semi-secluded refuge, blew out the sterno and were about to leave when they heard it. Off in the distance, probably at least three city blocks away, came a sound. Footsteps, it was footsteps. Lots of feet in strong hard boots. And voices, loud voices. They were shouting - OUT! OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!!.....The cops were clearing the tunnels. They came down every once in a while and made a big show of it. The city had a squad devoted to 'homeless management' and the mole people came under that banner. But the 'grubs' (what the city called them) knew what to do. They'd just scammper a little bit further down into tunnels even the cops didn't know about. Only this time it was different. After a few heartbeats, Jonathon picked up more invaders closing in from at least two other directions. He hurried the girls on and they began to run. It was hard in the dark, but this was their home and they were pretty sure of themselves. Other mole people were making for safety too. Some tunnels, the old, narrow ones, filled up fast. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Why can't some people just move!? But they couldn't go any faster. Some of them were old. Some of them were sick. Others were crippled. You don't get too much of that 'altruistic' medical care when you're a mole-person. The cops, or whoever they were, closed in. Kids began to scream. Tear gas bombs went off. Others collapsed. But their tormentors never flinched. Come on. Come on. Herd this cattle along. They were being driven up toward the surface. Up toward the vans. And this time, there was no escape. Sure, a couple made it down to the inky black, hidey-hole level. But only a couple. Soon the first victims stumbled out onto the street.They clambered up through some sort of open manhole and stood there coughing and shivering in the cold night air. Snot ran down terrified faces. Mothers grabbed children. It was impossible to wander off. They were surrounded by police vans, fierce, barking canines (who were in fact just a type of slightly domesticated wolf) and bully-boys swinging clubs. Well dressed Center Cityites stood just beyond the yellow tape, clucking and sucking their teeth to their heart's content. Tisk, tisk, tisk...about time. Now Jonathon could have escaped. He could have torn off and sublimated through any one of them...more than one. He could do it. He was sure of it. But he'd learned his lesson. No more big gestures, especially public ones. No minutely shredded bodies, lingering upright for just an instant before splashing down onto the sidewalk. No free shows. Not since what happened after that big 'spiritual' hoo-haa he and Baylah staged. Let 'em wallow in their own hypocracy. They want God? Let 'em find Him on their own. In truth, he didn't really think they wanted him at all. He heard a whisper. Some guy was sharing a secret with one of the cops - That one. The trim one. The one with the loose, black, curly hair... One of the bully-boys raised his club and pointed it at him. He shouted - You, in the leather jacket! Over here!!.....Jonathon turned to reassure the girls. Then he walked over. Some men wearing dark glasses materialized from out of the glare and shadows. A cop bellowed to them - This one?!......A dark glasses guy nods. Then a beef trust in blue strong armed him into some van. Not a police van. This was a bit larger. And it was square and black. The walls were made of lead. They threw him in. Locked a thick, heavy metal collar around his neck. Whacked him with the clubs a few dozen times and left him in the dark. He felt the powerful engine spring to life. He felt the vehicle move. They took him away. A few seconds later, the heavy ring around his neck started to get hot, real hot, red hot. He screamed in pain. A tinny, little voice came forth from a speaker placed high up just under the roof. It said - Just wanted to give you a taste. That's all. We could burn  you up, if we wanted to. But we don't. So calm down and don't make any trouble.......Jonathon calmed down real fast. The neck ring cooled off. In fact it  got real cold and soothing...... The voice started up again - See? No harm done. I think you're gonna cooperate real nice.......especially if you want them two, little tootsies of yours to come out of this with....all their body parts intact.........Then silence, only silence. He slumped against the side of the van and sat there, as the men from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau sped off with him into the darkness.............

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