“Fuck these motherfuckers,” he said. His breath had the count of a wild hog. Heavy. In the brush, where the wild things live, a new kind of citizen existed. 

The luxury of having your own slaughter. 

It was the thing of legends. The smell for fucksakes. You feel the skin of a woman. Not as a woman, as another. He knew these beasts were trouble, with their defiant snort. A goddamn fucking armageddon in one breath.

“They are beasts,” I shout. The game was in front of us, our breaths soon matching his. “The boar,” I say, “This, is a boar.” How many times I wonder. 

We gutted him. All things were kept, the claw kept as a souvenir for the youngest. His proud stature, unknown, was met with disgust. He resented us as if we were aliens among slaves. 

To show another man your spoils. 

One would never think this would be needed as a buffer. Insurance is what I believe it is called. The trees are ablaze with hum, telling us to not be afraid. Burn, and your souls shall be absorbed. 

They refused to burn us, our dying wish. It was refused out of formality. Our judges had no precedent for our argument. He took the easier way. It is us after all, we do absorb. 

“The goddamn riches!” he exclaims, robust in his lungs with smoke. The new tobacco scent captivated the men. “Sorry boys, only the rich get to talk, and talk we must do.” 

And so began the saga. The talking would commence, actions would not be had, war. The winning side always won. 

“Hooray!” I protest. 

We lived in such squalor. Sure, you could recognize us. Names sounded familiar. I guess it was the sound. I understood. I could not call the name. 

“The shame,” I yell, prophesying my voice as far as the air in front of me would move. The flies buzzed back. “I hear you too,” I shrug. They piss me off so goddamn much, with their high-pitched voices, singing to the same women I would like to see. I see squalor in their sound, the easy use of wings flapping, expelling air all around their frame. 

“It’s the goddamned rhythm,” I say. “We will never get anywhere if we try to get that same gal.” 

It’s too easy. The message from me to you to her is far greater than the distance from here to out of bounds. I guess that’s what makes it so sweet. The unknown, the un-heartfelt love of another when you reach the outer banks of the system. Out here, the air stays cold. 

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