The door slid upwards and the room behind it attacked. It was a barrage of smell, light and heat that made her gag, squint and tug at her collar all at once. In her days serving she'd been victim to chemical weapons with less potency.

She entered. The smell got worse but her eyes adjusted quickly. Flailing bodies were tossing one another about beneath strobe lights, enacting various questionable interpretations of dance. A good number of them boasted an extra limb or two. Or mandibles. Or scales. The culmination of interplanetary peace amidst the worst each People had to offer. Den of iniquity times ten.

Erica skirted away from the insectoid creature looking at her, briefly seeing her reflection in its multi-faceted eyes. It made a clicking sound and followed, reaching out to tug at her sleeve.

"How about a drink for the human?" The voice came out with a high whine, followed by another click. His kind were undoubtedly half the reason for the odor. They were voracious scavengers that carried the scent of their dinners around with them in a sickly-sweet perfume.

"Not interested."

"Oh, but the human is so pretty. The human has such nice features." The tug got more insistent as the thing's pincers clamped down.

Erica gritted her teeth. She was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but she guessed brawls and gunfire weren't terribly uncommon in a joint like this. Sweeping her hand around, she brought her gun up right beneath the thing's massive jaw, leering at it as its antennae flattened against its hairy head.

"No means no on my planet, buddy," she growled. "Don't know what it means where you're from, but I'm not here to play games. Touch me again and you won't be reporting back to the hive tonight."

"Nnnno disrespect was intended, human," the creature replied, letting go of her arm and putting up its hands. The clicking got more prominent, anxious. "You will get no more trouble from this one."

"See that I don't."

She turned away but kept the guy in her peripheral. If she flashed her badge she could probably clear a swath through the crowd in an instant, but she couldn't play it that way. Even if Hensen already knew she was here, she could at least use the throng to blend in.

The music kept flipping between different preferences. Now it was a high keening, some sort of wind instrument or other that was utterly irritating. Nearby a couple fell to the floor, doing what she assumed was a quickie. Erica gave them as wide a birth as she could while holding down bile.

She didn't like to consider herself racist, but as quickly as everything had evolved, everyone was having a difficult time adjusting to all the new faces and customs. It had taken centuries, after all, for earth to gain peace, and that was just amidst one species. There was no telling how much longer it would take for everyone to get comfortable again.

"Y'look tense."

Erica looked towards the voice. It had a distinct drawl to it, the sort she only heard in old westerns she'd watched on boring evenings off.

"Have a drink with me?"

The man smiled at her. He had quite the smile, she noted. Dimples and everything. She was immediately leery. There were all kinds of cues that he was out of place: the whiteness of his teeth, his clean clothing, the quality weapon on his hip. She supposed he could be another agent sent looking for Hensen, but she doubted they would have been kept in the dark about each other if that were the case. It would be too dangerous to cross paths and mistake an ally for an enemy.

She slid into the seat beside him, nodding at the bartender. "Just a water for me, thanks."

She got a downright condescending look from him, but he slipped off to retrieve it anyway, his spindly wings fluttering uselessly on his back.

"Sorry critters, Malorites."

Erica arched a brow wordlessly, but the man just continued to smile.

"I'd be pissy too, if I got that close to flying. Like they got caught in the transition of evolution and kept the souvenir for laughs. Not like it has good looks to rely on either."

Pursing her lips, she watched the back of the Malorite's pale, bald head. He returned, bearing his gums in his estimation of a smile, watching her with wide black eyes. Once he trotted off to cater to some other patron she subtly pushed her water away.

"Scared it got some of its slime in there?" The man asked, chuckling.

"Some might take offense to your comments."

"You don't appear to." He winked at her. His eyes were blue and bright, the sort of eyes sappy adolescents wrote poetry about. She immediately disliked him.

"I should be going," she said. There wasn't likely much she could get out of this guy. She should be probing others for answers, not cavorting with someone just because they made her less uncomfortable. Because they were human.

"That's the crux of the matter, isn't it?" He tapped a finger on the glass of his drink. "They're not human. Not like you. They're just too different, aren't they?"

Erica froze. Her mind backtracked to her encounter with the sniveling little bug, and she immediately began groping at her sleeve. She felt nothing.

"Too late I'm afraid." He flicked the glass, making a soft, high ping. The people disappeared, the bar vanished, and to her it seemed they sat alone in an empty room together, silent save for their breathing.

"Shit," she whispered. "Hensen."

The mind-reader smiled at her. His fingers formed a steeple in front of his lips, and he tapped them softly. "It's hard to pinpoint one person in a mess like this. Find one mind. If I tried to seek you out without a little direction I'd probably drive myself insane in under a minute. Thankfully people around here are easily swayed with something shiny."

Erica fumbled for her gun, but that too was gone. Or rather, she wasn't really moving. At the bar she likely looked like she'd fallen asleep, and Hensen would just be smiling to himself quietly. Nobody was going to come to her aid. She was going to have to –

"Thinking your way out of this one likely isn't going to happen, miss O'Riley," Hensen said warmly. "In that department I have you at a distinct disadvantage."

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Erica willed herself to veer her thoughts away from certain subjects. He could get them, yes, but she'd make him shred her mind to do it.

"I could," he said agreeably, "But I find that distasteful. You're a brilliant woman, O'Riley. It would be a pity to do such a thing to you."

"I won't cooperate."

He smiled again. "Of that I have no doubt! I would be disappointed if you did. Honestly, madam, I just wanted to talk."

"Is that why you made yourself look like that? To make me come over and talk?"

The man made a wave of his hand. The visage fell away, one he'd catered strictly for her no doubt, drawing on attributes she'd find attractive. In its place, however, was a creature arguably more appealing. His eyes were purely white and peered out of a finely boned face, framed by dark braids. The rings on his hands dotted all six of his long, webbed fingers, and his ears fanned out on either side of his head, sporting gemstones. He looked like some sort of merman from an old fairytale.

"Ah," he said, and again flashed his teeth at her. "You do not find my kind so repulsive. So fickle you humans are. All about the looks."

She didn't refute it. In a way, it was true.

"In what way is it not?" He tilted his head.

"Most people can't just crack in and tell what I'm thinking," she snapped. "We haven't denied anyone alliance based on their appearance. Despite personal thoughts on the matter, everyone has had equal opportunity."

Hensen blinked in owlish surprise. Either he was a good actor, or it was genuine. "My dear O'Riley. You actually believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I believe it. It's true."

"Perhaps you are not so clever as I thought," he murmured. "A pity."

Erica felt her blood start to boil. She wanted to take one of his pointy ears and twist it until he cried for his mother.

Laughter bubbled up out of Hensen's throat. "I wouldn't dear. In my world, we consider that flirting."

"If you're going to kill me," she replied lowly, "Just do it. Like I said, I won't cooperate. You'll have to –"

"Yes, yes. Tear it out of you. Turn you into a babbling vegetable, like I have so many other people on a digital list I'm sure you have somewhere. A fiend am I, a scoundrel of the highest caliber!"

"I wouldn't say anything about you implies caliber," she hissed.

Hensen's eyes flicked suddenly to his left. Hope surged through Erica's chest. Someone was coming. He wasn't the only one who could stick a tracker on her. No doubt her superiors had…

"I was hoping to do this more gently, my dear," Hensen said. "But I'm afraid this is going to be a bit uncomfortable instead. Do find it in yourself to forgive me."

He reached out before she could pull away, hands gripping her temples in a vice. Pain shot down her spine, radiating from the base of her skull. She opened her mouth and screamed, writhing as she felt something being inserted into her head. It was a knife, she knew it. Knew it from the feeling. One cutting her down the middle, passing through every single nerve as it went.

Hensen's expression was genuinely remorseful. "Do cling to sanity now, dear," he said. "You're going to be very important later."

He vanished. The glaring lights thumped back to life, and she closed her eyes tightly against them. Feet shuffled away as she fell back off the stool, clutching at her head and weeping openly.

Vaguely she could hear someone saying her name, asking if she was alright, but it was drowned out by the train of memories barreling its way through her mind.

Tonight's goals:

Storm the castle,

Shoot anything in purple and linen,

Take no prisoners;

they're too heavy to carry downstairs,

so throw them over the side,

Light the moat,

Burn the drawbridge,

Plant daisies over the road,

Write a short history:

Tonight's events were brought to you by

The Victor.

Please leave thanks (coin and currency only)

in the enclosed

self-addressed,

postage-paid envelope,

and mail to

King Rio von Ramirez I.

Gracias.

Eloquent, deciduous lovers.

Trees gone Paleo

and changing their makeup.

Soon to drift to decay.

Failing to make the most of

advantageous, auburn sunlight.

Smolder with the

color of fire,

only to wither.

Only to usher in

a brittle winter.

Darkness comes early.

I will rub my body

with golden rod

to create fake light.

The smell of damp,

of wood, and old books.

Tree things stolen.

The deer will eat our bark

as we weather snow.

Roots were never

deep enough to regrow.

One less ring to count

when we get cut down.

Just one more

strike of an ax.

Oh, Isurus, your wicked and ragged smile of death,

they call you the Mako, but I know you as Macbeth.

Galeocerdo, a tiger with wings and a delicious heterocercal tail,

when you arrive for a nibble, all cazh and fashionably late, one’s heart doth fail.

Carcharinus leucas, a most surly and grumpy bull of no horns,

snapping up the weak and spineless, and tomorrow’s freshly hatched newborns.

There are two ways to discover the real You:

1. Through your own experiential experience.

2. Through the eyes of a keen observer.

Forever the demon-child who never trusted anyone,

especially an external observer or teacher or mentor,

I chose Option #1 early on, thinking whatever I learned

would stay inside me and protect me from the outside world,

while nourishing me with priceless intel that would build

a better, faster, smarter, more-thinking me.

What I only recently learned is that,

to discover the real You, you have to stop everything

you're doing for a long period of time . . .

and take considerable time to examine all the details

of your life and lessons learned.

This process, though incalculably valuable, takes considerable time

and effort, spilled blood and brains, and much self-analysis

and diagnosis.

In the end, you are left with a personal vade mecum that

never leaves your side.

Here's what I have learned:

I'm an addict.

I am addicted to many beautiful and wondrous things:

vibrant and exciting life; delish spicy food; smart, thinking

and sensuous women; beautiful literary and visual art; ice cream;

and a thousand otherworldly treasures under the sun and celestia,

all things I cannot do without. To do so would kill my soul.

As an addict, I never pace myself like a smart marathoner would.

I binge.

Instead of taking a delicate teaspoon of X,

I do everything "10X" and stuff as much of

it into me as humanly possible,

to excite and fire every sensory receptor

into a cascade of colorful explosions,

one quickly following another,

painting my palate with an overload

of sensations that drive me to

orgasms

and bursts

and detonations

that

SHATTER

TRIGGER

IGNITE

BANG

BLAST

BOOM

ERUPT

every

volcano

inside

each

my

tectonic

cells.

And then I'm spent for days or weeks; months, even.

And have to regenerate and recuperate and recycle.

The detumescence is exhausting, the repair cycle costly.

Doing a simple cost-benefit analysis tells me one thing:

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I am a 10X-Binge-Addict.

And I love it.

she sorts

her m&m's

by color,

eats them one at a time,

and skips church

just to kiss me.

when the time comes,

i let her

cry on my shoulder,

dig her nails

into my skin,

place her

bleeding heart

in my hands.

i understand.

i have forged footfalls for her

to follow.

she is too scared

to walk.

she dips

her chicken fingers

in ranch dressing,

after pouring just the right amount

onto her plate-

i pour too much,

but it's too late.

her laughter

tweaks my smile,

her sobs

wreck my heart.

i tell her

we are the result of

trial and error-

big bangs that didn't crash

the way they were supposed to.

but we've got enough light

to be stars,

i figure.

she kisses my nose

one

two

three times-

and it seems to me

that we

are the roots of something bigger.

I go over the words

One by one

As if counting change

Naming stars

And animals

Until it’s perfect

Or perfect enough

But I’ll never really know

Art and truth

Will continue to argue

And wrestle

With angels

But what do they know

Those winged beings

We never see

But believe in

Like love

Wind

Perfect ideas

Invented by imperfect people

Sitting in wheelchairs

Theorizing the beginning

Of everything

these syllables

are draining me.

my words hit

the ground running

far away from me-

grasping the things

i'll never reach,

finding what

i've yet to discover.

i want to be bukowski.

is there a sun

i can walk under?

is there any light

at all?

some nights

my palms feel sticky,

and i find

the moon's blood

on my hands.

as if i could slaughter

the god of the tidal waves.

i know nothing

but nothing itself.

the silence

could crush me.

i keep typing.

i am breathing through keystrokes

i know can't save me,

but these words all i have.

i keep typing.

i wish this times new roman

could kill me.

i keep typing.

these words can't fill me.

A trail of ghosts

scattered

within campfire crevice ashes

somnambulant

subconscious

speaking words

two decades old.

Anxiety skulking

shadows

memories stored in scathing scorn

a secret blush

desire to touch

the taste

of stern forewarn.

Grace us with an

angel

chasing dreams we're fading fast

carve a mixed up

perfect present

kiss a fucked up

pretty past.

Strawberry wine, Kiva

rain in the desert

Virginia creepers

drinking down

death of all forgetful things

we were supposed to

rise to greatness

not for them but

for us

we

were supposed to

taste this rain in Spain

but

you're in the ground

the moonlit Balearic Sea

reaches for us

while above your grave

I sit and wait

on the smell

of something familiar

the heart of us bleeds

for half

half a dress in the wind

half a kite

half a fuck

half a bed

one half left of

a burning thing

half my words on

paper

the rain falls upon

the desert

empty pool

your grave old

and fresh

the wine burns my throat

your ghost hair

around my lips

on the bottle

my heart half a heavy

drop

of blood

where you are now I

hate to imagine

your stone a mystery

your heart lying beneath

dried to dust

and untouchable

the rain falls on the desert

the moonlit Balearic Sea

reaches for us still.