from her trip, he would surprise her with the gift of his sister's head.
Saul gripped the banister in his hands, and his stomach seemed to feel incredibly empty and light. He wanted to move quickly and defile his sister in every way imaginable. There were so many things he needed to say to her, so many things he needed her to feel.
Rushing back to his bedroom, he opened his favorite kit, one that he'd never had an opportunity to use: his trepanning kit. He looked at all of the tools, but he wasn't sure what he would take. He cursed himself for not being prepared. He should already know what he needed! But there were so many things… how would her flesh taste? Would she scream in terror, or would she ask for forgiveness?
He couldn't wait to find out.
With the kit in his hand, he raced downstairs and searched the house for her. The house servant was attending to matters in the kitchen (it was the fourth servant in as many months…the others simply disappeared and never returned, though all of them seemed to perform their functions adequately). Nobody else was around.
She was in the stables where the horses were kept. Brushing the mane of hair along her favored stallion's neck was a beloved pastime of hers. The stable hand was nowhere in sight (they'd also gone through several of those, for no apparent reason), and the little girl was humming a song while stroking the horse's hair. Halter chains rattled when Saul stepped into the barn with the kit in his hand. Gold triangles of light poked through the boards and painted the room dusty shades of orange. His sister's face was a pale white beneath a brown river of long hair that fell freely along the length of her back. She wore a simple black cotton dress with red flowers printed in a haphazard pattern.
"Dear sister," Saul began with a confidence that was both alien and welcome. While he spoke, he seemed to be listening to someone talk with his voice. He no longer commanded his own body.
She didn't turn her head. She continued to brush her horse, Napoleon, while standing on a stool. One of the horse's big dark eyes noticed Saul momentarily, and then it lowered its head to allow the girl to continue her habit.
"Where's Santiago?" he asked.
"Fuck do I know?" the eleven-year-old girl replied. "He's out killing something, I think."
"I've come to play with you," Saul said and stepped toward her.
"Go away," she said, her attention focused on the horse. "I've no time for you."
He grabbed a fistful of her dress and yanked her away from the stall. She fell back against an empty stall's door, and she was too slow to stop his hands from seizing her slender throat. He was careful enough to distance himself from her so that her frantic kicks struck nothing but air. Her eyes bulged, and adrenaline coursed through Saul's veins. The excitement was nearly overwhelming. He was strong! It was going to happen, now. Mother would shower him with love and adoration.
Saul pushed her to the floor amongst scattered strands of hay. He positioned himself between her legs and felt his own arousal, but was suddenly unsure what he wanted to do with her, exactly. He hadn't expected to feel the sudden rush of desire, and he hesitated; he didn't know what he should do. Would Mother be upset with him? What should come first? Where was the kit with his instruments?
His grip weakened during his moment of confusion. One of her kicks landed right between his legs, and burning pain raced upward into his lungs and stole his breath, while his stomach curled inward. He collapsed to the floor, clutching himself helplessly.
But the smile on his face couldn't be destroyed by her threatening presence. With stray strands of hair askew over her eyes, she clutched the trephine from his medical kit in her small fist.
"I hope you've had a good time," she said, "but now it's my turn."
The blunt end of the instrument was quite efficient at smashing his teeth from their gums. Later, he would count himself fortunate
Saul gripped the banister in his hands, and his stomach seemed to feel incredibly empty and light. He wanted to move quickly and defile his sister in every way imaginable. There were so many things he needed to say to her, so many things he needed her to feel.
Rushing back to his bedroom, he opened his favorite kit, one that he'd never had an opportunity to use: his trepanning kit. He looked at all of the tools, but he wasn't sure what he would take. He cursed himself for not being prepared. He should already know what he needed! But there were so many things… how would her flesh taste? Would she scream in terror, or would she ask for forgiveness?
He couldn't wait to find out.
With the kit in his hand, he raced downstairs and searched the house for her. The house servant was attending to matters in the kitchen (it was the fourth servant in as many months…the others simply disappeared and never returned, though all of them seemed to perform their functions adequately). Nobody else was around.
She was in the stables where the horses were kept. Brushing the mane of hair along her favored stallion's neck was a beloved pastime of hers. The stable hand was nowhere in sight (they'd also gone through several of those, for no apparent reason), and the little girl was humming a song while stroking the horse's hair. Halter chains rattled when Saul stepped into the barn with the kit in his hand. Gold triangles of light poked through the boards and painted the room dusty shades of orange. His sister's face was a pale white beneath a brown river of long hair that fell freely along the length of her back. She wore a simple black cotton dress with red flowers printed in a haphazard pattern.
"Dear sister," Saul began with a confidence that was both alien and welcome. While he spoke, he seemed to be listening to someone talk with his voice. He no longer commanded his own body.
She didn't turn her head. She continued to brush her horse, Napoleon, while standing on a stool. One of the horse's big dark eyes noticed Saul momentarily, and then it lowered its head to allow the girl to continue her habit.
"Where's Santiago?" he asked.
"Fuck do I know?" the eleven-year-old girl replied. "He's out killing something, I think."
"I've come to play with you," Saul said and stepped toward her.
"Go away," she said, her attention focused on the horse. "I've no time for you."
He grabbed a fistful of her dress and yanked her away from the stall. She fell back against an empty stall's door, and she was too slow to stop his hands from seizing her slender throat. He was careful enough to distance himself from her so that her frantic kicks struck nothing but air. Her eyes bulged, and adrenaline coursed through Saul's veins. The excitement was nearly overwhelming. He was strong! It was going to happen, now. Mother would shower him with love and adoration.
Saul pushed her to the floor amongst scattered strands of hay. He positioned himself between her legs and felt his own arousal, but was suddenly unsure what he wanted to do with her, exactly. He hadn't expected to feel the sudden rush of desire, and he hesitated; he didn't know what he should do. Would Mother be upset with him? What should come first? Where was the kit with his instruments?
His grip weakened during his moment of confusion. One of her kicks landed right between his legs, and burning pain raced upward into his lungs and stole his breath, while his stomach curled inward. He collapsed to the floor, clutching himself helplessly.
But the smile on his face couldn't be destroyed by her threatening presence. With stray strands of hair askew over her eyes, she clutched the trephine from his medical kit in her small fist.
"I hope you've had a good time," she said, "but now it's my turn."
The blunt end of the instrument was quite efficient at smashing his teeth from their gums. Later, he would count himself fortunate
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