Sneeze on Boris
‘Ooh, I could have some fun with you, Holly—and so could my son.’ Boris writhed with obvious pleasure.
‘You pig!’ I spat at him.
Boris wiped the sputum from his face. ‘Cockroach, actually.’
I snorted. The virus shot was still there in my nostril. ‘Ugh! You’re disgusting!’ I rubbed my nose on the ball of my shoulder. By rubbing I activated the sneeze.
‘Where shall I take her…’ the masked man asked, then lowering his voice, ‘…for your pleasure, Boris?’ He pulled me back.
‘Just a minute,’ I said, wriggling to minimize the distance between my enemy and me, ‘not so fast. I want to have the pleasure of spitting on him until he’s covered in it.’ I pulled away from my captor.
Boris ground his hips in his chair. ‘Oh, how stimulating!’
‘Let me get started and spit on your—Aah chew!’
‘Bless you!’ Boris dusted the droplets of poison off his chest.
The countdown to infection had begun…
‘You want more pleasure? I can give you more.’
Boris stopped his gyrating. ‘Actually, not at the moment. I’m feeling a little tender after the roasting you and your friends just gave me. There right up above Boggy Hole; up in the upper atmosphere. How could you? How could you do that to your host?’
The blue maidens fanned him faster. The Grey nurses swamped his ribs with dabs of disinfectant.
‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m getting to enjoy the smell of roast cockroach.’
‘Ooh, I’m delighted to hear that. You will enjoy my son—up close and I might say,’ Boris leaned forward, ‘very personal.’
I sniffed, trying to manufacture another sneeze. ‘Boris junior? Oh, plea—Aah—chew!’
Boris snatched a sponge from a Grey nurse and wiped his face. ‘Manners please! I really think you need to cover your mouth when you sneeze, you’ll spread germs to all glory and sundry.’
‘Pretty hard to do with my hands tied behind my back and this joker holding me.’ Ha, if only he knew it’s the melon virus for his benefit…
Boris narrowed his eyes, as much as a cockroach can narrow their beady eyes. ‘Take her away—to my son’s quarters.’
‘You know Boris, you’re all talk and no action. I’ve never seen or heard of you enjoying your own pleasure—ever. It’s always someone else’s.’
‘I did promise him first dibs.’
‘Oh, how sweet for baby Boris.’
Boris slung his leg over the arm of the throne. He obviously thought that he was someone special, but he wasn’t. ‘His name’s Kirk, by the way.’
‘Kirk Roach, get it?’ the masked man whispered in my ear.
My intestines took on a life of its own as if I’d ingested a bucket full of bugs. I swear some of those critters shot up to my jaw. Not because of the bad “Dad” joke. Nor the foul smell that pervaded the atmosphere of Boris’ presence and festering wounds. I had remembered the visitor’s book at the convent. Swallowing the urge to vomit and I said, ‘Right! I guess he can’t be too bad if Minna thought he was nice.’ Can’t believe I said that. Be brave, Holly, be brave! I gulped down some bile and then sniffed.
‘Indeed, you’ll like him.’ Boris smiled. ‘And when he’s done with you, I’ll finish you off. You’re so plump and pretty, I think I’ll enjoy you as a dessert.’
‘Fat? You’re calling me fat? How dare—hoo-choo!’
Boris seemed unfazed by the last shower of virus droplets. He reclined on his lounge seat. ‘Take her away, Chief Ex.’
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019
Feature Photo: Winter Solstice on the Pines, Flagstaff Hill © L.M. Kling 2018
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