Desert Songs: All the Tiny Little Holes

Neuroveda is silently twining her fingers, making them dance about between the fine grains of amber sand. In the instances between each passing, minute sparks shiver out like splinters and she draws them up into her mouth. Saves them for her dead lover. Buried beneath her. 1000 feet of shifting sand.

Perfectly good meat. Beneath the waves of sand.

With her knuckles and her fingertips, with her palms and her nails, she coaxes out the white lights. With nimble finger dances around granular sand atoms. exploiting interstitial proximity. The lightning comes out and lunges for her mouth.

Soon I’ll come and get you. Through the mighty weight of sand.

Neuroveda, electricity filled, twists her body. Head down. Follows her hands. They push back the grains of sand, compact them into tunnel walls. Held together. Electro-statically. She swims beneath the surface until she finds him, grabs his ankle and ascends toward the light. On the surface she lays him out. Arms above his head. Legs parted. Her mouth touches his. She forces the electricity through his cold lips and it rips through his body. His toenails and fingernails melt, cloud. His lips and nose blacken. Smoke and the smell of cooked meat waft from his body.

Now you are done.

Neuroveda inhales the smell. Takes it deep within her lungs. And with her sand worn fingers. Plunges deep into the bellymeat and rend intestines with her brilliant white teeth.