Monsera banosera

Science fiction by Ovidiu Bufnila, Romania

"Carula maragula!" whistled Farfatostacul Ivoriu scratching his bluish wounds and staring to Combelonian de Adamville who had opened his wings in menace.

"Zarza con dio!" Combelonian yielded shaking his plated mane
and throwing flashes out of his steel claws.

"Shit!" Bebe Bebino cried madly scratching between his legs
and leaving the cinema hall like a bolt.

It's cool to wander under bridges with this strong spring air and to walk among all these plants ant trees. This Mother Nature is so funny and she does all this so right and she doesn't give a damn about the slyboots script-writers, narrow-minded and with pockets full of money. How big is the sky.

What's the trick?

Don't mind about godzilas, titans and the peacock cops who are going to and fro in all the cheap movies. Don't give a damn about the hidden government or about the stinky generals who are dying to pick you up and to throw you away to the first line.

Fuck the scabby landlady with her railway siren-like voice.

"That old hag!" Bebe Bebino cried picking up his nose and climbing down on a rain pipe that streched on the marble stairs climbing from the genovese lighthouse to the subway hole.

Aga Muerte Ortadoglu hanged on one of the putrid beams. He swinged in the wind blow. His bluish tongue kept the rhythm of an electric saw mincing all into small pieces. The boots stained with blood were swallowed. Aga Muerte Ortadoglu had lost everything to the stock exchange and he decided to help the "cardboard" journalists and to take the bloody creditors a peg or two.

"You're tough, man!" Bebe bebino shouted spitting angrily. "You're playing dead,huh. You're gone, ain't you? You pissed on the country! You don' give a damn about the Big Parents anymore! Are you fucking with me? You ain't pay me taxes anymore? You ain't get monhtly a pack of energy from the men in black? Are you fucking with me? You're gone in the worm holes? You carrion, I saw your face on the TV! I know you, Aga Muerte Ortadoglu!"

Aga Muerte Ortadoglu didn't answer. What's the trick?

Do it like this, for the sake of doing it. Laugh on the patriots who make politics in the street corner. Tell bye, bye, adios, adios to the sanitaries on duty and to the country's whores pregnant with the national sexual excitement. Sneak into the chaos. Frighten half of the people at the evening news. What a wack'o!

Aga Muerte Ortadoglu was swinging in the wind blow like a bell tongue and he didn't give a damn about Bebe Bebino and his godzilas and his titans or his street guards, fat , bald and eager to get some money.

"Is this wind or breeze?" Bebe Bebino, bewildered, asked Monsera Banosera who was warming her white flesh to the sun.

Monsera Banosera?

She was reading right in the ass of the mad wind.
She was finding tiny things in the pile of ants and in the rat's urine.
She read in the stars.

Monsera Banosera?

She knew by heart Lenin's life. She took his trace.
It was a matter of days to reach him.

"Is this wind or breeze?" Bebe Bebino asked her wiping his nose and losing his dizzy look in the bushes, among plants.

"You are handsome", whispered Monsera Banosera watching him languishly and seeking for his energetical matrix.

"Aga Muerte Ortadoglu is dead, dead?"
Bebe Bebino asked and burst into tears.

"He's very dead, honey!" said Monsera Banosera bursting into laugh
and picking up a morning rancid star in the sky.

"He's dead".