Erotic Asphyxiation from Snuff by THE COWARD ROBERT FORD

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TAPE ONE, LABELED: "EROTIC ASPHYXIATION"
DATE AQUIRED BY OWNER: 10/10/2002
TRANSCRIPTION DATE: 12/15/2021
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"She fumbled with the .22 in her wet, calloused palms while her breath went loud and heavy against a choir of cicadas. Every muscle in her body shouted for her to throw the gun but a sense of calm wriggled into her forlorn hands. She measured it's dark wooden grip with hers, acknowledging every screw and divot on the handle, feeling it fuse with her own being as if it had always been there all along. Her eyes were meeting the silver in it's cylinder at the same time, examining the three spent cartridges that represented a different emotional poison each time they were sent out. She then looked up to the vastness of the desolate forest which held a sad tinge of blue from the moon holding still above, as if it were God himself spotlighting the stage of her life with the nocturnal animal kingdom playing the captive audience. The feeling of being naked in front of her family came to mind and passed like a dream she had but couldn't recall after waking.

The sounds of cars passing the entry of the forest a mile out were greeted by her with frenzied jolts and bodily fits of trepidation, breaking her out of her new found sense of self. An obligation to swallow her pride laced with gun smoke would be the outcome if one of those cars decides those loud pops should be investigated. She can't explain this chaos, at least not right now.

Those anxieties ailed her mind; had no one heard anything? Did the animals who reside in all of that nothing have an understanding of the chant-like pleas responsible for the perking of their ears? Were they as horrified as the man who exclaimed them? Were they standing in fearful wait behind trees, looking at her as if she was the product of the strange spell the man sorrowfully cried? That's what she felt like she was; an entity. She didn't see it as an evil act, so entity wouldn't be the word she'd use, as it reminded her of the devils she read about that brought forward recollections of her grandpa motioning her towards him in his chair at night, patting his lap like she was a subservient dog. She wondered if there was a right word for it.

She idly looked into the ground with her back turned away from the scene, leaving her mouth agape while she meticulously licked her lips and massaged the blisters and sores that lay on them with her tongue, presenting an impression as if she were composing a piece of classical music for an an audience of grieving daughters and sons to explain her outburst. She wanted to cry but she couldn't forge one tear as sustenance for the leaves at her feet. Teeth replaced tongue as the anxious thoughts piled into her methamphetamine-withdrawn brain once again, ripping into the skin of her lip and tearing open nearly-healed scabs. It's not like she meant for this happen, but she swore; no more violent shit.

A morbid sense of duty overtook her as she finally mustered up the courage to face what she had done. She reluctantly viewed the Cadillac whose driver side door was still open with her John lain dead, his back against the blood soaked grass while his legs and feet remained on the floorboard and seat. His arms were spread open and limp. His eyes were empty as they stared at the night sky, leaving a look of solemn revelation and awe. She inched closer to him like a child walking towards a righteous and furious parent looking to enact discipline, carefully examining his final form in detail, briefly thinking that the man wore a resemblance to someone she hated a long time ago.

Her eyes fell to his chest which wore three holes that still seeped with blood. She saw the outline of a wallet exposing itself through a damp portion of blood on his jacket when she felt that wriggling calm jump back into her but deeper this time. It held her like a Bible passage that resonated in only one time and place of spiritual turmoil. She smiled and laughed at the thought, exposing her rotted teeth like crooked daggers wrought with black engravings that reflected off the moonlight. Her demeanor shapeshifted and morphed into her true self, the one always intended, the one that was planted in her since she was four years old-- a chaotic and violent culmination of every prick, dick, and cock she had to pretend to love. It all had served a greater purpose in her mind. The animals of the night began to sing to her. They told her she was right. They told her all were wrong.

Entity was definitely not the right word.

She looked in his eyes again, noting their resemblance to old cathedral paintings of saints.

She smirked, gripping the .22 so intensely that she would form callouses below her right pinky finger that she would pick at for the rest of her years. The animals sang her a hymn deep in the wood. She listened, humming along while looking at the man at her feet.

And though this world, with devils filled
should threaten to undo us
we will not fear, for God has willed his truth to triumph through us.
The prince of darkness grim,
we tremble not for him;
his rage we can endure, for lo!
his doom is sure;
one little word shall fell him.

She had finally found the right word."

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𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑨𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑵
—
sam - guitar/vocals
nick - bass

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