《The First Corridor of Old Works》Chapter 129: And Then Her Organs Opened

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And then she stopped seeing him.

Or giving a fuck that he even existed.

Or even looking, or even, and this was instantaneous, across those turquoise eyes, caring at all that he even existed, so that he ceased to exist, in that indifference - he completely ceased.

Within the other thing he recognised this too, that now he only existed glanced out her. He was a reality made to exist there, technically, and in literal terms. He only existed in relation to that purposeful glance that rendered him there - that made him one image, one flat image, angle, one organ layer, one translated no longer reduced and then reduced again form -.

She constructed him deliberately out all this, one purposeful piece at a time. One after another until – so that – on this fucking torrent of indifference, he was unmade.

He ceased, and his selffffffffffffff

unwound apart from him; a process by which he was; with deliberation - maliciousness and indifference competing in trembling layers – consciously unmade.

She loved him, and he loved her, and it was returned in continuation. And would never cease to be; it was this, and then instantaneously, the indifference of nothing land; nothing land itself in her gaze, pure nothing land indifference, retaining complete indifference, complete

disinterest,

nothing returned,

and a blankness so blank, a non-existence so vast, and an absence so undeniable, that its centre was malice; complete disinterested loathing of him.

A clinical recognition merely that he only existed in direct proportion to her conceding this –

she saw him, or maybe didn't, there, and in the same instant he recognised her.

- He saw who she was.

Clua-Sryh.

And then her organs opened.

A perfect nude form, the apotheosis of feminine grace and beauty, an abstract and sensual presence, stood completely naked before him, breasts raised - slight tummy revealing – she was pregnant! - raised, upturned, and inviting; life itself, and beneath that -

Her organs opened.

Beneath the breasts swollen with new life: that other organ, that mysterious passage that, parting, evocative, inarguably the presence in this world of something far deeper, far more mysterious, far more the incarnation of something evil in flesh.

The lips of the passageway, trembling, in infinitesimal increments, opened.

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