Wayward Behaviour Inhibitors
An avenue of petrified sycamores marks the geometry of the bleached village green. By contrast, the asphalt highway bubbles under an immense black sun. Most of the empty Tudorbethan houses are collapsed ruins; the few left standing are abandoned shells.
Choosing to step over the recently disembowelled Nigerian, Parker realises that nothing can pre-empt his once latent sexual desires. Later, moving with uncanny slowness through the village environs towards the Fox and Goose, he gathers his atavistic impulses for the final phase.
McKendrick slouches tiredly on a stool, his back to the dusty bar, blood leaking slowly from the gash in his arm. A hot wind tumbles through the smashed windows and blows the frothy head from his inexpertly poured pint. Behind him, the mummified corpse of the landlord leans stiffly against the kitchen door like a discarded mannequin.
Parker pushes through the creaking door, glass crunching under his feet. Approaching the bar, he hums a tune whose name he cannot remember.
Esprit de Corps
McKendrick observes Parker enter, staggering under the weight of the Nigerian. His face smeared with blood, Parker croons softly as he drops the corpse to the debris-strewn floor.
A Love Supreme
That afternoon, after they have finished dining on the Nigerian, Parker and McKendrick walk out into the blurring heat. Hand in hand, they recline upon the endless crystalline tundra and prepare to embrace the approaching sun.