Beetroot & I #9

March 30, 2011

An old friend from college, a girl named Caroline, called me out of the blue yesterday evening. Caroline and I never had a thing together or anything like that. We were friends, not good or great friends and her call was purely innocent. Neither she nor I were in anyway interested in rekindling any old flame from the past. As I said, there was no old flame. She merely wanted to see how things were going and if I had been in contact with anyone else from the class. Nevertheless, Beetroot thought it would be best if I slept on the couch last night. I was initially upset. But as it turned out, it offered me an opportunity to indulge in some late night writing. That’s when my writing is at its most exciting and provocative. I got up to Chapter 23 in ‘Tainted Milk’. Our hero, John Garrison has just got home…

Garrison looked through his letterbox and saw the mutant killer cow waddle through the hall and into the kitchen. Garrison knew this was his only chance.
“Is he there?” whispered Sandra with a non-verbal hint of the blood curdling terror she was no doubt experiencing.
“It’s a she sweetheart… and its one murderous dairy bitch from hell.”
“Garrison, it’s not the cow’s fault that she’s has been genetically engineered by the corrupt government as one their private army and/or bodyguards to kill enemies of the state like yourself and your now dead father who had found out about their plans to control the population using tainted milk supplies.” said Sandra, lyrically.
“You’re right, that was insensitive of me. Sorry for flying off the handle there.”
Sandra roughly licked the left side of Garrison’s nose. This was the sign of love from her people and it was the first time either had exchanged such a gesture.
“What did I do to deserve you?” said Garrison and he licked her nose back.
“I don’t want to lose you” she whispered, erotically.
“Then for God’s sake keep low, stay close and if you hear so much as a ‘moo’, run like hell. We’re going in.”
Garrison quietly opened the front door and stepped into his house. The government had sent the cow to finish off what the Replicon Assassin was unable to do…kill him that is. Thankfully, Garrison wasn’t home when the cow had arrived, but by God he was now. He edged down the hall and went to draw his gun. It was empty.
“This is empty” he said “But how, I just loaded it before we left.”
Sandra’s head bowed low and she began to sob, erotically.
“I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell have you done?!” whisper shouted Garrison in a manner that was just loud enough for Sandra to know just how bloody annoyed he was, but not loud enough that the killer cow would hear him. Internally, Garrison quickly reflected on the many days and nights he had spent perfecting his whisper/shout, getting the consistency and sound levels just right, recording decibels and drawing graphs. His editor at the newspaper had said that he was the top whisper shouter he’d ever come across in fifty years on the job. If you needed someone to be angry in a situation where you had to be quiet, Garrison was your man. But as Garrison looked at the now weeping Sandra, the half woman/half robot that he now knew had sabotaged his mission by emptying his gun of bullets, he remembered who had been by his side while he perfected the whisper shout, who had recorded the decibel counts and who had helped him make his graphs. It was Sandra. If she had sabotaged the gun, maybe she had sabotaged the research and if the research was tainted, then perhaps his whisper shout wasn’t as perfectly pitched as he had thought.

As he turned away from Sandra in disgust, he realised that she had indeed sabotaged his research too. There, less than a foot away, snarled and slobbered the terrifying face of the mutant killer cow. It had clearly heard his whisper shout.
Garrison braced himself, this was it, his last moment on earth. And as the cow leaned back and wheeled up for the killer pounce, Garrison closed his eyes and awaited the inevitable. The cow lurched forward and began laying into flesh with greedy… greed. Blood splattered across the room and the bovine’s mutated fangs ripped through bone and muscle. But Garrison was unharmed. He was still in one piece. Opening the eyes he thought he would never see through again, he saw Sandra, his one and only true love, the half woman/half robot who had stolen his heart only to betray his soul, wedged between the cow’s fatal fangs that thrashed and gashed and ripped her to shreds.
She had clearly thrown herself in front of Garrison, giving her life for his, which was ironic, seeing as she had only recently betrayed him. She was being eaten alive, but she made no sound, cried no pain, she just looked deeply into Garrison’s eyes with a look that seemed to whisper… “I’m sorry.”

Garrison rallied himself into action and launched a foot violently into a nearby chair, which shattered into a thousand shards of wood. He had very strong legs. Grabbing a jagged chair leg, now razor sharp following the damage his foot had done to it, he threw himself at the beast and wrapped his legs around its shoulders. With the sharpened piece of wood in one hand, Garrison was riding this monster like a bucking bronco and he looked great doing it.

“Hey cow! How about a taste of a steak that’s not very tender, but is bloody and well done?” shouted Garrison exhausting all his knowledge of beef terminology.
He drove the wooden stake into the cow’s brain with one foul and exciting movement of his arm and almost immediately the cow went limp. As the beast toppled over, very dead, Garrison held Sandra in his soft strong arms. The murderous cow had eaten everything below the waist and she was very quickly bleeding to death. Sandra looked down at where her legs used to be.
“Half a half woman?” she pondered aloud, remarkably philosophically for someone in her condition.
“You’re still more of a woman than anyone I’ve ever known… currently know or am likely to ever know in the future.” said Garrison, instantly regretting that last needless bit of the sentence.
“I love you John Garrison. Forgive me” and as her heart exploded, she silently drifted away, erotically.
“Damn you Government!” called Garrison to the heavens and silently he vowed to make sure that Sandra’s life and subsequent death would not be in vein.



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