"I've never witnessed someone blur in and out with each step. What's happening to my girl?"

Black burqa glitches like a gremlin chewing on reality in the machinery of the simulation. Crashes visual flakes of vibration. Electric shadows exhale sullen puffs of epistemology. Reverses. Blanks back into the shape of a woman under a torn tether black burqa. Landscape bokeh as she appears. Lumbers through the red field like a Thanatos. Shadow like Rocinante. Fades as if distant headlights disappear in the midnight of a Kavan white out. Appears again where the headlight gravities have not yet been. Much further away. Stomps on the opposite side of the sunny day poppy field. Fades. Reappears ten meters left of right. Fades. Closer. Glitches in the way an event horizon falls apart. Farther.

Michael picks a poppy. Sniffs such deeply. Smiles. Picks another. Hands such to Judith. Gravities into her gravities. Smiles bare back at him. Sniffs. Gravity rolls upside down to right side up. In and out like waves. Slow linger of a "she'll be apples" feeling.

"Well, my tasty treat. This particular Terra seems to be a living portal."

"Oh. Well. Motherfucker. Must be the trip of all trips and falls. Like when autumn comes to spring. Does this fuck up our nicety plan?"

"Um...my tasty treat, her predicament might make our endeavour far more successful. In fact, the state she's in seems like a wonderful sign that we're about to do exactly the right thing."

Both crouch to a closer floral height. Pick numerous poppies. Inhale the scent. Chew entire petals. Lipstick-ish on the lips like fresh blood in the mouth. Stand straight again. View the field. Muerte on a distant hill.

"Who is going first, my tasty treat?"

Witnesses Michael drip the juice down his chin. Chortles copper womanly. Takes hold his raven hand.

"That's up to her, my man. Does she wishy wash revenge or familiarity to begin with?"

"Wishy wash?"

"I don't know. Sounded good to my ilk. I'm high as all fuck. Don't you ever wishy wash?"

"Oh, never, my Judith. If that phrase means what I think it means, never in your presence. Eternity has no time for "wishy wash.""

"But it must, my man. Depending on the excursion. I can get right filthy. I need to wanna bathe at times."

"If that's what you mean by "wishy wash," then by all means and measures. I will wishy wash every bit of you."

"You regularly do."

Burqa appears a foot in front of the two. Atoms glitch away. Appear again close to the jungle. Stomps a poppy.

Judith smirks. Michael outright spills a dribble of laughter. Spits red. Poppy juice druppens down his bare chest. Belly. Catches in a forest of netherhair.

Skies swirly white on wine dark, like they're two bodies in the upside down vermilion sky miles above some such deep dirge whitecap sea. Depths of the daylight cosmos above their heads in the below.

Both crouch again. Pick. Sniff. Chew. Red hands like the wife of a murderous monarch retching at ghosts. Dying in the earth like some witchy foreign soil curse.

"Are you scared?"

"My tasty treat, utterly terrified. Who would not be?"

"Well, I'm not so scared. Not today."

"How is it possible that you, Judith Coal, can be so brave?"

"Because, my man, your sweet, succulent ass is with me this time. I'm not alone in some wooden cave with the unknown ahead and my girl over there comin' for me. We. Not just me. The two of us will do what needs the doings."

"I'm with you always. But who is going first?"

"I think she'll let us know such hush-hush when she's ready to begin, my man."

"Everyday, the words from your lovely lips captivate me. Hush-hush."

"You're still noticing such suchings?"

"Always! I will never tire of such suchings."

Both stand above the field. Squeezes his raven hand. Tip toes up to kiss. Holds her close. Make out. Sculpture hardens. Wind breezes his black hair. The moment silences. Chill whispers a secret in the oxygen ears of the air. Feels his body stop still. Muffle ricking sound. Michael's gravities open wide.

"See...you...my...tasty...treat..."

Drops to his knees. Gravities break. Muerte stands behind the bone saw man. No burqa. Just snowy blizzard flesh splotch sanguine breasts like a Jackson Pollock. Stares at the graveyard girl. Chews on Michael's heart. Fangs like Kavan ice. Offal gulps. Sucks hawthorn nail fingers. Throws her fist into the crease of Michael's skull. Breaks into such like a fragrant nutcrack walnut roast. Slicks out his beautiful brain. Cups the jelly in Coal palms. Consumes such like a garrulous muckbang.

"Guess we know who's first, my man."