I want to hurt for you and burn for you
Break my heart and my bones in two
Feast on me but don’t care for me
Make me prove my love is true
I want to fry for you and die for you
And please you with my pain
Destroy my mind and stab my heart
Then leave me naked in the rain
We make love in a storm on top of the hill. We both know how dangerous this is but this only adds to the thrill.
As we fuck on the wet, slippery grass, the storm seems to follow our motions, growling when we do, growing fiercer with every passing second, rocking the air around us. The lightning and thunder get louder and faster with us. A bolt strikes a nearby tree, which bursts into flames, echoing our heat. Another strikes the ground near us causing the grass to steam and smoulder, we feel the earth tremble and tingle under us.
Now the storm is directly above, one continuous symphony of sound and light and heat. You, on top and less afraid than I, lift your head to the skies and throw out your arms as if to beckon it.
Hard, heavy raindrops batter your beautiful, naked flesh and when the lightening bolt strikes us we hardly notice. Its billion volts are nothing to the power of our shared orgasms, and death seems puny in comparison to our love.
It turns us instantly to cinders, saving a fortune on cremation fees.
I had imagined that people would clamber to own another’s soul, but it seems not. I am not disappointed though, not at all – the sheer quality of those of you who entered made my heart glow.
Here are the results:
The winner, and now owner of my immortal soul is now Pete Denton. Try not to be too careful with it Pete and let me know what kind of sick things you do to it please. Here is the official certificate of ownership.
Runners up prizes go to:
Take your pick please and congratulations to you all.
Of course, now I’ve given away my soul, I am struggling to think what to give away as my next prize – any ideas on a postacard please?
~ k )
imagine the best sunset you ever saw and then imagine that the sky always looked like that – it would cease to be beautiful, because it would be normal. beautiful things must, by definition, be rare – the universe existed for billions of years before we were born and will continue to exist for trillions of years after we die. like those rare desert plants that only blossom for one day every 150 years, the beauty of life lies in its brevity, and its rarity.
everlasting life would, were it possible, rob our lives of their beauty. so thank god that he doesn’t exist and that tomorrow we might die.
Entrance of the Gladiators was the first radio play I wrote. It was broadcast on Resonance FM on 15 Feb 08.
Here are some of the things that were said about it.
“Terrific. Sour, wild, moving, furious and odd as hell.”
“There’s no way I’d act in, or have anything to do with this sick shit!”
“Powerful, original and grippingly told.”
You can download or listen to it from here.