/lit/ - Literature

>The horse lay deadfaced over the head of rock. Sand had collected through the wind and silvery glints had held gluewise across the bare open flesh of the dead animal. Flies that were still alive passed quick the eightysix gunholes, and fell sudden about them, dying a death in which they had died. The horse was slain at the crest down to latch, a fatal slice white and thickening with fat, which had been let with blood, pugged in the hot failure of the horse, and boiling pink and pulsewise in a sponge that filled the gutless thing. It had been impaled in such a way that it would not live anymore.
>-Fuck said Brax.
>-Language, said the Judge.
>-ye Fuck said Brax.
>The horse had no legs. The penis of the horse lay inverted.
>I'm going to have sex with this horse, thought and also said the Judge.
>Brax watched him do so. The world was a little like that, watching strangely the fact of someone placing his heavy penis inside tubish insack of an imposed horsecock. Though it was being raped, the heart of the horse did not beat with any sympathy to the loosed blood, clutching outside of life deadwise in excellence with the nondead precipitate systems that callously mechanised the anima biota. The continental unworking stomach of the animal was freed from the bearing of a soul. The horse was dead.