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The Third Eye Books



Justin Aveneer: Passage


Then Justin was placed in the hands of a make-up artist who spent a good hour heightening the youthfulness of his face, rougeing slightly his cheeks and accentuating the beauty of his eyes; fractioning his hair and giving it some treatment to stiffen it so that, if rumpled, it would stay rumpled. Then, as soon as the lady participant in the session had arrived and expected to start work immediately, Henry came with a medical kit, charged a hypodermic, an injected some colourless fluid into Justin’s arm, whispered “Whatever you do, remember you must always show the utmost respect. Zsa Zsa is a great artist, and we are extremely fortunate to have got her services,” gave him a medium-sized pill of bright orange colour, adjusted the tiny kilt which was all the costume he was allowed, and pushed him through a door into the main studio.


The great Zsa Zsa was standing at the far end of the room, with her back turned on him. An agonising- for Justin – silence ensued for two minutes. Then, with terrifying suddenness, she said “Why have you not kneeled, wretch?” at which Justin, cursing his stupidity, immediately dropped to his knees and remained there with head bowed. Zsa Zsa turned and now approached him. She was wearing a costume entirely of glittering pettol-coloured plastic, oddly padded and embossed to disguise her actually figure but to make it appear in some respects gigantic and quite fearsome. In particular, the hips were built out into veritable horns giving her something of the appearance of a bulldozer. Indeed, her whole aspect was of a pile of massive V-s one on top of the other, all pointing downwards, so that when she walked like a ballet dancer across to Justin and made a pass over his head with her crooked leg, it speared she might, merely by stabbing downwards with her pointed winged boot, staple him to the floor.


Justin began to feel extremely disturbed, because his metabolism had begun to be deranged by whatever Henry had injected into his arm. His temperature had risen considerably, and he began to shiver and feel mild nausea. He raised his head, and beads of perspiration splashed off his brows into his eyes, blurring his vision. “Madam,” he began, raising his hand to dash the film from his eyes and was instantly caught with a flying kick in the ribs which flung him flat von his back.


Now Zsa Zsa moved, and jabbing her foot under the small of his back, turned the shaking boy over on his face. “Get up, get up,” she hissed, rapped, snarled; and Justin, by now on the verge of oblivion, struggled to raise himself on all fours. A baulk of wood with sharp, square edges, crashed on his back, and he was flattened by it; but again, the command came “Get up! Get up!” Still his kilt was hitched up over his nether parts and as he struggled to crawl forward he found his buttocks pricked and tapped with fine canes which the other ladies wielded. “Bear your burden, miserable failure!” came the strident demand and by a superhuman effort at self-control, he gripped the beam in the crooks of his arms and lurched into a semi-upright position. The rod was perhaps six feet long; four inches square, varnished smooth; merely a pole, a square beam of great weight, like a totem.


A few steps forward and he stumbled, going down on one knee; but the harpies gathered round, hissing and pricking, mocking his drugged efforts and again he drew himself up, supporting the timber, which seemed to be turning to lead; another few jerking steps and another fall; a third lunge towards the verticals and he had now been pursued halfway round the room. Once again he tried to move forwards and then vertigo seized him and he crashed straight on his face on the floor. Still his tormentors did not desist, but goaded him again to assume the crawling position, in which he made a few yards more before plunging into an abyss where sounds continued but sight was gone completely, and his muscles no longer obeyed him at all. He dreamed that many, many hands were grabbing, and tearing him; bearing him up in the air; that some creature he had not set eyes upon was slithering across the room and wrapping its tentacles around him, pulling them tighter and tighter against his wrists, ankles and thighs, across his chest so tight that he could hardly breathe; even obscenely over his face, pulling between his lips and pressing on his teeth, lashing him to the timber beam. And then the pressure and hardness of the tentacles melted and diffused in spreading patches, like coloured solvents dropped on plastic film, spreading areas of warmth, wetness, accompanied by a sickening stench of faeces and an acrid tinge of ammonia. Justin swam into oblivion.




You can buy Justin Aveneer online at Amazon.co.uk or direct from Third Eye Books.




Third Eye Books, 3 Windsor Terrace, Clifton, Bristol BS8 4LW

phone 0117 9265 931 or email third.eye@virgin.net