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| Goat White Term | |
| Posted By: poena.dare #CP# >BS< <pd@bungie.removethis.org> | Date: 3/20/03 2:28 a.m. |
In Response To: Bwahahahahaha.... Excellant. ;) *NM* (Shishka) UNSCTerm 802.11 (remote override) 2047 08.30.2337 [Data Transfer from Cortana]
[Transfer John117]
[Interior Error] ***MESSAGE RECEIVED*** The goat had been floating six feet off the floor for three weeks. Her hooves tingled, and her eyes burned with the flames of a dying fire. She had last heard someone speak to her as the pen door slammed shut. She didn't remember what the farmer had said. The words had bounced off the bars of the pen and rang through the goat's ears. The goat had been talking to herself for the last few minutes, something about getting caught, but then her ears began to tingle just like her hooves. She looked at her hooves, but the fire in her eyes made her blink. Tears came, and when she opened her eyes again, her hooves had been melted into horny pancakes that wafted in the ripples flowing over the fire in her eyes. "Damn pen," she heard someone say. "Last time I had a good meal was three days ago. The food they feed you in here could kill a chicken." Chickens. She had remembered something about chickens. But her ears began to ring again and the voice speaking to her faded off into the background of her mind. In its place, there was a new sound, the clopping of hooves together. She blinked hard to made out her hooves again. They had disappeared; her limbs connected at the shanks. She thought back to the time she went digging for grubs. She remembered the sound of her hooves on the earth, a gentle scrapping. Scrapping away now inside her ears, trying to tear down her thoughts. There had been a goat with a white fur tube over his hooves. Her shanks were like his now. The shanks of someone who had tried too many times to clop her hooves. She had been clopping for everyone else in life, but never himself. The hooves, like herself, had been put into prison, and she didn't know why. "Can't sleep in here, if the smell of this musty straw doesn't make you sick, then the sound of the chickens clucking inside the walls will keep you up. You'll wake up from your dreams to their little pecking. Sometimes I think that they are clucking me..." The voice was coming from inside the pen, but the goat couldn't see anyone. The goat hadn't always been alone, she could vaguely recall from somewhere inside her broken mind that there had been friends, lovers, milkers. She recalled a theory she had come up with after a bloody barnyard brawl. The theory was simple. At some point in time, everyone was a milker. Whether or not they ever felt remorse, they had all wanted someone milked. Hatred. Everyone knew the feeling of hatred. The goat had known hatred on that barnyard. Her milker had laughed at their bloody faces, a laugh which now echoed through her ears, rhythmically blocking out the other voice in the pen. The barnyard was usually a place where the goat and her friends would play head-butt or eat-tin or something, but today, there was an edge. Maybe everyone had eaten grain that was about to go bad, or maybe there was too much smoke in the air from the bethany hubcap factory. Head-butt had been extremely rough. The goat had gone to play eat-tin after she got tackled by five goats who weren't her friends. But today, even eat-tin had an evil twist. The can top today had become habituated to making fun of the torn label. The goat had decided that it was an evil day. When her milker started to push her around, she exploded. Hatred flowed from her eyes, her hooves began to tingle. All of her coordination left her, and her teats were milked to a bloody mess. The farmer had been slow to notice the ensuing carnage, and he didn't really care anyway. The goat would have killed him if she could have. She would have torn out the eyes of her milker. She would have made him pay for his abuses. But her hooves had begun to tingle. She couldn't feel her hooves and she had begun to float off the ground. Everyone was a milker, but the goat couldn't remember her reason for why that was so. She thought it was something about hooves, the passion for justice. Her hooves and feet had begun to tingle, and she was floating farther off the floor. She looked up from her hooves, and she saw the bars of the pen, moving left and right, opening wide and then closing shut like the swinging of a barn door. Every time that she thought she would be safe, the bars swung up, the opening closing, the doors swinging, crashing. The result would be the same, she would never escape. The bars would crush her, break her back. She could feel the roughness of the straw under her hooves, for all the motion of the barn door around her, her hooves had come to rest serenely upon the barn floor. Her body tossed and flipped, pivoting about her hooves under which she could feel the safe, coarse straw. The doors crashed one final time, she landed upside down, her hooves thrown clear from the straw covered bottom, the rush of the windmill filling her ears, her nose, her mouth, the sound of crashing barn doors cascading down from her feet to her head - penetrating her mind to tear down thoughts. Like the straw nest she had built to withstand the cold, her thoughts came down around her. The goat had a good life, so much time, so much time. She had loved butting, turning, bleating. She had loved the tingle in her hooves, her inability to kill her nemesis. Once she had fallen off the loft, and just for a moment, her hooves came to rest on the rung of the ladder. In that instant, her body had frozen, floating over the barn floor, safe from falling, but the moment didn't last. The barn crashed about her, her hooves torn free from the straw covered bottom, her body flipping, falling. But now she levitated farther up, her hooves still tingling. She began to float through the bars, she expected the instant of safety as her hooves found footing, but that moment did not come, the bars squeezed her body. Her chest tingled. As she fell through her cage, her legs tingled. The fire in her eyes had become a cold wind, she blinked away tears. She tumbled through the bars, spinning and turning, she could see the farmer. In his hand she saw a small white chicken. A pounding, the crashing barn doors in her ears became rhythmical, hard. The man was beating the chicken against the floor. Pounding, pounding. Blood covered her hooves, the goat's hooves tingled. She had broken them on the floor of the pen. Disciplinarian, lover, milker. The goat looked back into the pen. She saw herself, disciplinarian, lover, milker. She had killed her nemesis. The chicken lay dead under her bloody hooves. At last, she stood on the throat of her milker. She escaped into the barn. The barn. ***END MESSAGE*** [Accept Next Message]
PgUp/PgDn/Arrows to Scroll Return/Enter to Acknowledge
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| Replies: |
| Soell & Ling-Ling Cartoon Part 3 | poena.dare #CP# >BS< | 3/18/03 10:48 p.m. |
| He's off his rocker again! :p *NM* | StarWarsFanMan | 3/19/03 12:13 a.m. |
| Re: Soell & Ling-Ling Cartoon Part 3 | CYBRFRK | 3/19/03 9:14 a.m. |
| Frk! | poena.dare #CP# >BS< | 3/19/03 10:16 a.m. |
| Re: Frk! | Ross Mills | 3/19/03 10:18 a.m. |
| Re: Frk! | Arashi | 3/19/03 11:01 a.m. |
| Re: Frk! | CYBRFRK | 3/19/03 11:31 a.m. |
| Goats in Dreams | mnemesis | 3/19/03 11:47 a.m. |
| Bwahahahahaha.... Excellant. ;) *NM* | Shishka | 3/20/03 1:38 a.m. |
| Goat White Term | poena.dare #CP# >BS< | 3/20/03 2:28 a.m. |
| OMG | Djof | 3/20/03 11:05 a.m. |
| Re: OMG | opie301 | 3/20/03 11:09 a.m. |
| Re: OMG | poena.dare #CP# >BS< | 3/20/03 11:34 a.m. |
| R U KIDDIN? | Miguel Chavez | 3/20/03 11:13 a.m. |
| Charon's Goat | mnemesis | 3/20/03 12:53 p.m. |
| lol | Djof | 3/20/03 12:54 p.m. |
| Kill Your Milk Machine | Shishka | 3/20/03 3:26 p.m. |
| *giggle* *nm* | poena.dare #CP# >BS< | 3/20/03 3:41 p.m. |
| Well played, old boy. | opie301 | 3/20/03 3:59 p.m. |
| Tee hee, snicker snicker... *NM* | Finn | 3/20/03 4:59 p.m. |
| Re: Neither High nor Goat | Ghôlsbane | 3/20/03 5:16 p.m. |
| Hoo ho, he he :) *NM* | Finn | 3/20/03 5:50 p.m. |
| Good one. :D *NM* | Djof | 3/20/03 6:14 p.m. |
| Re: Quarantined Goats | Ghôlsbane | 3/21/03 4:10 a.m. |
| Re: Kill Your Milk Machine | Ciarán | 3/20/03 5:30 p.m. |
| Hey | Djof | 3/19/03 11:51 a.m. |
| Re: Soell & Ling-Ling Cartoon Part 3 | Scaled Wyrm | 3/19/03 10:53 a.m. |
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