Camp: Episodes 1-21

Camp: Episode 1

Dust clouds followed the open truck and spun brown boogers through Crystal’s already compromised nose; the bandana wasn’t working. Seven campers grimaced at the already too hot sun, sitting upright and listless, swaying with the vehicle as it bounced over desert rocks and decaying bunny carcass’. She thought she saw a snake and heard an errant rattle, but the engine’s roar created auditory hallucination of another kind; the machine ate troubled souls for breakfast. It crunched on the bones of youth and suckled on the fresh marrow of life. Her last line off the back of the dirty toilet in the Utah Airport was wearing off. Six weeks in the desert; this was going to suck.

“Do you have any blow?” She nudged the leather clad boy-man next to her awake re-mouthing the request. His brown eyes sprung open with fury as he pulled his surgical mask slightly to the side.

“Not for you.” He grimaced then winked. Crystal held hope. He had coke in an Afrin bottle somewhere in his gear, she just knew it. Not adverse to working at this labor camp, blow jobs were just that, a job for blow.

“NO TALKING FUCKWADS!” All Sarge needed was a gun to solidify the image of Israeli soldier. His gas mask kept him comfortable from the swirling dirt, and his voice resounded ominously through the protective double chambers. Shaved head glistening in the sun, he slammed his flat hand on the cab’s roof initiating a rapid stop. Hands grasped hot metal bars and open eyes stared at boot clad feet. No one dared make eye contact with the mad man.

“IN THE SOMEWHAT TWISTED WORDS OF THE BELOVED CHERYL CROW, THIS IS NOT A PARTY! THIS IS NOT A DISCO! THIS IS NOT L.A.!” He paced circular hoping for shuddering laughter or glimmering reaction to squash with steel toed hoof. “YOU ARE NOT HERE TO HAVE A LITTLE FUN BEFORE YOU DIE! ALL I WANNA DO IS MAKE YOU LOW-LIFE DRUG ADDICT CRIMINAL DIRTY LITTLE BITCHES INTO HEALTHY PRODUCTIVE MEMBERS OF SOCIETY! DO YOU HEAR ME?!?!?” He fell to knees and leaned under Crystal’s bowed head brushing his black metallic chambers to her hidden cheek. His voice echoed soft and distant through the mask, “Do you hear me Tea Cakes? Am I getting through?”

She attempted to breathe and speak with force, but only whispered air escaped cracked lips, “Sir, yes, Sir.”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, COCK SUCKING BLOW WHORE!”

“Sir, yes, Sir.” She didn’t want the tears to spring to her eyes, but there they were: two tiny ovals of wetness at the corner of each. She hoped they were a product of the dust and heat and the lessening high, but knew she was rattled. He knew she was weak and would prey on her for the next six weeks if she didn’t gain his respect. He was tall and beefy, not lanky, and she assumed from the yelling bravado his penis to be small, hopefully, very small. She hated sucking off freakishly large dick. Her gag reflex was pronounced due to years of bulimia, and yakking in his pubes would not render the desired effect. She wanted respect and comfort, not ridicule.

Crystal raised her head to meet his eyes, breathed confidently with eyes closed, and curled her lips into a crooked grin. She re-opened her eyes, licked her teeth, and bit her lower lip, “Sir, yes, Sir.”

He smiled and jauntily tapped the driver’s roof, “We’re off to see the Mother-fucking Wizard.”

The truck rumbled awake and rolled toward the low lying shade structures in the distance. They were nearly home now.

“THIS A’INT FUCKING KANSAS, BITCHES!” Sarge reclaimed his stance at the end of the truck. “Y’ALL GET READY TO WORK FOR YOUR SUPPER!” He winked ominously at Crystal. She knew her place.


Camp- Episode 2

Beth was a dancer. She snuck off in the light of the moon sans shoes and meticulously cleared nine by nine squares of desert rocks and brush to create safe spaces of sand for calloused feet. She stretched and warmed her body with plies and tendus, working all the way through the foot, pressing into the earth before leaping and spinning about for herself. She was choreographing a desert ballet to bring back to the real world. She would make art from this shit; she would transform this journey into meaning.

This was her third camp.

Camp one led to explosions of spit and assault. They tried to make her eat pork. They force fed her bacon one morning. A devout Jew, she tried to explain her religious conviction with fierce integrity. They refused to listen and restrained her. She didn’t mean to break his nose, but the issued boots were rubber and steel. Face pressed to rocks and grass, she bucked wildly for freedom. Beth had strong legs; Beth was a dancer.

Camp two rendered a charge for attempted murder. They were working sand bags in the Sacramento Delta post-flood. Filling and moving huge burlap bags of crushed silt, Beth was on pick-axe detail, breaking clumps of rock down to useable chunks. He shouldn’t have grabbed her ass mid-swing.

This was all a mistake. Despite her extensive record, Beth was a sensitive artist, not a criminal. The State disagreed. Her file was covered in red flags and sticky notes and warning labels. Psychiatrists pondered her past and prescribed harsher labor programs. They would scare this one strait.

Her blonde hair reflected the full moon as she moved to the music of the silent night. She was barely visible from the ubiquitous camp fire, always roaring in its washing machine center cage, peaking red from metal holes, licking flames of light above, illuminating frowning faces. Beth was smiling.

“Does anyone have a marshmallow?” Breaking the post- dinner meditation was sacrilege but Butch (not his real name) needed someone to look at him. He was tired of staring at the fire and watching Beth made him reach too often for his junk. He couldn’t get away with another adjustment crotchward without accusation of public masturbation. He was on his fourth offense, and one more would send him out on the next desert hike before his allotted departure. Tomorrow’s group left at 5am. He had only been back in camp 12 hours. He couldn’t do another three days on one canteen. He had to drink his own urine twice. He would not scratch his balls with everyone watching.

“SHUT IT, MAGGOTTY FAGGOT! IT’S QUIET CONTEMPLATION TIME! DO YOU NEED ME TO SIT ON YOUR FUCKING HANDS? YOU DON’T WANT TO PLAY WITH MY BALLS, FAG-BOY! DO YOU?”

“Sir, no, Sir. I am not a Faggot.”

“WE’LL SEE WHO THE FAG IS WHEN MY DICK IS IN YOUR MOUTH!”

No acknowledgement touched the faces around the fire. They continued staring bleakly at the flames.

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

Beth gracefully fell to the ground in splits and worked the earth with her thighs. Arms stretched to the twinkling stars, she screamed passionately into darkness. The thin tendrils of smoke carried her plea to the gods.

Butch sat on his hands and secured his focus to the flames.


Camp- Episode 3

Dishes were a blessing. Doing them was the only way to get clean hands in the desert. Jonah was a serial nail biter with a severe aversion to dirt and always the first to volunteer for the task. After completion, he would hide in his tent and gnaw stubs for at least forty-seven minutes. His best plans came with thumbnail secured in mouth.

Jonah was the brains behind most every subversive plot. He commissioned the chimichanga-ing of the shit burrito served to Sarge complete with sour cream and cheese. He silently master-minded the massive work slow down of three weeks ago, where slow motion robot teens ground the camp to a stop, forcing postponement of three desert hikes. He was in camp to remove him from the computer world where he had stolen over $300,000 from credit cards on-line. That was the crime they caught him for. It was not his first (or even fifth). He tried to open an account in the Bahamas, but was thwarted by undercover IRS agents.

Jonah was smarter than this camp.

Jonah was not traditionally attractive. Shortish and slightly built with deep set knowing eyes, the opposite of vacant bullies and muscled thieves, he had no problem getting pussy in the labor camp. Desperate girls like brains. Brains meant safety. Brains meant getting an extra apple at lunch or a counselor’s secret spliff after dinner. Jonah was dialed in. He hadn’t been on a three day desert trek since his first week. He kept his brains under his clean fingernails and ate them desperately now. He needed a new plan. He needed something to blow this camp wide open. He needed a bomb.

“You are the BOMB!” Cheryl tried to use “teen-lingo”. She desperately wanted to be hip, but at an unmarried 38, her Christianified attempts at cool mounted into an embarrassing Golgothan shit pile. No one wanted to interact with the brace-face leader wearing neon puffy paint in the shape of a cross. She wore feathered hair.

“No, really, Jonah, I’d never get those dished done without you. You are a gift from the Father, a special boy.” Hand lifted promisingly for a high five, she hovered at the entrance of his obsessively neat, tiny tent, praying reciprocation. Jonah would not oblige.

“Jesus loves you, Jonah. He’s chosen for you to be here. I think He’s chosen you especially for me.” She turned and sang her favorite God song as she blissfully removed herself, “Our God is an awesome God, he reigns, from heaven above, with wisdom, power and love, our God is an awesome God.”

Her voice carried over of the quiet post-breakfast dawn. The sun would soon start its painful, burning climb, and Jonah needed sunscreen. He was fair skinned and detested this time in the desert, but would revel in the mayhem and create another entertaining plan. He would make a bomb and place it in a backpack. Cheryl’s intestines would rain from Heaven above. He would make the Christian zealot into a terrorist. Cheryl would explode on her next hike taking a few more troubled souls to Jesus. They would find her brace covered teeth in the belly of a snake and a suicide bomber note buried deeply in her tent.

“To Whom It May Concern:

These poor souls belong to Jesus. They shouldn’t be here. These innocent children have a special God and a special place in Heaven. Jesus told me to bring them home.

Love in Christ,

Cheryl”

He’d have to work more on the note, but the sentiment was right. Simple phrases from a simple woman. Jonah tried not to laugh out loud; he didn’t want anyone thinking he was happy. He hummed and smiled and ripped more meat from his fingertips. This was the best summer ever.



Camp: Episode 4

Everyone and no one was afraid of Sarge. Kicked out of the military for unknown reasons in 1999, he found a home at “Desert Awakenings” as the hard-ass military component to “SCARE THESE MOTHER-FUCKERS STRAIT.” Surprisingly, he yelled quite a bit of gay terminology, “faggot” being his favorite. Sarge had one fiercely loud volume; fear rattled the campers when he whispered.

He marched by Butch’s lunch tray and leaned in menacingly to grab his orange.

“FUCK YOU! That’s my fruit.”

“YOU WANT TO FUCK ME FAT-BOY FAGGOT? IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO SAY? BACK THE FUCK DOWN, LITTLE FRUIT LOOP! YOU DO NOT GET TO DECIDE WHEN YOU GET FUCKED!”

Sarge liked trying to make Butch cry.

“WHY DON’T YOU GO RAPE ANOTHER GIRL, FAGGOT! HOVER UNDER THE PORTO-POT WITH YOUR DICK OUT SO THEY’LL SIT ON IT WHEN THE TRY AND PEE.”

Butch was in camp for repeated sexual assault of anything feminine. He started at the tender age of 10 with a can of Alpo, his dick and Miss Moffett, his father’s favorite Pomeranian. He tried the cat, but Georgia’s teeth were too sharp and tongue too rough for his tender balls, also, he didn’t like the smell of Fancy Feast. It made him gag.

At 11, He forced the neighbor girl Jill to give him a blow-job in the garage one summer. He charged admission, a buck a head, and let all the neighborhood boys watch as she blew air on his tiny flaccid dick. She kept inhaling deeply and blowing with pink lips pursed, as if she was silently whistling a happy tune. “She’s supposed to suck on it, asshole!” One of the older boys yelled from the back row. Jill looked up, disturbed, “But it’s not called a suck-job.” She was six.

At 12, Butch played Gynecologist with every girl in the suburbs. He fashioned stirrups out of old crutches and duct taped them to the broken office chair in the garage. He mounted a flashlight on his father’s green Vegas visor and stole kitchen tongs and spatulas and hair brushes and rubber bands and cotton balls and tampons from neighboring houses. A whole neighborhood of pre-teens with toxic shock syndrome due to tiny twats filled with errant costume jewelry and unwrapped condoms scared unsuspecting parents into believing a serial rapist was on the loose. They organized a task-force, but eventually found a misspelled sign with arrows pointing to Butch’s garage.

Butch never met his mother. The youngest of six sons, he was raised by older brothers.

Butch loved to masturbate in public. He blew his wad on bus seats, both school and public, on candy bars in drug stores, on elevator buttons, onto soda machines and locker locks at school, on doors and doorbells of random houses; Butch had no boundaries, and loved people touching his semen, dried or fresh.

He tried to fuck a hole in the ground in the desert. He stole Saran Wrap and peanut butter from the kitchen. It worked until he loudly lost a load after dark, and the flashlight brigade led by Sarge discovered him dick-down, bare assed with fire ants biting. Sarge loved to bring this up with the group.

“FIRE ANT FUCK-BOY FAGGOT! DO YOU HEAR ME? WOULD YOU HEAR ME BETTER IF I SMEARED PEANUT BUTTER ON YOUR DICK?”

Butch hated erections now, and the thought of any animal licking anything off him brought him up full. He was hard and decidedly not gay, but he imagined Sarge’s lips curled around his cock and forced his hands under his ass. He refused to give that asshole the satisfaction.



Camp: Episode 5

Reginald Mortimer Gherrity the third never took off his leather chaps. He changed his shorts once in a while, but the black buckled hide remained pressed to his thighs and calves. The ladies loved them. He was dangerous.

Reginald Mortimer Gherrity the second placed his son in camp after the wreck. His beloved black BMW M3 was pulled from the neighbor’s pool with a key of coke in the glove box. It was the perfect excuse to get out of the mess clean. No one would believe the Jr. when he came to police with tales of coke-head “Reggie Sr.”. A respected lawyer, he was a pillar of honesty saving captains of Industry from evil divorcees with high riding dreams of fields filled with alimony ponies. He was beloved by men and whores alike; “Reggie Sr.” always had the coke.

They used to fight over who would be nicknamed “Reggie” and who would be labeled “Morty” while they did lines of the glass coffee table in the living room. Father son bonding every Tuesday night over a massive pile of white, they each used their own handcrafted gold razor and matching straw. “Reggie Sr.” loved that table. A bare-breasted bronze mermaid held the wave etched glass with her head and tail. “Reggie Jr.” tried doing lines off her tits while his dad was doing the real thing off the high class hookers in the black wallpapered, mirrored ceiling bathroom. The 4 million dollar house was decorated in 1986 to resemble the set of “Miami Vice”. Dad had cameras and a penchant for home edited movies. He wanted to be a star.

“Can I have a hit of your Afrin bottle?” Crystal whispered snuggling up to Reggie Jr. by the fire. “My nose is REALLY dry out here.” It had been days since her last fix and she knew he had it on him. He didn’t twitch enough to be off the sauce, and she’d seen it with him before dinner. Reggie didn’t eat much.

“Fuck off. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Crystal hadn’t given a blow-job since she arrived in camp. Her nose was finally beginning to heal. She had been blowing out chunks of flesh for weeks now, but the scabs were finally holding as their only desert introduction was dirt and sand. Crystal wanted coke badly, and she knew how to get it.

“BACK THE FUCK UP, WHORE. THREE FEET MINIMUM BETWEEN YOU PUSSY SCUM BUCKETS!”

She moved to the opposite side of the fire and stared longingly across. Sucking off Reggie Jr. would be no sacrifice. He was well built boy-friend material, and he had coke. She would be high before night’s end.

Cheryl removed her “Jesus Christ is Lord, not a Swear Word” sweat shirt to reveal a t-shirt emblazoned with the Savior’s face. Her braces glinted fireside as she softly spoke. “We leave tomorrow early for the next three day. Some new souls are in. Some who haven’t been out in a while will go. Jesus, Sarge and I will be taking the following:” She brought a binder close to her face and flipped pages in front of the awaiting faces. None showed signs of excitement. The campers hated these hikes, but God willing, this would be the best group ever. “Crystal, Beth, Reggie Jr., Butch, and Jonah. The seven of us. Get some sleep sweet campers, we break before sunrise.” She couldn’t see the rancor behind the frowns, but Jesus saw them.

“SLEEP NOW, FAGGOTS! TOMORROW YOU MAY DIE!.” Sarge leaned dangerously close to Butch and whispered, “For the next three days, your ass is mine.” Butch thought he felt lips on his ear lobe. His cock sprang to attention, but he refused to soothe the monster in public. He would wait until the safety of his tent to rub him down. He wanted to fuck something good and hard; it would most likely be himself while he imagined Beth’s tight thighs around his face.

“Um, Sarge. Jesus doesn’t like it when you call them Faggots.” She tried to whisper, but the campers heard and snickered.

“FUCK JESUS!”

All stared into the flickering fire. They would be leaving camp. They would be trekking into the dawn with everything they needed to survive on their backs.


Camp: Episode 6

Silent pre-dawn preparations were underway. Jonah cleaned his nails with a stolen toothpick. His bag was packed with water, copper wiring, a pack of gum, a section of duct tape, three lighters, a small propane tank, zip-top baggies, and Kleenex. He had watched enough MacGyver re-runs to know he could make a bomb with errant rocks and the packed materials. He planted the note last night as Cheryl snored prayers.

Crystal, coffee-full and hungry nosed, tailed Reggie with terrier-like efficiency. She would break him. She would get her morning hit and make this trek fun if it killed her.

Sarge stalked between the emptying tents slipping orders to the remaining counselors. Twelve campers were remaining on-site. He wanted a new latrine dug by their return.

Butch yawned absently and unsuccessfully ignored his persistent morning wood. It sprung back to life as Beth backed out of her tent. She was wearing Holly Hobby under-roos. Both retro and undeniably hot, he decided to place the psychiatrist’s wisdom into action. He named his cock “Jake” and tried to talk him down.

“I’ve dealt with sex offenders in the past, and found that naming your penis can put some distance between you and your organ. It might help. You can talk him down when you need to.”

“Thanks doc, but he’s up all the time. I really don’t have control over the matter.”

“You have control over how you use or choose not to use… what do you want to call him?”

“Jake. I had a dog named Jake when I was three.”

“Was Jake the dog that…?”

“Alpo? No. Jake was a good dog. A boy dog.”

Beth emerged again brushing her long blonde hair. She flipped her head down and began spinning it into two buns perched atop her head. Butch couldn’t stop staring at her ass. He was drooling with clenched teeth, “Down, Jake. Get the fuck down. Fuck you, I said. Fuck...” He was breathing hard when Sarge appeared next to him.

“Fine ass, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“YOU TRYING TO TAP THAT ASS, FAGGOT?”

“Sir, no, Sir. I don’t get to tap ass. I’m a sex offender.”
“Good. You’re going to take point. You’ll stare at no ass this fine desert morning. If I catch you even sniffing around that ass, I’ll pound yours.”

Butch wondered if Sarge was into leather and ball gags and which side of the equation he ran.

“LINE THE FUCK UP! LET’S MOVE, DOUCHE BAGS!”

“A little prayer first? Please? A circle? Hands? Dear Sweet Jesus, protect us from the harshness of the desert. Like you, we make our way into it for peace and cleansing, I pray you see into the hearts of these lost souls and save them and keep them safe. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

None muttered Amen with her. Eyes rolled and boots shuffled into line. The seven began their silent walk.

Unfortunately, Cheryl sang. “Don’t build your house on a sandy land, don’t build it too near the shore. Well, it might be kinda nice, but you’ll have to build it twice, so you’ll have to build your house once more. You better build your house upon a rock, make a good foundation on a solid spot, well, the storms may come and go, but the peace of God you will know. Come on you guys, we can sing it in a round. Don’t build your…”

It would be a long three days.


Camp: Episode 7

“Do I look fat to you, Reggie? I’ve been eating a lot more than normal out here, and dried cranberries have a hell of a lot of calories. Do have anything to help me not eat?” She winked at the leather clad boy.

“Fine. Fuck! You’re persistent. Annoying as fuck, but persistent.” He handed her the squeeze bottle. “There’s a metric fuck ton in there mixed with water. You should be fine with two squirts.”

She inhaled twice in each nostril and smiled. “Fuck yeah! Now we’re fucking hiking!”

“Please stay hydrated.” He called after her. “You’re welcome.” Now twenty steps ahead, she bounced past Butch. No thank you, no blow-job; those would be her last sniffs of his dwindling supply. “You owe me!” He called after her.

“WHAT TRANSPIRED BETWEEN YOU TWO, FUCK BALL?!?”

“Nothing, Sir. I gave her some water.”

“NO SHARING WITH THE WHORE! YOU WANT HERPES?”

“No, Sir. I acquired my share of syphilis from my last run in with her kind. I’m keeping it in my pants, Sir. No snacks for me.”

“IS THAT SOME KIND OF FUCKING CODE? A JOKE, FUNNY MAN?”

“Sir, no, Sir. No joking. No code.” Reggie secured his eyes to the rocky soil and walked faster. It was hot for 10am; they were in the desert.

“THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT, COCKMSMOOCH.”

“Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…” Cheryl tried to switch the focus to positivity and Jesus whenever Sarge got too rough with the language. She wanted to strike a balance for these kids. She legitimately wanted to help and she liked to sing for the Father. “…they are precious in his site. Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

“Is it a bad idea to kill her?” Beth asked Jonah laughing. He was her type. Intensely brooding and hiding some philosophical truth behind his deep brown eyes. She could definitely get into this guy. He might just be the one to fix her. He got her jokes.

“No. Everyone wants to kill the Christians. Viva la revolution!”

Beth and Jonah shared a secret smile. He could use her for the plan. Fuck her then pin the bombs blame if the terrorist note didn’t suffice. It’s always prudent to have a backup. Beth was his Plan B.

“Come on you guys! We can walk faster than this! The faster we walk, the faster we get there. Where are we going?” Crystal stood atop a hill yelling to the six following. The new burst of enthusiasm excited Cheryl. This was an open soul she could talk to. She ran ahead to meet her.

“Let’s the three of us take point for a while, huh?”

“The three?”

“You, me and Jesus makes three. When you are alone and only see one set of footprints, it’s because he’s carrying you. You are never alone.” Cheryl had a captive audience.



Camp: Episode 8

“One of the reasons you’re here is to make peace with your crimes, especially the crimes against your own bodies. Crystal, do you know what I’m talking about?” Cheryl lived for these fireside chats. The campers were usually too physically spent to resist and she loved the tears. Tears of personal remorse and cleansing fed her soul. She was doing the Lord’s work.

Crystal was crying. These were tears of remorse. She was no longer high. Her cotton head thumped. She needed water and rest. The second rate therapy wasn’t working, but she knew what would.

“What is your first childhood memory of what you wanted to be as an adult? You’re almost there, you know? Beth?”

“I’m a dancer.”

“But did you always want to be a dancer?”

“Yes.” Unrelentingly stone faced, Beth imagined Cheryl’s head on a pick-axe. Cheryl wisely moved on.

Jonah smiled. This bitch was crazy. Keeping her close was imperative to fruition of his newest plan.

“Crystal? What was your dream?” Focus changed sing-songly Jesus sweet.

“A lady of leisure or a horse trainer or an actress or a cat.”

Crystal had reoccurring dreams involving a woman on a chaise lounge morphing into a human sized gray tabby. She was deeply affected by Disney’s haunted mansion as a three year old.

Jonah hated this therapy crap. He knew what he wanted to be and why. He had always been smarter than these fucking “peers”. He needed to wait out this bullshit. Bide his time compliant. “A physicist.”

“Like you read minds? Or do the thing with the cards?” For a registered sex-offender, Butch carried the innocence of a pre-teen.

Jonah refused to acknowledge stupidity with overt verbal assault. He grinned and nodded, “No, I wanted to read palms.” Children rarely understood sarcasm.

Reggie Jr. interrupted from the shadows. “A doctor. I wanted to be a doctor. To help people. Like an ER doctor or something. You know, It’d be exciting and different everyday, and you’d get to save people. I mean really SAVE them, from death. It’s a serious trip, man. It’s a lot to think about.”

“Butch, we haven’t heard from you. Have you been thinking? Can you remember?”

“LEMME GUESS! YOU WANTED TO BE A FAGGOT!” Sarge stood and kicked through the flames, stalking off to his shelter. “THIS IS A LOAD OF SHIT! GET THE FUCKING MARSHMELLOWS OUT, CAMPFIRE GIRLS!”

“I actually DID bring marshmallows, campers. Who wants S’mores?”

They scattered into the darkness to find sticks for the late night, post therapy snack.


Camp: Episode 9

“A Disney character. You know, one of those guys that hangs out in the fluffy costumes at a theme park.”

“What?” Beth was preparing for her late night dance session in the desert while Butch cleaned smudges of chocolate and marshmallow from his cheeks. He was voracious with anything sugar.

“Tweety Bird, or Mickey Mouse, you know? I wanted to hang around kids and make them believe I was the cartoon.”

“That’s fucking creepy, Butch.”

Butch wanted to share his childhood dream with the group; he genuinely wanted and enjoyed therapy. Cheryl was a little unprofessional and generally off her sweet baby Jesus rocker, but talking about things usually made him feel better. At least it took away the persistent erection for a few minutes.

“Beth? What do you think that means?”

“That you always wanted to hide behind a huge fuzzy costume and trick unsuspecting, adoring throngs of innocent children into taking pictures and sitting on your lap? What do YOU think it means?”

“Jake” sprung to attention. He liked this sassy girl. Beth was trouble.

“Down Jakey. Later. We’ll talk later.”

“Butch? You’re fucked up.”

Beth surveyed the darkness and readied herself for the earth’s voice. Her space would call. Eyes closed she breathed night and stepped into the desert. Reaching slowly to the ground, she delicately picked up the first rock and brought it close to her eyes. She breathed again placing the pebble in her mouth, then spit it forcefully. She would clear her 9 by 9 space leaving that first pebble in the middle of the box. Beth liked ritual; there was safety in secret ritual.

Each rock cleared became part of the prison walls confining Beth with structure. Limits, structure and pain were integral to Beth’s art. The process was as important as what it created; Beth never used the same 9 by 9 square to dance. Each night she methodically created her invisible stage and completed the ritual with meditation pre-choreography. She’d have to bring a fuckload of rocks to New York if she was ever to create after this desert experience.

Cross-legged above the first rock, Beth inhaled, calming the monsters within. She lifted her chin to the moon and tried to clear away the throbbing anger and fear and past. She tried to become blank to the night and the wisdom of the earth. She wanted to erase the ugly visions within. Jonah and Cheryl kissing led to an explosion of red; she saw Jonah’s bodyless head roll open eyed by her knee. Sarge pinning Butch with his knee unbuckling pants, sharp silver flashes and rope and large rocks, Crystal thirsty with her top wrapped on her head, stumbling. Her own bloody hands reached into piles of red smearing them into 9 by 9 squares. She heard endless screams, opened her eyes and prepared to dance.

Beth was art.


Camp: Episode 10

The only power she had was never talking to him again. She couldn’t text or email or call; withholding communication was her only control. He didn’t try and contact her either, she thought of that while crying crouched in the tent. She couldn’t connect from the desert anyway, no phones, no internet, not even letters were mailed from this wretched place. She wondered if he knew she was here, if he knew she was crying, still devastated. She was out here in this horrifying nature, hovering over plastic bowls, pooping into baggies because of him. “Boys are stupid; who knows why they do what they do.” Crystal wiped her butt with baby wipes and emerged from the tent tying off the baggie. She bagged the bag in another, then another, and placed it in her pack. She’d have to carry her own triple bagged shit with her. It was some kind of camp metaphor.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Reggie, you care. I know you do. You’re a nice guy beneath that playfully distant leather thing you put on for the group. It’s a good show, but I see through it.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before reaching around his naked torso to grab the Afrin bottle from his back pocket. She sniffed once in each nostril and handed it back.

“It’s because of the Doctor *sniff* thing, right *sniff*?” He had just watched a girl poop in a bag in the desert without mind altering substances. This was a good time to be high.

She looked both ways before clutching his hand in the darkness. “We’re both good kids that got wrapped up with bad people, and there’s no way YOU were the coke connect for all of Orange County. I’m sorry, I just don’t see a criminal mastermind business guru in there.” She searched his frowning face. “You and I were framed.”

“But we’re here now.”

“Yes, that we are. I say we make the most of our time together.” She held both his hands and rose on tip-toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth. Crystal wasn’t repeating patterns. Just because he was cute and tall and leather clad and had all the drugs and she was going to fuck him, didn’t mean she was repeating. This time was different.

“How many hours of sleep do you think we need? It’s what? Fifteen miles tomorrow?” She already had him pinned to the ground and was working on the buckles of his chaps, peeling the leather down to boots.

“With your stash of hard earned energy, we should be fine. Can Baby have one more before she starts sucking on your bottle?” Although Reggie found that voice creepy, he handed Crystal the Afrin which she greedily sniffed before opening her mouth above his waiting hard cock. “You’re a good boy, Reggie, a very good boy.”

Crystal would be thankfully silent for the next twelve minutes.



Camp: Episode 11

Jonah lay silently in his coffin tent snuggled in his down sleeping bag and tried to ignore the overt slurping sounds and boy grunts six feet away. He tried to focus on his task. How would he create this bomb? How would he terrorize these dolts? He was better and smarter than these surrounding assholes and wished Beth would come in from the darkness. He imagined her at the mouth of his silk cage, blonde hair blown from the desert wind framing her face in tattered clumps. He wanted her stupid mouth attached to his cock. Certainly THAT would help him think more clearly.

He needed to make that propane tank explode, but didn’t want to flick the lighter himself. He could create a slow leak with the copper wiring and duct tape, but needed someone on the lighter. Hopefully the flame would suck back into the tank exploding the backpack, letting loose a storm of shrapnel and rocks on the idiots. He dreamed of Crystal losing an eye. He was sure she’d be blinded by Reggie’s cum in a few seconds anyway.

“Oh, my god. Fuck. That’s fucking it. Shit. Don’t stop. I’m... I’m…” Next door escalated into pleasured groans then silence. Jonah was not jealous. He didn’t get jealous, especially over coke whore blow jobs. He heard more sniffing and unzipping and refused to touch himself. He would not be turned on by the sexual maneuverings of his lessers. It was beneath him.

“LISTEN UP YOU LITTLE CUNT-RAGS!” Sarge emerged from his tent for a last round of degradation before sending the campers to sleep. “YOU BETTER BE IN YOUR OWN GOD-DAMNED TENTS IN 30 SECONDS! YOU FUCK-KNUCKLES, HEAR ME? BETH!?! GET YOUR DANCING ASS OUT OF THE WILDERNESS! FAGGOT! TAKE YOUR HAND OFF YOUR PECKER!”

Butch poked his head out his tent. Calling to no one in particular, “How the hell did he know?”

“Really? You wonder?” A few voices called from the darkness among chuckles and the first laughter heard in days.

“YES, FAGGOT! WE’RE ALL LAUGHING AT YOU AND YOUR TINY DICK!”

Butch was abnormally endowed and learning to ignore the homophobic screamings of the mad man. He decided that Sarge was gay; this new fact thankfully helped him lose his erection.

“I think he doth protest too much.” Beth appeared from the blackness sweaty and spent.

“What?”

“Why are all the good looking ones so stupid? Shakespeare. I think Sarge might be…”

“INTO YOUR TENT POLE DANCER!”

Grey dust caked her bare feet and calves; Beth slashed demons this dancing round. Her body covered with emotional scars, she breathed hard trying to introduce herself back to normalcy, as normal as things could be in the middle of desert night time with four other criminals, a closeted abusive leader and religious zealot.

From the opening of his tent, Jonah watched her chest’s silhouette rise and deflate; her arms hung limply and chin raised defiant to all. He wanted to reach rubber arms and capture her, dragging her into his tent. She would try to over power him with her strong dancer thighs, but eventually submit as he drove his tongue into her mouth and eventually between her developed legs. He would cover her mouth with his hand, muffling her sweet screams of what he assumed was pleasure. Beth might bite fingers; she was an animal.

“I see you staring. I’ve only a few seconds now. We’ll play this game later.” She slapped her ass and winked at Jonah. He was certainly not her type, but the desert made her desperate. That, and the vision of his head rolling among the rocks and brush as she sat powerless to the horrific chaos. She wasn’t sure if her onslaught of new visions came from her disturbed past or the not to distant future. Maybe Mother Earth was contacting her. Maybe she was receiving messages. Maybe she wasn’t crazy.

“I’LL SEE YOU FUCK-TWATS AT SUNRISE! FIFTEEN MILE MORNING!”

“Goodnight Jon-boy.”

Soft snickers floated through the camp. Beth almost felt normal.



Camp: Episode 12

The sun grew hotter overhead. It was almost time to hike.

“FIFTEEN MILES TO FREEDOM, FUCK-BALLS! FUCK THAT! THERE IS NO FREEDOM! THIS IS MY JAIL! I OWN YOU! WAKE UP!” Sarge banged on something metal, and worked his way through the tents. Messy haired heads poked into the light and preparations for departure began. Tents needed dismantling, poop bags storing, sleeping bags rolled, teeth brushed.

Breakfast consisted of water and protein bars. They didn’t even have chocolate chips. Dry and tasteless, they reminded Crystal of her meals in jail. “You know, in jail we had milk with every meal. Breakfast was an old orange, milk, raisin bran without raisins and a freaky muffin thing. It kicked ASS over this.”

“Whoa, what county and state were you in? Maybe they treat the ladies different, but an orange? I thought I’d get fucking scurvy. How many times you been in jail?” Butch asked through gummied protein teeth.

“Ummmm, let’s see. You want to know the charges?” Heads nodded excitedly. Everyone wanted to know each other’s crimes. Crystal counted them on her fingers. “Prostitution, armed robbery, DUI, intent to sell, accessory to murder, prostitution, prostitution, public intoxication, robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, assault. Eleven. I’m telling you, this place is WAY worse than jail.”

“At least in jail you get TV, right?” Cheryl leaped into the conversation hoping for a bonding therapy moment.

“Warbled, blurry WB blaring at 2 a.m. is not always considered ‘good’, but yeah, I sorta got into ‘Smallville’.”

“What was all that robbery about?” Reggie appeared with canteen and bar to the group. He looked relaxed and actually smiled genuine. He had a good night’s rest.

“I got tangled with a guy who pimped me out for all kinds of stuff. One time he sent me with some gangsters; they handed me an AK-47 and pushed me into a bank. I was pretty high. I thought it was a water gun. I started crying when bullets hit the ceiling.”

“And the assault?” Cheryl looked nervous. She’d never thought of Crystal as dangerous to others, only to herself. She watched her back with Beth and Butch, but now she would steer to the side of safety around Crystal as well.

“The guy I lived with was a real asshole. I mean, Dexter sold me for drugs and money and to clear his debt. He was cheating on me with another one of his girls, and I tried to leave him. He called me back into the house and acted all sweet. I believed him until he punched me in the face and threw my crap into the street. So I broke a window and climbed in, that’s where I got this.” She lifted her shirt to show a jagged 12 inch scar running across her ribs. “I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and tried to kill him. We were all on drugs, you know.”

“Have you prayed to Jesus for forgiveness? Most of those are felonies.”

“No, no praying, but I am a minor, so… I don’t know. I need to get a new lawyer or something. I’m not really worried about it. I’m away from the asshole who dragged me into most of this, so…”

Crystal drifted off then stared at Reggie. She wanted more coke to forget. That’s the thing about coke, it makes everything ok for 30 or so minutes. Her time was up.



Camp: Episode 13

Beth stared and the back of Jonah’s twiggy but well muscled legs following them up to the second best ass she’d ever seen; the first, of course, being her own.

“Did you put sunscreen on the back of your knees? They’re looking pinkish.”

“Baby pink or bacon pink?” he yelled over his shoulder refusing eye contact.

“Cooked or raw?” She didn’t remember telling him the bacon story from her first camp. She was sure he wasn’t digging at her; she would not over-react.

“Baby?”

“No, Bacon. They’re definitely not cooked bacon, that’s more redish.”

“I hope they’re not cooked baby, that’s more brownish, I’d say.”

“Oh, so you’re a killer and eater of children?”

“Naw, I’m more of a culinary wizard with the succulent flesh of youth. I like knives.”

“Ahhhh, I finally know why you’re here. Psychotic baby killer, that’s disturbingly hot.” Beth liked this twisted witty banter. She liked his distant confidence. She liked him.

They hiked on in silence until Beth initiated contact again, “Why are you here, Jonah?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. He really didn’t belong here, among the miscreants and thieves. He knew Beth was a potential killer too; she claimed victim of happenstance, but Jonah knew what it was like to want to hurt someone. He saw that twisted truth behind Beth’s translucent skin. It pulsed there, viscous and bloody, seeking victim. He hoped she would kill Sarge. He didn’t want to take her out with Cheryl, but he needed to use her for the bomb. It was unfortunate; Beth had a nice ass.

Beth breathed in sharply. He had somehow aroused her. “No one’s ever looked at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me alive.”

His dark eyes sparkled and remained intensely connected to hers. “Very good then.”

“Are you going to answer my question?” On a scale from one to persistent, Beth was a Pomeranian. She bit at ankles until you had to acknowledge her existence. If he didn’t tell her now, she’d yip and bounce and bite until he was forced to kick her darling fluffy posterior. He didn’t want to hurt Beth, at least, not in the traditional sense. “Really, Jonah, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. I heard rumor about some smarty-pants internet scheme, but I barely believe THAT’S why you’re here. I think it’s something deeply more… disturbing.”

Beth wanted it to be disturbing. It added to her fantasy. She wanted to believe that there was something depraved and secret behind the intensity of his stare. She wanted him to have a disgustingly horrifying hidden past; she wanted to be the only one to know. She wanted an intimate connection. She wanted a soul-mate. She was building him a pedestal of dead lizards and trail boulders and decapitated heads bathed in fountains of blood. She would revere him as a god.

“I understand. I won’t ask any more. Tell me if you want, someday.”

They walked on in the buzzing oppression of the afternoon’s heat. Lizard carcass littered the side of the trail, little skin covered skeletons with open mouths on their backs or one leg lifted, as if the sun sent lightning to scorch. Instant death; their grimaced rigor mummified by dust and heat. Jonah didn’t mind dead things, but he certainly didn’t seek them out. He tried to drink more, but the heated flat water refused to quench. He could die out here. They all could.



Camp: Episode 14

Crystal needed brain surgery. She wished she could cut him out of her mind like a cancer. Trust a doctor to wind the pain out of the twisted ropes of pink. She thought she saw him everywhere: behind boulders, in empty tents, inside her back pack. She could not escape his memory. Spending time with Reggie helped, but she missed Dexter with the desperation of a thousand thirsty lizards scrounging the desert for anything green or alive. His memory was killing her.

“CRYSTAL METH, KEEP UP! YOU NEED TO STAY WITH THE FUCKING GROUP!” Sarge must have been worried. He didn’t call her “cock sucker” or “coke whore” or even “whiney bitch”. He used her name.

Crystal was lagging behind; they were at least 100 paces in front, and nothing but scorched earth and footprints followed. She could just disappear with her water and let herself slowly wither and die in the desperate wilderness. She would pass out from heat exhaustion and hallucinate and hopefully get eaten by snakes or coyotes or whatever monsters lived in the Arizona desert.

Crystal trudged and watched the group slip farther away. They were specks of black on the horizon now; she couldn’t make out specific colors, not even the bright fuchsia of Cheryl’s puffy painted cross emblazoned shirt. She was alone in the desert, but not afraid. She would keep walking, ignoring the ringing and buzzing. She was inside a cymbal, vibrating and trembling with the aftershock of sound. There was something ahead.

She thought she caught a glimpse of his bag, the blue duffle with white handles, the one he always carried his stash in. “They’re not looking for me”, he would say with confidence, “no one’s ever looking for the clean cut student with sport’s bag. I got my running shoes in here, officer. No, no sir, no drugs.” Was he in their group now? Was he hiking with the interned? She testified at his court hearing, but wasn’t privy to the verdict. He was thinking about her; she knew it.

She tried to keep walking, but her feet were so puffy and tired, and her head thumped with the beat of a thousand drums. She saw bongos and snares and the whole band marching so loud with colorful red suits and gold tassels. They were following her too, with him at the lead, holding a huge baton and blue bag. “Dexter, how did they make you wear that silly hat? I could never get you to do anything. Can I have some of what’s in the bag?” Crystal fell to her knees. She couldn’t afford to cry; her body refused to release the water.

“Why didn’t you love me, Dexter? How was I not enough? What did I do wrong? I swear, this time I’ll fix it. I won’t complain. You can do anything you want to me; I’ll do anything to have you back!” She sobbed and screamed lightly, but no tears sprung from her reddened face. Crystal weakly threw rocks at the band members and collapsed.

“Has anyone seen Crystal?” Reggie was frantic at the afternoon water rest. He scanned the empty desert for any sign. “Does anyone have binoculars? Who was the last person to see her? We have to go back and look! Christ! Don’t you care?” The group was spent. Heads on hands on knees, they gasped and drank water. Thick parched tongues refused to work.

“She’s right behind us. Give her a few minutes. Let’s pray.”

“FUCK PRAYER! We need to go back!!!” Reggie was becoming hysterical. He scanned the heat waved skyline finding nothing in the melty tendrils of desert floor.

“CHRIST! A GIRL SUCKS YOUR DICK ANY YOU’RE SUDDENLY HERO-BOY? WE GIVE HER FIVE MINUTES, THEN GO BACK.”

Reggie spat words through clenched teeth, “Not hero, human.”



Camp: Episode 15

She always wanted to be a cat, to lounge couch bound all day. Her biggest decision would be her position. Stretched out for petting or balled up for sleep, big, important cat decisions would plague her. She wouldn’t have to think about jail or Dexter or having sex for money or wishing she was dead or where her next line was coming from. She could sleep.

Crystal stretched out now, arms and legs open to the sun, comforted by warm rocks pressed to her cheek. She felt blisters forming on her lips and eyelids, but didn’t care. She was done. They weren’t coming back. She accepted death months ago. This part was easy; all she had to do was wait. It was coming for her, hopefully soon.

Faces of past filtered across the back of her reddened lids. Her mother trying to love her and tell her she was special; it was never enough. Kind words and compliments never sufficed. She was empty even then. Dexter in the beginning, smiling, touching her face lightly, telling her she was beautiful, saying not to worry, to think of their future, that he’d always be there for her. She loved the memory of beginning. She sifted the stones smooth in a gold miner pan like she did at Sutter’s Fort in fifth grade. She chose the pieces of beauty and rolled them in her fingers before placing them in her special velveteen bag. She held the false memory tight. He loved her; Dexter never said it, but he did. He loved to fuck her, she knew that, and for now, that memory alone was enough.

She would wither in the wilderness with thoughts of him; she imagined he still thought of her and wanted to make it right. He wasn’t just her pimp, he was her first real love. She remembered brushing her teeth behind him in the bathroom mirror rather than the gang rape he sold her into. She refused to remember the forced robbery and blow jobs for friends when they were high. “Fuck yeah, Crystal’s great. You want a try? I’ll trade her mouth for that line.” She wasn’t remembering this. Tears refused to stain the rocks. She needed the pain to end.

They weren’t coming. They probably hadn’t noticed yet, anyway. Maybe Reggie did. Maybe Sarge remembered her lagging behind, but didn’t care. Self-pity always made her feel more alive, but she couldn’t reach her canteen now, and it was coming fast. She would be swallowed by the desert and disappear. It didn’t matter now; Crystal gave up.

“No, really. She could be dead by now.” Reggie desperately tried to rouse the group.

“Why would you think that? We’ve all had the same amount of water. Jesus will take care of her.”

“She could have a heart attack. She wasn’t drinking enough water.”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD SHE HAVE A HEART ATTACK, FUCK-TWAT?”

“I don’t know, stress, sun, physical over-exertion, dehydration…”

“DEHYDRATION AND? DEHYDRATION AND? COKE? YOU WERE GIVING HER COKE?”

“Sir, no Sir, but she might have had her own. She might have found a way to find it.”

“IN THE FUCKING DESERT? UNLIKELY ASSHOLE! START BLAMING YOUSELF NOW IF SHE DIES. THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” Reggie cringed as Sarge towered over him. It was the first time he felt like a child since one of his dad’s parties when he was twelve. He feared Sarge’s beefy fist connecting with his jaw.

“Can we try and find her now, please?” Reggie was begging now and on the verge of tears.

“STAY TOGETHER! BE VERY, VERY QUIET. WE’RE GOING ON A WHORE HUNT!”

Jonah stood defiant; this was not a part of his master plan. He wanted them all to die by his hand, not god’s. On a scale from one to suck, Crystal’s little breakdown was Milli Vanilli. He would reformulate plans after seeing her dead body. This could be used to advantage. Everything was his advantage.





Camp: Episode 16

Beth didn’t understand what was going on, not really. Crystal had disappeared, she knew that, but the seriousness of her desert visions hadn’t sunk in. She’d seen Crystal wandering confused in the desert, but didn’t attribute her earth mother visions to reality, not then. She certainly would now.

“Hey, Butch. Walk with me.”

He tottered over with English Setter happy face. Butch was simple, almost innocent. Beth understood his motives and held no fear of the sex offender. Cheryl continually warned of his predatory nature, but Beth refused to believe. She had no negative visions concerning him and needed a confidant; Butch wasn’t a bad guy, but then again, neither was she.

“Yeah”, breathing heavily, “what can I help you with, Beautiful?” He was quite darling when he smiled; he had a boner.

“Put that thing away. I have to work some things out and need to talk. Can you listen?”

“If you’re talking to me, you’re talking to Jake.” His eyes wandered distant for a moment, “I thinking of changing his name, something less human, more plastic. What do you think about ‘Sword of Seduction’?” He was serious, simple, but serious.

Beth chuckled lightly, “This is about me, not about your sword.”

“Of seduction. Sword of Seduction.” He jokingly brushed shoulders, maintaining stiffness. He refused to reach crotchward for adjustment.

“I’m going to tell you a secret.”

“Is this a girl thing? Are you having your period?” Butch always wanted to have sex with a girl on her period. He imagined slick blood bathing Jake (no, no the Sword of Seduction) and soaking into his stomach. He saw Beth bucking wildly atop him. He knew she’d be wild, swinging her long blonde hair recklessly; she might even slap him or force him to pull her hair or bite his lip. He hoped she was a biter; he wanted to bleed. He wanted Beth to hurt him. Butch needed to be hurt.

“Hellooooooo? Butch? Focus on me.” She snapped twice in his glazed face.

“I am. I am thinking of you.” He stopped walking. On a scale from one to creepy, Butch was a mustache.

“Ooohhhh, I see.” Beth liked to be the subject of fantasy, but she preferred them to be in Jonah’s head; he was safer. “Focus on ME now. Me here. Not me in your sick little fantasy blender upstairs.”
Butch shook back to reality. He pushed away the bloody blender slurry of sex and nailed his eyes to Beth’s face. She was very pretty.

“Oh, there you are. Hi Butch. Listen.” She told him of her visions pre desert dance. She held nothing back. He shuddered as she described Jonah’s decapitated head by her knee; he believed.

“So you knew about Crystal? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Right, like who am I going to tell? ‘Hey Sarge, I had a vision in the desert night. I think the Earth is speaking to me.’ Or ‘Gee Cheryl, Satan speaks to me before I dance. I think you’re going to die in an explosion.’ THAT would go over awesome, yes?”

“You’re hot.” He was having trouble breathing and glanced again at his enormous erection.

“Thanks, Dear. I’m glad you understand the subtleties of sarcasm.”

“What are we going to do?” Butch definitely wanted to be on the team of the psychic. At least she had no visions of him. “Can you have visions of me tonight before you dance? Ask about Jake’s new name. Ask about my Sword of Seduction.”

“Let’s keep to the important stuff shall we? Death, chaos, bombs, decapitation?” Beth underestimated the importance of Butch’s dick, and patted his head like a kind animal trainer before slapping his face playfully, but hard.

He smiled and skipped ahead into the desert.

Camp: Episode 17

Cheryl loved Jesus more than the average bear. She envied Catholic nuns getting married to the Savior, but they weren’t born again. Unfortunately, all Catholics would be going to Hell with these misguided children. All the Hail Mary’s in the world couldn’t save them. It was sad, really. She saw Satan’s red bifurcated tail and hayfork on his throne of human skulls flanked by Buddhists and Muslims and Catholics and abortion doctors; she couldn’t save them all, but she could try with this group. She only needed one to feel complete; the rest could burn.

“I am a C. I am a C- H. I am a C- H- R-I-S-T-I-A-N. And I have C-H-R-I-S-T in my H-E-A-R-T and I will L-I-V-E E-T-E-R-N-A-L-L-Y. I am a C...” She continued on louder, trying to rouse the hikers into her favorite Christian tune. She would get in their heads by any means necessary, and this was a catchy tune. The first graders in her Vacation Bible School loved that song.

Jonah cringed and walked faster. He had to get away from the song, but it wafted pervasively in the desert heat; he would kill her to stop it, but needed to assess the Crystal situation before letting loose his plans for destruction. “I want to K. I want to K-I. I want to K-I-L-L C-H-E-R-Y-L. And I have H-A-T-E in my H-E-A-R-T and I will D-E-S-T-R-O-Y your F-A-C-E. I want to K…” This jaunty little tune with his new lyrics was minimally satisfying; it would be enough for now.

“Wow. You seem happier than I’ve ever seen.” Beth ran up, breathless.

“More maniacal than happy, you can tell by my dangerous grin.” Jonah did grin disturbingly. With his front teeth pressed together and lips curled menacingly, he looked wild eyed and unpredictable. Beth liked this new madness. She wanted to kiss him.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” He asked non-chalantly as if he was inquiring the time or asking if she liked Coldplay.

“No. I have it on good authority that she’s already dead.”

“You been talking to Cheryl or Jesus?”

“Neither. I just know. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

“Good luck on that, Sweet Cheeks.” She liked his winking; it made her feel like they had secrets. She wanted more secrets with Jonah. “Why don’t you toddle on ahead there so I can get a good view of your tushy?” Beth smiled and sauntered ahead giving her hips an extra sway.

Butch ground teeth. “Jonah that’s MY tushy.”

“Sure thing, Chief.” He mentally swatted Butch away. Although physically inferior to the large predator, Jonah held no fear. He could easily dispose of Butch and the rest of these simpletons. Even Sarge didn’t shake him. No one ever expected physical dominance from the smart guy. Jonah flew well under the radar.

On a scale from one to crazy, Jonah was a cat lady.

“WHO’S ASS ARE YOU AFTER NOW, BUTT-BOY?”

“S…s…sir, no ass, Sir.” Butch stopped, lowered his head and shook lightly.

Jonah confidently strode between the two. “I believe he wants Beth’s ass, Sir. I think he’s forcing a love triangle of sorts, but she’s definitely more into brains than…”

“CONSTANTLY HARD COCK? THAN FAGGOT BUTT PIRATES? THAN WHAT, SMARTY-PANTS?”

Sarge viciously pushed Jonah and kicked Butch in the chest forcing him to the hot ground. Wedging his thick boot between ribs and sand, he flipped Butch’s ass skyward and planted a foot in the small of his back. Butch wriggled arms and legs helplessly; he shrieked girl-like into the dust as Sarge rubbed his hand outlining his growing cock through camouflage pants. His thick fingers rested on the silver belt buckle reflecting the harsh sun before slowly tracing down his zipper. He pushed more weight onto Butch’s back and quickly snapped open the belt and zipper. His knee crushed into the 17 year old boy as he yanked pants and wrestled underwear to reveal whitened skin; Butch whimpered.

Beth screamed as her vision mirrored reality.


Camp: Episode 18

Bill “Butt-Boy” Briggs died under the “don’t ask, don’t tell” military policies of the late 90’s and rebirthed as Sarge the homophobic dictator of “Desert Awakenings”. He was an excellent drill sergeant, until the armed forces found his extracurricular drilling morally abhorrent. Bill lost everything: job, wife, friends, home, dog, kitchen aide, dignity. His pants stayed on seven years, until Butch.

Something about Butch triggered the long forgotten past and his round soft butt now rested against Sarge’s stomach as he pressed deeply into the boy. Sarge seemed to ignore the bulging eyes of Jonah and Beth and Cheryl; he shut out their screams as he spewed dominance over the group.

Cheryl was appalled. This couldn’t be happening. It was Sodom and Gomorrah in the desert; Sarge would have to be punished. She felt the eyes of God scolding and judging the depraved crannies of her brain; Cheryl couldn’t look away. She finally fell to knees with bowed head and muttered, “Dear God, please send strength to fight off this oppressive demon in our midst. Dear precious Savior, come thwart our affliction and save this boy from the evils of gayness. Dear sweet Jesus…”

“Christ! Jonah! Do something! Help me!” Beth was running at Sarge with fist and rock; her tiny dancer frame swatted easily earthbound. Lip cut, her futile efforts to rise and re-attack were interrupted by Jonah’s vicious leap into Sarge’s kidney. Beth saw the silver flash of knife and sun and knew Sarge would die. Jonah sunk blade to flesh with stunning efficiency, sliding it into his back more than enough times to render his injuries fatal. Even if he did survive, infection would set soon; Sarge slumped atop Butch, still painfully connected.

“Praise the Lord!” Cheryl fell to her knees in front of Jonah and tried to press palms to his ankles. He slithered away from her hands and stumbled backwards smearing red across Beth’s arm. Indistingishable voices screamed oppressing all thought. Butch remained trapped beneath Sarge’s twitching body.

“Help. Please help me.” Butch’s kitten voice mewed helpless.

Reggie yanked the almost corpse off him. Butch slowly pulled up his pants and retreated fetal. Beth sat in front of him and lightly offered her hand to his cheek; they both cried as she silently stroked his hair.

“What do we do now, Cheryl?” Sarge was the map reader and compass master; he was the leader. Jonah didn’t trust Cheryl to lead, nor did he trust her interpretation of the transpired events. He didn’t like the intimacy currently being shared between Beth and Butch. Beth belonged to him.

Cheryl held herself tightly and rocked for comfort. She muttered prayers and screamed “JESUS!” every few seconds. She was not fit to lead; she was not fit to live.

“We could die out here.” Jonah still held the bloody knife and towered over the group. His maniacal eyes darted uncontrollably as he smeared his hands across his forehead matting his dark hair wet; it shimmered disturbing clumps of death.

“Jonah. Jonah.” Cheryl panted vaguely sexual with eyes attached to his tense body, “You saved us. You were sent from the Heavenly Father. He gave you the strength to save us.” Tears rolled into her open lips mixing with dried spittle at the corners. Her braces glinted rapture as she slowly rose to embrace her savior.

Reggie and Beth attended to the still sobbing Butch. “It’s going to be ok, Butch.” Beth’s voice carried angelic through the awful air, “Everything is going to be ok.”

“No, No it’s not. We’re all going to die out here. Don’t you see? Haven’t you seen? We’ll never make it out alive.” The offended sex offender suddenly vomited, leapt to his feet and ran at Jonah grabbing the dark knife. He didn’t cry or whimper or cower when it sliced his hand opening a mouth of screaming blood. He didn’t hesitate plunging the knife first into his stomach ripping and twisting wildly then into his neck, slashing veins and arteries. He smiled at Beth as he fell to the Earth eyes glazing with death. Blood burbled from his open neck as he tried to mouth words, “We’re all dead.”

Butch’s intestines spilled from a wide gash; Beth wanted to touch them. She wanted his sacrifice to mean something.

“Beth? Beth? Is this really happening?” Reggie’s thin voice cracked.

Beth silently drew tiny squares of skin with fingernails through the quickly drying crimson bathing her arm. “It’s the four of us now. We should move now. We have to leave this.”

Four wandered west into the desperate desert day. Cheryl muttered prayers and hung close to Jonah.

Camp Episode 19

Cheryl never had a real boyfriend. She often imagined Jesus as her soul mate, trying to find men that emulated the Savior. They never compared, until now.

Jonah walked with grace and power. She imagined him floating atop the sand like water; he could turn their canteens to wine; he would rise above this death and ascend into the heavens. He would take her with him to Jesus; Jonah was Jesus. She stared uncomfortably at his young body. She wanted to hold him close to her. She wanted to rip through his clothes and touch his heavily breathing chest. Even bathed in blood, he was beautiful.

Beth couldn’t stop looking back to the bodies. Butch and Sarge lay crumpled in the beating sun. She turned every few steps to gaze at the lumps in the distance. Reggie forged on ahead scanning for the still missing Crystal; he needed to find her.

“You’ll turn into a pillar of salt, Beth. Don’t look back. We’re going to survive. Jesus has given us Jonah. I always knew he was special. He’s going to save us.” Her voice floated ethereal; she was in love.

Jonah ground teeth and seethed, “Stop. Saying. Words. Cheryl. I’m thinking.”

“Of course. Of course. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She babbled and flitted too close to him. If he was going to kill her, he needed to do it soon. She was more than annoying now, and she looked like she was going to kiss him. Her feathered hair disgusted him. Her voice ground into his brain with sharp needles.

“God damn you, Cheryl. Shut up!”

“I forgive you, Jonah. Jesus and I forgive you.”

Reggie motioned Beth to hang back. They let Jonah and his puppy take the lead. “We’re going to die, you know.”

“I know.” Beth solemnly answered. “I know THEY’RE going to die.”

“Us too.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Beth shared her vision with Reggie. She described Jonah’s head detached from his body with vivid detail. She described her night time dance ritual and voices from the earth. “I knew about Crystal and Sarge and Butch. I saw them too, but I didn’t see us. We might live.”

“You still want to?” He searched her eyes for hope. He couldn’t survive alone.

“Live? Yeah, I guess so. I’m not ready to submit like Butch. I don’t give up.”
“After that, wouldn’t you?” Reggie exhaled slumping shoulders. Watching what happened to Butch was traumatic enough; he couldn’t imagine what that would do to him. When he made it back, he’d voluntarily talk to every shrink in Orange County. He’d take any prescription to wipe away this horrific reality. He wanted these memories to float away on waves of Xanax or Vallium or Oxycontin or lithium. He wanted his brain surgically removed for washing. He saw the doctor use a chamois to sponge off memory before placing it back in his skull and stitching up the skin. Crystal was most likely dead, and it was his fault. He shouldn’t have given her the coke. He shouldn’t have let her suck his cock. He shouldn’t have taken the fall for his dad. He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

He pulled the bottle of watery coke from his back pocket and sniffed; it was horrifyingly empty. He couldn’t survive these flooding regrets without it. Reggie started to cry.

“It’s going to be ok. We’re not going to die.” Reassuring Reggie made Beth believe. “Hey, Jonah! How do you know we’re heading in the right direction? Which way was camp?”

“He knows what he’s doing. Don’t question, Beth. Have faith.” Cheryl beamed at Jonah; she found a new God.

“Jonah, we’re not following our old footprints. How do you know this is right?” Beth continued, “Are we not looking for Crystal? Are we not going back?”

Cheryl turned and sharply slapped Beth across the cheek. Bright red finger outlines temporarily scarred her skin. Beth refused to touch her face and glared at Cheryl. She walked slowly past her, grabbed Jonah by the back of the head and forced her tongue deep into his willing mouth. He tasted of blood and death. She felt his hard cock just above her tummy and his hands reaching to cup her ass.

Cheryl sucked air through metal teeth. This wasn’t happening. Jonah was her savior, her prize, her boy. She stood astounded as he wriggled and pressed tightly against Beth, his hands seeking under her shirt and into her pants. This was her first introduction to jealousy. She wanted to hurt Beth.

She wanted blood on her hands and her hands on Jonah.

Camp Episode 20

This turn of events was unexpected. This was not part of Jonah’s plan. He definitely wanted to fuck Beth. He’d wanted to for days, but not in front of Reggie and Cheryl. He was hoping to hold her down under the cover of darkness, tying her up to rocks, pinning her helplessly stretched body with his. Tacking her to the ground, his dick deep inside, she would writhe and scream for escape. She wasn’t willing in his fantasy. This was better, surprisingly, he liked to submit.

Beth disengaged breathlessly and stared defiant at Cheryl. “WHAT!?! Hmmm? What would Jesus do?” Her chin lifted and bobbed and arms opened victorious with the confidence of thirty large black women. “Were you going to do that? You gonna fuck the 17 year old evil genius, Jesus Freak?”

“I would… I would NEVER! How… how could you think that? Satan clearly has hold of you.”

“Please. You’re ready to slather him with BBQ sauce and grill on the Lake of Fire. Suckle those baby back ribs, Bible Bitch. Oooh. Adam…. Give me your bone.” Beth was mocking full force now. She held nothing back. Cheryl had no response. Silence settled over the four.

“Fuck you all, let’s walk.” Beth was the unexpected leader now. She seemed confident with her new control. Jonah didn’t know how to respond, but he knew he would fuck Beth before she died, before he killed her.

“Jonah?”

“No.” He refused to look at Cheryl. She did want something from him. He couldn’t describe the feeling of being watched, but he knew her eyes rested creepily upon him. He held no desire for the ageing zealot and every utterance from her disgusting mouth made him angrier. He wouldn’t be able to let her blow him. Even with eyes closed, he’d see her glinting teeth behind tight lips; her feathered hair bobbing up and back across his cock.

Jonah vomited.

“Dude, you shouldn’t be sacrificing that water. Hold it in.” Reggie would make a good doctor. He even cared about the crazies.

“Fuck you.” He whispered through dripping spit ribbons. Cheryl quickly knelt to lay hands on his head which Jonah violently slapped off; Beth continued forward, refusing to turn to the retching.

“Man, you need to replace that water. How much is left in your canteen?” Reggie replaced Cheryl next to Jonah’s crumpled form. On hands and knees, he heaved forward expelling nothing. Frazzled, thick, black hair stood at odd angles, his shoulders lurched again before resting back on haunches. Gruff, unintelligible sounds barked back to Reggie, “Lluff. Meh. Ahlun. Lleef. Mehh. Ahhluun.”

“Beth! Hold up! We gotta situation.”

She paused ahead, hands on hips but maintained eyes forward. “What now?”

“How much water you got? I think we might have a crisis.”

“Really? You think? Crisis?” She stalked back to Jonah now curled fetal on the hard hot earth. She leaned down to hear his breathy repetition, “Lleeff. Mi. Ahloghn. Lleef…”

“I think he wants us to leave him alone.”

“If we leave him; he dies.” Reggie knew there was no skirting the facts. Crystal was most likely dead, and he couldn’t carry Jonah back to camp. They were almost out of water. “We could try to camp here and walk at night? He has to walk himself, though. If he can’t be up by sundown, we leave.”

Cheryl gasped, “You heartless Heathen! I won’t leave him.”

“Fine. That’s great. You can die together. Beth and I will make it out of this lizardfuck desert ourselves. We’ll send help, but you’ll be dead.”

Cheryl curled up next to the weakened Jonah. Powerless to her presence, she removed her shirt and held it above him creating shade over his face. “Dear Sweet Jesus, protect us from….”.


Camp Episode 21

Beth and Reggie huddled and whispered away from the sleeping Jonah and doting Cheryl. She still shaded him from the intense sun and sang quiet Jesus tunes softly cradling his head. He weakly twisted unconscious.

“Do you think we should sneak away?”

“Just leave them?” Reggie countered incredulous.

“I’m telling you. I saw them. They’re going to die anyway; I don’t think I can see it again. I don’t want to be here when the bomb goes off. I don’t want to see another headless corpse. Is that ok with you?”

“Yeah. You’re right. We leave them.” Reggie disengaged from his heart. He couldn’t save them. He might not be able to save himself. The desert was killing them; they were almost out of water.

“I almost feel sorry for us. We were never supposed to be here.”

“I thought you were in for attempted murder, Beth.”

“Sure, but I mean, those creeps were the same as Sarge. If we live, we could get pinned for that, you know?”

“I’ve had crimes pinned. I’m just a coke-head kid, not a criminal mastermind.” Reggie was silent longer than Beth expected. She didn’t know how to respond to his confession and continued staring at the horizon trying not to see the disemboweled Butch in her head. “If we make it out, my dad will sue the shit out of this camp. We’ll own Arizona by the time he’s done.”

“When.”

“When what?”

“When we make it out, not if. We can do this. We have to leave them, but I swear, they’re dead anyway. She knows it. I can’t be around when she falls apart.” Beth tried not to cry, but the tears rolled to her mouth.

“Drink those tears Beth. Don’t let them fall.”

They swiveled heads to Cheryl. She dropped the make-shift -shirt -shade but continued her singing and running soothing fingers through matted black hair. She reached to her bra and unclasped the front, allowing her too old freckled breasts to flop sideways before snuggling herself into Jonah’s back. She gently pushed him over and straddled his hips, trapping him pony-like with hands pressing shoulder blades into earth. She began to writhe and rub and buck atop his helpless body pressing her clit into his bones and moaning softly at first but grinding harder and harder against him, until he woke up, mortified.

Weakened by dehydration, Jonah could not traditionally fight back. Cheryl covered his mouth with hers as he struggled for air and freedom. Her flapping, deflated, tiny triangles with darkened nipples rocked back and forth. “This wasn’t part of my vision.” Beth couldn’t tear her eyes away from the disgusting destruction, “It was nothing like this.” She shook her head and backed up slowly with Reggie. Cheryl wouldn’t notice their disappearance until after the explosion.

They tried not to watch her unbuckle pants as they moved quickly from the scene.

They heard it in the distance and saw a flash of bright, then smoke. They assumed the worst, but were free. Free to wander in the desert with less than one canteen of water and a few granola snacks.

Beth began to breathe fast and chopped, “Reggie? I’m going to ask you if we’re going to be ok and you’re going to say yes. Ok? Are we…”

“Yes”, he stopped, grabbed her shoulders, and stared into her eyes, “We’re going to be ok.”

He grabbed her hand; they walked into the desert darkness.



Seven Disappear in Desert
AP- Yuma, Arizona

Local authorities continue searching for seven lost in the Arizona desert last Tuesday. Five campers under 18 and two counselors from the “Desert Awakenings” program never returned to base camp after a routine three day hike. Officials say the camp’s organizers didn’t realize the group was off course and dangerously under prepared for the trip. They began searching 12 hours after they didn’t return as scheduled. Camp owners say the two leaders were highly respected members of the “Desert Awakenings” team with a combined 14 years in service for the organization that claims to “help wake kids up from the danger of life.” Sergeant Bill Briggs, a decorated Special Operations Marine, and his partner Cheryl Nugent were “two of our best counselors out there. They really care about the kids” claims owner Jeffery Cutler.

Parents of the five lost children still hold hope that they might return or be found, but 24 hours after the realization that they were missing, authorities still have not recovered any bodies from the unusually hot desert. “It’s about 10 degrees hotter out there than it was this time last year. I didn’t think they took enough water, but Sarge had a way of doing things that you just didn’t dispute” said one female camper. “Sure, they used fear tactics, but we’re all criminals.”

Volunteers have fanned out into the desert looking for any sign of the lost camp group. So far, an empty Afrin bottle is the only remnant found. Families are trying to remain positive, but experts say dehydration and lack of experience in the wilderness can lead to death. “My Beth is a delicate flower,” claims one mother, “she doesn’t belong in the desert.”