_ | \ | \ | | \ __ | |\ \ __ _____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________ | ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ | | | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | | | | /________/ | | / / /________/ | | | | | | / / | | | | | |/ / | | | | | | / | | | | | / | | | | |_/ | | | | | | | | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | | | |________________________________________________________________| | |____________________________________________________________________| ...presents... Milk and Blood by Lady Carolin __//////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\__ Est. 1984 \\\\\\/ cDc paramedia: text #335-08/01/1997 \////// Est. 1984 __ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ __ |__heal_the_sick__raise_the_dead__cleanse_the_lepers__cast_out_demons__| My lover moans as I brush up against her. From behind, I caress her flanks, feeling slowly, languorously all the way down to her ankles. She twitches as I touch her; she shudders in anticipation as I fit my body against her rear. My arms hold her in place, bracing both of us, as I push into her from behind again, and again. As I thrust I reach to feel and knead her teats. Her excitement is great; milk flows from her. I long to be facing her, to suckle at her as do young, but I can not bear to pull myself from her. My beloved groans as I thrust again, again. As I begin to feel the first stirrings of pleasure, I see Them come into the field. They hold the Pain Sticks in their hands, and a rope. My lover bellows in terror. I don't know if they have come for me, or for her, but I am angered either way. I disengage from Bessie, causing her to shriek in pain from the loss of my engorged calfmaker. I charge Them; hooves digging into the ground; sweat glistening off my flanks. They run about the field frantically. I give chase, snorting in my rage. They succeed in distracting me. While I chase the first group of Them, others sneak up to Bessie, surrounding her, roping her, pulling her with them. They head over to the Shed of Disappearances with her, my precious. I am frightened by the Shed: my father, my mother, my brothers had all been taken there, and never returned. They take Bessie from me. They catch me and shock me, burn me. The pain is no worse than when They had fixed Their mark upon my thigh; the pain of separation from Bessie is worse. My anger grows, quickly, like wet grass. I pray to Our-Mother-Who-Is-The-Sky for help. She blesses me. I escape my tormentors. I charge towards the Shed, determined to follow my favorite into the Great Disappearance. By the time I knock in the shed door with my great horns, They have mutilated her. My hooves slide in Bessie's blood, which pools on the ground. I stare at her head, in one corner of the room; I look at her body, which is in another. Her brown eyes, which just two cud-times away had been shorn with desire for me, are now glazed over, unfocused, staring at the top of the Shed. As I stand here in shock, They are carving Her open, piece by piece, with their shiny knives, their humming tools. My shock is overcome when I see them slice her belly open, tearing it apart to reveal the Holy Place, the Calf-Nest. I see my white Bull-Juice dripping out of her gash. Enraged, I charge Them, as I had never charged before. My right Great Horn skewers one of Them in his man-place; he screams as he falls, then is silent. I swing my massive head around; my left Great Horn stabs into an abdomen, and the tormentor falls to the floor, collapsing onto the body of my dead mate. The two of Them at the door scream and run for their Pain Sticks. I am faster, tossing them over my head and body into the wall of the Shed. I stomp on their bodies, dancing, trying to raise my torso in the air to walk like Them. I am too heavy. I can't do it, and fall heavily onto Their broken bodies. I enjoy the sounds of their bones snapping, and fall on them again, again. My hide is covered in manblood, Bessie's blood, sweat, and milk that has seeped from Bessie's dead udders. I crawl from the carnage into the pasture, and lay panting on the Grass. To my horror, our son comes and lays next to me, mooing softly, inquiring about his mother. I can not tell him. I am too weak, too confused. I growl at him to be quiet, and he nurses at the grass for an hour or so. When I can face him, I tell him his mother has moved on to greener pastures. I forbid him to ever go near the Shed. I left our son with a brood cow in the next field, determined to avenge myself of this most awful tragedy. I ran into their homes, not minding nor noticing the clear Walls that I broke as I charged through, not minding the cuts in my hide. I found their young in their beds. It was to fatten these sickly young that my Bessie was killed; They took the milk out of our calves' mouths to offer to these pale, small beings. Goring the young, soft flesh was easy, and peculiarly satisfying. My horns slid through, and came out clean. Their young bled in their beds silently. I learned to enjoy waiting, squeezing my huge body into the rooms of the children until morning, watching the horror on Their faces as they saw their young dead in their beds. They saw me and yelled, running into their hallways. I tore their flimsy walls with my huge body, my sharp horns, destroying their houses before I took their lives. My hooves kicked their pliant stomachs to shreds, popped Their hard heads open. My horns gouged out Their eyes. Terrible smells I found in most of Their houses, emanating from hard, cold boxes. It took me days to pry one open. My sorrow when I found the corpses of our kind was immense. I learned to use their roads, I learned to hide myself in their forests. I learned to butt open their doors, break their windows, and climb their flimsy stairs. I learned a thousand ways to kill Them, to grievously injure Their soft bodies. I ate of their lawns and gardens. I drank of their pools, their buckets, their irrigation ditches. I killed, and ambled on. .-. _ _ .-. / \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \ /.ooM \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ /.ooM \ -/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\- /lucky 13\ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ /lucky 13\ \ / `-' (U) `-' \ / `-' the original e-zine `-' _ Oooo eastside westside / ) __ /)(\ ( \ WORLDWIDE / ( / \ \__/ ) / Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \ ) \)(/ (_/ CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of oooO cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA. _ oooO All rights reserved. Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'. __ ( \ / ) /)(\ / \ ) \ \ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( / \_) xXx BOW to the COW xXx Oooo