Sightseeing

This is again a piece which I submitted for my M.A., a version of the earlier story again……just this one is ever so slightly darker and more sinister I think…..

Sightseeing


As she slipped down the steps from Metro Bir-Hakeim, and followed him under the shadowy arches along the Quai de Grenelle, she did not let her gaze slip for a moment. She sheltered at the side of the privet hedges as he stopped at the beginning of the flight of steep stone steps leading up to the plateau.His enormous tartan shorts flapped round his equally enormous knees, creating a dazzling contrast with the even more furious tartan of the short sleeved shirt, fighting a losing battle with his gigantic wobbling stomach. The energetic breeze whipping along the Seine buffeted his pudgy arms, and jiggled the entire shiny contents of a small camera store that were slung around his red, yet non-existent neck.His wife struggled up the steps behind him. Possibly even larger, she was determined to make her mark in clinging cerise lycra shorts, that multiplied the many folds of her body, and what may have purported to be an orange boob tube. It would have clothed several people several times over, but here painfully contoured every inch of her zeppelin-like impossibly large breasts. These clashed perilously with her puce cheeks, and the lime-green plastic earrings, as she quivered her way up the steps, narrowly avoiding falling forwards with the bulk suspended in front of her.”Not very big, Loubelle. Ain’t what I thought at all after comin’ all this way to see it an’ all. We got bigger water towers in

Texas. An’ cleaner.”“Elmer, it ain’t supposed to be big. It’s supposed to be old, and Europe-an and full o’ culture. An’ old gets dirty with all the time.”


“Loubelle, old it is, look at it, Ain’t nothing but a pile of rusty ol’ girders. They ain’t even painted it.”
Maëlle kept well back behind the shadow of the latticed column, observing them carefully. As they edged towards the lift, she camouflaged herself in and amongst the flow of people. She slipped between the crowd like a black mist, slim, wraithlike, almost transparent. As Loubelle and Elmer puffed their way to the next column, and the queue for the lift, Maëlle was there again, listening, watching, waiting. She rather wished she wasn’t, this was usually the worst part. Sometimes she even quite liked them, and that was difficult. But not in this case, they were loathsome, and she felt no regrets. These people would have done well to keep their opinions to themselves.“What makes it culture then, Loubelle? Just some pile of dirty iron girders made by some French guy with some fancy name and some fancy ideas. In Texas we would’a knocked it down by now as a waste o’space. Don’t even do nothin’. And what kind of a name is Eyefell anyhow?”


“Because it’s French. Because it’s in
Paris
. The Europe-ans do that art. That makes it art. The French do art.”


“Do art? I ain’t seen nothin’ but stinkin’ ol’ junk since I been here. I told you we should have gone to

Florida
. Least we would’a had some sunshine an’ sea, some fun and no junk.” As she listened from her hideaway, Maëlle became more and more repulsed. Did these people have no idea of what they were like? She began to feel less and less for them, their humanity was being drowned under an animalistic morass.They stood there, side by side like two fat overfed pink pigs in a pen, supine, porcine. Even their voices had the whining quality of oinking inanities. She just needed to wait her time. They were careless, so careless.“When’s this darn elevator gonna get down here, Lou? We ain’t got all day, y’know. Elmer Hackensack the Third has better things to do with his time than wait for some idle dago to git here.”
“Elmer, this is a holiday. You ain’t at the feed store now. They ain’t like us, they don’t rush anyways. It’ll come when it comes.”
“If it ain’t here in two gosh darn minutes, I’m gonna go back to that hotel and have me a burger. Where did we see that MacDonalds agin? This French muck it don’t agree with my insides.”

Maëlle began to edge closer. Any moment now, the lift attendants would announce the last trips of the day. The sky above the Seine was now pale on the horizon, and darkening, deepening, blue above. She began to feel the pangs, they were getting ever stronger, convulsing her frail body with their inner movement. Soon, it had to be soon.“Well, finally they done git here. I was getting to think the lazy darn wops were on strike. An’ he looks like an a-rab that one, I ain’t sure I wanna git in no elevator with no darn dirty a-rab”
“Just five minutes more, honey, and I’ll get you the biggest burger you ever saw, Ah’m sure I saw a Burger King just down the road, now they ain’t messin’ none with that food now, honey-pie.”
Loubelle and Elmer were now almost at the front of the queue. Maëlle slid forward imperceptibly, until she was standing just behind them. She could smell them now, their bloated corn-fed, well-greased scent. The hunger was becoming overwhelming. She needed to make it happen and now.The lift attendant was stopping Loubelle and Elmer now.
“No, I regret Monsieur, we have too many persons on this ascenceur. I will come back for you”

The lift moved onwards and upwards as Maëlle stifled a smile.

“Darn French. Was that dirty a-rab French guy sayin’ I was too big for his damn stupid tiny French lift?”
“No Elmer honey, you lovely just the way you are. You’re a man’s man, a big guy. You’re my all-American big guy. I don’t like no scrawny guys anyhow.”

As Maëlle watched the vast many-folded mass of Loubelle’s cerise-encased behind and wobbling rippled thighs, balanced precariously on her pin-like silver heels like some obscene parody of an elephantine ballerina, she reflected that Elmer probably didn’t like ‘scrawny girls’ either, just a little larger and he would be obliged to push her around in a wheelbarrow as gravity got the better of her. The prey was getting closer and closer. All to do now was watch and wait.

The lift came sliding down the inside of the column. It shuddered to a noisy halt and opened to admit Elmer and Loubelle. Maëlle noiselessly slid in behind them. With their vast bulk filling the tiny cabin almost to the edges, she was invisible to the lift attendant. It was all becoming almost too unbearable for her, unless the lift moved soon, it would be too late, the game would be over for her, forever.

The ride to the top seemed like eternity for Maëlle, edging, edging ever higher and nearer her goal. The little capsule appeared to have gone into slow motion, juddering as it inched up the inside of the curved column. The moon was slowly emerging, and Maëlle could feel it all beginning, the sensation was shooting along her spine, down to the tips of her fingers, to the very tips of her toes. In a moment it would be too late, too obvious, too dangerous, too much.

“Loubelle honey, this darn lift ain’t strong enough to carry a kitten. They just should’a replaced it years ago. How much longer he gonna darn take?”
“Elmer, you just be patient now honey. Ellie-Mae at the nail store tells me it’s the prettiest darn sight she ever done seen from the top o’ here.”

‘Patient, patient,’

thought Maëlle, trying desperately to control the force that rose within her. The clunk of the lift told her that they had finally arrived at the summit. She scurried into the shadow in their wake and looked around, more anxious by the second. It was deserted. The clunk of lift doors in the distance told her that the other was on its way down, and they were alone. Perfect. She let go, and waited for it to happen. The exquisite searing pain and pleasure of metamorphosis had begun.

Maëlle’s head shot back as the moon emerged full and bright from behind the cloud. She felt the rush as her eyes widened, turning absinthe-green and fixing on the bright globe above, as her very bones shifted within her body. She felt the claws tear savagely through her flesh, sleek, powerful as her limbs lengthened and strengthened, and her spine took on its deadly curve.

The teeth were pushing forward, long, sharp, fatal as her skull literally cracked horizontally open to allow the long jaw to take its place. Her clothes lay on the floor, she no longer had need for them with the rough grey fur forcing through her soft white skin like barbed wire, clothing her from head to toe. Her breathing was deep and hoarse, and her body shook in a final juddering arc as she took her final vulpine form. The power now was all hers and she was ready. Stealthily now, she padded delicately on vicious velvet paws, closer, closer. The urge was getting pleasurably stronger and stronger. Now she could smell Elmer and Loubelle and they were irresistible. Irresistible in that they had absolutely no idea what what was about to happen to them.She paced round the central cupola, nearer, nearer. They were leaning on the balustrade, looking out at the starry night sky.
She pounced strong and silent, her claws one on each of their backs, feeling the rush that always came with the thrill of the kill, slicing, slashing, frenzied now. She was a whirlwind of teeth, claws, fury and pure, savage longing. The blood flew as the screams rang out over the still dark waters of the
Seine
, for there was no-one there to hear them up there in the dark. Then there was so much silence. Jacques Chirac stared lamely across his croissant at Bernadette. After what he had just heard he no longer had the heart to eat it. First sign was the Mairie de Paris on the telephone, informing him of an overnight infraction at the Eiffel Tower. Someone had reported seeing two large pink balloons attached to the radio mast at the top, from an early morning train on Line 6 .The guards had however found something rather more gruesome than this when called to investigate. The balloons proving to be the completely savaged and hoisted bodies of Mr and Mrs Elmer Hackensack (the Third), of Waco, Texas, U.S.A. They had been hauled up like animal carcasses from the abattoir for all the world to see on the Paris skyline.

Then the call from the CIA, regarding possible Al-Quaeda involvement in this outrage. An hour on the telephone with George Bush, who had taken this as personally as if Jacques and Bernadette had spent the night up there arranging it for his personal displeasure. As if nightly car-burning and riots weren’t enough for a man to cope with, now Paris’ most popular monument had been desecrated by some lunatic.

An idiot reporter from Arté had even reported that there were wolf paw-prints at the scene. Whatever next? He left the room as he slowly felt even his coffee ride up his throat.The next morning, as she sipped her coffee in the Café Bir-Hakeim, Maëlle read the scandalous headlines on the front of Libération. Le Monde was similarly outraged, though with a slightly different political argument. There were conspiracy-theory links playing on TF1 and CNN to the most tenuous of organisations. People had even tried to link them to the riots in the suburbs. The Quai de Grenelle was closed from the Rue du Docteur Finlay, by the Café Bir-Hakeim through to the Pont de l’Iéna and beyond. There was standstill on the other side of the river, and the police and Gendarmerie had taken over the Trocadéro as emergency headquarters. Maëlle had a healthy appetite. The more she had to eat, the better, and unlike most of her kind, she liked a varied diet. Life could become very tedious. Her latest decision had been to sample international cuisine. With her special gifts, no need for tedious cookbooks either. Just grab yourself a human take-away. What better place than
Paris
for this? Here you could find hors d’oeuvres, and indeed main courses, of any taste- or colour, or nationality. The culinary tourist capital of the world.Maëlle smiled at the enormous young German stuffing andouilette after andouilette at the bar. His belt would have been large enough to encircle a shire horse, yet it struggled to hold his sail-like trousers somewhere around his enormous stomach. He was struggling already against his many chins to get the sausage in his mouth.

He looked at Maëlle, folded his copy of Die Welt and shyly came to sit across from her, speaking in his halting heavily-accented French. It was lucky she had a hearty appetite, belying her slight form and diminutive stature. She could smell the sauerkraut and stöllen as she smiled and spoke back in her soft lilting voice. Some sightsee their way around the world, some eat their way round the world.


But some are eaten.

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5 Responses to “Sightseeing”

  1. Dark but very compulsive read. Enjoyed this a lot. x

  2. Vaguely ooky but it was meant to be…..

  3. Nowt wrong with that! x

  4. I do ooky far too easily!

  5. As Andy said, a very compulsive read … and there’s deffinitly nothing wrong with ooky :o)

    Enjoyed reading it Khlari :o)

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