Somewhere, near an old waste pipe spilling it's fecal brew out into the sea, a young boy sat with a fishing rod in hand, trying to catch whatever he could. By his side, his dearest friend in the whole wide world, Esmerelda Amadeus Orion, lay uncomfortably, giving birth. Her body sick with disease, from the food that her friend caught for them. And yet, here she was, giving birth to a future generation of Bastets young.

          The young boy watched half-caring, as he held his fishing rod in both hands, thightening his grip around the staff to fight against the current. His body marked with dirty scabs, dried blood and filth. A thin, gaunt child, long forgotten by all the world around, except for his loyal friend, Esmerelda, and the men who passed through his life, paying him for treats he'd earned. Only Esmerelda never asked more from him then the food he could provide.

          The first child of Bastet emerged, life extinguished, body rotted by disease, and tears slowly accumelated under Esmerelda's eyes. The next child suffered the same, as did the next who gasped and gagged for breath before finally losing it's short life. All of Bastet's children, dead. The light in her eyes was fading, the death of her young carrying her soul away, the reasons to remain upon Bastet's soil, faded aswell.

          The boy looked down, his eyes shining with tears as he picked up each child. From his lips, God's prayer fell upon silent ears. Esmerelda was no more, and none of the boys' tears that fell from his eyes, onto her still frame, could bring her back.

          From the water, the fished for a plastic bag, which wasn't too difficult in these polluted waters. Yet, he had to throw the first two off to the side, since they were only baby bags, and the boy needed a fully grown one. His friend deserved only the best this world had to offer.

          A large, bubbling, putrid, slimy mass of liquid poured forth from the pipe, as the world relieved itself once again. In the slime of feces and decay, the boy saw the perfect buriel sack for his now departed friend, and her young.

          He cast the line its way several times before he could snag the large bag. As he reeled it in, he noticed a faint movement from within. His hand reached around at his side, as he held the fishing rod between his bony legs. His wandering hand found his "fish-smacker" and put it in lunging distance from him. Then he continued to reel in his catch.

          Thoughts of his dead, life friend were quickly replaced with hunger for the meal that he would have all to himself.

          The bag got closer. The thin, quiet boy could barely make-out the sounds the creature made from the plastic home. He bagan to real it in faster, the bag twisting and opening somewhat, filling the sack with the noxious fecal water. The made his work more taxing, but the pang for food powered his actions, when his body could go no further.

          The future coffin, this thrown-out megastore plastic shopping bag with thick rope handles, of Esmerelda Amadeus Orion, now found itself only feet from her once young friend.

          From deep inside the plastic crypt, a little voice whispered, "me you... me you..."

          The boy stopped for an instant to listen, and between the sound of the waves lapping against the rocks, and the sound of the pressurised feces exploding from the pipe into the sea, he could hear the cry of Bastet's young begging to him.

          The hunger inside gave way to an untapped reserve of energy. Now he reeled the bag in with passion. Not another death. This wasn't a crypt he ensnared, but a womb.

          More water entered the bag, and the cries escaping grew softer, weaker, and more pained. The hold the hook had on the womb was straining, and it wouldn't be long before it gave way.

          Tears swelled in the boys eyes, and sound which was never heard from his mouth, escaped into the air. He struggled, pulling hard on the fishing rod, while reeling it in as quick as his small arms could. The sweat burnt his eyes, and stung his sunburnt cheeks.

          With on final effort he pulled back hard on the rod again. This time, the plastic around the hook gave way, and sent both hook and line snaking through the air.

          "No!" his voice screamed, "No!" he said again. Throwing the fishing rod to the side, he dove head first into the slime, feces and water. The chemical burned his flesh. He tried to hold his breath, and closed his eyes tightly, while his hands searched around.

          The chilled, toxic water numbed his fingers. He prayed silently. Finally, he grabbed the womb in his hands and pulled it up to the surface. Blinded, he followed the sounds of the waste splashing out from the drainage pipe. He could hear no other sound.

          His bare, scabbed feet crashed against the sharp rocks, and with what little energy left within, he crawled up onto the beach. Exhausted, his lungs afire, his eyes irratated and stinging. The womb was clutched in his tight grasp, but nothing moved.

          The boy let out a painful breath, spitting out the blood that settled inside his mouth, and he cried. The child screamed in half sounds, and stared angrily, accusingly at the heavens. Cursing them for their cruelty. The boy shrieked, and forced sounds from his ever silent mouth.

          A soft, cold finger touched his wrist, and if it weren't for his body being nearly totally drained of life, he would have taken a swing at it. Instead, he rolled his head to the side to see what touched him, and through a blurred vision he could see the young child of Bastet, rubbing his cheek into the polluted youths' wrist.

          They looked into each others eyes and smiled.

          "Thaddeus," the boy mouthed silently, "Thaddeus Ludwig Cornelius."

          The boys head fell softly onto the rocks, and let the sleep take him Luna and Morpheus.

July 17th 2000
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