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If you haven’t read all the previous parts or you don’t remember them well, I urge you to read this novella from the beginning (link here).

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My wife unclasped her bra and peeled it off.
Her twin globes of fatty tissue
Draped, swayed, and settled.
My mouth watered and my crotch tingled
With the beastly urge to grab that flesh,
Making it spill through my parted fingers.
I needed to feel those nipples hardening
Under the swirling tip of my tongue.

My intense gaze met my wife’s,
That narrowed in anticipation
Of another verbal brawl.
Her guarded posture loosened.
“See, you can still lust.
You’re not a zombie after all.”
As she tugged down her panties,
Her silken curls flashed a glimpse
Of her slit’s pink promise.

Although we resented each other,
We both needed to escape
From our exhausting existence.
Naked save for our wedding rings,
We immersed ourselves in carnal delights
To drown our frustrations,
Exploiting the mechanisms crafted by nature
To convince its slaves wordlessly,
From humans to the most cretinous creatures,
That their lives should revolve around sex,
Sex, and more sex, lest the species perish.

Instead of making love,
We tangled, grappled, and clawed
Like starved dogs devouring a meal,
Both reduced to incoherent strings
Of grunts, gasps, and cusswords.
Flesh smacking against flesh,
Neck biting, hair pulling,
Nails raking across my back,
A hand tightening around her throat.

Once we achieved our release,
We lay on fevered, rumpled sheets
Coated in the sour smell of sweat.
My mind was bleached blank.
As my wife drew deeply on a cigarette,
I surrendered to the afterglow,
Letting it slide me into sleep.

My wife suggested a family outing
To a self-serve Chinese buffet in Oiartzun,
On a whim, I thought, without ulterior motives.
The chilled air around the food counters
Smelled of herbs and spices from meat marinades,
Complemented by the briny scent of fresh seafood.

Amidst the din of hungry patrons’ conversations
And a pop tune piping through speakers,
I fished my meal out of gastronorm containers:
Skewered meats coated with a paprika marinade,
Slices of pink chicken, fatty cuts of beef,
Squid with their tentacles entwined.

Life itself dished out pain like a relentless rain,
So we drugged ourselves with our bodies’ rewards
For stuffing nutrients into our gullets,
And yielding to the innate urge to procreate.

As my son poured soy sauce over his sushi,
My wife rested her elbows on the table.
“Haven’t you two wondered why we’re here?”
My son and I, both chewing, glanced at each other.
She smiled, and pointed at him with chopsticks.
“Little man, you’re gonna become a big brother.”

I choked on a bolus of beef,
And gulped water until I stopped coughing.
While my eyes had teared up,
Hers, hard chunks of obsidian,
Drilled into me expectantly.

I always made sure to wrap it up,
Leaving the slim chance of an accident,
Or the prick of a needle.
Regardless, my wife’s aging womb held within
A new life destined for this ruined world.

“I-Is it a boy or a girl?” my son asked.
“Too early to tell.”
“So, like, I’ll have to share my room?”
“We’ll see. Dad, any thoughts?
Are you going to congratulate us?”
I stared back in stunned disbelief
As cold panic bubbled in my bowels.
She pinched a rice ball with her chopsticks.
“I’m keeping the baby.
You can either stick around or leave.”

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Author’s note: today’s song is “Angel” by Massive Attack.

In case you have missed this story (although I doubt many are reading it), you may have noticed that I’ve been busy making songs. As an obsessive, single-minded maniac, once I sink my claws into something, it’s very hard for me to focus on anything else, even my own survival. However, I’ve made sure to progress daily on the story, and I fully intend to finish it. Besides, the AI service that allows me to produce studio-quality songs has a monthly limit that I’m about to hit, so I’ll have no choice but to return to writing fulltime something other than silly songs.