Reap What You Sow

A beat-up truck bounced down the dirt road towards an old but sturdy farmhouse. Next to the house a legion of maize crops stood to attention. It wouldn’t be long until they would be ready for harvesting. That job belonged to Jessie. She had spent most of her living moments these last few months cultivating the corn field, each step of growth accompanied by care and dedication from the amateur farmer. When she was given the farm in her fathers will she expected to just sell off the farm and move away to live the cliché life of a country girl in the big city. 

But instead, she found herself incapable of leaving the farm. After selling most of the fields to nearby farms, she decided to keep the small field right next to the farm and try growing some corn. And so, using notes left by her father and online guides, she spent everyday contributing to the growth of the corn. Whenever she thought of the hard work she had put into the field of maize she welled up with pride and love for farming. On the rare occasion that she wasn’t in the field or the house, she was in the nearby town of Wolbach dipping into her savings to get some food and a book or two, to keep her entertained on the long nights. She had been on one such trip today.

The aging truck pulled up by the side of the house and outstepped Jessie. She couldn’t have worn a more stereotypical farmers outfit if she tried. Denim overalls and a faded t-shirt had become her standard uniform over the last few months. Jessie wasn’t complaining though, she enjoyed how she looked in the outfit with its pleasant combination of practicality and rugged beauty. Every time she looked in the mirror, a small rush of euphoria ran through her body. Her transition had been going well before she started on the farm, but the last few months had helped her find an inner peace she didn’t expect to discover. Despite this she still found herself unsure of her appearance at times, she had grown overly paranoid over her appearance, that somehow she wasn’t being the woman she was meant to be. Whenever these thoughts came to her she did her best to shove them down but they still lingered in mocking echoes in her head.

Back inside the house, she stored away her groceries and prepared herself a quick meal in the silence of the old house. A sense of loneliness crept into her. She may enjoy the toil of farming, but it left her little time for social interaction. She didn’t even have the time or energy to date. Part of her yearned for the intimate touch of another, but she managed to ignore the desire and went back outside to look over her hard work. As the sun entered its final descent in the horizon Jessie sat on the rocking chair on the porch. It used to be her dads spot, overlooking the fields he toiled in all day. Most of her thoughts of the old man centred around that chair. It was here that he told her about her family history, and it was here that she came out to him. Thankfully, both were pleasant memories. 

She felt much older than 26 while she rocked back and forth like an ancient woman about to dispense some prophetic wisdom on a passing traveller. But instead of vaguely understandable nuggets of wisdom, all she had was a book of escapist fantasy. The book told tales of creatures from the wildest fringes of the imagination brought to life, and the ways they lived with humans. Some brought destruction and decay, while others created beauty and love. 

Within minutes she was engrossed in this false world of fantastical creatures. She was so focused that she didn’t immediately hear the voices. Floating along the air, the sound of chatter emanated from the field of corn. Eventually Jessie managed to pull her gaze away from the book and towards it. Initially dismissing the voices as just being a few dogwalkers from Wolbach on a particularly long walk, she tried to focus back on her book. But the voices not only continued but actually grew in volume, demanding her attention. She looked up again, but rather than an empty landscape Jessie noticed movement in the fields. Right in the centre of the corn a silhouetted figure roamed as if daring the young farmer to remove it. The head of the figure appeared mishappen and hard to differentiate from the corn that surrounded it. An attempt at sternly shouting for the stranger to leave fell on deaf ears.

After grabbing a baseball bat from inside the house, Jessie ventured into the corn field. In the sky the sun had been replaced by the moon, its light being much more meagre than that provided by the sun. Every part of her screamed for her to turn back around and just call the police, but her pride pushed her onwards. She’d worked so hard to grow this crop, she couldn’t let some inconsiderate stranger stamp all over it. Inside the field she still couldn’t see the intruder, but as she delved deeper into the rows of corn she felt whispers emanating from all around her, a chorus of dissonant voices. Slowly she approached the centre of the field, shadowed movements glimpsed between the tall reeds. Each glimpse watered a seed in her mind of the nature of the intruder. 

First she saw the legs, gangly yet swift. Then came a glimpse of thin and wide hands that brushed against the stalks. Hands attached to arms that threatened to embrace her and reach out across the short distance between the two field dwellers. And then there was the head, barely distinguishable among the ears of corn. It was narrower than heads should be, with regimented ridges barely perceptible under the shadows painted on the head. An image of the stranger pieced itself together in her mind, but the image didn’t make any sense to her. She could feel sweat collecting on her hands, loosening her grip on the baseball bat. Eventually she reached the centre of the field and halted, unsure of where to go next.

Corn stalks swayed in the wind. Crickets croaked their tunes into the night sky. All was peaceful. Except for the corn. Jessie couldn’t understand how, but she could feel, deep within her soul, that the corn felt different tonight. For a few minutes the whispers abated, but they still lurked in the distance of her hearing.

“Who’s out there?” she shouted, trying to hide the wobble in her voice.

And then slowly, nearly outside Jessies periphery, the entity emerged. With slow and deliberate steps it revealed itself. Despite elongated legs and arms, its chest was squashed with no room for the organs necessary for a human. And in the light of the moon, the appendages she was only granted a glimpse of earlier made themselves clear. She could see their flatness, with the legs only strengthened by twisting green muscles that wrapped themselves around stilt-like appendages. The arms featured no such practicality. Instead, wide figures in the visage of fingers erupted from the end of its arms. But it was the head that grabbed the farmers attention. She had seen many heads like it before, albeit not on people. All around her were similar such heads though, for it was a larger-than-average ear of corn that sat atop the intruders head. And when she dragged her eyes down across its body she saw that the body was made entirely out of corn plants. Its appendages were forged from the stalks, muscles constructed from roots, skin replaced by leaves. The stranger was only human in shape, and even that required a stretch in the farmers imagination.

At first it simply stood there, presenting itself to the farmer. It showed no malice towards her. While she examined its appearance she could hear the whispers return. But rather than the chorus that had been present before, they now all spoke as one unified voice. 

“Hello Creator, we have been waiting for you,” the whispers said, “Thank you for joining us tonight.”

Jessie had a look of severe confusion on her face.

“We have been waiting. For the right time. For our Avatar to be ready. And for you to be ready. You have toiled and dedicated yourself to us, and it is time that you are rewarded for this show of love.”

The Avatar approached Jessie slowly with an air of passivity.

“We wish to bring you satisfaction. Satisfaction of an intimate kind.”

The meaning of this slowly dawned on Jessie. Surprisingly, to her at least, she didn’t immediately reject it outright.

 “You may say no if you desire. You can return to your home with our words of thanks and nothing more. But if you wish, we can grant you a certain pleasure.”

The Avatar stopped a couple of steps away from her and stood to the side. Her house was behind him, where it had existed for the last few generations of her family. She could very easily walk past the maize being and into the warm light of her house. And for a second she considered it, but the prospect of staying and receiving her reward was much more alluring. She had worked hard, why not receive it?

“I… I want my reward. I’ll stay here. Please, give it to me,” she replied after a few seconds thought. A shake in her voice was very present. She dropped her baseball bat.

With this confirmation of consent given to the corn, the Avatar of its spirit closed the gap between them. The whispers quietened again. The Avatar reached for one of the straps of her dungarees but halted millimetres away. Jessie noticed this and nodded at the corn creature, intent on receiving her reward. She pressed the leaf fingers down gently and let them undo the straps. When both straps were undone she shook slightly and let them fall with a heavy sigh. Her exposed legs felt cold in the breeze, but her face flushed with heat. 

The leaf appendages traced her curves, shooting sensations of pleasure through her body, before resting on her hips and pulling her closer to it. Slowly, one drifted away from Jessies hip and towards her crotch, where a bulge had steadily grown. Her breath quickened but she nodded once more. 

A single utterance of “please…” escaped from her lips.

With surprising gracefulness for a creature made of plants the Avatar of the corn pulled down her panties. Out flopped her cock, standing half erect in the moonlight. As the Avatars fingers softly gripped it, the whispers of the corn around her gradually returned. At first a couple simply thanked her for her hard work but overtime more spoke out, praising and complimenting her body. The Avatar matched the increasing amount of praise by stroking her cock. With each pump it grew stiffer until it was as hard as it could possibly ever be. Drops of pre-cum leaked out, extracted with as much ease as her moans. Her legs grew weaker with every stroke. It wasn’t just the physical stimulation that weakened her, however, it was the praising choir of whispers that was the most exciting for her. By now they were praising every intimate part of her and calling her things she would have been embarrassed to hear at any other time. Her mind was swimming in pleasure, nearly every part of her stimulated in ways that she hadn’t experienced in far too long. For a time it seemed like it couldn’t get any better. But then the Avatars hand drifted upwards.

The gentle grabbing of her breast took Jessie by surprise. She unintentionally let out a high pitch yelp. The Avatar recoiled away from her breast and for a second Jessie could have sworn that somehow a look of concern appeared on the corn creatures head. Hurriedly she apologised for the yelp and with a blushing face asked for the hand to return to her breast. At first the hand tentatively circled around them, as if worrying that a mere touch would break them. But overtime the Avatar became braver in its expeditions, until it was squeezing and grabbing her tits with no shame. Clinging to the squashed chest of the Avatar, Jessie could barely withstand the continuous pleasure anymore. The Avatars gentle but assured touching sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout her, but it was the encouragement and praise of the voices that made this an outstanding reward for her. Every compliment of her body and every acclaim of her dedication to nurturing the field of corn brought a low moan from her lips. 

Worship. That’s what it was. Pure, devout worship whipping masses into a frenzy. The breeze through the field carried the hymns of the worshippers and mixed them with her breathy moans into a toxic cocktail. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Rugged. Even handsome, something that made her cringe a few years ago, lit sparks in her. Its hands brushed her biceps and reached down to the faint outline of her abs. Soft seedling kisses peppered her midriff while the creature wrapped its gangly limbs hung softly around her broad shoulders. In every movement, every small act of earthly prayer, a thousand bursts of euphoria detonated in her. How glorious she was, caught in pleasurable rapture with this nightmarish being. Its tendrils navigated the lengths of her body taking advantage of every weakness to expose her more and more. And that was all she wanted.

Jessie wasn’t aware of how long it took until the end neared, but she certainly recognised the feeling. Just as a tidal wave slowly builds up until it becomes an unstoppable force, so too did her orgasm. She clung to the Avatar as the pressure built up inside her. She couldn’t tell if it recognised what was about to happen, but it didn’t seem to react to the sudden embrace. Within seconds she reached her breaking point and a few clear drops of cum leaked out of her cock. What she lacked in cum she more than made up for in noise. Her screams of pleasure rung out into the night until they weakened into murmuring whimpers. To the corn she barely seemed conscious. The Avatar, his duty nearly discharged, picked up the exhausted farmer and carried her back to the farmhouse. It lowered her into the porch rocking chair and covered her in a blanket before leaving her in peace, rewarded and loved by her field.

***

The next morning Jessie awoke slowly, the memories of the night in the field gradually returning to her. She didn’t believe it happened, at least not until she noticed a crumpled pile of corn plants just outside the field and found her baseball bat in the centre. She certainly did feel less lonely now though.

Southern Arizona Press
133 pages
$8.99

Judge Santiago Burdon delivers you his entrails and bile and treasure in these stories from the inside of his hell. Every story is rough and glorious, bloody and holy, harrowing and comforting. Burdon is as honest about his shortcomings as he is realistic with this world of temporary bliss and constant loss. In the end these characters are all broken and then healed: crushed by their own search for release, healed by their friendships and their unwavering truth. There is a code of those who end up in prison and swim together in this pool of sharks: keep your word above all else. This loyalty and the bravery to keep facing the lacerated face in the mirror day after day elevates the addict and the drug-runner to sainthood, even if the God is an injured fruit bat wrapped in a coat, a stray dog fetching a filthy ball, a van full of cocaine. There are lessons learned from Jingles the panhandler, from a sex-starved divorcee, from the Grim Reaper, from the grizzly bear slashing your throat. There are rings lost in the Vatican which end up on dead Pope’s fingers, there are keys which no longer open the childhood home and an endless doorway to approximations of what home feels like at the bottom of a bottle, a pile of white, a syringe of false peace. After each light crashes its brittle body all over the floor, the alarm blaring and the epinephrine surging, there is the apology and the embrace; there is the forgiveness and the kiss. This vindication, this escape from prison while in a prison of the ruined flesh, does not come from God, but from a friend with a breakfast burrito and a black coffee and a wish for safe passage past the “Border Patrol, DEA, State Police, Sheriff’s Deputies and Local Barneys.” The disguise is complete as you put on the priest’s collar, wrap your neck of costumed grace, and jump onto the “Ghost Pony” and ride into hell as it quakes our dirty cities to the ground.

— Scott Ferry, author of Each Imaginary Arrow

BUY A COPY HERE

Sum of the Parts

Riggs did a quick up and down on the young woman when she opened the door. Her untucked flannel shirt had that soft, washed-many-times look. A couple of the buttons were in the wrong places too. She’d thrown it on, and the skinny jeans were ripped in that fashionable style. Barefooted. 

Ash blond hair was pulled back into a hasty pony tail that let a lot of strands escape, and she wore glasses with heavy, dark rims. Maybe geek sheik but probably worn more after-hours when the contacts were taken out.

“You’re Hannah?”

He always asked for a name and double checked it. Avoided misunderstandings.

She studied him a moment then nodded. “You got here quick.”

“Taphonomic alterations start in a couple of hours. Rigor can be a headache.” 

Eyes widened behind those broad lenses. Maybe she hadn’t expected precise jargon. He wore a faded black tee with a metal band logo and jeans that looked more distressed than hers. 

“Couple of years of pre-med,” he explained.

“There have already been a few…taphonomic alterations,” she said. 

“Maybe you’d better let me have a look before we talk price,” he said.  

She reached forward to turn a small latch on the full-glass storm door that separated them.

“Come on in.”

The floors were hardwood, the veneer shiny. They’d been redone in at least the last couple of years. Nice house, well-kept, nice neighborhood. She was doing okay. They moved down a hallway with attractive artwork, one piece maybe an original. All right classy. No bloodstains. Nothing had been done up here.

A door off the living room opened to darkness. Riggs slipped a hand into his back pocket. He kept a small, flat knife there. The blade was sharp and could be nasty if he needed to defend himself. 

Hannah flipped a switch and brought light to a stairway made of treated but unpainted wood. A pile of rags and towels rested two steps down, stained with black-red, some spots glistening. 

“Down there,” she said.

“You lead,” he said. 

Shrugging, she descended first.

The concrete floor at the bottom was painted a dark green but hadn’t had a fresh coat in a while. It was spotted in a few places. Old stains. She’d done pretty good at cleanup. 

Riggs paused when he saw an X-cross covered in black vinyl against with nail-head trim on one wall. A restraint had been clicked tightly around a wrist, male from what it looked like. Riggs’ gaze trailed downward. The forearm was hairy. That was where the limb stopped. 

“Do you have a medical background?” he asked.

“I’m an orthopedic surgical device rep,” she said. “A thing for tendons. It’s kind of innovative. I’m in a lot of ORs on the job, but I’m not as elegant as the doctors. Of course ortho doctors are kind of like carpenters.”

The hack marks had been made just below—or maybe it was technically above the elbow in this position. A little fresh blood streaked down the X’s branch. Muscle and tendon were jagged, with strings of veins and arteries dangling down, though a hacksaw had probably been used on the bone. A patch of skin had been sliced in an almost perfect rectangle, leaving exposed red muscle. 

“Tattoo?” Riggs asked.

Hannah’s lips and cheek muscles contorted into a guilty grimace. Then she touched a corner of her mouth, seeking reassurance it was clean.  “I just got a little carried away,” she said. 

She had not been joking about taphonomic alterations. The head sat in a royal blue Dutch oven on a wire shelving unit. Longish hair was tangled in bloody masses, one central clump sticking up like the spiked handle it had been used as. The eyes were closed at least. 

Feet extended from beneath a multi-colored crocheted throw. They appeared to be still attached to legs and those extended under the blue-and-pale-blue pattern to what might be fairly intact.

“How long ago?” 

She pulled a phone from her hip pocket and checked the time.

“Hour and a half.”

“Everything else is under there?” he asked.  

She expelled a breath through pursed lips. “The, uh, genitals are in a Tupperware container in the fridge.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Carried away again?”

“A little.”

He looked everything over again. “One eighty, one eighty-five?”

“You’re good.”   

“Sum of the parts,” he said. 

He stroked the Van Dyke at his chin, looking from head to arm to the throw.

“Five thousand,” he said. “You’re still going to want to wipe everything down with bleach after I’m gone.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll be careful. I was thinking more seventy-five hundred.”

He hadn’t expected a haggle. He eyed her for a moment, impatient. She had some balls and not just in the fridge. Still, while they were vulnerable to each other here and now, he could account for his whereabouts at the time a medical examiner could place time of death. She was looking at worse charges. He was after the fact.

“How tall was he? Six-one?”

“About that.”

“Seven even,” he said. “Final offer.”

She didn’t want to keep the guy. 

Hopefully she’d made sure no one knew who the guy was meeting tonight. That wasn’t Riggs’ concern.

“Deal,” she said.

He slipped out his phone. “Venmo okay?”

“That will work?”

He tapped a few keys, looking over the remains again.

The internal organs would still be in fairly good shape, and she’d been smart to preserve the sex organs, if she hadn’t gotten out of hand with the removal. He could turn a nice profit even with the bargain she’d driven, and she’d reap the dual benefit of the payout and having the body gone with virtually no trace. He’d mark it a win/win.

It was around two a.m. so the neighbors would be dozing, and she had a garage that would accommodate his van and allow him to avoid Ring cameras and the like.

He could be out of here in a couple of hours and get early messages to all of clients. A few had grown impatient since his contact at the med school had moved on. 

He didn’t know what buyers needed bones or body parts for. He never asked.