At the intersection of Sodomy and Skeet, a fountain dominated the muddy rutted foot traffic; ancient porcelain riddled with varicose cracks and pungent stains. It was plain, or would have been were it not gaudily-painted and gilded in a style describable with two appalling words: Frida Kahlo. Apt, given its placement above the city of Aeternus’ central sewage line. From the “art project” erupted a constant, but irregular, discharge of deep yellow urine, much of which aerosolized in the hot humid stale air while the rest splashed rudely back into the basin.

Most denizens rarely noticed it anymore, beyond its presence as an obstacle to circumnavigate. Or a convenient urinal. Unless their tongue became an unfortunate host to a particularly zesty particulate.

Yet, at this unusual moment, it was ringed by a small audience. 

Yes, some were merely there to relief themselves. Others, however, were given to quite the show. Its jaundiced depths churned and splashed, the primordial ectoplasmic sediment of urea, kidney stones, and coins disturbed. Why would anyone wish in such a foul thing? Foul wishes bode foul deeds. Within, engaged in the utmost of existential warfare, thrashed something that appeared wrapped in several bands of heavy wool. No onlooker stirred, transfixed as they were. Until, bored, they sauntered off. Such is the way of things. It mattered not to them whatever drowned in the vile drink, harangued by scat cassowaries: the hell-born shit-sculpted and animated variation on the species one might find were they to traipse a mere block away, enter the elevator in Vileiro’s — known by tourists as The Pleiades Casino & Resort —, and ascend to the upper mezzanine.

Whatever was was hot as, above it, the fountain’s fluid boiled and popped.

After an unforgivable amount of time in which no assistance was lent, a wet drape flung itself over the brim of the fountain, and the mass heaved itself up, over, and out. In a viscous ripe pool that spread and grasped at the heels of those roundabout, it rung itself out and bellowed,

[i]“Horruh! Absolute horruh! Ma vestments befouled! It wis a dire situation, like nae other! Against ma will, befouled by pure foulness. Ye heard it richt, piss from the nape of Satan himself!”

“Twas a fine evenin’ in the Scottish highlands, yet but a moment ago. There I was, standin’ on the edge of’ a bonnie ole loch, takin’ in the serene beauty o’ the land. Out o’ nowhere, this fierce urge tae relieve meself consumed me in a raw instant! I scoured the area, desperate for a wee place tae answer nature’s caw.”

“Finally, a wee bush, shrouded in secrecy, appeared tae be the ideal spot. Ah, relief! I unbuckled me kilt, whipped it up, and  began the blessed act o’ releasing’ Grendel’s mighty arm. But ye ken, sometimes nature has a cruel sense o’ humor, ye see.” 

“Wi' a gust o' wind, which I swear felt like the roar o' a Clydesdale, me urine took on a life o' its ain. It twisted and turned, as if tae mock me feeble attempt at aimin' correctly. The golden stream strayed fae its intended path, arched through the air, and bathed me in its warmth.”

“That’s when I felt the knife in me spine, cretins, and fell o’er dead!”[/i]