Free fiction: Kali sat next to me on the train
by Eric Staggs
October 2, 2005
Kali sat next to me on the train. Her eyes were half closed, but I could see her irises were gold. She had six arms and each of her hands, beautifully manicured. Gold and bronze bracelets jingled softly as she shifted her arms. This Hindu goddess of destruction sat nearly motionless, as if in meditation. her only movement was a slight swaying as the train rocketed through the tunnel.
Her torso was nearly bare except for a golden chain bra that barely covered her three full breasts. Her legs were muscular and ended in talon-like feet. Around her neck and head hung several delicate chains made of gold.
Across from Kali sat a female parking cop. She had short-cropped black hair that stood up in all directions. It was cute in a boyish sort of way. She watched her feet as we rode the train, looking up only to steal an occasional glance at Kali the Destroyer. The meter maid had boring eyes, brown or maybe they were brown. Her hands were delicate, thin. Her skin was pale. I followed her eyes to her shoes. She wore matte black boots, clean, freshly oiled. Her whole body was straight, angular. Compared to Kali, she was like a small boy. She fidgeted with her book of parking tickets, flipping them like you would a deck of cards. Something about her said “desperation”. I named her Rita. I decided I liked Rita.
Next to the meter maid was a proctologist. I could tell her was a proctologist because under his coat was a name tag that read “A.S. Ore – Proctology”. I surmised it stood for Arthur Samuel or even Assisting Surgeon. Part of me wanted to believe it stood for Ass Searcher. He looked tired. Cranky. His blonde hair was perfect, oil slicked back. Around his neck was a small silver chain with a small cross dangling vulnerably. He tapped his feet and fiddled with his cell phone. As if handling it would make it work better, or make that important person call him back even sooner. I followed his gaze to Kali’s three golden breasts. He stared blatantly, as if it were his right. Considering his occupation, maybe it was. His hands were big, rough. I always imagined a proctologist would have soft and nimble hands. I did not like this impatient proctologist. I named him Anal Satisfaction.
So there I was, trapped on the train with Kali, Hindu Goddess of Destruction, Lovely Rita, the Meter Maid, and Anal Satisfaction, the pissed off Proctologist.
I decided I would see what sort of conversation I could start off between the four of us.
“I like your bracelets.” I said awkwardly to Kali. Her eyes flicked open and she turned to face me.
“Thank you.” Her voice was deep and melodic, “They are gifts from a demon who proclaims his love for me.”
“They’re lovely.” Rita piped up, her voice squeaky.
“Did you say Demon?” Anal Satisfaction asked.
“Yes.” Kali replied. “A Demon. Kolvatarynya, Lord of the Seventh Hell and the Burning Plains.”
“He sounds successful. How long have you know him…?” Rita asked, leaning forward.
“Many thousands of years.” Kali replied.
“So it’s a pretty serious relationship then?”
