Driving through death, miles of macabre crimes. Blistering red pepperonis and the angry black knives jutting from tacky tarmacadam; a Rorschach inkblot drawn by a madman. Death begets death as the carrion eaters gather, all hungry hormones, instinct and saliva. Crows hop on lampposts. Foxes lurk in verges – driven to stupid distraction by deeper urges. Fresh meat every morning lines the motorway in every direction. The flurried feathers of pheasants, when, in slow ascension, are sucked out of the air by the turbulence of traffic. The big scared eye and dull thud of a rabbit.
And when everything wholesome has been scavenged for prey, leaving only a hastily arranged array of fur and feathers like a comedian’s toupee, there’s a chemical breakdown and the atomic structure explodes at a molecular level. The corpse becomes one with the road.
And all these things that die, what’s the fucking point? Where do they go, who do they haunt? I want to birth them again in my arse, then rear them as embryos in jars. I’ll suckle and nurture them. I’ll bring them up as my own. I’ll feed them, read to them, heed them; I’ll let them share my home. I will tutor them in the ways of righteousness. I will guru them in zen and the pure. I will teach them about bombs and machine guns, about anarchy, espionage, and that love is the law. My angels of justice. My fauna marauders. My cosmic assassins. My karmic thugees. Loitering on a grassy knoll or in a conspiracy in the trees. Foxes with firearms, hedgehogs with hand-grenades, crows with high-calibre sniping rifles and badgers with blades.
I shall have sanity and serenity, there will be respect in my territory. There will be casualties and there will be death, but you can rest assured it’ll all be for the best. All that’s left to be decided in my final solution, is, who’s to be first up against the wall come the day of the revolution? We have all your numbers – all your personalised, italicised, barcodes – and we have toads on the road primed to explode: Kamikaze amphibians chock full of Semtex to give you a blow-out you’ll never expect. Another tragic wreck.
And, just let me add, if that doesn’t already take the biscuit, that only rabies will stop us and we know you daren’t risk it. And to show we mean business, me and the critters, if we go down we’re taking the puddy cats with us.