Existence Womb

   
   "Existence Womb"
     
   Miriam wasn't your garden-variety vegetation god; specifically, she might be an organic vegetation god--in futurity, as if it might have already been birthed.  Yeah, she pissed her hornafied boyfriend off, the adolescent thug wanting her chaste taste for things carnal and cruel--his father a deadly physician; plus, a reptilian member of a weird group of devil-worshiping quasi-Wicca types, it first leading to Miriam's dreams of bizarre sodomy; next, her beautician noticing a bald spot behind her right ear after Miriam complained to her psychiatrist of sleep paralysis.  A Freudian shrink, scholarly, understanding, knowing her reason for the visitations, but on the government-control list--what was he supposed to do?
   There was no way Dr. Luke could inform her of why the implant was put there, or why the sleep paralysis and dreams of butt-pirating were happening.  After leaving a job for helping the Men in Black cope with the reality of the bizarre supernatural, all Dr. Luke could do was provide scientific exorcisms.  Anti-Psychotics to sedate the cerebral curiosity of teenage Miriam, knowing if she spilled the factual beans on Twitter or other social media--it could lead to global catastrophe and start a crazy campaign for the cursed and molested--those affected by the fallen angels, them morphed reptilian and fighting for control over the population of Mother Earth.
   Thus, Miriam took up smoking.  Heard the American Indian would load the peace pipe with tobacco, take a suffering, deep inhalation; next, after soaking their insides with the anti-oxidant, release their prayers to Grandfather before passing out--and is there any record of lung cancer on the ancient American Indians?  Regardless, it soothed Miriam, along with the brain-sedating Anti-Psychotics, calming her to a bit of Buddha-like balance, but the negativity still erupted in volcanic fashion during motley nightmares and the sleep paralysis--nothing but eyes able to move while hallucinations, or actual reality, hovered around her harmless soul, as if a test subject, a tagged member of Vonnegut's zoo, but there was no Kilgore Trout to write her story for the magnanimous and always understanding underground of freaks knowing that demonic devils do exist.