Existence Womb (39)

   
   "Existence Womb (39)"
   
   Tourmaline--blue-hued amplifier of defeating paranoia.  Buck had been around for a protracted period of existence; hence, knew Miriam's reptilian or spook-crafted implant, possibly a synergy of the iniquitous twosome, kissing each others' asswipe--whatever, it could be so microscopic that only an obsessive surgeon could remove it.  Maybe old Doctor Luke was involved.  A secret eye on his daughter--the beholder of Sleep Paralysis, a medical, bullshit name for what tortured torment really is.
   Buck wanted to hold the Tourmaline next to Miriam's bald spot behind her ear--disrupt the connection.  With his monk-like telepathy perfected by his werewolf nature, Buck could hear the Call of the Wild in Miriam; still, it was his duty to shield her from ignoble aspects that slithered save in Saint Patrick's resonating region.
   He came back to the junkyard, goosing with non-gallantry, quite rudely really, the rebuilt Boss 302 he was restoring, feeling the torque out of the hole, that V-8 force which promotes rotation, spinning his tires like at "The Gumball Rally" scene with the Cobra in the sewer, next to that Italian-constructed piece of shit, well, it was nice, but having owned a Muscle Car junkyard, Buck was a bit picky concerning his hot rods with damning dexterity to bolt from the hole.
   Arriving--he fought off three reptilians harassing Miriam's sleep patterns, collecting data from a neophyte, but for what?  He was full shifted, fanged and clawed, but these were fallen angels, and he sustained many a wound, yet Miriam had the powerful potency to endure, invoking her own Arch-Angelity to defend her, for a moment, thinking:  "I really don't need Buck."  Next, noticing his bloody paws and ooze-smeared fangs dripping from the gore-fought battle.  Yup, she loved and adored him totally.  Needed his gel too--for he would be the united mate of her life.  An everlasting longevity of lovesome.