The life history of Guillermo Brown

The church clock strikes eight, so those villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six. A cock crows. A body lies across the doorstep of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants’ march across the fedora, there is a serene, momentary quiet after the chimes cease.

‘Agh, i don’t deserve this,’ Guillermo slobbered over himself, ‘a gutful of bad whiskey, these are not my sins i drown.’

He looked up as sweat dripped from his face and saw his daughter, Esmeralda, watching from behind wall. Her bike resting against her thigh. He felt her hopeful brown eyes wishing each breath was his last. My own daughter he said to himself, born only to kill me, stab my heart humiliate my pride.

‘I feel your eyes,’ words soundless fell from his dry cracked lips, ‘bore into me, demanding my instant death. Pah.’

Guillermo’s heart sheared within his chest, she’s no daughter to me, spite’s me at every turn, given herself to the boy of the man who ruined me. He spat in her direction, his hate long outweighed his love.

Two wheezes more and his body slid awkwardly down the white stones, he landed and his ass gave-out a last involuntary gasp of fumes and follow through, sitting in his own shit Guillermo died.

Esmeralda sniffed indignantly… So, she smiled, he died as he lived.

She got on her bike and glided over the cobbles, away from the crows and howling babies into the small ridge of mountains that shadowed the village.

‘He’s gone, and gone for good.’ She got of her bike and ran to Pedro, kissing his smooth cheek, squeezed her arms around him before placing her head side aways on his shoulder. ‘There’s no coming back for him now.’

            ‘Thank god that’s over with.’ He kissed Esmeralda’s brown hair as it warmed against his shoulder and held her tight. Around them the warming gecko’s began stretching and tail flicking as their blood heated, crickets began chirping, and the green from the scattered brush started glistening.

In Pedro’s lair, nuzzled in his sleeping bag; she circled with finger then tongue before tracing her own nipples around Pedro’s. They licked, kissed and bite each other before she climbed on top and finished the morning with a slow long fuck.  

The gas stove spurted on its dying fumes as Pedro made breakfast and Esmeralda boiled the black coffee, they eat and drank. The church bells echoed through the canyon, Pedro gulped as did Esmeralda, there was no more putting off the next step.

  Together they marched back into the village, which had gathered around Guillermo Brown. Esmeralda and Pedro heard the flies buzzing around the dead man’s underside, the whirling faces of villagers turned to them, a vortex of contorted gums and slanted eyes against the burning sun smiled at the couple.

            ‘He should be buried next to your father Pedro’ said the sheriff ‘so it can be a lesson to future generations that love only conquers all, when its enemies are dead.’