“It’s the cheese,” she whispered as subconsciously she began to inch forward to him, putting her finger through the cage, hoping to negate the distance separating them. In the same unconscious manner, he began to do the same.
The cage’s bars stopped their fingers. They were barred from love by the inexplicable force of Swiss cheese. The office now glowed with a supernal light, beckoning them to enter into the chamber of eternity whose one face is death and whose other is beauty: Death, the face of the beautiful.
They each pushed harder against the cage, stopping their fingers from touching each other, now rebelling against the constraints of society.
At that moment, their fingers froze as they heard a sharp knock at the door.
“Doctor, it is tea time,” said Nurse Buttkiss from the other side of the door.
The Nordic nurse had grown up in the UK after her parents, both mythic archaeologists, had stumbled across the actual field where the final battle of Ragnarök had occurred, the end of the universe, in the coldest winter of recorded history. For some reason, the thrill of the exact time and place had induced her parents to strip themselves naked and engage in sexual intercourse. Archaic sexologists later found them frozen stiff in mid-coitus and later thawed them out. Her parents, thrilled by the intimacy of icy love and death, had patented a fabulous new brand of Pop-into-Mom sickle. But their sudden fame sent chills up their backs, and they soon died, frigid, after their daughter’s birth.
The authorities, sucking Pop-into-Mom sickles, had sent her to live with a maiden aunt in London, growing up British while haunted by her parents’ Nordic fate. The Norse gods, myth, the truth of reality, sex, and death were on her mind as each night she fondled her tremendously huge breasts and mercifully stroked her clitoris while imagining cosmic death and destruction occurring all around her.
Brothers will fight and kill each other
sisters’ children will defile kinship.
It is harsh in the world, whoredom rife
an axe age, a sword age, shields are riven
a wind age, a wolf age, before the world goes headlong.
No man will have mercy on another.
-Poetic Edda (trans. Dronke)
She had become very punctilious about tea time, passionately feeling the violent orgasm of Ragnarök with every cup of tea she poured.
She knew all the individual battles as she jerked herself off at night, imagining her dead parents experiencing the Nordic ecstasy of the supreme union of death, beauty, and truth.
Odin, the Allfather, fights the monstrous wolf Fenrir. The one-eyed Odin with his eight-legged steed, Sleipnir, will enter the giant wolf’s mouth. Nurse Buttkiss stopped there. For some reason, she thought the giant wolf was a frog. It made no sense at all. The Allfather enters and is eaten alive by a humungous frog. Cannot be!
Her mind breaking as she sought to solve this riddle, she reached out to her frozen parents, copulating to their doom. It was all soooo very meaningful, even if she hadn’t a clue how to decipher it. She needed a code breaker and wouldn’t stop until she found one.
