4

It's still dark when Monkey is woken with a shake.

"Get up." Pig is glaring down. "We have to go."

Monkey rubs his eyes. 

"It's two in the morning. What makes you in a rush all of a sudden?"

"Never mind," Pig mutters. "If you want to find him we need to go."

The charred tire is still in the center of the room, bits of crayon melted on the floor, the night sky peeking through the hole smashed in the ceiling. Monkey's head is resting on his arm tucked underneath like a pillow. He stares into a small narrow closet, the door flung open, a concrete statue of Mary leaning in the corner, black and white kiss face with red painted hands outstretched. He leans up as Pig waddles to the front door. 

Outside the streets are shiny and wet. Pig walks along the sidewalk as Monkey plods next to him through a strip of soppy grass. A dog follows along the fence barking, gives up then runs back to the porch. They turn a corner and a car of teenagers drives by giggling and blaring a song that rises and fades as they disappear over the hill. Pigs stops in front of a house set back from the street, looks up at the third-floor window.

Red Christmas lights strung 
around the gutters
porch door open
five dogs barking
a woman passed out in the yard
see-thru shirt
lightly soaked in vomit
her breasts obscured under an arm
that's flopped over
revealing a tattoo of two hands
shaking
with the words scrawled underneath 
in bluish faded letters
ALWAYS FOR PLEASURE 

They step over and enter the house to find,

A green corduroy couch
wedged in the corner
three women
smoking
ashing in an upside-down 
Peter Pan peanut butter lid
talking excitedly
eyes darting
dutifully recording their 
drunkenness
as three bicycles 
lay on the floor 
and the magazines
and phone books
and boxes of cocktail umbrellas
lean against the fireplace
and on the highest shelf
of the balsa wood bookcase
an unopened copy of
Capital
that Kevin's mom 
bought him
at Barnes and Noble

Monkey looks at Pig who's transformed into a bearded punk with black cut-offs, t-shirt, boots and prison-ish tattoos up and down his arms. A woman dressed like a drugged-out witch in fishnets comes over holding an astrology tarot deck and says, "Can I give you a reading?" 

"That'd be rad." 

They disappear up the stairs as Pig turns and says, "My name's Button and my preferred pronouns are they/them." 

She smiles back. 

"Cool".

Monkey is left standing alone with the three women who occasionally throw severe glances in his direction. Not knowing what else to do he sits down in the overstuffed vinyl sofa chair that's been sliced down the arms, the white stuffing pushing out now grey with sweat and dirt and mold. Monkey sits and listens to the women talk though they go so fast he's not sure which one is actually speaking. 

"I got so fucked up last night."
"Are you still seeing that guy?"
"Chad? No. We just messed around. We aren't together."
"So what happened?"
"Oh, you know, got drunk and puked in the bathroom of Harry's then stepped outside for a cigarette and this guy sees me and starts talking to me and I totally made out with him even though I still had puke on my shirt. It was awesome."
"That's so you."
"Yeah, you're such a bitch."
"I know. I love it. Oh hey, take a picture of me drinking this Natty Light."
"Oh yeah, me too."

They pause a moment snapping photos of each other handing their phones back and forth.

"So how was your weekend?" 
"I got really fucked up with Dave. We smoked a lotta weed and I was like, does he really like me or is he just hanging around, you know?"
"Dave has a really weird penis."
"Yeah, it's true."
"Yeah."

They pause again to take a drag and throw looks at Monkey as if he's intruding on the most intimate of conversations. 

"Where did you come from?" one of them says, then before he can answer, "You're really fucking ugly."
"Yeah. It's kinda cool."
"Yeah, I'd totally make out with you."

They all laugh and turn back to their conversation.

"So where were we?"
"Dave's penis."
"Oh, yeah. Super weird."

Monkey hears heavy boots stomping down the stairs.

"Oh fuck, it's Mara."
"Party's over." 

They all laugh, quickly cutting it off as Mara enters and in the faux-cheeriest greeting they can muster, "Hi Mara!" She doesn't answer, sweeps the room with her glare landing on the women huddled on the couch then to Monkey then back to the women. 

"Why is there a Monkey in my living room?"

They giggle as she slumps down next to them. 

an Alvin and the Chipmunks shirt
black cut-offs
and dirty bare feet
which she tucks 
underneath
on the green corduroy cushions
of the couch

"Did I interrupt your heteronormative pseudo-rebellious relationship discussion again?" Mara says, arms crossed over all three chipmunks.

Eyes narrow. Cigarettes are puffed more intensely.

"How's your relationship going?" one of the girls shoots back.

"I don't believe in defining what my partner means to me through language. I find it stifling and a part of the conformist patriarchy to have to justify my 'status' so that I can chart my death march toward monogamous marriage." She pulls a yellow American Spirit bag out and starts to roll a cigarette. "I'm more into the blurring of lines and spaces that exist between the rigid system that's been handed down." She finishes rolling the cigarette, puts it between her lips and lights it, takes a drag and exhales. "Whether we're talking about gender or sexuality I'm supposed to check some box. Man. Woman. Queer. Straight. I reject those labels because I've embraced the fluidity of existence and don't need a categorical crutch to prop up some semblance of personhood that amounts to a failed platonic ideal that's static and unchanging and ultimately illusory." She puts the American Spirit bag in her pocket. " I change day by day, minute by minute, and I don't feel comfortable being bullied into solidifying what amounts to a performative gesture just so my friends feel comfortable in their own shallow understanding of what 'a relationship' with another human being means." 

Eyes roll. Glances are thrown.

"Oh really? Because I heard that 'person' you've been sleeping with posted on Instagram about what a bitch you were. What was her name? Alejandra? Did you tell her about your intellectual commitment to...whatever it is you're talking about?" 
"I told her."
"And how did that go?"
"Not well."

The three women return to their conversation, just much quieter as Monkey sits in the chair nervously picking at the stuffing wondering what's happened to Pig. He looks at Mara and the hairs on his arm stand up. He peers into her three spirits and seven souls and sees,

a severed arm
tangled in a gold dress
smoke billowing up
two eyes
glaring through the clouds
as paper flames
dance around
a small hand
holding a melting peach
the sugary insides
turning black
in the fire

He leaps up, pulls out his cudgel and points it at her.

"Demon, tell me what you've done with Sand!"

Mara untucks her legs and sits cross-legged as she ashes on the floor, takes another drag just for effect then, "What did you say to me?" A cloud of smoke hangs around her face.

"Yeah, what the fuck. Not cool," one of the women says.
"Shut up Nancy." 

Mara leans forward and smashes her cigarette in the yellow plastic Peter Pan lid. "You think you can come into my house and call me...a demon?" Her dark eyebrows bristle as she burns a small hole through him with her glare. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She leans back with her arms crossed. "Let me guess. The hero. A man of course, saving the world from...what exactly?" She puts her feet up on the coffee table. "And who do you decide to demonize? An empowered young person of color who freely expresses her sexuality." She laughs. "What's sad is that you're so privileged you can't even see the power structures that are manipulating you into this stereotypical masculine display."

Monkey cocks his head, looking a little hurt. 

"Privileged? I spent 500 years trapped underneath a mountain."

Mara sighs. 

"I'm so sick of hearing cis-men complain about the tiniest hardships they've had to go through. Can you just stop feeling sorry for yourself for one second? Does everything have to be about you?" 

Monkey frowns, swings his cudgel around his body, grips one end with both hands then brings the full force of it down on top of her. Mara doesn't move, raises a hand and catches it above her head. She stands, pushes the coffee table out of the way with her shin then knocks him back into the fireplace sending the orange and yellow and green cocktail umbrellas flying.

"Don't you know," her skin turns a brilliant blue, "that you shouldn't touch someone," her body grows into an amorphous blob of energy, "without their consent?"

Monkey leaps at the demon
cudgel in hand
smashing from every angle
as it's amorphous body
shifts and changes
grows hard then soft
each swing
brushing air
as she batters his face and neck
with a thousand tiny jabs
Unable to counter
he drops his weapon and flees
to a trash pile
outside 
as the doors and windows slam shut
and a brilliant blue light 
can be seen burning 
from every crack
of the punk house 

Beaten and bruised Monkey sits on the curb, a couch next to him, the cushions taken up by drop ceiling tiles, oddly cut pieces of drywall, lathe with tiny chunks of plaster still attached. He beats his fists against the ground, smashes the lathe into bits, throws the tiles like frisbees back at the house then picks up the bathroom door and is just about to launch it into the street when he looks up and sees himself looking down, the beveled full-length mirror shining back at him. 

He rests the door on end and takes another look at himself, his tiger-striped pants, tufts of hair sticking out from his cheeks, wrinkly gnarled face. A car drives by and the headlights blind him as he turns his head and closes his eyes. He waits a moment then opens them, looks at his monkey arms extending out disappearing past the edges of the rectangle, the bevels making an odd cut at the wrists. He smiles and his reflection smiles back. He frowns and his reflection frowns back. He thinks a moment then carries the mirror over his head as he smashes through the front door and leaps inside. 

The three girls on the couch are tied up in the corner. Mara turns as her skin cracks and starts to burn the same brilliant blue. Monkey brandishes the mirror as she leaps for him, but instead of attacking, he holds it in front reflecting each shape she takes back to her in the clarity of a flat plane. Her body morphs and changes but can't escape its own image. She lets out a scream as the amorphous energy blob ties itself in knots then bursts revealing

a fourteen-year-old girl
dressed in golden armor
a small jeweled knife 
stuck in her side
her head down
bangs over face
shielding herself with one arm
and the other
hangs behind
holding a sword as large as her tiny frame
she stands and faces Monkey
and it's hard to tell
who's more fearsome 
a monkey with the face of a Thundergod
or a 14-year-old girl
wielding the Sword of Justice 

With one swipe she cuts through the mirror. Monkey jumps back, sees his cudgel on the floor and grabs it. They lock eyes, each trying to anticipate what the other will do, making subtle movements, their feet firmly planted. "Demon," Monkey says, "before we continue...do you mind...if I play some music?"

Mara looks confused, her stance softens a bit then, "What're you going to play?"

"AC/DC."

"Yeah, they're awful so...no. But if you let me pick, I can find something good."

Monkey lowers his cudgel his eyes never leaving her as he reaches into his pocket and tosses his gold rectangle, which she catches then cautiously lowers her sword as she starts to swipe through his albums.

"You've got a lot of stupid shit on here," she says scrolling through, "and some good stuff to...I guess." Her eyebrows raise. "Bikini Kill?"

Monkey shrugs as Mara touches the screen, an angry guitar and drums fill the room as she rains down a fury of blows which pushes him to the corner then a voice as loud and crude and vicious as any Monkey has heard screams, "SUCK MY LEFT ONE!" as Mara raises her sword scraping the ceiling sending plaster showering down over his fur and eyes.

The sword of justice
slices through lathe and plaster
cuts couches to ribbons
leaves lamps halved and wobbling
trims drapes
cleaves stacks of magazines in two
while Monkey dodges
her shining steel glancing
against his gold banded rod
she pushes him to the hardwood
the young girl standing over
her silver blade bearing down

Monkey clutches his cudgel with both hands trying to keep the blade away from his face then lets it go and slides underneath her as she topples to the ground, her sword cutting a clean line through the floor. She yanks on the handle to pull it out as he jumps on top of her, grabs the dagger in her side and pulls it out. Mara, clutching her wound, staggers back leaving her sword wedged in the floor, looks down at the trickle that's now become a steady stream as it runs down her leg and in-between her toes.

Monkey flips the dagger over in his hand then holds it out balancing it on his palm. Mara, heaving, looks over to her sword then back to Monkey who cocks his head and grins, extending his palm further as if to say, "take it."

The song ends. There's silence except for the occasional whimpering of the three women tied in the corner. Mara moves closer, her body tense as she locks eyes with Monkey. She extends her small hand toward the dagger, moving slowly toward it. Just then Kevin walks in from the kitchen, pajama bottoms with no top drinking a beer and says, "Hey, can I bum a smoke?" Monkey looks over as Mara leaps for the dagger, grabs it and thrusts it as hard as she can in his side. The blade shatters against him and the pieces fall to the floor, leaving her pushing the gold hilt into his stomach. Monkey looks at Mara then down to the dagger then back up.

"I probably would've done the same thing," he says. He takes a step back and wipes the bits of shattered metal off his fur. "I don't mean to ruin the moment but...I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty? Do you have any tea?" Mara still holding the gold hilt nods and points toward the kitchen. He turns his back to her then stops, "Unless you want to fight some more."

She walks over and sits on the green corduroy couch cut cleanly in two. 

"I only drink Chamomile," she says sullenly looking down at her side.
"Do you need help with that?" he asks from the kitchen pouring water in a pot.
"I'm fine." 

She pulls a small box out of her pocket and opens it. Lined in red velvet with an assortment of needles and thread she picks through before choosing one, puts the thread in her mouth, pushes it through the eye and starts to stitch herself up. She finishes, looks up at Kevin, who is still standing in the entryway who lets out a, "So no one has a fucking cigarette? I thought this was a commune!" before walking upstairs to finish watching Avatar.

Monkey comes back in with two cups of tea, hands one to Mara then sits on the other half of the cleaved couch, each tilting towards the other. They sip their tea awhile before Monkey says, "What do you want to do with them?"

She looks at the women tied in the corner. "Kill them." She takes a small sip. "The way they talk to each other, they can't even pass The Bechdel test." 

Monkey frowns and looks them over, finishes his tea in one gulp, unties the women and watches as they flee for the door.

"He was here you know," Mara says as the door slams. "Sand. He stayed here for a while before he left for Florida. He's in bad shape. I mean, he was in bad shape. I've heard he's only got worse."

Monkey nods then starts to head upstairs.

"You'll need to take me with you though," she says setting her cup down. He stops at the landing and looks back. "I made a good home here and by letting those girls go, you just destroyed it. They know who I am now. Everything I've built. It's over."

Monkey thinks for a moment then, "If you can help us find him, you can come."

She pulls her sword out of the floor dragging the tip across the hardwood as she follows him up, the blade banging on each step cutting a slice as she walks. 

"You're such a Scorpio," they hear as they stand in the doorway and see, 

The idiot Pig lounging on a mattress 
with the fishnet witch
her tarot cards
encircling
as she giggles and whispers
his fortune
scattered with her hands
she pulls them together 
and sets them down
as Mara flashes her sword
shearing the deck
breaking the moment
and the bed
in two

"We're leaving," Monkey says. 

"Who the hell is this?" Pig yells changing back into his grotesque appearance as he rolls on the floor.

"She's going to take us to Sand," then looking at Pig, "Doesn't this get boring?" Monkey waves his hand at the woman sprawled out on the ground. "You know...this. Aren't you bored by now?"

Pig stands up and brushes himself off. 

"I'm a Pig," he says throwing his arms up. "What do you want from me?"

Outside they hop on the summersault cloud as Mara sits on the stoop putting on her boots.

"I can't get on that thing," she says.

"What do you mean?" Pig asks impatiently.

Mara's eyes narrow and then flatly, "I don't know how to say it any simpler so you will understand Pig."

"So how're we supposed to get to Florida?" 

"We'll have to rent a car."

"We don't have any money," Monkey says stepping off the cloud and down on the sidewalk, then to Pig, "C'mon. Get off."

"No! Do you know how much extra effort we're going to have to go through! Let's just leave her here. We can be there in a few seconds on this thing."

"You were just saying how much you hated riding on it and now you don't want to get off. She's the only one who knows where Sand is so we can't leave her here."

Pig climbs down muttering to himself, turns to Mara and says, "Fine!" in his best imitation which Mara responds to with the most insincere smile she can muster then to Monkey, "So who knows how to drive?"

Silence.

"God damn it!" Pig says stamping his feet. "Are you telling me we have three supernatural beings who've been alive for thousands of years and not a single one of them has bothered to learn how to drive?"

"This shouldn't be hard, we can just get on a bus or an Uber or something."

"We're monks," Monkey says. "We can't have money so we can't buy tickets. It has to be given to us."

"What kind of stupid rule is that?"

"It's how it is."

"Speak for yourself," Pig says. "I'm no monk. I can do whatever I want." 

"Not when you're with me," Monkey says grabbing his arm. "We keep the rules. Understand?"

Pig throws Monkey's hand off with a sharp turn, paces away then comes back.

"Who is this girl anyway? We don't even know her and all of a sudden we're changing everything just so she can come with us?"

She rolls her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. 

"My father is...Mara. He named me Mara too, because, well, do I really have to explain why someone would name their child after themselves?" Pig stares blankly. "Mara. You know...King of the Demons. The Evil One who tempted Buddha with his daughters trying to distract him from enlightenment. Any of this sound familiar?"

Pig shakes his head then looks over at Monkey then walks away, stops, turns around, "Well...we're not going to get to Florida by standing here and I'd rather hit the road then wait around with you two."

Mara sticks her sword in her belt and nods to signal Monkey to go ahead, which he does, as she follows behind. 

"Not that this needs to be said, but I just want to point out that we are headed on foot to god knows where with the daughter of the King of the Demons with no money, no food and nothing to drink."

"Just like the good old days," Monkey says tapping the back of Pigs head with his cudgel and making him trip.

"Good old days," Pig rights himself. "I almost got eaten half a dozen times. We were constantly terrorized by monsters. We had to beg every meal. That stupid monk was always getting himself captured, and YOU teased me the whole time."

Pig wobbles down the sidewalk, Monkey on his heels, his cudgel thrown over his shoulder followed close behind by Mara, scowling, trudging along in black boots, her sword dragging, shearing through the cement blocks behind her.