Yellow Moon Parody

(ooc: this contest entry is an experiment with spacing and paragraph format. I think it adds to the suspense of the story, please do not be overwhelmed by this single aspect as I'd like to hear your take on the content more than the format.)




The silence of the night is ravaged by a streaking mustang piloted by a blur of red strapless dress and golden curls. The car careens around a 90 degree corner sliding to the edge of the road and accelerating again through a quiet cul-de-sac. One lithe hand hangs out the driver's window holding a lit cigarette, now a forgotten smoldering filter. The woman releases the butt to put two hands on the wheel as she jumps the curb and furrows two rancorous trenches in some poor old woman's flower bed. The red blur races around the house meeting a side street in back. Several minutes pass in silence as a few window shades are lifted and a call is made downtown.
In the time it takes one to hop off the bed and walk to the window the far off sound of sirens is heard, far away and then instantly close. A dog barks. Sirens closing. The night wakes.
Three squad cars, new chargers with the intimidating feel of mounted officers with the will to kill and the desire to close the gap. They circle the rounded dead-end looking for signs of their target's presence.

"Lead to dispatch... suspect is in the area, send additional cars."

Three blocks away the mustang cools in a closed garage, heavy techno music can be heard within the house as our heroine takes a petite handbag from the passenger's seat and enters the house joining the rest of the pack. Inside the music makes verbal conversation difficult and the mood is slick with anticipatory aggression and sexual malfeasance. Bodies grind one another to oblivion as the stereo belts out a base line that shocks and a monotone chorus that is indecipherable. The woman casually tosses her hair back as she scans the room -her skin pallid and eyes devilishly bloodshot.

The furnishings have all been removed and the floor is touched by red wine and a few discarded cigarette butts, ignored by the young rock godlettes.

The woman leans close to a shirtless man with a studded dog collar. His hair is iced blue on blonde, his expression is dazed and puzzled. He releases the music and turns to meet her gaze waiting several moments before breaking eyes. "Now?!" He shouts over the music. She places one hand on her hip and tips her nose slightly towards the floor looking at him from the ceiling's edge of her soft brown eyes. Leaning forward she slips one red lacquered nail from her right index finger through the ring in his nasal septum. She pulls him toward herself with a come hither motion launching into a fierce kiss. They quickly climb the stairs and duck into the restroom, the music is all around them and just below that the resonant touching of voices having lost language and found only sexual expression.

(Chapter 2: Yellow Moon Parody)

Below the crescendo of violent dancing and carousing has dissipated. A tired, bed-headed youth in pajama pants and leather jacket peeked out the front door. He is apologizing while a dozen people slip out the back door and sprint across the lawn. A few launch away in their cars while the rest jog two blocks away to continue the party, bottles in hand.
The boy with the matted punk rawk hair steps outside closing the door behind him. "We will keep it down officer." The party is gone but the embarrassingly loud crunch-techno beat lays a zigzag pattern through the neighborhood and frightens the souls of the 2 police officers standing in the front lawn.

Upstairs there is a knock on the bathroom door,
no reply;

the door is forced open by a youngish mustachioed police officer to reveal two nude figures sitting on the toilet seat. The seconds afterwards are filled with silence but no one turns away. Then the thin pale man sitting on the woman's lap hops up, "What the fuck are you doing in my house, pig?"
The two lovers grab their clothes off the floor as the police officer steps back into the hallway. The youth in the leather jacket peeks in sheepishly, his female companion hides in a closet nearby.
"They saw inside the window, were busted, bro." One of the cops kicks through a pile of junk on the floor looking for some evidence."Take a look, there...
blood."
The punks are dressed and the cops are banging out a series of questions. "Come down stairs, which one of you owns the car in the garage?" The group moves down the stairs clamoring through the collected wreckage and party foul that had accumulated for over a month.
The door to the garage was open and three more cops stood in the kitchen. They split the youths up and began interrogating them individually. Iced haired punk gets saddled with a young rookie-cop who cussed violently and immediately begins to accuse him of an insane range of vile disgusting crimes. Blonde-Candy in a battered red strapless faces off with a kind faced Native American officer who takes her information and begins questioning her about the owner of the house.

(Chapter 3: Fin)

The sleeping kid is pulled into the kitchen where two patrol officers one in tactical gear grilled him about the blood on the mustang. Rights are violated as the young goths are cuffed and dragged to the waiting squad cars. It only took two bats of her brown eyes and a sidelong glance across the room to place the blame. Thirty minutes after they knocked, the cops are gone and blondie stuffs a few extras in her purse before leaving.
A pack of reds. A stack of blue Zanex caps. A roll of twenties and she is gone.
Two blocks away the party was on, the music was pounding an abandoned burnt out shell and Blondie doesn't need to tell the tale. The moon is high and visible through a hole in the roof. Big yellow summer solstice moon, equinox, a lunar holiday celebrated since time immortal.
She is free to exercise her passion over any of these, male or female. She is their leader.
The ecstasy of the moment rockets through her body. She dances to the music from the mobile stereo and disappeared for a couple moments. Her actions paled to this holy offering. She worship the male and female aspect of the moon. She worshiped herself and then feasted upon the pack until she was sated. Anything was possible.