The zipper on the fly is stuck

1

My zipper got stuck, right after the stupidest sexual act I've ever had in my life. She's lying on the hood of the car, and I can't zip it up. A nightmare! The worst part is, the moon wasn't hiding us at all. The full moon was right in my face. I curse under my breath, jumping like a tennis ball, trying to force the damn thing shut in panic. My thoughts are racing, thinking that someone will come soon, see it, it'll be a circus! I absolutely have to do something! Absolutely, immediately. So I ignore my zipper. I go over to her and kiss her on the cheek. It's chilly, so she's chilly too. I lift her onto my back and put her in the backseat. My legs don't seem to fit, and thank God, because only now do I realize my stupidity. How can I get in the backseat? Where's the backseat? A dead body?! In the trunk of a dead body! So I keep pulling, again on my shoulder, and with one hand I open the trunk, which as it opens hits her temple. Fortunately, the blood has stopped flowing. I throw it away, cover it with a blanket, and close it. A moment of relief. Cigarettes come to mind, which, after a brief search, I don't find in my pockets or in the car. She took them. She wanted to smoke while I was doing it. Damn! But what can I do? I've had a craving, I have to light up. I open the trunk again. I search, I find it. As I'm about to close the trunk, I freeze for a moment, admiring the strange position of my body. The thought occurs to me that I could straighten her out. This thought brings up another, the closest thing to straightening, the one that makes a clicking sound. I shudder, because I don't like it when thoughts try to influence subsequent actions. Relieved by the pleasant sound of the trunk lock closing, I sit down by the wheel and light up. Another relief. The relief of cigarette smoke. I know there's not much time left, I know she needs to cool down, and I also know I need to burn it all down first before I can stub it out without remorse. For a moment, I stare at the moon, squinting. I tell him it's because of his zipper. Because instead of looking at her heaving breasts, I was looking at that lamp. And now I'm taking it for granted. The zipper won't fasten. She's not sitting quite right in the trunk. Oh, life, when will this finally end? When will I be able to calmly, after taking off the condom, tell her I love her, that she's everything to me, that I want to have children with her. And not, like usual, slaughter the poor thing to death

...

I couldn't resist, and after fifteen kilometers, I pulled into the forest. I drove deep enough so no one could see us. I stopped the car and opened the trunk. It was still crooked. So crooked that I couldn't bear to look at it. I had to straighten it a bit. Brush a strand of hair here, wipe a tear of blood from the corner of my mouth there. And then I saw it. A little finger. The little finger of my right hand, sticking straight up. Yes, that was the thing that was so striking about the whole composition. The little finger of my right hand couldn't stick out like that when the others were clenched into a fist in death-defying bliss. It, that one finger, wanted to betray me. It wanted to be a trace that could point to me as a criminal. I couldn't believe it. One little finger against a grown man. I sighed with relief, happy that my eyes had found this sign, that I had listened to my intuition and stopped. Swallowing hard, I reached for my cigarettes again. I lit up and, exhaling a large cloud of cigarette smoke, looked up at the moon. This time I gave him a smile. It was thanks to him. Because he illuminated the situation with his light. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have noticed the slanderous finger! Thank you, I shouted to myself, took a few more drags in a row, and after stubbing out the butt, returned to the finger. We'll have to operate. Oh, how I hate this. I can't stand any interference. We agreed, after all, everything was agreed upon—no signs, no traces. Neat and tidy. And there you have it, the finger. And the smallest one at that. Truthfully, it's very unfair. I've never forced anyone into anything. We usually negotiated everything through diplomatic channels, and if we couldn't agree on anything, I backed off. And now it's my turn to do harm. To inflict a corporal insult. Oh, poor me. But there's no point in hesitating. You have to break, my lord, you have to break the vile finger. So, with a sudden surge of determination, I grab my lukewarm hand by the wrist, squeeze it tightly, and with one bold blow, snap it. The snap isn't loud, though distinct enough. But now the finger's position seems even more dangerous. I examine it from all sides, contemplating. Unfortunately. The decision is clear. Break it again, because it can't be left like this. The procedure is repeated, the snap is heard, but this time success is still far from certain. Twisted completely the wrong way, the finger seems to mock me, all the more so by pointing to me as the killer of its owner's finger. I become furious. How can the finger mock me?! Can't I give the finger any advice?! These aren't the kinds of problems a person has faced, these aren't the kinds of failures that have broken me in life! But the finger is completely draining me of strength. I don't know what to do. I'm going crazy. I'm tearing my hair out. Cigarette after cigarette, and ugly curses are being hurled. Suddenly, a flash. I stand erect. The idea has arrived. So I put it into action immediately. I place my finger and hand on the trunk lock.I kiss the hand once more in respect. And firmly close the hatch. This time he surrendered! Broken! Saved!!

3

After another fifteen minutes, I had to stop again. No, nothing like that. I simply ran under a tree, like any other guy. I stopped. As you know, my zipper was unzipped, so all I had to do was enjoy the rustle of the forest and watch the glaring moon. Nothing beats the lap of nature, I thought, and zipped it up. Only after a few steps did I realize it had zipped up without a problem. I thought with a laugh, "The malice of inanimate things," and then I saw the trunk was open. It chilled me. And who wouldn't be chilled?! I ran over, lifted the lid, and?! There she was! There she was, but somehow different. As if she'd rolled over because she was uncomfortable. As if she'd fallen asleep. The sight chilled my blood even more, but at the same time reassured me that she hadn't fallen out, that she was still here! I straightened my dress, combed my hair, and, calmed, closed the lid, climbed into the cab. I light a cigarette and fondly stroke the contents of my pocket. I know it's there. I know it hasn't escaped. I'd recognize that nail anywhere. He'd noticed that delicate bone from afar. And the delicate scent permeating the cigarette stench. I put it out. I open the window to air it out. I stroke it again and take it out to examine it. Holding it before my eyes, I can't help but marvel. Marvelous, beautiful, incredible. The nail is perfectly groomed. Just a little chipped at the tip, but I pretend not to notice. The bones are beautiful. The cuticle is still soft. I sniff. I smell it up close. Mmmmm... you can even smell the perfume here. What class! What elegance! I can't take it anymore. I kiss it. I just peck it. Lightly, delicately, with a gentleness that's innate to me. I press it to my cheek for a moment. I weigh it in my hand for a moment. And then I quickly pop it into my mouth. A few crunches and swallow! Intoxication! Oh, what a night!

4

I was about to leave, but the growling in my stomach made it clear I was hungry. Very hungry. I shrugged, climbed out of the cabin, and opened the trunk. She lay curled up as if afraid of my hunger. Or so I thought, but when I cut off a solid piece of bacon, I experienced a vague feeling of warmth. Something smelled juicy, and as I put the meat in my mouth, I tasted braised ribs. My ears flushed, my eyes sparkled. And yet! This is her! I screamed at the top of my lungs and ate piece after piece of smoked ham, roasted leg of pork, heart in onion, liver with apple, dumpling in pastry, steamed tongue…

Oh, such love is rare. Now I know we were made for each other, and that no one could take her away from me. Not even a stomach pump at the doctor's…