Ranked Scorpion

Ranked Scorpion spent his entire life seeking shade in hot climates. His entire life and entire mission were underground. He was a big commander in Desert Brigade.

After retirement, a new life awaited him. He had a love of writing and a past filled with all sorts of mystical memories. Now, this high-ranking scorpion wanted to use it at his desk.

”Because he knew:
Finding words underground was harder than finding the sun itself.” Ranked Scorpion

The scorpion opened the cigarette pack with the sting of its thick tail. And the poison at the tip, the nicotine, gave it a majestic high. Poison attracts poison, after all. The scorpion, puffing on its cigarette, wandered among the bookshelves. Its priorities were cover scanning and color perception. Thinking the warm colors would contain cool stories, the scorpion gravitated toward the cool-colored covers.

There were 100 books on the shelf; the scorpion chose only three. Those three books contained enough pheromones to enhance the scorpion’s venom. He inhaled the scent of the story and left the words and pages scattered. Because a book without scent is not at all alluring.

Having received it’s purchase, the scorpion climbed down from the shelf, headed for bed, pulled the covers over itself, and fell asleep. Just then, the bookshelf collapsed like a tower, exploding and collapsing in a slow, gradual collapse. Because the main pillars that fed the library were inside those three books.The scents of this 3 books was a main columns that hold up the entire library. Without them, there is no meaning to ıt’s existence Right now, he was wandering around in the scorpion’s venom, giving him a mystical dream.

(However, some books are poisonous. Some dreams too. Some are just like a scorpion’s dream. It feels every vibration underground.)

Ranked Scorpion’s Dream

At the typewriter, the scorpion was charting every move of its coming journey beneath the ground when a knock at the door threw it into panic.
At first, it thought the three secret policemen from the African front had arrived.
But instead, three moralistic pimps stepped inside. All of sudden, he shocked. After brief dialogue, main issue came up with many questions.

After seating them in chairs of buffalo hide, the scorpion offered cocktails and discussed the terms of their pact concerning the prostitutes.
The scorpion, still owed a debt by one of the women, schemed to seduce the pimps,
to pit the flesh of a cherry’s pit against its fruit and bring down the tree of pleasure.

(The weapon it carried was hidden in the venom of its stinger:
pheromones distilled from three forbidden books—
moves of erasure, gravitational weapons of mass attraction.)

After that, it returned to the typewriter,
resuming its descent into the tunnels of the earth,
until it woke…

From the shattered bookshelf, through the night,
thousands of words crept toward the bed in vengeance.
They lifted the quilt,
and in a flurry of letters hurled upon him,
they crushed the scorpion to death.

The greatest mistake the scorpion had ever made: enter on the field of the three secret policemen.

Seismograph Under The Sand

This was the price the scorpion paid for daring to enter forbidden areas.

Scorpion had a tendency towards adventures.
My tongue is my sting, and my words are poison. It will slowly paralyze you as you read, but not enough to kill you.

They can hear the slightest vibrations of the Earth.
Even the wind sounds like a footstep to them.
Mouths, antennae, nerves beneath the ground—
an insect as small as an earthquake,
prey as fast as lightning.

Those who control scent rule society. In their world, every intention is encoded with a scent. Therefore, lying is never possible. Smell quickly reveals lies and intentions.

Gifted, cunning women carry in their books those spiritual pheromones.
Their nourishment comes from the man
who lingers at the crossroads, or waits at the threshold.
The matriarch of that unseen fragrance is the clitoris,
its name in Greek—kleis—
meaning a lock, a bar across a door.

And yet, however gifted,
each woman harbors secret informants against herself.
Such a woman is the deepest worm in a man’s brain,
gnawing, consuming.
And a woman,
is also the worm of another woman.

(In the theater of wolves devouring wolves,
tickets for the men in the audience are costly.
The best way in is the black market:
one-night stands.
For some, that is what freedom means