ditch pissers

We'll start with the death of the twins, and map our trail backward.

Naked dead in a ditch, the scene swarmed with curiosity, flashes, and a gang of meatstick fingers working helpless question marks out of sleep-encrusted eyes. The condensation puffing breath of the crowd brought nervous good mornings as crystal frost glistened dawn sunshine at the girls' knees, lips, and lips again. The girls froze in acceptance. Time moved over them, not through them for a change.

D.D. & Baby cared to know no other others, for they were each other's other. Replicated mirror reversals. When looking into each other's eyes, the reflections stretched to infinity. Fused in form, one always felt that the other was merely illusion.

They were surely bonded in that unnerving way that twins always are… a closeness of passion tainted by the marvelous hatred of two who long desperately to be one. The girls possessed that rare independence of total dependence. They shared everything… milkshakes, lovers, a domineering death drive… and a deep distrust of everything outside.

D.D. came first, and used this as her excuse to promote nihilism and control Baby. Baby came second, and used this as her excuse to rebel. D.D. firebombed and Baby set fires. Somewhere in there, they both got burned.