of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 4, ch. 3)
by Tom Stuckey
III
It was hard to compare the size of The Golden Dawn, except to some of the complexes built in China that inevitably end up unfinished and abandoned as massive ghost cities. It was big, big enough so that it took a full day to walk across and prided itself on being like a separate country of its own. It had gambling, prostitution, drinking - yes - but it also had shops, cinemas, cafes, galleries, museums, indoor menageries, statues, assault courses, and a full F1 racetrack. People worked all week, mainly at The Golden Dawn, and then spent all their wages at the same place. It really was the simplest business model. People actually would vacation where they worked (just in another district of the vast complex). There was even a ski resort, with real snow, and chalets at the tops of the slopes.
Tate had managed to get the aging Beyoncé and Jay Z to perform together in what would be the finale of the evening in the Golden Ball Room, which was more like a stadium. It was 11 o'clock, and Lisa already had to go through numerous security checks to get into what were the VIP boxes of the Ball Room. Tate waited for her alone in a black leather chair that faced the stage. "Come and sit over here next to me. We will get to that later, never you mind. Just sit." Lisa sat next to him and settled-in to watch the matured duo perform. They moved around to upbeat music and loud explosions of fireworks, even from all the way back Lisa could see their sagging flesh and considered that they both looked like witches. Lisa had heard one of Beyoncé's songs before and thought that it was the worst kind of music that everyone loved. After they had finished, Tate took to the stage and Lisa stood by his side, "Welcome to the New Dawn!!" A deafening applause made Lisa jump a little, as she stared out into a blinding sea of mobile phones’ flashing lights. "We will continue to build! And now, I will consummate this party with my number…1…girl, and you will party with all the rest! Here is B and J to take us there!" Beyoncé and Jay Z came back on the stage and began their new song, and the crowd went wild.
Back in the box, Tate spoke at Lisa, "Get undressed and bend over." Lisa did what she was told and bent over the leather chair, Tate fucked her so that the crowd could see below, fucked her to the music that sustained its constant beat, like a pulse: Bum Bum Bum. Lisa gripped the back of the chair, looked, closed her eyes, and then looked to her side where there were a champagne bucket and a big block of ice on a golden platter with a small golden dagger beside it. As Tate landed his final thrust, Lisa let go of the chair and fell forward, reaching out and grabbing the blade. She slashed as hard and she could, slicing into flesh. Blood erupted from Tate’s neck in gushes and spurts, then less so, as his life left him. He fell forward, bouncing off the chair arm and onto the floor, smashing open his nose, but not feeling a thing as he was dead before he hit the ground. That was the end of Tate, akin to Ceaser, just with less finesse, less character, less everything, really.
Lisa had succeeded, knowing all along—deep down—that she would. There was no plan, just faith that she was heading into exactly the right place and time. Some people just had that in them, a veiled knowing (if you will). She stood up, walked to the balcony, and before the guards had chance to grab her, she closed her eyes, her hands held out, and then let go, falling to her death. The drop was pure peace and would continue along eternity for Lisa.
*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book III) on November 11, 2025, at 6PM CST.
Photo of Tom Stuckey
BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England. His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.