This blog, in essence, is shutting down. Thank you to anyone who stopped by for a read.
Until then.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
Monday, April 24, 2017
Twenty Six
Wow...a whole year, huh? Man. I really am terrible at this.
To be fair, though, I've been writing. Yes, I'm still working off the fanfiction spin. It's been working, though. Since I have an 'audience' that anticipate new chapters regularly, it's given me motivation. I'll be honest...the one I've been heavily working on is close to 60k at this point, and I've never done anything close to that amount before. So, even though it's not done yet, I have, in essence, written a book. And that, despite the dumb formatting, is something I can stand on. Go me.
So, todesperately make a new post so everyone doesn't think I'm dead celebrate, I'm posting part of the last chapter I wrote. I like the last half of this more than the first, but the first was needed for story purposes. It's all still a first-run rough draft, so obviously it has its flaws. Judge for yourselves though. My view on these are obviously skewed.
If he had known last night how long it would actually take him to walk from the end of the bus line back to the original stop, Sean would of tried to hitch a ride somehow, or at the very least, tried to panhandle for a retuning fare. As it was, he only had enough for another ride, and he didn't want to squander it on convenience...or so he thought.
During the nearly two and a half hours walk, he passed by so many things...things that made his mouth salivate and his gut churn in desperate anticipation. It was getting to the point where he was starting to catch the scent of others through more objects now, like passing cars and distant windows, so each step he took was like walking into a bouquet of edible fantasies - sweets on his right, savories on his left, and an endless banquet of palatable jewels just ahead of him. And, as hard as he tried to fight against it, those smells brought on more lapses of stability, more floating fits of near fainting, each one of the few coming up a bit more unyielding and with more bite.
With that, parts of him began to shake, like the last quivering breath of a starling seized with mortality if he didn't conscientiously lock himself down until the feeling had passed. To others, he imagined, he must of looked like an addict; shivering, gaunt, and tired, walking around squaring his jaw at will, and always with a pair of shades on, regardless of what time it actually was.
In a way, he welcomed it...welcomed the fits of torment, the subtle essence of suffering. Part of him felt like he deserved it, deserved to be treated like less than a man, like the outcast he was. He was a monster...a being that drained the life out of others for their own survival. He didn't ask for it, and he didn't want it, but it was who he was now, nonetheless. The least he could do, he felt, was to slowly ride out the unpleasantness, as if he could serve penance for some unknown original sin cast upon him.
But Ted...oh, Ted. Ted was different though. Ted was still the only other person who repelled him, made him sick to his core if he breathed in too deep. If he could just figure out why...if he could just figure out what made him so unlike everyone else, then Sean reasoned that he could cage his inner demon and live a somewhat normal life. As normal as it could possibly be, anyway...as far fetched as the idea seemed to be. For a moment, he imagined having that, having that key, and going home to Mark again. Arm in arm with one another, the warmth from his skin and the feel of his shirt against his face, the soft low voice telling him that he loved him, and the smell, his smell...
...that faint woody smell...
...of cinnamon...
...and sugar...
...and deep, rich frosting...
Sean froze. He felt a drop of wetness fall to his hand. He looked down, and saw a thin string going from the back of his wrist to his mouth. He stiffened, and shoved his hands further back into the gloves that had started to slide down, moving his fingers immediately to his lips.
Fangs. Not fully distended, but far enough that it didn't look normal. He hastily ran his sleeve across his mouth, wiping away any of the residual fluid.
And then he looked down. A smear of color, pale and peachy, greeted him back. Makeup. His makeup.
"Shit...!" he muttered, realizing what he had just done. He didn't know exactly how much he had botched, but from the look of it, it was probably enough to notice. Sean's head darted from side to side, trying to find a reflective surface of some kind, so he could assess the damage. He stood, eyeing a crumpled silver soda can just a few steps away. He figured if he could get it, and break it open, the aluminum inside combined with the streetlight above angled just right might help him out a little. It was better than nothing, which is what he currently had.
As he bent down, he noticed a familiar pair of black shoes come right up to his hand.
"Collecting cans, Jay?" he heard, just above his head.
Sean blinked, unmoving.
"Man, that hole in your pocket wrecked havoc, huh? Those things only get you, what, $.05 a pop if you're lucky. You're be better off pretending to be homeless. Heh."
Sean slowly straightened, can in hand, with his head pointed toward his chest. He took the metallic trash and turned it over, as if he were considering something more than how to get out of the situation he currently found himself in.
"Not really..." he said, still shoegazing, "...I'm...kind of...an environmentalist, I guess you could say. Just...makes me sad someone would just...throw this on the ground." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded a little strange.
Ted snorted.
"I can see. You're staring at that thing like it has power over you or something."
"They could of...recycled this. Y'know...I think I'll do that for them. There's a bin over--"
"Jay."
"Maybe not even recycle it. Re-use it for something. Go get some string, and--"
"Jay."
"Actually, I think I remember one of those elementary schools needing cans for something. I can just--"
"Jay."
"Mmm?"
"It's just a can, dude."
"I know. But--"
"Just stick it in your pocket if it means that much to you. The bus is going to be here any minute. You don't wanna have to walk home all over again, do ya?"
Sean thought about it. On one hand, it would of been an easy out. Claim fanaticism for the planet in a weird oblong frenzy and dash away, keeping his secret a secret, and maybe even scooping up a few plastic bags along the way to punctuate his point. But, on the other hand, he still didn't know what made Ted tick, and that was something he really needed to know, and as soon as possible. He turned the can over in his hand again, carefully, as if he was legitimately trying to study the nutritional content label, the street mud and asphalt skids making the little black box nothing more than a bunch of garbled letters and numbers. As he did, he caught sight of his sleeve again, smudged and dirty, a flesh colored stripe standing out the darker tone of his hoodie.
Slowly, the thought came to him. Maybe this is what he needed. Maybe this was the answer all along. Show Ted...actually show Ted part of who he really was, and maybe...
Maybe...what?
Maybe Ted recognizes what he is? Or mistakes him for one of his own? Or maybe a ball of ribbons will drop from the sky, and all the secrets of being dead alive come to him in a glorious dark beam of light?
It was a complete risk, at best. He knew that. At worst, he could only imagine what could happen...anything from avoidant disgust, to the other trying to paw off the rest of his makeup, to the idea that Ted was actually totally normal in every way and seeing corpse flesh might have an irreversible impact on him...one that could go from panic, to horror to any form of chaotic in between. But he didn't really have any other way out of the situation, aside from acting like a total idiot, as appealing as the option was at this point.
Sean closed his eyes. His head felt heavy and full of mud, waves of cold pain darting through the back of his skull to the tips of his lashes. He bit the inside of his mouth, as steady as he could imagine and hard enough to distract himself from the rimy soup brewing in his head. Was he really thinking this through? Was this really the best he could come up with? Or was that other part of himself starting to take over in little ways, small little adjustments here and there, until not even he could tell them apart anymore?
Was he starting to lose his mind?
"Jay...you alright? You're acting...weird. Was it something I said?" Ted asked, taking a step forward, brows pushed together, bending a little as he spoke.
"No, no! I just..."
"Just...?"
Sean took in a useless breath, letting the cool air fill his body, his own skin matching the seasonal chill. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure he didn't have anything else to explain.
With care, he gradually picked up his head, letting the amber streetlight above roll over his face, it's golden glow highlighting his mannequinned features until he came eye to eye with Ted. He looked at him through his tinted lenses, not saying a word.
Ted's face went flat.
"Oh..." he started, looking down at Sean's mouth.
Sean didn't move.
"Heh...Mr. Grapey pops, right?" he said, cracking a smile.
"Mr...? What?"
"Yeah...Mr. Grapey! You know, those big popsicles that come in the neon colored boxes. You just had one, right? They're good, but man, do they stain!"
"Uh..." He stammered, trying to find his mental footing again. Did he not see? Or did he just not care? Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought...or maybe Ted was just colorblind. In any case, he was more than happy to have at least a small sense of relief, given the circumstances.
"I guess you knew that though, right?" He stated, gesturing toward his own mouth.
"Y-yeah..." he said, not really knowing how else to react.
"I'd give you a napkin or something if I had it..." Ted said, patting his pockets, trailing. But the sound of four heavy tires coming up behind them cut off the rest of his thought.
Moments later, they were on, and heading toward the end of the line. More chatter. More benign conversation. At this point, Sean had asked him everything he could think of, even dipping into stuff that had nothing to do with any of it, from the few bits of sports trivia either one of them knew to the downright ridiculous, like what color tie Lincoln would of worn if he went to a costume party. He was stretching what he could of what he knew, but even then, it turned into the same mundane kind of talk that any other person on the planet could of said.
Sean rested his head on the back of the seat in front of him. This was going absolutely nowhere. Could he have done something better? Did he do something wrong? Would it of been better if he had set out somewhere, and tried to find Thomas, as dubious as that would of been? He didn't have anything to go on with that other than the vaguest of hints that he was going somewhere cold...maybe somewhere in Europe. But, even then, how would he get there? And how would he even begin to track down one lone person, that he had never even met before, on a continent of millions? Was this...was everything a mistake?
He stared at the wad of gum just inches from his nose, fighting off the halo of black that was slowly starting to creep into his line of sight. He felt the slight ripple of a false chill working its way down from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers, pinpricks of withdrawal numbing his already dead skin, a prelude to the nauseating shudders that were going to follow. He breathed in, as much as his lungs would allow, trying to take in all of the tainted air that Ted had surrounding himself.
"Tired, huh?" he said, as if he already knew the answer.
"Mmm?" Sean said, letting the scent of acrid oil hit the back of his mouth like a panacea. Already he could feel the wave of subtle relief wash through him like warm milk.
"It's cool." Ted said, leaning back in his seat, "I know I talk a lot sometimes. If you want to take a nap, that's fine. We still have a ways to go."
As he said it, his hand gently rubbed Sean's back, up by his neck. All at once that same blue fire shot straight through anything else he was feeling, a rush of blinding alarm striking him like a brick to his head. His skin twitched, almost rejecting the touch, followed immediately by the sensation that he should run, but he didn't know why.
Maybe that was it? Maybe whatever Ted was, was anti-vampire?
Vampire. He still couldn't believe he was using the word. And anti-vampire...what the hell could that even be? A living embodiment of garlic? Sunlight in corporeal form? A...giant, walking, talking wooden stake?
Ridiculous.
Sean's train of thought was suddenly cut off with a solid bump. At first he thought he was feeling things, but then he felt whatever it was move, rolling across the top of his hoodie smacking into the window a moment later. As he slowly lifted his head, he was met face to face with giant rolls of...paper. Each long tube speckled in a myriad of color, loud and gaudy, in a variety of patterns and design styles.
"Hey...apologize." he heard Ted say. Sean turned and saw the other with folded arms, staring forward.
When nothing had happened, he said it again, with more inflection. "Hey. Apologize."
The person looked from side to side, as if it were trying to place the sound. It turned, head barely above the low seat top.
"Me?" he said, almost confused.
"Yes. You." Ted said, voice falling flat, "Apologize."
"For what?" he asked, as if he was being accused.
Ted sat forward, as if it were a challenge he was being presented with, face beginning to harden. "For hitting my friend."
"When did I do that?" he sputtered, bewildered.
"Ted, it's alright. You--" Sean tried.
"No." He said, an edge gaining momentum in his words, "He's going to apologize."
Sean couldn't help but stare at Ted then. There was an almost tangible aura of aggression coming off of him, one that felt hot and ready to attack, like a powerful animal, cornered, but with the clear upper hand. Somewhere inside Sean's chest, he could feel an instinctual fear rise up, as if it were being injected into his thighs, welling up with a mercurial deftness, that same feeling of wanting to run making his muscles brittle and his neck stiffen to stone.
Was this it? Was this who he was? If this went on, would he see it? Would he see Ted's true nature?
The air was ripe with something heavy, something oppressive and something dark. And it all felt like it was coming off of Ted in rolling curls of smoke, like a sudden poison fog rolling in, that same near calming stench he had now boiling over into something toxic and suffocating, making Sean's throat constrict from the new growing embers taking root there. Sean swallowed, as best as he could, and looked on, almost dazed.
Was this what lied beneath? Something terrible, something ominous, something forceful...was this what he really wanted?
Was this...such a good idea anymore?
The man looked between Ted and Sean, then around at the rest of the bus, as if he was on an ill thought out reality TV show, getting pranked. His eyes fell on the rolls of paper a moment later, and the realization washed through him just as fast.
"Oh...Oh! Hey, I'm sorry. Thought I had a better hold on these things..." he said, reaching over, readjusting the tubes, shaking his head, "...Late nights get to me. Again, sorry."
Ted leaned back, arms still crossed, but seemingly satisfied with everything that just happened. A moment later, he turned to Sean, half a smirk on his face.
All at once, the atmosphere changed, light switched in nature, going from bad to benign in a matter of seconds, as if all the feeling had been vacuumed out, leaving behind nothing save for the plain flatness of the bus and Ted's same fixed scent, no longer threatening to smother Sean's undead life within.
He blinked behind his lenses, the whiplash of things surrounding him unsettling something deep and primal. He still couldn't tell what that was, whatever it was, just that it felt like there was now a tiny, sprouting weed within his chest, one that whispered to him in tones nearly unheard, but still felt. Ted, for all his kindness up until this point, definitely had something else to him. A potentially dangerous something.
Sean softly cleared his throat, still shaking things off. As he did, he winced, the slightly raw feeling extending down past his shoulders, into his ribs. He gently touched his gloved hand to his neck, in a vain attempt to soothe it. Even the skin there felt chafed red, especially the permanent ring just below his Adam's apple.
He put his head back down on the seat in front of him for the rest of the ride. Sticking around Ted definitely had a footnote to it now, one that Sean had to be sure to remember. There was something much deeper to all of this than he had realized, something he had no idea what to do with or how to handle. But, despite how it all made him feel, he knew he had to keep the course. He didn't have much of a choice at this point.
That wasn't entirely true, he knew. He could just give in. Give in to the need that his undead shell so desperately craved. He could do it. He could take out this whole bus. Drink them dry, savor in their flavors, feel his whole body flood with the heat from their blood, that unquenchable lust assuaged on their coppery souls, writhing with life beneath his skin, drop by drop, filling him with deep red love...
Sean felt something graze the top of his lips and stopped cold. There they were again...a set of sabers itching to come out and pierce the closest thing with a heartbeat. His eyes widened. What was he doing? Where did any of that come from?
"Oh God..." he whispered, screwing his eyes shut, fighting the tides of confusing thoughts flashing through his mind. Sean's hand darted to his arm, pinching the skin underneath his sleeve, leaving two little marks from where his nails dug in. He did it again and again, telling himself no each time. No. No he would not. Stop it. Stop it.
His stomach flipped, angry that it was denied again. Nausea fluttered in on it's coattails, that same gut-punch feeling constricting everything from his hips to his throat.
Another deep inhale of that hideous scent, and soon it bled from him, leaving nothing but that near nervous tick that told him who that unctuous perfume belonged to.
Soon enough, they came to the end of the line, the bus rolling to its last stop on wheels that were in need of oil, the people inside filing out in languid plods, nobody seeming to be in any real rush. As usual, they were the last to leave, just behind that same short man with the giant rolls of paper.
"Well, we're here." Ted said, looking back at the terminal for a second before turning back to Sean, "Headed home?"
Sean nodded. To be perfectly honest, with how he was feeling, he didn't know how far he was going to be able to walk tonight, let alone make it back to wherever "home" was for the remainder of it. Sitting out among the trees seemed to be working out so far, but out here in the pseudo suburbs, there really wasn't any such place for him to go.
"You seem really tired, man. Want me to walk with you?"
"No. I'm fine. But thanks."
"You sure? You wouldn't be putting me out or anything. I'm a strong boy. I can handle an extra walk." he joked.
"No, really. I'm good. I just...need to eat, is all." he said, a bitter taste pricking the tip of his tongue.
"Gotcha. Well...tomorrow I wont be coming on the same bus, just so you know. I'll be out for the day. But...I only have one shift the day after..." he said looking off for a second before looking back, almost as if he needed a moment to consider, "...Do you want to hang then? Theres this little bar just down the street from where I work that always has good stuff on tap." Ted looked on with a face of genuine friendship, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly.
Sean considered it, as best as he could through all the swimming things his head had to contend with. On one hand, having Ted in a public setting where alcohol is involved might tell him something his normal self wouldn't. And, who knows, maybe he might even see it. With enough people around, and enough space, even something like him had a chance to run should the occasion arise. But on the other hand...if Ted left him alone for a moment, could he handle it? All those bodies, all that lowered inhibition...
No.
No.
"Sounds good, man." Sean said, almost in defiance of himself. Fuck whatever the other part of him wanted. He had control of himself. He'd prove it.
"Great! The place is called Feeny's, by the way. If you're walking from the pier, it's 2 or 3 city blocks down from that, on Carver street. They have a big ass lawn gnome painted up to look like the Statue of Liberty sitting out front. Kinda hard to miss." he said, with a smirk. "Lets say...6:30-7 o'clock?"
"I'll be there!" he said, with feigned enthusiasm. And he would be. Come hell or high water.
Ted leaned in, and gave Sean a hug. It was short and brisk, and teetering ever so slightly on awkward from Sean's part, mostly because he wasn't expecting it and almost smacked face first into his collarbone. Still that same shrill cerulean flame shot through him, like every time Ted touched him, every bit of his insides lit up with alarm and repugnance.
Sean waved as Ted went, fake semi smile selling the point more than words could. As soon as the other turned the corner, he dropped everything, including his shoulders, letting the weight of his exhaustion rest wherever it might lie.
He had time, at least. Enough time to make it to wherever he was headed tonight, and enough time to shuffle his way over to the waterfront before he was expected to be there. So if anything, he didn't have to push himself to be anywhere for the next day. And for that, he was at least mildly grateful.
Still, part of him wanted to just break every self imposed rule and try to follow Ted home again. Maybe tonight he'd actually make it if he followed him home close enough and kept on breathing in fully, letting his industrial leftover musk fill his lungs every time he felt weak to the rhythm of life surrounding him. And then...
Then...what? He still had no idea.
And he couldn't even imagine any reasoning to it. His head just simply wouldn't let him. It was too filled with pain and sick to let anything come together.
Without thought, he started to walk, in the opposite direction of Ted, hands in his pockets, and a slight sense of dizziness dancing just on the corners of his consciousness. His pace was slow, but still coordinated, and to anyone else looking on, he must of just looked like some moody teenager, walking alone at night, too cool to even look anyone in the eye. It was better that way, he thought. The less he interacted with people, the less he could smell them. And the less he could smell them, the less he had the desire to kill them.
He didn't actually want to kill them, though. Just gorge on the wine of life that pulsed throughout their bodies. That dulcet elixir, that toasty avarice...the same Bordeaux that he denied himself as often as he longed for it. If there was only some way he could get what he needed without murdering another person...
His mind drifted over the possibilities. If he really didn't want to kill them, he could always go after someone that was already dead. But, where to find them? Cemeteries were his first thought. They were, quite literally, full of them. Just...go in after midnight, dig up a body, crack the casket, and have his fill. It would be especially easy, he thought, if he could find a freshly dug plot. The earth would still be loose, and nobody would even notice if he went back for seconds the following night, if there were any to be had.
No. He couldn't. Even as an idea, it made him feel dirty. And logistically it wouldn't work either. Nobody was interred without embalming these days, so even if he went through with it, even if he fought his better self and actually unearthed a corpse and tried to kiss their wrists, he would only get mouthfuls of that same disgusting death cocktail that he himself was purging just moments out of the grave.
He flinched at the idea. He could still remember ripping the wire out of his mouth, just in time to hear the splashing on the grass, and the smell of paint thinner following on its heels. And the taste was not something he ever wanted to experience again.
Maybe not people, he thought.
Dead animals were surely easier to get than a dead person was. And there were cars everywhere that could facilitate his need. He was in a city, after all. Find the local street pizza, run his tongue over what was left, bite into the parts that were still viable...
The memory of his first and only meal came trailing in, that fat gray squirrel that punched a hole in his hand before he accidentally slammed it against the wall. Pumpkin...certainly didn't taste like a pumpkin. More like a can of beans. Cheap, tomato tinted pintos, with a dash from the spice rack to make it more palatable. And as much as he didn't really care from them when he was alive, those were the best damn beans he had ever had. Sweet, a little salty, a little tinny, and warm...
Sean stopped suddenly. His stomach contracted hard, taking out his knees.
All that was left of him was focused there, in curling coils knotting over and over again, like dueling snakes, twisting, turning, painfully squeezing. With one hand, he tried to shakily support himself, arm shivering against his slight weight as the other gripped below his ribs in vain, the sudden and heavily intense darts of pain arching from middle to end, nearly making him blind. He felt as if he was suffocating, on air that had never meant anything to him before, ghostly hands gripping that last tangible piece of himself, pushing him down, nose to the ground, smothering him with impermeable force. His whole body shuddered, and, with one violent heave, he spat up something black and watery.
Sean collapsed to his side, still involuntarily moving, eyes unfocused and hazy. His fangs were out, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't himself right now. He felt as if he wasn't even in his own body, but somehow looking in. Trails of fluid ran down past his teeth, running down his jaw, and pooling down near his ear. Listlessly, he brought a twitching hand up to his mouth, and gently touched his lips, the leather from his gloves almost sticking.
Blood. Dark, dark blood.
And somehow he knew, it was his blood.
Numbly, he worked himself to stand up, muscles still jumping, still frigidly moving but still functioning, almost as if someone else were doing it for him. His face was still, and his gaze was blank, as blank as it had ever been before. Not a thing running through his head, and not a thing to even be read on his face.
He started to walk, seemingly as if he knew where he was going. It was something quicker than what he normally did, but not quite running, the top half of himself dragging his legs along to go faster. It looked as if he was being pulled along by rope, almost as if he were being puppeted to just go, ignoring anything else in his path, trip walking over plastic bags and not even looking at the streets he was crossing.
Moments later, he was in front of a row of stores, their colored paint and vintage wooden signs clearly marking out something akin to a suburban strip mall. It was small, but well kept, and almost looked something reminiscent of Main Street from Disneyland. A sharp, drawn out breath at the head of the block, and his eyes honed in on the corner, with its bright fire engine red trimmings and gold-gilded letters.
"DesOrmeaux Meats"
He stared at the bouncy pink pig on the front window, it's porcine belly too large for it's tiny legs, its face too cartoonishly happy to know what it was advertising.
Smash it. He heard, like a whisper, on a voice that wasn't really there.
He lunged for the window, almost on command, fists wildly smacking against the glass, the muted thud of skin on thick panes echoing into the hollow of the store. He wasn't strong enough to break it on his own, at least, not now, given how weak he was. But the drive was there. A drive like one he had never known. Something so primary, so elemental, and yet, something that he could feel held an awful power. Smash it. Smash it. Smash it.
He needed something, anything, to help satisfy his resolve. His head flicked around, hood tapping the sides of his cheeks, looking for what he could use. The streets, like the stores around them, were unhelpfully clean and devoid of any urban grit, save for a smattering of cigarette butts here and there. In the distance, as the passing overcast pulled back and moonlight hit it, a metal trashcan across the street caught his eye. A small smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Sean yanked it from it's lightpole, the plastic loops holding it in place falling away as if they were never even there. He dragged it across the road, that same lurching gait leading the way, the sound of scraping metal on asphalt decorating the otherwise sullen sounds of silent plastic models and sleeping halogen lights. Without stopping, he flung the black barrel at the window, with as much heft as he could give it.
It bounced off the thick glass, and rolled to the side. He grabbed it again, with the force of something untamed and lawless, scowling as he heaved it again at the smiling pig and it's paradise of malformed bodies beyond. Another bounce and roll, with only a faint scratch to show. Another throw, without pause, tailed shortly by a gruff yell. The pig remained.
His top half led the way again, dragging him just a few paces beyond the front door to the backside of the building. That same red paint decorated the sole door, the worn metal underneath barely masked by the thick primer.
He didn't even need to be told before throwing himself at it, that indiscernible power moving him with force, aged locks rattling around with each thrust from his shoulders, the door itself giving way little by little with every reckless slam. Sean couldn't feel a thing, not the chips of painted rust falling in his clouded eyes, not the blunt dents he was forcing into the stripped panel, and certainly not the frenzied bruises and maddened muscles forming just underneath his clothes. He was drooling at this point, streams of that same vampiric fluid dripping at a steady pace from his overgrown eyeteeth, all while the whispering remained, louder, more insistent and more driven...SMASH SMASH SMASH.
In a burst of splinters, like derelict confetti, the door gave in, and yawned wide into the dark store.
Sean stumbled in, but didn't settle on his small victory. He was yanked further in, lead on an ethereal leash, sneakers squeaking softly on the immaculate floors beneath, past the receiving room, past the front counter, and past all the toy display pieces behind the vinyl grass. His hands reached for it first, pawing at the door to the back room that lead to where the animals were kept, fingers groping in the black for a way to get inside. His palm hit a latch somewhere, and a handle popped out, the sound of the aluminum smacking back into place and the faint hiss from the accordion plastic surrounding it sounding like near music to his ears.
His leadened feet pushed forward, into the room unseen, hips smacking into low cabinets and the center island table. The scent was heavy in this room, the smell of stacked breads, some honeyed with the perfume of an early morning bake, others redolent with thick, buttery crusts. His already uncontrolled actions dove into near chaos at this point as his hands swiped at things with a reckless abandon, knives scattering, the clang of stainless bowls knocking into one another, reams of paper skidding across the floor. He was so close. So, so close...
THERE.
A smaller door, but not unlike the first sat flush against the far wall, the notebook sized window leading in frosted over in ice. He threw himself on it, nearly breaking the handle with how hard he pulled on it, and shoved the door open, as far as it would go.
A cold steam filtered down through the blinking lights, the fluorescent blue coming to life the second the latch was moved. Carcasses of every size hung from the well-used hooks, blocks of legs, ribs and even a few heads in various stages of being cut were mutely perched on the slabs to the side. All of them seemingly were cleaned down to the bone, and all of them petrified into frozen bricks.
Except one.
On the right, was a deer corpse, it's broken off antlers tossed carelessly in the corner, it's matted, muddied fur still on it's body, pock marks from where the buck shot hit it's side still burned into it's flesh.
Sean couldn't control himself.
He lunged for it, rattled hands giving it's hindquarters a death grip, and sunk his mouth into the firming tissue underneath with a hasty, vicious bite. Two small beads of blood bubbled up to the surface, as his canines dug further in, filling the new cavities with froth, as the near rhapsodic feeling of ichor fell on to his lips and danced on the tip of his tongue. It felt so good, so, so good...
He went for another pull, the hollow from his cheeks eagerly anticipating the new viscid rush...
...only to return with nothing.
Something wasn't right.
He repositioned himself, and clamped down again, drawing in, body still too focused to realize he was digging his fingers into the dead deer, tawny fur ripping in small, half moon chasms.
Nothing.
Sean cautiously staggered back, still shaking, still vibrating, and looked on in disbelief. His opaque, sunless eyes trailed down his would-be victim's body, slightly swaying from the contact, distended tongue scraping gently on the bright, white tiles underneath. Two drops fell from it's open maw, and rolled down through the grout to the drain that was just a few inches away. The body, still tilting, still rocking, turned just a little more, and that's when he saw it...saw the slash from the butcher's cleaver run down the length of it's soft, white underbelly, the faintest shade of pink just curling around the seams. Sean reached out, and hesitantly peeled back some of the loose skin, expecting the worst, and just stared.
The inside was hollow. It had already been cleaned.
All at once, it felt as if his body was given back to him. Used, abused and battered, he collapsed under his own weight, stony skin slapping on the porcelain squares below, the ruthless frost all around him reaching to his core in mere moments. Weakly, he reached out, with violently trembling arms, and clawed his way over to the drain, clothes dragging, face smearing, leaving peachy streak marks on the otherwise unblemished floor. When he was close enough, he lifted his head with whatever was left of him, and ran his tongue down the tainted vein of grout, desperate for that one last trill, following it to the end, circling around the perforated silver plate.
Sean gave one last shudder, and laid on his side, defeated, hungry and cold. A wash of blackness fell through him, followed closely by the dulling tingle of numbness as his senses seemed to silence themselves for the first time since he came to be, all those many damnable nights ago. He was tired, so so tired. He let his eyes slip closed, as fruitless as that felt, and let it all consume him, riding the detached void that covered him like a blanket, covering himself in its sedative embrace.
Somewhere, a part of him wondered if he was dying.
To be fair, though, I've been writing. Yes, I'm still working off the fanfiction spin. It's been working, though. Since I have an 'audience' that anticipate new chapters regularly, it's given me motivation. I'll be honest...the one I've been heavily working on is close to 60k at this point, and I've never done anything close to that amount before. So, even though it's not done yet, I have, in essence, written a book. And that, despite the dumb formatting, is something I can stand on. Go me.
So, to
If he had known last night how long it would actually take him to walk from the end of the bus line back to the original stop, Sean would of tried to hitch a ride somehow, or at the very least, tried to panhandle for a retuning fare. As it was, he only had enough for another ride, and he didn't want to squander it on convenience...or so he thought.
During the nearly two and a half hours walk, he passed by so many things...things that made his mouth salivate and his gut churn in desperate anticipation. It was getting to the point where he was starting to catch the scent of others through more objects now, like passing cars and distant windows, so each step he took was like walking into a bouquet of edible fantasies - sweets on his right, savories on his left, and an endless banquet of palatable jewels just ahead of him. And, as hard as he tried to fight against it, those smells brought on more lapses of stability, more floating fits of near fainting, each one of the few coming up a bit more unyielding and with more bite.
With that, parts of him began to shake, like the last quivering breath of a starling seized with mortality if he didn't conscientiously lock himself down until the feeling had passed. To others, he imagined, he must of looked like an addict; shivering, gaunt, and tired, walking around squaring his jaw at will, and always with a pair of shades on, regardless of what time it actually was.
In a way, he welcomed it...welcomed the fits of torment, the subtle essence of suffering. Part of him felt like he deserved it, deserved to be treated like less than a man, like the outcast he was. He was a monster...a being that drained the life out of others for their own survival. He didn't ask for it, and he didn't want it, but it was who he was now, nonetheless. The least he could do, he felt, was to slowly ride out the unpleasantness, as if he could serve penance for some unknown original sin cast upon him.
But Ted...oh, Ted. Ted was different though. Ted was still the only other person who repelled him, made him sick to his core if he breathed in too deep. If he could just figure out why...if he could just figure out what made him so unlike everyone else, then Sean reasoned that he could cage his inner demon and live a somewhat normal life. As normal as it could possibly be, anyway...as far fetched as the idea seemed to be. For a moment, he imagined having that, having that key, and going home to Mark again. Arm in arm with one another, the warmth from his skin and the feel of his shirt against his face, the soft low voice telling him that he loved him, and the smell, his smell...
...that faint woody smell...
...of cinnamon...
...and sugar...
...and deep, rich frosting...
Sean froze. He felt a drop of wetness fall to his hand. He looked down, and saw a thin string going from the back of his wrist to his mouth. He stiffened, and shoved his hands further back into the gloves that had started to slide down, moving his fingers immediately to his lips.
Fangs. Not fully distended, but far enough that it didn't look normal. He hastily ran his sleeve across his mouth, wiping away any of the residual fluid.
And then he looked down. A smear of color, pale and peachy, greeted him back. Makeup. His makeup.
"Shit...!" he muttered, realizing what he had just done. He didn't know exactly how much he had botched, but from the look of it, it was probably enough to notice. Sean's head darted from side to side, trying to find a reflective surface of some kind, so he could assess the damage. He stood, eyeing a crumpled silver soda can just a few steps away. He figured if he could get it, and break it open, the aluminum inside combined with the streetlight above angled just right might help him out a little. It was better than nothing, which is what he currently had.
As he bent down, he noticed a familiar pair of black shoes come right up to his hand.
"Collecting cans, Jay?" he heard, just above his head.
Sean blinked, unmoving.
"Man, that hole in your pocket wrecked havoc, huh? Those things only get you, what, $.05 a pop if you're lucky. You're be better off pretending to be homeless. Heh."
Sean slowly straightened, can in hand, with his head pointed toward his chest. He took the metallic trash and turned it over, as if he were considering something more than how to get out of the situation he currently found himself in.
"Not really..." he said, still shoegazing, "...I'm...kind of...an environmentalist, I guess you could say. Just...makes me sad someone would just...throw this on the ground." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded a little strange.
Ted snorted.
"I can see. You're staring at that thing like it has power over you or something."
"They could of...recycled this. Y'know...I think I'll do that for them. There's a bin over--"
"Jay."
"Maybe not even recycle it. Re-use it for something. Go get some string, and--"
"Jay."
"Actually, I think I remember one of those elementary schools needing cans for something. I can just--"
"Jay."
"Mmm?"
"It's just a can, dude."
"I know. But--"
"Just stick it in your pocket if it means that much to you. The bus is going to be here any minute. You don't wanna have to walk home all over again, do ya?"
Sean thought about it. On one hand, it would of been an easy out. Claim fanaticism for the planet in a weird oblong frenzy and dash away, keeping his secret a secret, and maybe even scooping up a few plastic bags along the way to punctuate his point. But, on the other hand, he still didn't know what made Ted tick, and that was something he really needed to know, and as soon as possible. He turned the can over in his hand again, carefully, as if he was legitimately trying to study the nutritional content label, the street mud and asphalt skids making the little black box nothing more than a bunch of garbled letters and numbers. As he did, he caught sight of his sleeve again, smudged and dirty, a flesh colored stripe standing out the darker tone of his hoodie.
Slowly, the thought came to him. Maybe this is what he needed. Maybe this was the answer all along. Show Ted...actually show Ted part of who he really was, and maybe...
Maybe...what?
Maybe Ted recognizes what he is? Or mistakes him for one of his own? Or maybe a ball of ribbons will drop from the sky, and all the secrets of being dead alive come to him in a glorious dark beam of light?
It was a complete risk, at best. He knew that. At worst, he could only imagine what could happen...anything from avoidant disgust, to the other trying to paw off the rest of his makeup, to the idea that Ted was actually totally normal in every way and seeing corpse flesh might have an irreversible impact on him...one that could go from panic, to horror to any form of chaotic in between. But he didn't really have any other way out of the situation, aside from acting like a total idiot, as appealing as the option was at this point.
Sean closed his eyes. His head felt heavy and full of mud, waves of cold pain darting through the back of his skull to the tips of his lashes. He bit the inside of his mouth, as steady as he could imagine and hard enough to distract himself from the rimy soup brewing in his head. Was he really thinking this through? Was this really the best he could come up with? Or was that other part of himself starting to take over in little ways, small little adjustments here and there, until not even he could tell them apart anymore?
Was he starting to lose his mind?
"Jay...you alright? You're acting...weird. Was it something I said?" Ted asked, taking a step forward, brows pushed together, bending a little as he spoke.
"No, no! I just..."
"Just...?"
Sean took in a useless breath, letting the cool air fill his body, his own skin matching the seasonal chill. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure he didn't have anything else to explain.
With care, he gradually picked up his head, letting the amber streetlight above roll over his face, it's golden glow highlighting his mannequinned features until he came eye to eye with Ted. He looked at him through his tinted lenses, not saying a word.
Ted's face went flat.
"Oh..." he started, looking down at Sean's mouth.
Sean didn't move.
"Heh...Mr. Grapey pops, right?" he said, cracking a smile.
"Mr...? What?"
"Yeah...Mr. Grapey! You know, those big popsicles that come in the neon colored boxes. You just had one, right? They're good, but man, do they stain!"
"Uh..." He stammered, trying to find his mental footing again. Did he not see? Or did he just not care? Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought...or maybe Ted was just colorblind. In any case, he was more than happy to have at least a small sense of relief, given the circumstances.
"I guess you knew that though, right?" He stated, gesturing toward his own mouth.
"Y-yeah..." he said, not really knowing how else to react.
"I'd give you a napkin or something if I had it..." Ted said, patting his pockets, trailing. But the sound of four heavy tires coming up behind them cut off the rest of his thought.
Moments later, they were on, and heading toward the end of the line. More chatter. More benign conversation. At this point, Sean had asked him everything he could think of, even dipping into stuff that had nothing to do with any of it, from the few bits of sports trivia either one of them knew to the downright ridiculous, like what color tie Lincoln would of worn if he went to a costume party. He was stretching what he could of what he knew, but even then, it turned into the same mundane kind of talk that any other person on the planet could of said.
Sean rested his head on the back of the seat in front of him. This was going absolutely nowhere. Could he have done something better? Did he do something wrong? Would it of been better if he had set out somewhere, and tried to find Thomas, as dubious as that would of been? He didn't have anything to go on with that other than the vaguest of hints that he was going somewhere cold...maybe somewhere in Europe. But, even then, how would he get there? And how would he even begin to track down one lone person, that he had never even met before, on a continent of millions? Was this...was everything a mistake?
He stared at the wad of gum just inches from his nose, fighting off the halo of black that was slowly starting to creep into his line of sight. He felt the slight ripple of a false chill working its way down from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers, pinpricks of withdrawal numbing his already dead skin, a prelude to the nauseating shudders that were going to follow. He breathed in, as much as his lungs would allow, trying to take in all of the tainted air that Ted had surrounding himself.
"Tired, huh?" he said, as if he already knew the answer.
"Mmm?" Sean said, letting the scent of acrid oil hit the back of his mouth like a panacea. Already he could feel the wave of subtle relief wash through him like warm milk.
"It's cool." Ted said, leaning back in his seat, "I know I talk a lot sometimes. If you want to take a nap, that's fine. We still have a ways to go."
As he said it, his hand gently rubbed Sean's back, up by his neck. All at once that same blue fire shot straight through anything else he was feeling, a rush of blinding alarm striking him like a brick to his head. His skin twitched, almost rejecting the touch, followed immediately by the sensation that he should run, but he didn't know why.
Maybe that was it? Maybe whatever Ted was, was anti-vampire?
Vampire. He still couldn't believe he was using the word. And anti-vampire...what the hell could that even be? A living embodiment of garlic? Sunlight in corporeal form? A...giant, walking, talking wooden stake?
Ridiculous.
Sean's train of thought was suddenly cut off with a solid bump. At first he thought he was feeling things, but then he felt whatever it was move, rolling across the top of his hoodie smacking into the window a moment later. As he slowly lifted his head, he was met face to face with giant rolls of...paper. Each long tube speckled in a myriad of color, loud and gaudy, in a variety of patterns and design styles.
"Hey...apologize." he heard Ted say. Sean turned and saw the other with folded arms, staring forward.
When nothing had happened, he said it again, with more inflection. "Hey. Apologize."
The person looked from side to side, as if it were trying to place the sound. It turned, head barely above the low seat top.
"Me?" he said, almost confused.
"Yes. You." Ted said, voice falling flat, "Apologize."
"For what?" he asked, as if he was being accused.
Ted sat forward, as if it were a challenge he was being presented with, face beginning to harden. "For hitting my friend."
"When did I do that?" he sputtered, bewildered.
"Ted, it's alright. You--" Sean tried.
"No." He said, an edge gaining momentum in his words, "He's going to apologize."
Sean couldn't help but stare at Ted then. There was an almost tangible aura of aggression coming off of him, one that felt hot and ready to attack, like a powerful animal, cornered, but with the clear upper hand. Somewhere inside Sean's chest, he could feel an instinctual fear rise up, as if it were being injected into his thighs, welling up with a mercurial deftness, that same feeling of wanting to run making his muscles brittle and his neck stiffen to stone.
Was this it? Was this who he was? If this went on, would he see it? Would he see Ted's true nature?
The air was ripe with something heavy, something oppressive and something dark. And it all felt like it was coming off of Ted in rolling curls of smoke, like a sudden poison fog rolling in, that same near calming stench he had now boiling over into something toxic and suffocating, making Sean's throat constrict from the new growing embers taking root there. Sean swallowed, as best as he could, and looked on, almost dazed.
Was this what lied beneath? Something terrible, something ominous, something forceful...was this what he really wanted?
Was this...such a good idea anymore?
The man looked between Ted and Sean, then around at the rest of the bus, as if he was on an ill thought out reality TV show, getting pranked. His eyes fell on the rolls of paper a moment later, and the realization washed through him just as fast.
"Oh...Oh! Hey, I'm sorry. Thought I had a better hold on these things..." he said, reaching over, readjusting the tubes, shaking his head, "...Late nights get to me. Again, sorry."
Ted leaned back, arms still crossed, but seemingly satisfied with everything that just happened. A moment later, he turned to Sean, half a smirk on his face.
All at once, the atmosphere changed, light switched in nature, going from bad to benign in a matter of seconds, as if all the feeling had been vacuumed out, leaving behind nothing save for the plain flatness of the bus and Ted's same fixed scent, no longer threatening to smother Sean's undead life within.
He blinked behind his lenses, the whiplash of things surrounding him unsettling something deep and primal. He still couldn't tell what that was, whatever it was, just that it felt like there was now a tiny, sprouting weed within his chest, one that whispered to him in tones nearly unheard, but still felt. Ted, for all his kindness up until this point, definitely had something else to him. A potentially dangerous something.
Sean softly cleared his throat, still shaking things off. As he did, he winced, the slightly raw feeling extending down past his shoulders, into his ribs. He gently touched his gloved hand to his neck, in a vain attempt to soothe it. Even the skin there felt chafed red, especially the permanent ring just below his Adam's apple.
He put his head back down on the seat in front of him for the rest of the ride. Sticking around Ted definitely had a footnote to it now, one that Sean had to be sure to remember. There was something much deeper to all of this than he had realized, something he had no idea what to do with or how to handle. But, despite how it all made him feel, he knew he had to keep the course. He didn't have much of a choice at this point.
That wasn't entirely true, he knew. He could just give in. Give in to the need that his undead shell so desperately craved. He could do it. He could take out this whole bus. Drink them dry, savor in their flavors, feel his whole body flood with the heat from their blood, that unquenchable lust assuaged on their coppery souls, writhing with life beneath his skin, drop by drop, filling him with deep red love...
Sean felt something graze the top of his lips and stopped cold. There they were again...a set of sabers itching to come out and pierce the closest thing with a heartbeat. His eyes widened. What was he doing? Where did any of that come from?
"Oh God..." he whispered, screwing his eyes shut, fighting the tides of confusing thoughts flashing through his mind. Sean's hand darted to his arm, pinching the skin underneath his sleeve, leaving two little marks from where his nails dug in. He did it again and again, telling himself no each time. No. No he would not. Stop it. Stop it.
His stomach flipped, angry that it was denied again. Nausea fluttered in on it's coattails, that same gut-punch feeling constricting everything from his hips to his throat.
Another deep inhale of that hideous scent, and soon it bled from him, leaving nothing but that near nervous tick that told him who that unctuous perfume belonged to.
Soon enough, they came to the end of the line, the bus rolling to its last stop on wheels that were in need of oil, the people inside filing out in languid plods, nobody seeming to be in any real rush. As usual, they were the last to leave, just behind that same short man with the giant rolls of paper.
"Well, we're here." Ted said, looking back at the terminal for a second before turning back to Sean, "Headed home?"
Sean nodded. To be perfectly honest, with how he was feeling, he didn't know how far he was going to be able to walk tonight, let alone make it back to wherever "home" was for the remainder of it. Sitting out among the trees seemed to be working out so far, but out here in the pseudo suburbs, there really wasn't any such place for him to go.
"You seem really tired, man. Want me to walk with you?"
"No. I'm fine. But thanks."
"You sure? You wouldn't be putting me out or anything. I'm a strong boy. I can handle an extra walk." he joked.
"No, really. I'm good. I just...need to eat, is all." he said, a bitter taste pricking the tip of his tongue.
"Gotcha. Well...tomorrow I wont be coming on the same bus, just so you know. I'll be out for the day. But...I only have one shift the day after..." he said looking off for a second before looking back, almost as if he needed a moment to consider, "...Do you want to hang then? Theres this little bar just down the street from where I work that always has good stuff on tap." Ted looked on with a face of genuine friendship, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly.
Sean considered it, as best as he could through all the swimming things his head had to contend with. On one hand, having Ted in a public setting where alcohol is involved might tell him something his normal self wouldn't. And, who knows, maybe he might even see it. With enough people around, and enough space, even something like him had a chance to run should the occasion arise. But on the other hand...if Ted left him alone for a moment, could he handle it? All those bodies, all that lowered inhibition...
No.
No.
"Sounds good, man." Sean said, almost in defiance of himself. Fuck whatever the other part of him wanted. He had control of himself. He'd prove it.
"Great! The place is called Feeny's, by the way. If you're walking from the pier, it's 2 or 3 city blocks down from that, on Carver street. They have a big ass lawn gnome painted up to look like the Statue of Liberty sitting out front. Kinda hard to miss." he said, with a smirk. "Lets say...6:30-7 o'clock?"
"I'll be there!" he said, with feigned enthusiasm. And he would be. Come hell or high water.
Ted leaned in, and gave Sean a hug. It was short and brisk, and teetering ever so slightly on awkward from Sean's part, mostly because he wasn't expecting it and almost smacked face first into his collarbone. Still that same shrill cerulean flame shot through him, like every time Ted touched him, every bit of his insides lit up with alarm and repugnance.
Sean waved as Ted went, fake semi smile selling the point more than words could. As soon as the other turned the corner, he dropped everything, including his shoulders, letting the weight of his exhaustion rest wherever it might lie.
He had time, at least. Enough time to make it to wherever he was headed tonight, and enough time to shuffle his way over to the waterfront before he was expected to be there. So if anything, he didn't have to push himself to be anywhere for the next day. And for that, he was at least mildly grateful.
Still, part of him wanted to just break every self imposed rule and try to follow Ted home again. Maybe tonight he'd actually make it if he followed him home close enough and kept on breathing in fully, letting his industrial leftover musk fill his lungs every time he felt weak to the rhythm of life surrounding him. And then...
Then...what? He still had no idea.
And he couldn't even imagine any reasoning to it. His head just simply wouldn't let him. It was too filled with pain and sick to let anything come together.
Without thought, he started to walk, in the opposite direction of Ted, hands in his pockets, and a slight sense of dizziness dancing just on the corners of his consciousness. His pace was slow, but still coordinated, and to anyone else looking on, he must of just looked like some moody teenager, walking alone at night, too cool to even look anyone in the eye. It was better that way, he thought. The less he interacted with people, the less he could smell them. And the less he could smell them, the less he had the desire to kill them.
He didn't actually want to kill them, though. Just gorge on the wine of life that pulsed throughout their bodies. That dulcet elixir, that toasty avarice...the same Bordeaux that he denied himself as often as he longed for it. If there was only some way he could get what he needed without murdering another person...
His mind drifted over the possibilities. If he really didn't want to kill them, he could always go after someone that was already dead. But, where to find them? Cemeteries were his first thought. They were, quite literally, full of them. Just...go in after midnight, dig up a body, crack the casket, and have his fill. It would be especially easy, he thought, if he could find a freshly dug plot. The earth would still be loose, and nobody would even notice if he went back for seconds the following night, if there were any to be had.
No. He couldn't. Even as an idea, it made him feel dirty. And logistically it wouldn't work either. Nobody was interred without embalming these days, so even if he went through with it, even if he fought his better self and actually unearthed a corpse and tried to kiss their wrists, he would only get mouthfuls of that same disgusting death cocktail that he himself was purging just moments out of the grave.
He flinched at the idea. He could still remember ripping the wire out of his mouth, just in time to hear the splashing on the grass, and the smell of paint thinner following on its heels. And the taste was not something he ever wanted to experience again.
Maybe not people, he thought.
Dead animals were surely easier to get than a dead person was. And there were cars everywhere that could facilitate his need. He was in a city, after all. Find the local street pizza, run his tongue over what was left, bite into the parts that were still viable...
The memory of his first and only meal came trailing in, that fat gray squirrel that punched a hole in his hand before he accidentally slammed it against the wall. Pumpkin...certainly didn't taste like a pumpkin. More like a can of beans. Cheap, tomato tinted pintos, with a dash from the spice rack to make it more palatable. And as much as he didn't really care from them when he was alive, those were the best damn beans he had ever had. Sweet, a little salty, a little tinny, and warm...
Sean stopped suddenly. His stomach contracted hard, taking out his knees.
All that was left of him was focused there, in curling coils knotting over and over again, like dueling snakes, twisting, turning, painfully squeezing. With one hand, he tried to shakily support himself, arm shivering against his slight weight as the other gripped below his ribs in vain, the sudden and heavily intense darts of pain arching from middle to end, nearly making him blind. He felt as if he was suffocating, on air that had never meant anything to him before, ghostly hands gripping that last tangible piece of himself, pushing him down, nose to the ground, smothering him with impermeable force. His whole body shuddered, and, with one violent heave, he spat up something black and watery.
Sean collapsed to his side, still involuntarily moving, eyes unfocused and hazy. His fangs were out, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't himself right now. He felt as if he wasn't even in his own body, but somehow looking in. Trails of fluid ran down past his teeth, running down his jaw, and pooling down near his ear. Listlessly, he brought a twitching hand up to his mouth, and gently touched his lips, the leather from his gloves almost sticking.
Blood. Dark, dark blood.
And somehow he knew, it was his blood.
Numbly, he worked himself to stand up, muscles still jumping, still frigidly moving but still functioning, almost as if someone else were doing it for him. His face was still, and his gaze was blank, as blank as it had ever been before. Not a thing running through his head, and not a thing to even be read on his face.
He started to walk, seemingly as if he knew where he was going. It was something quicker than what he normally did, but not quite running, the top half of himself dragging his legs along to go faster. It looked as if he was being pulled along by rope, almost as if he were being puppeted to just go, ignoring anything else in his path, trip walking over plastic bags and not even looking at the streets he was crossing.
Moments later, he was in front of a row of stores, their colored paint and vintage wooden signs clearly marking out something akin to a suburban strip mall. It was small, but well kept, and almost looked something reminiscent of Main Street from Disneyland. A sharp, drawn out breath at the head of the block, and his eyes honed in on the corner, with its bright fire engine red trimmings and gold-gilded letters.
"DesOrmeaux Meats"
He stared at the bouncy pink pig on the front window, it's porcine belly too large for it's tiny legs, its face too cartoonishly happy to know what it was advertising.
Smash it. He heard, like a whisper, on a voice that wasn't really there.
He lunged for the window, almost on command, fists wildly smacking against the glass, the muted thud of skin on thick panes echoing into the hollow of the store. He wasn't strong enough to break it on his own, at least, not now, given how weak he was. But the drive was there. A drive like one he had never known. Something so primary, so elemental, and yet, something that he could feel held an awful power. Smash it. Smash it. Smash it.
He needed something, anything, to help satisfy his resolve. His head flicked around, hood tapping the sides of his cheeks, looking for what he could use. The streets, like the stores around them, were unhelpfully clean and devoid of any urban grit, save for a smattering of cigarette butts here and there. In the distance, as the passing overcast pulled back and moonlight hit it, a metal trashcan across the street caught his eye. A small smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Sean yanked it from it's lightpole, the plastic loops holding it in place falling away as if they were never even there. He dragged it across the road, that same lurching gait leading the way, the sound of scraping metal on asphalt decorating the otherwise sullen sounds of silent plastic models and sleeping halogen lights. Without stopping, he flung the black barrel at the window, with as much heft as he could give it.
It bounced off the thick glass, and rolled to the side. He grabbed it again, with the force of something untamed and lawless, scowling as he heaved it again at the smiling pig and it's paradise of malformed bodies beyond. Another bounce and roll, with only a faint scratch to show. Another throw, without pause, tailed shortly by a gruff yell. The pig remained.
His top half led the way again, dragging him just a few paces beyond the front door to the backside of the building. That same red paint decorated the sole door, the worn metal underneath barely masked by the thick primer.
He didn't even need to be told before throwing himself at it, that indiscernible power moving him with force, aged locks rattling around with each thrust from his shoulders, the door itself giving way little by little with every reckless slam. Sean couldn't feel a thing, not the chips of painted rust falling in his clouded eyes, not the blunt dents he was forcing into the stripped panel, and certainly not the frenzied bruises and maddened muscles forming just underneath his clothes. He was drooling at this point, streams of that same vampiric fluid dripping at a steady pace from his overgrown eyeteeth, all while the whispering remained, louder, more insistent and more driven...SMASH SMASH SMASH.
In a burst of splinters, like derelict confetti, the door gave in, and yawned wide into the dark store.
Sean stumbled in, but didn't settle on his small victory. He was yanked further in, lead on an ethereal leash, sneakers squeaking softly on the immaculate floors beneath, past the receiving room, past the front counter, and past all the toy display pieces behind the vinyl grass. His hands reached for it first, pawing at the door to the back room that lead to where the animals were kept, fingers groping in the black for a way to get inside. His palm hit a latch somewhere, and a handle popped out, the sound of the aluminum smacking back into place and the faint hiss from the accordion plastic surrounding it sounding like near music to his ears.
His leadened feet pushed forward, into the room unseen, hips smacking into low cabinets and the center island table. The scent was heavy in this room, the smell of stacked breads, some honeyed with the perfume of an early morning bake, others redolent with thick, buttery crusts. His already uncontrolled actions dove into near chaos at this point as his hands swiped at things with a reckless abandon, knives scattering, the clang of stainless bowls knocking into one another, reams of paper skidding across the floor. He was so close. So, so close...
THERE.
A smaller door, but not unlike the first sat flush against the far wall, the notebook sized window leading in frosted over in ice. He threw himself on it, nearly breaking the handle with how hard he pulled on it, and shoved the door open, as far as it would go.
A cold steam filtered down through the blinking lights, the fluorescent blue coming to life the second the latch was moved. Carcasses of every size hung from the well-used hooks, blocks of legs, ribs and even a few heads in various stages of being cut were mutely perched on the slabs to the side. All of them seemingly were cleaned down to the bone, and all of them petrified into frozen bricks.
Except one.
On the right, was a deer corpse, it's broken off antlers tossed carelessly in the corner, it's matted, muddied fur still on it's body, pock marks from where the buck shot hit it's side still burned into it's flesh.
Sean couldn't control himself.
He lunged for it, rattled hands giving it's hindquarters a death grip, and sunk his mouth into the firming tissue underneath with a hasty, vicious bite. Two small beads of blood bubbled up to the surface, as his canines dug further in, filling the new cavities with froth, as the near rhapsodic feeling of ichor fell on to his lips and danced on the tip of his tongue. It felt so good, so, so good...
He went for another pull, the hollow from his cheeks eagerly anticipating the new viscid rush...
...only to return with nothing.
Something wasn't right.
He repositioned himself, and clamped down again, drawing in, body still too focused to realize he was digging his fingers into the dead deer, tawny fur ripping in small, half moon chasms.
Nothing.
Sean cautiously staggered back, still shaking, still vibrating, and looked on in disbelief. His opaque, sunless eyes trailed down his would-be victim's body, slightly swaying from the contact, distended tongue scraping gently on the bright, white tiles underneath. Two drops fell from it's open maw, and rolled down through the grout to the drain that was just a few inches away. The body, still tilting, still rocking, turned just a little more, and that's when he saw it...saw the slash from the butcher's cleaver run down the length of it's soft, white underbelly, the faintest shade of pink just curling around the seams. Sean reached out, and hesitantly peeled back some of the loose skin, expecting the worst, and just stared.
The inside was hollow. It had already been cleaned.
All at once, it felt as if his body was given back to him. Used, abused and battered, he collapsed under his own weight, stony skin slapping on the porcelain squares below, the ruthless frost all around him reaching to his core in mere moments. Weakly, he reached out, with violently trembling arms, and clawed his way over to the drain, clothes dragging, face smearing, leaving peachy streak marks on the otherwise unblemished floor. When he was close enough, he lifted his head with whatever was left of him, and ran his tongue down the tainted vein of grout, desperate for that one last trill, following it to the end, circling around the perforated silver plate.
Sean gave one last shudder, and laid on his side, defeated, hungry and cold. A wash of blackness fell through him, followed closely by the dulling tingle of numbness as his senses seemed to silence themselves for the first time since he came to be, all those many damnable nights ago. He was tired, so so tired. He let his eyes slip closed, as fruitless as that felt, and let it all consume him, riding the detached void that covered him like a blanket, covering himself in its sedative embrace.
Somewhere, a part of him wondered if he was dying.
Fun fact: The name DesOrmeaux came from my first boyfriend. (If you can count it. This was when internet relationships were considered fake on all fronts, and we never actually met.) I always liked how his last name sounded though, so I occasionally use it for "background" names.
Until then.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Twenty Five
I'm getting worse with updating this blog, I know.
And I don't have any real excuse for it, just that I've been focusing myself in other areas. Since I can't do much due to my "condition", I've been writing lots...even though, what I've been writing for is not exactly something to be proud of, I guess. (Yeah, kissy stories about guys who are younger than me...totally the social norm.)
Weirdly though, I am kind of...well, not exactly proud, but, happy with some of it. The relationships are there, but, most of them are without the stereotypical hump fest that usually goes along with fanfiction. Which....might account for why I tend to get ignored. I dunno...something about writing out sex and sexiness just feels awkward to me, so I usually just focus on whatever dynamic I'm throwing at the pair. Though, maybe I should just settle in one night and write some sort of penis poem, complete with unrealistic bedroom antics and buckets of ejaculate. That'll get me a friend or two, right?
Anyway...I'm derailing my original thought here. (Massive tension headaches tend to do that.)
I'll throw up a link to the last thing I did. You can judge for yourself. The first half is...well, whatever, but, I'm actually more happy with the second half. I may or may not regret those words later, as I tend to do when it comes to things I write. It'll be satisfying one minute, but something I look back on in shame later. So, enjoy this peek into...this, while you can. I can't guarantee the post will stay up forever.
( Island in the Sun )
Until then.
And I don't have any real excuse for it, just that I've been focusing myself in other areas. Since I can't do much due to my "condition", I've been writing lots...even though, what I've been writing for is not exactly something to be proud of, I guess. (Yeah, kissy stories about guys who are younger than me...totally the social norm.)
Weirdly though, I am kind of...well, not exactly proud, but, happy with some of it. The relationships are there, but, most of them are without the stereotypical hump fest that usually goes along with fanfiction. Which....might account for why I tend to get ignored. I dunno...something about writing out sex and sexiness just feels awkward to me, so I usually just focus on whatever dynamic I'm throwing at the pair. Though, maybe I should just settle in one night and write some sort of penis poem, complete with unrealistic bedroom antics and buckets of ejaculate. That'll get me a friend or two, right?
Anyway...I'm derailing my original thought here. (Massive tension headaches tend to do that.)
I'll throw up a link to the last thing I did. You can judge for yourself. The first half is...well, whatever, but, I'm actually more happy with the second half. I may or may not regret those words later, as I tend to do when it comes to things I write. It'll be satisfying one minute, but something I look back on in shame later. So, enjoy this peek into...this, while you can. I can't guarantee the post will stay up forever.
( Island in the Sun )
Until then.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Twenty Four
So, today I'm going to share with you one of those water color pencil things that I talked about in my last post. I did this in September, and honestly, it's the closest thing I've done to something resembling art within the medium. Because, y'know...everybody is entitled to have a stroke of stupid luck every once and a while.
A hummingbird. I know, not terribly exciting, but, birds felt easier on my "skills" at the time. This is the semi-finished product...inked, with a 2 color background. I kind of like it better this way than the finished version, but, I was highly encouraged to "finish" the picture.
The finished version. I went with a blue palate for the bird, just because I felt that copying the usual colors would of been a little drab. The black touches look kind of dumb, but, hey, seeing as how it's all new to me still, I wasn't expecting much. Obviously, this probably came out better here than if I had done it with actual paints...apparently my brain can't grasp color layering and textures via brush, so, pencils are my "thing", I guess.
So, there you have it. The only thing I've managed to do within the past few months. Sooo exciting. Heh.
Don't get me wrong. I've actually been working on stuff lately, just...nothing I can really show off here. Unless anyone out there actually wanted to read the Septiplier fanfiction I've been doing. (Shonen ai only, of course...I suck at writing porn.) Weirdly, it's the only thing I actually want to write these days, even though deep down, I know it has no intrinsic value to it. But, I guess writing anything is better than just mentally rotting away, right? Maybe...?
Also, just to keep the two of you out there interested in it up to date, I had an ultrasound the other day, and the lab tech is 85% positive that I'll be welcoming a girl come springtime. It's made the naming process easier, but...Joe is kind of stuck on 2 names at the moment. Like...as in, he doesn't want any other names. The first is Eleanor, which is cute and normal, but when paired with my last name, it gets kind of cumbersome. The second, is Eowyn. (Say, "A-O-win".) I like the way Eowyn sounds, and it'll flow decently with my last name and the middle name I picked for it...but the spelling/pronunciation is going to be a total nightmare for the kid. (Even as I type this, Blogger is telling me that Eowyn isn't a real word.) So...I'm kind of at a loss for the whole thing at the moment. Our first was easy enough...I more or less just told him that I was naming her as such, since we were only a year and a half into our relationship, and who knows if he was even going to stick around. So, part of me is tempted to give in this time, just because he didn't get a say in it last time. Uuugh....halp, plz.
And, because I don't have anywhere else to put this information, I'll include these bonus tidbits.
I took a few fun tests the other day. 1, I'm not colorblind. Yay! Not that I had any real reason to think that I was, but, my ever-loving paranoia wondered if maybe I secretly was, but just didn't know it somehow. But, according to the internet, I'm just dandy, in that respect.
2, I'm apparently exactly split between left and right brain. I honestly didn't know what to think or expect from that one, but, it's interesting that I don't seem to swing one way or the other. Might explain my slight ambidextrous-ness.
3, my IQ, according to http://www.free-iqtest.net/ is 131. I actually thought I got a bad score when that first popped up, thinking that the closer to 200 you got, the better off you were. So, in my head, 131 was like getting a C- or a D. Turns out, I'm actually like...1 point away from being at the low end of Mensa. So, yeah...despite my sister knocking it for being internet based, I felt kind of happy for a while. *insert smiley emoticon of your choice here*
Whelp, there ya go. Back to mashing out fictitious relationships between 2 grown men who are much younger than me. Because loser. Pffft.
Until then.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Twenty Three
Well! It certainly has been quite a while, hasn't it?
My fault, obviously. Well...sort of. Life certainly didn't "help" at times. I'll spare you the melodramatic details...just know that I sort of involuntarily fell into a "mental vacation" and it took a real effort just to acknowledge the outside world again. I'm still not perfect yet, but, I'm working on it. Really. I'm starting to catch up on emails and I'm slowly convincing folks on Twitter that I'm not dead yet.
In better news, come March 16-ish, I'll be a mom again. No, this was not planned...much like the last one. I honestly didn't think I was capable of doing it again with my odd body conditions, but, here we are. I'd be lying if I didn't mention my hesitation behind it all...it's been 10 years since I cared for an actual baby, so I'm sure most of that I'll have to relearn again. And also, Joe has been coming up with some real...interesting ideas for baby names, so, I've been trying to be as democratic as I can with that. But, at this rate I'll be at the hospital, calling the poor thing Brick.
I also still don't have a computer of my own yet, so that's certainly not helping much either. Joe's band has been busy lately (they're even sharing a stage with Cannibal Corpse soon!) so, I almost feel guilty for being on his laptop when I know he probably has some tinkering to do. He tells me it's fine, but, still.
As far as drawing and stuff goes, I don't have much of that either. I tried to get into watercolor pencils in the summer, but nothing I did came out how I had it in my head. Apparently, my brain is so hard wired for cartoony things that everything I do looks like a warped Warner Bros reject. And no, not in a good way. More like something a drunk 5th grader might do on a bar napkin. I may post some of it anyway though...y'know, for contrast against the "good" stuff.
I did attempt to write a song right before my birthday though. I did it almost to prove to my husband that I'm not suited for music. He likes to argue constantly that I can write, and that I could do pretty much anything if I just tried. Cliché, I know, but it's true. But I've never been able to capture the simplicity, expressionism and flow that a lot of songwriters I like have. In the end, I'm fairly sure I won the debate. He seemed nonplussed by the result.
Judge for yourselves though. I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but, seeing as how this is only ever the second time I've tried this, it could be a lot worse.
Enjoy?
Tie the rope around tight,
Until then.
Enjoy?
Tie the rope around tight,
Tell me, how does it feel?
Are you quite lost yet?
Have you found the ideal?
One step closer.
Closer to blackened sea
Without hesitation
One step closer to free
Step to the water's edge
Lap you with extol
They don't want your substance
They just want your soul
One step closer
Closer to the blackened sea
Without hesitation
One step closer to free
Free fall into the void
Wither your shell away
Bound bones and silence
Enjoy your endless stay
Can you kiss death and claim her?
She's your master now
Aren't you glad you came?
One step closer
Closer to the blackened sea
Without hesitation
One step closer to free
Until then.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Twenty Two
Here we are again, and this time, under the banner of my husbands laptop. It's not the ideal conditions I wish I had at the moment, but, beggars can't be choosers, right? And, if you didn't bother to read my overly dramatic post on my other blog, I understand. Just know that this may be the norm now, so, posts might be even fewer and further in between.
Recently, I've been trying to work on writing more, so I haven't done too much in the way of drawing. And, lets be honest here, I'm kind of bad at it anyway. So, the last few times I've gotten writers block, I tried to do some "art" on the computer instead. And, we're going to use that term very lightly here. Copy & pasting in IrfanView isn't exactly a skill, you know. To my credit, they look interesting enough, and the hardest part was trying to figure out the fonts at the bottom. Which, I didn't get quite right, but, short of spending money on a derp moment, this'll do.
So, care to take a guess as to what I did?
Yep.
Recently, I've been trying to work on writing more, so I haven't done too much in the way of drawing. And, lets be honest here, I'm kind of bad at it anyway. So, the last few times I've gotten writers block, I tried to do some "art" on the computer instead. And, we're going to use that term very lightly here. Copy & pasting in IrfanView isn't exactly a skill, you know. To my credit, they look interesting enough, and the hardest part was trying to figure out the fonts at the bottom. Which, I didn't get quite right, but, short of spending money on a derp moment, this'll do.
So, care to take a guess as to what I did?
Yep.
Calabrese! Yeah, I know. Total surprise, right? What can I say, though? When people this awesome exist, how do you not do dumb crap like this all the time? So, I decided to make my own Deadman's Cross cards out of them.
I really like the vampy blood pics from the "Born With a Scorpion's Touch" photoshoots. Aside from the obvious, they have a sort of morbid whimsy to them that the majority of their others don't have. But it's not like they could ever take a bad picture, you know. That's just a straight fact, folks.
I overlaid two pics on top of this to give it something extra, since the background was just white. You can kinda see the skeleton overlay on Bobby's right leg, but thankfully, you can't see the other. Pestilent Screamer type, because, what else could they be?
Virulent Davey.
The gold borders on the Pestilent cards didn't seem to really fit with the individual pictures, so I went with the Virulent variety for all 3. In the game, it's only a small step down from gold to silver. Plus, I'm guessing nobody even knows what the hell DC is, so does it even matter?
I just knew Davey had to be a Charmer type. And seeing as how quickly and easily I found smoldering shots like this one, I knew I was right. No overlay, because it really didn't need one.
Virulent Bobby.
This one was a pain to pin down. A lot of the older shots of him that I knew that were floating around years ago seemingly disappeared for whatever reason, so I had to scan through second by second on several of their YouTube videos to find an appropriate picture. Not like I minded, though. <3
I wanted to give him the Screamer strain, but, seeing as how I made the group card that, I didn't want to double up on types. So, between that and what was left, I went with Spitter. Again, no filter or overlay.
Virulent Jimmy.
By far, the easiest to do. His was just a simple resizing, and finding this picture took all of two seconds.
Slasher strain seemed appropriate. And given what I know about an incident that happened with them, the Biters and some idiots at a bar in Canada, I'd say the typing was perfect. No overlay or touch ups. I wouldn't dare.
So, there you have it. I may or may not go back and fix them, if I ever find the matching font. For now though, enjoy the dumb little mental timeout things I did, and try not to nitpick the flaws too much.
Now, if only these were real...
...oou.
Until then.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Twenty One.5
I did an entry over on my other Blog explaining my recent absence. Go give it a read, if you like, and hopefully you won't miss me too much.
Until then.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Twenty One
Too much has happened, and my year slid by without a breather. I'd try to explain it all, but it would only seem like I was making excuses for seemingly disappearing. So, what I'll try to do, is catch you all up on my year, with photos.
And yes, the drawings/doodles are coming. The anticipation is unbearable, I know.
For this post, I'll be focusing on the Philadelphia Flower Show. If you're not aware, I'm a big fan of the green stuff. Like, huge. To the point where if I had the opportunity to go to college, I wanted to study Botany. (Or teaching...a job with weekends, holidays and summer vacations is pretty badass, right?) I try to grow what I can in the meager flowerboxes and 4" pots I have throughout the apartment, but, I secretly long to have a beautiful, outstretched lawn dotted with a variety of colorful, manicured flora. It seems odd, I know. I honestly don't have an explanation for it myself.
So, to help bring a little of my fantasy life into reality, I make it a point to go to these shows every year. (Though, to be honest, these and Calabrese shows are the only things I ever go to lately. Being broke all the time sucks.) Of the 200+ photos I took, these were some of my favorites.
And yes, the drawings/doodles are coming. The anticipation is unbearable, I know.
For this post, I'll be focusing on the Philadelphia Flower Show. If you're not aware, I'm a big fan of the green stuff. Like, huge. To the point where if I had the opportunity to go to college, I wanted to study Botany. (Or teaching...a job with weekends, holidays and summer vacations is pretty badass, right?) I try to grow what I can in the meager flowerboxes and 4" pots I have throughout the apartment, but, I secretly long to have a beautiful, outstretched lawn dotted with a variety of colorful, manicured flora. It seems odd, I know. I honestly don't have an explanation for it myself.
So, to help bring a little of my fantasy life into reality, I make it a point to go to these shows every year. (Though, to be honest, these and Calabrese shows are the only things I ever go to lately. Being broke all the time sucks.) Of the 200+ photos I took, these were some of my favorites.
The theme this year was "ARTiculture". I tried my best to take decent shots of all of the displays, sans the enormous crowd that liked to stand in front of me at every possible turn. Being tall, I'm used to getting knocked around or getting ignored, but sometimes, you just really want to throat punch said people.
More fun displays. The lighting at these shows are always rigged to make even this puke-shaded yellow pretty. I have more of the exhibits on my phone, but they didn't come out as well as these did.
My phone was also doing some interesting things that day, depending on how I took the shot. I could get a neat little effect where it either looked water-colored, or like the arrangement was made entirely out of plastic. Probably just over pixelization from the zoom function, but, eh.
Samsung should really start advertising that for weirdoes like me.
"In the name of the moon, I shall....eh, sell you orchids?"
Hyacinths. Oh, hyacinths. How you perfume the air, how your colors seem so merry!
Also, watching little kids try to say your name or even identify you is pretty amusing, too.
More plastic action. Trying to get some of these shots sucked, because my shadow kept getting in the way, especially if they were lower to the ground.
The last of the group. It's amazing how many folks were bypassing simple colored leaves like these just because they didn't have a big blossom on top.
The city outside, while we were eating lunch. Yes, it really does look this depressing and gray, especially when the season is anything other than summer.
Pic.img
Look! Proof that I exist! That I was there!
...And, that I dragged my husband to the whole shebang. He hates it, I know, but he goes because he knows I don't like to go by myself.
There you have it. Next post will have something fun, for sure. Or at the very least, something not completely dull. What that is, I have no idea. Unless you're all interested in my daughter's birthday party or Calabrese squees. Then boy, have I got a post for you!
Until then.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Twenty
New date, new post!
Oh, and...happy New Year! *confetti*
Or, if you're like my sister and mom, my condolences on your calendar turnover. May it pass as quickly as it came. Here's a tissue.
I've...been thinking about things lately. Mostly, that I shouldn't be afraid to post some of the stuff I've written over the years. For some reason, I had it in my head that if I posted anything, people would just go around plagiarizing it willy-nilly. But, they have checks and balances for these things, right? Not to mention, I can't exactly change the date for a post. Sure, I can rearrange how it appears, but, I cant actually make Blogger lie about stuff. Unless there's a hack for that. Can you water board a website these days...?
So, this is a story I wrote 3.5 - 4 years ago. I consider it to be one of the best fleshed out ideas I've ever had. It took just about a week to do, and those who have seen it tend to like it. I'm not saying it's fantastic by any means, but, I'm guessing it won't feel like a waste of time afterward.
Even though, it was rejected by Glimmer Train...
Ah, rejection. My new-found skill.
Judge for yourself, though. Enjoy, even.
Leningrad
Oh, and...happy New Year! *confetti*
Or, if you're like my sister and mom, my condolences on your calendar turnover. May it pass as quickly as it came. Here's a tissue.
I've...been thinking about things lately. Mostly, that I shouldn't be afraid to post some of the stuff I've written over the years. For some reason, I had it in my head that if I posted anything, people would just go around plagiarizing it willy-nilly. But, they have checks and balances for these things, right? Not to mention, I can't exactly change the date for a post. Sure, I can rearrange how it appears, but, I cant actually make Blogger lie about stuff. Unless there's a hack for that. Can you water board a website these days...?
So, this is a story I wrote 3.5 - 4 years ago. I consider it to be one of the best fleshed out ideas I've ever had. It took just about a week to do, and those who have seen it tend to like it. I'm not saying it's fantastic by any means, but, I'm guessing it won't feel like a waste of time afterward.
Even though, it was rejected by Glimmer Train...
Ah, rejection. My new-found skill.
Judge for yourself, though. Enjoy, even.
Leningrad
"The pale
moonlight silhouetted her slim figure, midnight light curving to every
movement of her body...." he began, his voice strong and convincing,
"...Robert had but one option when she approached. Do I embrace her,
loving her and yielding to her every whim, or do I kill her where she
stands and rid myself of this overbearing curse? The voice in his head
talked faster than he could comprehend as she seemingly glided across
the floor--"
"Freebird!" Someone shouted, the beer-logged gurgle in his throat accenting the last syllable.
"Ah, yes...." he said, fixing his glasses, "...I'll get to that in a sec.--"
"Moon River!" A woman yelled, giggling over the sound of her own voice.
"God Save the Queen! Do that!"
"Something Beyonce!"
"As I said, I'll get to the music in a moment, I just--"
"Danny Boy!" Someone said, his Irish accent too thick and goofy to be real. The bar moaned at the idea of it.
"Alright...." the
man on stage said, folding his papers and sticking them in his back
pocket, "...the new issue of Amazing Tales goes on sale this Tuesday,
with the rest of that story in it. Be sure to pick up a copy. And
now..."
In a few bars,
everyone knew it was an Roy Orbison song, and a few people let out a
'woo!' in victory. Sean filled out the song with his best imitation of
the late singer, his face twisting in some places trying to hit just the
right notes. People clapped and even sang along, the place lit anew
with enthusiasm. In minutes, it was over. He waved and smiled a thank
you, and crawled back down and ordered a drink.
"Y'know, if it
wasn't for the fact you can sing, Sean, I'd be hard-pressed to let you up
there again. Why don't you just quit writing and find a band er
something, and make a living offa that?"
"I know, Hess. You're not the first to say that to me, either. I just..."
As he trailed off, the lights dimmed down again, and a
woman dressed in something like an over-sized sequined tank top took the
stage. She pointed one crookedly painted blue nail outward and began,
her sways in perfect time with the song. A group of men clamored to the
front of the stage, some just happy to see a good-looking woman, some,
hoping that her dress would hike up enough to show something a little
more.
"Here's your 'manly' drink...the 'Fuzzy Navel'." She winked, her brown hair falling over as she leaned forward.
"Yeah, thanks. Sorry I don't have any Rubles this time. I guess just some American money will have to do, eh?"
He slid a 10 toward her as she mouthed 'smartass' at him.
Grinning, he turned his attention to the stage, sipping his drink
through the giant swirly straw Hess put in there on purpose. The woman
on stage was just finishing out 'Lady Picture Show', a light mist of
sweat making her already unkempt yellow hair flop about on her face with
every bob, swivel and turn. Sean watched, slightly transfixed at her
gypsy-esque magic that she seemed to spin on everyone with unabashed
flair.
"Hess.....who is that? I don't think I've seen her here before."
"That?..." she asked, head jerking stageward," ....Dunno.
She was here a week or two ago, but before that I've never seen her.
Why, not thinking about cheating on your boyfriend now, are we?"
"Right, my boyfriend. The guy on Green street, right?" muted sarcasm accented every word.
"One in the same!"
"Look, just because I gave him some money and let him stay in my apartment for the night--"
"Ooh, sounds real romantical! When do we get to the bubble bath scene?"
"There was snow on the ground, and it was supposed to drop to below freezing! How was I--"
"Evening, comrades...." a voice said, cutting off the playful argument, "...How 'bout a drink?"
Sean felt a nudge
on his right, and saw the same sequined woman smiling up at him though
her dark painted eyes. She was intensely thin like a model, and just as
languid to match. He looked at her for a moment, caught off guard by the
enigmatic essence that still hovered in and out of her like a cloying
perfume.
"Sure, honey." Hester said, bailing Sean out of the awkward moment, "What'll it be?"
"Whatever he's having." she said, looking at the half-drunk peach colored concoction in his hand.
With a nod and a
smirk, Hess went about mixing. Lights flickered from blues and yellows
to pinks and reds as another person climbed up on the stage and began
singing something that should have been 'Lady in Red'.
"So..." she said, playfully chewing the corner of her mouth, "...My name's Allison. You?"
"Oh, sorry...."
he said, putting his drink down and wiping off the condensation on his
Dickies, "...My name is Sean. It's uh, nice to meet you, Allison." he
extended his hand as he cleared his throat.
"Cute." she said, looking at the hanging limb.
Two men nearby came over and moved in on her right.
"Hey, honey. What's your name?" the older one asked, his graying mustache twitching as he spoke.
"Allison. You live around here?"
"Sure do. Would you....like a cup of coffee? At my place?" he asked, the thick, tinted words barely hidden.
Sean put his hand down as he heard semi-intimate giggling
coming from the conversation. Chewing on the umbrella toothpick that was
left from his drink, he stood and watched, as the glitter in her eyes
and on her skin aimed at another target.
"There you go, sweetie. Anything else I can get ya?" Hess asked, her round face just was warm as her smile.
"No, I'm good..." Allison said, grabbing her glass and
walking away with her new-found friends, " ...He'll get my tab, wont
you, Sean?" she called over her shoulder, nearly seductive and inviting.
She never waited for a response and just as quickly
disappeared into the night, confident and cat-like. For a moment he had
hoped she'd forgot something and would come cascading back though the
door and maybe he might have a second chance to make some sort of
impression on her. Even though he had just met her, something stuck in
his head, buzzing about, annoyed and perplexed. And he knew he would see
her again.
"$14, please."
"Huh?"
"Her tab. Said you would get it. So pony up." Hester stuck out a thick hand and wiggled her calloused fingers.
"Wait....$14?! Why is it--"
"Well, $7 for the drink, $5 for the glass she took off with."
"But what about--"
"And the $2 is for trying to help you out. Tch, when was
the last time you went out with a girl, anyhow?" she withdrew her hand
and placed her fists firmly on her wide hips and cocked her head to the
side.
"Erica. " he said, quietly remembering the time they had together and the time they've been apart.
"Ah, her. The 'I-just-want-a-friend-with-benefits' girl."
"Right." he said, twisting his mouth this way and that, "I wonder what she's doing now...?"
"Well, she 'aint with you, so, I figure she's out there, somewhere, 'benefiting' friends all over the place."
"Hess!"
"Just sayin'."
---
Sometime after midnight, Sean began his walk home. The air
was cool, and the city slept soundly, with only the occasional train
whistle and hum of some nightlife far from where he was, peppering the
cricket chirps and steam hisses coming from the vents. He took the long
way home, despite feeling a little more buzzed than usual, hoping the
beat and thrum of the rustling trees and breezes would help him clear
his head enough so maybe this time he could wake up without the usual
fruit-scented hangover. He kept his head down and walked briskly,
stopping once or twice to wipe the fog off of his glasses. As he got to
the front door of his apartment building, he began to fumble around for
both his keys and his notepad.
"Every time..." he mumbled, somewhat amused as to how he
must look with one hand down his right front pocket and another in his
left back pocket.
He found the notepad first and sat down on the steps and began.
"Robert awoke the next morning, breathing heavily.
Something wasn't right, he thought, something heavy and unchangeable. Did
he yield to the whims of his temptress the night before? Or was
it....something else? He felt weak, and looked a little pale...but there
it was, his pulse, fast and hammering. It was then he noticed a pair of
crimson lips..."
Sean looked up, feeling a sneeze working its way to his
nose and squinted. As allergic as he was to certain alcohols, it still
never stopped him from his ritual. Grabbing a semi-used tissue he had in
his pocket, he tilted his head back, squeezing, and waited. From the
corner of his eye, he saw a figure at the end of the block wiping
furiously at the corners of its mouth. A car passed, and from it's
tinted lights he could see a cobalt dress twinkle and shimmer before
fading back into the darkness.
---
"You...! What do you want from me?!" he shouted, "I cant bring him back, Sophia! Nobody can! Why cant you see that?!"
"Because..." she began, nearly gliding across the floor to where he stood, "Your powers--"
"Suck!" someone shouted, gaining a few belly laughs around the bar.
"C'mon, Sean!" A woman called, "Sing, already!"
"Alright, if I could just--"
"It's my biiiiiirthdaaaaaay!" a man with a slight lisp crooned, "Sing meeeeee a soooooong!"
"Uh, I......if I could just--"
As he started to speak, a glimmer of blue caught his eye.
She was alone again, her swagger and swing just as captivating as
before. Already, someone had noticed her, and began to chat her up.
With a sigh, Sean punched in a few numbers and 'Say it
Ain't So' came on loud and clear. He grabbed the microphone with a yank,
and sang, every pitch and note just as perfect as a radio, if not
better. A table in front drunkenly sang along, and a girl or two in the
back provided back up vocals when it was needed. When it was over,
everyone cheered for an encore.
"No, no..." he said, blushing slightly, "...Just remember
to pick up Fantastic Tales at the newsstand this Tuesday. 'Robert's
Tale: Part 4' ...don't forget!"
As he hopped off the stage, he looked for where Allison
was standing. If he was lucky, maybe she would forget who he was and
he'd have a second chance at a first impression. Maybe he could even get
her number this time, if he was smooth.
"What's buggin' ya, buddy?" Hess called out, a few feet away.
Sean walked over and sat down, brows bent, almost comically. "I thought I saw Allison."
"Allison who?"
"That girl..." he said, making small, obscure hand gestures as if to further explain the point.
"Raccoon girl in the blue dress?" she asked, half jokingly.
"Yeah." He said, face lighting up for a second, "She was here, right?"
" 'Course. Some guy tried talking to her earlier, when you
were on stage. He called her Michelle though, and kept asking about
some coat..." Hess shook her head. "Must of been fall-down drunk with
some sort of mistaken identity. She looked kinda mad about it too."
"Did she leave?"
"Nah, she's in the bathroom..." she said, waving. "...And, for you, your highness. One 'butch' Pina Colada."
"Do you find it strange I like mixed drinks like this?" He asked, half accusingly.
"Strange, no. Gay, yes."
"Do I really seem that--"
"Uh, Sean, no offense.....but, between the fem-drinks, the
'no 1-nighter' policy, the singing and the fact that you even care
about what you wear...." she said, trailing off, shrugging, "...seems
kinda gay to me. I mean, if I didn't know you and all."
He sat back and sipped his milky white concoction through
another ridiculously over-elaborate straw, fiddling with the yellow
plastic sword lancing the 2 cherries and pineapple wedge. "I guess...."
he said, thinking it over.
The lights washed over the bar as another song started up,
the first lines of 'Days of the Week' coming out bold and clear. A few
of the men who were sitting nearby all got up and walked toward the
stage, grinning from ear to ear. Sean turned to see Allison on stage,
swirling hypnotic prisms of blue capturing the attentions of anyone who
dared to look. Through her sways and near tantric hold on the
microphone, she spun her craft, and its hold was strong as any golden
noose. Aimlessly, he picked up his drink and followed, his legs taking
him before he could think about what he was doing.
Sean held his breath, utterly and completely captivated.
Allison smiled, and hooked her bony finger at him, dark eyes
smouldering.
He blinked, slightly dumb. And the song ended before he could even move.
She hopped down from the stage, and her admirers flocked
to her side. Sean felt his moment slip away from him again, and sighed.
From where he stood, he could see her laughing, her ruby red lips
pursing, puckering, glowing. All aimed at someone else.
He walked back over to the bar and sat, more chewing than
sipping at what he had. Defeated, he put his head in his hand and spit
the cherry stem on the bartop.
"Buddy....buddy..." Hester said, wiping a rag over where
the dessicated stem was, "....you gotta pounce when you get the chance.
And you gotta stop messing up my counter here."
"I know."
"Well, if you did, then why didn't you?"
"I....Well, I.....I don't know. I had lead in my shoes the second she...the second she..."
Sean could feel the words, but couldn't say them. What he
saw, and what almost everyone saw, was a force beyond recognition. In a
way, he nearly felt embarrassed and stilted at the totality at which she
could ensnare her victims, effortlessly, with even just the mere flick
of her wrist. But yet, here he was, as was a handful of other men,
longing to chat her up, and even a little confused as to why.
"Evening comrades..." came a voice from behind him, ".....how 'bout a drink?"
Sean nearly spun off his stool when he turned.
"Allison...uh...h-hi." he said, nervously, his mouth suddenly turning dry.
She grinned, her eyes half lidded. "You remembered."
He smiled, the blood rushing around his head making him a little high from being this close to her again.
"What'll it be, sweetie?" Hess said, cheerfully breaking up another awkward moment again.
"Whatever he's having." she said, nodding slightly to her left at Sean.
"Sure thing." the barkeep said, flicking the now mute boy in the arm with her thick rough fingers.
"I saw you the other night..." he said, the words falling
out slightly ungraciously, "...on the corner across from the pawn shop."
"Really..." she said, not really looking at him, "....what was I doing?"
"You were....uh.....walking. And you stopped. It looked
like you were trying to fix something." he could feel his confidence
trickle back in with the proof of knowledge.
"Wasn't me."
"A-Are you sure?" he said, feeling slightly red, "I mean, it looked just like you. It looked--"
"How?" she asked, slightly interrupting, "How did I look?"
Temptation hung in her words as she looked him dead in the
eye. He could feel her pulling him in closer without ever touching him.
"You looked...." he trailed off, as another man came up behind her, and put her arm around her.
"Ready?" the guy with the red hat asked.
"Sure." she said, grabbing the drink that Hess made before
she could even put it down or say anything. "You got this for me, right
Sean?" she asked, smirking as she walked.
"You remembered..." was all he could reply before she floated off, never turning for his reply.
---
He had a little more than he did the time before, so by the end of the night, putting on a jacket somehow seemed a little funny.
"You gonna be okay walking?" Hess asked, handing him his scarf.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I can still walk. I'm not that drunk yet."
"I can call you a cab...." she asked, concern peppering her usual blunt way of talking.
"Nah..." he said, shaking his head, "....it's only a few blocks away. I'll be fine, trust me."
He said his goodbyes and pushed the thick, heavy door that
lead outside, the latch clicking closed before he started to feel the
cold from the city start to work its way into the fuzzy heat coming off
his body. The still of the night and the scent of impeding rain helped
motivate him on his way home, the fog of sneezes hanging just minutes
away. Despite all this, he took a different way home, avoiding the
direct route and main streets as much as he could. Tomorrow, he would
wake up, go to work, and work on another chapter. And then...
Sean stopped to wipe his glasses off, pressing his tongue
to the roof of his mouth to stop the tickle that wormed about his
sinuses. As he looked down, a still-lit cigarette butt bounced in front
of him, the ruby kiss at the end of it making it somehow more playful.
As he put his glasses back on, he looked in the direction of where it
came from. In the streetlight, he could see a silhouette against the
wall, yellow hair flopped in front of her face, cerulean sparkles
calling to him.
"Allison...?" he asked, not sure, if he really did drink too much that night.
She lifted her head, smoke billowing out of her nose like a
great dragon from ages past. Her arms wrapped around themselves in an
attempt to cover her bare arms.
"Hey..." she said, slightly slurred.
"Are you....okay?" he asked, not sure as to why he was asking it.
" M'fine." she said, eyes locking on him.
"Do you need help getting home?" he said, nose starting to run, sniffling.
"I live far away...." she said, head drifting off in another direction, "...You live around here?"
"Yeah..." he said, feeling his head begin to flush, "....Just a few blocks from here."
"Well, lets go, then." she said, smiling, moving, it seemed on the air itself.
"T-to...I mean, with me?" he asked, taking a few moments too long to register the inflection.
"Well...." she said, promise hanging in her voice, ".....I -am- cold. Unless you have any other ideas."
Sean grabbed the tissues out of his jacket and took it
off, smoothing it out slightly before handing it over to Allison. "Until
we get there." he said, smiling.
---
Sooner than he had realized, the two were at the front
door to his apartment. He clumsily searched his front pockets for the
keys, nose running, and grinning against the pre-rain mist. In his
mind, he could spend as much time as he wanted talking to her, getting
to know her, and then maybe even stealing a kiss by the end if things
went well. If not, then he could always try in the morning, over
breakfast, when both of them were sober. His waffles could dazzle
anyone.
The door opened, and with it, the first few patters of a
storm followed. Both of them hopped inside and closed the door, creeping
up the hallway that connected with the stairs that led to every floor.
The lights were out, as they usually were, and with the
growing drizzle outside they climbed up nearly blind. Sean held
Allison's hand and wrapped the other around her shoulders, and tried as
hard as he could not to let his seemingly huge jacket trip her any more
than it did.
By now the sniffles were full-blown sneezes. Holding a wad
of napkins in front of his nose, he let a few fly before finding the
key to his front door. Through the darkness, he could feel her smile as
he opened it.
"Well..." he said, flicking the lights on, "....it's not much. But I'm working on it."
"Did you just move?" she asked, noticing the lack of furniture.
"Yeah, kinda." he lied.
"From where?"
"The suburbs..." he said, thinking of his parents' house, "...around where that big church fire was last year."
"I see." she said slurring nearly gone.
He looked around his living room and realized just how
basic it was. A sofa, a coffee table, a small T.V. on a wide stand,
and a pair of cheap curtains. He inwardly kicked himself.
"Ah, well, I'm getting some paint next weekend...." he said, trailing off.
"Cute." she said, taking a seat.
A minute passed before he could think of anything to say.
"Oh, um, I-I'm sorry...." he said, suppressing the urge to
curl up in a sneezing ball and hit the reset button, "...can I get you
anything?"
"Whatever you're having..." she said, playing with the scarf tucked into the neck of the jacket, "...no coffee though."
Inside his tiny kitchen, Sean poked his way in and out of
the cabinets. Cereals, sugary mixes, chips, cookies and other assorted
things were pushed around before he came across a tin of chocolate
macadamia nuts. It was one of the only things he had that wasn't packed
with artificial everything, and seemed sophisticated enough for company.
He thought for a moment about making her some tea, but ceded that it
might be the same as coffee at the moment. Instead, he grabbed a pair of
cherry wine coolers and walked out into the living room, blowing his
nose as much as he could before turning the kitchen light off.
He deftly opened one of the drinks and handed it to her
before opening the other one and the tin. As he set both of them on the
coffee table, he saw her taking big thirst-quenching gulps as she
drained her entire bottle.
"Oh...um...would you like another?" he asked, slightly amazed.
"Sure...." she said, slyly, taking his bottle from the table. She popped two nuts in her mouth as if to accent her actions.
"Heh....well, do you wanna watch something?" he asked, charmed.
"No."
"Okay. Well....what about 20 questions?" he said, half jokingly.
She stood up, shedding his coat as she moved. She flicked
her hair up and out and reached for the straps on her dress, sliding
them down her shoulders, slowly, letting gravity take the last third of
it.
"How about this?" she purred, stepping out of her clothes and her heels at the same time.
Sean sat muted, his jaw hanging slightly slack. A sniffle caught his attention as he swallowed deeply.
"A-Allison....I...." he said, shaking his head slightly, his focus being pulled in five directions, "....I can't....."
"Why not?" she playfully asked, her dark, dark eyes locking his gaze.
"Because I...don't know you yet..."
"So ask me." she said, climbing on top of him, leaning in
so her bare chest was just inches away from his. She pecked his cheek
with a slow, soft kiss.
"Oh....uh....." he stammered, holding his breath slightly, trying to concentrate, "...Where are you from?"
"I told you..." she said, moving her hands under his shirt,"...far from here."
"A-Are you Russian?"
"Nope." without much effort, she had his shirt off.
Sean could feel his body betray him as she swayed a trail of light kisses down his neck.
"Please....I don't...." he said, his pulse quickening.
"Ask me." she said, sliding over him, back and forth, teasing, taunting.
"Do you have.....a boyfriend?" he could barely get the words out.
"Right now I do."
---
He remembered waking up the next day in a heavy cloud of
chocolate and cherry fog and post sex bliss. He wanted to hold on to the
feeling as long as he could, burying his head in the over-stuffed
pillows that cluttered up the first half of his bed, inhaling deeply.
Despite the sour taste in his mouth, and the slow churning in his
stomach, he felt good, better than he had in a while. The night before,
he felt powerful, intense and strong, like a warrior coming home. And
the morning after he felt a little unfocused, wrapped in clean sheets
and completely drained. He knew he wouldn't write that day, and even
considered not going to work.
Sitting up, he looked for his bed-mate. She was gone, and
had probably left hours before, the warmth from where her body would of
been long gone. Through everything, he never got a chance to ask what
she does for a living. A question he would have to ask later.
He walked over to the bathroom and turned the lights on,
missing the first two times. Looking in the mirror, he saw himself
behind a cherry smudge kissing the glass. A little bit of the haze from
that night wafted in, as he touched the spot, inwardly smiling. He hoped
she'd left her number somewhere. If not, he knew where to find her.
After a shower and a shave, he made his way into his
kitchen. The bottles were still sitting on the counter, next to the
near-empty tin of chocolate macadamias. He grabbed the closest box of
cereal and ate, without the bowl or milk, hoping the pure sugar spike
might make him feel a little more grounded. There were no dishes in the
sink, so she didn't eat anything before she left. He wondered what she
would of done if he had made her something before she went. He imagined
that she would of liked it.
Minutes before he had to make his way to work, he
scrambled about the living room for his pants. He picked them up,
whipped the belt off and put it on, then dove into the pockets for his
keys and wallet. He stuffed the keys in his right front pocket and
opened his wallet, hoping he would have some extra cash for a nice lunch
today.
And it was empty.
The various cards and his one credit were all still there,
and even the soda tab he kept in there for good luck was where it
should of been, but all the bills were gone. He thought back and tried
to remember just how much he had spent, knowing that whatever he did, he
usually kept enough for the rest of the week. Maybe he really was that
bad that night. Maybe he should curb himself more.
He thought about calling up the Leningrad and talking to
Hess, hoping she could help him sort out what he did. But it would be
hours before they opened, and if he was going to catch the bus, he had
to leave now. He took his notepad and wedged it in his back left pocket,
just in case, and picked up his coat. It was still pooled on the floor
where she had left it, and her scent still faintly misted the inside. It
would have to be enough for today. When he came home, he would feast on
popcorn and gummies, and look for wherever the night took his scarf.
---
As he finished out the last half of 'Blue Velvet', Sean
thought about doing another song. Even though his diet recently was
nothing short of unhealthy, between the gobs of sucrose and fat, he
still was pitch-perfect and flawless.
"Sing another!" a woman cried out, face ruddy from drink.
"Myyyyyyy biiiiirthdaaaaay is toooooodaaaayyyy!" the man with the lisp said, "Siiiiing tooo meeeee!"
The tables around him groaned, and his buddies giggled, sloshing foam on the table as they clinked glasses.
"Go, Sean!" another man with a thick accent shouted, a thumbs-up in approval encouraging.
"Heh.....thanks guys...." Sean said, feeling a little
sheepish now that the attention was on him directly, "...Maybe later
tonight. But for now, don't forget to get the latest issue of Amazing
Tales on Tuesday. Look for 'Robert's Tale: Part 5'...it's the best
yet!"
Hopping off the stage, he felt confident. Since the last
time they were together, he had practiced a few things in his head that
he would say to Allison, aiming for polite, yet, easy talk. He didn't
know whether or not what they had did would of been okay for
any roundabout conversation, so he thought if anything, she would be the
one to bring it up if it was significant. Now, all he had to do, was
sit and wait.
"You seem happy tonight. What gives?" Hess asked, smiling.
"I dunno. I just...feel good, I guess." he said, smirking.
"Well, since you feel so good, I made you an extra-pretty
strawberry daiquiri." she said, lancing the last of the three
sugar-coated berries, topping it all off with a big umbrella and crazy
straw.
"You're so good to me." he said, half-joking.
"Don't you know it!" she said, putting a paper doilie under the pink mess, "My widdle Seannie!"
As he sat and slurped, he caught a familiar sparkle out of
the corner of his eye. She was talking to someone at the end of the
bar, animatedly. Her smile faded as the man stood, and the two seemed to
argue. Sean crept closer, concern dashing his thoughts, and a little
fearful of having the possibility of fighting someone who looked much
stronger than himself.
"Just give it back!"
"I don't know what you're talking about! I've never seen you before in my life!"
"Bullshit, Tracy! You and I walked out of here a few nights ago, and next thing I know, my watch and my money are all gone!"
"It's not my fault you lose your crap! Go blame someone else!"
Allison stood and
marched over to the ladies room before the man could get another word
out. Sean watched as the guy made a move to go after her, but stopped
and slugged the rest of his beer instead. He spit a line of curses in her
direction and slammed the mug down as he left. As he passed, Sean
noticed he stumbled as he opened the door.
Sean sat down just as Hester came over to collect the mug.
"What was that all about?" she asked, a little confused.
"Dunno. He was arguing with Allison over some stuff. And
he called her Tracy. Must be drunk, I guess. He nearly tripped over the
threshold when he left."
"Huh..." she said, rolling her tongue in her cheek,"...seems to happen a lot to her, dont'cha think?"
"Nah. People just
need to keep track of what they do, that's all..." he said, sighing,
"Speaking of, Hess, can you stop me when I'm about to spend my last
dollar?"
"Since when have you ever done that?" she asked, amazed.
"The last time I
was here. The next day my wallet was empty. I remember having a lot that
night, and since then I've been eating nothing but what I had in my
apartment."
"Sweetie..." Hess
said, slowly, with caution, "....the last thing you did before you got
your coat was have me break the large bills in your wallet. Even your
last drink was on me. You definitely had money when you went home. What
else happened that night?" she asked, reaching out for his arm.
"Well, I was here, then I left, then, I..." he said, not finishing his sentence.
Before either one
of them could say anything, the lights flashed as another song was
starting. He heard the first few lines of 'Wicked Garden' and turned to
see Allison on stage, swirling, mystical and blue. Her lips were curled
and red, sensual sinuous slithers of glitter dancing and spinning,
hypnotic and inviting. Men followed aimlessly to the stage, cheering,
cat-calling, wanting more. And there, on her otherwise bare neck, was
his scarf, waving.
Sean held his breath, and smiled.
There! You made it to the end! Was it as bad as you thought it would be? Terrible? Perhaps, even...dare I say it, mediocre? (And let's not get into the grammar and numerous typos, I'm sure...)
I await all comments.
Until then.
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