What the fuck is debauchery? I had to look it up in the goddamn dictionary. When I see it, I think of food, of butchers slicing and dicing meat, and they look at you with an uncomfortable grin. Is this suppose to be sexual? Hmm, you're not gonna let(more) me uncover some deep respressed feelings are you? No, I'm not into that shit, fuck no, get out out of my head.
I'll stick to food, food doesn't make me unforgettable. Food is relaxing, I love food. I like eating, the sauce dripping to my mouth, spilling on my clothes. All the care in the world, I give not. Shoving all them down in my big mouth. Yum, yum, yum. Burp.
Doesn't matter, they be, pork, beef, dog, broccoli, onion, or any of that weird shit that crops up out of Andy Zimmerman's show, I love it. My heart is pacing, my eyes are palpitation, I can't see or feel anything else, all I need and want and love is food, nothing else matters.
Eventually though, the food runs out. You're fired out of your job, your wife and kids don't even wanna look at you. You're 300 pounds obese, living the life, but with no money what you gotta do?
First rats, skinny little things. And damn, the hair, fuck the hair. But still, better than nothing. Rat Stew anyone.
But then, even the rats would avoid you. You stink, you haven't baited, your fat reeks like a goddamn shit sewer. Your eyes are bloodshot, you can't think, nor feel, nor sleep. Food, you gotta eat food.
And there it is, that juicy target. All alone, innocent, knowing nothing of the danger. No, I'm not gonna eat humans, creep. I'm gonna rob a Krispy Kreme joint.(less)
You dont know me but I see you everyday. You come into the coffee shop every morning. Chai Tea Latte is your drink of choice and I remember when it was a White Chocolate Mocha.
You always seem to forget where you put your money and must dig(more) thru your purse looking for your change pouch. You don't remember when I spotted you that fifty cents, then you found it and payed me back, I still have those two quarters.
It has been a few months now and my feelings haven't changed. Those few minutes every morning are the highlight of my day and Monday doesn't follow Friday fast enough.
Your auburn hair is the perfect shade of both red and brown. Your sharp but soft features give you the look of a model that you can take home to mother.
The way you fainted after I gave you the sedative was ever so graceful. Carrying your limp body in my arms made my heart skip a beat, your scent is intoxicating. And having you secured to my table wearing nothing but the restraints is a sight to behold, your body is amazing.
If you wouldn't of ignored my advances this never would of happened.
I tried to make you like me.
But you're just like the others.
That makes me angry.
If you had your ear to the window that night you might have heard the muffled scream as Manos got to work.
He is a perfectionist....
He takes his time....
Everything must be....
Sometimes I look up into the vast universe above us and hope that one day I may travel to a stranger world than our own. Where the grass is spun gold and trees are made of ivory and rubies. Where the people are gentler and kinder. Where everything is(more) simple and nothing complicated. Where our love is not looked upon with disdain and hate but with joy and acceptance.
And maybe it's wishful thinking that a world like that could exist. Oh, god, though. Just imagine, my love, a world where we need not hide or cower. No fear of harm coming to us. We could live our lives out so peacefully in that cottage by the sea you're always speaking of, and we'd have five children and a dog. The finest china and silverware. The largest, warmest, and softest bed.
We would never be want for anything. Everything we've ever wished for would be at our disposal.
This is all wishful thinking, of course. I'd like to hope we'd be traveling the stars during our lifetime, exploring foreign words and discovering alien life. It would be exciting, exhilarating but Earth isn't ready for such a life. There's still so much here that must be overcome before Humanity takes its first leap into Further Space.
Perhaps not us nor our children, but our grandchildren or great grandchildren will see worlds we've never dreamed of and live lives unrestricted by laws who told us our love was wrong. And perhaps there would be less tragedy and more hope. (less)
To you, I would give it without a shudder. To a stranger, with a bit of wavering.
What does it matter, you'd ask - a photo - a print of the past - not even the negative. Still you're attached to it like it's your safety belt, lik(more)e you'd stop breathing if it left your room.
Maybe I would. I never tried.
This print of us - my first love and I - doesn't really mean a thing. It won't nudge the world, it won't save lives, won't cure cancer.
Still, for me, it is everything. A proof that I had been young. That all the stories that haunt me at night are stories of this world and not just my imagination.
This 5 by 7 piece of paper attests to my belief in wonder.
It is everything.
And I'll give it up to you, if you'd like me to. With hesitation, but with will. I'll give it up so I can pass this on to someone - this sense of everlasting passion and pain that builds walls and heals oceans.
You don't even have to know me. Or him.
Or what happened between the sheets.
You just have to want it enough.
And do whatever you wish with it.
Light it on fire and let it go forever? Bury it and never look back? Put it on your shelf with all your books and pain?
I had my way with this. With him. With us. Now it's time to let our story move on. Move with you, without you, but forever forward.
"No problem. Do your eyes still hurt?"
(more) "Not as much as before. It's better. It's better now."
"All right. I don't think you've seen this before."
"Yeah. I've never been to the beach my entire life."
"No, not the beach. Of course, you've never been to the beach, you were locked up in that dungeon. I'm talking about the sunset."
"Yes, I've never seen a sunset. Barely ever saw a, a sun."
"You're not going to be disappointed."
"Just needs some time. I brought you a little earlier because I didn't want to miss it."
"It's fine, Sir. I have all the time in the world."
"Yeah? So what have you been up to ever since you got free?"
"I've been watching TV at the hospital. It is so good. I've also been learning how to read from one of the nurses. It's so difficult for me and I feel so stupid for not being able to do it. Kids read, right? So, why, why can't I?"
"Don't be hard on yourself, it's a complex process. You were locked away in a room with low light, minimum oxygen and nothing to keep you company. These things have affected your brain. But the doctors say that you can recover some functions, you just have to work hard for them."
"I understand. The last three months have been so strange. I didn't even know that people lived like this. I literally didn't know about the word freedom. A nurse taught it to me last month."
"Well, now you know. This is what freedom means. To be able to do the things you like doing."
This sunset came early, because the days started getting shorter without my noticing. This is the season of darkness, when night stretches on passed waking and creeps in before the working day is over. Now is the time when there really are so few hours in the day, when(more) you begin to wonder if humans shouldn't take a more intelligent design and start hibernating instead of suffering through. Soon autumn will end and winter will reign. Soon the cold winds will blow across the fields and through the trees. Soon the snow will fall to coat the land in it's own winter bundle. It is then that the darkness will be full, but the sun will shine brighter than ever for the few hours it gets, reminding the moon it is not the sole powerhouse of the sky. (less)
Ingrown toe nails. Ingrown bacteria. Ingrown infections.
Don't leave them unattended. Cut it out. To say he once had a manifestation of ingrown problems, fostered into an illness. Nurtured into a disease which left him emotionally incapacitated. The figurative decapitation of his soul, the center of reason and(more) logic. Word vomit spewing from the carotid artery severed by the brutality of American capitalism. His inability to explain and distinguish passion between practicality led to his handicap. Dismembered legs and hands left him motionless, stagnant. With nothing but a torso, his heart is the last pillar. A flicker of a flame which it once was.
So go forth young man. Go forth unto the pursuit of a practicality which extinguishes passion, onto the murderous path in which you will suffer injury, you will break bones and come out the other end a shadow of the man you once were. It is what everyone does. It is what everyone sacrifices. But it also is what everyone regrets. (less)
I have been on this ship my whole life. Never once have I stepped foot on dry land. The old timers that still remember say it doesn't sway or rock. The land doesn't get angry and try to drown you. This just seems foolish to me but I can(more) not help but imagine.
I like being on the ocean. I can swim and fish as much as I please but to see land that is the dream. They say it can be as green as the mold on the rails. Or as brown and dry as the cooks bread. They even say there was a place where you could find every color you could imagine.
It can stretch as far as the eye can see and even rise up to touch the heavens. It can be covered with grass and trees or be as barren as fathers head. Some places were covered with homes and people, cities they used to call them, other places not a single person could be found.
What happened to the land we always ask but no one remembers the truth. Out of necessity we moved to the water on giant vessels. We sail from one horizon to the next, always sailing, always looking, always hoping. (less)
"Give it," Gotou said, mock-patiently, the hint of an edge to his voice. Masayoshi was stretched as far away as he could get, knee braced on the center of Gotou's chest and arm out above his head, dangling over the edge of the bed. "Masayoshi, give it /back/-"
"You promised!" Masayoshi said. It was harder than he thought to keep Gotou away even braced with his knee, Masayoshi may be the slightest bit /taller/ but Gotou had weight on him in muscle. He pushed Gotou's face with his other hand and tried to stretch further, keeping the phone out of range.
He'd walked out of the bathroom naked, having forgotten once again to take his change of clothes with him - not as big a deal as it once would have been, but Gotou raised his phone and took a /picture/ of Masayoshi, naked and surprised. He wouldn't honestly care that much about it except Ishihara had threatened him if any nudes got out and frankly he was more scared of her than any threat he'd faced in costume, so he'd plucked Gotou's phone out of his hand and meant to delete the photo.
He'd forgotten, in the heat of the moment, exactly how sensitive Gotou was to having his phone taken without warning.
"You promised you wouldn't take pictures of me like that-!" he was losing, Gotou always won when they wrestled, so he changed tactics and slid his knee across Gotou's chest and away, and Gotou fell on top of him, his support gone. That drove the breath from Masayoshi's lungs, but he wrapped his legs around Gotou's chest and clung on for dear life.
It was only a few quick swipes and the photo was deleted. Masayoshi breathed a sigh of relief, relaxed - and fell off.(less)
The worst two weeks were over. She had battered and screamed and broken that picture of her god and wept as though there would be no end. Tears on tap, without provocation. For those fourteen days, the world as she knew it had ended and there seemed to be(more) no coming back.
But she had survived, and maybe just by that fact there was hope still. Maybe the gods hadn't forgotten her. Maybe something was coming. Who knew. The crying had turned her into damp soil, waiting to receive a plant.
For the moment though, she was all scholastic qualification with nothing to say for it. Not really. Not yet.
Even in damp soil, trees take their time to grow.(less)
She stayed out too late. She's stayed out too late every night this month, but there is not cure for it. Things have to get done and there simply are not enough hours in the day.
On the drive back she doesn't think about all of the thing(more)s she's accomplished, because that train of thought is dangerously close to everything she didn't accomplish. She doesn't count the day as a success, but she doesn't call herself a failure either. She keeps her mind active by playing with the darkness, and the way that the shadows are morphed by the headlights of oncoming traffic. She wonders about the magic in neon lights and the wonder of star beams and moonlight. She keeps an eye out for the glimmer of eyes along the side of the road, ready to avoid any crossing animals.
And she listens to music. She rolls the windows down to feel the air rush past her in bursts of ice and listens to the wind play with the songs on the stereo. She works her jaw to keep it moving, tapping her teeth together with the beat of the radio, like her exhaustion manifested as something edible and she's chewing it over, rolling it around in her mouth and over her tongue in the hopes that each chop will take her another few miles closer to home.
And the moment she's home a sense of relief washes over her. The muscles in her body relax as she climbs the stairs to her home and closes the day's door behind her. (less)
when she was younger, verbena had posed all of her questions alongside tea and cookies.
it started out as the simple ones: "aiden, do you like cats or dogs?" "aiden, do you like sunny days or rainy ones?" that was before she started prying, looking at him with(more) her eyes big and the color of the delphinium along her driveway. "do you wanna grow up, aiden?" "do you like your parents?"
he had answered every one, stupidly. about how he had a dog before it was hit by an eighteen wheeler carrying strawberries back in california and his shithead father who still called collect at two in the morning, drunk on soco and rage.
she never answered, just smiled at him with her mouth around a cookie. "i'll chew it over," she'd say, pushing the tupperware full of that day's creation his way and topping off his cup of tea.
it wasn't until spring had come around again, just before she disappeared, that she first answered. she was sick then, and a cough had settled deep in her lungs that no herb could seem to move. she shook like the dogwood branches they sat under, and sometimes aiden had to carry her back inside.
"aiden?" she asked, her voice low and coarse. some days she couldn't talk. sometimes, it was worse when she could.
"yeah? everything okay?"
he felt her eyes burning into his face with determination, need. "aiden, are you afraid of death?"
he couldn't look at her, but heard the desperation in her voice. he smiled, and hoped it was a reassuring lie. "let me chew that one over, kid."
"i think i am," she whispered, laying her head on his knee and and pushing the tupperware of cookies his way. "so please, hurry."(less)
The signs illuminate the entire room. There are three. They all point in the right direction. And there it is, there it is. But you are so preoccupied by the window, by watching the sun set out the window, that you forget to exit the building.
(more) And what pretty cloud. What pretty moon. You could stay there all day. You could tidy the room, too, while you're at it. And what pretty sun.(less)
Masayoshi pointed past Gotou in the doorway, to where Beyond Flamenco sat at the low table watching them. "You're supposed to be DEAD!" It was the first thing he could think of, and ... well, to be truthful, the /only/ thing, especially given the last he saw of Beyond(more) Flamenco he was lying on the ground with a gaping hole in his chest.
"Yeah, /that's/ a comforting thing to hear," Gotou said, only half to Masayoshi. He grabbed Masayoshi by the arm and yanked him through the door into the apartment. "Can we not yell about that in the hallway? I have neighbors."
Masayoshi staggered past him, kicking his shoes off in a smooth motion and then walked straight over to where Beyond Flamenco sat cross-legged at the table. He circled him, and Beyond Flamenco watched him with mild interest. "Where's your tail? How are you not DEAD?"
"Tail?" Gotou repeated from the doorway. "/Tail/?"
Masayoshi rounded on Gotou since Beyond Flamenco was simply watching him with amusement. "Where did he COME from??"
"I found him in an alley," Gotou said with a shrug. "Kinda amusingly poetic, now. I thought he was you..." Masayoshi stared at him, and Gotou held up his hands. "Hey, how do I even know you're YOU, and not some imposter? I'm looking at two Hazama Masayoshis in my apartment, right now."
"Gotou-san!" Masayoshi said, hands at his sides and eyes wide.
"Masayoshi, relax - I know he's not you, he doesn't even sound like you when he talks, I'm kidding."
"It would be nice to not be talked about like I'm an object," Beyond Flamenco said mildly, spoon still dangling from his mouth. "I'm right here, you know."
"But you're supposed to be DEAD," Masayoshi said stubbornly.
"I got better," Beyond Flamenco said, and shrugged.(less)