grasp THE sanity

Alone in my kitchen

2012-03-01T20:52:00.000-08:00

Stabbed cigarette.

I wonder if I should cut it in half, but instead I just look at it, the light too bright even if I recall it dim.

I stood outside, waiting for Jack to simply do something, anything, some sort of brief explication, but instead I just got wind in my face and I checked my lipstick about two times.

I roll up the sleeves to watch the bruises fade in the bright light as the music goes from the inside with the video of my husband which he sits rewatching and sometimes his mood matches something opposite of my own and I have to watch him with other women, all of those who go on their knees and I just have to click my nails, thinking that it would be sexy, but it’s not and he just slaps my face.

I just look up, knowing how the new bruise will look like.

Maybe it will shape his hand, maybe my mouth if I could bite my own cheek, but I stare at Jack and he looks from above, as if he would be a saint.

Once I watched those videos of himself and other women by myself, just sitting there, clicking my nails as usual and he would just inside to watch me.

He dyed my nails once up to my wrists and he just looked at me, I didn’t flinch so he just swung his hand at me.

Maybe he were the man who would lock his children in a room for thirteen years, maybe he would lock me in a room and I would scream.

On the weekends we both sit in the same room, facing each other, sometimes I am naked and he rapes me, this is where I light a new cigarette and I am not allowed to inhale, so it is just left in my mouth with my bruises to make a collection and if we’d have neighbors they would never hear any of the screams and even when he hurls me across the room, nothing would be heard, as sometimes I don’t even feel my weight upon myself.

-

Sorry, it ended up being quite short but I really hope you enjoyed it and thank you

Sorry, heading off to bed:)

<3

In the pines, in the pines

2012-02-29T21:19:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid I had a little pine, Christmas tree, I used to just glance at it, not pay attention and now there are too much plants and no pine, just stale smoke in the air and the lights off, as my fingers tremble.

I try to think of that tree for whatever reason how I wanted it to grow and hang random things on it and in the end I did with Alison.

Now Kate does.

He sits near me and lights his cigar, hand running up my thigh.

I find the song and CD he chooses ironic and I just hold my head down, as I feel his lips tinger against my cheek and his hair is curly and I kiss him. I let my tongue wonder off in his mouth and then he pulls back.

“My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me”

He inhales and I just put my head down for a bit as I feel his fingers go around my neck, he holds my neck in his hands and I don’t breathe and then I look up, knowing that Alison is gone and Kate won’t show up.

I look at how he undoes my shirt.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Jack completes the song and I just shake, my bottom lip turning into ice and the words mumble themselves with my saliva, I don’t swallow, I just shake and stare at the man who I love.

He completes the song and he leans backwards, pushes me onto the floor.

I look at him in the dark with the song on repeat as it finnishes and he kicks me in the ribs, a pain digging in my body and I cough to get air, but I don’t move, wondering if I could get a pillow, let Jack be my pillow, before we sat, in the living room, naked and he started blowing me after telling me to marry.

I wouldn’t marry Alison, it had to be someone neutral, someone like Kate, who would go and would leave me for the night.

Yesterday she saw the bruise on my neck and kissed it, I just got tense, but she kept her lips there and I kissed her, thinking it were Jack, even if the body attracted me and I made love to a woman for the first time feeling it in years, not some excuse with Kate.

We both snuck out, Jack calling Alison and checking on the cupboards as I hid in a luggage bag, shivering, wishing to call out his name and feeling the heavy thrusts inside me.

I touched myself and came in the luggage, breating out when he left and numbly sucking on my fingers before I had a proper meal with Alison, herself taking my hand, saying how skinny I were, I wouldn’t eat much, I’d just think of the man I love-

Who kicks me again in the ribs and cries.

He tells me he loves me.

And kicks me again, grabs me from the floor and hurls me into a wall and his fist going backwards I expect a punch and it clashes with my cheek, blood going into my mouth and my tongue bit in the process, my eyes gets hit next time and he keeps crying, yelling that I am a whore, which he made.

And I look at him, how he hammers my shoulder a few times and it starts to ache. It starts to ache a lot and he hits my head against the wall, my fringe with blood used now as glue and I cannot see through my left eye and his tears smear across his face and the stale smoke is my scarf.

And I wrap myself in it.

Alison screams, I just rememeber how she yells at me to get up, but she doesn’t do anything, neather do I for the man I love. I stand up after a few punches go to my back and my fingers were bit when I was luying on the floor.

Blood is rushing, I feel like my brain is having a blood jacuzzi and he kicks me in the stomach and I fall down again, watching him kick me until I grab his leg and pull, maybe the last energy I will ever have. I don’t hurl him down the stairs, I grab his hair and pull, wondering if I could would I cut off his head.

I grab his neck and he looks at me, breathing

I tighten my grib

I don’t strangle him.

I stare into his eyes with my one own and leave him there after a few kicks on the ribs, when patches of blood are seen through and I grab a bit yellow pot which is something which is not a fir tree and Kurt is singing again.

“Don’t lie to me.”

-

I had that idea in the bus, but I had a completely different couple in mind and there wasn't a love triangle there, just abuse, domestic abuse actually, which is what I will be doing tomorrow, but I have a different plot for tomorrow's.

The plot besides being created on the bus, was inspired by Nirvana's cover of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" which is quite a depressing song and so beautiful, getting back into Placebo and Nirvana recently, been off them for years, so rediscovering is a wonderful thing.

The song itself is beautiful and I wanted to use the whole married thing and pine trees. I had that little tree when I had been a child, I tend to give my child things to Jamie apparently, like Lucky the dalmatian in Lucky Screams :3

Thank you for the request and I think it was the first or one of the first times I've actually described a fight, as I've described murders, tortures, abuses but never fights or something similar to the one I've just written.

Really really hope you enjoyed it.

Feel free to request even if I have a few currently:)

<3

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 8

2012-02-29T18:27:00.000-08:00

Yeah, she did.

Inhaling, exhaling, laughing as it was funny gas, as Jaidem would raise a brow blowing out the smoke slowly, watching it dissolve into the other pieces hanging in the air, wishing to be mixed with something coming out of Death’s mouth.

Jaidem through his cigarette out of the window, out of Macy’s passageway, as he called it. I ranted about his nickname seeing the invisible sarcasm he wanted to add. His eyes seemed to bore into me as he said that I shouldn’t idolize her, her laughing stopped. I said why not? He said I’d get bored off her and find shag. I wanted to answer with violence but instead he pressed a finger against my throat fiddling with something that I coughed and felt it’s earning to detach.

“Shouldn’t you rehearse your suicide scene, actor?”Jaidem asked in a mocking way, glancing at Macy as if they were previous or current lovers just to exit the apartment and to return with a glowing expression of a happy-happy flat mate with beer leaking out of the grocery bags.

They say fortune tellers can predict everything.

I once walked through a fair with Macy watching all hocus-pocus taking away the money for gold to be stuck instead of teeth in the owner’s mouth. One was waving her arms fanatically over an orb, glancing, shuffling cards her dark eyes landing on the intertwined fingers then back to Macy and at me. I watched her pick the hem of her skirt as her eyes would glint while glancing at Macy with a giant lollypop I couldn’t help but watch her keep glancing at Macy mumbling something under her nose until I yanked her hand and went towards the charlatan. She stood up, grabbing her hem with her, her boots in dirt.

The lady grabbed my left arm before Macy even opened her mouth. A horrid shiver ran through my hand, as her black eyes bored in my hand.

It lasted for a second before she threw my hand back, releasing her skirt to fall onto the ground but her fingers still grabbing hold of the fabric. She looked at
Macy with pity, before glancing at me as if I was the reason for all the misfortune in the world.

“How dare you! To end, end it all like that!” She spat onto the ground. “With one act, one-”

Macy slapped her.

The dark skinned charlatan stared at her, her eyes going wide, before her eyes looked down, muttering something glancing at Macy’s throat, wondering wherever to grab the girl’s hand or not. Not.

“Then end just like he! Sinners! Disgrace! Disgrace the both of you! Feeding, pleading one in the house just to end! Poison! Disgr-”

We both shut our ears, rather I did, feeling dizzy, feeling the earn to lie down, feeling everything spin at a horrid speed as she kept shouting what disgrace I was as Macy clutched both my hands trying to get hold of me as my face lay in the ground. I swear I saw hay.

“Not an actor you are! How are you supposed to act! Act such a role! Suicide what do you know of it! Young fool!”

I felt a string yank me up, but I could barely hold, I could feel Jaidem’s fingers upon my throat. I lunched myself at her, my fingers digging into the fabric of her scarf. I could barely breath as I gasped in quick breaths, lowering my head to her eyes.

“Fucking wait and see.” And I got hold of her jaw and dug my fingers into her jaw, feeling her blood go inside my nails and mix with my skin, devouring it, like an antidote not sufficient to end the torture. I felt it burn, but I slapped her, yelled at her, yelled at the running around press, Jaidem trying to lunge at my throat with a needle ready to decorate his jacket.

Swallow

2012-02-28T20:04:00.000-08:00

“Cigarette?” And he offers me one, knowing that I am out of them and I am standing near him, struggling a bit due to his skirt.

My throat is a bit sore and he keeps smoking and he is in platforms, laughing at something he mentioned earlier but instead I sink it at the cross dresser, who seems to be my height, but feels too tiny.

I watched him in class, sometimes sitting cross legged, as he would act and I would look at how bright his lips were and how he would play female better than anyone else or how he would apply lipstick wherever the cigarettes would snatch the colour away.

I wondered if I took that one cigarette and took a puff, would I be the one to snatch the colour in that area.

I’ve been told who poofs where, I’ve seen some on the street, but I never had anyone right in front of me and someone who would still wear those platforms and manage to actually have sex with girls in a bright blue sweater and make out sometimes trying to be private. I had been looking for a carton of orange juice and he had a trolley.

I stopped right in front of it, wondering if I should identify him as female or male in those platforms of his.

“Hi, Jamie.” And he smiles and I always see him smoking in my head or both of us sitting on the stairs, not saying anything, sometimes I tap a tune with my fingers, sometimes he does.

“Hi, Brian.” I mimic and that’s it.

That’s where all our conversations went.

Besides a few times, when he asked me what I thought of such and such author or poet. Once he bragged about The Pixies and Sonic Youth, while chewing on an unlit cigarette, the wind playing with the hair, stealing the red lips for itself. Brian keeps talking about how complicated to apply nail varnish is and I try to point out the red in his hairs and in the end my fingers are entangled in the red of his and my fingers contain it as a sin and his hair is black again and his accent enchants London.

It’s too tense when he asks me to choose his first pair of high heels.

I stare at him wobbling, holding onto my arm and laughing at me, so much taller.

It’s too tense, as I grab hold of his hands in that small store which doesn’t kick him out and I swallow my saliva, still my own.

Before a tongue touches my own.

On the stairs when we smoke.

He hurls himself at me, he has a cock and it’s against my own, he is in his new heels and the legs intertwine and I steal his colour for my own.

-

It's called Swallow as even when I had my off phase of Placebo I always had Swallow, Swallow is I guess one of THE Placebo songs for me and Placebo in general is a special band for me, I've seen them live and I loved them, Christ, I still do and now I'm just rediscovering a great dead band, fuck me, let's all unite and buy Molko some drugs and I miss the whole sex appeal he had and it's a shame how he just tore everything off.

Thank you

Feel free to request for tomorrow:3

<3

Light Upon The Dance Floor

2012-02-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

You know when that girl is just too good for you?

The way she hurls herself on stage and clothes seem like nothing, not just because it’s all too tight but because the sweat on her is still even dropping into her drink and she laughs.

I stare at her and I wonder how would it feel when she was younger, when I was younger and how would it feel if I’d snuck out and maybe it would be a small venue, maybe the New Year’s lights would be around with a few pumpkins lying under all the feat and girls would be in fishnets, listening and I would stand there.

“Alex?” Alison asks and her hair is now behind her, revealing the freaky blonde roots and I hold myself from poking them and I just smile, keeping the straw there, something I grabbed for an anecdote and she just smiled and I recall looking at her heels and wondering if I grabbed her and held her, would it be higher than her heels?

And then maybe the confetti would fall or some music would play as her arms would be around.

“Alex?”

She repeats my name and I do nothing, bending the straw in my fingers three more times.

I look at her drink, I drink her drink.

She drinks my drink.

Maybe it should be New Years.

And I would twirl her on the dance floor.

“Alex?” This time she is even laughing. Does she wear dressed which I can lift up as I take her to bed or in a morning hangover with her feet in my face and I get woken by a kick of her stretching out?

“Would you dance?” But I’m not in a tux. I’m in this jacket I had bought yesterday, not even checking it properly, so it’s a bit short on the arms, but I don’t bother and my hair went a bit down and her roots show too much and she looks like a rainbow ballerina, but I get her to the dance floor anyway and the music doesn’t seem to bad until you stop minding it and the hands just tremble really for a brief second.

Should I be a moron and not touch her hips? Waist?

Waist and go to the hips as her eyes glance around.

Jamie Hince is married.

Jamie Hince is married.

Jamie Hince is married.

“Would you marry me since Jamie Hince is married?” And it sounds wrong and it is a joke or rather a mumble of words and she doesn’t hear half the sentence but I don’t know which half.

And Alison just keeps dancing or rather her eyes are fixed on me and I look at how her eye pencil was used today and the song changes and the other three after it do and couples change, but we’re still on the dance floor and I wonder if we’ll head out for a smoke.

We eventually do, but Alison dances a bit as I light her cigarette and we’re just as mute, the crap music taking our tongues and I quickly glance into her mouth as she exhales the long smoke and eventually presses a kiss upon my lips, as I take her cigarette and I held them both between my fingers, as she gives her tongue in and presses me closer.

Maybe I should’ve looked when I was younger and bought a ticket to be among those fishnets, maybe just to have someone to wank to instead of barely remembering anything besides the nipples or the birth mark on the neck of the women I’d touch myself to.

-

I'll be honest I love it xD I myself was writing and enjoying it myself as I quite love Alex Turner despite my massive mockery hatred for the Arctic Monkeys. Being honest, really.

It's a more humorous piece unlike my usual, so I hope you enjoyed it and I am even quoting the Jamie Hince is married bit, I can fan girl over my work even if I do not look as cool as Morrissey in a The Smiths t-shirt, I'll still brag about it.

Thank you and I hoped you enjoy it feel free to request and I am open to anything new and any new pairing you can dare me :)

<3

cover me in varnish from head to toe

2012-02-25T22:30:00.000-08:00

“Look at yourself in the mirror after you shower.” Jamie said once, maybe after brushing his teeth and I sat on the bathtub, eating an apple.

“Why?” I laughed, my hair in a low ponytail just so that nothing would bother me as much, it still felt unusual, but I sat on the edge, knowing all his girls and that one he had fucked doggy on the toilet.

He just told me to look and I just stayed there for a while, maybe waiting for the steam to lure Jamie in after all the air would stop being my coat and I would see which areas of my body would be needing a shave tomorrow and I would steal his razor again while laying in his bathtub, maybe as he’d talk to some girl and I would wonder if I should do my nails and I would, into a bright red colour, because that’s how the girls he likes look, so I stand here with the nails red.

He peeks in.

Jamie sees the nails and says they are nice.

-

It has the Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us feel and most likely it is just a future scene from it from Alison's point of view.

I like writing short stories, like short and grasping and Alison and Jamie.

I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to request for tomorrow.

<3

Open Box

2012-02-25T00:22:00.003-08:00

She fiddles with the white dress and it’s a bit too short and the scarf just falling around her shoulders to make it lest revealing gives her the feel that she might be young indeed, but then her hair would be short, but then she looks young, she looks like a child forced into life, just taken out of the insides with all the shells broken and all senses are given.

She eats a few raspberries and it’s early spring, but she wears that dress, even if it has a black outer layer, I still just see the white, maybe to see some irony with the awaiting wedding we all avoid and how she just wonders around the house, trying to get mascara right for the first time in years and I just watch the girl struggle, sometimes just looking up.

I feed her a raspberry, she opens her mouth to swallow.

“What do you want to do today?” I ask her, washing my hands off the raspberry with her tongue on my finger, I lure it out and her eyes just hold my gaze stronger.

“Nothing.” And her nothing hangs in the air as she washes more raspberries and the whole weight of groceries lately is just raspberries, maybe because it’s the only fruit she doesn’t see at the Hince’s.

“Why raspberry, Alison? Why did you stop the oranges for instance.” I don’t say anything else aloud, but then our conversations are held in silence as if every phrase we say is a Rubik’s cube solution away.

She just raises the hem of the dress a bit, maybe for all the raspberries to fall upon or maybe to trickle upon her feet as if they may be blood sometime soon or maybe she’ll hold the wounds until the wedding, but I could see Kate with her fourteen thousand nymphets and all the humans running around that force and myself sitting close to Alison and us just staring ahead, in time, waiting and guessing the flavor of the cake.

I got her cake for the morning, she still had the dress.

“I got you cake.” I say and I slice it.

“It’s not my birthday and there is no special occasion.” We barely speak our sentences dry and cutting the air so that it would bleed carbon dioxide and I open the milk.

She touches the cake and then she goes back to bed.

“What do you want to do at the wedding?” I ask her as she comes to the kitchen, the same dress maybe she wants a death on Kate as she wear will white and she is the black strangling the lower parts of the dress and Alison presses herself harder, cutting a cereal pack in half. “Look-”

There’s nothing I can do.

“What can I do?” And she shakes the remaining Corn Flakes onto the kitchen rugs and it feels like a road and a pavement with Alison standing, her arms spread out, waiting for a car and flynching until it knocks her out and Jamie would co-

And then I’d take the black fabric just to cover the groom in his grave.

I’d strangle him as he would wait and Alison would rub her hands against the jeans, the sweat too demanding to soak in rather than fall, as she is in a net and everyone knows, what happens once the cake Kate is eaten.

I open all the windows and Alison smokes.

“She’d fucking choke on herself.” Alison mumbles softly, not causing her death, but just showing a maybe one of two dresses more on herself and she’ll twirl like a fairy in a box which Jamie holds and all the fucking keys are his, even if I hold the box tight in my hands.

I stare at her.

I may kiss the box.

But I’ll never reach the fairy, which I may have in my hands.

I can just press my mouth to the keyhole and give her all the air, with her in the dark and without music, not knowing where the oxygen is coming from.

So I feed her grapes in the morning, something she and Jamie used to it.

I move the couch to the kitchen, you can see the sun from there, so she lies there for the next few days.

And the fairy ties my tie on the day of the wedding and the dress is gone but to be back in the evening, maybe I’ll ask Jamie for a key. But he’ll just smile and like vandalizing some wall on the street, he won’t do anything and Alison will just chain smoke with me wondering if I should just take a hammer and bang on the box.

The world will collapse, but the fairy might just get out without music, so I sit to chain smoke with her, as we watch the walks of the devil being held today and we are putting up the decorations as the devil has all the keys, that once either I smoked too much or a joint was passed, I recalled taking Jamie’s wallet out of some other things laying around.

I played the waller against my lips, as I saw all the little photo booth photos of him and Alison, all of them.

The wallet just had one credit card with all the photo booth photos they have ever taken together and that’s where all the weight was and where all the keys go, so after taking a few in my mouth and biting through their happy miserable faces, a few were gone and I was among a pile of some distorted Kills love life.

I think Jamie saw me and just sat besides me.

I didn’t know where Alison was.

But then we both don’t know what happens to an open box if the music and soul is taken away from it.

Touching Yourself

2012-02-23T22:33:00.001-08:00

Tear face off my black and white self whose face is all in what looks to be whipped cream but is -

I should say snow instead.

His beard is in snow and the razor is in my hands, as I trace his chin and his eyes are frozen and locked on the razor, the eyes just watching how it swishes the already shaved three times skin but he like a client wants even the skin off, so that the new red beard would be a new beard.

His hands are too white and he holds a new razor in his hand, he trails his hands up my blue suit and we just stare.

It’s a moment of passion and a kiss on cheek, kiss on cheek, kiss on lips. Then he just looks more like a fragnance with no colour just the smell and the sunken eyes looking so plastic and mouth a bit open as if something would slip from inside it, so I hold his shoulders. And there is a passionate kiss on the lips and the man is no longer myself and there is foam back on my face and he just takes my hand so that we’d walk the bathroom corridors with all the women doing their faces. And then they wax the faces off, leaving acne and pores.

All of them look lovely, as long as they can, but I keep my head down, as all of us three just walk past the bathroom into something which would be the living room after all the bathrooms and the women.

The walls and the ceiling is a rug with painting sewn on it with the paint drops rolling into the rug colour and making holes which reach the brick walls. I insert a finger inside to just make the hole bigger and i even press my mouth against it, feeling nervous as I feel myself, the one who is Santa today and apparently the only box of gifts would be his erection.

I see Jamie sit on the carpet, maybe the one on the ceilings and maybe it is cliche to touch yourself in front of an other in the living room, where all things take place and where the screen is the stage and life seems natural, as I unzip my pants.

Did you ever touch yourself for someone?

I lick a bit of Santa’s foam and I kiss him, as Jamie just sits in the couch, clean shaven and I think of all the women in their rows and I think if they could they would open all the doors and their acne would be their eyes to spy on homosexuality between males.

As the cock is a symbol of desire for all of us, that they could join us for a pint of beer and if people fucked people, we’d fuck after discussing erect cocks.

I watch Jamie touch himself and it feels that what if the women in acne would be all the women we know but we tear off the faces off our minds. What if this is just us being in separate rooms touching ourselves until we feel and in the night I just knock on his door and he lets me walk in.

Jamie stands still and he feels much shorter than I am, like a stuffed toy any daughter of mine would hug to bed with. I trace his body with my fingers as he closes his eyes and his forehead is against mine, sweat forming and blood going down along with my hands and head.

I stand on my knees and stroke his cock.

He kicks me on the floor, on the same coloured rug where I am touching myself and we link hands and laugh.

Maybe we’re high or maybe we’re rolling off a hill.

We don’t kiss.

We don’t touch yet.

We just grope each other’s bodies, he plays the notes which pull strings for my erection to grow and mouth to gently rub against an area of skin.

So when the room is a rug and Jamie smokes one of my cigars I touch myself by sticking fingers inside and the foam mixes with my own sweat as somewhere a memory of Jamie’s thrusting hard against myself and my hips aching before he gets us skin to skin level.

A man smaller than me is inside me.

And he can be me, maybe if he gets the right facial hair I once had or guesses the right rifs I did or fucks all the women I once fucked, but then, all of them stripped to their disabilities are the same.

And when I’m inside him, I light that same cigar and I stick it in his mouth and everytime I thrust the cigar thrusts with all the inhales, inhales, nails sparkling in sweat against the skin, toungues on lips, cock in hand, tugging so hard, penetrating all the chosen space.

It is about spreading the legs and contaminating the generation, which won’t be given despite the pleasure.

If we’re lucky enough we’ll get death.

-

I'm sorry for taking so long, as I've been caught up in everything, so yeah.

It ended up being short but to my point. I was thinking if it were a prequel to Lucky Screams or not, but I have a sequel to this one in mind, so perhaps:)

Tomorrow is Jack White/Alison in a dress/Kitchen

Thank you

<3Open Box

Let's Not Know What Love Is

2012-02-19T21:54:00.001-08:00

The hospital is always clean and is spacious.

And every time I recall it the rug changes, along with the reasons why I’m there.

I just sit there, the clock always still, sometimes I walk up to it, as the receptionist stares at me, sometimes he or she don’t even do anything, they just watch me grow to my height and play with the hands so that they’re straight on three a.m.

I went to the hospital at night.

I remember how I was shaken up to be there to go to a nurse.

And the nurse’s face changes every time, depending on which red hair or not, caught my eye.

She has pink hair.

Maybe if she’d wash it a bit more it would fade into red.

Sometimes after a bit of drinking into the morning it’s Karen smiling with a big knife, she liked cooking and big knives.

When I was young it was Meg with two pony tails and she’d feed me sweets after she’d go down on me.

“Hi, Jack.” Maybe this is a plain sexual fantasy where I’m aloud to simply unzip my pants and her mouth will just go on me as I will gently thrust inside her tongue and her tongue underneath, stroking my tip sometimes just to increase the pleasure, sometimes the lady on the reception turns into Karen, who touches herself or sometimes Meg pops in to say hi and kiss Karen a bit too passionately, but then it doesn’t look too pleasant so it’s just back to Karen.

I wonder if I ever end up in a hospital will it still be Alison with her legs crossed, maybe she should be in the reception just sitting, maybe neck tied up with a wound or waiting for a plain check and we would just be sitting, diagonally or back to back and she would stretch her arms so that her hands would fall on my neck, find all the stubble I have.

Maybe she’d laugh or maybe I’d be laying in bed with all the low fat yoghurts my kids would manage to sneak in.

Maybe Karen would be giving birth and I’d be getting a last pack of crisps and I would bump into her. Maybe she’d be holding Kate’s baby.

Maybe I’d just walk in the hospital.

Maybe I’d be a nurse.

“I’m waiting for a baby.” Maybe we’d share her cigarette. Would I have the money to pay for cigarettes, most likely I’ll be stuck a nurse for years and not even getting close to operations and this would be the first time I’d see the birth of a child.

“Are you pregnant?” I’d ask and maybe laugh, maybe it would be a joint and she would start asking me to sing the Yellow Submarine because we’d be in the underground car park and she’d just jump a bit around the park lot and now she has black hair and I’m finishing the joint and I laugh too much when the baby is here and I keep poking the parents to name the kid Alison even if it’s a boy and everything is too funny that I call myself Adam Laurie Lewis.

And maybe we’d meet up at the cafe across the road and we’d never know love and I’d be stuck sometimes playing guitar and maybe we’d have a small band and kiss.

When?

Many years later on stage?

Maybe when I’d be done with my donut and she would smile and we’d smile.

But then today she’s a nurse in a dress and barefooted, no, she has the boots and I see something underneath, but she lets me unzip her pants and she has no underwear, she tells me my cure is to lick her as much as I can to feel good and I feel good with her hand around my cock.

Or maybe I should be the doctor and she should be giving birth to someone who is not me and I congratulate her, maybe the baby has no father or no mother or a mother and a father, maybe the baby will be given away or maybe to an orphanage.

I sit in the hospital.

She’s the nurse again and in reality it wasn’t a nurse, it never looked like Alison and she was a bit too skinny, her nails bright red, a dark chestnut and a bit too big of a smile, somewhere in her forties and I was too young to remember anything and I wouldn’t ejaculate in her mouth just because I’d be too nervous.

But I laid in the bed for a few months, asking not to close the curtains, but they would be anyway and I’d sight and maybe dream a bit about some girl I’d see in school, putting the covers over my face, coughing two times and maybe I’d wonder a bit which name would I choose if I had been the doctor, not high and maybe it would have been Alison’s baby indeed and I’d just smile and never know what love is.

-

I think the idea came to me as I was falling asleep and lately I've been really sticking places I've seen lately into my stories.

The title and it was through out the story was the song name of a White Stripes song, which is really good like the Stripes in general, really, You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told). After some hesitation, I got the title.

I hope you enjoyed it and I'm going over my shorter fiction period apparently, I hope you enjoyed it.

Feel free to request for tomorrow and thank you

<3Touching Yourself

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 5

2012-02-18T21:53:00.001-08:00

I’ve dreamt about shooting people and then drinking tea in the morning, watching Alison play with the sugar cubes before killing them off with tea, but then maybe they just produce sugary tea?

I wonder if she would dye her hair and how short would her hair be once more or would it, do girls go in the past with the hair?

I wonder how would our first kiss go even if we’re past it and is it a good thing that I can’t recall, so I kiss her again and her head is literally in the bowl. It’s as if it’s the treat in the cereal box so I pull her by the hair a bit and her lips are swollen in milk.

I wonder how she feels to go in the streets and past that juggling hobo in the doorway of the closed cafe at night, would she stare at him?

She sings more and our doors are locked, but we lose track of time, so we just wobble into Tesco and the expiry dates give us a sense of time.

I tell her that we’ll marry and she asks me if we’ll have kids and I think for a good while and I stop playing for a few days, it’s this numb inspiration as I kiss her body straight from the shower and play with her hair a bit, because there is no dialogue in memories, not the exact one, maybe a few quotes pop in from while to while, some minor ones like

“Do you want grapes?” And I’d see her sit on the couch, eating the grapes, slowly, bursting some in her hands, her hair growing and sometimes we both look at the scissors and I kiss her forehead.

We have sex, but it’s not mutual, I try to turn off my mind if she’s on top, while she just studies my body if I’m on top, it’s as if we try talking to ourselves more and more.

She used to watch me choose vinyls just by their sleeves and she’d just stand there and then she started telling me which ones she wanted and then we slowly started talking and she said she liked kiwis.

We bought some kiwis and sat on the carpet, the guitar making a third person and I just pressed my head against her shoulder, digging my head in to reach her skin and we just sat there.

The first few songs were done on that evening, with my head touching her skin and she’d just lull me with her music until I put the guitar down and curled near her, pulling her towards me and if the expire dates are right we should reach December soon.

We buy a small Christmas Tree and Alison buys little plastic Jesuses, which look a bit scary and I think we should use them for easter and she laughs, hanging my sock instead of a star and kiwis, which she didn’t eat yet but the Jesuses give me nightmares for a bit and I tell her I love her before I go to sleep, a little prayer and Santa feels like Jesus now all of a sudden, so when she falls asleep for Christmas, I wait for Jesus.

I don’t find God, do I?

So I just smoke, the stale beer in my throat and Alison in my arms, maybe jesus is supposed to be the love we kill, so I just lean to have another year with the purity.

I invite a few friends over for New Years, but we end up escaping into the small bathroom and we sit staring at each other and when the countdown comes we don’t kiss, she hugs me and I nuzzle her neck, her touch faint yet her lips find me and the kiss is deep and I won’t know who made out with who this year and who woke up in whose bed, as we stay in the bathroom, counting the tiles drunk and penetrating a few times and there’s is too much love, so we fall asleep in a lukewarm bathtub, naked, sitting up, arms spread for the world to nibble.

I dream of a stage and her hair and fucking her afterwards, so we wake and make love or fuck.

My parents come over, they stay and go with Alison talking to my dad a lot and laughing that I look more like my mother, which I don’t, I look like my dad, but it doesn’t matter, so I smoke with her twice when they leave and we smile.

Maybe we are married after all.

-

I'm currently taking over their 4 year period when Alison is just living with Jamie, unfortunately, there is not much known, but then this is fiction and I hope you enjoy it.

I've seen the juggling hobo. He is real, just in front of something else, but yeah, he is real.

Thank you

<3

Candy Mint Clockwise Mint

2012-02-16T21:24:00.000-08:00

I sit on the chair and I realize I want a cup of tea, but if I lift myself up from the chair I might miss my train, heading straight towards me, if I just fold the chair and hang it on my neck, just to give some weight closer between me and the earth.

I could go for a Sprite in the vending machine and then watch my train pass, just to put my chair back on the rails and sit there, getting the dirt out of fingers.

Trains are always late and so is my sanity, as I want some food, again and again before the train comes, like last time I wanted a cupcake and I went into this small store with grown and little girls eating cupcakes on a stick and one had pink hair.

She didn’t eat any.

I bought her a mint one and she ate it between cigarette drags.

-

It's more of a drabble than a short story, but I wanted it that way, as short stories tend to stick in your mind for the rest of the day.

It was inspired by a photo I saw on tumblr of a man sitting on a chair on underground rail tracks and there was a caption saying waiting for the eleven o'clock train while the clock was on something like two p.m.

I like cupcakes and I have a concrete store which I had in mind and is a taste of home and they have cupcakes on sticks, didn't try them yet as I go for the cupcakes usually, neither do I go for the mint cupcakes.

About the title I was really struggling between Candy Mint and Clockwise Mint, so I put them under each other more like a way to choose from.

Thank you

And tomorrow there will be a new chapter and after tomorrow there will be a Jack White/Someone/Hospital one

<3

Untilted 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 4

2012-02-15T21:37:00.001-08:00

It’s like a black and white man holding a white piece of paper. Telling you what you see. Asking you what do you see, and you’ll see death. White becomes death. Death becomes the paper.

It’s amusing how thoughts of death just hit you not only in the middle of the night but while Alison was showering and her shampoo smelt of watermelon. A bit too sticky for a smell, like watermelon candy and she didn’t bother with me sitting on the toilet, glancing at her but my gaze fixed on the open door and a notebook sitting on my lap.

I scribbled some words over Alison’s, fixing them a bit, maybe age and wisdom being the cliche here and I kept talking to her as we’d shower of what would she want the artwork to be and what she thought should be on the walls.

I started waking up at night, sometimes a bit too much just to light a cigarette when the night was hidden under the curtains and Alison under the covers.

I wondered when would jealousy pinch me or would it be a slap and would I ever love another woman? The tension seemed to be here but the struggle if I should’ve suggested something seemed to rise along with her light singing against my music, she’d just sit there, first she hummed, then she began singing, sometimes we’d do covers.

She’d kiss me, sometimes, but not too much, mostly when I wouldn’t be paying attention as if she wanted me to forget it.

But then maybe I would, like when I’d be buying coffee, standing in a cue, wanting to just tear the thing open and swallow the beans and then just fling all the-

“Jamie?”

I told Alison about the girl who had been an ex-girlfriend of one of my friends, I didn’t say names just yet but the beans seemed to hum a name but not give out the letters, as we both drank the coffee. I said that she came from the middle east, did art and had quite a big studio where I’ve played once and it looked weird with all the plants with trails of oil on them and how her grin would be there.

Alison just sat there quiet and I finished my coffee and walked around the room for a bit.

She didn’t talk much, she’d just devour me with her eyes and her hair would grow and sometimes she’d cling onto my hand in the night. I wouldn’t speak much to her making the silent dialogue with her.

I went out another time, I don’t recall myself saying anything, Alison just sat on the couch, watching some news and I just left.

We hadn’t kissed in days and she stopped clutching my hand.

I forgot the address, so I wondered a bit on the street, hoping that I would find the girl, but I didn’t, so I just sat on the pavement, asking for a fag, getting a cherry flavored one from a passenger and a light from the third man in a row and we exchanged eye contact, maybe he flirted slightly, but I just made a long drag and thanked him.

I looked at the windows and one had a plant in blue oil paint. I figured and rang the bell, watching nothing swirl as she opened the door.

I didn’t even have a proper wank after Alison moved in and she stopped touching me. I looked at the girl and smiled.

She had some weed.

A lot of people have weed.

I recall it being rubbish, but I shared the joint and her brother joined in and we just all talked about stuff and I mentioned Alison and how I wanted to fuck her and how everyone was just like fuck america and I went back home with a fuck america intention.

I opened the door just to see Alison lying on the sofa, a bit sad, not raising her head and I sat on the floor, so that she’d put her feet on my shoulders for support.

“So, do you like London?” It seemed like a sad, easy question, but then there has been too much silence and I kissed her leg, Alison smiled.

“Not too talkative.” While her letters were long and she’d rant while in life she just seemed mute lately. I wrapped her legs around my neck for warmth. Maybe she’d react someday, yeah, and I’ll be gray haired and she’d just kiss me on the lips and I’ll just stare at her, because she’s open and then the imagery of her exposing her chest in front of me, takes me and I press my cheek against her leg.

Alison sits up.

She plays with my hair.

“I’m a bit jealous, I guess.” And she laughs, it’s a bit of a joke and it’s London and I look up at her and maybe she doesn’t want to kiss, but I pull her head lower to my own so that I can see her and I just press my forehead against her, her hands are on my shoulders and it feels tense, sexy, juicy, good, as she kisses me, slowly pulling me on top of her, as I slide her jeans down, my own underwear being a barrier, as we keep on kissing and her eyes open sometimes and she smiles wide, sometimes looking back.

Then as we have foreplay she starts talking.

“I saw, um, that VHS you had, Mullholland Drive it’s good. The plot and the characters and what the fuck is going on there?” And all is said in breaks when she grabs my head and sticks her tongue in and I begin the get nervous and I think of the coffee beans and the art girl and I go inside Alison.

We both stare.

I thrust.

Her body receives pleasure.

I thrust.

I am a bit dizzy.

I thrust.

She thrusts back.

I thrust.

It’s a mixture of us biting our bodies, licking sucking, stroking, slapping, grabbing, fucking, it’s literally fucking after all the fluids release she goes on top, moaning and I don’t care and I keep thrusting and it is me fucking the US and I tell her that laughing a bit after I come and she takes over and both comes.

She tells me something against my joke, but I don’t bother, I just watch her, saying that I want to go to New York, just all the americans here are losers who can’t really shag and I laugh.

She tells me to fuck off, laughing, lightening a cigarette and saying that she likes New York.

-

Sorry for the delay but now I am back, so request:)

I don't know Jamie's girlfriend name, so she is left nameless as choosing a fictional name is literally pairing up Jamie with someone nonexistent, while I know that he dated a girl like that, just not in deep details, but if you do feel free to point out!

Thank you

<3Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 5

Honesty

2012-02-15T20:13:00.002-08:00

Watch cumshots
Because all of a sudden
Cocks make you shiver
And miss
While listening
To
Fitter
Happier
Non-productive
Until
You’ll come in my mouth
And I’ll swallow
Your cock
Beautiful.
(Not those which I’ve seen online)

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 7

2012-02-15T19:49:00.001-08:00

He had his hair back tomorrow along with the everlasting smile which peeked out from time to time convincing that it was going to last just like everything was supposed to once upon a time with the big carriages, blonde princes and fat pumpkins on the doorsteps not just on Halloween, but on Christmas, Thanksgiving and your regular Thursdays with the butter
on top, because the cherries are sold out.

With the freshly squeezed love from a soul.

I never tried it.

Neither did Macy.

But Jaidem did.

I asked him how it was, he made a face.

Sour.

No, he said, it was sweet.

Gagging sweet.

So why did you stop?

Because she was the one with the sweet tooth. And humans aren’t supposed to share and give the best before thinking of themselves, so I found myself a sour one and she found the sweet.

Where is she now?

Dead.

Because she likes sour?

Yeah.

Jaidem began to play with his pearls his gaze avoiding a pink one. Did he kill her as well? He shook his head? Suicide? Fuck off Devyn.

I stopped and pressed myself into Macy’s shoulder in the couch wanting it to swallow me so that no ground would divide us and that we wouldn’t have to wait to become whole after death, watching everything pass in the life in front of our eyes with our fingers laced believing that we are already together without the use of canned love and other chemicals floating in the air waiting to be breathed in and out to ruin the handmade lace and kisses, the freshly squeezed ones, without the lying flashy stickers, but the paints in the blood, invisible tattoos upon the tongues intertwined more than once a day, but the fingers forever laced even at a distance.

Like now when my hand is searching for the tips of her fingers to kiss and lay back and as said before lace to watch the end of the world because everybody broke into the canned factory and drank it all up to become cheap whores and we’ll laugh Macy, we’ll laugh at them peeking through the laced fingers closing our eyes to prevent us from watching that inhumanity and watch our own, laced with moons everywhere where no ladder of yours will be able to lead.

Because we’re already there, Macy with the fingers and bodies laced.

Sometimes I’d get over obsessed over Jaidem, how come he never called anyone, neither did Macy up to a point when I saw that the phone cord was cut off. The only numbers on my mobile were theirs with a bunch of locked if somebody managed to find my number or ask for nobody known to me in particular.

Full.

I stared at the sign, feeling an urge to break it but I bought a new one explaining that I needed one with a big space for numbers to block.
Macy said she wasn’t better. She was afraid somebody would steal her ladder. I told her I could buy her a new one. So can I, but what point is that buying something you lost?

True.

Jaidem kept going outside for a second to return with the groceries to scrub dust of walls afraid to get dust inside. I saw him staring as dust fell on his finger burning a hole thought it. His hair stopped changing and he looked younger but once he shook it off everything was gone. He’d close windows, but Macy would open them saying that she still could escape and with a locked window it would take more.

It wasn’t about the locked window.

I smiled as she sat beside me, not glancing at the ladder but rather at something in front.

Jaidem continued scrubbing the dust ignoring how it seemed to bleach his skin and hair.

“Do you die, Jaidem?” Macy asked once as we had our food ordered due to a rainstorm which seemed to flood the mind of sane people leaking onto the street in pink goo. Jaidem nodded his mouth full, swallowed, took a sip noticed my curious and Macy’s as well gaze. He hesitated a while, looking down, down behind the table onto his feet, wiggling his toes and looking up.

“Yeah, everything dies.” And he took the dishes now empty and stuffed them inside to hurl and while as he picked on the dust on his fingertips. He noticed me staring and gave a wary smile closing the door to the kitchen, pressing himself against the half transparent door and putting himself into his warm embrace, lulling himself by soothing thoughts which had the lack of dust, death and long lost love he seemed to go on when drunk, sober or just in a nasty mood from watching me and Macy spring into the room with cheeks flushed, clothes messed up as if we were back in the teenage days, but then they never ended for Macy.

“I love telling about myself in interviews.” I say all of a sudden as I flip through the menu glancing at the girl with her black lace hair. She raises her head with an automatic slow ‘hmm’ coming from her mouth, as I repeat my sentence to her. I do not require a reply and certainly not a question as this seems more like a statement, like a death sentence where I always imagine a glance to the sky to see if there is a leak of approval, like tears. “But then I regret it.”

“I love opening myself like a corpus in the autopsy where nothing is held from the doctor the human doesn’t refuse. If it would, it would have done something. Like the human head when biting the stair only the thought and determination different.”I thought about it for a while, watching her, feeling a light attraction. “But then there’s the afterlife to regret.”

“If you get one.” Jaidem said once throwing the plates into the sink so rough that I could hear them break. He took off the dust off his fingers which was returning him to his younger years and glued them back and lit a cigarette. Macy took one, did she smoke?

Untilted 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 3

2012-02-12T00:28:00.001-08:00

I recall

What do I recall

One morning when she had left and I just looked at the wall, before there were no iPhones and a polaroid would be a treasure to get so I just took a polaroid of her at the airport.

And before that we just lay in bed, myself standing up to change vinyls and her eyes would take my body as I took off my shirt and just stood there like that and she just well, she just put her nose under the covers.

We didn’t kiss much asides once when she was brushing her teeth and I just flung myself at her, holding her and Alison’s grip would be tight on me and I shoved us both under the shower and she turned on the water, trembling hands and then we just looked at each other.

I gave her my clothes and with hesitation a pair of lime green boxers which were a bit big and I just stared at her naked, but I turned around and she said nothing.

I recall drinking Twinnings with lemon she had asked to buy the day before while we went to stock up for the last weekend in bed.

I just had a few polaroids of her and most were up close, her face, not her body, I remember just looking around the whole flat in hope she forgot or lost something and I had found nothing and I sat near the winter coat hanging on the corridor.

I didn’t open the window curtains for a month, knowing that she wouldn’t peek in.

I got her address, her letter came first and there was no love or hints of kissing, so I wondered what would happen to all that love I gave her. In the end she gave me a love in the end and I just watched television, well, I put it on and I scribbled a reply saying that a more detailed and thought through letter would be next, as most likely she wants something from me as well, I loved her and I enjoyed just strolling around London and going into random places to drink beer and eat at the end of the day with her gig money and my left overs.

It wasn’t a date, we wouldn't dress up much ad I would wear sweaters which she would put over herself and if it were to cold she’d put one on before she had the guts to hug me.

I wanted to call her but then the call would be the cost of my rent as I would just tell her that I love her that I want to touch her and

She called me for Valentine’s Day. She said hello, she didn’t ask me to be her valentine so neither did I. I wondered what vinyl should I give to her when I’d see her, I tried saving up money to see her and she told me her hair grew a bit and I listened to her bragging that it’s always been short and after a hesitation she thought growing it and I smiled, wondering if I would be the first to see it if we’d lock ourselves up here as usual and I imagined her opening the door and I wondered if I wanted children with her.

I guess I would, I wondered if the flat would be the same and if the sweaters would be as shitty.

I just roll over on the other side and I want to see her, I want to hear her, I want her.

And the covers don’t seem to give much warmth anymore so I pull on a sweater and I barely touch myself, I want her to do it. Once, I touched her, just slid a hand inside and so did she in a pub, slightly, as tongues rubbed and I remember being a bit shy, but she kept stroking and in the end we both smiled and kissed in the night, as I put a hand around her.

I do tapes, I do lot of tapes, I believe that is what happens to my sperm.

So I just play, not liking it, but thinking that it might lure her instead of cheap punk, so I just play and it keeps recording and sometimes I speak to her, sometimes it’s me as I think if I should find a woman who resembles her, but is dumb, so I could fuck her and never go inside Alison, just to keep the struggle, but then she loves me.

I’d fuck her anyway, so I sit down with a letter thinking what to tell of how I want her however she wants me and I tell her I love her again and I’m sure Alison would smile and all is

A letter which she sends months later when I wear the shirts instead of coats and I think of traveling north just to see something than the streets I see with her, that she’s moving.

I call her, delaying the rent and a few cans of beer.

“Hi” I hear her voice and shyness muffles her as if it can be in her mouth and I just listen to her ask if I’m there and I want to touch myself, but I hold, my jeans still on.

“Hi. I miss you.” Even if I would see her in a week and I think Alison nods, just nodding really and I’m tense and she’s tense. I don’t have the guts to tell her that I want her, to spread her out, make her wet, does she wax? Shave? And how she feels, how her skin is naked on mine and how nude we’d both be and where her legs would be.

We both don’t say much in the first second.

Then I go on talking a lot about her, her hair, her eyes.

“I-I love you.” Is what I say. “I mean, it’s great with you coming over and fuck, we can make the band and I’ll see you. And if you want I can give you the couch, I mean, no one would steal a couch until you’ll come and I don’t think I’m going to sell it for drugs, I can sell my fridge and well, I never have much food. The bugger is empty anyway. And the bed, well, it’s hot and fuck, you’ll like it, you’ll have me staring a bit, sometimes, and you’re sexy. I mean, yeah.”

I don’t say much. We hang up soon and I just reread the letters wondering if I fold them like a colibri would I get a hidden sexual desire she has, so I just stroke myself and I wonder if she would be doing the same thing, spreading out her legs, locking the door and softly touching her clit, maybe licking her fingers and a soft breath out

I come too fast as I see her fingering herself and I wonder if I’ll wake up from this and have her taking off her clothes and just sliding myself in and screaming.

Don’t cry.

She cries at the airport, a bit, with a few bags and I just keep talking about that I love her, that her voice, I want that voice with my music that we will make it as a band and buy all of Bond street to live in and that we’ll close the streets and buy all the vinyls and the rare ones we saw which a mate of her wouldn’t sell to her and that we’d have loads of guitars and that we’ll be on posters, that we’ll create a new underground, that I love her, that I love her.

Alison agreed but I kept talking, barely touching her, grabbing the guitar at once when we went into the apartment.

She hugs me as I play, pressing me hard against her, her hair longer and I turn my head back and she holds it.

“Keep the tension, it’s a so-” I mock her, but she grabs me and takes off my shirt, I’ve never seen so much lust as she takes off hers and I see her naked again and my cock wants her, I want to ask her to just go somewhere or just stand and let me in forever.

I go inside her on the bed, her hands are all over my body and I love her, I’m trembling while she is thrusting and she’s the one in control here, eyes closed and teeth biting my lips, her hands playing with her breasts, my balls, my neck, my butt cheeks.

She tells me she loves me and I’m scared.

So then Alison takes my face, thrusting.

“-” She doesn’t say anything she just comes and thrust so hard that I am fully in and I scream, filling her in,

I look down on her and her eyes.

“What do you think of getting married someday?”

Maybe that wasn’t the moment I asked her then or maybe that’s where all the dedications go to, my wife and she knows that.

All the ignorance is for me to steal a part of her, physically. Like that time I went backstage down on her and after she came, kept my nose on her thigh, loving her.

-

The ending of it is inspired by The Kills NY concert, we all know who his real wife is right?:)

I hope you enjoyed it and happy Kills anniversary indeed!

<3Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 4

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 2

2012-02-10T20:11:00.002-08:00

She kept back and she’d buy vinyls of bands I suggested and lost and she’d just go with them. She surely had much more money than I did, I still felt as if I were buying condoms every day in Tesco.

I would wait until she would crawl in my apartment and we’d both light cigarettes not talking too much and then I would raise my eyes to merely stare at her and she would smile back.

I could’ve offered to show her around but she seemed to know her way already, going into streets I’ve forgotten where I had wanted to take her hand, the passion merely fading out as her blush would go and the gazes would be more intense as if someday we’d marry and juggle babies on our hands only the difference would be that on the photos we’d smile even if there would be alcohol and laying in a bed with insomnia.

I invited her over to sleep once and I remember just laying on the floor, a spare pair of covers which I had just borowed being too hot and Alison had actually started talking more about herself, how she had been singing and how I would love to lick her voice and I just sat up, watching Alison light a cigarette in the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” Alison asked a bit quietly, giving the situation a more of a dreaming feel and I just wanted to go under the covers with her, hold her and go on top, plunging my tongue in as she’d clench for my shirt and maybe tear it off.

I just stood up and went on one half of it.

“It’s my bed.” She moved.

I switched sides and closed my eyes.

Alison went to get some tap water, still feeling a bit uneasy about it and I could her the water running even more and maybe she had been shaking as the days of her left in London were actually running to a countable few.

Standing up was easy but seeing her just fall asleep on the edge of the tub with the head pressed against the wall was harder. I wondered if I should’ve thrown her in and let the layers of water just take over her as I’d hold her shoulders and only then I’d go inside her, watching her eyes not find me in the only spot the vision is dried on.

I could’ve slapped her to wake but instead I put my fingers on her cheeks, stroking it, slightly pulling her shirt collar to touch the neck skin and breathe in her, as I’d strap her legs around me and twirl us for a bit so that she would wake and I’d not let her wobble to sleep, instead she asked me to twirl her more and I wondered if then the room had felt so small and her arms were around mine.

“London hates you.”

Someone said that line and I recall kissing her briefly and her hands clutching the back of my head and how her feet would try to make their way around the hips and how between kisses there would be tongue on the neck and how she cried a bit saying that she wanted to go home, not knowing.

I wanted to be her home and

“My home is your home.” Maybe London would be home with all the magazine cut outs all over and all teh glue sticks gone missing.

“I love you.”

And I twirl her.

And we don’t have sex until we both say so and how everything spins once I’m inside and I wonder what would lack of sleep be as I thrust in and Alison was just as tense and I stopped as she cried.

-

And that is the end of part two. I'm still recovering from everything, but I'm on my break from Tuesday, so I'm more rested? xD

Request for the next chapter really.

Thank you

<3Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 3

down from the heavens

2012-02-10T20:02:00.002-08:00

sing me a lullaby
which will tear up my soul
and you'll be able to hang
upon the door
as if it were
another door
to the heavens
which you hang
outside your mouth
so swollen
so rotten
that a plastic bag
could be the plug in your mouth
as you kiss from the heavens

Honesty

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 6

2012-02-10T20:01:00.003-08:00

Would you like to star in a movie?

Excuse me?

Y’know, in a movie, a real one with explosives-

Explosives? I flinch whenever one is on the screen as I beg for them to change to see blood and not ketchup and no bloody salt caught in the whore actor’s eyes.

And with your face everywhere, on ads, girls shrieking, boys copying you to get a date?

What grow their hairs and have hay sticking out of their armpits?

Would you?

Fuck no. I’d rather starve then turn into a whore, a whore to get fucked by millions, a model wife and countless houses.

Is that why your apartment is empty?

Excuse me?

You barely have any furniture, Devyn. Weren’t you on Cribs?

Why would MTV want to stalk my apartment?

No, it wasn’t cribs.

I remember the incident when two robbers came with nothing out of my house beside my credit card taken from my mattress and my TV set and other small things which I replaced afterwards.

Why is your apartment empty? Is it connected to your childhood? A fear of letting go? Is that why are you so eager of keeping? Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Is she pregnant? Are you two-timing her? Did you really make-out with Anne in the first ever role? Will you have sex with her publically in the sequel? Wouldn’t that make a juicy scandal? Are you willing to pay to get this information off board? How do your parents feel about that? How come you haven’t talked to them since the millennium? Did you run away? Did your brother die? Did your sister commit suicide? Is she alive? Do you have grandchildren? Was your granny an astronaut? Were you a fan of Bowie? What celebrities have you seen recently? Have you had an affair with any? How would you rate her kissing on screen? Is it faked is it real? Have you been in love? Do you believe in love? How do you feel about marriage? You seem to be wearing rings lately? Is it because of a role? Who was your teenage idol? Is it true that you have a tattoo? Is it your own art work? Have you been kicked out of kinder garden for climbing heights and knocking kids down? Did you beat up your own teddy bear? Do you like pickles? Do you have any bad habits? Aren’t you afraid of lung cancer? Would you shoot yourself? Would you jump off a cliff to save a relative? How come you earned the reputation of a beauty when you’re horrid in real life? Do you like to dance? Would you eat a fish alive? Would you hop around for money? Fur or naked? How come you haven’t been in an advertise? Why? Which? Who? Do you consider yourself to be the mortal named after or the God?

Sorry?

The mort-

I stood up and left, only to get a newspaper flown in my direction with DEVYN CONSIDERS HIMSELF AS THE GOD AFTER WHOM THE MORTALS GOT NAMED AS HIS HAIR GROWS LONGER AND THE HAY GETS DEEPER FIND OUT ABOUT THE DETAILS OF HIS EMPTY APARTMENT, CURRENT AFFAIR WITH PUNKS, GIRLS AS SLAVES AND GLOSS BEATEN UP ON THE FLOOR WITH THE BEER SCENT LEAKING OUT, DISTURBING HIS BIG FISH NEIGHBORS. INTERVIEW WITH NEIGHBORS AS WELL.

WIN AN APARTMENT AND SIGNED PHOTO OF NAKED DEVYN.

I flung out the free copy of the photo and fed it to the nearby dog just to watch it die, so that the alleyway will be cleaner.

The dailies got long, boring and soon ending. I knew that it couldn’t last long, Jaidem watching after the apartment, Macy flicking through channels and me reading the suicide role aloud. It seemed to go round and round until I gagged on my meatball.

“You okay?” Macy asked, taking a sip from her glass of water she just ordered from the waiter who seemed to wink a lot for no exact reason. I looked up at her just to drain the remains of the liquid I ordered. I ran a hand through my shorter hair wishing it to shrink so that I had to shave it along with the annoying facial hair Jaidem seemed to grow while to while ranting how come I was killing my own when it was as shiny as my hair.

“I still think that you shouldn’t deny love-” Macy started all of a sudden maybe she her first love in the restaurant hugging a busty blonde or rather just saw a glimpse of how he was now. Either way that seems to put a hole filled with something which was labeled ‘first love’ before. What happened to it? I had a role a constant monologue of first attraction denial, how she still haunts him but he gave up on her not understanding what the fuck was going on in his soul when he saw her with others or how she still managed to fiddle with him from while to while with nothing exact, just a constant blur which the character declares his life is.

“I just hate the word. Even passion doesn’t sound as filthy or attraction. It’s a holy bond which is different from the crap we get poured into. If you put it that way.” I stopped realizing how indescrete I was. “I was in ‘in love’ the one the books tell to discard with the rest and yes I’ve been in the real one as well.”

I could have raised myself from the seat then to end everything and grab her home bit nothing of that happened because there was more to go along with the dessert and main course in chit chats.

Jaidem through a fit for no reason as he went bald. I told him he was old. Macy told him that he looks nice bald like that shooting guy with the epic taking off glasses an stuff in the new video. Jaidem ranted that nobody understood him. I told him that only bald guys understand bald guys.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 7

Moonage Daydream

2012-02-06T21:09:00.000-08:00

Maybe it’s just one of those days when you wake up and while cooking eggs you just stand near the stove the day being the first day of death.

It’s more about thinking if you’re dead or not, what if you repeat all your actions in your head when you’re laying unconscious, smiling at all those people walking around in circles around your body humming songs in their heads which were once in yours.

And then you start thinking what’s really relevant when you strum yourself to the guitar.

And then a bunch of images appear like meeting Meg for instance or Karen taking the kids away last night leaving me in an empty house as I walked in room by room turning off the lights and then going around with a lighter listening to turntables.

I put on Bowie with Moonage Daydream.

I recall calling Meg and telling her about how weird it was and I kept flicking my lighter on an off, trying to light an imaginary roll of tobacco and nearly burning my lip.

She never liked Moonage Daydream that much really, she just thought she knew how to play it and she did. I recall how Meg told me the song and I had smiled and how we’d play it live and how I would feel her eyes being the audience behind me and the crowd would be a wall, I, still a shy kid would sing to.

The choice to end was really a foolish attempt to get rid of everything at once and well, not torture Meg.

I had wanted to hug her that night and I told her that I’d want her right here in my arms with the only light from my hands and Moonage Daydream on and we’d have the lights turned on by Alison or someone else and our eyes closed as our bodies would be given to other people and divorce would be in our mouths.

She came in the end when Moonage Daydream was finishing it’s ninth play and I had smiled at her and the skirt she wore.

Meg drummed with her fingers and I just put my head on her shoulder and she stroked my cheek.

I recall how we shared a milkshake, as I had no idea how to attract her as she’d smile and slowly reveal herself as mostly we talked about music and she’d tell me bands I would not know and understand what I meant and she seemed lovely.

I recall kissing her.

I recall marrying her.

I recall divorcing her.

And I kissed her neck then, softly, looking at her eyes in the lighter’s light and swallowing a bit of fear to just leave nothing to stare with purity, not some innocence which is glossy and hard to swallow, but purity and I just smiled at her.

-

It is short but I just can't see them doing anything forward if it is in the present I was fiddling with the idea of the past, but ended up in the present and it is a lovely fact thatMeg played Moonage Daydream to Jack in the beginning.

I love Meg's purity.

Thank you

Feel free to request

<3

5th February 2012

2012-02-05T20:17:00.000-08:00

Let me fall asleep in your arms

As you won’t be able to carry me during the day

When I stalk you behind the stage

And a love which is not meant

The lyrics stick to your head, not too good with a pint and an empty home.

The kids are over at Karen’s and Alison’s pink seems like a glossy anthem to her lost love as well as I let her in and she looks older, I look older and so do all the faces which listen to me. It feels as if we’re all getting slowly dragged into death to be erased like chalk from the board only with feet, as our arms are gone.

I kiss her on the cheek and I’m too drunk to mimic Jamie, but I do and I do her lips.

She’s too sober to mimic so she slips inside and takes the coat off when the Christmas lights are off in a second,

this is grief.

This is the mourn to the end and a song to the dead, an ode to the heavens when it’s four and you can’t go back.

Love is the illusion you can fake.

So I just strip her and she objects, so I offer her tea and she slowly denies and accepts coffee without the lights in the kitchen as three or four stars light up our room and I just hold her hand and I’m crying.

She offers me to dance and she sings some lullaby maybe her grandparents sang to her and her hips seem too fragile so I hold them and I want to slam her against the wall.

It’s not the first time and not the last time when she’s sneaked in and had me inside going up and down the black being the curtain of shame to the pleasure as I would pull her hair back to see her orgasm.

I undo her jeans, being possessive with a shaking soul.

She undoes the zip and goes down to her knees and just takes me in her mouth.

Maybe it’s her cheap way of saying fuck off to watch television in the night as she would cry and no program would be nice, but we’d share the same bed, mourning over those we lost but never buried due to their age and their religion and the simply ability to walk and exchange children.

Smile

When you’re crying

So that the two barrel would be lifted up

And Alison would press it against my forehead, herself naked from the waist down so that I would see the Lord when I take the gun in my mouth as much as I can take

So that the colour would be vivid and lovely

I touch myself

She laughs

It’s not whisky

It’s not drugs

It’s the air we all breathe with the mourned

So shoot love shoot

So that my love will be gone from this earth

You walk on

With the beloved

And the children

And I will move on in little minds

Because that is where

My thoughts should wander off

Into the young dead

Which do not live

Until my blood

Shot.

Goes into them

So I stick my fingers into the rug

As I bleed

And Alison watches

Lighting a cigarette upon me

She puts herself behind me

Gives a gun to my hand

As my eyes dry

I should shoot

But I don’t

And I die

Tainting the world

With a musical note

-

Today a relative, beloved relative passed away, which should be well, the whole

Fuck.

The whole death and going on.

Only it's not someone who you barely knew and barely care, but someone you loved and it's like what the fuck is going on even if death was predicted and needed to end.

It's not something I want to keep quiet about, but I will keep it a bit censored for just cause sake.

Thank you.

My internet died and now it's back with the story.

It's not a death which pulls you back to mourn but a death which pulls you forwards because someone who spend their life like you are going with yours

Fuck

You are the future.

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us

2012-02-04T15:42:00.001-08:00

It’s about mixing the colours in the mind.

And I just take the pink and the black in my mind as I struggle as she looks back.

The silence seems to feed us.

I remember just fixing the guitar or rather I felt as if I were sleeping, wait, I was playing the guitar, falling asleep and I was dreaming that I should fix it.

There was no snow.

There is no fucking snow in London, she didn’t even have her hood up, she just stood there in a hoodie. Her short hair matched the colours of the fabrics she wore and she shivered slightly. I played a wrong note, but she stayed.

I stopped playing and then she just sat down on the stairs.

Maybe I should have taken out some apple for her to eat as I would think that I would get a crowd, but instead I stopped playing and turned on some TV flicking through the channels and wondering if I had enough money to just keep on sitting and flicking through TV as people would be late for work.

I wonder if she’ll be there once I actually just sit near the window sill and I start playing.

I open the window.

She isn’t there.

So I close it.

I start playing.

I see her walk past and onto the stairs, I hear the door open, so I stop playing.

I put the guitar aside and I actually feel myself worried. It feels as if I’ve never had an audience but maybe it’s because I could be checking my mail with her staring at me in the next morning and she’ll say hi and maybe even say her name.

I go to get groceries and I wonder if she chooses the Sainsbury’s which is on the corner rather than this small Tesco, so I just stand in the line, wondering when was the last time I’ve gone out to eat even pizza and a glass of beer, so I just exhale and I look at all the scattered chewing gums with different flavored condoms for a quid.

Should I get them?

I just look down at my old sneakers which feel exactly like my socks when I just lean my feet against the wall and wonder if I can tear off the wallpaper at dawn and I smile wrapping myself up in my covers and I wonder if tomorrow will be the day when I trim my hair by myself.

I wonder if those two I have are expired but then don’t condoms last for a year? And I limit myself the apple supply by getting a pack and wondering which occasion do I have and wanking in rubber isn’t that comforting while asides the fact that when you lie in bed you have the illusion that you might just have came inside some vagina and that those are mixed fluids and that maybe she got her period and she’s applying a tampon or walked outside and got lost in the sea of tampons and didn’t come back.

Yeah.

And that’s why your bed smells of sperm.

So I just lay, wondering if I should drag that small television over here or if I should flick through the magazines the previous owner left, cutting out faces and them sticking it onto the girl’s forehead and kissing her cheeks.

Seemed too naive.

So the next time I play I open the window and I try to guess her near to twenties age and she just looks at me and I smile.

“Hi.” I say. Hands on the windowsill and she has her hood up this time actually and her face looks red not from the winter soothe but from her feelings.

“Hi.” She says and walks a bit closer to the window so that I could touch the tip of her nose if I really wanted to. “I like how you-you play.”

I lean against the window sill and my old t-shirt’s back hole feels a bit too big and thin, so I am thankfull to the radiator against my knees. I don’t invite her over, we just stare at each other for a while.

“Thanks.” I laugh and I wonder if she’s even over her eighteens as she doesn’t aply much kohl and she looks like if you give her a lollypop she’d smile and actually skip.

I want to ask her if she wants candy.

Instead I close the window sill, smiling and drag the bed covers on the floor, covering myself in them, as she gets to the window and smiles at me, waves, all red and leaves.

There is a band tonight and I sneak in because the music is too loud and I know the bartender and the bartender knows that I’ll drink so much that I’ll pay for the tickets twice and the band is shit. It’s too cliche punk and I just sit there, not even looking at the stage but being glad to the amount of alcohol going to my mouth and in the end I look to see the screaming and I see the girl who I bought the condoms for and I just look at how she jumps and moves.

I smile and I keep watching her, amused by how red she is and how fiery her voice is and

Well, I’d use those condoms and I look down at the liquid to drain it. Not sure she’d go for the sweater I’m wearing for warmth even if it’s too hot here. I press myself against the counter and I watch her, my vision going blurry as I see her on top of me and I want to touch myself, so instead I just tap myself to the music.

Maybe I will use those condoms indeed.

I scratch my head the next day, should’ve washed, should’ve bought shampoo.

I have the box near the socks which are near the radiator and I touch myself on the rug near the windowsill with the open windows and I imagine her slowly taking off her clothes and I think by the time I will come my face will be just as red. I wonder how many blokes came inside her or were they all rubber?

I keep sliding my fingers up and down and I wonder if she, well, she’s american, she should give a blow job, right?

I recall the first one which was due to myself talking about guitars and the girl just going down, being one of my school friend’s girlfriends.

The sensation for whatever reason, maybe due to age, I stuck the girl stalker and I kept stroking harder, harder and I had a knock on the window, harder

harder

she knocks

too good

knock

gasp

knock

“J-just a momeent.” I say and I am covered in myself.

I wipe my hands on my legs, shaking I get a pair of jeans from under the bed and I open the curtains to greet the girl with my jeans unbuttoned, but I cover myself from myself with the guitar and I start playing, watching her.

After a song I open the window.

“Hi.” I say and keep playing, a bit more quiet, grinning, trying to get her to grin.

“Hi.” And she just looks at me, gets a bit of her hair behind her ears.

“You were amazing yesterday. Uh, I saw you, like with your band playing. You’re amazing.” And I smile at her and she just says nothing. I want her. “Uh, wanna come inside?”

And she just makes her way in and I open her to greet her. I button my jeans as we enter the small amount of space between the walls and she chooses a pillow lying on the floor to sit on and I don’t offer her tea, I think of bringing us water but instead I sit opposite her, wanting to touch her and kiss her, so badly, as if I didn’t touch myself before and she just smiles.

“I’m Jamie.” Should I say that I’m thirty? But instead I want to lean so badly and I want to see her breasts, I want her to talk of America as I would flick through the channels and kiss her thighs.

“Alison.” She smiles and she’s all red again.

I find her cute.

She finds me cute.

We might just as well eventually kiss.

-

I'm sorry for taking so long to post this, I am currently ill and I believe the medicine I'm on makes me drowsy so I spend a lot of time sleeping or waiting to drink it or eating. Very fun.

But I'm feeling better and hopefully I will have the Jack/Alison up soon. Sorry about the delays once more and do keep the requests coming.

If anyone feels like it I can continue this story, so really just tell me either here or on tumblr and I hope you enjoyed at my attempt to guess what actually happened between Jamie and Alison.

The title was a quick attempt to name the file and it's reference to the beginning.

Thank you very much

I hope you enjoyed it

<3Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 2

And She'd Take Off The Stars

2012-02-01T20:30:00.001-08:00

“She’d look like a schoolgirl, despite her lately older appearance and my own.”

“She’d be walking down those streets with an apple in hand and maybe she’d be throwing it up and catching it.”

“Or maybe she’d buy those sushi sets for a quid.”

“I think I’d stalk her as she tries to find a mirror to find the correct shade of red gloss.”

“She’d be a teenager and I think I’d always be the same edge and her hair would be black and be shorter, maybe a bit above her shoulders or maybe too short and she’d laugh too loud.”

“I think portraying her innocence would be too dumb.”

“She wouldn’t be a virgin.”

“But she’d have the grin.”

“You don’t just open up to the public.”

“Most likely she just said to a few friends under a smoke with the eyes closed.”

“What else would she do?”

“I think she’d just stand there maybe a bit nervous and the lipstick would nearly go up her elbows with all the pencils and everything as she even starts drawing patterns nervously and her hair never reaches her eyes, the fringe being to short so the option of kissing the hair away doesn’t exist.”

“So I just wait there, being an assistant, I can’t seem to picture myself when young, so I just walk up to her.”

“You just can’t say.”

““Hi, Alison?” Yeah, I can’t. So I don’t indeed.”

“I think you’d stare at her.”

“Yeah.” And I just stare at Jack for a minor second, lighting the cigar and releasing the smoke through his nostrils as I stare at him and then I just take the glass of nearly finished whisky and drink it.

Jack keeps watching me and I pour more whisky.

I wonder what would happen if Alison would walk in with her newly pink hair and my eyes seem to be watery. I feel as if I’m one hundred and one. I wonder what would she say if she would choose the cheap sushi or the apples.

“So what would you do?” Jack asks me again, maybe knowing that my ring is heavier than his which is no longer with him. I close my eyes.

“I’d kiss her.” I say softly.

“Really? Just like that?” He smirks softly, biting the end of the cigar, watching me, fixing his hat.

“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders. “Why not? It’s just a thought and I like Boots.”

I don’t know why I said that, I’ve just walked in there a few times to see Kate on the ads and trace her hair for a bit and get a few questions by the shop assistant who looked too blonde for me, but I smiled.

“Well.” It was too short our replies and Jack wouldn’t be the assistant any longer, I was the assistant now staring at the girl and wanting to kiss her so badly. But what would I actually do? Raise her skirt and stroke her thighs before going on my knees and pulling her so that I would be able to suck.

Or would I just strip her from her clothes.

Or would I do nothing at all?

“Do you like sushi or apples?” I ask her, but Alison doesn’t say anything, my mind cannot decide so she has both in her bag. I think she is beautiful.

She is, so I smile and I give her a shade I think would suit her and she just silently takes it, thanking me and then I touch her short hair.

I press my nose against it and her whole body eases like after our first orgasm when we both didn’t know we would come up with tension as we just lay and Alison recalled those glow in the dark asteroids and stars her brother used to have and she would sneak in when he would sleepover at friends.

I suggested her to get them.

And we did.

Before she went on the staircase.

Well, it was the last time we properly kissed.

Pulling close and full of lust, then she went on the staircase and I cling onto her waist, kissing it.

“I love you.”

She put the first star up.

“I want you.”

She put up an asteroid.

“I love you too.”

She replied and kissed me. We were both shaking.

No, we had kissed, a lot, but everything, everything I’ve tried to do was gain the tension before the stairs.

I remember us talking about rings once we’d get richer, before we had confessed, the love letters seeming to escape us.

-

It just can't be longer. It's the way it is and sad indeed. I like how the title is actually the ending, well, the inspiration was from The Last Goodbye video.

The whole schoolgirl idea came as well in a bus, well, I think, I recall thinking or when was it? xD Anyway, I was struggling if apples or sushi, as I like both and which would suit more, so there you have the hesitation.

I hope you enjoyed it and please do request.

<3Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us

My Scarf

2012-02-01T16:26:00.001-08:00

Wear my scarf

As I dangle from the wire

Locking it in my fingers

Even if it were just nostalgia

I believe it’s the same cloth

And there is no phone anymore

But something thinner

Lighter

If you take it all at once

My scarf is a replacement.

-

The title was chosen for the irony, really. The idea came from a Kills photo.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 5

2012-02-01T16:21:00.000-08:00

Because we are disgusted by anything rotten, even love as we grimace while savoring it raw.

“I hate the word love.” I cut the stake in half, even the bull thought that he loved.

“Why?” She chews slower, her icy eyes focused upon my face.

“It’s so fucking sugar coated. It’s like… I’d raise religion, but-” I drop the idea. “It describes what? A fucking heartbeat when you see him, the owner of sexy blonde hair with a Godlike body with his arrows aiming at your heart to rip it out and bite on it as he cheats on you.”

“You don’t believe in love? Fate? Eternity?” Macy stops eating, putting her fork aside and drinks her still water, wondering why she didn’t hesitate and said the first thing which came to mind? I shook my head.

“I do. Just not in that word. Like you believe in the afterlife but you don’t believe in heaven or hell I guess.” I said frowning at my comparisons.

I took her home not for anything, I don’t remember was it due a record I had or just a new movie or a plain political channel I had managed to catch while it was forbidden with politics running around as sock puppets?

I asked her if she was afraid. Macy just shrugged, tilted her head towards the ladder hidden under her arm, peaking out of each side, waiting to be unfold, put on the pavement and climbed towards the stars.

“I can escape any time, actually. All I have to do is open a window and climb out with my ladder. Maybe that’ll be the path towards there.” Another eye gesture towards the sky but I saw nothing that a thick layer of clouds hypnotizing the night upon us because they were paid to do that. I grin at her, lacing my fingers again quickly glancing downwards at her combat boots which raise her for a bit more than a few inches but she still looks young and short fitting her image of a teenager girl in lace.

“Oh.” What could I answer? Nothing came to mind as we walked up the stairs there was no point in the lift as I wasn’t as high up with the windows leaking onto the street so low that you could spit on their heads and clearly see what they had in answer. I fiddled with the lock wondering if it was the right key, but Jaidem, who managed to steal a spare opened with his eyes softer than yesterday with a newly shaved stubble with some shaving cream on his bottom lip. I nodded at his lip in a form of a greeting and he shooed my reaction off with several hand gestures. Not rude, mind you.

Macy looked at Jaidem as he looked back at her. Her dark eyes went wide as he grew gray and blonde the next second, I told her to shrug it off, not feeling easy with the amount of strangers in my empty flat. I lifted a finger to bite on, but realizing that I didn’t like biting my own flesh I dropped it, pushing my palms into my pockets with deep force as if they could drift into the under the sea world to meet with friendly stars and biting comets. Everything going up and down space mixing with sea.

I’d like to die there, bubbles flowing out of my mouth, my hair strangling me like a curtain blocking the final rays of the sun as it flashes in and out until it’s gone with Jaidem laughing at my feet.

“Devyn?” I turn my head to see Macy in a conversation with Jaidem. I take several steaks out of my face but most of them are still stuck like glue waiting to grow into my skin and pierce my eyes. I nod as a sign that I am participating in the conversation and that I’ve just answered with a silent ‘what?’

“Did you buy tea? I said we’re running out of tea.” Jaidem moaned and Macy looked back at the skinny morphing figure with now red hair sticking out of his skull in patches were gray was walking all over. I shake my head in disapproval. He pouts and mimics my hands deep in the pockets gesture and smiles at me, gesturing his fingers down as they jump two stairs at a time with a quick glance at the teenage girl he already has a jacket turned long sleeve shirt, he opens the door, doesn’t ask if anything is needed.

He closes the door behind him.

Jaidem never left my apartment before. I hesitate for a second, as Macy finds the remote and flicks through channels, through the endless sea of pop, as I yank the door open.

Jaidem’s gone.

I look at the corridor, I feel like running outside screaming where the hell he is as I’m used to his after shave up on the walls. I close the door, pressing myself against the rough material.

Macy looks at me with her knees pressed to her chest, ladder near the window its stairs going straight towards the silver medallion locked in the black cage of the sky.

Lock opens.

Jaidem steps inside, grinning wildly, grocery bags filled with the long gone chocolate, bananas, coffee and lettuce I find myself eating in the middle of the night, as the morphing man eats popcorn to late night movies with tears mixed with blood pouring out of the ears.

Macy doesn’t raise her eyebrows, she watches carefully, not glancing at her escape pod, because there is no need now, as I take the box of Kleenex to soak the aftershave to rub it into the walls, in case he leaves the streets empty with zombies crawling.

As zombies seem to be in fashion with sparkles in the lead.

Pink, pink sparkles glued to horse teeth with the hay getting burnt in the middle as they dance their tiki dances around, making their mouth into ideal ‘o’s and waiting for the birds to bring worms into their starving stomachs into the whole leaking with dark oil paint in the middle of their abdomen, so big that if could suck everything inside to let heads wander outside and ask where I’m I?

In the fucking stomach of those pop idols with their reeking Hollywood teeth.

Please Do Swallow

2012-01-31T18:43:00.000-08:00

It’s a swift motion with the cock up and down up to the point that I don’t recall by the end of the day what do I suck and what I inhale and I watch myself touching to the flicking channels from my fingers as I inhale and exhale.

I watch the smoke, touching myself to it and grinning, sometimes giving out a laugh as the cock gets harder and how soft it goes if there is a speech or some ad and how it grins at all of the ladies’ teeth and just wants to leak in their insides.

It’s thrilling how fast we want to go in, leave a trace and go outside.

So I touch myself, stroking my balls and then taking off my shirt.

I let my cock kiss the couch and I laugh more looking at the laughing ceiling.

And then I drop it to look at a female singer and I just leave my cock hanging and my cigarette leaving the scent in the room and I realize I miss her, so I just touch the tip of my cock and I take the finger off a little spider string going from my genitalia to my finger until it breaks and I repeat it, worried, nervous, as I watch her speak.

I stand up, a bit shaking and I press my cock against the screen, directly in front of her mouth so that every letter on which she closes her mouth is a suck and I moan back, knowing how her mouth feels.

I go down on myself, I wonder why couldn’t I self suck, but I just tease the base of my cock until I start stroking it harder, aiming at her mouth.

She swallows.

And I think I can hold a gun to my head.

Just to see the screen.

And so that the sperm will mix with the blood and they will plaster the screen and so that no one will see who did I touch myself to, besides Courtney who knows it and who I call instead on the phone and do touch myself to with the cigarette being the isolator with its smoke.

-

As requested by an anon. I hope you liked it, it's a lot shorter than expected, but I like it this way, sorry about that.

Feel free to request

<3

You Know I Look Like A Woman

2012-01-30T19:21:00.001-08:00

What if Jack had also been Jamie’s creation?

More tension to stick in the trick bag and just dunk my head in, holding my hair, nails teasing the back of my skin.

It was as of Jamie was the Willy Wonka behind the Willy Wonka. As if I was being led and fed with candy from the hands of a man who was another man.

It always amused me how sometimes Jamie would sit after recording on the sofa and just stare at me in silence, focused, not moving, breathing harder, most likely battling the imagery in head and knowing that despite what he wants, I won’t just go over and unzip his jeans prior to going on top of him and saying how hard he is.

He is hard indeed. Once I just pressed my head against his neck and he said nothing. He just looked at me and kept his mouth away, his lips opened and his tongue seen slightly. I opened my own mouth and I wanted to go on top, I wanted him to kiss my chest and just raise the t-shirt above us and he’d stare at my body.

He’d go inside, not taking the jeans off, still nervous off a barrier and he’d thrust inside me. I’d moan.

And I look at Jack with his curly hair taking a pint and getting it down. I hesitate with my own and just stare at his.

It seems to quiet with all the noises and Jack’s hat seems to give away to much, but he doesn’t mind it sitting, maybe we’re not that famous after all, you just sit and not get anything a day no matter what happens and you can drink pint after pint.

I just light a cigarette to just tear off my nervousness and I glance at the bartender and he has Jamie’s hair cut and his tired look after a long day, so I watch him give Jack another drink.

“Did you.” He clears his throat, plays with his hat and asks me for a cigarette. I light it. “Ever have something with Jamie?”

I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I smile. Smile. Nod, wave.

“N-no. I thought both of you talked.” About me. I could’ve added, but instead I take a longer drag feeling the taste stick to my tongue, but it’s fine, I’m not kissing anyone and those who I kiss also have this glue on their mouths. Jack shrugs.

“Yeah. Just wanted to know your opinion.” And he breaths out the smoke fast, his fingers brushing the glass and he coughs slightly. I throw an arm around him and he leans closer to me. I look at his eyes and once you age boys don’t just have the dumb look in their eyes before your lips meet. Jack does.

It is dumb, but there’s something naive in it as if We’re Gonna Be Friends is going in his head as he sees me scattered on his bed in a pond of our fluids and I move my hands through the water as he barely breaths from thrusting and fuck, it’s good, and I put my hands on my legs.

I take out my tongue.

He grabs my head and pulls me into that kiss.

He tastes like I do.

I get my hand in his hair as his hands replace my own.

And travel up my legs to find the zipper to just tug it playfully.

He goes to my neck and sucks on it slightly. I take off his hat and I know that we can collapse onto the floor and the rugs scattered can cover us, so that the feet of the walking people won’t really bother us.

“I want you.” He says and leans back, the gaze softer, more intense and burning as I brush the front of his legs and hit his button with a nail.

I look to see the Jamie bartender watching so I keep my eyes open and I stick my tongue inside.

I rub the inside of Jack’s shirt, laughing a bit and feeling Jamie take me by the shoulders and yank me up.

“Alison!”

And I see him, shorter than me, wrinkles slightly showing and I laugh and Jack covers his eyes, to hide the friends with candy intensions and smiles, maybe knowing.

“Jamie will never go for you.” To which Hince just stares at both of us. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide the shock from puking out and I just stroke Jamie’s hair and I take off my shirt, exposing my shirt, no bra and I wait for him to touch to which he just strokes a nipple and takes his hand off and turns around jumping twice.

I think I am on the floor with the liquids being alcohol.

“Jamie will never go for you.” And Jack would thrust in, but he holds, tracing his fingers on my back, nearly digging them in like his fighting cock with the zipper and eager to get any hole around.

So I go on my knees, crying.

I stand up.

I don’t take his cock in my mouth instead I press him against the wall, holding his shoulders and his cock eagerly searching for my vagina, so I let that organ touch with the layers of fabric.

I wonder how hard would it be to choke a man and how would Jamie look and how he would visit me as I would look orange and maybe then he would kiss me or even have sex fast as he would go inside me again and I would keep shiver, crying, shaking that this way be the only time.

I think after every time he touched me I always cried besides out first when he fell asleep in his sweater and boxers around one leg and I touched his nipple, his chest and he would open his eyes from while to while to grin a hello and then pull me towards him.

“I love you, Alison.” He’d say and we would just turn around.

“I love you, Alison.” Was what he said yesterday.

And what I had washed off with whisky.

“And what I had washed off with whisky.” And I throw the pint near Jack’s head and he ducks his curls, the glass breaking into his hat and he just takes my head and knocks it against the wall, it’s not harmful but it aches and I scream taking his hair and crying.

Jamie loves me.

And I cry.

And Jack just takes me out and holds me as I cry into his hat with glasses and I take a piece and it sticks to my mouth and I think I’m bleeding.

“But I think he loves me.” I cry and I see the shorter man patting my head and walking off as Jack would just go inside and fill me up for a bit.

He drags me out and we go in a pharmacy. I watch him go to the counter, look around as I sit on one of the chairs for older people and I just count the amount of red boxes I see everywhere as I sit up to curl into a ball and chant my love’s name all over, as I see Jack ask for red condoms.

“I’m on the pill.” I croak and I cry harder. “Fucking fill m-me up!” And I scream and the assistant suggests some pills and Jack says that I’m on alcohol so I don’t know if I get medication of not. All I want is liquid to be everywhere so I wonder if we should shag as he pours hot water from the kettle so that I wouldn’t be able to distinguish who is touching me Jack or Jamie and please, please on my eyes, so whoever I see will be Jamie.

And my mouth, the insides so that when I kiss Jack I know it will be Jamie and the vagina, the insides, split my body in the middle, rip it open and pour the water in so that anything I will love with be Jamie and I will be breathing his carbon dioxide.

And I keep crying as Jack leaves me on the bed and takes a shot, discarding his clothes. I think he starts crying as well, watching me write Jamie’s name with pillows and he tells me he won’t ever love me and I scream that he said I love you.

“Me! HE MEANT ME!” And I cry to which Jack just goes in the bed and put my head on his lap, then takes me under the armpits as if I am a teddy bear and my nose is against his, he kisses me, holds the lips together.

“I love you.” And he stretches the I, making sure that I know it’s him and he tucks me in against his body and turns on television and we watch Gossip Girl for a bit, just because he knows I like it and I smile at all of them having their drama and I sob a bit as Jack feels bored and even falls asleep before the break, but still firmly holding me in his arms.

As he falls on the bed, I want to stand up and stare at my own face as a reflection, but he holds me, slightly holding his eyes open and pulling me into a kiss which makes him shake out of fear that we might not be friends, so I just go back and the covers wrap us around like our little ship to sleep.

He takes the hair off my eyes.

I-

“I love you.” I say. Quiet. And he nods, kissing my forehead and he goes on his back, undoing his jeans with my hands, maybe he is controlling me, maybe Jamie is filming this with a camera and doing polaroids to wank to, to hang around his room and laugh at both of us, drinking whine.

So I cry and I take off Jack’s clothes to which he strokes my now naked body above and I tell him I love him again.

He is bigger than Jamie.

I go on up and down, my hair in the way and Jack holds the hair until he shifts and I’m on the bottom and I look up, even terrified that Jack White is fucking me, in and out, so I feel like a ghost, I pretend that I am a ghost and Jack strokes my body, leans closer to ask how to please me to which he touches my clit, licks my breasts and I just look up.

“What do you like?” I ask him with a small smile.

Jamie doesn’t matter.

Jack fills me in as I scream and Jack gets a boner from that as well, as we keep shifting from top to bottom as the liquid doesn’t even have enough time to flow, but it’s there, filling me up and I wonder if we’ll have a kid and Jack grins at me as I am on top or if he is on top.

It doesn’t matter.

Jamie doesn’t matter.

Jack

Fills me in.

Fills me in.

-

Here is the Jack/Alison as requested which is more of a triangle in the end.

I had the idea of taking that rumored fight they had, didn't end up much of a fight, no?

The title was the struggle as I am sleepy and I forgot the initial idea and after some fiddling, here's the first line of The Dead Weather's I Cut Like A Buffalo.

I hope you enjoyed it!

5th February 2012

Silver

2012-01-29T17:06:00.000-08:00

I thought I dreamt of something silver.

So I just rubbed a bit of the corner of my eye, thinking to just sit up, but i kept myself in bed, wrapping the covers firmly against my body, a numb ache coming from the stomach but I just tried to ignore it, the words staring to build in my head and I played with the thoughts of standing up and drinking milk.

It would silver if spilt.

So I would sit in the kitchen, wondering what else would be silver, but I just wrapped the covers tighter, eyes held open, not blinking, my hand sketching with the fingertip on my knee.

I ended up sitting up and wondering what to do once I flicked on the light and just put my knees closer to my chest, trying not to think about anything but the insomnia now drawn on my knee and how silver would I feel if I would just fall back onto the bed and wrap myself up even tighter.

-

A Kurt Cobain short fan fiction as requested by an anon.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you!

Drumroll

2012-01-28T20:34:00.001-08:00

I think I was suffocating that night.

I just recall laying in bed and watching the lights hum slightly as day and night seemed to shift, alcohol was wearing off, insomnia dancing and no reason to wake tomorrow were just keeping my eyelids firmly open.

There is a buzzing in my head as I think I am getting questioned and the fact that there were drugs on the table near the bed mattered and a quick nod to the same officer did nothing.

I had an alibi and we both knew I never killed her. I sat on the doorstep, the cigarette in my hands dissolving into ashes and hopefully Amy would follow the trail to my fingers.

I bought her the drums she played, maybe that explains my head aches.

And all of it resembles, well, the walls do, as I watch the shadows try to close my eyes. I sit up and I see her playing the drums again and she’s telling me something and I see a bowl with water in it.

She sticks her fingers in the water, hair holding above her eyes, and her skin is wet as she takes the burning fag out and inhales.

I see her taking teeth with honey out and chewing them in half.

It doesn’t look like her.

But then it doesn’t look like me either and I feel the need to look at the ceiling where her hands play with the curtains of the night.

And the feel of the day I believe should come soon and I’ll be sitting in the kitchen just staring at the balcony, feeling the future go on and consume me and maybe I’ll be the next one with drugs being my wings to death.

Maybe she’ll go out of the fridge laughing and pour alcohol on me and then she’ll just sit crosslegged talking about something, pouring liquid straight into my mouth. I will squirt it out of my mouth and it’ll go through her.

“I’m dead.” And we’ll drink to that. I’ll go downstairs to the small grocery, get milk, come back and I think the day will be over and I’ll hear drums again.

And I’ll ask her to play with her and she’ll put her drumsticks away. She won’t drum again.

She’ll just stand up.

And I’ll want a drink.

A pint.

Maybe I’ll want to take the ceiling for myself.

Maybe I’ll shoo her with a broom, laughing.

But she won’t laugh.

She’ll be dead.

She’ll be fucking dead up to the point that I’ll be able to go and poke her with my feet with her realtives staring and I will kick her in the ribs, harder and ahrder, waiting for blood to go out, but nothing will, the flesh will just bend and she’ll lay still.

I’ll take the corpse and put her around my neck.

I’ll wear her.

Yeah, I would.

I light a fag.

I exhale.

She closes the curtains on the ceiling and the ashes fly, scatter and fuck

I make out with the fag.

Silencio 2

2012-01-25T19:44:00.000-08:00

Since then I sit in my hotel room wondering which banging door could be him after all?

To light.

To hard.

Silence.

And my head is spinning from mere thought and I stay in the room with my legs crossed along with my arms, I think I hear guitar playing but I’m not sure if it would be a guitar or a can of yoghurt.

I washed my teeth after the kiss, maybe so that he won’t smell himiself ar the glance, maybe I am trying to put evidence after eidence.

What the fuck am I saying, so all I do is just fall on my bed wondering if some bits of cock might be left after all, as if-

I think I drant too much.

I don’t want to ehead outside.

I want to be young, a kid and sit cheering fro Nicky who had potention seems to get nowjere with his dreams, maybe that’s what I want to do, spy on Nick, when we were at an ange to give answers and it had been amusing listen to something which won’t happen, like that day when I had been just saying that I didn’t just like girls and I think Mass sailed that and it’s Like

my god

Headchae

And I thik I see Nicky ebloew me

Yeah

So I yank his head off and I know that I am clutching air, so I hide it and I keep hands closed.

Closed/

closed for what for a Nicky and the guitar playing I hear.

It just pisses me off how you can never guess who is playing after all and when it’s like a blindfokd when all is yur presebt

It’s like not knowing the world

Fuck

Fuck

I am at the door and I just wobble without any alchohol as I;ve just losen my virginity at this motherfucking age, so I just knock on the door. Nothing.

I knock

Happene

Maybe I should just open the door, put the package on the mat and wait for it to eb delvered to trh wrony riyhc,

So I knock again and I hear him ebhidn me, but I don’t turn insteas my lips say something like blow job and Nicky kisses me.

Maybe it’s doesn’t matter anymore if I’m old or young, maybe all that rneeed rifgt O

Penguin

You look like a penguin and fuck

fuck

fuck

I think your hand is in my pants so I press against the hand/

I’m too

Well, I just see the sex scene and the brief wuld do the lieke wtinning area

and it’s scary

and Nicky screams and I have him inside me, I say nothing as it leaks out.

AND THERE IS LOUD MUSIC

SO I THINK

YEAH I DO

I cover my head under the pillow and it doesn’t matter, I think he’s seen the scars and he traces them with his fingers, I wonder if he’ll puke from fuck what can he -

My imagery and I think he takes off the pillw and he kisses me anyway. Maybe his daughter won’t walk along him to school again because ths is like national television.

You get seen and people hate you just because their son didn’t make it and I guess now it is Wire’s mouth again. I don’t now. It’s not alchohol it’s frustration as I just well, hold my ahds still and he tries to find a tattoo with some removed and he finds the generation and I just close my eyes.

-

I hope you enjoyed this small fragment!

The typos are intentional.

<3

Maternal Instinct

2012-01-25T14:47:00.001-08:00

It’s a blink
When instead of a typewriter, typewriter
Which is what goes through your head
You actually want living things to crawl out of you
And not just dead spermatozoids after sex
(That’s sexy though)
It’s more like you glance at the person
(Male gender in this case)
And you glance glance glance
That’s the thing which will give your kids the shape of their legs
And blink
You want to be a mum all of a sudden
Instead of that typewriter, typewriter
And blowjobs become sexy
And the dead spermatozoids
That you want them all over your body
And you want those kids
Those kids you’d think you’d die giving birth
To that man who’d stroke your hair
And fucking kiss your forehead
You’d both grin
As you’d both be pregnant one day.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 4

2012-01-25T14:10:00.000-08:00

Jaidem snore laughed in his sleep, mumbling stuff about bees, lakes and jumping tuna bears in the far off distances tasting, licking the sticky lemon sun with its minty clouds clinging to it like-

Like-

Like-

Hash took over.

Run, run, run. Love’s eating you.

Along with the girl in lace holding it in her hands, her lips brushing off your bruises, her eyes taking away the fabric, hands raising yours and meeting gazes.

Hash.

Love.

“It’s not salty.” She says and takes some salt, taking the lid off and throwing quite an amount while laughing, brushing each other’s lace off, because you can’t chew with a mouth full of lace. Unless you want to choke and die bent in two, as the moon meets yours in a quick state of utter trance, resembling something you’ve never felt but always wanted to, because then judging quotes, life would have got dyed, drained and turned into something it is today.

Macy exhales, you laugh.

You realize it’s you with the wanting feel of Jaidem’s auburn hair, crooked but now repaired teeth and fucking crazy smile turning into a snarl of disgust by the amount of opposite salt combined with sweet scent of cookies from nowhere and images of flying hoax saucers on the walls compared to the eyes in front , which are not and will not be a hoax.

Because I’m the hoax,

I laugh,

Macy inhales.

I exhale for her with her mouth in mine, twice.

Salty. Zaltee.

It’s nothing fancy, because the word has lost all its meaning with my endless desire of not touching the stove and watching the same lazy as me customers digging out bank notes, cards or low excuses on the table with empty plates.

But it’s different because I’ve got Macy thinking about being vegan or not. I’ve decided about myself long ago, so the question is long dropped and I never pursue anybody like Jaidem said he liked to do, back when he was alive.

“What?” I asked, rocking myself back and forth after a role denial. I seemed to get quite an amount lately and they seemed to lead to nervous smoking with no cigs involved even between the lines, streets, cars and bandaged pavements.

“When somebody else was, with auburn hair and piercing eyes.” He gestured to a sandy and blue coloured pearl on his sleeve and the appearing steak and several hairs showing on his chin under his crooked sad grin.

“Did you kill him?” My eyes were rusty from the lack of sleep, too wired by coffee to fall down and impossible to blink the fear of failure away. My jaw trembled in a nice bumpy rhythm with my hands. I closed my mouth with my hands, a gesture shown as shock in different scenes. “You fucking killed him?!”

My voice broke into several echoes around the room, as I grabbed my hair, trying to pull it out like loose strings in a broken walking on two legs pillow.

“What? No, no-” He catches my stare. Brings out a cancer stick, lights it for the dramatically effect. He’s mocking me. “You can put it one way.”

“You fucking killed him?!” I hiss, turning my face towards him ready to pounce on him and take the guy’s life back.

“Auburn suits me, doesn’t it, Devyn?” He spits the words at my face. Before I make my move towards him, he raises his hand, runs several fingers on my throat, feeling something until I choke and a pearl is caught between my lips. My lips are numb and do nothing until he takes the pearl away from my mouth. Jaidem takes out a needle, a string and a pair of scissors and sews the pearl onto his sleeve. “I was going to help you, you fool. Well, die then, like you were s’posed to then.”

I stand up and he watches me the beard on his face growing with the length of his auburn hair turning gray and back blonde in the next second. I take out a gun from the drawer, it’s suppose to be a stage gun. I take it and aim at Jaidem. He raises an eyebrow and blows a smoke ring in my direction.

I shoot.

A pearl rolls on the floor, hitting a wall with a drawn mouse hole. I want a mouse. I want mice to eat his brains out, eat his raw flesh with the leaking lust blackening the world.
“I killed too many, Devyn to die just like that.” He takes the bullet out of his chest, poking the heart in the process as the wound heals. Jaidem smiles weakly, closing his eyes for a second, rolling himself into a big green ball with growing red facial hair.

“Like nothing bad happens to a bastard?”

“Yeah.” Hesitation. “Until he gets to hell.”

He shivers. I throw the gun away and throw a blanket over him, burying him in my thoughts and list of good people, because he is a murder.

I am a murderer too.

I kill feelings.

With that trigger I kill motions, feelings sprayed on the stage as I come out filled with hay, throwing it up attracting everyone with my skinny bones and high cheekbones shredded by painful papercuts as I scream to my death in the final scene.

Of the sequel.

“You can’t show a suicide. It’s not real. It has to be real, sorry. It’s hard?”

“Is that a decline?”

“No. Fuck no.”

So what you do next is hesitate while learning the phrases the way you should lay with the hay behind you, the way the hands should be raised, the length of the hair and the improvising ideas in my head. I want to shave it to leave the lace in the hay with needles as I could stitch my skin with blood leaking down my skin, mixing with sweat, spit, tears and screams as the suicide commences.

It should be a mixture of emotions.

Jaidem watches me closely, as I lay on the rug with hay scattered.

“Then I cut my hair.”

“Then I swallow the bullet.” I say gesturing upon my tongue the fingers trailing deeper as if I’m going to swallow them, savor them and walk with the lack of two fingers lingering in my stomach or rather transformed and nothing left rather than the thought.

Like after a suicide.

Only the thoughts reminding of the people, because the body is long rotten.

Because we are disgusted by anything rotten, even love as we grimace while savoring it raw.

Wild Charms

2012-01-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

Smear me in silver, as I watch your fingertips slowly getting into the liquid, as I shiver expecting the cold as you trace the paint upon my lips and I swallow a bit.

You kiss me and you swallow the cold too.

I keep grinning for a bit and you just play with a hair also for a bit.

The silence seems to be awkward with no music around besides my sudden humming and the bright sparkles now from my sweater.

It’s our first halloween and your hands are trembling a bit too much.

We’ve just kissed a few times and I know about your divorce, so we just smoke instead and it feels like sex.

I don’t mind it, raising my hands, telling you that this is what I’ve had for years and years, a bit too loud, eyes looking up and you just kiss me again, your tongue slowly making your way in.

I think your kids are hidden, like the insides of a pumpkin we just threw out.

They’re at Karen’s. Kate is at Jamie’s and we’re in between smearing silver paint over my face, because I didn’t come up with a costume but I wanted to be in silver with an old black sweater which most likely I’ve stolen from Jamie back when I thought myself to be cold and he’d just shove it in my hands just when his whole idea came along.

“M?” I don’t say anything and you just stand up to wrap your arms around me, nuzzle my neck with your nose and I still fee-

No, I don’t. So I try to ease but I still feel the flirtation with tension on stage and how your lips were sacred and I would touch them and you would flinch, as I were Jamie now and you were my Alison, only I wanted to bang you badly, badly.

“Same.” and you start biting my neck. It feels like I’m losing virginity for the first time, but knowing that once it’s in, you just grin and that’s it. Your love doesn’t change, well, it grows, but there is no massive throw, it’s hidden at first, the care, God, it just swallows you.

Like grabbing straight after an orgasm and holding tight, maybe crying, maybe not, I don’t know yet, all I know is that I want a hug, so I hug you, tight.

And you smile and we’re back at our shy pace and I wonder if we’ll just keep it up by touching ourselves to each other.

We go upstairs and I wonder how long would you take to brush your teeth and I keep thinking of you. My fingers slip down and I touch myself. I want you to watch. And you do. You sit on the edge of the bed as my cheeks go red and I just don’t feel my age as your hand travels up my thigh and fuck, I moan, you shiver slightly.

“Stop being so nervous.” And I sit up grabbing you and we glance fast, making sure that we’re both nervous and collapse on the bed, making out and I forget about the silver on my face as you take it off with your fingers and leave love bites of it on the sheets as you thrust.

I’m still nervous, I think or maybe I convince myself.

I think I start hearing my own humming in the morning and I wake nervous with Jack. It still feels like it’s still the act and everything just seems to fly off and I wonder if it will snow this october.

And it feel isolated. I don’t know.

Maybe it’s a dream but the bed is stained and there is silver everywhere even when I close my eyes with my hands and I smile through them.

I don’t know if I want you to wake up or not, maybe I want to leave you dying there and then just crawl to your grave on the funeral, maybe get buried with you, but most likely I’ll stand like in that wedding only the lovers go under ground this time.

I just sit there and I think you’re awake and you stare back, half your face is under the covers.

It feels like this will forever be awkward, so I just try to find some clothes and I think I shake just like you did and you keep watching me, already dressed, as I get into the kitchen.

It’s too empty.

I get orange juice.

I get you orange juice too.

I don’t think

well

it shouldn’t be this empty.

And I wake you up again. I have the idea of pouring orange juice all over you and liking it, but I don’t tell, just yet and I just rub your shoulder slightly. You wake up and we suggest each other finishing the pumpkins even if Halloween is over, it doesn’t feel like it. I think we should make it a week and get more paint.

Fuck, get the whole house in paint.

I ruffle your hair.

Smile, I smile.

“Winter.” I say later my back against your body as you lay, your eyes sometimes cheating to look on something else to ease you. I take your hand.

“What about it?” You ask and I just well, keep talking. “Just saw winter really. Dunno.”

We both keep silent, holding hands, maybe looking at the same wall.

And I look back.

I think I hear Jamie sing. I think I am sitting in front of him and he is singing. He has keys.

It’s nostalgia.

Or maybe it’s the next soundtrack on reverse.

You don’t love two.

You love the second, there was something wrong with the first.

-

An Alison/Jack request by an anon.

Sorry, took two days to write as I've been a bit exhausted and a bit short on time, but I'm here and fuck, I love it. XD

Why Wild Charms? The last bit with Jamie came up as I was listening to Wild Charms and it just seemed appropriate, really.

<3You Know I Look Like A Woman

Edinburgh

2012-01-23T18:14:00.001-08:00

It’s about the bagpipe.

It’s about even having the thought of someone sitting next to it and I watch people drop coins.

Meg takes a photo of me sitting,

The man behind me

And the buildings scraping off the sky.

-

Today it's a short poem, inspired.

I'm working on an Alison/Jack piece which will be up for tomorrow!

Thank you!

<3Moonage Daydream

Last

2012-01-22T17:34:00.000-08:00

I sit on the stairs, my head against the walls and I hear the strumming of the guitar going harder and sometimes I hear screams from below.

My hair is now short again.

Maybe because then I believed in something and when I had opened the door the thoughts of him kissing me flashed through my mind.

I shouldn’t have nodded at that time when we were both smoking and then stabbing out my cigarette on the wallpaper with trembling hands I had taken your head and slammed your lips against my own. You had kissed me back.

Don’t deny it, you bloody kissed me back.

I look at the pink in front of my eyes. Did I dye it because Kate wouldn’t dye it pink? Or because I wouldn’t dye it pink? I see myself crying again.

You fucking kissed me back.

You fucking did.

I slam my hand against the wall.

I slam my hand harder.

Music, music, music, I had just nodded.

“You kissed me.” I mumbled, remembering how I just pressed you against the sill and I wondered if we would fall out of the window, but then you just shifted me from it, a quick look in your eyes I believe matching the size of your erection.

Does Kate even turn you on?

I have more breasts than she does.

Or maybe not.

So I have less breasts. But he fucked me. Ok, he fucked her too and that bump is evidence of some Hince-Moss combination.

I start crying harder.

You had wanted me.

Hard.

I remember how your old jeans felt and how that sweater of yours felt I had taken off. I remember how I licked your waist before taking you in my mouth and that exhale of yours when I swallowed and you apologized.

I remember that week you kept giving me orange juice after blow jobs.

I remember we hadn’t done any music and I don’t think we left anywhere and you had a girlfriend and I tried not to think about it.

You tried not to think about it. I just look down.

You wrote the last good bye for me, didn’t you?

Well you did a fucking great job and I stab the cigarette against the wall instead of my fist.

-

I actually wrote this one a few days ago when I had another request and I had been dying to write some Jamie/Alison. Today's written Jack poem will be tomorrow, maybe with something else, I don't know:3

<3

The Killer Stripes

2012-01-21T17:55:00.000-08:00

It’s about the tension.

It’s like a dance on the stage and once the connection is broken you just grab the girl by the arm even if we are not so young at least that’s what Kate brags about and throws some cream at me that I have to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at it.

I sit up and head to her closet and I do enjoy looking at how ripped her jeans may be or how swirly the heels might be and how her feet size wouldn’t fit mine if I don’t try. I just like sitting against her heels and waiting until she realizes that I am gone.

Once I wanted to bang Alison here, I recall how she just laughed at the open heels she would never wear. I remember we tried putting on Kate’s heels and she laughed. I can’t say they hate each other that badly, it’s more bout Alison being content with her being the face I see when I ejaculate and Kate being the hole which is fucked.

Maybe then all is content and I watch Alison kiss me on the forehead and I hold myself, it’s so long that I don’t have to hold myself that long so all I do is smile and quickly kiss her on the lips.

Keep the tension.

Keep the tension.

And she smiles a bit shyly and Kate offers tea and exists, she knows I don’t shag Alison, I didn’t meantion that one time and she’s calm and it had been at the start of these years, so all can be erased and blamed on a dream.

So I grin.

“Um.” And she smiles more her pink hair too bright and I know how intense it is. “DJack likes me?”

I recall this talk I had with Jack once about women, he kept Meg away after all until no music could be produced from the female and the thing was Alison was taking too long and the more I teased the more I would get from her voice, from her body, so I never married, a mistake Jack did, he kept it a bit but the thing is, Jack is quite different.

The talk was about that we didn’t like innocent women, innocent would not want you to be in them, while Meg and Alison, did, they were childish, as if they were younger than the bonds would break and there was a trace of naivety in them.

And I just look at her. Jack wants the tension in his own band. Fucker.

“Sorry?” And I just look at Alison, I think I’ve sold my soul for a donut and music, well, it had been worth it.

“D-do you think Jack likes me?” Alison asks me and I just smile briefly, I’m sure there is a story behind this, so I just make myself more comfortable and I wonder what would have happened if Jack had been playing. He would have held himself.

But if there was no Meg?

Well, I suppose he would open the door and look at the girl with the cropped hair in front of him and he would smile.

“Um. Hi.” And Alison just smiles even more, her heart going two beats, is that the description I should choose? And the girl’s cheeks go red and Jack just smiles, maybe the guitar still in his hand and he invites her over.

“I like your playing.” Alison would say. She would around on the room. She would notice the posters and the plastic guitar, she would like it. I think she would even ask him to play something, fiddle with her fringe and listen to him playing, quickly thinking how would their kids look like and how would their music sound.

Maybe Jack would invite her to dance after they would discuss all the vinyls he has and the bands they have both heard of and Jack would have a wide grin and would glance on Alison’s mouth.

Maybe they would depart with a grinning silence and Jack would think when would they meet even if he knew that they were in the same hotel room.

He would sleep, his subconscious growing on the thoughts of them dancing closer, her lips spreading out and how he would just-

“Did you guys fuck?” I ask Alison and she just smiles and looks down, her pink fabric covering her face and I do not attempt to move anything, I just stare at her and I wonder how would another relation affect The Kills. I know how to control tension.

I wonder if she had my face when she came and Jack just collapsed on top of her.

“Well. I thin-think he does. Do you?” Alison repeats the question again and I start playing with these green heels Kate wore last night and they don’t seem so new anymore. I don’t look up.

Maybe Jack took her hand and they danced after all to some vinyl Jack liked. Maybe they just sat eating a pizza they ordered and talked about america. I don’t know. Maybe he just loves her. Maybe I don’t.

Maybe he just sat across Alison and just stared into her eyes, maybe he just confessed and asked if she were willing to wait for this british bloke who has a pregnant model. Maybe she wants kids as well and maybe there will be a little girl who was a mixture of Jack and Alison.

Maybe they’ll love her a lot and I won’t find my kid that good looking, maybe I will just, I don’t know, I have Kate’s daughter already and I have coloured random paintings of her and I have sat in that room with the drawings and I have thought how would it feel to finger Alison and just pressed my head against the desk.

I won’t do anything.

So I just leave the closet and Alison starts repeating the questions and Kate joins, grinning, knowing that now, the door is locked from both sides and that we just touch ourselves to each other and that the fluids won’t intteract to make a baby.

And then I just wonder what if I were Jack, I would stroke her hair and I would slowly go inside her.

God, I wish I were Jack. I wish I would be in a relation with her, I want to share that pizza they shared and throw popcorn on her head and bake those weird family cookies Jack always talks about when drunk that his mother used to cook on weekends if the sun shone right.

Jack is a great guy.

That’s why he marries his woman.

And I marry models to get cocktails and expensive beaches to poke my wife’s non-existant breats.

“I think he does, Alison.” You guys nearly make out on stage, but instead I light a cigarette and Kate just glances at me and takes it after one drag and I wonder if she would rather be doing cocaine instead, but instead I just look at Alison having a man and it depresses me.

It’s not something I can cut off unless I just strip her and, fuck, go inside her, but then maybe she will just get irritated and just well, break all of this and then come back crying, hopefully with legs spread out, sex to keep the tension.

“What happened?” I ask and Kate asks at the same time and all of a sudden I just don’t feel so good.

Jack was drumming.

Well, that’s what she says and she said she doesn’t get the knack of it and Jack just smiled, of course he would smile, it’s called I have a boner and I can use it, but only if you want to and I want to a lot, you’ve got a nice ass by the way.

He asked me if I would even have a relation with Alison and I just snapped no and told him not to. Jack just blinked surprised and chewed on his cigarette, exhaled and kept quiet, shifting the topic to some album he had heard.

I wish I would have slammed him against the wall and said that Alison was mine to fuck, that I touch her on stage and that no one sees her as naked as I do.

It’s not about the body.

It’s about how she orgasms on stage or during recordings and I just watch her in my arms and I kiss her brief and she just holds her eyes open and I want to touch her breasts even I have done so already, I have had her.

-

Basically I'm having quite a busy day tomorrow and fuck, fuck XD I'M MOVING XD THERE I'LL KEEP IT AT THAT AND FUCK, FUCK, FUCK
Gaaaah, so excited! Basically I'm not sure that this is the end of it and I've been given an Alison/Jamie request, so I might just continue this tomorrow or something new. Who knows!
Oh my God, nervous and excited! Basically I hope you enjoyed this and keep requesting.

<3Wild Charms

Silencio

2012-01-20T21:28:00.000-08:00

He looks like a whore.

He looks like a fucking whore and it’s funny, all of a sudden his tights seem

actually funny.

I look at the purple leopard tights and they do seem funny.

I feel wrong and I feel weird, my body now a normal weight.

I read too much and I tend to forget lately and I’m asking plots I do not recall.

I keep listening to the music and seems different.

I think-

Yeah, I kept

Fuck

Chew gun

Detached

I think I keep looking at you way too much and the gun seems to be stuck to my teeth and I keep having a timer in my head. I wonder if the backstage pass I bought would be real and the girl never faked it.

He doesn’t seem funny any ore, he seems faceable and my mind is blocked.

My body is shaking too badly it’s not about the thought if I may or may not be a groupie it’s about the fear of image and how silent does the music feel and how the audience feels like air.

I love you.

And that should be the pass I’d show in what? Three songs.

Fuck. Just be there let me show it to your face, you, you, you.

Forgive me.

It’s like a dream, you have sex with your relative to forgive.

I forgive you for forgiving me.

I am a bit too chubby from eating fast food for a while and the insomnia as I’d stare into the ticket to just go backstage with facial hair and see James laugh.

They all giggle as I hold Nicky’s hand and my mustache feels big and heavy as if it were my body with weight.

It’s all too nervous and my voice seems to be like my thoughts.

So I am left with Nicky and I have never touched him before and we both feel old all of a sudden and maybe he believes in my death at twenty seven, so I just sit there with all the facial hair and then I start undressing myself. What if I am ugly indeed?

But Nicky just stares at me.

Suddenly I feel skinny again and I can see us again lying on his bed, gently touching the subject of sex and homosexuality in music.

Nicky remains silent and I don’t say anything.

I pull the mustache slightly, exposing my mouth.

I take out a razor from my pocket and I shave myself with trembling fingers and I think if I should touch my hair as well, if I should show myself how I were when he had seen me, but he just keeps looking at me.

Nicky lifts up his dress.

Maybe I am still a groupie.

I go on my knees and take his cock delightfully in my mouth, moaning, putting a hand to stroke myself as I lick him and I feel blood where my lips are. I can’t seem to stop even after he comes and he tells me to stop, I want him all.

I take off the sweater and he sees the tattoos.

He strokes my hair and thrusts reaching the back of my throat. I keep stroking the tip of my cock.

Let’s be silent.

-

It was requested by an anon.

Hope you'll enjoy this short Richey/Nicky story.

<3Silencio 2

Axe For Cork Extraction7

2012-01-19T19:50:00.000-08:00

He jumps up and the audience comes back, he waves his arms and they disappear. He gives me to joint and I vomit on some kid’s head and he shows me that it’s Meg.

I just look at my own blood which circulates, I believe I’ve reached the point where a knife is piercing my head and I look up to see Pete, who grabs my jaw and bangs my head against his.

I wonder what would Jamie be doing with his marriage and I am sitting there with my guitar with Alison and her newly dyed hair and she keeps chain smoking, silence and her foot taps give away everything.

“You know. I-I wonder.” She gulps another patch of tears. “W-what if-” And she just breaks it, sticking the cigarette so deep in her own throat she gags. It’s a baby indeed and I can’t tell her anything about it.

“W-wouldn’t.” Her phrases are too broken and I wonder if she should just curse and jinx us all, our big soup of relations. I wonder if she could she’d grab the bowl of music and just fling it on the floor for plain woman happiness, I remember when I met Meg and I think after a few kisses she just said that after all, everyone’s life changes after children.

I remember I had met Karen and kids were just something main, music, they were other notes, more private, ones which you wouldn’t share on stage.

Maybe Alison wanted those notes, maybe that’s why she broke a big orange bowl at her home and never focused on healing the bruise and just sat there, thinking, knowing, that-

she’d have music.

We all have music.

And then I look at Pete’s blade going through my head and I feel all the bullets in my head.

I take a few fingers up and I press them against the blade.

It’s quiet.

But it’s music, the way my blood slips down, the way Pete just watches, the way Alison kisses Jamie, the way

Pete and Moss are no longer

Create.

-

And that is it.

Thank you for reading.

If you want a full explanation of the story, feel free to ask, I will tell.

Feel free to send requests.

Originally this was going to go for 9 chapters, but today my mind turned itself off, a weird feeling which happens before I end any story.

Thank you very much for requesting!

I am now open for new requests!

<3Edinburgh

Axe For Cork Extraction6

2012-01-18T18:53:00.001-08:00

It’s about staring.

And getting an axe out of reality the one you stand in and the one which is.

So I take it and I let it become the axe until it can devour the past and become mine, reality, the one I want, now.

I want to kiss home.

I wonder what would home be. I think everyone asks themselves that question and I guess parents become out of the question, soon enough. I tried to think about my own and I had nothing besides Alison and Jamie running around as if they were back to being kids once more and I sat there for a while.

Meg sat besides me, reaching out to stroke my arm.

Maybe she had dyed her hair and she had been my wife?

Maybe there was only Pete to ask.

If to choose one way to get to life should you go to the dead and back, but then Jamie had been there and all he had been doing was dancing around with Alison, maybe he was the dead as well.

Maybe dancing was lying dead in this world.

I stood up and opened the cupboard, the fridge, to get out a pot with chicken soup made made by Jamie. He never said where he would get the ingredients, but then where would I get the bullets so that my gun would always be filled?

Maybe I should shoot more bullets to myself.

“You alright, Jack?” And I look up to see Meg and then I hug her, lifting her up from her feet so that her head would be on my shoulder and I feel her dangling feet. I wonder what would her real height be.

I take out my gun.

I think I feel the scars on my face, I press my fingers against the skin and I trace a line which starts to sting. Meg just kisses my neck. Maybe somewhere I would be caught for pedophilia. I wonder

and maybe Alison will run in and see my tongue rubbing against Meg’s as I shall have an erection, but I don’t think that Jamie’s pants or her underwear will be of any difference.

People have sexual attraction so I kiss Meg deeper, she hesitates but gives in and I wonder if she will grow everywhere. I wonder if Alison would stare.

But instead I keep kissing Meg and on her neck and I wonder how she would look with shorter hair or red.

I keep getting dragged away by her instead of taking out the gun and trying to shoot both me and her, maybe that would be something, maybe that is why people end their lives, boredom, but what is there to this street and if I know that there is an afterlife with people dancing and maybe even playing music, what should keep me here if maybe there I will see myself and Meg, maybe

Just like in that dream Jamie will play with Alison’s tension and on drunk nights she’ll mutter a phrase and that would be it and she would be miserable on his wedding and kiss a woman.

And we will all break up and the only glue will be music.

Maybe I should have sex here, with Alison in my head and maybe I should believe in God. I don’t know, so I just lift up her dress.

I kiss her legs.

I wonder why Nabokov didn’t include a full explicit sex scene with Lolita, I never finished reading, it seemed boring, so I try to memorize how her skin feel as I travel up with my tongue.

I wonder if I’ll be young enough again later as I shoot a bullet under my chin and I feel it in my tongue and I spit it out, I have no blood, only if I trace my fingers against the wound.

So Meg traces and sticks her finger in and I can suck that finger so I do.

She starts tearing the fabric of my skin with her fingers. And I just keep on kissing her, er fingers slightly in my blood and I keep my eyes closed. I shoot another bullet to the side of my head, as I sleep on my back sometimes or maybe so that I would sleep with my eyes open and the bullet is stuck there, nuzzling my brain.

So I hesitate and then I shoot three bullets straight and I check the gun. It is charged, I keep shooting and I wonder if I am in the middle of a stage. It feels like I am shooting at the audience. I kill, but I do not see it and the bullets are always there.

Or maybe I am here to play?

Maybe I am in the band or maybe I just got onstage to shag someone and sing the chorus.

Maybe I should rip Meg aside, two sides, so that there would be sex with twins, which do not touch or even hold hands and my cock will be licked by the cold as Pete would turn off the heaters and he would be standing with Kate eating an apple, one of Jamie’s frozen apples and spitting out the seeds on me, thinking that I had stolen Pete.

Maybe she’ll think

Alison

They look too intimate.

I wonder and I look at Meg.

Sometimes the mind goes blank, maybe it’s just a scene.

Maybe I am in front of everyone and Meg is behind me. She looks young.

I look young.

Maybe it’s the life flashing in front of my eyes as I hold a plastic guitar and the strings lure my fingers and I see people jumping and Pete smoking his joint.

Or I am just about to live?

Should I go offstage, but instead I go down on the crowd and it becomes too crowded that they slowly vanish and I have to make my way to Pete. He stands there, fixing his fedora and taking out another joint then throwing himself on the floor. He closes his eyes and listens to the mute concert until he waves his hand for the older Meg to play a steady rhythm on the drums and he nods his head with it.

He looks up at me and gives me the joint.

“You wanted it.” And I inhale, as I feel two Pete’s singing the lyrics of a song into both of ears as the crowd slowly appears and another song is heard with the same lyrics only a younger man is singing it and he resembles me only he doesn’t have facial hair and maybe this is his life and I just hold his body.

I give the joint back to Pete, but Meg keeps the rhythm despite the audience reduction.

-

I am back and the daily basis is now back!

Thank you everyone for supporting and all the luck!

Thank you so so much!

<3part 7

Vacancy

2012-01-18T14:50:00.000-08:00

I don’t want childhood to be a perfect memory
I want to stain it
If it won’t be believed
Go in to a room
Full of tapes
Grab the VHS
And pull the tape
With my teeth
Cutting in half the body
Knowing that it won’t be a movie
Knowing that the pain will infect
The people on it
That their childhood
Which lasts for seventy years
Will be gone
And they will have no arms

-

This poem gives me shivers.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 3

2012-01-18T14:42:00.000-08:00

I look at her as she searches for the right question to ask, but none come, as we are past the how old are you and how much money do your parents do but never past the are you married or are you gay, since you’re an actor and creative people must be gay. Not like it’s a bad thing or anything, but I just hate the whole sticking something to something. And no, I’m not.

I had a scene one, playing with a coin in my fingers and I looked up, because the character is suppose to and just asked aloud, what if I am? In the end the character’s fate is unknown aside the fact that he robs the bank and now has more coins to think on.

I once shaved my head and it grew out back, but I can still feel it upon my fingers, as I walked out with Macy, fingers intertwining like lace. I remember how I became so thin all of a sudden, my cheekbones seen and everyone commented on how ghastly I looked. All I saw was how brilliant I was going to be and all the roles I was going to get offered.

Few came.

Everyone commented on where was my glossy black hair and that I was sixteen, reminding me that nothing was ever going to happen.

I wondered how come I didn’t cut it all off now, releasing me from the girly look the audience aimed for. But then I had cut now that it wasn’t even, steaks reaching the chin, some not, some trying to grasp the shoulders if straightened and held forward to grow like an unwanted messed up seed.

But the question was the same as why I had laced fingers with the girl grasping a ladder in the other hand, waiting to go up into the stars as soon as I’d shave my head to have the feel.

Isn’t that what we aim for?

A feel, an exposure of the soul clean and clear as the one described in books, in roles, as I’d shout them out, holding a gun in hand, grasping a hand near the lips, falling down in a fake faint to cause a dramatic stir in the events so that I’d get kicked around before I’d get lifted up and get the red beaten out of my face by a kiss from the stage in a face of another actor’s rough lips, taking away the innocence once held in the air, as I’d climb up and up out of the scene to say that I was there.

That I wasn’t there, but having the gloss upon my lips and chin with lace between my fingers and stuck to my mouth to mute out the words from coming out to shred in the world with the paper guns against the clay temples and fake plastic door leading to eternal joy, something you can never claim until you grasp it in a certain state.

Dead.

With the pearl out, hanging, getting took away, as the thief explained to get given to someone else.

What?

You’ve never seen anyone die?

No. Why would I?

I remember how I saw him sprayed on the floor, one leg on top of the other chewing something eye closed, a smirk pressed upon the lips and a pearl collar colouring his neck. The thief looked different each time and that time he was unshaved and his hair was nearing a gray unlike the times when he’d turn up shaved, blonde, a hat covering the top, a too big button up shirt for him, half way tucked in and mismatched trainers and missing nails only to be found in the pocket covered in some blue glue.

“What’s your name?” It all starts and ends with it, doesn’t it?

“You mean by meaning death?” He never opened his eyes, scratching his pierced ear. The thief opened one deep eye looking at me from head to the toe, the other covering the right. I never realized that I said that aloud. Closing the door, I hid the key in my pocket, the thief smirking with glee. “No name.”

“What?” I blinked, flopping myself to the floor near to the gray haired man.

“Nope.” He shook his head, covering the second eye with the left hand, a grin forming upon his lips, his teeth poking out slightly crooked but not in a disgust way. “I can see the stars.”

“Jaidem?” I asked, poking his side. My hand sliding upon the now black shirt with its soft silk. Wasn’t that mine once until I fiddled with a hole and ripped it apart the threads coming out and into the world of nothing.

“Isn’t it s’possed to be Jaiden?” He asked, taking both hands and sitting straight, ruffling a hand through his now auburn hair hanging and touching his slightly sticking out lips. I nodded.

“I just… like it more that way.” I shrugged, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head against them, feeling something touch my hair out of my face and placing something upon my lips, a round object. I swallowed, feeling the thief smile.

The later it got the younger he looked, his hair bleaching out or falling out, clothes changing, but at least one pearl would be added to his collar and sometimes draining the colour out of his cheeks and not just the shave able stubble.

Every time I’d see him, it felt like the first time at school with a tie hanging tightly around the neck but with a feeling of relief as you’d see a certain somebody. It felt as natural as the growing amount of pearls that soon enough he had a whole jacket, mentioning that once he’d have mine between a forced cough that choked out other people’s blood all different coloured, like the scattered stars in the sky.

Jaidem looked different each time, his cough sometimes getting worse. He told me that he wasn’t contagious but that I shouldn’t touch the blood leaking out of his mouth on the cloth or sometimes piling on the floor like ripped out pages from books if he searched for something unknown to the regular, boring, human mind.

“Are you human?” He hesitated pulling out a blonde turning green steak and fiddling with it, ripping it in two, crunching like toast and taking it into his mouth as it turned into a cherry lollypop to turn into a steak of bacon and back into chocolate, something it one day was.

“No. Just like you are, Devyn.” I never told him my name but the scattered newspapers with my name underlined in purple pencil seemed explainable. I pouted. He threw an eyelash at me. I caught it and blew it into a plane to descend into a ripe bubble to pop in my leg creating a whole in my stage pants to receive a shout from my director and accuses of Jaidem who laughed, fiddling with the chain flower cross on his neck as he’d stick his tongue out on the way out of the performance, stage and life.

But he returned. With a beer in hand to drink it and dumb the bottle in the room along with his star abused body, crawling into a ball, lulling him to sleep as my Joy Division CD sounded in the distance, muting out his thoughts with Ian’s and as he mumbled my own suicide.

I asked him why my own.

He told me to sleep between his own sick, pearly shaped sweet sleep with lips drenched in cheap beer and lime stuck out of my fridge from an expensive birthday show cake which I can’t swallow due to its fake plastic taste messing with my taste buds that it feels like hash, if I’d know how it felt. Jaidem told me, so I made the connection with hash.

Does hash even taste?

It tastes, like love, he answered lips barely moving.

Then it’s shit.

-

Sorry for the delays, I've been quite busy and now I am fully back.

It has indeed been a busy half a year, but I've made it!

Jaidem is now here and Jaidem would be my favorite creation, really.

Axe For Cork Extraction5

2012-01-15T15:04:00.001-08:00

I think if there is a way to stop the voices in the head, there should be something about Pete like a gum ball and then we all split it in half and chew. Fun, fun, fun, laugh, laugh, yeah.

“I think we need a plan to kill Pete.” I say and I bring out kid’s drawings and throw them on the floor, we need a plan after all.

Jamie laughs.

The helium is being reloaded most likely, so that’s why our conversation is

laugh

laugh

laugh.

I don’t think we have much time, but we’ll make it.

And I smile and we all do.

Alison thinks a bit too much, chewing Jamie’s cigarette and I start recalling Kate. Where is Kate? He went to the dead and got Alison.

Don’t you sometimes feel scared? Sacred?

Maybe when you just lay down in a bed and you’re just too nervous to do anything and you just shift to a side, when an idea comes in a dream and you forget it.

But then maybe you should feel calm that even the glimpse of it happened. I think I woke up with a red headed woman with her back turned on me and I remember standing up, everything a bit foggy and the smell of Pete’s joint was in the air and the smoke soon filled up my thoughts as I entered a room with children in it.

Pete just stood behind me and blew smoke at the back of my head.

It felt as if he were sticking needles in my head but I knew that they were needles without their material or maybe needles were even a hypotesis. What if I wrong?

I stood up, everything seemed to be too foggy and I recall Meg being a bit taller and she gave me some cereal and I had some memory and then I felt homesick. The memory had faded and I just kept eating cereal.

“I want to go home.” I haven’t seen home, had I? What was home enough? It wasn’t the rugs or Alison and Jamie staring at each other as if they couldn’t hold an inch closer or they’d just have sex on the floor but managed to kiss each other on the lips as Jamie would go out to cook testicles and shit, other shitty organs he’d cut out.

In the very beginning he kept them in the bathtub, so I had to swim through all the fluids and bits and blood and bones, digging my head in and getting out with eyes in my hair and he would stare eating fresh bread out of nowhere and then he would go inside and we would just stare.

I think he got bored playing tension with me.

Now he has Alison.

That’s why they don’t ahve sex.

That’s why I had it with Meg.

I had sex with Meg.

I look up to look at her.

“You’re not ten, are you?” I ask her blowing on my coffee and I don’t longer think that I am here anymore.

Maybe words and numbers don’t count anymore and I just stare at her.

I have no moves left.

All has been done.

All is great.

All will be done.

Great,

I think we should bang.

Bang bang.

-

This chapter is short but I felt the need to post.

Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you!

part 6

Axe For Cork Extraction4

2012-01-13T17:34:00.000-08:00

I think I am in a plane and Jamie is locked with Alison in a studio.

Are they musicians?

As well?

Mid-
Midnight Boom! I think that’s their band name or-

He hums that song. I hear the noises from above and look at the blonde northern guy handing me a sandwich.

“Hi, Jamie.” And I think I wake up as I say that to him.

I roll over.

I think I should bang him. The thought comes with his leather gloves which slide with the sandwich as he holds my nose and feeds me. I close my eyes for a second as tension seems to be stuck and I wonder what happened to the passenger and what should I do instead of just biting. I open -

They isolated themselves during th- band?

I close my eyes and I let the left overs of the sandwich just lie in the guy’s palm. He squeezes the sandwich, oh, so softly and wraps his mouth around the bread, gives it a suck, fingers over the bread back and forth.

I look at him as the plane slowly starts to shake.

I watch him for a while and then he takes two fingers, puts them in my mouth and stretches out my lips so that they ache and he can see my tongue. I show him my tongue.

He sucks his finger and goes with one hand in his underwear.

Maybe it’s because you don’t really stick your hands into strangers.

There is something about that moment when you think you see death.

Maybe that had been the first time I had seen Pete leaning across the seat in which the northern man should have been, looking bored at everyone, starting to smoke a joint as the air seemed to go darker and Pete’s joint lighter and I think the swedish guy came when I had caught Pete’s eye.

I saw him stand up and walk easily towards me, sitting past the swedish guy enjoying cum on his fingers.

Pete smiled at me.

“I think you’d look good with facial hair.” He said laughing slightly and he smoked the rest of the joint.

Meg keeps looking at me as I clean up with the memories and no connection to this place or Meg, maybe I hadn’t been with Alison, but then where would she come from? So I just wonder if I would look up I would see Pete with his hat and maybe with a joint. Maybe it were drugs or maybe I had to take drugs to simply come back to reality? What was it that I actually had to do?

So as soon as I clean up everything we leave and Meg just looks around and the sky seems to be a bit cleaner than usual. Did we even have stars in the first place? I don’t think so. Maybe we are on a holiday which Pete shall never tell us or maybe he just forgot to switch off the dim lights so that we would all sleep.

I once had the thought that what if he were Father Time as I just flicked through different random characters in my head, but then would he be with a joint?

Maybe the joint would be the hourglass, we’re not exactly all sane here, are we?

What if this is all a joint and Alison had fallen asleep in my arms and then there was no Jamie yet in her life.

I open the door and I wonder if I would ever see Jamie until the joint would end and what would it mean? Would it mean both of us going back to silent random wars like who would guess the colour of the weatherman’s t-shirt and we would try to match it with some small path of clothing and we would feel shadows behind us about to grasp us and we wouldn’t see anything a random paranoia would just collapse out of the blue.

I wonder what if we could gather everyone and just smoke Pete’s joint all of us in a row, maybe Jamie and me, fuck, why not?

Maybe it wasn’t that obvious when I saw him knocking on the door the next day, Meg opening the door and him carrying the woman to the kitchen table, dumping her on a seat, her hair long and he gave her a cereal bowl then she glanced at Meg, laughed, pat her head and soon enough Jamie gave her a bowl with cereal and milk.

I just watched them, as he would serve her more with tea and coffee and a salad for an ending as we just stared, maybe she was trying to recall or maybe her mind was in a closet with her head peeking out and her hands were holding the wooden doors.

And then she closes the closet and Jamie managed to drill a hole there to peek and talk, but not touch.

Maybe he’d take her out and drag the closet with him, she’d be holding the doors maybe it’s the way it is.

I keep staring at him and her and then I glance at Meg.

What if she’s even younger when we come back to life? What is she doesn’t live at all? What if she is the closet? What if Jamie is married to Meg? I don’t think I am married to Jamie though, I dreamed of breasts once and I believe I saw a ring there unless I was cheating. What if I am woman?

“What the fuck, Jamie?” I don’t ask him what is he doing with my wife, maybe Alison had been outside as she starts to giggle nervously near Jamie and watches me with curiosity and Meg shows no interest after Alison gives her a blank look when she addresses her as mum.

“What?” He asks eating some chunk of bread and slowly chewing it. I wonder how would Jamie looked if he came from the north, maybe he had lured me to death and I wonder if I could press him against the wall even if his fingers are around Alison’s earlobe, stroking it.

Maybe I am a whorehouse and these people live within me.

Maybe

Well, I think I do exist, so in my mind I press Jamie harder against the wall, I think we do exist, since we are here, so therefor we are something. Like a stick.

And maybe we all shove it up someone’s ass, maybe we are all a stick.

Maybe we are all a cock in a gay bar, a real flesh cock saying hi to all the gay men.

Maybe we are Pete’s joint or Pete but then I’d be smoking a joint too instead of wondering what would the joint do if we would steal a few from Pete most likely be lying dead and laughing as everything would seem even more funny and I’d feel like helium.

Maybe Pete is the one who is helium after all maybe we all breathed in too much, but then what the fuck can happen from helium anyway, maybe we are the balloon?

I wonder how will they look when they are old.

Alison and Jamie.

And I guess I would want to die with that thought, at least now, about Alison, so I just close my eyes and wonder where did all the food I mention come from.

We all need to die, but I don’t think we will, no matter how much I had shot people or Jamie had sliced them open, they would just not die, they would lie there, not breathing, not moving but alive, if to thin of it, their temperature would just go higher and higher and Jamie would tell me to shrug it off.

Me and Jamie decided to keep checking on this guy we killed, somewhere in his forties, when we had just to see our forty, I don’t even count my age and when me and Jamie felt like it could’ve been a birthday we congratulate both of us, just in case it might be the other’s birthday.

The man was gone and a mug with his name was left on the top shelf with all the books taken out of there.

Jamie wouldn’t stop laughing and I just broke the mug, wondering if it would burn the house due to it’s temperature.

It didn’t, it just broke and became warmer and warmer.

We’d check on the shards until we couldn’t even walk up to the them due to the warmth, never get burnt, but to never touch either the fully living or dead, mug or no mug, even if I wouldn’t break or hold in the freezer, the warmth would get stronger and Jamie once ate a shard and we stared at him.

I think I kissed him.

I think I made out with him.
I think I went inside.

I think it felt good.

Maybe we should pin it down.

Maybe a mug would be a joint.

But then it comes from the dead.

There is something more to this so I look at Jamie who drink milk and throws up, the mug stuck in his now split bottom lip. He starts coughing harder and I just stare at him, not doing anything, wondering if he would die. The shard is impossible to even hold and Jamie’s temperature goes a bit high.

He falls down and I keep staring at him.

Maybe he would die, but he doesn’t.

Jamie just lies there, Alison shifting all over the rooms for a while, as his temperature goes higher the next days.

Then she shifts me.

And I’m stuck with Meg.

I want Jamie to die, so that I would see it.

He doesn’t.

Alison kisses him too much.

Jamie doesn’t die anyway.

So I have the thought of stabbing the fucker away with his own knife, but Alison doesn’t let me and Meg calls me.

She calls me upstairs and she keeps looking at me. I feel that I could trace the knife up and above my head so that I would be blood, maybe then Pete would notice me, maybe then my temperature would be up, so I take the knife and I start from the neck, past the adam’s apple, cutting deeper, nearly going for my eye, keeping my vision, my life won’t be taken away from me, so I try not to lose all my senses and I keep cutting, watching Meg stare at me and then I trace the other side of the knife above her arm, up to her sleeve and cutting it slightly, tearing the edge as blood becomes my sweat and I stare at her.

She has my blood, so I sink the knife in her arm, she doesn’t break eye contact or say anything, so I stick it even deeper so that it would go through her arm.

There is no pain here indeed.

We smile.

Heads against.

Smile.

Smile.

Smile.

Fuck, I want to kiss her, so I stick the knife deeper, so that she wouldn’t feel pain, I stroke her legs, going between for a bit and my tongue is inside her mouth and she kisses as if she knows and it attracts me.

I can’t stop all the thought-

memories

and I gasp.

“Meg-

Maybe

No.

I just open my eyes, she’s here, I’m here

And I think it actually does ache in the end.

Yeah.

It does.

I think.

I believe.

I think.

I get the knife out and I cut off my tongue, but it’s still there.

I can’t lose a sense, can I?

I think so.

Neither can Jamie.

I think he’s shagging her.

Maybe not now.

Maybe not here.

Maybe not there.

Maybe we are a morgue in a helium ballon, wrapped in something to go away and just get the air out. Maybe that’s what life is. We come in a death package so our life should as well, just in the minor case that we might not die after all, but meet the morgue keeper at the rug in the middle of the room with a blade to bring all the pain and make life worth it, because you just can’t be the never knowing tragedy kind.

So he’d stab you.

Alone.

-

I'm sorry for not posting two days and here I am exhausted but so inspired that I wrote even the beginning of the next chapter and I feel guilty for forcing myself to stop. Yes, I love writing and I'd write 'til death and later, fuck, all my life and it was what I am doing apparently.

The northern dude and the plane was a thing which actually happened to me, there was heavy turbulence and the steward was northern and quite good looking which resulted in me being Jack, thinking that Jack would shag him, I think as characters some time and yeah, stuff like that.

Basically, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter of Axe For Cork Extraction and I guess maybe this is the middle, feels like Jack will figure out something soon or maybe not, depends when I will fill the end of this, really.

Thank you very much for the luck and thank you, thank you, thank you.

part 5

Axe For Cork Extraction3

2012-01-10T20:07:00.000-08:00

She wants to eat.

And all we have is Jamie’s people left overs and she had eaten the apples already. I still don’t know why this house is empty so I wonder if I should check if it has some life frozen upstairs. But at first I check all of the cupboards with Meg sitting on a chair her legs dangling and I wonder if I can tie them and I guess I have a fatherly feel about this with her eyes being mine and something Alison deep down her as if I could take it from her throat.

What do I ask her?

How was Alison like?

What did she play with Alison?

Did Alison breast feed her?

And with that I find a plate and I put it in front of her.

“Are we going to eat, dad?” She blinks and looks at me. I look at the bracelets around her hands and I figure I can tie up her hair and I just take a look at her hair and it feels silkier than Alison’s, but Alison would ask me to trim her hair and it would always be crooked and she’d love it so I traced my hands over how would Alison’s or a softer version of mine would feel and I tie her hair into two ponytails.

“I guess. Do you eat people?” Meg laughs slightly, not being sure if it is a joke or not, after all, she was frozen in a house with Alison as well and I can see them playing sea battle just because Meg likes it and Alison looking at the ceiling maybe talking to me in her sleep and waking up at night.

I wonder what caused her death, maybe Jamie had entered once, maybe when I was asleep just to take someone’s liver and then he’d cook it for Pete, maybe that’s why we can leave, we kill or bring the moment closer and give him food.

How does Pete eat?

Does he take a knife and a fork or just use the blade cutting the inside of his mouth as he does it, eating slowly and blood falling onto his body and only holding onto the fabric of his skin and slowly draining out with one life taken from this morgue.

Maybe Alison was eating an apple and Jamie walked in.

I see her eating one of those green apples she liked and she’d always give me a bite, just smiling and eating the rest looking at me and we wouldn’t kiss for a bit and then give a brief one, just nervous as if we had just started dating and maybe because back then we never knew we’d have a child and because not much words were spoken there never was the question if the vows we want to say will be forever or even spoken.

So I guess Jamie and Alison would just stare at each other for a bit and Meg would stare.

“Did you ever see Jamie?” I ask Meg and she just shrugs.

Maybe because the thought happens everything happens. It’s opposite in a morgue. Only in this one it’s too expensive to have your own drawer and it’s more fun until to wait to get the autopsy.

I take out some lungs and I put them on the frying pan, knowing that no Jamie means no food as well. I found some hearts and some stomach but they seemed to symbolic and I hoped that the lungs wouldn’t belong to a smoker but they seemed pink enough if they are supposed to be pink enough.

I closed my eyes wondering if Jamie tried the organs he takes out.

Maybe he did kill her after all.

Basically Jamie knocked on the door as usual, opening the door to see the little girl saying a greeting to him silently and he nodded, the knife in his back pocket and he could’ve cut out her ear and then stare at her bleed until Pete would come and Pete would just insert the blade inside her, but instead the man just sat opposite of her.

Maybe he would wait for Pete and be nervous about it in the mean time, maybe if he would smoke tobacco it would attract someone and it does.

He raises his eyes to look at the woman walk in in rather tight clothing and some leopard sweater unbuttoned and a t-shirt under it, it seems to be white and she just looks at known to the girl man.There is no apple and she just looks at him for quite a while.

“Jamie?” He should take out a liver or an ear, so he just takes out the knife, but doesn’t show it, just not yet, instead he moves from side to side.

“Tell her to go up.” And Alison takes the little girl into the kitchen after a few exchanged looks, unbuttons her shirt and sits down opposite Jamie who just closes her eyes and his head falls softly on her shoulder. Alison just sits there as he pulls the left sleeve of the button up to just rest on her shirt.

“Jamie?” She asks again, but he doesn’t say anything, the knife taken out and he presses it against her jeans.

Yeah, a light tension should work is his only though and his other hand goes to her chest and he just swallows slightly, his eyes closed and his lips a bit from hers.

The knife rips the jeans and brushes the skin.

He sticks his tongue inside her mouth. It feels like sex only once the kiss is gone her knee is cut in half and her head is now resting on his shoulder with the girl in the kitchen.

Maybe he just grabbed the apple from her and flung her against a wall, sex can happen between friends or someone who had tension for so long and your boyfriend might be taken away and I see him slowly taking off her clothes even if she hesitates.

I give Meg the lungs and she doesn’t do anything to them, it is like eating a dog, you imagine it wiggling in front of you, so she imagines the person breathing in front of her.

I slap myself from comparing a dog to myself and I take a lung and stick it in my mouth to which Meg’s eyes widen and I gag.

I swallow half and the other half goes on the table and Meg just gives me more silence.

“Yeah.” And I throw the plate with the lungs, the nice one and the half of a chewed one and they both decorate the bin’s emptiness with such effect that I stick the bin in the bathroom and wonder if I should just open any house and leave the bin there to be a discussion for weeks as after I shoot people, a policy, you walk in, you shoot, before they actually do die from Pete’s thoughts.

-

I was requested a third point of view for this chapter by an anon:) So there you have it, the one about Jamie visiting Alison and most likely there will be a few more:) Not breaking the secrets which I may or not hold.

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

part 4

Axe For Cork Extraction2

2012-01-09T18:55:00.001-08:00

Pete stared at me and Jamie for a bit the girl looking up at the ceiling maybe at the lack of cracks and how the wall-paper started peeling off at the top edges as if she could just stand up on her tiptoes and rip it off with her fingers.

I wonder if she would put it in her hair or if she would stuff it in her mouth.

Jamie shakes Pete’s hand, maybe for not really stealing anything besides his wife, but it doesn’t seem major, he has hands, so he just shrugs it off, sulks a bit as I unwrap her slowly, taking off the paper and seems like Christmas after all even if we hid the plastic tree we had and Jamie had walked around the house with Christmas lights as a scarf dancing around with Kate.

“What’s your name?” I ask the girl looking at her soft polka dot sweater and jeans slightly ripped on the end of the right even if I could see her name.

“Meg. Mum used to read me stories, she said Meg fits me.” She smiled and I just leaned my head closer to her fabric, all the wrappers around and it felt like it were an explosion of a condom, well, it was really, so I just sat in front of her, wondering how long would it get to get back home, wherever it was, maybe I had to take the boat.

Sometimes after Jamie had done bacon and Kate would refuse, I’d swirl it onto a fork and just look at it looking a bit up to see a red headed women, maybe dyed hair and a different room and she’d press her palm against my cheek and in one exhale the air would make the room fall and I’d have Jamie eating straight from the frying pan some fish which would be done for himself and smeared with ketchup.

And he licks the pan causing me to shiver and then I wake up, I’ve been having too much daydreams lately from just looking at something and I see myself holding Meg’s sweater.

“What’s your name?” I guess the word dad slipped through her ability to speak many many years ago and I could picture Alison throwing her up as Meg would close her eyes and I just stared at Meg. I wondered in which house was Alison locked in the end and why I was chosen with Jamie out of all people, maybe it was due to the fact that it would just be more entertaining.

I guess dad doesn’t really works and the eye colour can be mismatched if you put the light in her eyes.

“Jack.” I just say even if she heard all of Pete’s words and I just see Pete whispering things into Jamie’s ear as he plays with his hair listening and I look at his tight jeans and I just go back and forth threw Meg’s body. I press myself against her. Maybe she did see Alison and I just look back at Pete and he looks back at me, rubbing off the blood off his skin with the blade. I wonder why would even need a blade but he just doesn’t say anything.

“How are the dead?” Jamie asks Pete and I shake slightly wondering if Alison would dancing among their dark brown flowers as her body would slowly dissolve there if I would look too close into the horizon and she’d infinite, she’d forget about home most likely.

Sometimes the household feels too cold and Jamie just stares me.

“Fine. Dancing.” So Alison does dance or for Meg, mum does dance and then Meg does a little dance herself as if trying to prove that she herself can also dance maybe even like the dead, like her mum as she holds hands and smiles too much and I close her mouth, looking at her deep in my head, telling her to fuck off the alive.

I guess I would kiss her through my hand, scared that death would cling to me and Pete would take me to the dead and death would be a dance among those brown flowers, so I cling stronger to Meg, an imagery, a living cell of Alison and she just looks down on me, liking my hair and saying softly and I wonder if Jamie sees an Alison in her or if he does not who does he see as person after all.

“How fun is it?” And I see Jamie grab his coat and Pete presses his blade against the back of Jamie’s neck and rips the coat in half.

“Enough, James.” And it feels weird all of a sudden, just a reminder that death is a druggie it chooses the wrong people to sort into the houses nearest to death just to freak out those who won’t.

Then with the ripped coat Jamie leaves both me and Meg. Pete follows him, the blade going back and forth, keeping me and Meg a rather safe distance from it and I keep watching Jamie who goes faster and faster to the shore.

“Kate’s dead!” I yell but Pete catches up, traces the sharp side of the blade with his fingers and presses it against the waves as they slowly suck his fingers vomiting out a boat which they both board. But then he is heading towards the dead with Pete rowing slowly with his fingers as he slowly drifts to fall asleep and then I just hug Meg tighter and I wonder if he will get Kate back after all.

So I go back with Meg into Pete’s bar. She sits on a stool counting the drawn cloud aloud and saying their colours as I just take out all the money from the till and start counting it, maybe to check that there is something I do not hold and Meg just watches me.

“Can I have an apple?” I shrug and close the till, looking behind myself into the kitchen and the young girl actually does follow me, most likely hungry from the death of her mother and I guess the apearence of her after.

I open a fridge to find two apples in the freezer. She takes one by the leave and rocks it back and forth around her neck, I close my eyes not to feel cold and I feel her fingers on my eyelashes but I say nothing, knowing her height and just kiss her forehead.

“Um, dad, Dad Jack, Jack.” Meg says trying to bite the apple I gave her and then the other two, leaving symmetrical teeth traces so I just say nothing, wondering what would Jamie do with Kate back, I guess just sex as usual with her fiddling with the curtains and rolling all over the bed until I would enter the room and do the bed for her and she would snicker a bit and I would just glance back and she would think I like her with my room being a shrine to Alison thoughts.

And she tastes all those names and I just wonder if Pete would have music here besides the notes he either hums himself or sometimes does something else like banging himself against the plate with his head on the table, maybe also having day dreams it’s something no one really wants to talk about.

Day dreams are the path to home but how do you keep them, how do you hold them and spread them out?

You walk out of the nightmare, so I wait for Pete and I wonder how will he bring Jamie like and if he would be able to walk, the dead shouldn’t be that beautiful, they are the dead after all, I don’t think you can look at a dead person that long anyway, you’ll just press your chin against the chest and cry holding the living cells well at least to the mind’s belief if you’re alive you can make something else live since we produce babies after all after such pleasure even if our coat is a dead material holding all the living blood inside, death keeps up in tact that is why Pete comes to visit.

Pete is our skin, keeping us intact, reminding that soon he’ll get to the core with his blade and the road home is going back to life and the houses will collapse.

-

And here is the second chapter.

I keep liking Pete's role more and more and in the beginning Jack wasn't supposed to see Jamie leave actually, but yeah.

Hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

part 3

Axe For Cork Extraction

2012-01-08T16:57:00.000-08:00

It’s about the cigarette and the lousy second floor which seems to be in numerous rugs, which Jamie had stolen from before.

I knock on his door softly, hearing noises which could lead to birth and I knock harder, knowing that they’re both there.

I knock harder, playing with the rugs underneath me, I look at the dark blue one which patterns which could have been a wave and soon enough the older male open the door and he looks if you would illustrate every age he would be under the bad looking 40s.

The rugs have monsters and I battle them with my feet for a while and I see the bed and just out of curiosity I glance and then lean back.

“Jamie, read this.” And I just shove it in his arms and I think about going down, but I just stay here wondering if the rugs hold holes beneath them and Jamie closes the door behind him, walking out, the robe a gray and the slippers stolen from his wife dark purple. He chews on some mint gum, tilting the newspaper sideways.

“Did you get any shit of this?” He asks me as I hear Kate stand up and open the curtains to the endless night. I guess she’d be naked and wondering if she’s not as flat as the walls or a fridge.

“Fuck no!” I scream at him and then I go to his side to see the structure of the sketch myself and dig my hands deeper into the holes of my pockets. Jamie raises the sketch above his head, tilting his head up and I try to get my hands out of the holes, but keep them there, will use scissors and cut my hands off, Jamie should cook some part of my body anyway, I think he does, most likely when I sleep, stroking my hair softly saying Jackie, as if he were Alison.

I wonder if he stole my bones and replaced them with branches as I had seen him look at me from above, humming, holding the usual small knife he uses with a green beaten up skin handle.

Jamie just closes his eyes and dragging his bathrobe with him goes downstairs to just look outside. I follow him to see the street deserted as usual and how the empty houses look from outside unless you open the door and it feels like Christmas with crackers opening everywhere until Jamie heads up to someone, traces a knife around the neck and takes out some vein and then I shoot and he just laughs and starts humming as we stare at the person starve as we share some food between us or gather on their table with the other relatives dead and we just feast as if we can steal Christmas or any day.

We’d walk out.

Like we do now and Jamie just goes in circles, hands in the robe and I just look up at the sky. Then to the edge, to my right and look at the black hanging abyss and the boat which goes back and forth from the dead and alive, someone had liked Greek mythology, that’s what Jamie told me once when he picked up his guitar with fingers covered in blood, saying that we’ll all end up dragging ourselves from the dead some day.

Jamie sits on the beach, how it darkens and goes more moistures the more you reach it and the sand just dissolves into water. Sometimes the imagery is to strong to describe, so I just close and I wonder if we could anything what would we do, maybe once we should just go on and see where the street actually ends as there is nothing behind the houses.

In a house there is another identical to the rest house only once you enter it is smaller and it is a bar indeed and Jamie can see himself there with an apron and a palette to taste the food he does from all the organs he steals. He doesn’t eat them that much, he just leaves them on the plate, some dream he had and that is where the money comes from which just stays there, filling the tills, falling into the abyss we never count.

Jamie said he actually had a client once, just after he had done cooking-

“You think?” And I look at Jamie just playing with his fingers, most likely thinking if he can do a real cat cradle if he tore out his fingers and then run around like a degenerate showing it to his wife who should say how the fuck will he give him pleasure now.

And we both stand up, Jamie offering a cigarette and we enter the house, Jamie taking a hat with earmuffs and sits in the couch fiddling with the knife.

“Well, he eats the meat every day. I think so.” And he tries to do the cat’s cradle with the smoke and fails so he puts on two pairs of sunglasses, maybe to actually try and dare to look terrifying. I just look at Jamie again kicking the floor and seeing the two barrel sticking out, greeting me and I just charge it near the window, opening it and thinking to yell some sort of war cry, but instead I close it and I see Jamie light the fire place with a lighter and burn his white earmuffs slightly.

“And when were you going to tell me?” Jamie just inhales and takes my unfinished cigarette they’ve become quite rare in our closet which is just as bad as the street.

“I thought you figured.” He coughs with the bough tobacco sticks in his mouth and under his tongue.

“No.” I say throwing my gun in the air and catching it as Jamie decides to mimic my move.

“Well, it couldn’t be Kate or the lads who are stuck in their houses, death doesn’t really eat, at least from what I’ve read.” And he points the knife at the bookshelf with a few books making pyramids on each shelf. Jamie stands up and starts twisting the pyramids and I just watch him from a couch near the door.

I close my eyes.

“So you think it’s Pete?” I coughed and Jamie just nods.

“Yeah, who else can be a degenerate to give us a week expired newspaper with our milk and a sketch of our house as a fire plan where should we ru-”

“All the doors are closed.” I say, leaning back as if my whole body is shaking, wondering if I should ditch the creep and just keep going until I reach something which I have actually seen on the globe as a kid as I had sat with black hair

dark eyes

And then Jamie just runs up.

Kate’s window.

Once we’re there the bed is unmade and a little girl is holding Pete’s hand as he holds a joint with a longer blade than Jamie’s which is a few inches. She looks pre-puberty and we just stare at her and at Pete’s unmade shirt and the blood patches across his skin, his torn hat and he just sits on the bed, taking Jamie’s cigarette’s pressing them against his joint and giving a long breathe in.

“She’s Alison’s and your daughter. Alison’s dead.” Says the druggie, his hand going a bit darker as he holds the girl with all the gift ribbons all over her body and Meg written on the chocolate medallion she holds in her hand and just smiles broadly.

-

This had also been requested by anons on tumblr as Meg/Jack gore filled multi chaptered. There is more to come and yes, romance between Meg and Jack later on.

Aaaand this is the first chapter of Axe For Cork Extraction. The title actually bothered me for a while and I was flirting it with the idea of calling it cork and then I looked up on wikipedia thinking that I may stumble onto something else and I actually did.

The idea didn't come initially as I wanted some sort of locked setting as a school or a hospital which then came up with Jack shooting people and Jamie cutting through flesh and the idea of Meg being Jack's daughter and a few scenes popped in my head.

I hope you will enjoy it!

Part 2

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 2

2012-01-08T15:57:00.000-08:00

She follows me, accusing the assistant that I know her. She takes my sleeve and gives some random cd which I definitely hand and I look her face hidden, rather half of the moon hidden under her black fringe. Do I know her?

I thank her and kiss her cheek, kiss her lips and let her go.

Flashes.

The moon splashes and she follows me backstage, as I never glance at my assistance accusing words, grabbing the girl’s hands as I feel a shiver run back and forth. I realize how uncomfortable I am in the tight clothes so as soon as I am back I strip myself back into my daily attire, glancing at the girl hiding her moon behind the fringe, now a bright red. I take something not black, running a hand through my hair making it messy but then it was. I glance at the scissors near the mirror.

“Can you cut my hair?”

“What?”

“Nada.”

I take several steaks cutting them in half watching them fall, as they tickle my nose. I stare at the dark haired girl stare as how the hair falls. I can’t help but watching at the hurt expression plastered on her light face. She pulls the threads of black lace surrounding her face behind her ears, watching as I cut my hair shorter.

I cut the hay in half as well, taking the bits and pieces into my hand, blowing them against the mirror watching them hit the mirror without a sound in the mute room, as the girl stands up.

She takes her foldable ladder, as my gaze travels towards the lace caught in the ladder. Hair, stardust, still falls from my shoulders as I glance at her, realizing that I know nothing aside the lace stuck in her ladder. I sit on my knees and take it out, looking up at her, waiting for something, waiting for watching her wait.

She glances at everything her eyes can find my skin still pale from the hay scene, bright red gloss now smeared on my chin, as if I had been licking it down, stretching it out for fun.

“Macy.” Pause. I fiddle with her lace skirt. I like it how it matches her black slightly transparent tights and combat boots which seem to be for kicking out teeth, but not today. I look at her in surprise my tongue numb from the constant monologues and flicking the boa behind me, pretending it to a wing or an antenna to lure the hay, of course. I glance at my fingers with a piece of hay sticking vertically from between my fingers causing a dull pain.

“That’s my name.” “Oh.” I say nothing aside that, expecting her to know my name from the countless press, I keep fiddling with the lace wondering if I ever had to wear any. It looks pretty on a girl, but I wouldn’t want to wear it. I apologize as I shake my head getting loose strands mixed with sour sweat and sweet hay out and into the lace. I yank the hay out, realizing that it may be rough. I do it softer, finding none left nothing but the black ornaments then I look to see a bit of hay on the hem of her purple shirt. I stand up and take it out.

I wonder how it feels to be her, to see me take hay out of her. I look up trying to slice her face to get the expression out and savor it. Is that why I was considered a freak with my eagerness to copy the emotion, to show it the way it should have been?

I stand up and she takes a step back, I hesitate about her age, fiddling with my fingers, wondering, trying to look behind her make-up and fake eyelashes.
“Macy?” She looks back up and I catch the good bye glimpse to her combat boots. There is nothing to struggle, just choose the right emotion, the one which should be inside her, in the scene not breaking the performance, making it in balance and making it natural, like a regular sunny evening after a storm. I glance at the girl’s foldable ladder with the pain lightly damaged on the side which faces me, that I feel if I’ll run my tongue upon it I’ll cut myself.

“What’s the ladder for?”Is it polite, but then there are no borders now, well, not as much as their used to be. I was always amazed by how people eased even after the faintest brush of the opposite person’s lips or maybe even the identical?

Who did people search for? A walking copy then why not carry a big fat mirror with the self, grin widely and declare the new dater, the end of struggling at night, biting the pillows after dreams of having nobody asides from gray old cat curled in a corner because even the fluff thing doesn’t handle it, but then what should the expression be then? I don’t like mirrors.

I wait for Macy’s explication as her eyes run across the mirror and I wonder if she’ll walk up to the reflective glass and kiss it as an act of-

Love.

“Um, just, some, y’know, belief. You have to find the right time or rather wait to get there.” A sign to the ceiling. “Only sometimes I feel like getting there myself what if I’ll get dropped, what if I’ll get sick or what if I’ll see the crack to lure myself inside?” Religious? Where were the onions wrapped around the neck, crosses and prays coming from the lips?

“Like suicide?” Sacrifice?

“No.” Macy shakes her head, tightening her grip on the ladder as it’ll fall and break, like a doll with its head off to be used like a banana lollypop dipped in chocolate for safe keeping from the mice and bees.

“Oh.” It still seemed like suicide to me only the one going to the opposite direction, upwards, upper into something which was once forbidden and now caused fear in my stomach as the possibility of freaking something once holly to ancestors seemed to bother me. Maybe I just played them a lot, memorizing the phrases, the clothes wrapped, the beliefs, living with the lack of electricity to get the feeling and bonding with blood causing some light disease I got yelled at the hospital for. I told them to keep their noses in their jobs and I’ll keep my own in my role studying.

But then maybe the ladder for her is like a staircase to something, something she couldn’t find or doesn’t want. I watch her closer, as it taking her in my palm, closing the other and watching with my Devyn vision, like x-ray only broken and something I was actually born with like a blessing.

Maybe it’s like the small attached microphone as you know that everybody hears the final words, before the scarf is yanked forwards with the rest of the crew as you pray for a safe landing.

And it happens, just because you were a good boy and studied well, to make your parents proud if they ever were. If they ever were ‘kids’ or maybe were too long to never dig into the words and meaning of false, true, sweet lie and sour truth just to make everything collide in the heads, cramped together because there never was the need.

Until you find your son in a haystack on a page of a newspaper to say what disgrace it brought, selling the body to act in front of others who cannot act but enjoy watching people who can, because they, unlike the ones who brought me to this world or rather met me, my fall, from the ladder and shoved me into a cart hiding that glossy staircase along with the ladder down, in case I fail and tend to believe like in the leftover scattered ashes into the wind, which were once hearts or still are but now are stuck in my nostrils or golden lungs as the packet of cigs had a gold cover, hinting that I was smoking pure gold into my lungs to turn into a golden boy before dying foolishly.

On stage, I hope.

To collapse near it, backstage, but there, just there alone with the scent of the fabric coming from the fresh leather and bright fabric chairs, like a candy with a bright colour to attract, thinking that it shall dye your tongue that colour and indeed,

it will.

part 3

Lucky Screams

2012-01-07T15:39:00.000-08:00

It’s amusing how during different periods of life each person has been in a bathtub.

So in theory you can find the right door and open and see any disgusting person, naked, relaxed and with eyes closed up the point that you could stroke their heads.

And there might be a Disney dalmatian with a swim ring like this one which, well, most likely is used for Jack White’s children amusement. I wondered when would it sink and I fiddled with the ring watching my own swim ring around my finger as if it were glowing.

I sunk my head deeper into the water, hearing music turn into mute water as I dug under the fluids of myself and then I just turned sideways, closing my eyes.

I sat up to get a packet of cigarettes and I lit one, my head against the wall.

“You fine?” I heard a voice and I just inhaled slowly, counting my age and wondering how much had I smoked and how come I wouldn’t relax in this walls with the dalmatian swimming through the hills of bubbles and I traced him a path to follow and end up near my chest and I just dunked the little fucker back into the water and he appeared again.

“Yeah.” I replied looking up to see Jack. He sat near the bathtub and dug his hands into the bubbles and I just suggested him either my own cigarette or a new one. He denied to both.

The silence seemed intoxicating so I just hid under the bubbles, blowing out for air and my cigarette held out to burn and not touching it’s secondary killer. Although water wouldn’t be it’s killer it would be something like paralyzing it.

Nothing was spoken about yesterday, except Jack patting me on the head, as if I were the dictator in the bathtub looking all peaceful and I just looked at him.

“See ya, Jamie.” Yeah, let’s not talk about sex and I just finished the cigarette, the bubbles now my smoke and I blew a last smoke ring. I wondered if I could fall asleep in this bathtub, thinking deeper about fate and where would else my cock go, so I poked it with the finger wondering if I tried hard enough could I squeeze my flesh into it?

I wonder how would he greet the mother figure, which was supposed to walk in.

I kept hearing different drawers shuffling and I just closed my eyes, digging softer into the bubbles, wondering how much did my stumble cling against his body yesterday and I just exhaled, wondering how much words could’ve been written if I kept giving out every thought last night and I wondered what would Alison say as I tell her everything by the end of the day, taking that old phone we bought together, sit in the kitchen, as Kate would end up reading something or telling to the daughter and with a smoke I’d tell her.

Maybe I’d tell her that I love her in the end, a typical end to our recent conversations, you just have to keep the tension up, so that when I’ll be on my deathbed, we’ll fuck or not, to just give hell some sparkle to see.

Music seems like a whore house really, before we had groupies now we put them in the band just more often and that’s it. Only I don’t shag my groupie, instead a shag a model and when I’m too high some bloke’s hair reminds me of hers.

When it had grown a bit as she decided to grow it, maybe to stash that kiss of ours and those few dates, when I declared that our music was just going wrong, as we started sleeping and we just stopped it, her hair growing and my clothes going brighter as if well, really, I wasn’t getting shagged, I don’t know.

I slid deeper, Jack still ruffling his drawers and then he ran out of the bedroom, carrying a double barrel pistol and just wonder if he had more dalmatians. I wonder if he could have a bloody whole army of them.

“Jack, what’s with that double barrel?” I ask him and then he just enters the bathroom and I sit up. Then the door bells silences his answer and he hastily presses a kiss against my lips, I’m not high, but I kiss him back, even if his nails are a different shape.

“You’re too complicated.” I yell back, wondering if I could get a deck of cards and just play solitaire on my stomach.

“You’re the one who isn’t banging Alison.” Maybe I’m too high.

“As a matter of fact I did, a few times.” I get out another cigarette and I wait for Meg to join the final scene if there is a gun, it would shoot and well, I think I’ll just hide in my bathtub, so I do, wondering how loud would the voices be.

“Jack”

“Meg”

“Jack”

I wonder if I should yell “Jamie” to show up and then with a towel around me, sticking my fingers where my cock has been yesterday on the second trip and laugh with a mouth wide open instead of holding my palm against my mouth to pretend to be hiding my emotions.

“How did the White Stripes break up go past?” I say out load, feeding the water with my words and I wonder if Meg would be in red and Jack would be in White, still clinging heavily onto her last name which he had gotten and killed in the end something with quid, even if he doesn’t seem too british to me.

Water into my nose.

I cough it out, sitting up and watching Meg enter with two ponytails, maybe I am still high and she looks nice in some dark blue coat and a white sweater underneath, I just nod and cough louder, the dalmatian attacking my arm viciously.

“Oh, hi, Lucky.” And she pets the fucking dalmatian, thank God he is not on my cock, I’ve fucked enough breathing items yesterday, considering that blow job I got from Kate, so I just smile at Meg who looks back at Jack with the shot gun and just staring behind us. Maybe he is high as well and I sink lower.

“Is it Wednesday?” Is the main course to the water as bubbles go there and Meg freaks, grabbing me by the shoulders and lifting me slightly from the water, her sleeves now in water and Jack holds the gun above us.

Then he just smiles.

“You’ve had it in your mouth, Jack.” Meg says, maybe recalling the imagery when she opened the door and Jack was standing on his knees, eyes closed, gun in mouth, trying to swallow the thing, I wondered what was the imagery in his head, how phallic the imagery was and if I should have dug the gun deeper pulling his hair with my hands.

“And now i-it’s on your back.” And I wonder how they looked at sixteen even if I have seen photos and I can still see Jack maybe in a hand made Led Zeppelin t-shirt and Meg in same looking style clothes and she would look just like Meg White, really, maybe with some candy scattered everywhere, well, that’s how imagined her household until I walked in to be surprised really, but I asked for candy anyway just to soothe that I imagined it right, closing my eyes and then opening to get a cigarette.

“What happened?” And she just looks a bit lost, mislead, but beautiful at both me and the dalmatian and the dalmatian just clings on to the waves and going slowly to the plug which I have yanked out with my fingers. I lift myself up, revealing myself, Meg quickly fixing her gaze on a spot.

“Sorry, sorry, just fixing the fucking plug.” And I do, my fingers shaking slightly as our teenage motherly figure gets hugged by Jack and I just wonder if I should let all the water pour out.

Maybe everyone is heterosexual after all or maybe it’s just me and Jack who kisses her neck as Meg eases, but the pistol is still held firmly in his hand.

I pull the plug out, Lucky swimming backwards again from me, but closer to the abyss and I wonder if I should follow him, but I keep myself there as Meg just watches me silently.

I wonder if when they undress I should start wanking to make it look like a threesome, just shrug myself to Kate and tell Alison everything under some smoke and I think that it should be best, so I wait for the water to drain, waiting for Jack and instead I see him loading the gun, so I put the plug back.

People are curious for murders.

“What happened, Jack?”

And then I just keep looking at both of them, Jack divorced, Meg married, both with children and me as well, with an audience of a dog and a bloke. I wonder how much more will Meg repeat the question and I just cling onto Lucky, the dog.

I wonder if I should close his eyes along with my own as the gun is between both me and Meg.

I wonder to whose death would I be talking to.

And there is a shot.

And the water goes out.

The coat falls down.

The gun falls.

And Lucky screams.

I stand up, rubbing the blood off my face.

I get out, thinking to tell Alison that some people actually do shoot themselves for love.

-

Thank you for waiting this had also been requested by an anon. I hope you'll enjoy it!

The initial idea was Jamie and Jack sleeping then Jack killing Meg because he had cheated on her and then after laying for hours in a bathtub with Icky Thump, the idea of Jamie in a bathtub jumped in with the first few phrases about people in bathtubs.

Lucky was actually a bathtub toy I had before when I was kid, so instead of using a rubber duckie I used Lucky and well, he turned out cut and ended up in the title. He had Lucky written on his collar, actually.

It ended up being a Jamie/Jack/Meg though, but still, hope you liked it, really and thank you.

Feel free to request.

Axe For Cork Extraction

Fanfiction

2012-01-06T16:51:00.001-08:00

Feel free to request for anything and any couple.

The White Stripes:

Lucky Screams (Meg/Jack/a bit of Jamie Hince from The Kills as well) Axe For Cork Extraction (Multi-Chaptered) (Jack/Meg and Jamie/Alison from The Kills) Edinburgh (Jack/Meg) Moonage Daydream (Jack/Meg) Touching Yourself (Jack/Jamie) Open Box (Jack/Alison)

The Dead Weather:

Photo Booth Fanfiction (Alison/Jack) Path (Alison/Jack) Dance, Dance, Dance, We Will Not Be Moved By It (Alison/Jack) The Killer Stripes (Jamie/Alison/Jack) Wild Charms (Alison/Jack) You Know I Look Like Woman (Alison/Jack) 5th February 2012 (Jack/Alison) Let's Not Know What Love Is (Jack/Alison) Touching Yourself (Jack/Jamie)

The Kills:

Stage Scene (Alison/Jamie) Baby Says (Alison/Jamie) Axe For Cork Extraction (Multi-Chaptered) (Mainly Meg White/Jack White from The White Stripes, but contains Jamie/Alison) The Killer Stripes (Jamie/Alison/Jack) Last (Alison/Jamie) And She'd Take Off The Stars (Jamie/Jack/Alison) Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us (Multi-Chaptered Jamie/Alison) Candy Mint Clockwise Mint (Jamie/Alison) Touching Yourself (Jack/Jamie)

Manic Street Preachers:

Today I Would Rather Fall In Love With A Washing Machine Than A Woman (Richey) Adolesence (Richey) She's Suffering (Richey/Nicky) Silencio (Richey/Nicky) Silencio 2 (Richey/Nicky)

Radiohead:

Orange (Thom) Vulgarity (Thom/Michael Stipe from R.E.M.)

Alex Turner Poetry:

Dildo Aaaaandre

Amy Wineshouse:

Amy
Drumroll (Amy Winehouse/Peter Doherty)

Kurt Cobain:

Silver
Please Do Swallow

Dance, Dance, Dance, We Will Not Be Moved By It

2012-01-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

Maybe you should have kids.

Maybe you shouldn’t.

Maybe that’s why I’m staring at Moss’ invisible bump, she’ll surely have another to add to her collection and she’ll have more little bridesmaids, if she decides to remarry Jamie. I remember laughing at her stupid idea and he just shrugged.

Maybe age is a barrier after all.

I looked across the table, wondering why were we all drinking tea and how come the spoons seemed to look as if they were teeth and we could stick them under our tongues and cheeks, so that we wouldn’t speak.

I lit a cigarette.

Yesterday I got told that I looked like Hayley Williams and I just dyed it more, a more intense pink.

Maybe it were because all the older men were fleeing away from me, maybe that is why I tried to look younger and yell into the microphone.

Maybe it was some dumb protest against all the marriages and break-ups. I looked at how cheerful everything seemed to look with the cake and the children and the cake and the invisible bump and I wondered if Karen would ever be pregnant again.

I remember my first time without a condom and it amused me how I slipped, but there was no baby, unless I had forgotten how hugging my pregnant and dead to my surroundings baby felt like.

I wondered why would creation matter and how much joy would sex bring and children. Do they bring joy?

I guess they do, so I just glanced at the recently divorced man and I wondered if I could just walk over, take off his shirt, trace his body with my tongue and just sit as if it were pornography, some fake orgy and everyone would start clapping at the rhythm held by his thrusts.

I was in a hotel and the noises of neighbors kept me up all the time and once the man screamed and I wondered if he were the one to be fucked by the girl how would it feel and how would it be to me either be inside Jack or even Kate.

I wondered if I should have married prince William. Middleton is too ugly and well, she looks like drugs could save her life instead of a fucking pole.

There are too many people I would give drugs to, sometimes I wondered if I could just give them out as candy, maybe even lie on the stage and watch teenager hands grab them, maybe I should be naked so that I would get some satisfaction.

Maybe someone would slip a finger inside.

Let it be a girl.

But then if I fated there would be someone anyway. It’s one thing when you are ten years younger and you giggle at your band mate.

I look at Jack again, everything seems forced and I wonder how would our babies actually look like and with what would I feed them if they would play guitar or drums or bass.

I wonder when would this tea party be over and if I could get more cookies but instead I just sit up, smile and leave to the balcony, as if I am thinking of just speaking to Jack in his own house and I just sit on the balcony, press myself against the wall and start slowly smoking, burning the tip by the very end of the flame and watching, wondering if I should make my hair more pink or increase my breasts, show up in a plaid skirt and show my vagina to everyone on stage.

The band is my amusement of watching a man I didn’t get because I giggle too much and Kate Moss gave a blow job.

Maybe I should have stood on my knees again after that night we had shagged, right after he had told me to shrug it off, just pulled down his zip, the taste of his cock still fresh in my mind and held the sperm in my mouth to later produce a Mosshart Hince with the modern age of technology.

Maybe I should’ve spread out my legs or rode him when he were drunk. Maybe I should still do, he gets drunk, he gets high and then what? I’ll get a slap from Kate and I’ll be culprit because it would be my fault even if Jamie would lift up a finger to stroke my nipples. He would do it softly and then get his finger back to his mouth as if my breasts would be as soaked as my clit.

I just raised my fingers to my eyes, not praying, but to rub off the tears I’d get in my head, there would be none.

I watched Karen move around, raising where would I be. Then I would just go from the curtains, raise my hands and pretend that I am a monster. I roared and Karen saw me as a child, asking me if I had wanted to bath and Jack would be with the kids.

I ended up with a soap bath, looking at Karen, wondering if I could touch her, she had something if Jack had touched her just as he would his guitar, so when she left I pressed my legs against the wall and slid down.

Drowning.

And I’d see Jamie shuffling cards in front of Jack, naked, both of them erect and cards covering them.

My hair is like a pink fog covering me from the world. I move my hands and raise myself, as it sticks closer to me, candy floss. I could’ve eaten it if I were high, but when you’re not the world is gloomy and reminds The Trial, useless.

I keep tracing it on my head, making curls out of my hair and once the door opens with the curls I wanted to gain with my pink hair, I switch sides, my legs still hanging out of the tub and I raise myself slightly, exposing myself and then back into the water.

My head sometimes rises from the bubbles, as if I were a dead monster on it’s waves and bubbles and I just keep looking.

I wonder if he would keep here or be left smoking in a hotel, but most likely he’ll fall asleep in the shrine to the White children and I just stare at him as he most likely doesn’t wonder why my nails aren’t dyed like his ex-wife’s.

Instead he just sits and looks at me, not saying anything and I wonder if it would have been an old movie we would have been smoking or if it were some sort of sexual advertisement where cigarettes are used as dildos.

And then I wonder how would his tongue feel like and I just go back under water and I wonder if he would go under me.

That is the problem, even if there might be something hidden under the box, none of us would open the lid.

We would just peek in to look at the lid and maybe trace fingers on it, both of us from different sides of the box and then maybe if I would lock eyes hard enough and pout in my head, maybe then he would kiss me.

Maybe the point is that you don’t mind after all.

Maybe that’s why I wait until he is close and I hold the edges of the bathtub myself, looking at the dark skies near me.

Maybe that’s why I pull him close and we make out for a while.

There is no dialogue for a while, besides tongues and thoughts and my hand under his shirt and my hair pulled up, his whole body collapsing into the water and the bubbles surrounding the towels on the floor and how I stick my tongue deeper and how the clothes are now his skin and if I could I would bite my way through it and scrap it all off with a spoon getting to the eatable bits.

And then I pull off the second skin and I see his children and his beloved wife and maybe even now they would be clapping as he just gets hold of me because the divorce is on the hold, did he divorce yet or is it just a decision, but it doesn’t matter.

I trust him, so I stick my hand lower, stroking, licking his neck, as he nuzzles my hair. And it goes through and he gets closer and I don’t want to speak as it feels like the water is gone and like we’ve pulled the plug down, so we both stand up, his jeans long gone and he is left in the boxers.

Jack hands me a towel.

I look at him.

We go outside in bathrobes and I hope not be a fucking Yoko and that he has truly broken up with Karen, but unlike a fucking kitchen we just go outside for a smoke.

-

This was requested by an anon on tumblr and then supported by an anon. Thank you both of you, as I guess I like a challenge and I do indeed enjoy writing fan fiction from while to while.

It was written in three breaks, the first nearly straight ending with Alison in the bathtub as I wanted to think about how would Jack join in, the thought of them smoking on a balcony already there and then another before the ending as I just relaxed and then wrote the last lines.

I had a struggle with the title, thinking how to call it as sometimes it so happens that I have the title before the story.

I had DNA by The Kills in my head and I just mixed the lyrics, thinking for a bit as I wanted to keep the Dance, Dance, Dance but if I left it it would scream to much Murakami to me, as I either enjoy or can't pick up Murakami. I guess my favorite work of his would be Sputnik Sweetheart which I read in a day.

Basically, I'm more free now and feel free to request as I enjoy I guess getting a task and I guess even later on I'll be able to at least do a short request once a week and don't be shy, I'll just be thrilled to do it and will even wait for more.

I hope you liked it.

The Killer Stripes

Lucky

2012-01-04T19:18:00.000-08:00

Thrust forward

And open your eyes to scream

It’s not about the pain but about the imagery

And with a stoke the teeth are gone

And memories mix

And the concentration

Seems desperate to linger in

But everything is in the hips

Pressed against the floor

And the thrusts into the mouth

It’s nervous

Knowing that a door can be unlocked

Anything can be taken

When another mouth is on your cock

And the sucking increases

And the noises are getting louder than the music

The borders broken

Hands stroking the body

And his cock just as hard as yours

I keep stroking his hair

He keeps booming

Eyes tight

Fingers cletching my skin

As if he might come

From the lone imagery

Of something sacred

Something distant

And the corridor

With the piano

Are blurred

With the doors far

And

No silence is heard

Besides a quick gag

And my deeper shove into his mouth

And semen covers the floor

As he apologizes for spitting

And his own mess and

We stare

We exit the room, I keep following him and he doesn’t look back for a while, until he stops and collapses outside, in front of the stage and looks up on the chandelier, cheeks sometimes giving him out, but I don’t really say anything as well, I just look lower as if I could sink my head under the floorboards and sing.

Then his hands go in between where my shoulderblades are and I look at him.

He smiles.

He should taste like my cum, I think, so I quickly press my lips against him and pull back, he does indeed taste like me. He looks too worried and I just press him lower, onto the floor.

I start taking his neck in my hands, stroking as we remain silent even if I know that most likely his lips wanted to mutter out the idea of us making tattoos, not matching, too much similiarities then, instead two between the shoulderblades for us to stare and stroke at the same time, maybe then when we would be pinned in the shower or in front a mirror, one hand on cock ours or not and the other between the shoulderbaldes stroking the area, making it sensitive from thought.

And I take his back and his arms just fall on the floor, his head firmly against my shoulder, eyes closed, as in it would be sleep, it wouln’t be calm sleep, he’d get haunted or maybe nightmares or maybe I would be above, naked, cock erect and I would tear it off and start fucking his ass with it, as if it were a pink real dildo.

I wonder if people actually do take real dicks and convert them and then my dead skin would go inside, maybe it would peel off, my skin, revealing the trickling blood with the stuck sperm and the nerves would disslove and he would enjoy it, feeling myself soften, knowing that I came and he would open his eyes to pray and beg.

I wonder what would he do, if I would dissolve, but then everyone has the thought, so I close my mind and I strip his clothing.

I wonder if ballerinas will jump in now and how the teacher would tell them to continue rehearsing as his screams would be the music and I see the small little girls I should touch myself, which I should bend over and the pink insides which are a nostalgia of birth, they all sit on fours and crawl all over, in a circle, faster and faster, growing, the teacher a candle which melts and looks like a massive phallic sculpture to praise death and blood, the women’s blood during birth or sex, do they bleed after all?

Or maybe plain menstruation and how dogs run after a bleeding bitch, were it a dog or a woman wounded from her own stupidity, maybe I had shot her, running and everything would seem like a dream, everything repeating like the room with the piano.

Where had I seen it after all?

Had I walked through it?

Had I been alone?

Had I pressed him against the wall with me and thrust into his open mouth and eyes as they would close with every thrust.

“It’s time to be in.” And I just spread out his buttcheaks, I think of tilting his over as the girls start to touch themselves and I think we are the ones who are spinning and I should be wearing a black condom, putting it on, tearing the cover with my teeth, slapping his butt and slipping inside from the candy lube we’d bought, but I don’t I just slide in and ride, in and out, scream, in and out, eyes closed.

And then his hands are spread out on the floor and maybe the girls would clap and lick their tongues, maybe no one would stare at all, maybe blood would fall on the floor, maybe all themes are gone and I had fucked him in the ass already, maybe I had met my orgasm, so I just slide out and look up to count the stars on the daylight on the ceiling and the noticed above chandelier.

I wonder how many cuts would I achive in the end if it would fall upon me and what would I do, but instead I take out a cigarette which feels like I ahve taken from the girls before as they folded it in front of me as if it ahd been a joint or maybe it is a plain combination of vanilla and tabacco so my tongue would not be a stamp and cling into the walls as the fire alarm would sound and he’d fled.

It’s not about burning the floor down, it’s about watching the candle burn down and giving it a fellatio, watching my cheeks slowly hold onto the flame and how the girls would hallucinate of me touching myself due to the puberty slowly creeping onto and they would be all pregnant and gratefull with the thirteen year old pregnant tummies and how they would all split the rivals’ stomach so that the flesh would not be born and how they would scrap it off with a Milky Way Bar and all die, holding hands and bobbing their heads as if Lithium would be playing and my hair would go blonde.

I inhale with my face on fire, slowly going to eyes and taking my vision, as the water in my fate fights and death just looks at me, never shocked, death knows when you die, so I just stare at death and I expect the cut at the neck, so that my head would roll and my body would live and that would be me, just because fate wants me to fuck more ass, as I would bend over him and lik his ass, sticking my tongue inside him and stroking his balls, his dick.

And then I would watch myself dissolve, maybe the chandelier would fall upon my head, cracking it into two parts for each one for me to hold in my eyes, I do not have the imagery besides the fire I see behind my eyelids or maybe in front my eyes I burnt but I see.

I open my mouth.

I boom the candle.

It hits the back of my throat, travelling to my lungs. I cough out onto my hands, holdning them near the candles and soon fire is my floor and cloth.

I wipe my sweat with my crispy fingers, sticking them to be left in already dug out by the fellatio holes.

And then maybe I’d play, burning, something, maybe a piano.

So I wobble back into the room, I don’t know but I feel so I press my nose depepr into the keys to hear a sound and I close my eyes, softly as I feel them being held softly, as my hair sweps the floor now and every eyelash is a burst for the wood to burn and I slowly start falling off the keys and the rug is around me, so I wrap myself with it and I feel darkness stroke me as if it were a towel and the crust is taken off my face, my muscles, my bones and the rug is left alone.

I love you

-

'I want to write a gay sex scene under Helter Skelter by The Beatles'. That was the initial idea and I didn't really care if it would end up as prose or poetry and ended up as both, really.

Among the song list I recall Radiohead and The Cure's Pornography.

I remember that I was either asked or told that it was something like a feeling or an orgasm, so really the story ended being an orgasm. That's where the I love you at the end comes from.

The room with piano or backstage, it came in my mind and I couldn't understand where I had the image from, I roughly linked where most likely or rather the time period when I saw it, but still, fuck, no connection where and how. Maybe I dreamt it or something I've seen as a child.

It's Lucky because my subconscious spat it out and maybe it holds a reference to Lucky by Radiohead somewhere, otherwise my sanity holds no connections.

I listen to music to mute my sanity, when I write or if I write without music, I'm too tired or my sanity shot itself or gave up.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 1

2012-01-02T06:41:00.000-08:00

It all starts with performance.

It all ends with performance.

Several minutes until the stage is ready and everything and everybody goes around like flies around your face mostly, because that’s what people are told to look at, but in reality it’s not. I look down with my mouth opened as the gloss is applied onto my lips. I look at the scene costume which is not different from yesterdays and tomorrows.

Is that what we got told?

The face.

The performance when in reality it just collides slightly with the horrible truth. But then why is it always horrible? It’s not like I have to always wear a feather boa and a cigarette between the lips as you cough to the side and sit on the chair as the audience ignores the speaking actor and all devilishly stare at you, as you exit the scene, holding the cough in the red throat.

Coughs escape my throat as I bend in two, the assistants running around like flies giving me pills, ranting on the director and scenarist.

They strip me like a doll into the next costume, as I feel the need for a smoke after three in a row. Eventually I grab one from a supporting actor and regret the action as I cough heavier. I end up in the tight black clothes which feel like a second skin. I follow the assistant as we head down the staircase into a corridor which is known. I scratch my hand eager to rub off the synthetic fabric which feels like glue. I open my mouth to gasp fragments of air as my scene is soon and we’re running, running, running faster and faster until I get pulled up into the middle of the audience.

I shift myself into position the hay digging into my back like knives, like it’s suppose to and I stir, improvising. There is no guideline of how I should stir in the platform filled with hay, resembling a flat haystack.

I open my eyes to see the viewers look back, forwards, sideways as I am in the middle of the audience like an attraction, like a freak show, only there is no laugh, no pointing, just the hungry stares at my now gone boa and tight clothes. I raise slightly, hay sticking to me like spikes.

I can feel the actors trying to get the scene right, for the words to fit, but it’s like music in a video, no one listens to it mesmerized by the scene. I open my mouth as if to say something, as the words are muted by the audience’s stares. I look further, past the viewers, to see smiling glances, teeth biting the lips, not each others like I’m supposed to imagine.

A horrible screech takes over the ears and I plunge downwards, never raising my head, smiling as the hay kisses me back, our love mutual with the jealous claps from the devilish audience which would stick money to my body if allowed.

I got told that life should be like a dream with weird happenings in it and leaving a weird fuzzy feeling inside with a smile creeping up as you die. Once that is gone, you have to get yourself a ladder and climb up, until everything is gone and the dream is back.

No, no, something-

The words get interrupted in the play, as my chin gets yanked and I’m lured into a kiss, what some call the kiss of life which changes my character completely making two parallel reactions the one he eases into and the one he doesn’t. In one he dies, going insane searching for some silver ladder he can’t find and gets blamed for it. On the other he forgets all about it and lives a happy life with his life partner, an energetic girl, who plays depressive suicidal maniacs as her eyes sparkle.

Knowing that I wait for her to lurch at me.

I hate playing different plays with same actors, because once I play something with one, that’s it you’re whoever you were in my eyes.

But ironically, I like playing different, but I’m still in the haystack after several years with more viewers until the amount of audience cannot be held that I swear that there are chairs stuck on the walls at a higher price.

I die.

In the play and the audience explodes, as I rise and leave, judging stares until a girl stops in front of me. She’s nearly what- two heads shorter than me?
Soon enough a journalist bangs her way through the crowd, grabbing hold of her falling glasses, putting them among her pink face, as a notebook lays in her hand. She’s shorter as well, but is twice my size even with my long legs. Her legs seem hairy and she looks like a fly.

“You look like a fly.” I say stretching out my arm, which is longer than it’s suppose to be, as it might stroke her cheek, going deeper, inhaling the skin, letting it shred apart, giving a touch of something to the scene, to shake her trembling fingers. I wonder what will she earn from the interview in front of my yelling assistants and rare photos of me near the hay and hay caught in my hair as I shake it and one hits her face, she touches it like a holly place. I want to blow some in her face, but I have nothing besides the carbon coming from my lungs reeking with the smoke which ran around in my mouth a scene ago.

I look at the girl again, a ladder in hand, how did they let it in with her?

Inhale.

-

This came to me in a dream, it had a lot of scenes and really, just the relevant was left for DHWRMPA (sounds complicated) which would be the actor in hay and a girl walking up towards him in the end. In the dream it had been Jonny Greenwood or something who resembled him at least, that is where the appearance comes from really and Devyn well, not to spill, it was hard to end his parts in this story that's why the second part comes and initially it was supposed to be three one-shots from Jaidem's, Devyn's and the girl's point of view (trying not to spoil).

It is one of the longests parts in the story, so it is divided and this had been part 1.

Thank you.

Part 2

We've all danced with death

2011-12-28T14:02:00.000-08:00

Grab a train
Just any train
No, not those which lead to the end
But those which stay in the middle
Which feel as if you’re in an endless circle
As the lights are dim
And the soviet stations barely have any lights
Look at the people
Look at the faces

And feel
Not just the pain
But the desperation of the lack of dreams
Of unity of the souls
And you’ll wonder what are you doing there
As you’ll hear the train
And the stops won’t be noticeable
As the music gets louder

Look at the faces
Their long hair
As they shall all stand in a line
Of death
Waiting for trainers to choose them
Flick their wrists against the walls
As the lights will go off and linger closer
Tearing the soul apart
As the eyes shall remain sitting there right in front of you
Their corpses are chosen
All besides several which just sit waiting
Hunger and lust printed on the faces
They have nothing to say
But they believe in the love you have
In the mobile you hold

And you’ll ease knowing that you know the station
Where you just flee
And the light will be brighter
The skirts shorter
And the eyes will be shielded by the light
You’ve adjusted
But even if you change

You’ll see the trainers, the eyes, the dyed mops
The fingers will trail back and forth upon your body
You’ll forget the homophobia
As you shall become a man and a woman
As a crowd of feathers will fall upon you
The body of yours will be cut open
Turn on the music louder

Ligeti an anthem
It’s a requiem
It’s death
It’s behind you
You pull the hood
To kiss the hole
In the face

Open the eyes

You’re back

You’re in a wagon

Blank

Ease your pain
Hold your wounds
They shall bleed again
As the wagon just shakes and all the figures
Their skin turns into dresses
They dance around
And fall at your feet

STING

STAB

Lick.

You’ve heard that note before
The person holds
As a gun is withdrawn and pulled upon your temple
It’s a dystopia
You’re the figure, the statue which holds a hero
As the eyes go black
And breakfast seems far away
As you gazed out of the window to see
What was life, what you thought was life
With a golfer flung a golf club at your window
You’ve licked the shards
They’ve cut your tongue.

And you’ve screamed
Seeing that you’re blood is blue
As if you’re frozen
And in a fridge

It’s not just a nightmare
It’s the journey of death
As they bury you deep
All the people you’ve known
A kiss of the beloved as a last

And you’re flung in the coffin

Shut.

Watch death go on top of you
Strip you’re clothes down

A knife inside you
A knife as big as your sin
Of choosing death instead of life
You’re desire to never struggle again

Well, pay

SLAP.

Wagon, wagon, wagon

It’s a dance

Down.

Lay down

dance

dance

Sing sing sing sing sing sing sing sing sing

Let the floor fall backwards
Feel scared
Let the beloved kiss
As you shall become a woman and a man

Let death soothe the hands you’ve touched life with
Let death soothe the voice you’ve spoken with
So let death kiss you, love

Lock fingers, hands and body as death steals your life
Your virginity
It’s gonna ache

It’s going to rip you from inside, the knife, your sin

You’ve drank tea

Death gave you tea from a thermos, to wake you up
So that your eyes would see the horror
Death had seen

Soothe, death
Hold death in your arms
The hood now back and now it’s hair
As it thrusts inside

Kiss death gently, with your lips, with all your might
You’d try to break the coffin which shall be death
But all shall flow and shatter as death’s hands would be a cross
For you to hang upon the neck
As the waltz shall be death pulling you by the cross

A sphere
You’re body shall make a sphere
To make death protect it’s fragile self

Look, you scared death,

Death closed it’s thirty eyes
With your fingers
And sucked them gently
As if they were a candy cane of Christmas

Death shall laugh upon you
Death shall watch you as you lay
As your fingers trail it’s jaw line upon which people have cut their shards of skin

You look down
All your skin formed into needles
It’s sharp and it glues onto death’s robe
Slowly building a puzzle of yourself
As your knee is now missing

And death slaps that knee

We’ve met before, you’d say at the wedding
With the pope and funeral
And you’ll kiss the bible for luck
Knowing that the bride behind the door
Which you call, screaming to come
Is death

So you close the door shut
Knowing that your wife shall fling her maternal pain upon you
You shall be the one with the child
As death is to fragile to hold a mortal

Death is so fragile
But then what shall kill death then?

You ask death that in a dance and death just nods
As death takes you
Your clothes in the coffin
The skin, the clothes are needles

As the wagon goes further and death laughs
The laugh sweet as if it was yours at fourty six

Death takes the needle of your lips
And death would dance, slowly, your needles her hands
Death would stick them further
As your ribs would be death’s
And death would become yourself
Dead.

-

It all started off with the fact that I woke up in the night or I had been awake and I heard music from the street, horrible music which sounded like death (which inspired Musica) and while I had been writing 13 is an Utopia I had wanted to write something under the music I had heard and I went deeper trying to find something which resembled and I stumbled onto Ligeti's Requiem.

Now, it is a beautiful piece which you can find and hear now on the blog, as I hope my writing can match it's shattering beauty someday. This poem was written under the requiem as well.

Vacancy

Pearl Gathering

2011-12-26T08:30:00.000-08:00

You get the ability to drift through rooms endless, peeking into the opened up soul to see how the person was.

I felt like the cleaner who takes the corpus as if to see if there is any trail left behind the works of death, nobody ever noticed but if death arrives at a house another happens as close following by a pattern as I glance into the other following chaotic patterns around the city, never stopping, never finding a trace of evidence that something inhuman surrounded the scene of the last grasp to have spit being thrown in the air but never hitting the floor but being grasped as another bead of pearls around the taker’s neck, like a sign of boasting to see how many were freed.

More and more, blue, green, blue, purple it was hideous how people admired colours drenching their lives in one after death, like a message left to picked up.

You can grab just one thing, though.

So with the hands shifted into the front pockets, the eyes searched for something to catch the eye. Nothing ever did, all which was found were photos of people’s faces corrupted by grief as their spirit yelled in the distance for an impossible return of the pearls.

I stopped on the pearl necklace, the beads waiting to be scattered.

I looked around for no hood to be seen.

I did something I never did, feeling a doubt in the back of the throat were the pearl was. It was screaming and denying them. I took them feeling a rush of adrenaline rising in my fingers, urging me to drop it.

But I didn’t, feeling the sweet stares of jealousy to my direction.

“Nobody let you grab anything.” Before I could protest I saw something I have only been giving the glimpse of. It followed the procedure I was told, both resembling bony hands trailing the neck before swallowing themselves into my mouth to grasp a bleak object to join the ones hidden in my palm, but scattering onto the floor due to my constant nagging.

-

And here is, I guess one of my favorite works, if I can call that and I guess Jaidem shall be my favorite creation with his concept.

This is the prologue of Ladder To The Red Moon Gathering, which consists of many parts from different points of view and one-shots related to the story.

I hope you will enjoy it and it is a part of the Papercut universe or rather Papercut is a universe of this. It was written after Papercut and I needed a third female character and one from Papercut was taken and soon the story began forming.

My nano novel finishes the final gaps of the story, making the conclusion of this novel a second plot in the nano novel.

Basically if to look at my works carefully they always touch the subject and thoughts on the concept of Ladder To The Red Moon Gathering. The structure and how it's written is interesting and is a mixture of Papercut and the piano three shot.

Pear Gathering like another part of the story came to me in a dream as I slept in the afternoon and the idea was slightly inspired by Depeche Mode's Home video.

I'll try to shut up and please do enjoy it as much as I do and love it.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 1

Pure

2011-12-22T15:57:00.000-08:00

Everyone has a thirteen year old kid inside, the one with the knife against both throats.
He takes several steps back, the knife cutting the flesh.
He is the one falling for people,
his passion based on countless rumors
blinding out the pure feelings,
as his blood pours down, like a stab in the stomach.
He is the reason for the sudden stop and turn,
as the question why is held, above the banality
and the thoughts lying in the pile of blood,
as the chest gets gripped and falls onto the floor, the inside exposed.
I'm I pure banality?
And then you realise that you're alone
no one to fed the thirteen year old or the hanging upon the door you.

-

This is an old poem, written about a year ago, I guess. On the iPad, actually it has an oddly nice feel when you write and I remember I used to have the volume so that the noise of a typewriter would be there.

I have an obsession with keyboards, I love their feel.

We've all danced with death

Exit

2011-12-17T14:23:00.000-08:00

I followed him, because isn’t that what the female is supposed to do? Follow the male’s lead and shut up? Mason glanced at me and slowed down, opening his mouth several times in order to say something but nothing would come out and he’d curse at himself because of that. I realized where we were going as he took my hand and I could hear my drama teacher’s bald voice replacing or rather placing a new echo not in only against the walls but in my head as Mason took my hand, quickly glancing at me with a light embarrassed glance.

“I never age.” He chuckled, as I thought about his childlike nature, then. “Never ever.” Sad smile watering the tired, drifting with thoughts face as he pushed the door leading to a sandy snow storm as the drama teacher ignored us acting Hamlet to himself. Pretending it like it was a lollypop to the others while it a microphone clenched in his big hands which usually held scripts or pencil to poke people’s eyes out if they knew nothing too much to act, to act, to act, to act. Because life is a scene, a movie as you wait for your Romeo to poison himself so that you’d easily shoot yourself to fall on his body the blood flowing out with the feelings so that he’d be drenched in them, so that he’d wake up with its disease in the afterlife, as we’d believe in something eternal which we mistake to be love.

It felt different to feel snow hit my face in my soothing away as he inhaled, stretching himself, as if something shone in him. A new and fresh smile now intruded his usual tired and thoughtful expression. Mason jumped on the spot for a while as the snow seemed to go on faster and faster nearly forming a whirlwind for a second, that I expect him to lure me closer t him so that he could grab hold of me capturing my dark green with teal, but nothing happened it rose and died as I thought his hair was now a bad dyed red but just for a second. I brushed off the thought as we headed past the cartoon looking woods further into the town.

“Do you feel like Christmas, Bo?” He grinned at me as I felt his hand go warmer and I just felt colder despite the fact that the wind was long gone. The lights seemed to lack the feeling of easiness they held and how they lured me and a distant sharp trace now held in Mason’s eyes. I hardened the grip on the red head’s fingers as my other arm hugged my body in a failing attempt to warm myself.

I didn’t feel like Christmas at all.

He went through the exit door with me, his fingers warming, the snow raising and failing with his mood changes. His fingers trailed circles onto my palm leaving a circulating print that iced my blood as if he was a walking icicle when he wasn’t.

“You s-said-“

The words were stuck on my throat as well as the snowflakes which never melted forming a snowman out of me, unlike Mason who was barely covered. He shook off the snowflakes off my hair, watching me closely. He raised his fingers and I felt a stone up in my throat. His teal eyes focused on the nude pink steak in my hair. He twirled it for a while, pulling my hat further onto my head, covering the stripe from his view. I couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or proud that he caught a glimpse of a secret I held.

“Do you want the crowd to go away? Away? Forever and ever?” He whispered, taking my face in my palms, leaning closer to my shaking state. I couldn’t help but stare and wonder how come my mind was as creative when I usually lacked the creativity and I could only play by the guidelines pushing no further, but then it was the feelings I lacked but needed to feel that I showed.

The crowd was gone.

“Do you want the snow to stop?” Was this a trick as the words were stuck in my mouth?

He took them away with his tongue.

“Y-you kissed me.” He nodded and took the rest, incase I’d raise them.

-

And that's it for Exit.

New novel up next week.

Thank you hope you enjoyed it. Mason and Roberta are a strong couple in my heart.

The initial ending in mind was Roberta meeting Mason's ex, finding out he is dead and having a struggle between Leslie and Mason.

Then as I was posting I had the idea of Mason dying in the Exit, as they all vanish, leaving Roberta behind the door.

But I guess I wanted a happy ending for them, after all.

Glitter

2011-12-08T17:15:00.001-08:00

Wake up
To have your sex filled up

Your blood
Can be sperm
As an orgasm
Where you don’t come
But ends up in my mouth
Fucking up my health
Leukemia at four am.

Pure

Exit. Chapter 21

2011-12-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

001

I’d wake up to see him there, curled besides me his eyes always opened. Marcie never said a word, never greeted him and neither did Mason. I wondered as I’d see Marcie look past him one point I swore I could see her hand going past the dyed red head and he looked at me horrified as if I’d seen it then he’d just sit down on the floor, looking up, but avoiding my gaze. He’d follow me around sometimes never saying anything but then I never asked him to say anything as his hand would feel lighter.

I never asked him anything because I knew he’d follow me, helping me cheat on tests as something heavy hung in the air reminding of some upcoming storm which seemed nowhere to be seen but just felt like Mason.

He fell asleep once just once his eyelids pressed shut, his body forming a ball, hands under chin, rather one and the other stretched out lazily or rather in fear as if it may make contact with me. I glanced at Marcie who slept peacefully, her lips mouthing a guy’s name and other things she’d call him or she’d get called.

“Mason?” I whispered wondering if he slept or was it a trick. He stirred lightly his fingers stretching touching my neck before pulling away.

“Mnn.” He opened one teal eye soon to shut it again, giving a nearly unnoticeable nod, as he gave out a yawn trying to force himself into a half sitting position but his body refused.

“What’s your room number?” I asked it all of a sudden and his eyes flustered open, as he sat up with his bed hair. I sprung up myself as I waited for his answer it didn’t take long but I had to repeat it several times in my head in order to remember it. 207. It seemed to be craved it my head as he pulled me down reminding how important sleep was. He never touched me while he lay beside me but he just watched me, feeling oddness himself. Mason would ask if I preferred him to sleep on the floor, I’d shake my head, pulling him by the sleeve as I’d feel drowsiness take over me.

He was gone one morning. It felt as if the daily things were gone as I’d desire them to come back and annoy me even if they never did. That was the thing how everything went music changed, life changed and so would the weather if to add something banal.

I found him room number to see a tall curly haired guy look at me amused for a while. He invited me in, but I declined. My urge to mute him down was impossible but I held myself.

“Is your roommate Mason?” I did not know Mason’s last name and what if it was a nickname? The curly haired just shook his head but tried his luck again. He said that further down the hall Mason Jones lived that I must’ve gotten the number wrong. I thanked him and declined once more.

Sometimes it really is soothing to walk the empty male corridors because guys are busy or occupied in the girl’s floor. I inhaled the scent but it reminded me nothing of Mason’s as he’d sometimes lay too close to me that I could feel him brushing myself through the distance contaminated by the air. I never dared to touch him then as we’d both nearly jump of the contact as he’d feel going lighter and so did I. After days he’d turn sleepier and fall into a daze quicker than I would then through my closed eyelids I’d see him sleep. There was no comical ‘close the window’ or ‘I need more blanket’.

“Um, hi. Is Mason here?” I asked a guy my height not so appealing, as he scratched his head in confusion, bursting out into a roll of laughter clutching his stomach. As he laughed he exposed his teeth and held his mouth in a rather disturbing open way that I could feel myself go inside that he wouldn’t choke as if he was a vacuum cleaner waiting to suck me in so that I’d never see Mason again so that I’d have no option besides from accepting.

“I’m Mason, love.” He said as he stopped laughing, leaning his body against the frame, shaking his hair out of his eyes. I hugged myself taking a step back with a nod and a quick apologize.

Mason.

He glanced at the Mason impostor and walked off into the empty corridor which seemed to echo big mouth’s irritating laughs.

-

Next up we'll have the last chapter of Exit. Thing with Exit was, halfway I decided to actually read the whole thing and I ended up being a reader rather than a writer for Exit, so Exit remained as I thought unfinished.

Then over the months I started scrapping off things which I kept thinking could have been a continue and well, after some consideration, the initial stop is the end of it, so the next chapter will be the end.

I have a very on and off relation with Exit, as I got scared that I couldn't finnish something I like so much, but maybe it is how it should actually end.

Exit

If I could I'd just make everyone a wander, like Mark Renton predicted the world to be, but hey, love, we're getting there

2011-12-03T19:24:00.000-08:00

I hate the definition of sex
I hate the definition of genders
It’s all because the action contains
A barrier
That the creation
Becomes so fucked
That another person’s cock
Or vagina (preferences)
Becomes a hell to enter/consume

-

Anyone likes the new layout?

Glitter

Exit. Chapter 20

2011-12-01T09:09:00.000-08:00

And-

And-

And-

“FUCK! WE FUCKING DID IT!”

“Maaaason!”

“Oh, shut up!” I say as I see the rest of the team stand near me. But nothing comes out. I stare. I open my mouth, but it remains shut.

“Ma-“

“-son”

“-ck”

I bend in two, trying to open my mouth to-

To breathe?

I look up. I feel my knees touch the grass. My left arm aching dragging me towards the ground. A burning flame in my throat, going down, down, down and reaching my heart as I see blurs, flashes of people hovering above me. One after another they flash their footwear digging into the ground, kicking mud into my face not on purpose.

Never on purpose.

Always on purpose.

I feel the scent of grass, but not the feeling of air.

My eyes stop on converse. At least I think they are.

What?

I can’t breathe as I feel some curtain pulling up my body, my skin detaching from my skeleton as my eyes go dry.

“Don’t die.”

I’m dying.

It comes to me slowly as I stare into the four year old eye’s wondering from where she came from. It doesn’t stop me.

So what?

I have no memories to go in front of my eyes.

I never forgave my mother.

I never loved my stepfather despite all of his efforts and his love.

I never forgave my girlfriend for that fling she had.

I gave us both detentions pressing her back then.

I feel some sound appear around, muting everything. I sit up, not feeling my body but feeling a tingle of desire upon my lips. I stare at her in front of me, seeing another blurry image.

I’m dying. You’re dying, she says.

She looks older. I think she does. I see her hair black now-shoulder length, a tuque so low that it nearly covers her eyes. I blink. She’s four years old.

“I love you.” I exhale and lean myself forward, nearly dropping my face into the mud, but managing to press a faint kiss upon her lips.

They both, the image of the seventeen year old Roberta and the real four year old fade out, as the annoying screech takes over my body.

Then I collapse, as it goes inside, tearing me apart, lifting me up.

-

I apologize for the delays, I've been quite busy, since it's my last ever year of school.

Shocking. I guess the thought or the feel is.

It's the last part of Mason and then we'll have the coda. I'll explain everything later.

Chapter 21

Stands

2011-11-24T19:08:00.000-08:00

Would a dream be death?
What would it be?
If you closed your eyes
And forgot
The question upon one’s lips
Which were once.
What is the point?
What would the breaking point be?
What urges a person to just bite a vein,
Instead of playing it?
Some horrifyingly sweet self-abuse,
As you’d take photos of it
To sell them in kiosks
Next to scandals
And ugly ladies
Who people masturbate to.

I’ve flicked through those papers
With a moon shaped wound
On my thumb
I had a chocolate cookie tied to it
Because my dog likes my blood.
Fuck all the dog food.
He never asks for it.
Pat sits in the corner,
Waiting for old wounds to open.
The dog would never soothe.
The dog would just go on.
Licking and scowling
Not touching the flesh.
I agree on the fact that it’s gross
That he’ll never take my meat in his mouth.
He’d just drink,
Perhaps of the example I’ve given.
But the liquid I drink,
Reminds him of the toilet
While blood reminds him
Of life
And the cookies.
The food he eternally misses
It’s disgusting
I’ve tried it
He’s tried it
So did he try from a lady?
Whom we’ve seen at the store yesterday,
Buying milk,
Some chocolate.
Wounds are too easy to see,
They’re just not there.
But the flesh sticks out,
Slightly.
Where there might be blood,
Where the dog would pull.
Exposing the sin,
And the bliss which surrounds it.
Trying to kill
The food we eat.
All of it
Makes us bigger
Lets us grow
In some diagonal direction,
Which doesn’t allow Pat to eat at all,
So I’ve asked him once
He was eating,
The eyes violet,
Like the colour he’d love blood to be
Because he’s read about blue blood,
When we were kids
And Pat had longer hair.
And he laid besides me.
He had been taller
And he stood on two.
He had worn suits
With a bell on his head
Which would sing with every nod.
He told me when I had asked him about death.
What was a dream?
That we resurrected after every single night,
So I asked
Was death a dream?
The dream was a fall
While death was a rise.
You’d become the sun
To sink in a year
And that year you’d dream,
If you’d have enough.
You’d dream
The last dream.
It would be your life.
So I asked Pat
So would life be our last dream?
He nodded, saying perhaps
Being older and taller
He knew the world to me
So I had never known what to do
With his age
He told me water could keep a person alive for days
And the person would need food.
So that day,
When he had laid,
Shirt unbuttoned,
Screaming
Of some dream.

I had fed him the humanity I’d have inside me
He’d ask me what would it be
I’d tell him it would be
And he’d suck gently
To ask for cookies a day later
So that he would lay
Looking so young
A shaver lost
As I had been the one to use it
I’d watch him grow weaker every day
Telling him that this had been the dream
And not the stands with women he’d seen

-

I also wrote this on the course.

If I could I'd just make everyone a wander, like Mark Renton predicted the world to be, but hey, love, we're getting there

Exit. Chapter 19

2011-11-22T20:28:00.001-08:00

It’s a rather odd feeling when you walk away and you realize that the moment is over. I tugged on my tie releasing it from its tight knot, fighting its choking grip on my neck as I walked the hallways trying to think anything at all asides from my mother and her boyfriend. I still remembered how dumb-struck I was when it announced everything. It seemed to surreal for its own good as I could imagine him shoving his tongue down mum’s throat which made me gag.

Ties.

Ties.

Ties.

Was it a cheap technique to lure middle aged widows?

I was doing it for mum nobody else, actually. But then I wasn’t even sure. Soon enough my thoughts invaded my brain erasing off my previous encounter with Bonnie, as I felt myself nervous. Wasn’t it why I was here? I was escaping, wasn’t I? But then what was I escaping life? Technically I wasn’t just escaping my mother’s affair, her marriage, her will to have more children, to have grandchildren, to have another ideal son, since I was even close to perfect. I was being so pathetic dying my hair colours that would have made her mad, pretending to inhale, but spitting it out in seconds due to its bitter taste and the possibility of drugs was simply crossed out. Maybe that was the only thing I was thankful for. I could bring girls in, but that never stopped her and I never was much of a player.

She thought I looked cute in ties.

I sighted, trying to relax. It was just a light argument, I really shouldn’t have gotten us into detention. We could have gotten expelled, but I shrugged it off, realizing that I could do something unacceptable in my last teenage years. Like a small kid I believed that poof, at the age of eighteen I’ll be drinking booze like water, dragging weed or something less harmful and my arms on girl’s skinny shoulders. But as soon as the age grew nearer it seemed less possible. But then did I want to be some sort of womanizer? I guess, it’s just something a feeling that I should be loved, adored by many pretty and never aging women along with myself. It was like an immortal desire of every man, as I had questioned my friends, family members carefully. Everybody seemed to have the fear of death, ageing. Was that why so many took younger partners, like an accessory to make themselves younger. Like a bright banner which seemed to yell out ‘look at me, I can still have sex despite my age’.

Was that it? Was that the meaning of life?

“Can we meet again?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I can be late, mum could suspect something. She says older guys are perverted.”

“I’ll wait for you then.”

I couldn’t object as I saw her in the hallway a few minutes after her big dark green eyes looking at me with interest. The dialog was short, as I tried to convince myself to call her annoying but I simply could not. I just stared at her, at how she tucked the black hair behind her ears, revealing really small hoops which would get bigger with her age.

“Is it a date?” She asked her eyes shining proudly. Had she over watched Hollywood chick flicks? Was this the scenario where I end up with a four year old girl? I sighted, realizing that I could practically adopt her, but the image of my ‘parents’ behind the door gave me a rather bitter taste that I could even tell her to get lost, as she only was a child.

I rubbed my temples.

Was my mother pregnant?

She waited patiently, blinking quickly as if afraid to miss a sudden move of mine.

What were they doing right now?

I glanced at her, the question finally getting to my mind as I began to shake afraid of meeting them. Just a door seemed to divide us and I could feel their intense gaze on me hungrily, eating, devouring me as they hadn’t seen me for months.

“Sure. Whatever.” I snapped, shoving her aside and opening the door, closing it behind me.

My parents saw her.

Crying.

Was she?

I raised a hand in the air and opened the door excusing myself.

She had gone.

I rested my back against the door feeling myself slide. Then I began to shake, as I felt tears trail down my cheeks. She was pregnant. Of course she was. That bastard touched her, but then why shouldn’t he? My mother wasn’t bad looking and what had I expected? Did I think that they played twister, monopoly or video games all the time?

What was I a fool?

A sob emitted from my lips, as my body tensed, shaking heavier with each breath. I heard them fiddling with the doorknob but I had no power to stand up, tell them to fuck off, yell what the hell are they thinking. But then I told them my intentions to leave them forever. But for what? What did I want out of life? What was I going to live on? I considered football, as my coach bragged about me being magnificent.

Football.

I stood up, my body breaking in sobs as I walked onto the back staircase my parents getting lost in the hallways as I walked fast.

Was everybody gone?

Was everybody going to cheer, draw their faces with cheep face paint and snog whenever we’d score or lose?

“Mason, you alright?”

Fuck you.

“Yes.” I rubbed the remains of wet trails upon my cheeks as my coach patted me on the shoulder talking about how I should talk to him about everything and all the shit adults talk about. Is that what the adult life is about? Betraying, marrying, having asshole kids and giving shit advice?

“Mason, Mason!” My mother and the womb. I stare at her as she rubs her hand across my cheek in a according to her motherly instincts soothing touch. She tells me stuff about the stars, about the birds and the bees but I just stare at her feeling the tears come back up to my eyes as I try to keep them inside by sending pulses of pain to my brain by biting my bottom lip. I fail and I break in sobs as my mother hugs me, talking more.

Stars, bees, suns, birds, love, kids, nappies, gag.

She kisses my forehead as my cheeks are too salty and what stepdad wants to taste his own step kid’s tears while kissing his beloved?

Beloved.

Fuck you.

“Good luck, son.” I stare as she goes away and I pull on my shirt, removing the tie, hopefully for the last time.

Chapter 20

Lullaby

2011-11-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

I remember the first time I touched my boyfriend’s cock, he wasn’t even my boyfriend back then. I think we were thirteen then. There was no alcohol, at least it seemed like a stupid idea until we turned fourteen and actually shared a bottle. Cigarettes were out of question along with drugs as we still believed them to be wrong even if there was rumored that someone from our friend’s had tried it.

Then we’d see people touch each other, but we were the first ones among ourselves.

You had brushed me too, softly, sticking your finger where the wetness came from.

I have no idea how we hadn’t kissed then, my hand brushing the tip of your cock, we had both been wet and thirteen.

Afterwards, as we had been playing some game on the playstation, maybe it was Lego Star Wars maybe Soul Calibur, maybe something else. I don’t know, I don’t remember and I told you that I had touched a cock before my first kiss, you had highfived me.

I still wonder how we held then.

How our parents would still let us stay over at each other’s, maybe because we had acted as we still believed guys and girls to have rabies, maybe that’s why our lips didn’t touch and for some reason your cock or my clit didn’t seem as disgusting as it had been yours, but I still feel amazed as we had undressed and just stared at each other’s bodies.

I still wonder how you dragged that condom around.

You shrugged, saying that we agreed on doing condom balloons one day and we had forgotten maybe that’s why they had a weird rainbow colouring.

Maybe that’s why we both laughed, as we tried putting it on, kissing.

Then the world was fake, we still talked the same, we still bought the rainbow condoms, scared to mention anything and then we’d blow a balloon out of it, I would, since you freaked on your come, even if we kissed afterwards.

I remember I wondered if I’d get pregnant, I didn’t, we just shrugged, eating cooked rice with chopsticks for the fuck of it.

You had tried your come anyway, I did as well. It mixes with your spit and it doesn’t matter how it tastes like really.

The point would be that it’s you, really and not the rainbow condoms you’d hang on my brirthday even after I got the pill years later and kids would ask why the fuck were the balloons oily unlike the ones in the rooms we’d hang when we’d be bored, but then where we bored, as we’d share the same tea mug?

More like we always felt like doing something up to the point that we painted clothes on our naked bodies on Halloween and sat like that watching television.

-

The thing is, that above would be considered boring, because there is no struggle.

When in reality, that’s if we could stash our honor, we’d read and create forever.

Joined the taken army a long while ago, thank you.

Dance, Dance, Dance, We Will Not Be Moved By It

Exit. Chapter 18

2011-11-08T17:18:00.000-08:00

02

I adjusted the black tie, so that the knot looked ideal. I looked… weird with the fact that I actually had a match in what? Twenty minutes?

But no, I had to dress properly because according to my stepdad a man looked his best in a tie. I bit my finger staring at my reflection. My other hand was the pocket of my trousers, as the other freed from my nervous bite ran through my unrealistic hair. Why in the name of humanity did I choose a deep red? Because as childish as it may actually seem, I was going against the rules.

I was already wearing a fucking tie anyway.

And a black button-up shirt.

And-

Oh.

Hi.

I tilted my head sideways staring at the small girl in front of me. How old was she? Two? Four? I tapped several fingers against my bottom lip, as she watched me wash my face. Then I glanced at her smiling at me. She looked cute enough, that I wondered why I didn’t have a younger sister.

Because the thought of my mother and my step doing anything made me gag, even if I knew the real cruelty behind life and all that crap about flying storks, cabbages or flying peas. Whatever.

“Hi.” What are you doing in the boy’s bathroom, sweetie? I wanted to ask but held myself as she nodded. I raised an eyebrow, was it her reply?

“Hi.” She replied, as I smirked at how high her voice was, reminding all those kiddy shows or whatever you could catch on TV whenever you’d stay home sick. Before you got into boarding school or when I’d be so sick that I was sent home like some sort of we can’t deal with your son’s illness, so if he’ll die we won’t go to court for not stuffing him with paracetamol until he’d choke.

To death as well.

“What your name, honey?” I leaned closer to her, leaning my palms against my knees as I lowered myself to reach the girl’s eye level.

“Bonnie. My parents call me that. I told them that Bonnie dies in Gone with the Wind, though. But they won’t listen to me.” Pout. I laughed, but then I pressed a palm against my lips muffling my sudden reaction, as her gaze saddened.

“Um. Well, let’s see what I can come up with, sweetheart. Shortened you can be, be, be Bo. Rob. Roberta? No? Jeez, I’m giving you a female version of Smith’s name, since your hair looks like bird’s nest.” I failed the talking to children test. Seriously. No sisters, daughters and sons, brothers. I scratched the back of my head, closing my eyes as I waited for her reaction.

Soon enough I felt small arms throw themselves around me, as I smelt baby powder, daisies and other baby-girly smells which would usually make me gag. Should I put that in my ideal girlfriend list? Smell like daisies? I closed my eyes for a second forgetting about my worries just for a second.

“Bonnie, that’s where you are! I told you not run off. Where’s Ed? Jeremy, not now.” A tall man came inside catching me, in his eyes molesting or harassing his daughter. Great. Apparently, Ed ran past in the corridor, causing Bo’s father to stir and run outside after his son, apparently.

I pulled away from Roberta, rubbing the back of my neck in uneasiness.

“You should go now. Your dad won’t like you hugging older blokes at your age.” What the fuck did I do at four? Press my head against girl’s chests? No. I think I stuck cars in my mouth trying to swallow them hungerly, thinking that they were candy due to their glossy colour.

“Why not?” She stares at me in surprise.

She’ll break quite a number of hearts. I swear. I could sigh for effect, but I have no answer. Then Bonnie turns her head as her name is called out.

“Bye-bye!” She waves.

I wave back at her. Then she stops in her tracks. She hesitates and turns around, as I give out a surprised ‘hm?’

“I like you.”

I am a child molester.

I scratch my head. Nice. I got a confession from a four year old.

“Yeah, me too.” What could I say in such an awkward situation?

With that with a pleased smile, Roberta, grinning, well, I thought that back then, opened the door.

-

Mason's p.o.v. Explains Exit basically. I wanted to write a long explanation, but then, let's keep it this way.

Exit was inspired by this chapter really. If anyone noticed a similarity to Radiohead's High and Dry US version? Yes, that video created a bit of Exit, really.

Chapter 19

Lick

2011-11-01T18:25:00.001-07:00

It’s more like selling kisses, when you see that a person can take one.

I just lean in, as they make their groceries, it’s like an offer I’ve been doing, with people barely recalling my face and each one just getting one, no matter whom they’d be.

Old, young, tall, strong, male,

girl

And her tongue rubs gently into mine and I shiver, the sex being same, as I open my eyes to see hers closed and the black hair like a shower, washing away her eyes, keeping her mouth glued to my own, as I just stare, as I’ve seen Sylvie burn magazines, even Doctor Who ones and then sell them as candles, as she’d sit on the pavement in front of Tesco and do it.

Sometimes I’d look at her and Sylvie would smile, her eyes blue.

Mine she’d call as a needle, the liquid, as if she’d seen green drugs, maybe, I’ve never seen drugs.

Then it is Sylvie’s turn, as she grabs me, I stop feeling chubby for a second, before her tongue clicks with mine and she moans.

I wonder if Sylvie is a lesbian, as I kiss back, thinking who is the girl after all.

I just look as her hands cup my breasts, which would be what, two sizes bigger? And then her tongue rushes, as people drop and pick up Tesco sandwiches.

I am not a whore, I just get paid with God’s clouds for each kiss.

After the kiss Sylvie, just pulls back, my hands apart and hers, but both locked, so I just stare at the black shower and her skinny clothes and I know that I can count each blood cell, as her skin is peach and I feel that I could dig into it, as she’d lay on the covers, pulling my head closer, screaming my name, to lick lick lick harder and faster.

She screams, her clit a mix of my saliva and her cum, it feels good and I keep doing it, as she arches her back and her nipples are the stars for the scene and I shift my own to hers and Sylvie just pulls us closer, kisses my face, adores it and thrusts.

I moan.

Sylvie breaks the kiss and grins at me.

Maybe I am a kissing whore.

Every person is like lime, you need to like lime.

Then Sylvie just walks back onto the pavement and burns a few newspapers, as I watch her, silent, really, nervous.

As I watch the smoke go up and it reminds me of death.

“D’you want to burn one?” I don’t and not just because it has Tennant, but because fire always looked like the devil for me and I just shake my head to which Sylvie, pressed her lips against the letters and lights them, as I sit on the pavement.

“Are you a whore?” Sylvie asks me and I just shrug, saying that I just feel like doing it sometimes.

She doesn’t recall the kiss, but she sees me in my flannel dresses as I wobble from aisle to aisle and I wonder if she actually notices me selling kisses for free, as I glance at her and she just whistles and I look at her nipples, seeing that she has no bra on really.

I wonder where should my conversation with her end, because at least a movie has credits, but then I just get one kiss, so I just stare at Sylvie, kissing one man in the process as she sells one candle-like thing and I just keep on staring, wondering if I could ever kiss her once more.

It’s not the fact that I can’t kiss again, it’s more like a metaphor if people would take my face in their hands and lick my chest without me interfering with my clothes, I’d take it off and I’d wait, as Sylvie would lick down.

I wonder if she ever would, so I just looked at her blowing at her own smoke, as she blows the candles, eyes locked with the air, as I keep watching people walk past, people I’ve kissed, people I still have to kiss.

I remember Sylvie under a smoothie, me, her and a few other girls who talked about girls on girls, how would it feel if you’d have the guts to put your hands up and scream that you’ve touched yourself in another body, that you’ve licked pussy and that your breasts touched something as soft (I believe cocks can be quite hard).

And then Sylvie ranted that lesbians were an attraction, that they were seduction, a thing to touch yourself to, but never something to drown your heterosexuality with and I had thought about it in front of a window at four a.m. I could be classified as kissing girls and boys and old men, women and some would just grope me in all places and I’d just end the kiss and they would forget.

The attraction is always there behind the closed eye lids, then there is a click from the bodies and they dissolve, like me and Sylvie, who makes more and more smoke, as if we both burned as I see her thrusting against me

Sylvie

Sylvie

Sylvie

On top

Oh God

Sylvie

On top

Her breasts

So small and I bite, pulling my fingers on her butt and I pull

Sylvie screams

And I come

On the pavement, screaming

I’ve touched myself and I just look up at the smoke and the few people who glanced and close my eyes, watching Sylvie blow. Her hair and she stands up for food and I just follow her into the aisles, wondering when would snow flow out of the cemetery gates.

I’ve went there at night once and sat on a grave, wondering if I could kiss the dead. In the end I took my own nails and dug deep deep deep deep deep, wondering if the women I’ve held could be boyish Sylvie without a cock which could penetrate.

So after Tesco, when the star lights are dim and the sky is gray and people prank everyone, I invite Sylvie to go along with me, I just do.

I strip myself.

People call me a prostitute.

The thing is people pay money for sex.

I offer it.

I am not a whore.

I do not want anything.

Neither I’m I a sex addict.

I am a virgin.

With a knife, a shock to the stars and a crooked reflection in the mirror, I’d give the world all my love if Sylvie would rub clits, as we’d lock hands and shout, but she won’t.

So I grab the women.

A lot of them, all so identical to Sylvie, so I just look as she sits between near tombstones, a knife at her throat and stares as I underdress the rotten women, they’re mouths open.

The girl breaths, as I thrust against the body, as another rotten hand goes up my ankle and I make out with a corpse, it’s all a dream to Sylvie as she touches herself to the corpse parade, to my big breasts and her wet clit as she rubs harder, never never never a lesbian.

So I choose the one who is Sylvie and we all kiss

One

Two

She’s in

Buried

Never a lesbian

But I take the corpse of the dead Sylvie out, once she rots and I light the smoke for her. She has to hint that she’s dead.

Lullaby

Exit. Chapter 17

2011-10-30T14:08:00.001-07:00

Ed was probably sitting in his room, not thinking about school, dropping off the dreadful subject out of his head, drinking something warm and surfing the internet about his latest hobby, maybe talking online. But then it didn’t seem like Ed was a social person. My parents would call us loners and even try to make us befriend each other that Ed thought it was some stupid plan to marry their kids.

I’d chew on my nail, as his friend would shrug at me and let his fringe cover his eyes as Ed would ignore us both. I was too embarrassed to do something in front of them and apparently they did too. Brian, Ed’s friend would ask Ed questions from while to while more likely inside jokes, until my parents would let me out of Eddie’s room, calling that hour ‘brother-sister time’ which also included Brian from while to while, but I could see them calling it ‘loner time’ behind out backs.

I think Brian was the only friend who actually came to our house, since I never had close and I always was afraid of letting people near me, Jeremy had girlfriends and Ed just had Brian from while to while. I couldn’t understand how come they were close until once they drifted apart then back again like on and off relationship.

Brian was ok, but nothing special. He was a bit more social than Ed, but still was labeled as a loner. He had looks, which attracted girls who didn’t know him, but aside from that nothing special he held. He drew well, but he dropped it like a reflection of Ed. He was good at everything Ed wasn’t but eventually he’d get bored of it. Eddie was irritated at that trying to show that he was better, but Brian never actually minded. He just shrugged it off, calmly, switching the topic.

Mum started disliking Brian asking me weird questions, but I just tilted my head in confusion. I had my brother’s future in my head and I didn’t want to mix it with her own image, no matter if reality shatters hers.

I told her that once, receiving a slap.

I stared at her.

Had I imagined it?

Had I imagined the yells blaming my inner closure, the fear of reality, my obsession with different musicians, even if I had loved Jonny for quite a while now, they still thought I had others, as if I was a slut who did it through her own dreams.

Had I imagined my father’s blind accuses at Brian, who was innocent, at Ed who just stared?

Had I imagined Jeremy’s girlfriends, two of them running into the corridor as if it was a real fight?

Had I imagined Jeremy shrug and swears at each of us before going into the kitchen to take his afternoon milk?

Had I imagined Mason, leaning against the wall, his eyes pleading me, drenched in curiosity for me to go on?

-

This chapter is short because combining two small relevant chapters together would be quite stupid, as the next part is a completely different part of Exit. I'll stop here before I say anything else.

It's quite weird how when your stories just age and you end up closing your eyes in embarrassment at some thoughts like, seriously, I wrote that?

Chapter 18

Country Cast

2011-10-26T18:13:00.001-07:00

Drink the pill
All the sluts will dissappear
The garden gnomes will eat the grass
Balloons will become your ass
The dicks will just fly off
The dildos now stuck in the windows
Are christmas lights
Hooray! Hooray!
We have a jolly holiday
Those folks upon these streets
With stuck out dicks
Died
Because they don’t want to be gay
(Decent women are gay to them)

Exit. Chapter 16

2011-10-25T09:56:00.001-07:00

Mason.

I could shred the ideal image.

I hadn’t seen him.

He didn’t grab toast from my mouth yanking it in a mocking playing way to release my lips. He didn’t lie on my bed, one leg crossed as he’d stare at the ceiling feeling his eyelids go heavy and shut down with a mute bang. Then he’d sleep on my bed, as his legs would fall slowly, his head tilt to one side and his breath steady. Would he flinch if I brushed a steak out of his eyes? Was it dyed?

I didn’t see any roots, but maybe it was newly dyed.

It always was.

Maybe he was so keen on hiding his hair roots like I did with my scribbles.

I rolled my sleeves up revealing the birds, girlies, stars, quotes to run outside and deep the breathable air. I tugged on my tuque as the pink steaks fell on my shoulders. Had I grown them out that much?

Then I felt naked, that I rubbed the back of my neck in embarrassment, just like Mason did, copying his gesture.

Smirk.

Blink.

Imagination. I look back, then I turn around to expect to see him in the mirror, spreading his arms on the glass on the other way, a new hungry sparkle in his eyes, as his shirt would be unbuttoned several more buttons than usual, sleeves pulled up, hair messed up, several steaks clinging to the forehead by a natural glue called sweat. Teal eyes would watch me, unreadable, as I’d think of rolling my sleeves down. To myself I was naked, I was revealing myself and he was watching me. Mason would attempt to stretch out his arm, but fail due to the glass.

I’d roll my sleeve down, then he’d unbutton his shirt causing me to stop. I wasn’t the only one feeling naked now. I gulped as I watched him untie his tie, his eyes focusing on the neat knot. Then teal would look up, as he’d catch me staring at his exposed neck.

“Bo? I forgot my keeeys.”

“Just a second.” I yelled, looking down, rolling the sleeves down, pulling on my tuque. I didn’t look at the mirror, but as I zipped my hoodie, trying to get rid of the feeling, printing the feeling inside, so that it wouldn’t jump into the real world, I felt a hand cross my cheek in a gentle way.

Then it was gone.

Just like that. Like always. I get torn as I feel my hands shake as I open the door, realizing that I had locked it unless it had been locked by itself. Marcie jumps inside, her tongue producing billions words in a second, as I cannot concentrate in her speech, rubbing my arms, wondering how come I was so cold. I looked at her pretending to understand what the topic was. She kept going, going, going until I understood that I didn’t get about who she was talking about. I could have asked, but I shrugged off that idea, catching the ends of phrases, trying to glue them with my bare hands.

Then Marcie picked up her year books, clutching them against her chest as I stood up, afraid that they might go. I had mine at my parent’s house, so the possibility of asking them was useless. I could have asked Ed, but I didn’t bother and asking Jeremy was no use as I wasn’t the same sex, earning no possible respect.

“Bo? Are you alright? I said Evan lost his and he wants to stare at his girlfriend’s past lurvers. But I mean, look, he is too cute but I mean, there’s his girlfriend, the ex and the ex-ex, who he keeps in contact with and is a bitch. Actually, she’s not as much as the ex. The girlfriend and the ex-ex are best friend but due to the girlfriend’s status she hates her making her-“

Then I dazed off, as she ended the story and headed out with a bang, promising to return soon and drown myself in further discussions, despite my interest and possibility of answering even a yes instead of my usual mechanic nods.

I lie there in my bed, keeping my eyes closed, hoping that Marcie would take long. She’d meet that Martin guy, who she was dating, despite the other girlfriend’s he held. Was it prestigious? Was it cool to hold so many girlfriends as if they had strings tied to their throats which he could pull and voila there they were, ready to do anything for the ‘dying desperate Martin’?

I didn’t want to stand up and look into the mirror.

Martin was probably stroking Marcie’s hair holding her in a hypnotic wave, ready to pounce on her. Does he remind me my brother? But then my brother never held a museum, it was like take out, use, throw away thing.

I didn’t want to head out into the exit.

How was Jeremy? Was he coming? Of course he was. How could he miss the opportunity to screw up some high school girls, who in his head were made for everything, but then in his eyes everybody was made for everything. As if everybody had to risk, take everything from life. Is that a good thing? Open up to everybody exposing yourself, corrupting the ideal image and repeating it so many times that it became daily, boring and dull.

I wanted him to come. I didn’t want to over stress myself.

I wanted him to barge in like Evan would usually, grab the book near my bed, scan its contents, raise eyebrows and chat about some new pin-up model he dreamt about aside from his girlfriend or all two at once. Why not?

Did I want him to come?

-

The mirror scene, actually all the romance scenes were actually reread for pure amusement before.

Chapter 17

Muerte

2011-10-18T17:35:00.001-07:00

I poured water on my fingers
And
I saw blood
Such a beautiful hallucination
Of the past
I’ve seen as a child
As I’ve tasted air
And exhaled
Something
For the rest
To consume
As they’d take
The fucking same
Air
They do not deserve

Country Cast

Exit. Chapter 15

2011-10-17T15:00:00.001-07:00

I had one flowery cross, given by that wannabe aunt of mine. I fiddled with the chain as I was given, wondering what should I do with it. It was pretty, but it didn’t catch my eye as a wearable thing. But then my closets were stuffed with things I would buy from while to while, something like a corpse would build. Marcie seemed to ask me if she could wear them.

I couldn’t say no, but in the end I said it.

She shrugged and stopped.

It was like the nail varnish.

I had a drawer were all my nail varnish was stuffed inside, the drawer heavier than an airplane with rows and rows of colourful chemicals. I had a thing, I loved the colours, but not even once in my life I dyed my nails. I didn’t even know how, I liked to take them out and stare at their intense unreal colour as I’d shake the bottle, as a smile crept up into my face. But as soon as I’d hear the door’s lock fiddle I’d throw the bottle into the drawer, panic and push the drawer back with a thud. I wasn’t just closing the drawer, I was closing people out of myself, out of the drawer of my imagination.

Out of my life.

Earning the teacher’s thought on that I might be suicidal. Just because I wasn’t as girly and closed-up, like a raincoat on a winter’s storm. Life was such a horrible storm. Maybe I should dye my nails, let them choke under the bright colours and up to my shoulders. But then the colours would drain as life would stare at them, eating them, scrapping them off in mean way. Just like she does it to us, leading us up to death.

But then what is it? What’s death? Is it the end of the slow motion walk of life? Poetic. What was there behind the eternal closed eyes no matter if we closed them on our own or not. I’d flinch in scenes were the eyes gets closed as much as they are left open. It feels unreal, like when you kill an annoying fly and then it’s lying there as if was supposed to be. Then a plunge of guilt takes over you, did it really deserve to be swapped until whatever happened the shock, broken bones, overflood of blood that lead it to death.

Was I afraid of death?

How can I be afraid of something I don’t know?

But then maybe it’s the unknown fabric slowly falling over the eyes that drives people insane? It’s like a taboo, like drawing the devil until you get so attracted, too accustomed to the thought that you go insane, insane for the rest. Twitching? Screaming? Life-threating? What did the person do? Mumble prayers, shake, clutching the hands to the chest, count its pulse, eat pill after pill, drag cig after cig, bite nail after nail, cut after each cut?

What was held in that he turned insane?

Maybe he tried to avoid death that way or lure it closer, feeling the cold weapon against the neck feeling it trace a cut, go deeper, cutting the life wires like paper with scissors with bonus effects as the life would crawl out of the cut, exposing the flesh, the eyes hinting the wound, maybe a groan fading out into nothing until the sensation would flow all over the body devouring it, leaving it in there as a sign of glory.

What was it like to die?

Pain?

Fear?

Relief?

What would happen later on?

I believed that it was eternal dreaming, never believing in heaven despite the kids whispers behind my back, as they would know my reaction to that. Children with wings. White. Fluffy. Clouds. Kingdom. Eternal.

Then I found out that there was no eternal dreaming.

I don’t remember how I was explained about that, but the fact that there was no dream, it shocked me. There was no place to dream even death. Death would just tear it out, like the person essence, pulling the scalp in a painful way but giving a good, expensive painkiller at the beginning and maybe some anesthesia to draw the person in a lull, to drive the life’s scars away and you’d just float without and with nothing.

What was death like?

A girl?

A boy?

No one at all?

The chill hiding behind cemetery graves, greeting the newly dead to sink in the ground? What is it? Did I want to meet it?

I closed my ears when I was told about clinical death, afraid to find out what was it like to see nothing, to think nothing and to be nothing. I waited, I waited for my uncle to go insane but he never did, he kept going as if nothing happened. And then he died and there was no connection and I’d never find out, if I could, I would, he’d be dead anyway. Maybe he never dreamed? The numbers going in his head, as he’d count the tables, chairs, walls, everything, words, pauses, breaths, pulses, heartbeats until he died in the end. It shocked me that he still got dragged into that nothingness, no way to be pulled out only sucked it.

Was I afraid?

I was.

I deadly was.

Up to the point that I never reminded myself and once I would I would clasp my ears, my eyes like the no evil seeing monkey, begging for the thought to go away.

I was afraid of even clasping death’s hand let alone someone who lost the battle or survived once. I locked myself in a room, hoping that I could avoid my uncle, somebody who had seen death, seen it under its mask, hood and endless conclusions of the alive.

I was deathly afraid of seeing my parents as I could see them pulling the drawers open, nail varnish bottles scattering, clothes ruffling in search of something that could tell them about me, but they never bothered asking me straight, knowing that I’d be silent. I’d just stare at one spot, feeling Jonny rub my shoulder, saying that his parents were the same.

But they weren’t. His dad died, he had a brother while I had two. One- I had said, thought enough about them, despite the occasional flood of thoughts I noticed the year books pilled on Marcie’s desk, maybe she ruffled them through.

Chapter 16

Bleed

2011-10-12T14:31:00.001-07:00

I cut off my nose with scissors
I had been in a face mask
The thought of suicide tender
But then there’d be people
To scrap me off
As I had enjoyed
A poem about my death
And they’d do it on my honor
With the hard kicks
Because I’d never reply
And they’d bury
To end

-

A classic, really.

Muerte

Exit. Chapter 14

2011-10-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

My other brother was quiet, having a few friends, giving me a feeling that they even talked in silence. He watched the world through thick specs trying himself out in something creative, but failing and moving on later with a quick shrug of the shoulders.

A shrug.

Is the world, reality a fade, a shrug or done shrug?

And there was me. Somebody who was closed up as possible hiding her arms behind long sleeves, a tuque always upon her forehead and headphone cords sticking out of her ears.

My brother ignored it and kept bringing boyfriends, my second brother kept failing and I kept closing up.

Only there was the problem of no more space to dream. I was getting desperate, nearly hysterical, shouting at myself for being useless at dragging my parents and family out of my space. I wanted a grab a piece of chalk, yell at them for stop molesting me with their useless suggestions and use chalk on their faces. I wouldn’t stand their melancholic eyes.

Get a fashionable haircut, Roberta.

Dress more famine.

Get a nice boyfriend.

Bring him to us.

Marry him.

Become a housewife and close your eyes on his cheats.

Deal with asshole children.

Rot in peace.

Screw you.

That’s why I shoved the idea in their fat faces, my mind yelling at me, grabbing me by my face leaving noticeable scars of misery. How poetic, was written on their faces.

My brother shrugged, knowing, praying that I’ll still end up as a housewife as he believed I like all other females I was a chewing gum, I’d be proof, as the taste disappeared I was no longer approvable and the next would come, only I was made for other guys to use.

The other shrugged, asking me several polite questions but more with his eyes studying me in such a heartbreaking gaze that I wanted to punch him, but I never was violent.

I never was poetic.

And here I was doing something, something to escape.

In a poetic way.

It didn’t matter all that did was the speech that I might find the ideal guy and follow the damned plan written by men throughout centuries, with no other way to survive.

It was like a play.

Only I was no longer part in the fucking play.

I escaped. I had room to dream.

I even had that cupboard or whatever it was, where my dreams folded into one big dusty, cozy dream with a teal touch to it leaving a gooey fuzzy feeling inside. Was it really a cupboard, a closet with those dreams crumbled up inside, falling, colouring the room in milliseconds as I’d blink and everything would take place, as if it was always there.

But then, had I chosen that door before?

Had I felt that chill creep up to me, had I ever seen Mason before?

Had I?

Was it a déjà vu? But there was no feeling, it was just a thought with no background, just like a sudden choke during breathing.

Like that choke during breakfast.

Parent’s week.

Shitload.

I choked on it as I imagined my parents walk around elbowing me as some guy would greet me or the other way round and the same applied if a girl did, only then the questions followed, two one after another ‘Eddie, Eddie, do you like her? No, stop it, Jeremy, enough, enough. She’s not yours.’ Then a humiliating action of my parents covering my older brother’s eyes. Eddie would shrug, fixing his glasses, as my parents would pray that he wasn’t gay.

He had a girlfriend, apparently, well, I believed he had. I saw him with a girl and the story flowed in my head. But then I saw him with the same guy and another scenario drew itself up in my mind.

Jeremy would pout but would end up with the girl on his lap by the end of the damned day. Usually my parents would drag him out of there and start talking some long chat about respecting women and crap which I could tell him myself in a more reasonable way, but my brother never listened. He just fucked.

So it was the three of us, all corrupted, one anti-feministic player, who was too open for any girl possible and two one of them clearing trying to desperately find everything about him, like a journey into the self and that left me.

Oh, and moronic parents.

Right, and more moronic family members.

I guess I could say I was ok with seeing Ed, as he’d just strode into the small village near our boarding school or stick his nose into a book somewhere quiet and parents off-limits. Jeremy? Hell, no, I had enough watching of the back of his head with some girl, which would change tomorrow.

My parents thought it fun, as we’d reunite to find out what classes I was failing or how come I was closing up and if I wasn’t suicidal. Of course I was! Who remembers March’s jumping of the cliff attempt? Fun!

I hated the fact that people loved digging their noses into my business, even Spear’s business. I mean, come on, that’s just mean… even if she’s losing Barbie in IQ. I flipped my fingers throughout one, but then I felt so guilty that I actually helped those photographers which have no lives and jump on celeb cars, get hit by canned beans that I spent the rest of my money on charity for no real reason.

I even headed to church, thinking if it actually was a sin.

It was, in my eyes.

I walked outside, wondering if I even had a cross, as I realized that I was an atheist. So was it a double-sin, to pray and not believe?

-

Exit is nearing it's end really. I always had an on and off relation, maybe now just because it's written and Exit needs no editing, I miss doing that like with Papercut for instance.

Most likely the next novel will be Toby Sketches.

Chapter 15

Baby Says

2011-10-05T18:48:00.000-07:00

The most stupid songs can become love songs
Because there’s tension
Behind the vocals, notes
And the cold naked air

-

I was listening to "Baby Says" by The Kills.

Bleed

Exit. Chapter 13

2011-10-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

I could see him on the outside, right? This was real enough, the burnt tip of my tongue was real, the wooden floor covered in several carpets aiming for some sort of messed up vintage look and comfort as a back stroke of the head. I could fling myself forwards how much I wanted, I could kiss him to my heart’s desire, but I held still, my body straight, as I tried to figure out my next move.

Money.

It was different.

Mason smirked at my attempt to put usual, regular money but put down a banknote with some writer whom I wouldn’t remember from the shocked curiosity. I thanked him, as he shrugged with a smile upon his lips. Maybe if he was some over two-hundred year old gramps he’d say something about my young age and how much I had to learn.

How much did I have to learn?

But according to grown-ups, friends, mates, everybody you’re just not mature enough. Then there’s the long monologue, because I hate to argue aloud, even when I know what to say, about how I know nothing and yet they know all.

Do they?

It’s like those chats no matter between what genders as you talk about crushes. There’s always the ‘I know what love is and yes my 47437547464364367 choice is the love of my life’ and then the next will follow with more shining, denying the rest, the ones who walked the same moonlight, the same street as the talker was desperate to find the idol.

But even the ideal breaks as they get bored and hold another ideal image.

It’s so easy to shatter the ideal image.

Then why should I struggle with one?

I just had like my perfect, fine, ideal but despite everything I wouldn’t ever-ever come up to them and repeat absolutely everything I hold in my head. That’s the beauty. The one-sided relationship. A relationship which never dies, a relationship into yourself as you discover your weak sides, how immature you may be or how rough through the planned out one-sided loves.

Did you ever love, Mason?

Would he nod, in a banal way and whisper my name?

Then maybe the image would shatter.

But it doesn’t.

Because:

1) Mason isn’t like that

2) I didn’t/never asked him

But then never say never. Maybe one day the poetic question will flow out of my lips and I’ll cover my lips too late, my cheeks giving out, a pink steak falling from my tuque, as Mason would smirk in a friendly, curious way, look at the ceiling in a thoughtful manner, tapping his fingers against the nearest wooden object or any other object, his teal eyes looking into the distance, maybe for effect maybe not. But then he’d pull me close, maybe not and not answer anything, knowing how much I regretted the dreadful question which escaped from my foolish mouth for no exact reason, which could be found on the surface but could be blamed to my female nature. Because despite everything, somewhere in a deep corner we count how many kids we want, the house, the job, the loyal friends, the friendly smiling hair stylist, manicurist and whatever I’ll need to make myself gorgeous as far as I’ll be able to be at the age which I’ll be at those visits following a hundred others in desperation to change the appearance knowing that either way the reaction will be the same.

1) A positive shrug

2) A whatever shrug

Either way it’s a shrug, it takes a professional, not really to understand the secret behind the shrug.

Like the ‘see you’.

We both shrug, not knowing when the next bumping will take place and worrying over the other’s emotion, afraid to shatter the dream in our heads.

I walked back, ignoring, thinking that the rehearsal was over. I thanked the teacher, not knowing from what knowing that I had the script in my hand, not bothering wherever I was with it through the door or not. It didn’t matter.

The floors.

The stairs.

They irritated me with a passion. I wanted to walk them with my eyes closed imagining that there was dust mixed with snow, like an error, dust with snow, as if the snow wall wool. I pulled on my headphones tighter, making the music louder, opening my eyes in order to reduce the possibility of stumbling into someone or my own faithful death. Like a usual one in one offer, my eyes were opened to the weird glances, annoyed, but hiding it with a sugar coating mouthing at my music choice. What was wrong with Planet Telex?

Nothing.

Unless you are immature enough to listen whatever hits the top 100 or whatever other stupid banal reason.

They were all so colourless, so dreadful, so irritating.

Back there I could make them all listen what I wished, I could make them do whatever I wanted, I could pull the strings or press several buttons. It felt… nice, as if I could taste their blood, making some sort of sick connection, like, feeling a beat, if talking in a poetic way.

I loved it.

I loved the fact that I could also erase it, rub, rub, rub, gone.

Why had I chosen boarding school?

Why not anything else?

Because I was sick of the constant nagging of my family at my immature older brother’s changing girlfriends, one after another, all of them wrapped up as presents, as seductive as they could for a guy, to grab my brother’s arm and strode around. Womanizer. That’s what he was called, one after another, like the cigarettes I saw him smoke one after another as the need would come, as women he created would become boring.

All in ugly heels, I remember I had flicked a few Marcie’s Vogues. They had nice heels. Marcie had nice heels. While my brother’s ‘girlfriends’ were slutty, they seemed very fuckable and a laugh for guys to tell and compare how they fucked that girl, they seemed to be easily removed as a condom. I wondered if any of them were on the pill, if they’d have the guts to ask the parents with a brief ‘I get fucked by guys and they want their cum to fill my body and maybe one of those who will fuck me until I bleed and his friend making me gag with his erect dick in my throat will marry me and we’ll live and divorce’. It seemed disgusting.

-

Exit is nearing it's end.

The thing with Exit was, it was never finished, it just dropped half-way and as time grew, that's how it should end really with a brief explication and that's it.

Maybe a poll will be up again or maybe I'll just choose something at complete random.

Thank you

About Roberta, the more I read Exit deeper, the more I realize that I cannot edit it. Roberta has the single mindset and yes, I believe that it's not about age or something else which changes the mentality. It's either you're alone or you have someone.

That's the struggle and the fear many express or choose art over some love feeling.

Thing is, it just makes you more complete and gives you another border to break. Now you can describe what complete is and describe relations without the sugar coating and their depth.

Chapter 14

A Window Cleaner

2011-09-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

A window cleaner

Just to trigger the dust in the windows
As they cover the corpses
Look down, to see
How dead would the dead be
Until they move with the wind
With the dresses of dust
I was supposed to wear
When I’d be asked to leave
With the chalk red door
Carved notes
As I’d see the smell of pine
On my shirt, denial of birth,
Which I’ve really
Really washed away

-

This was done on a character development class. I miss the course a lot. I miss all courses really.

Baby Says

Exit. Chapter 12

2011-09-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

Was this even a date? The word hummed in the air as I took another gulp. That’s why I hated myself sometimes by my thoughts in reality. It felt as if everyone hated everyone. In my head they were harmless, but once they would collide with the real world, as real as I could call this anyway, they seemed stupid. They reeked of cheap soft covered novels which were easy to find and made a gagging reaction when reading. I mean anybody could think of cheap crap like that.

Yet not all made millions by it.

Or not all had the guts to write that shit down.

That was the only difference.

And now I was earning nothing.

Asides from colouring up my love life, experiences and further thinking before falling asleep, into another web of gooey dreams, soon to forgotten or hidden by the surrounding reality, which I desperately wished to escape. All my life. I added bitterly, drinking it off the hot chocolate taste on my tongue fading out the depressing thoughts.

But then why were they depressing?

Why was it a depressing thing to literally sleep with dreams? To shed the stabbing life and hide behind or in a soft mattress, cover, sweater of dreams. We pull it anyway no matter how much we like what is around us. We desperately pull it on, trying to find something else. Something we can only find in dreams. Love. Because in reality sooner or later the bond brakes no matter whose fault I it. The male’s or female’s. I could go all feministic, since I am a female and all, but I don’t. Because in real life it’s never enough, we can never be full, because then we spill it, grabbing another cup.

Just like that.

We do it to ourselves.

I should stop quoting stuff. Or rather songs, something I do in my head. Something Mason approves in my mind for the past days and in reality I have to find out with the risk of getting the opposite wherever I want to or not. Without getting questioned of the result I may get a shrug or an eye roll or maybe something exactly the same like in my dream.

It felt as it was a moment which would slip away but was heavily held by a finger pressed against pause. So I took the moment holding it as much as I could, being that finger or holding by the end of his raincoat which wasn’t present at the current moment. Did he really have one? A dark blue raincoat which made a heavy contrast to his red hair, white shirts or light gray, which was his choice for today and played with his eyes giving them a nice, soft, warming, known sparkle.

-

Did Graham have a girlfriend?

The thought got caught in my head as reality was mixing with my own creations. Did I fake it? What would I do now? I could close up on him, but not. But then I saw him holding hands with that girl or did he actually make out?

Had I seen Mason make out with anybody?

Had I ever seen him before?

I swore I had seen that mop of red hair before, but I still couldn’t make out an ideal image in my head, as I thought. Had I seen him throw a ball in the air scoring at the final seconds? Had I seen him in the school’s yellow pages that he had an affair with a young teacher? Had I even seen him before?

I stopped seeing him on the outside no teal gazing from the end of the school yard, no toast stealing and no whispers in the ears only to be muted out.

“Here, you asked for it.” Leslie. A blank cd or was it not blank? I couldn’t look at the cover as hazel with red looked at me intensively. Will I ever stop getting such dreams? Get pinned to the side, get my hair stroked and the guy’s attempt.

I expected Mason to run up and push him in the other direction.

Blink.

Mason. Like some spell the moment is gone leaving Mason sitting on my desk, ruffling his hair, his hands holding open a book rather openly, as if hinting me to read it. I walk up to him, as his gaze never leaves me as I take the book, the cd no longer with me. I flip it through words burning in my head. I feel the paper brush against my fingers, I feel the words print into my head and its title burn turning into dust the rest of the dream, leaving recognizable ashes in the end as lyrics.

Mason leans back, closing his eyes for a second, giving me a wink before.

-

“You daze out here at first. Ignore it. Tries to corrupt your dreams.” Is it a whisper? Is it a shout? Is it telepathy? Why corrupt? Was I making all this up on the way, was my imagination making everything up on the way? Was this because I was dazing out, because now it was normal for my body to mute out the world and by the looks of it black it out as well.

Saying that he was the light at the end of the tunnel would be poetic, useless and simply epic.

Why would I use that when I blacked out, not realizing where I was what time was it and once more what was happening and what was surrounding me. Maybe I just crossed it out fearing that my first encounter with Mason was personal and what if I could talk in my sleep, what if I would say it out, what if I’d write it down not able to hold.

I held out for several years.

Why not now?

Maybe because the stupid emotion was overwhelming creating block for all further actions, as if I had this ideal play in my head, where I despite my principles I was the main character with the red head beside me, no other characters in it. Just hot chocolate in this scene, people in the background people I could erase with a swing of the hand, without any magic wand, without a click just a light swing even in the head. People I could make a fool out of myself knowing that I did not know them and likewise. I stood up as I finished my chocolate.

Chapter 13

Stage Scene

2011-09-20T17:50:00.000-07:00

It would happen on stage
Brief
Long
For the crowd
To capture
A defeat
A victory upon the other’s lips
In the flash
Of music
It would be a betrayal
From the devoted
With water in strings
Words
Not to say

We had met on the date
On my wrist
A 14 of a 2
I had never seen your date
On her body
She had stashed it
Taking my shirt
Thinking that it’d be her 14
Or those who had tried to steal the 2
In the parlor
Giving tattoos to themselves,
Friend

That one kiss
You gave me
I shrugged it off
Because of age
You give none
Because of age
We lost

The microphone in blood
You had bit me

---

Inspired strongly by The Kill's Mosshart and Hince. I love their relation and how everything is build on the tension and all the additions to it.

By the way Moss' dress was hideous.

Inspired by The Kill's Satellite and Black Balloon.

A Window Cleaner

Exit. Chapter 11

2011-09-18T16:18:00.000-07:00

I want to turn back to the door, look out, see the rushing students and stare trying to dig into reality.
This couldn’t be possible.
I feel no excited emotion overwhelm me.
I turn around quickly to see a bright red door fade out to white then a gray to match the trees to fade into the distance. I press my hand against the so-called distance. It’s quite real. I feel my eyes devour everything around me in a natural way.
I don’t go around hugging trees.
I just stare. I kick the ground making snowflakes rise along with dust. They don’t feel cold. There’s no winter chill in the air. There’s just… air hanging, as if everything’s still. As if somebody flipped the sand clock sideways.

It feels like a warm autumn, what should autumn be but never is, a stroke.

I tried to ignore the brown boxes far off in front of me. They open up and make houses, they’re gifts, treasures, sacrifices.They couldn’t be houses. The small stage wasn’t as big. That’s it! Realistic decorations, nothing else.

This was real. I began to shiver despite the hot air and crumbling snowflakes under my docs. I walked on, not daring to touch as if it would bend in two or fall or my fear would fall or I would.

I was afraid of something else behind there, something I did not want. Did I want… this? No.

I walked on, seeing smoke rise from the houses, the boxes now in detail, snow surrounding my footsteps and the feeling of my feet in there. I zipped my hoodie, as if it was cold. It was simply a need to believe. I walked on, keeping my hands in my pockets to reach a straight street with houses on both sides. They seemed lonely, until I saw several people pop onto the streets, as if I clicked on a button and they all ran out.

Unknown.

So many unknown faces.

They ran around me, closing all gaps between the houses. So many.

So many laughs. So many conversations. All so friendly.

All ignored me, until I sat down, looking down, trying to understand was it snow or dust under my feet. They stopped. They formed a circle, maybe waiting for the leader to acclaim what a great feast had come. Were they cannibals? I looked up to see them gone. Back. Gone.

Everything was clouded by my fear.

I didn’t want to go back.

I didn’t want to stay.

I wanted to find my own ideal world. My… exit?

“Are you my exit?”

I said that aloud, returning people, letting them scatter, let snow fall more, let the dust disappear, the decorations attack the houses like a virus. I stood up as I watched the city turn into Christmas even if it was long gone. But there was no big fat Santa, there were just the cozy decorations, which I couldn’t admire due to my relative’s constant nagging about how I should build my life, as if I were a Lego person waiting for somebody to build me out of the ruins around me a home, a friend, a lover.

I looked around desperately, trying to find anybody who was in my head, no matter when, even when I liked Robbie Williams several years ago, as I found him attractive. It didn’t matter.

Maybe I didn’t want a lover? A real one.

Maybe this… exit was, like some sort of real reflection of how I wanted everything to be? No annoying classmates coming up, everyone unknown and the faces would change every day so that I’d have no one trying to find out everything possible to gossip about but now they’d clearly fail. No one was stopping me.

No one knew me.

I knew nobody.

I could make them go away with a clap.

Clap.

Nothing.

Maybe it knew what I wanted. Maybe I couldn’t control it, maybe it was built out of my life, every desire, every eternal desire. I shrugged wondering why of all ideal places my exit would be a small town with the population of Mexico. Either way, despite the word on the tongue, gripping onto the tip, afraid to get out, it seemed fun. It seemed fun to travel in your own dream reality, knowing what exactly you cherished and desired, making it impossibly unreal in a realistic way.

I kept looking around wondering if I actually was searching for somebody or not. Was I? Did I want to see somebody storm the doors and grab me by my waist kissing me passionately?

A box would be a cafe.

I’d seen that in Toy Story, I’d make Toy Story my Exit. It is in a way.

I got my thoughts interrupted by a waitress who asked me what I wanted to order after giving me the menu. The thought of food never hit my head as I entered the place a few seconds ago in a zombie-like way past the doors, past the noisy crowd plunging myself into the couch beside the window.

Was it even possible to earn a place as cozy as this in real life? Usually you’d get kicked out in a polite way or not. Instead I sat looking at the scattered names forming known food. I couldn’t call myself hungry, but I started to hesitate and ordered hot chocolate expelling the possibility of actually ordering beer, which people seemed to order. I glanced across the whole café or whatever it was, making sure that I saw no familiar looking faces which desperately hinted the fact that I should hide under the table in order so that I won’t be found.

“Your hot chocolate, miss.” I flinched. He smirked.

I looked up.

He shot a wave to the waitress, hinting that he took my order. Ruffling his hair as he put both the cups down with a pleased smile, he glanced at me. The owner of the teal eyes looked down, spacing out on his thoughts, maybe regrets. Did he regret meeting me? Did he? I wondered if I should stand up, if I should take the cup and spill it at him, burning his face. The teenager, I think, leaned back into the other couch, crossing his legs, as a smile in the end as he watched my rather easy to read face.

What did I feel?

I played with my hair in slow motion trying to consume the fact that he was here. Maybe he was there when I walked in glancing from the stall in the bar, waiting for this ordinary day to come to an end, shaking the liquid in his cup, his teal eyes looking through items, behind, over, inside, splitting them open.

Who are you?

I wanted to say that but I held myself, ruffling not only my hair but the questions, answers, possibilities and further actions. What was he doing here?

Are you the love of my life?

“Thank you.” Hesitation. Fear. Unknown. Invade. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

He smirks, bringing the cup up to his lips, taking a gulp as I watch the upper lip show a hint of the brown colour liquid. Hot chocolate. He licks it off, as I take a gulp. I expect him to stand up, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks down, then back at me, as I suppose that it may be a regular habit of his.

“Mason.” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to accept the next step. Then I realize that he has a name, it prints slowly into my brain, not ruining the image. Mason takes another gulp, looking into the liquid before taking a gulp. “Yours?”

“Roberta. Bo. Call me anything, actually.” My voice hints the fact that I’m nervous. His smile spreads, as if he knew it, but tries to hide it. He presses himself into the couch more in a sign of easiness rather than discomfort, as his facial expression hints that.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” He sits like that, the smile spreading on his lips as he watches me, the earlier regrets long gone.

“Same here.” I say that, ignoring how cheesy it is, because love is a cheesy thing to those who do not know it. Not that I’m saying that this is not love which I have in my head further planned for years to come no matter what in reality, in my head… or here. Maybe.

---

Mason and Roberta would truly be the most closest couple I've written like maybe until my current novel couple, but then the new novel has a different topic which I've never touched before, maybe that's why it's taking too long xD

I always liked the Exit. Maybe it would even be mine.

Chapter 12

Hope

2011-09-13T16:29:00.001-07:00

I hope there is someone who gives you secrets to life

a mosquito bit my forehead

you paint your tongue because it’s fun

I wonder if you’d even bleed

we don’t know these people, but we know their graves

---

This was a bunch of random sentences which came to me through out the day.

Stage Scene

Exit. Chapter 10

2011-09-12T05:16:00.003-07:00

It happens. It just does. Sometimes by a brief conversation, sometimes by an embarrassed I love you and hidden face in knitwear, sometimes it just happens and it hits you like lightning or sometimes you hesitate to remember how it did.

It just happened, that’s it.

Like when you see a flash, something unreal and then you find it most common. Like when you realize how devoted you are to that feeling, to love, that it becomes natural, like a gasp of air, like an exhale of smoke, like a gulp of water, like an awkward first kiss.

I counted that as a first kiss. Just like that.

I felt confident.

I didn’t care about anything. I knew what I felt. I felt real.

I didn’t know his name, never gave him one, none matched him.

I didn’t see him, even if I flinched every time I saw somebody similar.

In reality I never searched. I knew he was there, stroking the back of my neck, as we’d watch ‘Control’, flinch at Debbie’s scream. It’s stupid, isn’t it, how you find similar addictions.

“Do you like Control?”

“Love it.”

Even if it’s planned out, I love it. I hated school, as usual, but he’d be there, holding my hand, stroking my cheek, as the teacher would turn. He’d roll his eyes at Leslie, shoo Jonny, avoid Graham. I knew what hair dye colour he used. I knew everything. Absolutely everything. He knew everything.

Everything.

Everything.

“We have practice, Bo. You coming?” Leslie asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He had a girlfriend, did he not? I saw them making out yesterday. It was not in my head. I spied on him and so did my red head. Just like that, we spied from behind the corner. Teal eyes snickering, singing childish songs, before he lost his attention. I was better looking, at least according to him.

I nodded. Knowing that nothing would be bad. I had been acting all my life. I took the third to the last small role, usually. Something small, not much to learn, something I could put my soul into, but certainly not get the spotlight. Why would I want that? That’s right. Usually the main heroine needed to have her head exposed and arms something I’d never do. Except once when Juliet got ill, a role bigger than my own I got dragged in by the teacher. I washed my pink steaks off, rubbed my scribbles. I ran away from the party, escaping all congratulations, rubbing ink onto my skin, making my steaks bright. I skipped a week, ignoring all flashing faces with a grin with congratulations on my part. It wasn’t easy, but I hated the fake smiles admitting how brilliant I was. I don’t want to know that.

I’m not brilliant. I just play how I feel. Sometimes I feel so into those phrases up to the point that I forget everything. I feel Martha’s slipper hitting my cheek due to the constant repeating, but she never throws it. She sleeps like a log, not hearing or answering anything. I talked to her once, aloud, feeling depressed over a mark I believe. Maybe it was due to the global warming project or some other crappy assignment. I don’t remember. Jonny couldn’t hold it. I didn’t have the red head then, laying beside me in the bed, something Jonny never did.

Where was Jonny?

He still was on my wallpaper, holding his guitar, his lips looking all kissable, but not now.

I was loyal.

I had a boyfriend.

I tried to search for red heads which would actually resemble him, but nothing. He was unique with that smile, loosed ties, sometimes which I loosened. I just pull and that was it, an intense, no dumb gaze, no embarrassment, just is. I had no one who could replace.

It felt not right.

But I never told myself that, I never realized, I just went on, feeling a sense of curiosity as the auditions would come. He walked behind me the hands in the pockets, kick the door open, then shrug at his sudden movement. Just like that. He’d smile.

“Roberta! Finally, I’ve got-“

Role. I looked at it, knowing how late I was. I still had a main role. So many phrases and the dress requirements were the same. No tuque. No scribbles. I scanned it through, looking at the teacher.

Weird how the roles either of Juliet or Romeo change lives. Then you’re Juliet not only on stage, but in real life, fearing that everybody is expecting a dagger or a gun, in other words suicide at the age of fourteen, which I had passed. Why did suicide attract so many people? Just the thought of the gun, dagger, poison or quick path to the unknown or rather end. Just end. Blackness. No one to hold. No one holds you back.

Bald. Black framed glasses. Velvet light brown suit. Piercing furious looking eyes. I looked at him. Had everybody else left? No. They were there, some in their costumes looking at the loner holding the second main female role in a play I had not yet read. I looked at the first pages the words scattering, pilling into ants who ran around. Just like that. Ants. Nothing else. Insignificant ants which I could press my docs into and crush.

“Roberta?” I looked up, as the ants ran back into their holes forming known words. I nodded, as I knew that I couldn’t decline, no matter how much I’d despite that role.

“Can I-“ Rehearse. Can I see the stage? The backstage?

“Sure.” I went backstage into the changing rooms. I walked past the spare curtains into the dusty, crumbled hall, clutching the script in my hand, knowing that a new student was waiting to get me dressed, some sort of addiction. Always rehearse in costumes. Well, everybody’s weird. I stopped in front of the costumes door, it’s bleached out white wrinkling in places. The thought were Leslie was appeared in my head. I looked around wondering if I made a sudden turn or if the costumes were now moved. Nothing. I shrugged and opened the door, feeling a light cold coming from the doorknob.

I made a sudden pull ignoring the gust of wind.

So epic.

Like the trees around me.

Trees?

Yes, trees.

Snow?

Yes, snow.

Costume room?

Not really.

And there certainly was no bright red exit sign printed on the other side of the door.

Chapter 11

Hello, shut up please.

2011-09-06T21:47:00.000-07:00

The world is made for singles
You can’t kiss your lover on the street
The singles will hiss
They’ll rant that the world is against them
And for couples
But look
There’s not that many
And their squeals of desperation
In movies
Are disgusting
When I was fucking single
I hated silently
And didn’t make a show of it
So that the rest would hate me
When I’d leave the team of singles

-

I'm sorry but that's how it feels in the end. When you're single, you never get bugged about it, but when you're not single, you get restrictions given out by singles. Sorry, just that it's annoying. It's a single world, really. Just because people are together, it doesn't mean they have the love bond, they only have the sex bond, making them singles with the ability to fuck. Once again, I apologise highly, I'm just being honest.

Hope

Exit. Chapter 9

2011-09-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

Morning. Alarm. Mixes. All in a sick daily smell.

The brush of teeth. The cold water like a wake-up drug. Dressing up. Eating breakfast. Toast. Burnt toast. Second try. Butter. No, marmalade. Eat the butter one with a bitter thought. Leave no time for the marmalade to enjoy. Run to classes. Chew near the classroom. Know that I’m late. Get detention. Get freed from detention. Freed by unknown reason. Suspect that a new lover is mixed up somewhere. A cheap excuse of behavior. Think about how the poor dude must actually be like. Realize that he is a moron. End of first lesson.

Pass near the club lists.

See Leslie’s name in the acting club.

Damn memory. Sign up. Regret the whole day. Walk up twice to cross out the name. Realize that the love is strong. Skip art. Skip seeing Leslie. Regret the fact that cannot epically smoke in the banned area. Smoking area. With all cool kids. No, just nice people. Just expect them to be cool, but realize that they are nice. Just smokers. Come to the conclusion in the head. Freeze to death outside. The only heat coming from the iPod and headphones. Wonder if I’ll die from a new kind of freeze to death outside swine flu.

Wonder if swine flu is real. Remember BBC reports. Switch thoughts to global warming. Try to catch some signal. Get bored. Think about global warming more. Get bored. Decide that it may be bad. Decide that it may be a hoax. Argue about it. Realize that the argument took long. Three lessons. Bounce on fourth. Screw last lessons. Flood the head about global warming. Surf the internet about it. Love wi-fi. Dedicate lunchtime for global warming. Wonder if people ever spent so much time on it. Wonder if people care in general.

Decide. Come to a conclusion. Be proud of spending so much time about it. Get a project topic about it. Shrug and take it. Bump into Leslie. Smile. Blush. Have a whole movie about how romantic it is. The greet. In the head. Start conversation in head. Leslie answers or rather starts it aloud. Consume the fact. Leslie isn’t telepathic. Jonny is. Maybe the red head is.

Talk about daily stuff.

Find out that he likes Radiohead.

Be surprised.

Stop thinking like that.

“What?” Sound impolite.

“Um, yeah. Not my fave, but still, they’re nice.” Nice? Nice? Who can come up to Thom Yorke and say ‘dude, you’re music is nice?’ Shrug. Grin like an idiot. Chat about favorite songs. Get an invitation. Decline. Wonder if the thoughts leaked out. Hesitate. Realize that reality is getting cheesy. Be proud of it.

-

Sometimes you get dreams. The ones when you wake up and say what the fuck? But usually it ends with curling into a ball, smiling, as if the tingle now was real. They are stupid, unreal and suddenly the whole story behind cheesy love stories is easily explained. Dreams.

Nothing is ever cheesier.

What is absurd that in the dreams it’s like that theory about the afterlife. You die, get another life, but your soul is kept. In dreams you end up being with the same body, not always. Once I was a robot. I had my tuque, thought, but that’s another story.

I saw him there.

It was as if all the cheesiness of the world gathered together in that one dream, exploding in it and on our faces.

Dark blue. A heavy contrast to his red hair, as we ran somewhere, as I can’t remember.

In dreams everything is in a deep blur. Everything is highly primitive making the weirdest things possible, like some sort of bad written fiction. As if he’d appear with a gun, close one eye and shoot, ruining the whole quiet morning. He divided it in half. Later.

A blow to make the smoke go away.

A tight dress, revealing the curves, which I apparently do not have and constant biting lips, which are heavily painted red. My hair is down, my face looking like a mannequin, trying to fake what an ideal female should look like.

It reminds some sort of gangster film with both us ending either with a passionate kiss as the credits would roll or either one of us dead, as the other holds the breathless body, eyes full of that thing which makes actors cry.

Thankfully, that was not my dream. Or maybe it was. I had it in my head as my eyes lay closed, trying to recall or either forget the dream I had.

Dark blue coat. Running.

I was in my usual attire, but one sleeve rolled up, revealing just several scribbles as he held onto that hand. Did I have a small pink with flowers umbrella? Did he laugh?

Yes.

Then we stopped, as we both gasped for air. He tilted his head from behind the corner, looking around. Who was chasing us? Nobody. Then he shrugged, leaning against the wall. My umbrella was gone, maybe closed, maybe in my hand, maybe I lost it on the way.

I don’t know.

It’s like those stupid moments when a guy has an amazingly dumb face, which stares at you in a rather intense ‘I am going to kiss you way’ and you hesitate. You know it happens.

It doesn’t.
Is it a sign?

But there was no wait like that. There was a quick glance to the corner and the next thing I now he captures my lips. Just like that. It’s long. Pleasurable. Intense. I remember it. There is no hesitation, no stupid dumbstruck face and it happens again.

He pulls back, glancing at me briefly, before kissing my cheek. He stretches out his hand. I take it. We walk on. Lace fingers.

Chapter 10