[ .days. ]
Do you want me to post all the results on the thread as opposed to PMing them individually? Also, do you want to know the R3 prompt?
| Poll whore. |
  
|
8.7% | [ 2 ] |
| Yes; yes. |
|
56.5% | [ 13 ] |
| Yes; no. |
|
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| No; yes. |
|
17.4% | [ 4 ] |
| No; no. |
|
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| Don't care. |
|
17.4% | [ 4 ] |
| Total Votes: | [ 23 ] | ||
ThisIsATempNameWhoo
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Man-Hungry Hellhound
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- Posted: Sun, 15 Jun 2008 22:50:10 +0000
[ .days. ]
Trīs dienas paradīzē vai simts gadus šeit?
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Those who submitted: I'll add you later or tomorrow.
Deadbride: Please do not center your entry. I forgot to add that to the rules.
You can look for an entry fee yourself.
Deadbride: Please do not center your entry. I forgot to add that to the rules.
You can look for an entry fee yourself.
Ko gan es izvēlētos vēlreiz piedzīvot,
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Waa~ Sorry!! I didn't mean to center it, one of my centers were put in the wrong place. I'll edit my entry now.
Ivydoll
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Familiar Phantom
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- Posted: Sun, 15 Jun 2008 22:54:14 +0000
I have a question. You said you would prefer not to read about the same characters throughout the three rounds, but wanted a tie-in, yeah? I'm (shamefully) about 4/fifths done with my first entry, and would like to continue on in the same vein I started in.
However, the second part of the writing wouldn't involve the first cast of characters (except briefly, and in dialogue refs), and the third part would continue in the same arc, but once again have a primarily different cast with brief references to former characters.
Would that be okay?
However, the second part of the writing wouldn't involve the first cast of characters (except briefly, and in dialogue refs), and the third part would continue in the same arc, but once again have a primarily different cast with brief references to former characters.
Would that be okay?
Ivydoll
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Familiar Phantom
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- Posted: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 03:47:25 +0000
xp
Well, yes or no, here's an entry for round one (Time @ FP.com), replete with... stuff. I chose a prompt and started writing off of the inspiration, as instructed, but the end product is sorely removed from the intention of the song, I think. Less uplifting, this is- God knows. But, it's done, and only a day late. Go me.
---
Username: Ivydoll
Round: One [page 16]
Title: Gone By
Time: Yesterday.
Prompt: Time of Your Life, Greenday
He had a plain face, and lank brown hair, which hung around his cheeks in limp cinnamon strands. From Heinrick's point of view, he was nothing special. Too thin, too slumped, and lacking all signs of intelligent life; Aske had remained half-collapsed against the train's cushioned seat from the moment he had been ushered in. Aske had not moved. His eyes had flickered disinterestedly up at the lean, hard-edged man, and then had shut, opening once every few minutes to stare into the middle distance.
They had called him a genius. They had called him perfect.
The escort was unsure; after four hours of dull, if complacent, silence, he was more inclined to believe that Aske was merely the product of a poor union, and little more than a shell for some half-formed, quiet stupidity. Of course, he had been wrong before. Lila had been wild and uncontrollably brilliant, prone to fits of despair and suicide. She had been lovely, but was now covered in scars and the wounds of an erratic genius.
Eventually, when they weren't watching her as well as they should be, or when they were less inclined to indulge her delirium, she would succeed.
"And then she will be free," Aske said on the heels of that thought, not moving except to open and close his pale mouth.
Heinrick gave a start, but covered it cleverly. He eased into a more comfortable position, lounging against the wall, and asked offhandedly, "Was I thinking out loud? Sorry about that."
"Mm," came the muffled reply, as Aske's arm slowly shifted over his face. It was the most movement he had made since the train had pulled from the station, since he had been pulled on, pushed into the suite, and temporarily left.
He wasn't sure- but he thought he ached.
Heinrick leaned forward, clasping his hands between his lax knees. He openly stared at Aske's blank, unremarkable face, and his thoughts returned to where they had been looping for the majority of the trip. Where to start?
"The beginning is good," Aske mumbled. Heinrick was admittedly surprised as the child moved to sit up, jerking and awkward like an ugly little doll. But, Evren and Cori and Danica had been like this- purposefully resilient, stubbornly passive. The rule was to wait. Patience was the key. And Heinrick was very, very good at patient. Evren had just needed someone to smile at him, to offer a warm hand. Cori needed to laugh. Danica, with help from a thunderstorm, comfort.
Aske looked at him askance, his loose hair crossing his nose and turning him into a picture of grungy lifelessness. "Is that your job?"
Heinrick smiled. It was an open, earnest smile. Well-practiced. "How long have you been listening in on my thoughts?"
A shrug. "I don't know."
"What do you know?" Evren had had a very clear idea of what was in store for him, and Cori none at all. Danica had been too frightened and muddle-headed to even receive the most cursory explanations. Lila had been... Lila.
Aske stared down at the ground. His feet did not quite reach the floor. His toes swayed with the heavy, rhythmic motion of the train as it hummed through the mountains and passes, loud and eerie in the snowy tracks. He wrinkled his nose in thought, and then pulled his legs away from the faux wood flooring and up to his chest. He seemed very small and useless at that moment, curled in on himself and waiting. Malnourished from the war complicating trade with the foreign farmers, and the anti-import campaigns, Heinrick supposed. "I am hungry," Aske finally agreed, tacking his input onto the end of the wolfish man's thoughts.
"I see, then I'll arrange a meal for you before we disembark."
"Thank you."
Silence filtered down on them like a mourning veil. With nothing better to do, the escort made the call into kitchens, and Aske was soon picking away at a pasta and fruit platter. He ate like there was not tomorrow- as if there was no dawn waiting for him, and he could take his time with the mediocre meal. The child passed his eyes across him innumerable times, as though contemplating. He was slow and deliberate, and still seemed to lack that spark that Heinrick associated with intelligent youth.
Knowing that Aske was listening in, he only shrugged in defense and gave a small half-smile. Aske said nothing.
Finally, out of boredom, and sheer willfulness, the man said, "You know, they told me you were a psychic. Not a mind-reader."
"They can't tell you what they don't know," Aske murmured darkly, gazing at him with steady, wide dark eyes. His face was unusually lit, angled down and shadowed by the sheet of his dull hair. Heinrick frowned. The committee was typically so careful when they enrolled candidates of Aske's nature in the war effort.
"How many children, mister Raus?" Aske asked conversationally, chewing mildly on a delicate slice of pear. He looked at Heinrick expectantly, plain face graced by a nameless emotion. "How many do you escort to that base every month? Ten? Twenty?"
The man tried to salvage control of the conversation, "I see you were just playing possum earlier, young man. I'm sorry for thinking you were dull in the head."
Aske smiled gently, "I'm sorry, too."
Heinrick didn't want to ask 'for what.'
He found himself answering, rather than allowing the boy to simply pluck the numbers from his skull, "Thirty last month. Before that, an average of ten. You're the thirteenth this month."
Aske smiled as if tickled, and it was a genuine, boyish smile that almost had Heinrick relaxing. He knew better. Lila had not thought twice about killing him when she'd gotten her wits about her. But, he was an escort for good reason.
"Before the war, you were a...?"
"Military reserve, juvenile detention counselor."
"I was a thirteen year old boy," was the serious response, accompanied by an almost surprised expression, colored by the strange, knowing glint in those dark, still eyes. "And now I am a weapon. How interesting... I was depressed when I first understood the gravity of my situation, you understand. So I'm sorry for not responding with more warmth when we met. I hope you can forgive me."
Heinrick knew he was asking for something else. The pretty words were dolled onto something very grim, and very dark. Aske was much, much smarter than he had allowed. "You look like someone I know," the child whispered, "Because of that, I feel like I can talk to you about what's happening. It's your job to listen to me. You're my escort."
Very slowly, very precisely, Heinrick nodded, and when he did, Aske unfolded himself from the plush redness of his bench, on his side of the suite, and stepped over. He was standing too close. Looking down at the lean man, standing between his knees, he looked suddenly eerie and intense, nothing like a child ought to. Heinrick thought wildly that war often did that to its civilians.
Aske shook his head no.
"It's death that does it."
"Death?" Heinrick swallowed, trying not to appear uncomfortable, regardless of Aske's apparent ability to read it off of him.
The boy nodded, and very deliberately crawled into his lap. He held Heinrick's shoulders and straddled his thighs, breaking eye contact only to ascertain where his knees fit against the bench. Then, he wound his arms around the man's neck, and leaned against him, sighing something nearly inaudible. "Tovoe," he was sure he'd heard.
Discomfited, and devising polite, non-threatening ways to disentangle the boy, he dared to confirm, "What?"
"To-vo-e," came the muffled reply, near his neck. "I hope you can forgive me."
Heinrick let out a huff of air, more to steel himself than to sigh, and asked, "Who are you asking forgiveness from? Really?"
About now, Cori or Danica would have begun to cry, but Aske only shook his head, where the man could feel the touch of his brown hair against his collar. "I am plain. I'm ugly pale, not pretty pale. Not like Lila."
Heinrick startled, pulling the child away to stare almost angrily at him. "Now listen to me, young man. You need to stop fooling around. It's rude to grab names and numbers out of a person's head. It's also rude to withhold information from the military. You need to stop. You've been chosen for a very special project, that only gifted kids like you can be a part of."
Aske gazed back at him, eyes blank and lifeless, mouth parted stupidly. It was painful to see the well-spoken boy retreat back to the shell he had been six hours ago. Heinrick set his mouth in a thin line, unwilling to back down. "You need to get down and explain to me what's bothering you. I assure you that this behavior is unnecessary."
Using the same tones Aske had employed seemed to work, seemed to have some glimmer of effect- but it had been a shot in the dark. Heinrick felt something unsettlingly strange and difficult in the boy, that he was not only not expecting, but almost afraid of. But, he was smiling, aware, and his eyes gleamed with a feral intelligence, unnatural for a fifteen year old.
"Tovoe smiled more when he scolded me," Aske finally mumbled, touching the wolfish shock of blonde hair that Heinrick usually kept under cap. "You don't need to lie to me, mister Raus. I know what a weapon of war does. I know what will become of me."
Aske smiled dangerously, as if he were thinking along an entirely different track. Heinrick sighed honestly, then, and before he could push Aske back, heard, "I'm not ******** with you, sir. I really did know Lila." The child leaned in close, whispering against his ear, "Tovoe's little sister."
An awful heat rose up against the man's neck, and he swallowed hard, forcing down the reaction. "You need to get down, Aske."
"She was beautiful, but not like him," the child continued blithely on, "Tovoe was special."
"Aske," Heinrick warned.
"Or what...? You'll use your gun on me?" the kid's hands slid down his shoulders, into his jacket, and his small hand passed along the holster before winding behind the man's back. Snugly, Aske rested against his chest. Before he could defend himself, he heard the innocuous whisper, "You're my escort. It's your job to listen to me. Until we get there. Tomorrow is such a big day, God forgive me..."
"I'm listening."
"I know... Tovoe," Aske whispered, leaning up to press his lips against the thinly drawn line that was Heinrick's mouth. He was so full of confliction, so sure of himself and yet so utterly lacking in force. It was Aske's opinion that perhaps Raus had lost his roots in counseling. But, he imagined, war was like that. Death was like that. As expected, Heinrick panicked, and tried to throw him off. He was unsuccessful in even bringing his hands up from the bench, where he had lain them in a careful announcement of neutrality.
Heinrick's eyes shone with a peculiar fear, as he seemed to run through an inventory of his muscle groups, unable to move a single limb. He opened his mouth in horror, but no sound issued. "This morning, when they came, I was so tired. I was sad, mister Raus, because the only person who's ever loved me was all ready gone. Do you know what that's like?"
Heinrick narrowed his eyes, still unable to move more than his head, and entirely incapable of forcing sound from his vocal chords.
"I decided not to fight it. I decided I would go willingly into death. And then I saw you. There's something... naive about you, sir. The way you see things is so simple. You see what you see, and you don't see everything else. I can tell. I'm so plain and stupid," he said it with a smile, and stroked the sides of Heinrick's face. "I like you."
For a moment, the escort could not breathe; his head reeled with the insanity of where he sat, and what was happening. "But, that doesn't change anything. Everything is moving so fast, mister Raus. It's like time is running away with me. I have to make a decision now, and you have to understand why I'm making it. You're the last person who will know me."
Another kiss against his lips, and it was so soft, that Heinrick was taken aback. For a moment- intrigued. He forced it down, denying it as best he could under the circumstances. It had been a while since a woman, after all... and his girlfriend- sweet, sweet Olivia- had perished in the second series of bombings-
"Don't think about her. Think about me," Aske grasped his chin and Heinrick could see the frantic draw of the boy's eyebrows, "Tovoe."
When the child drew back, he said firmly, "If you promise not to panic, not to scream, or shout, I'll let you talk. Okay?"
Heinrick nodded, and thought as firmly as he imagined himself able, Okay.
Abruptly, a dryness came into his throat, and he swallowed, experimentally trying to move his hands while he did.
"You can't do that," Aske warned gently.
He coughed. "I see."
Desperately, the brunette held on to his shoulders, and Heinrick dutifully said nothing more, wondering precisely what sort of kid the committee had stumbled on. Wondering if they knew what they had possibly gotten themselves into. "They don't, they don't. I'm not like the others, mister Raus. I'm not."
"What are you then?" Heinrick gestured vaguely with his chin, "First you read my mind, and then you bind me up like a voodoo doll. How did this all go unnoticed by them?"
Aske shrugged, "I hide it. You know I can. That's how you saw me, that's how Tovoe saw me, until I let him in. I miss him."
Heinrick knew the crack of Aske's voice all too well. How many children had he escorted? So many of them eventually confessing, I want my mom. I want to go home. I miss the valley. Why can't there just be peace?
He didn't have an answer then. He didn't now.
"I gave you your voice, and I can give you your arms. But you have to hold me like you held Lila."
The lights were soft and dim on the boy's shoulders, and he looked haunted, sad. Olivia had affected that look on some days, when the news was especially bad. Or when his little brother needed a shoulder to cry on, God knew he had offered his. He said firmly, "All right."
As soon as he'd said it, his arms were free. He knew better than to think he could trick the boy into releasing him all the way, and he knew better than to think of the gun. Aske smiled at him, reading his every notion like a storybook. "I understand," the boy said with his strange, knowing smile, and the train rocked around a corner amiably.
Aske rested in the circle of the man's arms, and frowned with his pale lips and plain face. "The best moments of my life have all ready gone by, so I don't mind this road too terribly. Not really. I just wish it could be different, that's all."
"Aske, I know that war is... depressing, but that doesn't mean your good years have all gone by. You're just a child. Your best years haven't even arrived yet," near the boy's hair, he tried to pitch his words low and gentle, as he had with poor, confused Cori and terrified Danica. As he had when Lila had rounded on him, all nails and biting and madness.
"Mm," muffled Aske, pressing himself closer, "I appreciate that."
Heinrick let it stand for a full minute before he asserted firmly, "You need to tell me what's going on in your head. You need to be clear, young man. I'll overlook all of this nonsensical behavior if you are clear."
Aske sat up slowly, sighing as if very, very tired. "Are you sure? Are you sure that's a decision you want to make? Once you do, there'll be an even bigger crossroad to look on."
"I'm your escort," Heinrick said, more forcefully than he intended, as the n** of tiring and exasperation came at him, "It's my job. You told me you wanted someone to listen to you. I'm in no position to argue."
To prove his point, he strained against the force that held him pinned, and Aske smiled again, one more genuine, childlike happiness spreading across his face, before the somber, war-torn expression resurfaced.
"We're the bad guys, mister Raus," he said softly, trailing his fingers along the counselor's jaw and neck. "It's been two years since this war began, and the Alliance is so, so close to winning. The bombings are going to get worse, so much worse, if nothing changes. They have the upper hand, and we're using children to try and rectify that."
Heinrick wanted to disagree, but it wasn't in him. The denial died on his tongue and Aske canted his head in appreciation. The warm smile was disconcerting, as was the kiss that followed. There was a swipe of sweet dampness- the flavor of pears- against his lips as the boy withdrew, and when, fatigued, Heinrick went to explain that it was perfectly all right for the boy to be like that, it was less than acceptable for him to molest his escort, Aske pressed in. Very closely, very tightly; his mouth tasted more fantastically of pears, and God, grapes, and Heinrick ceased to think at all for a few moments.
Better than Olivia's kisses.
Aske grinned, but it did not reach his dark eyes. "I'm a psychic. I can also read minds. And what I've done to you is only the tip of the iceberg," he grasped Heinrick's shoulders seriously, his eyes wide and sparkling with a touch of exhaustion and furor. "And they don't know. They're not prepared. Do you understand what that means?"
Heinrick was sure he didn't.
"All the Alliance needs is a little help from the inside, and they can win. They can come in and take those bad men out of the offices. They can restore the trade routes, and work out agreements with the foreigners that our men won't," Aske slumped backward a bit, supported only by the large hands resting on his lower back, where the worn, gray fabric of his tunic was wrinkled and dusty against his skin. Heinrick nodded diplomatically, disagreeing on a level that was pure patriotism, and was not surprised by Aske's look of drain with him.
"Go on, kid," he encouraged, surprising himself with his own curiosity. He didn't need to ask how Aske knew such things; the entire world's secrets were the playthings of these children- these Wards, the committee had begun to flag them. Heinrick couldn't help but find his wording amusingly precious.
The child continued in a soft voice, likely ignoring the cosseting, "There's only this one facility in the entire nation, mister Raus. You know that. You're one of the few men that go there on a regular basis. It doesn't house all of the... Wards? Wards is what we're called now? "
Heinrick nodded.
He received a similar nod in response, "But... if something were to happen to this place... what do you suppose would happen? The nation's last defense against itself would be gone. The Alliance could move in without fear of the weapons we are."
"Exactly what are you suggesting?" there was a cold, uncertain fear building in the man's chest; his gray eyes narrowed suspiciously, the inklings of revolt crawling on him like disease.
Aske sighed, his straight nose pressing against the man's neck, "I will be the last Ward you take to that place."
Heinrick shuddered, pulling the boy away from his chest with as much leverage as he could muster given the circumstances. "You can't be serious. Are you planning on destroying everything?"
The boy nodded dumbly, his mouth saddened in the shape of a frown. Of a sudden, Heinrick's arms froze where they hung- his fingers still dug into the shoulders of Aske's tunic. "Now you know," the color in the boy's cheeks waned, "And you realize I can do it, don't you?
"Let me go, Aske," Heinrick warned, his voice steady in spite of his taut heart. The boy shook his head, his eyes wet and staring.
"I like you," he repeated. "Just let me finish."
Unable to move, the man had little choice but to obey. Aske smiled at his dark expression, and returned to lightly touching his face, as if he were remembering a better time, "In three days, the Alliance will release a new kind of bomb in three locations. The fallout will be unimaginable. One of the locations is within fifty miles of the facility. I will coincide my plan with the release, and the Alliance will claim the effect I create. The other two bombs will target two major political campaign grounds."
Heinrick's mind reeled, but Aske continued on, his voice a strained spark in the artificial train light, "Within a week, our dictator will receive news of the Ward facility's destruction, 'as a result' of the attack on the largest steel factory in the nation. He will renounce the war, and the Alliance will move in and fix things. Do you follow?"
A quick, terrible nod.
"If I don't, Heinrick, if I don't destroy the facility, he will continue on. He'll drag us down into nothing, and I'll die without having done any good in my life, I'd regret it forever... Tovoe would never forgive me..." the dampness in his eyes sparkled once, twice, and a thin line of tears tracked down his cheek. Aske leaned against the man, and sniffled miserably, seeing death in both directions and helpless. He took a deep, steadying breath, and released Heinrick's arms.
Immediately, he found himself restrained at the shoulder, pushed away, with a gun to his head. He nodded, mutely allowing his hands to slide away from his escort's waist. "You mean," Heinrick licked his lips, "You honestly mean to kill everyone- every man, woman, and child- at the base, on a psychic hunch?"
"It's for the best," the kid managed to whisper, sniffing and resisting the urge to wipe away the salty wetness on his face. "I'll die, too... the force will just... tear everything away."
"You're insane," the gun cocked against the limp brown of Aske's hair, and the boy slowly shook his head.
"Not very much."
Heinrick nearly pulled the trigger, but hesitated. There was an ungodly pause while his thoughts raced, and his blood pounded in his ears. He knew the boy was right, everything the child had said was true. God, it was true. But, he was military, and he had a job to do if--
"If things don't go as planned?" Aske murmured softly, his fingers twisted together at his belly. He took a slow breath, and avoided eye contact, "If you kill me, you won't get into trouble. There will be a cover-up for the sound of the shot, and the train personnel wil clean up the mess. Things like this have happened before. But, if you do kill me... then at least do one thing for me. Please?"
Heinrick pressed the barrel more firmly into the child's skull, resolve weak and unsteady.
"Get out of here, any way you can. Before the bombs. If you're here, you'll be killed. You'll be almost dead center at impact two. So please, please leave the country, mister Raus."
Heinrick exhaled, a hiss of air that rushed out of him like a piece of his soul. "This is why. This is why they called you perfect. You don't just see the future, do you? You see the future in multiplicities. You know where the crossroads lead."
A miserable little nod.
"This is ridiculous..." he held the gun as steadily as he could, arms beginning to shake from the effort of holding it in mid-air. "You're... telling me these things-- Why?"
There was an edge of desperation in his voice- a panicked tone that he had never heard before. Aske shrugged. "Because you're the last person who will know me. Because you look a little like Tovoe. Because I like you."
Heinrick said nothing.
"I wasn't lying earlier, mister Raus... you have to make a decision now. Thousands of people are going to die. That's not going to change. But, if you let me go, I can... I can..." he seemed unable to go on, and dropped his chin to his chest, exhaustion hot on his neck and shoulders. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward, until his forehead hit Heinrick's collar. The gun was shaking against the boy's head; blood would be everywhere, everywhere and all over him. And the blood... would be on his hands. Not just Aske's blood, but the blood of all those people... and an endless war, with only death in sight.
"It's death that does it, sir," Aske said softly, his breath a warmth drifting down the man's shirt.
Nearly, nearly he squeezed the trigger.
"Tovoe," breathed Aske.
"I'm not Tovoe," he growled. Heinrick grasped the boy's face, held it and glared, and pressed his lips to the pale forehead, the gun angled away and cool against Aske's temple. "You fool boy."
Like Evren, Cori, Danica, and even, God, Lila, Aske was just a child- just a fool child in the middle of a war--
Whose lips had strayed up to his, whose mouth tasted like fool innocence and ******** fruit, and whose body was too warm against him; whose hips had tilted in surprise when Heinrick had, damned and going to hell, kissed him back, kissed him roughly and angrily, feeling the claw of the boy's hands against his neck. The train rocked, and he felt that ridiculous heat down his neck, that stupid, ungodly fever that was-
It was death.
Aske whimpered and rocked against him, and he allowed it. The child mewled his dead lover's name, and he did not stop him. The awful warmth built in him, and Aske- plain and beautiful- fueled it. Perhaps it was another of the boy's tricks; perhaps it was the culmination of a grand plot to confuse him, distract him, shoot him dead with his own gun, and make a run for it.
But, no. He wouldn't have had to go through this trouble. It was nonsense- it was denial. "Shut up," Aske hissed, grinding against him almost recklessly. "I like you. I can do what I want with you like this," he leaned in to breathe against his ear, "You're a convenient stand-in for Tovoe, and... you are the last person who will know me."
Said before he drew Heinrick's earlobe into a mouth that knew things children ought not know-
The gun dropped to the seat, bounced, and clattered to the floor.
Shortly after, he came.
---
At the station, Heinrick Raus escorted a limp, dead-looking boy down the snowy steps. There was another man there; bundled thickly and red-nosed from cold, he shook the tall, lean man's hand and smiled congenially. There was an old, reliable steam car waiting nearby, puttering softly while a coil of grayish smoke issued merrily from the engine.
"So this is our psychic, is it? Not much to look at, is he?" the man, who was a sergeant, said without malice, "No matter; just needs a few good meals and a decent exercise program. Which we have! Has Raus told you about our wonderful children's program, young man?"
Aske said nothing, only flickered dull, dark eyes up at the smiling man. There was an emptiness there that was entirely disturbing, and the sergeant coughed before drawing Heinrick into another bout of handshaking. "Well! I understand it was a long train in, are you staying with us until the next one out?"
"No," Heinrick said cautiously, his voice holding more gravel than typical, "I have a great deal of business to attend to back at headquarters."
The sergeant seemed genuinely disappointed, and smiled with his eyebrows drawn in regret, "Well, that is unfortunate, my good man. We do enjoy you at the dinner table around here. Next time, I hope your schedule will allow for more socializing."
Heinrick nodded.
"Well, then young man- Aske, is it? Let's get moving while there's still a bit of twilight left. I do hate driving in the dark." He turned for the car, knowing that if Aske did not follow immediately, Raus would push him along.
Heinrick swallowed hard, the seeing smoke from the train, the factory, and the fires of the facility's kitchens and such staining the darkening sky. He knew where Aske was going. Straight to the training that would more than likely lead to his death on the field. Unless...
Aske looked up at him, the blankness of his face eerie and unsettling. Briefly, he saw him not as the plain, stupid child holding himself lifelessly before him, but as the troubled genius who may have saved his life- mouth bruised cerise and open in a moan, as his body quavered beneath his hands, trembling in release...
A release from this life.
Aske colored suddenly, as if he had seen the intimacy of Heinrick's thoughts, and quietly said, "Thank you," before turning and following the sergeant away.
He never looked back.
Heinrick stepped back onto the train, returned to their suite, and held his head in his hands. He had made a decision.
Me
I have a question. You said you would prefer not to read about the same characters throughout the three rounds, but wanted a tie-in, yeah? I'm (shamefully) about 4/fifths done with my first entry, and would like to continue on in the same vein I started in.
However, the second part of the writing wouldn't involve the first cast of characters (except briefly, and in dialogue refs), and the third part would continue in the same arc, but once again have a primarily different cast with brief references to former characters.
Would that be okay?
However, the second part of the writing wouldn't involve the first cast of characters (except briefly, and in dialogue refs), and the third part would continue in the same arc, but once again have a primarily different cast with brief references to former characters.
Would that be okay?
Well, yes or no, here's an entry for round one (Time @ FP.com), replete with... stuff. I chose a prompt and started writing off of the inspiration, as instructed, but the end product is sorely removed from the intention of the song, I think. Less uplifting, this is- God knows. But, it's done, and only a day late. Go me.
---
Username: Ivydoll
Round: One [page 16]
Title: Gone By
Time: Yesterday.
Prompt: Time of Your Life, Greenday
Gone By
He had a plain face, and lank brown hair, which hung around his cheeks in limp cinnamon strands. From Heinrick's point of view, he was nothing special. Too thin, too slumped, and lacking all signs of intelligent life; Aske had remained half-collapsed against the train's cushioned seat from the moment he had been ushered in. Aske had not moved. His eyes had flickered disinterestedly up at the lean, hard-edged man, and then had shut, opening once every few minutes to stare into the middle distance.
They had called him a genius. They had called him perfect.
The escort was unsure; after four hours of dull, if complacent, silence, he was more inclined to believe that Aske was merely the product of a poor union, and little more than a shell for some half-formed, quiet stupidity. Of course, he had been wrong before. Lila had been wild and uncontrollably brilliant, prone to fits of despair and suicide. She had been lovely, but was now covered in scars and the wounds of an erratic genius.
Eventually, when they weren't watching her as well as they should be, or when they were less inclined to indulge her delirium, she would succeed.
"And then she will be free," Aske said on the heels of that thought, not moving except to open and close his pale mouth.
Heinrick gave a start, but covered it cleverly. He eased into a more comfortable position, lounging against the wall, and asked offhandedly, "Was I thinking out loud? Sorry about that."
"Mm," came the muffled reply, as Aske's arm slowly shifted over his face. It was the most movement he had made since the train had pulled from the station, since he had been pulled on, pushed into the suite, and temporarily left.
He wasn't sure- but he thought he ached.
Heinrick leaned forward, clasping his hands between his lax knees. He openly stared at Aske's blank, unremarkable face, and his thoughts returned to where they had been looping for the majority of the trip. Where to start?
"The beginning is good," Aske mumbled. Heinrick was admittedly surprised as the child moved to sit up, jerking and awkward like an ugly little doll. But, Evren and Cori and Danica had been like this- purposefully resilient, stubbornly passive. The rule was to wait. Patience was the key. And Heinrick was very, very good at patient. Evren had just needed someone to smile at him, to offer a warm hand. Cori needed to laugh. Danica, with help from a thunderstorm, comfort.
Aske looked at him askance, his loose hair crossing his nose and turning him into a picture of grungy lifelessness. "Is that your job?"
Heinrick smiled. It was an open, earnest smile. Well-practiced. "How long have you been listening in on my thoughts?"
A shrug. "I don't know."
"What do you know?" Evren had had a very clear idea of what was in store for him, and Cori none at all. Danica had been too frightened and muddle-headed to even receive the most cursory explanations. Lila had been... Lila.
Aske stared down at the ground. His feet did not quite reach the floor. His toes swayed with the heavy, rhythmic motion of the train as it hummed through the mountains and passes, loud and eerie in the snowy tracks. He wrinkled his nose in thought, and then pulled his legs away from the faux wood flooring and up to his chest. He seemed very small and useless at that moment, curled in on himself and waiting. Malnourished from the war complicating trade with the foreign farmers, and the anti-import campaigns, Heinrick supposed. "I am hungry," Aske finally agreed, tacking his input onto the end of the wolfish man's thoughts.
"I see, then I'll arrange a meal for you before we disembark."
"Thank you."
Silence filtered down on them like a mourning veil. With nothing better to do, the escort made the call into kitchens, and Aske was soon picking away at a pasta and fruit platter. He ate like there was not tomorrow- as if there was no dawn waiting for him, and he could take his time with the mediocre meal. The child passed his eyes across him innumerable times, as though contemplating. He was slow and deliberate, and still seemed to lack that spark that Heinrick associated with intelligent youth.
Knowing that Aske was listening in, he only shrugged in defense and gave a small half-smile. Aske said nothing.
Finally, out of boredom, and sheer willfulness, the man said, "You know, they told me you were a psychic. Not a mind-reader."
"They can't tell you what they don't know," Aske murmured darkly, gazing at him with steady, wide dark eyes. His face was unusually lit, angled down and shadowed by the sheet of his dull hair. Heinrick frowned. The committee was typically so careful when they enrolled candidates of Aske's nature in the war effort.
"How many children, mister Raus?" Aske asked conversationally, chewing mildly on a delicate slice of pear. He looked at Heinrick expectantly, plain face graced by a nameless emotion. "How many do you escort to that base every month? Ten? Twenty?"
The man tried to salvage control of the conversation, "I see you were just playing possum earlier, young man. I'm sorry for thinking you were dull in the head."
Aske smiled gently, "I'm sorry, too."
Heinrick didn't want to ask 'for what.'
He found himself answering, rather than allowing the boy to simply pluck the numbers from his skull, "Thirty last month. Before that, an average of ten. You're the thirteenth this month."
Aske smiled as if tickled, and it was a genuine, boyish smile that almost had Heinrick relaxing. He knew better. Lila had not thought twice about killing him when she'd gotten her wits about her. But, he was an escort for good reason.
"Before the war, you were a...?"
"Military reserve, juvenile detention counselor."
"I was a thirteen year old boy," was the serious response, accompanied by an almost surprised expression, colored by the strange, knowing glint in those dark, still eyes. "And now I am a weapon. How interesting... I was depressed when I first understood the gravity of my situation, you understand. So I'm sorry for not responding with more warmth when we met. I hope you can forgive me."
Heinrick knew he was asking for something else. The pretty words were dolled onto something very grim, and very dark. Aske was much, much smarter than he had allowed. "You look like someone I know," the child whispered, "Because of that, I feel like I can talk to you about what's happening. It's your job to listen to me. You're my escort."
Very slowly, very precisely, Heinrick nodded, and when he did, Aske unfolded himself from the plush redness of his bench, on his side of the suite, and stepped over. He was standing too close. Looking down at the lean man, standing between his knees, he looked suddenly eerie and intense, nothing like a child ought to. Heinrick thought wildly that war often did that to its civilians.
Aske shook his head no.
"It's death that does it."
"Death?" Heinrick swallowed, trying not to appear uncomfortable, regardless of Aske's apparent ability to read it off of him.
The boy nodded, and very deliberately crawled into his lap. He held Heinrick's shoulders and straddled his thighs, breaking eye contact only to ascertain where his knees fit against the bench. Then, he wound his arms around the man's neck, and leaned against him, sighing something nearly inaudible. "Tovoe," he was sure he'd heard.
Discomfited, and devising polite, non-threatening ways to disentangle the boy, he dared to confirm, "What?"
"To-vo-e," came the muffled reply, near his neck. "I hope you can forgive me."
Heinrick let out a huff of air, more to steel himself than to sigh, and asked, "Who are you asking forgiveness from? Really?"
About now, Cori or Danica would have begun to cry, but Aske only shook his head, where the man could feel the touch of his brown hair against his collar. "I am plain. I'm ugly pale, not pretty pale. Not like Lila."
Heinrick startled, pulling the child away to stare almost angrily at him. "Now listen to me, young man. You need to stop fooling around. It's rude to grab names and numbers out of a person's head. It's also rude to withhold information from the military. You need to stop. You've been chosen for a very special project, that only gifted kids like you can be a part of."
Aske gazed back at him, eyes blank and lifeless, mouth parted stupidly. It was painful to see the well-spoken boy retreat back to the shell he had been six hours ago. Heinrick set his mouth in a thin line, unwilling to back down. "You need to get down and explain to me what's bothering you. I assure you that this behavior is unnecessary."
Using the same tones Aske had employed seemed to work, seemed to have some glimmer of effect- but it had been a shot in the dark. Heinrick felt something unsettlingly strange and difficult in the boy, that he was not only not expecting, but almost afraid of. But, he was smiling, aware, and his eyes gleamed with a feral intelligence, unnatural for a fifteen year old.
"Tovoe smiled more when he scolded me," Aske finally mumbled, touching the wolfish shock of blonde hair that Heinrick usually kept under cap. "You don't need to lie to me, mister Raus. I know what a weapon of war does. I know what will become of me."
Aske smiled dangerously, as if he were thinking along an entirely different track. Heinrick sighed honestly, then, and before he could push Aske back, heard, "I'm not ******** with you, sir. I really did know Lila." The child leaned in close, whispering against his ear, "Tovoe's little sister."
An awful heat rose up against the man's neck, and he swallowed hard, forcing down the reaction. "You need to get down, Aske."
"She was beautiful, but not like him," the child continued blithely on, "Tovoe was special."
"Aske," Heinrick warned.
"Or what...? You'll use your gun on me?" the kid's hands slid down his shoulders, into his jacket, and his small hand passed along the holster before winding behind the man's back. Snugly, Aske rested against his chest. Before he could defend himself, he heard the innocuous whisper, "You're my escort. It's your job to listen to me. Until we get there. Tomorrow is such a big day, God forgive me..."
"I'm listening."
"I know... Tovoe," Aske whispered, leaning up to press his lips against the thinly drawn line that was Heinrick's mouth. He was so full of confliction, so sure of himself and yet so utterly lacking in force. It was Aske's opinion that perhaps Raus had lost his roots in counseling. But, he imagined, war was like that. Death was like that. As expected, Heinrick panicked, and tried to throw him off. He was unsuccessful in even bringing his hands up from the bench, where he had lain them in a careful announcement of neutrality.
Heinrick's eyes shone with a peculiar fear, as he seemed to run through an inventory of his muscle groups, unable to move a single limb. He opened his mouth in horror, but no sound issued. "This morning, when they came, I was so tired. I was sad, mister Raus, because the only person who's ever loved me was all ready gone. Do you know what that's like?"
Heinrick narrowed his eyes, still unable to move more than his head, and entirely incapable of forcing sound from his vocal chords.
"I decided not to fight it. I decided I would go willingly into death. And then I saw you. There's something... naive about you, sir. The way you see things is so simple. You see what you see, and you don't see everything else. I can tell. I'm so plain and stupid," he said it with a smile, and stroked the sides of Heinrick's face. "I like you."
For a moment, the escort could not breathe; his head reeled with the insanity of where he sat, and what was happening. "But, that doesn't change anything. Everything is moving so fast, mister Raus. It's like time is running away with me. I have to make a decision now, and you have to understand why I'm making it. You're the last person who will know me."
Another kiss against his lips, and it was so soft, that Heinrick was taken aback. For a moment- intrigued. He forced it down, denying it as best he could under the circumstances. It had been a while since a woman, after all... and his girlfriend- sweet, sweet Olivia- had perished in the second series of bombings-
"Don't think about her. Think about me," Aske grasped his chin and Heinrick could see the frantic draw of the boy's eyebrows, "Tovoe."
When the child drew back, he said firmly, "If you promise not to panic, not to scream, or shout, I'll let you talk. Okay?"
Heinrick nodded, and thought as firmly as he imagined himself able, Okay.
Abruptly, a dryness came into his throat, and he swallowed, experimentally trying to move his hands while he did.
"You can't do that," Aske warned gently.
He coughed. "I see."
Desperately, the brunette held on to his shoulders, and Heinrick dutifully said nothing more, wondering precisely what sort of kid the committee had stumbled on. Wondering if they knew what they had possibly gotten themselves into. "They don't, they don't. I'm not like the others, mister Raus. I'm not."
"What are you then?" Heinrick gestured vaguely with his chin, "First you read my mind, and then you bind me up like a voodoo doll. How did this all go unnoticed by them?"
Aske shrugged, "I hide it. You know I can. That's how you saw me, that's how Tovoe saw me, until I let him in. I miss him."
Heinrick knew the crack of Aske's voice all too well. How many children had he escorted? So many of them eventually confessing, I want my mom. I want to go home. I miss the valley. Why can't there just be peace?
He didn't have an answer then. He didn't now.
"I gave you your voice, and I can give you your arms. But you have to hold me like you held Lila."
The lights were soft and dim on the boy's shoulders, and he looked haunted, sad. Olivia had affected that look on some days, when the news was especially bad. Or when his little brother needed a shoulder to cry on, God knew he had offered his. He said firmly, "All right."
As soon as he'd said it, his arms were free. He knew better than to think he could trick the boy into releasing him all the way, and he knew better than to think of the gun. Aske smiled at him, reading his every notion like a storybook. "I understand," the boy said with his strange, knowing smile, and the train rocked around a corner amiably.
Aske rested in the circle of the man's arms, and frowned with his pale lips and plain face. "The best moments of my life have all ready gone by, so I don't mind this road too terribly. Not really. I just wish it could be different, that's all."
"Aske, I know that war is... depressing, but that doesn't mean your good years have all gone by. You're just a child. Your best years haven't even arrived yet," near the boy's hair, he tried to pitch his words low and gentle, as he had with poor, confused Cori and terrified Danica. As he had when Lila had rounded on him, all nails and biting and madness.
"Mm," muffled Aske, pressing himself closer, "I appreciate that."
Heinrick let it stand for a full minute before he asserted firmly, "You need to tell me what's going on in your head. You need to be clear, young man. I'll overlook all of this nonsensical behavior if you are clear."
Aske sat up slowly, sighing as if very, very tired. "Are you sure? Are you sure that's a decision you want to make? Once you do, there'll be an even bigger crossroad to look on."
"I'm your escort," Heinrick said, more forcefully than he intended, as the n** of tiring and exasperation came at him, "It's my job. You told me you wanted someone to listen to you. I'm in no position to argue."
To prove his point, he strained against the force that held him pinned, and Aske smiled again, one more genuine, childlike happiness spreading across his face, before the somber, war-torn expression resurfaced.
"We're the bad guys, mister Raus," he said softly, trailing his fingers along the counselor's jaw and neck. "It's been two years since this war began, and the Alliance is so, so close to winning. The bombings are going to get worse, so much worse, if nothing changes. They have the upper hand, and we're using children to try and rectify that."
Heinrick wanted to disagree, but it wasn't in him. The denial died on his tongue and Aske canted his head in appreciation. The warm smile was disconcerting, as was the kiss that followed. There was a swipe of sweet dampness- the flavor of pears- against his lips as the boy withdrew, and when, fatigued, Heinrick went to explain that it was perfectly all right for the boy to be like that, it was less than acceptable for him to molest his escort, Aske pressed in. Very closely, very tightly; his mouth tasted more fantastically of pears, and God, grapes, and Heinrick ceased to think at all for a few moments.
Better than Olivia's kisses.
Aske grinned, but it did not reach his dark eyes. "I'm a psychic. I can also read minds. And what I've done to you is only the tip of the iceberg," he grasped Heinrick's shoulders seriously, his eyes wide and sparkling with a touch of exhaustion and furor. "And they don't know. They're not prepared. Do you understand what that means?"
Heinrick was sure he didn't.
"All the Alliance needs is a little help from the inside, and they can win. They can come in and take those bad men out of the offices. They can restore the trade routes, and work out agreements with the foreigners that our men won't," Aske slumped backward a bit, supported only by the large hands resting on his lower back, where the worn, gray fabric of his tunic was wrinkled and dusty against his skin. Heinrick nodded diplomatically, disagreeing on a level that was pure patriotism, and was not surprised by Aske's look of drain with him.
"Go on, kid," he encouraged, surprising himself with his own curiosity. He didn't need to ask how Aske knew such things; the entire world's secrets were the playthings of these children- these Wards, the committee had begun to flag them. Heinrick couldn't help but find his wording amusingly precious.
The child continued in a soft voice, likely ignoring the cosseting, "There's only this one facility in the entire nation, mister Raus. You know that. You're one of the few men that go there on a regular basis. It doesn't house all of the... Wards? Wards is what we're called now? "
Heinrick nodded.
He received a similar nod in response, "But... if something were to happen to this place... what do you suppose would happen? The nation's last defense against itself would be gone. The Alliance could move in without fear of the weapons we are."
"Exactly what are you suggesting?" there was a cold, uncertain fear building in the man's chest; his gray eyes narrowed suspiciously, the inklings of revolt crawling on him like disease.
Aske sighed, his straight nose pressing against the man's neck, "I will be the last Ward you take to that place."
Heinrick shuddered, pulling the boy away from his chest with as much leverage as he could muster given the circumstances. "You can't be serious. Are you planning on destroying everything?"
The boy nodded dumbly, his mouth saddened in the shape of a frown. Of a sudden, Heinrick's arms froze where they hung- his fingers still dug into the shoulders of Aske's tunic. "Now you know," the color in the boy's cheeks waned, "And you realize I can do it, don't you?
"Let me go, Aske," Heinrick warned, his voice steady in spite of his taut heart. The boy shook his head, his eyes wet and staring.
"I like you," he repeated. "Just let me finish."
Unable to move, the man had little choice but to obey. Aske smiled at his dark expression, and returned to lightly touching his face, as if he were remembering a better time, "In three days, the Alliance will release a new kind of bomb in three locations. The fallout will be unimaginable. One of the locations is within fifty miles of the facility. I will coincide my plan with the release, and the Alliance will claim the effect I create. The other two bombs will target two major political campaign grounds."
Heinrick's mind reeled, but Aske continued on, his voice a strained spark in the artificial train light, "Within a week, our dictator will receive news of the Ward facility's destruction, 'as a result' of the attack on the largest steel factory in the nation. He will renounce the war, and the Alliance will move in and fix things. Do you follow?"
A quick, terrible nod.
"If I don't, Heinrick, if I don't destroy the facility, he will continue on. He'll drag us down into nothing, and I'll die without having done any good in my life, I'd regret it forever... Tovoe would never forgive me..." the dampness in his eyes sparkled once, twice, and a thin line of tears tracked down his cheek. Aske leaned against the man, and sniffled miserably, seeing death in both directions and helpless. He took a deep, steadying breath, and released Heinrick's arms.
Immediately, he found himself restrained at the shoulder, pushed away, with a gun to his head. He nodded, mutely allowing his hands to slide away from his escort's waist. "You mean," Heinrick licked his lips, "You honestly mean to kill everyone- every man, woman, and child- at the base, on a psychic hunch?"
"It's for the best," the kid managed to whisper, sniffing and resisting the urge to wipe away the salty wetness on his face. "I'll die, too... the force will just... tear everything away."
"You're insane," the gun cocked against the limp brown of Aske's hair, and the boy slowly shook his head.
"Not very much."
Heinrick nearly pulled the trigger, but hesitated. There was an ungodly pause while his thoughts raced, and his blood pounded in his ears. He knew the boy was right, everything the child had said was true. God, it was true. But, he was military, and he had a job to do if--
"If things don't go as planned?" Aske murmured softly, his fingers twisted together at his belly. He took a slow breath, and avoided eye contact, "If you kill me, you won't get into trouble. There will be a cover-up for the sound of the shot, and the train personnel wil clean up the mess. Things like this have happened before. But, if you do kill me... then at least do one thing for me. Please?"
Heinrick pressed the barrel more firmly into the child's skull, resolve weak and unsteady.
"Get out of here, any way you can. Before the bombs. If you're here, you'll be killed. You'll be almost dead center at impact two. So please, please leave the country, mister Raus."
Heinrick exhaled, a hiss of air that rushed out of him like a piece of his soul. "This is why. This is why they called you perfect. You don't just see the future, do you? You see the future in multiplicities. You know where the crossroads lead."
A miserable little nod.
"This is ridiculous..." he held the gun as steadily as he could, arms beginning to shake from the effort of holding it in mid-air. "You're... telling me these things-- Why?"
There was an edge of desperation in his voice- a panicked tone that he had never heard before. Aske shrugged. "Because you're the last person who will know me. Because you look a little like Tovoe. Because I like you."
Heinrick said nothing.
"I wasn't lying earlier, mister Raus... you have to make a decision now. Thousands of people are going to die. That's not going to change. But, if you let me go, I can... I can..." he seemed unable to go on, and dropped his chin to his chest, exhaustion hot on his neck and shoulders. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward, until his forehead hit Heinrick's collar. The gun was shaking against the boy's head; blood would be everywhere, everywhere and all over him. And the blood... would be on his hands. Not just Aske's blood, but the blood of all those people... and an endless war, with only death in sight.
"It's death that does it, sir," Aske said softly, his breath a warmth drifting down the man's shirt.
Nearly, nearly he squeezed the trigger.
"Tovoe," breathed Aske.
"I'm not Tovoe," he growled. Heinrick grasped the boy's face, held it and glared, and pressed his lips to the pale forehead, the gun angled away and cool against Aske's temple. "You fool boy."
Like Evren, Cori, Danica, and even, God, Lila, Aske was just a child- just a fool child in the middle of a war--
Whose lips had strayed up to his, whose mouth tasted like fool innocence and ******** fruit, and whose body was too warm against him; whose hips had tilted in surprise when Heinrick had, damned and going to hell, kissed him back, kissed him roughly and angrily, feeling the claw of the boy's hands against his neck. The train rocked, and he felt that ridiculous heat down his neck, that stupid, ungodly fever that was-
It was death.
Aske whimpered and rocked against him, and he allowed it. The child mewled his dead lover's name, and he did not stop him. The awful warmth built in him, and Aske- plain and beautiful- fueled it. Perhaps it was another of the boy's tricks; perhaps it was the culmination of a grand plot to confuse him, distract him, shoot him dead with his own gun, and make a run for it.
But, no. He wouldn't have had to go through this trouble. It was nonsense- it was denial. "Shut up," Aske hissed, grinding against him almost recklessly. "I like you. I can do what I want with you like this," he leaned in to breathe against his ear, "You're a convenient stand-in for Tovoe, and... you are the last person who will know me."
Said before he drew Heinrick's earlobe into a mouth that knew things children ought not know-
The gun dropped to the seat, bounced, and clattered to the floor.
Shortly after, he came.
---
At the station, Heinrick Raus escorted a limp, dead-looking boy down the snowy steps. There was another man there; bundled thickly and red-nosed from cold, he shook the tall, lean man's hand and smiled congenially. There was an old, reliable steam car waiting nearby, puttering softly while a coil of grayish smoke issued merrily from the engine.
"So this is our psychic, is it? Not much to look at, is he?" the man, who was a sergeant, said without malice, "No matter; just needs a few good meals and a decent exercise program. Which we have! Has Raus told you about our wonderful children's program, young man?"
Aske said nothing, only flickered dull, dark eyes up at the smiling man. There was an emptiness there that was entirely disturbing, and the sergeant coughed before drawing Heinrick into another bout of handshaking. "Well! I understand it was a long train in, are you staying with us until the next one out?"
"No," Heinrick said cautiously, his voice holding more gravel than typical, "I have a great deal of business to attend to back at headquarters."
The sergeant seemed genuinely disappointed, and smiled with his eyebrows drawn in regret, "Well, that is unfortunate, my good man. We do enjoy you at the dinner table around here. Next time, I hope your schedule will allow for more socializing."
Heinrick nodded.
"Well, then young man- Aske, is it? Let's get moving while there's still a bit of twilight left. I do hate driving in the dark." He turned for the car, knowing that if Aske did not follow immediately, Raus would push him along.
Heinrick swallowed hard, the seeing smoke from the train, the factory, and the fires of the facility's kitchens and such staining the darkening sky. He knew where Aske was going. Straight to the training that would more than likely lead to his death on the field. Unless...
Aske looked up at him, the blankness of his face eerie and unsettling. Briefly, he saw him not as the plain, stupid child holding himself lifelessly before him, but as the troubled genius who may have saved his life- mouth bruised cerise and open in a moan, as his body quavered beneath his hands, trembling in release...
A release from this life.
Aske colored suddenly, as if he had seen the intimacy of Heinrick's thoughts, and quietly said, "Thank you," before turning and following the sergeant away.
He never looked back.
Heinrick stepped back onto the train, returned to their suite, and held his head in his hands. He had made a decision.
Sarcastic Butterfly
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- Posted: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:28:19 +0000
Username: Sarcastic Butterfly
Round: 1
Title: Love Full
Time: Through yesterday to the next
Prompt: Letter to Elise by the Cure
Time and time again, I wonder about the silence of that feral beast who sits idle on his perch watching the animate city below intently, balanced on the windowsill three stories above the earth. He sits, feet on the frame, hands holding his knees, black eyes to the bleak skyline. A fire rages in the hills, fueled by the Santa Anas, and the smoke carries over toward his stoop. In his eyes I see the fire he’s created to destroy a childhood that ended not long ago. We’re both so young, he and I.
His father will be here soon. He will bring his weapon of choice and dispose of a rotten son whose long since lost his use. He will see me and bury me, too. Maybe then I’ll join my mother after waiting so long, but that’s not how I’m supposed to die. Not helpless and bleeding on this dusty floor surrounded by black-outlined angels on the walls with their silent noise. I’m not supposed to go that way. We always return to the place we were born. The beast will return to the dust, but I must return to the tub and slip down the drain back to the ocean like my mother.
His father thinks I’m dead, thinks he took me down months ago. The wound still aches, and my flesh is still weak and bloodless, but I’m living none the less.
“Jimmy, we should go,” I pleaded, touching his arm so gently.
“And let that p***k get the best? Let him come.” He saw the terror on my pallid face, remembered the scar, pink purple and still very blue. “He won’t hurt you anymore, Sterling. You, nor I.” But he already had because the hurt never went away as it was a constant reminder in my shoulder, metal embedded in my forgiving body. A fresh child already has so many holes and damages. How much more will I be forced to sustain?
I left. I know it was wrong of me, but I left anyway. I was in pain. I’d endured the beastie’s tooth and nail too long, and now I was realizing the extent of that suffering, how far I had pushed this young, inexperienced body. I wanted a safer love, but I wasn’t allowed that peace of mind. That’s not to say I didn’t love the beast, because I did. No one else could muster the courage to touch him without being bitten. I thrived on that uncertain, wild love, but now after realizing the mess I was in, the pieces and parts left of me, I can’t take such a cruel, primal love anymore. We were in deep, no doubt; the love was strong but my body couldn’t bear it.
Volatile, hardy, rowdy, eloquent, cream-of-the-crop Jimmy, my second lover. Jimmy and his formidable father, the dual mental/physical big cocks with catchy charm and charismatic fright. I had a physical feel for James Sr., but the Junior Mint freshened my dead end life in miniluv. I fell hard for Mr. Black sheep, his roughness, his boldness, his unbelievable grace. It wasn’t because of his family’s wealth. Jimmy wanted nothing of his father’s cancerous, corrupt money. Jimmy wanted chaotic nights, wanted to be the kiddies’ devil, feeding the red-mouthed, nocturnal children addictive sweets and pumping them full of thumpa-thumpa beats. He ruled that world. I yearned to be a part of that fantastical dimension, become Kill-All Jimmy’s prime concubine, the devil’s lover. And, oh, how I flourished on that unpredictable love, anticipating his next move, his every move. But, I couldn’t live on it, a malnourished, bruised child gorging on controlling sweets and gaudy paint and neon beams. I couldn’t survive like that.
Since the beginning, we’d lived in an illusion, deluding ourselves with the false images of our lively freedom. But, Jimmy had never been free of his father, just like I knew I was never free from my mother, despite her death.
So, I left Jimmy. I hauled my body, with its numerous, swollen holes and blue flesh, out of that noiseless room with the black-outlined angels on the wall. I could no longer hear their saintly chorus. I abandoned that lonely boy to the wrath of his tyrannical father. I was no better than when my guardians gave me up to Brother Devil dearest. I’d given feral Jimmy to the real wolves.
I honestly wanted to believe Jimmy loved me, but I could never be certain. His eyes always seemed to be far off, planning or remembering, always connected with his father. I’d grab his face, cupping his cheeks in my palms, and pull it close to my own, our eyelashes brushing against each other, noses touching, lips protruding toward the opposite pair. His eyes would look into mine, but all I’d see would be the hollowness in those black pupils.
“Jimmy, look at me,” I’d whisper.
“I am looking at you, Sterling,” he’d reply, in a softer voice. “I’m always looking at you.”
“You’re not looking at me, Jimmy. Look at me. Don’t you see?” His lips would tremble and his eyes would quiver, dart a little to the side but come racing back to lock with mine. Then, he’d scoff and snatch my hands from his face and pull away. Jimmy couldn’t handle my adoration for him, my unconditional attraction. I miss the calm of his eyes and the storm of his actions.
But, now, I have concluded that my love for Jimmy was probably just a puppy’s infatuation. I was attracted to his recklessness, the freedom of his actions. The shakiness of the foundation we lived on kept me centered with the world, the twirl and whirl kept me grounded. But as tensions rose and cuts were made, my body fell apart. I was blinded by Jimmy’s allure that I didn’t take the time to look down at myself and see what he’d done to me while I was looking up.
I remember the first night I met the boy, in an alley jumped by a couple of his midnight maulers. That night, I’d run away from my brother once again, desperate to escape into some oblivion. Bobby, my Bobby, had just died the previous winter. Since his death, my brother’s totalitarian attitude had worsened, his vice on my life tightening. The silence of my guardian grandparents had become heavy, constricting.
That night my brother had tried to beat me once again, slowly getting his fingers into me. His fists punctured the wall as I ducked under another one of his strikes. I lay crumpled on the floor, staring above in wonderment at the damage he’d done to the plaster. His hands reached out and snatched my shoulders, yanking me up eye level with him. My toes were barely touching the ground. Then, I did something I hadn’t expected myself to do, always paralyzed with fear in the presence of my brother. I thrust my knee up into the nest of his crotch. He doubled over, his hands losing their grip, and slipped to the ground, nursing his assaulted genitals. After, I ran out the door into the frigid night air, not caring which direction I went into, just that I didn’t have to face the next round of fury.
I hid in an alleyway, leaning back against the brick to catch my breath and organize my thoughts. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but I wasn’t too concerned.
“The hour’s late, kiddy. You mightn’t want to be out so late, what with all the creeps roaming about.” His voice was rich. I could tell, even though it was dark, that he wasn’t older than twenty. I pushed off the side of the building and turned to make my way out of the alley, but there were two thugs flanking the exit and they moved to close in. The voice’s hands came and landed on my shoulders, smoothing up and down. It was cold out that night, and I’d run out the house in a t-shirt and pajama pants. “You must be freezing. You’re certainly not dressed for a stroll at night.” I couldn’t speak; my pipes were frozen. “From the looks of you, you must not have any cash on hand. But, I wasn’t looking for some extra greens. Just a little fun. How about we go somewhere warmer?”
I shrugged out of his grasp and made my way toward the open street. It was so late at night and nobody was roaming the avenues. I backed out slowly between the two gang bangers. The man approached me as I slipped out under the streetlight, his feet silent on the ground, his movements so easy. As we came closer to the light I tried to see some definite form to his features, but all I could make out was that his hair was cropped short to his round head, and that he had piercings, catching the dim light, up the length of his left ear. His eyebrows were thick but not overgrown, and dark, they were dark brown, almost black, but the mop on top of his head was bleached haphazardly. I could barely make out the black roots growing up out of his pale scalp. I couldn’t see his eyes because of the shadow under his eyebrows, but they were as dark as the brows and the roots in his skull. His lower cheeks and chin had rough, thick hairs sprouting out of the skin indicating he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. From the looks of him, though, he was a classically dark handsome man, the kind with the rough, tan skin and firm brow, plus his voice was just as rich as all those black and white actors, but without the gelled, brunette hair. I noticed he was wearing a tailored suit and a large, black overcoat, along with expensive looking dress shoes, but the clothing was not starch-stiff and spotless like all those actors’ clothing. The clothing looked a little scruffy, a little worn out. His shirt was wrinkled, his suit jacket dusty, his dress shoes scuffed. There were patches in the overcoat. He looked like a bankrupt stock market player, classy but falling apart at the seams.
The gangers closed in and blocked off the street way. Then, the man lunged forward, like the leap of a large cat or perhaps a wolf, yes, a wolf, and suddenly his hands were on me and I was pressed roughly against the brick. He cracked a wide grin, his lips opening to reveal two long rows of straight pearls, almost like a Cheshire smile. I felt I could fit through the width of that monster mouth, just slip between those filed teeth and slide down the slippery muscle. Large, broad hands rested on either side of my head, flat against the coarse rock.
“This is fine as well. You seem to be in a hurry so I should just make this quick, right, kiddo?” he said with a smirk. “It’s a bit chilly, but I’ll warm you up nice.” His hands moved toward my face and I shrank visibly under the size of them, the hands of a full-grown man, but he was hardly a man. He was only twenty and maybe not even that, not nearly a man. His hands came around and took hold of my face, cupping my flushed cheeks in his two sweaty palms, the skin damp and heated. His shadowed face came closer and clearer, thankfully, until I finally saw the whites of his eyes, slightly bloodshot and blue ringed because of lack of sleep, probably. But in the middle of those red-streaked whites were two dark pupils, appearing black, the deepest black.
With this closeness came his scent, a musk that I was unfamiliar with, something that would forever cling to Jimmy-boy. Together with this musk came a dusty kind of smell, something dry and made me think of an ancient library, and then a certain spiciness to that smell, the type that lays between the pages of those novels. An addictive adoration swelled within me, filled me up to the top and ended in my lips, trembling and closed tight, defiant toward the night wonder.
“Stop…”
My hands found the lapels of his overcoat and gripped them tight in anticipation. I could feel cold sweat on my skin, the surrounding temperature causing goose bumps to rise on my skin, raising hairs and sending shudders through my core. But his closeness made everything a bit warmer, heat emanating from the broad hands holding my face, the warmth from his alcohol soaked breath and his blood-heated body. I tried to turn my face away from that open mouth, the threatening Cheshire smile, but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.
Then, Beethoven’s 5th Symphony floated up in the air. The mood deadened, the atmosphere dropped, and he growled low, animalistic. He removed his hands from my face and pushed away from the wall. I watched him struggle around his large overcoat, shoving his hands in the variety of pockets searching for the source of the ring. Finally, he pulled out a slender, shining object that glowed fluorescent with the name of the caller. He flipped the phone open and barked into the receiver. A similar voice shouted back just as angry and frustrated. I noticed that his cheeks flushed red with fury, reaching down below his chin to the neckline of his suit jacket. I’d never imagined a man could raise his blood so quickly. Then he suddenly screamed a salutation and snapped the phone closed. He led it slide into another anonymous pocket and turned his attention back to me. The cherry red visibly flowed out of his cheeks and his features became softer.
“Forgive me for my abruptness there. I’m afraid I have to be going,” he announced and slid close to me, leaning half his body on the brick and angling around me. His arm curled above my head, his head hanging close over my own. “But, I don’t want this to be an end for us, kiddy. Why don’t you come around sometime if you’re ever looking for a little fun,” he whispered as he slipped a small business card down the front of my pajama bottoms. His face lowered and he pressed his lips lightly to my temple and down on my cheek as well. “So long but later.” Then, he pulled away and made his way out of the alley on swift feet. The gangers followed him close behind as he walked around the corner.
I rushed out into the open street to catch his retreating form as he rounded the corner. He hadn’t looked back, I remembered, but that meant nothing, at least not at the time. I reached down into my pants and pulled out the crisp, starch-white business card. On it were printed the title of that mystery player. James Baringer. His address was embossed at the bottom in a stylish silver font. His phone number was in black blocks at the lower right corner. I slipped it back into my pajama pants, resting smooth against my hip. Then, barefoot, I sprinted back home, running through the suburban neighborhoods past the darkened white picket houses. I stopped at my own sky blue abode, the lights off and porch light dimmed. I crawled stealthily through my bedroom window.
I hid the card in the shoebox beneath the floorboards where I also hid the pictures of my mother and father, Bobby, pressed roses from my mother’s garden, and her pearl necklace, as well as all the other mementos from my past years, objects of my affections hidden from Brother Devil. Between my mother’s homemade Birthday card to me and a newspaper clipping of my father’s obituary, I lodged the card and then settled the box back into its hiding place.
The next morning I woke up an hour early to beat my brother before he could harass me and biked my way to school instead of taking the horrendous school bus. Inside my head, I was filled with thoughts of James Baringer, James the shadow player, the James with his thug-looking gangers, the musk and spice and dryness, the feel of his broad, damp hands on my face, the closeness of his lips, and then Beethoven’s 5th killed the images.
For weeks, all I thought about was the business card, the address, the number. I imagined myself a million times calling him up and hearing his voice remember me, imagined making my way to his address and pressing the bell, hearing his footsteps and seeing the expectant look on his face as he saw me, the wide Cheshire smile as he welcomed me through the threshold. How different the reality really was.
I showed up at the address one day after school with my school bag and wearing my school uniform, the black slacks, the white button up, the maroon vest, and the black tie. The building in front of me I hadn’t expected. I had thought maybe an expensive looking apartment building, his loft on the top floor. But, no, this wasn’t it at all. Instead, in front of me sat a shabby four story building that looked like an apartment building, but I couldn’t be sure. More than several of the windows were boarded up, and grouchy figures crouched on the steps leading to the greasy white doors.
I locked my bike on the dented rack next to the building, hoping it wouldn’t get lifted, but not really caring, just hoping to see James and see what was really inside the building. Perhaps it was a façade, just a disguise for the beauty inside that he was part of. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. The metal trembled slightly, and I felt a steady beat vibrating through it. I could hear faintly above my head the rhythm of an unknown song, but it was too faint to recognize any real melody. I pushed the door open and slipped through, ignoring the moaning of a drunken hobo reaching out for me from his stoop.
A weak fluorescent light buzzed and attempted to light the moldy-smelling hallway. I smoothed my hand over the door handle, felt the grime coat my palm. I doubted this little adventure, the hopeful possibilities seeming unnecessary, but I could still hear the beat, louder now and seeping into my skin. I let the door handle go.
A shady fellow seemed to be guarding the elevator door. He wore a bellhop’s jacket and cap, but the uniform was ratty and dusty, a tear in the shoulder and a button missing. Beneath the unbuttoned jacket he wore a threadbare T-shirt and below a pair of pale blue jeans. The mop on top of his head was overgrown and oily. He looked sweaty, damp spots under his arms and at the center of his chest. It was close to summer and the temperature was rising steadily to the upper nineties. I myself was breaking a sweat because of the lack of air conditioning in the hallway and my previous bike ride here. I could feel the wetness on my inner thighs and armpits. My hair hung limp and clung to my cheeks. I ran my hand through and slicked it back.
“Elevator’s broken,” the man informed me as he picked dirt out of his yellowish fingernails. “Stairs on the left.”
“May I ask you a question?” I inquired, shifting my book bag to the other shoulder.
“You already did.” I didn’t reply and he sighed heavy. “What?”
“Does a James Baringer live here?”
“Never heard of him, but sure, maybe.” He hadn’t looked at me, but now he looked up and laughed a little to himself. “God, how old is you? Twelve? Go home.”
I didn’t answer him and headed for the stairs. He called out to me, jeering and cackling behind my back, clapped his hands before I closed the door behind him and silenced it. I marched up the stairs, feeling the weight of my book bag and keeping my eyes on my sneakers. I felt like such a child. The beat had gotten stronger and rattled the railing. I stopped at the fourth floor where the vibrations were strongest. My knuckles were white because my fingers gripped the bag’s shoulder strap like vices. I realized I was going where my mother had never gone. She’d avoided the devil’s den, sidestepped every opportunity to fall, but now I was going against every principle she’d set before me, every warning she’d engraved inside of me. I thought, it’s either this or another dismal dine with the real Devil back at the Love home. ******** it.
A couple burst out into the stairwell, shrouded in a lengthy snowy fur wrap, covering them almost from head to toe. Before the door behind them could close, I slipped between the narrow slot and into the deepest, darkest place on earth.
My back was immediately pressed against the wall as the crowd rose up like a massive silvery wave and pushed me into a corner. I’d never been a part of so large a mass, but I was choking and going down fast. All backs were turned toward me, locking me out of the swaying group, all moving in perfect sync. It was then I dropped my school bag, kicked it into the corner. I never got the bag back, but it didn’t matter.
"Who are you?" I whispered as he pulled me tight against him, the musk and spice coming back.
He chuckled and smiled that Cheshire smile. "Peter Pan. Wanna be my Wendy?"
I got Jimmy and his world in return for half a part of me I’d never get back.
I left Jimmy in favor for the enlightening photographer Callum Harding, hoping for a more stable love. The first night I spent in Cal’s apartment was the first night in two years I’d spent outside of Jimmy’s hold. I know he probably didn’t notice my absence, but I missed him, I did. Besides, living with that man was a dead-end all the way, a fool’s expectations, because with him I would’ve ended up rotting in a hole somewhere. I guess I couldn’t wait forever, waiting and wishing he’d look at me properly, value my presence, my personal choice to stay by his side, no matter how unnecessary and unwise it was to do so. But he didn’t see me that way, he couldn’t or wouldn’t. And I, I just couldn’t keep smiling and swallowing the farcical make-believe, I couldn’t live in that dream anymore. I left Jimmy’s debilitating yesterday behind and stepped over into Cal’s hopeful tomorrow.
I crumpled in a corner of the shower, wrapped my bruised arms around my scraped knees and still wished.
Round: 1
Title: Love Full
Time: Through yesterday to the next
Prompt: Letter to Elise by the Cure
Love Full
Time and time again, I wonder about the silence of that feral beast who sits idle on his perch watching the animate city below intently, balanced on the windowsill three stories above the earth. He sits, feet on the frame, hands holding his knees, black eyes to the bleak skyline. A fire rages in the hills, fueled by the Santa Anas, and the smoke carries over toward his stoop. In his eyes I see the fire he’s created to destroy a childhood that ended not long ago. We’re both so young, he and I.
His father will be here soon. He will bring his weapon of choice and dispose of a rotten son whose long since lost his use. He will see me and bury me, too. Maybe then I’ll join my mother after waiting so long, but that’s not how I’m supposed to die. Not helpless and bleeding on this dusty floor surrounded by black-outlined angels on the walls with their silent noise. I’m not supposed to go that way. We always return to the place we were born. The beast will return to the dust, but I must return to the tub and slip down the drain back to the ocean like my mother.
His father thinks I’m dead, thinks he took me down months ago. The wound still aches, and my flesh is still weak and bloodless, but I’m living none the less.
“Jimmy, we should go,” I pleaded, touching his arm so gently.
“And let that p***k get the best? Let him come.” He saw the terror on my pallid face, remembered the scar, pink purple and still very blue. “He won’t hurt you anymore, Sterling. You, nor I.” But he already had because the hurt never went away as it was a constant reminder in my shoulder, metal embedded in my forgiving body. A fresh child already has so many holes and damages. How much more will I be forced to sustain?
I left. I know it was wrong of me, but I left anyway. I was in pain. I’d endured the beastie’s tooth and nail too long, and now I was realizing the extent of that suffering, how far I had pushed this young, inexperienced body. I wanted a safer love, but I wasn’t allowed that peace of mind. That’s not to say I didn’t love the beast, because I did. No one else could muster the courage to touch him without being bitten. I thrived on that uncertain, wild love, but now after realizing the mess I was in, the pieces and parts left of me, I can’t take such a cruel, primal love anymore. We were in deep, no doubt; the love was strong but my body couldn’t bear it.
Volatile, hardy, rowdy, eloquent, cream-of-the-crop Jimmy, my second lover. Jimmy and his formidable father, the dual mental/physical big cocks with catchy charm and charismatic fright. I had a physical feel for James Sr., but the Junior Mint freshened my dead end life in miniluv. I fell hard for Mr. Black sheep, his roughness, his boldness, his unbelievable grace. It wasn’t because of his family’s wealth. Jimmy wanted nothing of his father’s cancerous, corrupt money. Jimmy wanted chaotic nights, wanted to be the kiddies’ devil, feeding the red-mouthed, nocturnal children addictive sweets and pumping them full of thumpa-thumpa beats. He ruled that world. I yearned to be a part of that fantastical dimension, become Kill-All Jimmy’s prime concubine, the devil’s lover. And, oh, how I flourished on that unpredictable love, anticipating his next move, his every move. But, I couldn’t live on it, a malnourished, bruised child gorging on controlling sweets and gaudy paint and neon beams. I couldn’t survive like that.
Since the beginning, we’d lived in an illusion, deluding ourselves with the false images of our lively freedom. But, Jimmy had never been free of his father, just like I knew I was never free from my mother, despite her death.
So, I left Jimmy. I hauled my body, with its numerous, swollen holes and blue flesh, out of that noiseless room with the black-outlined angels on the wall. I could no longer hear their saintly chorus. I abandoned that lonely boy to the wrath of his tyrannical father. I was no better than when my guardians gave me up to Brother Devil dearest. I’d given feral Jimmy to the real wolves.
I honestly wanted to believe Jimmy loved me, but I could never be certain. His eyes always seemed to be far off, planning or remembering, always connected with his father. I’d grab his face, cupping his cheeks in my palms, and pull it close to my own, our eyelashes brushing against each other, noses touching, lips protruding toward the opposite pair. His eyes would look into mine, but all I’d see would be the hollowness in those black pupils.
“Jimmy, look at me,” I’d whisper.
“I am looking at you, Sterling,” he’d reply, in a softer voice. “I’m always looking at you.”
“You’re not looking at me, Jimmy. Look at me. Don’t you see?” His lips would tremble and his eyes would quiver, dart a little to the side but come racing back to lock with mine. Then, he’d scoff and snatch my hands from his face and pull away. Jimmy couldn’t handle my adoration for him, my unconditional attraction. I miss the calm of his eyes and the storm of his actions.
But, now, I have concluded that my love for Jimmy was probably just a puppy’s infatuation. I was attracted to his recklessness, the freedom of his actions. The shakiness of the foundation we lived on kept me centered with the world, the twirl and whirl kept me grounded. But as tensions rose and cuts were made, my body fell apart. I was blinded by Jimmy’s allure that I didn’t take the time to look down at myself and see what he’d done to me while I was looking up.
I remember the first night I met the boy, in an alley jumped by a couple of his midnight maulers. That night, I’d run away from my brother once again, desperate to escape into some oblivion. Bobby, my Bobby, had just died the previous winter. Since his death, my brother’s totalitarian attitude had worsened, his vice on my life tightening. The silence of my guardian grandparents had become heavy, constricting.
That night my brother had tried to beat me once again, slowly getting his fingers into me. His fists punctured the wall as I ducked under another one of his strikes. I lay crumpled on the floor, staring above in wonderment at the damage he’d done to the plaster. His hands reached out and snatched my shoulders, yanking me up eye level with him. My toes were barely touching the ground. Then, I did something I hadn’t expected myself to do, always paralyzed with fear in the presence of my brother. I thrust my knee up into the nest of his crotch. He doubled over, his hands losing their grip, and slipped to the ground, nursing his assaulted genitals. After, I ran out the door into the frigid night air, not caring which direction I went into, just that I didn’t have to face the next round of fury.
I hid in an alleyway, leaning back against the brick to catch my breath and organize my thoughts. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but I wasn’t too concerned.
“The hour’s late, kiddy. You mightn’t want to be out so late, what with all the creeps roaming about.” His voice was rich. I could tell, even though it was dark, that he wasn’t older than twenty. I pushed off the side of the building and turned to make my way out of the alley, but there were two thugs flanking the exit and they moved to close in. The voice’s hands came and landed on my shoulders, smoothing up and down. It was cold out that night, and I’d run out the house in a t-shirt and pajama pants. “You must be freezing. You’re certainly not dressed for a stroll at night.” I couldn’t speak; my pipes were frozen. “From the looks of you, you must not have any cash on hand. But, I wasn’t looking for some extra greens. Just a little fun. How about we go somewhere warmer?”
I shrugged out of his grasp and made my way toward the open street. It was so late at night and nobody was roaming the avenues. I backed out slowly between the two gang bangers. The man approached me as I slipped out under the streetlight, his feet silent on the ground, his movements so easy. As we came closer to the light I tried to see some definite form to his features, but all I could make out was that his hair was cropped short to his round head, and that he had piercings, catching the dim light, up the length of his left ear. His eyebrows were thick but not overgrown, and dark, they were dark brown, almost black, but the mop on top of his head was bleached haphazardly. I could barely make out the black roots growing up out of his pale scalp. I couldn’t see his eyes because of the shadow under his eyebrows, but they were as dark as the brows and the roots in his skull. His lower cheeks and chin had rough, thick hairs sprouting out of the skin indicating he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. From the looks of him, though, he was a classically dark handsome man, the kind with the rough, tan skin and firm brow, plus his voice was just as rich as all those black and white actors, but without the gelled, brunette hair. I noticed he was wearing a tailored suit and a large, black overcoat, along with expensive looking dress shoes, but the clothing was not starch-stiff and spotless like all those actors’ clothing. The clothing looked a little scruffy, a little worn out. His shirt was wrinkled, his suit jacket dusty, his dress shoes scuffed. There were patches in the overcoat. He looked like a bankrupt stock market player, classy but falling apart at the seams.
The gangers closed in and blocked off the street way. Then, the man lunged forward, like the leap of a large cat or perhaps a wolf, yes, a wolf, and suddenly his hands were on me and I was pressed roughly against the brick. He cracked a wide grin, his lips opening to reveal two long rows of straight pearls, almost like a Cheshire smile. I felt I could fit through the width of that monster mouth, just slip between those filed teeth and slide down the slippery muscle. Large, broad hands rested on either side of my head, flat against the coarse rock.
“This is fine as well. You seem to be in a hurry so I should just make this quick, right, kiddo?” he said with a smirk. “It’s a bit chilly, but I’ll warm you up nice.” His hands moved toward my face and I shrank visibly under the size of them, the hands of a full-grown man, but he was hardly a man. He was only twenty and maybe not even that, not nearly a man. His hands came around and took hold of my face, cupping my flushed cheeks in his two sweaty palms, the skin damp and heated. His shadowed face came closer and clearer, thankfully, until I finally saw the whites of his eyes, slightly bloodshot and blue ringed because of lack of sleep, probably. But in the middle of those red-streaked whites were two dark pupils, appearing black, the deepest black.
With this closeness came his scent, a musk that I was unfamiliar with, something that would forever cling to Jimmy-boy. Together with this musk came a dusty kind of smell, something dry and made me think of an ancient library, and then a certain spiciness to that smell, the type that lays between the pages of those novels. An addictive adoration swelled within me, filled me up to the top and ended in my lips, trembling and closed tight, defiant toward the night wonder.
“Stop…”
My hands found the lapels of his overcoat and gripped them tight in anticipation. I could feel cold sweat on my skin, the surrounding temperature causing goose bumps to rise on my skin, raising hairs and sending shudders through my core. But his closeness made everything a bit warmer, heat emanating from the broad hands holding my face, the warmth from his alcohol soaked breath and his blood-heated body. I tried to turn my face away from that open mouth, the threatening Cheshire smile, but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.
Then, Beethoven’s 5th Symphony floated up in the air. The mood deadened, the atmosphere dropped, and he growled low, animalistic. He removed his hands from my face and pushed away from the wall. I watched him struggle around his large overcoat, shoving his hands in the variety of pockets searching for the source of the ring. Finally, he pulled out a slender, shining object that glowed fluorescent with the name of the caller. He flipped the phone open and barked into the receiver. A similar voice shouted back just as angry and frustrated. I noticed that his cheeks flushed red with fury, reaching down below his chin to the neckline of his suit jacket. I’d never imagined a man could raise his blood so quickly. Then he suddenly screamed a salutation and snapped the phone closed. He led it slide into another anonymous pocket and turned his attention back to me. The cherry red visibly flowed out of his cheeks and his features became softer.
“Forgive me for my abruptness there. I’m afraid I have to be going,” he announced and slid close to me, leaning half his body on the brick and angling around me. His arm curled above my head, his head hanging close over my own. “But, I don’t want this to be an end for us, kiddy. Why don’t you come around sometime if you’re ever looking for a little fun,” he whispered as he slipped a small business card down the front of my pajama bottoms. His face lowered and he pressed his lips lightly to my temple and down on my cheek as well. “So long but later.” Then, he pulled away and made his way out of the alley on swift feet. The gangers followed him close behind as he walked around the corner.
I rushed out into the open street to catch his retreating form as he rounded the corner. He hadn’t looked back, I remembered, but that meant nothing, at least not at the time. I reached down into my pants and pulled out the crisp, starch-white business card. On it were printed the title of that mystery player. James Baringer. His address was embossed at the bottom in a stylish silver font. His phone number was in black blocks at the lower right corner. I slipped it back into my pajama pants, resting smooth against my hip. Then, barefoot, I sprinted back home, running through the suburban neighborhoods past the darkened white picket houses. I stopped at my own sky blue abode, the lights off and porch light dimmed. I crawled stealthily through my bedroom window.
I hid the card in the shoebox beneath the floorboards where I also hid the pictures of my mother and father, Bobby, pressed roses from my mother’s garden, and her pearl necklace, as well as all the other mementos from my past years, objects of my affections hidden from Brother Devil. Between my mother’s homemade Birthday card to me and a newspaper clipping of my father’s obituary, I lodged the card and then settled the box back into its hiding place.
The next morning I woke up an hour early to beat my brother before he could harass me and biked my way to school instead of taking the horrendous school bus. Inside my head, I was filled with thoughts of James Baringer, James the shadow player, the James with his thug-looking gangers, the musk and spice and dryness, the feel of his broad, damp hands on my face, the closeness of his lips, and then Beethoven’s 5th killed the images.
For weeks, all I thought about was the business card, the address, the number. I imagined myself a million times calling him up and hearing his voice remember me, imagined making my way to his address and pressing the bell, hearing his footsteps and seeing the expectant look on his face as he saw me, the wide Cheshire smile as he welcomed me through the threshold. How different the reality really was.
I showed up at the address one day after school with my school bag and wearing my school uniform, the black slacks, the white button up, the maroon vest, and the black tie. The building in front of me I hadn’t expected. I had thought maybe an expensive looking apartment building, his loft on the top floor. But, no, this wasn’t it at all. Instead, in front of me sat a shabby four story building that looked like an apartment building, but I couldn’t be sure. More than several of the windows were boarded up, and grouchy figures crouched on the steps leading to the greasy white doors.
I locked my bike on the dented rack next to the building, hoping it wouldn’t get lifted, but not really caring, just hoping to see James and see what was really inside the building. Perhaps it was a façade, just a disguise for the beauty inside that he was part of. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. The metal trembled slightly, and I felt a steady beat vibrating through it. I could hear faintly above my head the rhythm of an unknown song, but it was too faint to recognize any real melody. I pushed the door open and slipped through, ignoring the moaning of a drunken hobo reaching out for me from his stoop.
A weak fluorescent light buzzed and attempted to light the moldy-smelling hallway. I smoothed my hand over the door handle, felt the grime coat my palm. I doubted this little adventure, the hopeful possibilities seeming unnecessary, but I could still hear the beat, louder now and seeping into my skin. I let the door handle go.
A shady fellow seemed to be guarding the elevator door. He wore a bellhop’s jacket and cap, but the uniform was ratty and dusty, a tear in the shoulder and a button missing. Beneath the unbuttoned jacket he wore a threadbare T-shirt and below a pair of pale blue jeans. The mop on top of his head was overgrown and oily. He looked sweaty, damp spots under his arms and at the center of his chest. It was close to summer and the temperature was rising steadily to the upper nineties. I myself was breaking a sweat because of the lack of air conditioning in the hallway and my previous bike ride here. I could feel the wetness on my inner thighs and armpits. My hair hung limp and clung to my cheeks. I ran my hand through and slicked it back.
“Elevator’s broken,” the man informed me as he picked dirt out of his yellowish fingernails. “Stairs on the left.”
“May I ask you a question?” I inquired, shifting my book bag to the other shoulder.
“You already did.” I didn’t reply and he sighed heavy. “What?”
“Does a James Baringer live here?”
“Never heard of him, but sure, maybe.” He hadn’t looked at me, but now he looked up and laughed a little to himself. “God, how old is you? Twelve? Go home.”
I didn’t answer him and headed for the stairs. He called out to me, jeering and cackling behind my back, clapped his hands before I closed the door behind him and silenced it. I marched up the stairs, feeling the weight of my book bag and keeping my eyes on my sneakers. I felt like such a child. The beat had gotten stronger and rattled the railing. I stopped at the fourth floor where the vibrations were strongest. My knuckles were white because my fingers gripped the bag’s shoulder strap like vices. I realized I was going where my mother had never gone. She’d avoided the devil’s den, sidestepped every opportunity to fall, but now I was going against every principle she’d set before me, every warning she’d engraved inside of me. I thought, it’s either this or another dismal dine with the real Devil back at the Love home. ******** it.
A couple burst out into the stairwell, shrouded in a lengthy snowy fur wrap, covering them almost from head to toe. Before the door behind them could close, I slipped between the narrow slot and into the deepest, darkest place on earth.
My back was immediately pressed against the wall as the crowd rose up like a massive silvery wave and pushed me into a corner. I’d never been a part of so large a mass, but I was choking and going down fast. All backs were turned toward me, locking me out of the swaying group, all moving in perfect sync. It was then I dropped my school bag, kicked it into the corner. I never got the bag back, but it didn’t matter.
"Who are you?" I whispered as he pulled me tight against him, the musk and spice coming back.
He chuckled and smiled that Cheshire smile. "Peter Pan. Wanna be my Wendy?"
I got Jimmy and his world in return for half a part of me I’d never get back.
I left Jimmy in favor for the enlightening photographer Callum Harding, hoping for a more stable love. The first night I spent in Cal’s apartment was the first night in two years I’d spent outside of Jimmy’s hold. I know he probably didn’t notice my absence, but I missed him, I did. Besides, living with that man was a dead-end all the way, a fool’s expectations, because with him I would’ve ended up rotting in a hole somewhere. I guess I couldn’t wait forever, waiting and wishing he’d look at me properly, value my presence, my personal choice to stay by his side, no matter how unnecessary and unwise it was to do so. But he didn’t see me that way, he couldn’t or wouldn’t. And I, I just couldn’t keep smiling and swallowing the farcical make-believe, I couldn’t live in that dream anymore. I left Jimmy’s debilitating yesterday behind and stepped over into Cal’s hopeful tomorrow.
I crumpled in a corner of the shower, wrapped my bruised arms around my scraped knees and still wished.
Ivydoll
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- Posted: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 09:12:46 +0000
"If they fit into conversation, go ahead and use them. If you want to use them as themes, go ahead. I don't care, as long as it is in there. I would like you to use them exactly as they are listed, meaning no changing genders, tenses, etc." -- Days says.
To clear it up for retarded lil' me: Basically, the prompts do NOT have to appear verbatim, but cannot be altered unless cleared?
(I don't want to change any prompts, I'm just making sure I follow the first part.)
*Breath*
I'm planning on using three prompts total, and the second two will appear in dialogue quite neatly, but the first is- as it stand right now, this second- just a theme for the first part of the writing. Basically, the 'prologue' part. (Or, bridge between the first and second parts... whatever.)
I can change the writing so that the prompt appears verbatim, but it might look awkward. However, you said that themes are okay, as long as the prompt itself is unchanged.
IN SUMMARY.
Ivy sucks. See ya'll tomorrow.
To clear it up for retarded lil' me: Basically, the prompts do NOT have to appear verbatim, but cannot be altered unless cleared?
(I don't want to change any prompts, I'm just making sure I follow the first part.)
*Breath*
I'm planning on using three prompts total, and the second two will appear in dialogue quite neatly, but the first is- as it stand right now, this second- just a theme for the first part of the writing. Basically, the 'prologue' part. (Or, bridge between the first and second parts... whatever.)
I can change the writing so that the prompt appears verbatim, but it might look awkward. However, you said that themes are okay, as long as the prompt itself is unchanged.
IN SUMMARY.
Ivy sucks. See ya'll tomorrow.
[ .days. ]
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- Posted: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 15:11:05 +0000
Trīs dienas paradīzē vai simts gadus šeit?
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Those who submitted: I'll update the list in a sec.
Ivy's first inquiry: That is fine. I just do not want to see the same characters back again for major roles in the story.
Ivy's second inquiry: "Basically, the prompts do NOT have to appear verbatim, but cannot be altered unless cleared?" Yes. That is right.
The prompts need to be in the story somewhere, whether as a quote, part of the narration, or a theme. They do not need to physically appear in the story.
Some of the prompts are lengthy and a bit awkward, especially if they had to appear verbatim in the story.
Ivy's first inquiry: That is fine. I just do not want to see the same characters back again for major roles in the story.
Ivy's second inquiry: "Basically, the prompts do NOT have to appear verbatim, but cannot be altered unless cleared?" Yes. That is right.
The prompts need to be in the story somewhere, whether as a quote, part of the narration, or a theme. They do not need to physically appear in the story.
Some of the prompts are lengthy and a bit awkward, especially if they had to appear verbatim in the story.
Ko gan es izvēlētos vēlreiz piedzīvot,
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ivydoll
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- Posted: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 17:00:38 +0000
Gotcha. I feel pretty safe, then. Thanks. 3nodding
[ .days. ]
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- Posted: Sun, 22 Jun 2008 15:33:33 +0000
Trīs dienas paradīzē vai simts gadus šeit?
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
That's good.
^__^
^__^
Ko gan es izvēlētos vēlreiz piedzīvot,
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
ThisIsATempNameWhoo
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- Posted: Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:46:32 +0000
QUESTION:
For round 3, if we want, can we make it... well... i don't want to give my idea away... I DONT KNOW HOW TO WORD THIS QUESTION!!!
Can we use the same characters that we used for round 1 and 2 in round 3 as long as we're able to read it w/o/reading the first 2??
'Cuz my idea is to bring them in to the story kind of like... well... I'll use an anime as an example.
Like how they did Tsubasa Chronicles and teh characters came from different worlds, but, instead the characters meet up and face some challenge together in my story.
For round 3, if we want, can we make it... well... i don't want to give my idea away... I DONT KNOW HOW TO WORD THIS QUESTION!!!
Can we use the same characters that we used for round 1 and 2 in round 3 as long as we're able to read it w/o/reading the first 2??
'Cuz my idea is to bring them in to the story kind of like... well... I'll use an anime as an example.
Like how they did Tsubasa Chronicles and teh characters came from different worlds, but, instead the characters meet up and face some challenge together in my story.
[ .days. ]
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- Posted: Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:57:40 +0000
Trīs dienas paradīzē vai simts gadus šeit?
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
I would wait for the R3 prompt to come out. It may mess up or complicate any plans you may have.
I would prefer it if your stories were not interconnected, because it will give you more options with the R3 challenge. However, if you want to use the same characters, I need to be able to read the stories out of order without being confused or anything like that. I would prefer it if your stories did not feature the same characters in the spotlight.
I have never seen Tsubasa Chronicles, but I get the gist of what you're talking about. If you have ever read any of the Kiesha'ra Series books by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, I could give you a better example. In the first book, the story focuses on Danica and Zane. The second book focuses on Zane and people he knows, with Danica playing a small part. The third book focuses on Zane and Danica's daughter Oliza, with her parents having very small roles. The fourth book focuses on the Oliza's main guard and his own adventure, with Oliza only playing a small part in the book.
The same characters are in each to some extent, but their focus changes in each book.
I would prefer it if your stories were not interconnected, because it will give you more options with the R3 challenge. However, if you want to use the same characters, I need to be able to read the stories out of order without being confused or anything like that. I would prefer it if your stories did not feature the same characters in the spotlight.
I have never seen Tsubasa Chronicles, but I get the gist of what you're talking about. If you have ever read any of the Kiesha'ra Series books by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, I could give you a better example. In the first book, the story focuses on Danica and Zane. The second book focuses on Zane and people he knows, with Danica playing a small part. The third book focuses on Zane and Danica's daughter Oliza, with her parents having very small roles. The fourth book focuses on the Oliza's main guard and his own adventure, with Oliza only playing a small part in the book.
The same characters are in each to some extent, but their focus changes in each book.
Ko gan es izvēlētos vēlreiz piedzīvot,
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
[ .days. ]
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- Posted: Thu, 26 Jun 2008 21:16:39 +0000
Trīs dienas paradīzē vai simts gadus šeit?
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
Jautāja man melnais vīrs.
There is a new announcement on the first page.
Ko gan es izvēlētos vēlreiz piedzīvot,
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
Ja no grēkiem būtu vēl tīrs.
ThisIsATempNameWhoo
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Man-Hungry Hellhound
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- Posted: Fri, 27 Jun 2008 02:37:32 +0000
MUAHAHAHAHAHA~!!
Dead has an idea for another dramatic story~!!
For Column one.
On number 23.
Is it okay if I only use one sentance?
It has like 8 different ways.
So... do I just use one?
I have my one for column 2 and I need to check this before I can start the story.
Oh, by the way, your answer for my last question didn't help.
I may or may not make the same characters the main.
I'm pretty sure that they're just going to become friends of the main and then like *censored because she doesn't want to give both stories away*
ya know waht!
I'm just gonna wait until the next one comes out...
Dead has an idea for another dramatic story~!!
For Column one.
On number 23.
Is it okay if I only use one sentance?
It has like 8 different ways.
So... do I just use one?
I have my one for column 2 and I need to check this before I can start the story.
Oh, by the way, your answer for my last question didn't help.
I may or may not make the same characters the main.
I'm pretty sure that they're just going to become friends of the main and then like *censored because she doesn't want to give both stories away*
ya know waht!
I'm just gonna wait until the next one comes out...
cherry144
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- Posted: Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:33:43 +0000
If your heart could be filled with love, mine would be o v e r f l o w i n g .
eek
Days. You've outdone yourself. I haven't seen your previous contests (or maybe I have), but I know that THIS is wonderful. Perfect, actually.
I do have a question that may have been answered previously, and if it has I'm sorry for asking it again. But if I use a pair of protagonists for round one and then use new protagonists for round two...ack, it's getting confusing. Here's what I'm thinking:
A boy and a girl start off in round one and are the mains. And then, between story one and story two, time passes (ohh, prompt there; did that on accident) and then another person comes into the picture. This person might be the story one MCs' daughter. Or relative. But the story one MCs don't go away entirely. They're still there, playing minor parts behind the scenes.
Would that work?
Ah, but alas, I have many many entries to judge for my own contest, so until I get that done, I won't write anything for this. But I'll keep it in mind for next week.
*subscribes*
x x x x x x x x x x
dangerous xx L I A S O N
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- Posted: Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:50:17 +0000
It's not the time [It's not the place]
I'm not another [pretty face]
I'm not another [pretty face]
You're so easy to read...
You know what? I have a feeling round three is going to be nothing like everyone is anticipating. I bet we'll have to use the same prompts from rounds one and two to make a brand new story.
-shunned-
@Cherry: I've only entered two of Days contests but both were very nice. I personally liked the last one she did, even though I only got one entry in for it. [I would give you the name, but it kept changing so I can't.] It was five rounds and she gave you a quote, a picture, and a song and you got to choose which you wanted to use for inspiration. I like using pictures as inspiration in general, so it was fun to see the prompts and stuff.
-shunned-
@Cherry: I've only entered two of Days contests but both were very nice. I personally liked the last one she did, even though I only got one entry in for it. [I would give you the name, but it kept changing so I can't.] It was five rounds and she gave you a quote, a picture, and a song and you got to choose which you wanted to use for inspiration. I like using pictures as inspiration in general, so it was fun to see the prompts and stuff.
But the book is boring me.
You're not the first [And not the last]
How many more? [Don't even ask]
How many more? [Don't even ask]