My favorite place

Long time and stressed my brains through my skull and the word for hampshire's first semester

Sat, 09 May 2009 02:49:57 GMT

So...when some friend of mine today, while we were having a very lovely chat outside a Greenwich mod about finals and stress and Chinese food, asked everyone around in the small group what word they would associate with their first year of Hampshire, several people answered: "Liberating" "Self-exploratory" and "wow". Since the conversation had been quite heated at this point and people were moving on to things like ethnic food and etiquette manners and the differences between elders and youth, I had hesitated to say what word I had conjured up in my lovely little eighteen-year-old head of mine. When rubbing my chin with my fingers, I had originally thought that it would probably have been the best word among them all. But in the worst of all times, I came to realize that maybe it would reveal a kind of frantic side of me that would in turn reveal the fact that I had not finished (actually not even close to even finishing) my finals. So my mouth had invested a zipper for that time being. The word was "cheetah".

.....yes, it was "cheetah." Why? Well, within five seconds staring at spicy food and the lonely mosquito feasting on our legs, I had recalled bits of information about the nature of cheetahs during their hunting spurts: running like mad after beasts when they were hungry (or in my case, dying from emancipation) for ten minutes or so, rarely successfully, and then going back to their loiter-rooms under trees to lie in the yellow grass that's probably thirsty for their urine and slap that tail against their own behinds to swap away the flies while yawning at all those giraffes munching on tree leaves. Hah! Yes... story of my life.

Although I would certainly wish Hampshire spring final's landscape would move about 10 degrees towards the possible Savanna weather, there are many similarities. People slouching around on their laptops, looking scared in the airport lounge, burning away their fingertips on the keyboard to accommodate for the fifteen cigarettes they could have smoked in the past two days and everyone just trying to survive but only moving inch by inch idly in this nasty, breath-crippling air of smothering stress heat, leaving their personal lives to lose their green to the stale yellow.

Seriously, how do professors do it? Are they just 30 feet tall giraffes that have resources to more inaccessible areas of nutrition and only collapse when students probe at their lanky, knuckly legs with hoards of emailed papers, replying then with short sentences and exclamation points?

My cerebral spinal fluid is evaporating. I should sleep soon and let myself cool off. Maybe a glass of water should do. Yeah...I think I'll do just that.

Dungeon of Open Air

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 18:01:38 GMT

The skies become exceedingly cloudy and you look straight up at it, wondering where all those dirty gray-looking puffs appeared from. You feel as though you had just awoken from a forgotten dream, like you were just born, with no preceding memory.

The winds blow strong, and yet you are surprised by the fact that your feet can stay put onto the ground.

A smothering feeling, it doesn't seem to disappear, as if a 25 ft. pile of pillows were stacked on you and your mattress from underneath was bent upwards in the middle like a triangle.

And everything around you is black and white, as you notice a musty smell that lingers despite of the dryness of the air. You look around yourself at the desert-like place, but you don't see or feel anything like dust blowing at your exposed facial and limbs' skin.

Everything feels as though there was no preceding history, nothing to be told in fairytales or myths, no stories of war and triumph, that everything had suddenly started out from the abyss, a feeling and atmosphere that suddenly existed. Just plain smothering emptiness that persisted in spite of its unstable appearance.

Your name is Anthony.

You hear voices, whimpers actually, to be exact. You look behind yourself at a line of little boys, in a long concession. A feeling of curiosity surges through you, though dread and an uneasy agitation prevails in your chest.

Some voice, too close to sound separate from your mind, whispers to you to keep your clothing snugly tight to you skin, to not let an inch of your privacy be shown or to be suggested. A question rises to your mind on what that could mean, but you decide to follow the advice, for it feels overwhelmingly correct and necessary.

You just know that you must trust it.

A sudden tense sensation, worse than before, creeps up your spine and finally rests in your abdomen and a loud scream from the beginning of the long line sounds to your ears, terrifying you, bewildering your instinctual sensations. You feel the need to walk away. No, you know this feeling, something you had felt before, and yet you cannot describe it.

Your shaking feet briskly start to move away, while your mind is overcome by the thoughts intended to sort out what is happening around you.

Your head looking back at the line, you continue to move, when you find yourself bumping into someone.

Looking forward, you are shocked to find a large officer wearing a green suit standing in front of you, looking down upon you with those unusually bloodshot eyes. They express utter cruelness as they silently and, without blinking, refuse to remove your image from their iris.

Those eyes are hard to break through and you wonder what he is thinking. His actions are relaxed and yet hesitant and you find it hard to decide whether his eyes suggest cruelty or suffering or perhaps an absence of consciousness.

Suddenly, he reaches down to feel you up where you know it should be wrong.

Uncomfortable, you try to pull his hand away, but, for some reason, your strength doesn't exist and you feel like you are trying to move a large boulder, nothing more than soft touching to its perspective.

Screams echo again from behind you and you try to look back when the officer grabs your chin and forces you to face him. Your heart tells you to run.

The officer keeps hold of you and looks at you straight in the eye. He has a slashed scar along his eyelid. "You have it," he says.

You look up at him, feeling your eyes widening, and you again ponder on his actions. And staring at him in both horror and curiosity, you wonder if he is examining your sex to make sure you were a boy. And yet, you wonder if he were blind, since a person should be able to tell that you are, most certainly, a boy from your features. Your hair is cut short and your clothing could be no more masculine than it is.

The voice whispers to you once again, "society has gone mad."

You see the man continue to stare at you, "your brown eyes piss me off." And you know he can see you perfectly well.

The officer forcefully pushes you to the end of the line, behind a shaking boy who huddles into his wind breaker, covering his eyes and ears.

You raise you head to look beyond the squirming heads to see the beginning of the line. Then the sight comes to you and makes you understand perfectly. A wooden sign hangs from a large erect black slate that acts as some sort of a wall.

The sign reads in bold letters, "CASTRATION LINE"

That wall is by itself. Nothing exists behind, at least to the length of your vision. The desert continues on. No trees. The ground is dry, gray, and cracked.

A boy with wide-brimmed glasses runs from the front of the line with his hands between his legs. He is probably no more than nine years in age. He has tears running down from his cheeks, skipping frantically in circles and screaming before tripping, falling, and then starting back up to run off from the fear and pain that would probably befall upon him again, though now impossible and irreversible, if he went back.

You feel dizzy and sick in you stomach and a thought races through your mind to call for help. But, your voice is nonexistent at the moment and the only thing that can escape from your mouth is swishing air. You then wonder why only you could not scream. What was it with you that they wanted?

Thoughts zoom past your mental capacity and your eyes feel as though they are rolling back into your head. Your mind looks into the past, looking for the possibilities of what may have led to this or if you had a part in what appeared before you just a millionth of a second ago.

But, you only see emptiness of actions, no events, no life-term memories. You only feel painful absence, nothing preceding pain, nothing to remember, nothing to run away to.

A familiar feeling rushes through you as you feel like you're falling: similar to Disney's Alice in Wonderland, falling through the hole, following the rabbit.

Images circle around you. A broken clock working its way through a wall of flesh, you inside of the red softness. An inch further into the canal of torn meat created with each uneven tick of the second hand. No scream, or anything is heard, just the clock approaching, digging, forcing the release of red liquid that squirts like ketchup over the dark wood.

You feel intrigued, but you turn your head away to look at a woman sitting in blackness, who is obviously a mother, though you don't know why you know. You see her crying with her bleeding eyes rolling in circles in her hands, each sob of hers pushing them around.

Colors: purple, brown, and yellow circle around your face and you suddenly feel someone grabbing your arm.

The images are pushed away from the light entering through your eyelids, a dark light, indeed. You are back into reality, still the 27th in line for the castration. You still feel a grip on your wrist and so you look to your side. You see a boy, no older than 6, holding onto your wrist, shaking. Suddenly, he disappears, leaving behind a trail of tears and blood.

You wonder to yourself whether there is anesthesia. But, looking at the front, you see nothing other than an old woman with a pair of scissors and a boy being held tightly by another officer while she knelt down to bellow the boy's waist.

You plug your suffering ears just to drown out the muffled screams, cries and sobs, while the old woman takes her time, making sure to perform as slowly as possible, as though being cautious or perhaps, to your imagination's horror, to magnify the pain. A pail sits beside her seat.

You look behind yourself but no one is there. You are the last in line, as was before.

No one is watching you and so you run for your dear life. Run on and on. The woman looks up at you with a scowl, but then quickly returns to her duties with a smile of cruel amusement.

A guard chases after you, and, unconsciously, you turn around and knock him down with just a blow of your breath. You feel unsurprised by your action, but you feel an invincible feeling that didn't exist within you a moment before. You can't explain how, but your legs begin to move again, away from the rest. The boys, looking at you, sob with pleas after discovering your sudden strength. Their eyes longing for your hands to reach out to them, as if even one touch would bring hope. You want to help them, but your legs move. They reach their hands out and so do you, but your legs move away. Far away from everything. Tears fall from your eyes and a filthy fog of a whiter gray overcomes your vision.

And thus, your dream ends. Thank you for your visit, and come again some other time.

Constance Chapter 9

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 02:43:19 GMT

Tears had stained my cheeks, but they were now invisible. They had disappeared, gone forever. My hair was in a mess and I could smell my own sweat through the little I was wearing. I felt purified and yet filthy.

It was morning…again. Not unusual, of course.

“Is breakfast done?” Roadrunner said from behind me on the table as I stood by the stove.

I responded by bringing him the pan of an overdone omelet and scooping it out into his plate. He looked gratefully up at me and began devouring the omelet as I got my own breakfast ready.

This morning, I felt confused.

“Roadrunner, you’re my brother, right?” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Then can you listen to a word of personal concern from you sister?”

“Yes.”

“Roadrunner, no, brother, I think you need to speak with the police. I can imagine that they have been dying to get a hold of you. ”

Roadrunner looked up at me. Was he shocked? No. Was he angry? No. Was he happy? I was certain he was most definitely not. I couldn’t come up with a precise description for that expression on his face, an expression without a name.

Would he say yes? Would he say no? What would he say? He’d probably say no, after all, I knew the most about him. But, of course, there were some things I couldn’t predict. But, still I wouldn’t imagine him saying yes. He would say no. Yes, I think he would.

I heard my answer, “sure.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. He said yes. It was a very unenthusiastic yes, though.

As I was mesmerizing at his words while hastily cooking my own omelet, almost burning it again, he added, “but not now.”

I turned off the stove and turned around, looking down at my feet, “Oh.”

I waited for a few seconds before saying, “Brother, I feel lonely, and confused…and I feel irrational.”

Roadrunner didn’t seem surprised by what I had said, even though it was sudden and intimate. It didn’t satisfy the situation, but the fact that he was here with me and with the experience last night, I had no choice.

I looked at his face to see how he was responding when I saw that same strange expression on his face, ambiguous and mixed.

“Why?” I heard him say, his expression unchanging.

“It’s cold. Everything is cold. The warmth is gone. I am numb. Everything is numb. The police are, you are, I am…everyone…”

I tried to keep myself from crying again, so I attempted to somehow copy the look on his face. If he could stay calm, so could I.

I noticed Roadrunner looking at the padding around my finger. He stared intently, as if it were severely deformed or that it had a very strange arrangement of unnecessary ornaments. I looked down on it myself. And several minutes passed in total silence, our eyes unchanging in their position. I didn’t see anything particularly wrong with my ring finger. Did he? I waited for him to stop. I waited.

Several minutes passed with Roadrunner and I looking at my finger. The dead silence allowed the sound of my own heart beat to be heard, echoing elsewhere, far beyond this room. It echoed from upstairs.

I frequently raised my head to see if he had finished his stare, but I was in vain, for he wouldn’t move his eyes from that spot, except for when he blinked. Perhaps it was time for me to move, but I felt an urge to stay.

Time passed away in stagnation, where I should have been planning my therapy sessions.

I examined my finger and noticed its dark color, like wood. Long, rough, and brown, it reminded me of the cabinet. The rich red lusciousness underneath, leaking out, was obviously blood and I felt that it compromised well with the color.

After another few minutes, I finally took upon myself to move and I set my omelet onto the dining table to eat.

“After I eat, I need to rest some more. If someone calls and wishes to make an appointment with me wake me up,” I said and Roadrunner sat there, eating, nodding with a little smile on his face.

Slash through air and cut through bone as soft flesh and rose liquid separate around the steel wedge. Crying and screeching; echoes that shake the night and make leaves whiten and crinkle like an old widow's skin. Eyes, the size of silver coins, burst open and spill fluid out of young lettuce leaves.

Violins rot, the wood decomposing along with its music, the bow sliding ever so softly against rusty strings, sending salty red-orange particles to fly, only to be carried by fleas that hide under the tail of a dead cow. Rose liquid sinks deep into linen that flaps from the stormy wind that screams out your name. Hollow faces dance in the leaves that fall like white snow into a black swamp that swallows light into its depths. The leaves sink into the dark surface like human teeth slipping back into their gums. The long steel wedge strikes against the stone ground, rising back up into crunchy dead mush.

Dear Rose-red liquid, stick to that wedge. Roses hook with their thorns and never let go.

An old wooden box waits for you beneath an ocean of...

I woke up, gasping for air. It felt like my chest was being crushed. It was dark, very dark. A storm raged outside the window and then I saw something terrifying. The black bird, with red eyes, was perched on the window sill, staring directly at me, or in any direction for that matter. Its eyes were the only things that were perfectly visible; the rest of its body could not be differentiated from the surrounding blackness.

I climbed out of my blankets and tried to get out of bed, but my legs felt held in place by heaviness and so I had to literally drag myself. “I must find the lights,” I told myself as I struggled to release myself from this excrucianating situation. The atmosphere took upon a florescent blackish-blue. The air was chilly to the bone and my breath created the sensation of freezing on its landing on my skin.

Somehow, I managed to fall onto the floor. I plunged my head forward and clawed my fingers into the carpet, but, as expected, I couldn’t progress. I felt something hold onto my leg, with great force and stability, and so I looked back.

It was to my great surprise what I saw. My brother was what was holding on to my leg. He was lying naked on the bed, the lower portions of his body hidden by the height of the mattress.

He had that look on his face, that very familiar look.

I screamed.

And so, finally, I woke up. An end. An end that left me feeling purified and yet filthy once again.

Constance Chapter 8

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 02:42:15 GMT

It was the same day. And I was going shopping again.

As I was making my way down the street I came through to get home, I looked around to make sure that woman wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was coming back. What if she was here somewhere? Well, if such a thing were to happen, I would say, “I forgot something I needed to buy. Good evening and goodbye.” Perhaps that would be somewhat little rude. She was one of the only people who “knew.”

I recalled myself tossing my keys to Roadrunner, snatching my purse, and walking out of my door. I had told Roadrunner to keep my keys and to stay in my room so that no one would come in until I came back. I had to restrain myself from slamming the door. I felt irritated.

Turning my head as I trotted down the town sidewalk, I saw a dress in a window display. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Its texture was that of a rough, yet wavy pattern like a woven display of meadow grass. Its color was a natural yellow, a pleasant color indeed. A scarf of the same pattern circled around the dummy’s neck, loosely enclosing the surface. Strands of neatly sewn cloth gently glided off the dress, adding a city’s elegance to the rural cloth.

As I stared at the magnificence displayed before me, I saw a reflection in the window. It was of someone I knew. She was wearing a violet skirt and a pink top. It was that woman from earlier.

As I said, I didn’t enjoy coming up with excuses for walking here so few of hours past after we have previously met. And so, I just stood there with my back to her. I watched her moves intently whilst gazing forward. She was walking, and talking, with that woman who had asked her for help with her room cleaning. They were quite close, and so I heard them quite clearly as they slowly passed a few feet by my backside.

“Why Alice, he is just the most adorable thing you could imagine. I could lend him to you for an evening.”

“Oh, no Makeyleigh, I couldn’t.”

Makeyleigh…which one of them was her? Unfortunately, I couldn’t see who spoke, as they both faced one another, their sides to my view.

I had bought the dress…with my own money, not my parents’ and I returned home, only to actually slam my door shut as I had attempted to prevent myself from doing so before. As I had expected, Roadrunner was still there, in my room. He was reading a Popular Mechanics magazine.

“Hi,” I said, briefly.

“Hi,” he responded, not lifting his head from its position in front of the magazine. There seemed to be a dark aura surrounding him.

Why didn’t he look at me? Why didn’t he move? Why? Silently, I hung my dress up in my closet, still looking at him, hoping that he would look back.

I looked away from him and went into my kitchen to wash some of the dishes that had been sitting there for over three days. I wiped up my counter, forcing my arms to work, as they were stiff.

It was a drag to wash the dishes, though I’ve never felt this way before. I felt my cheeks tighten and my teeth grind with each squeeze of the sponge.

As I lifted I was wiping the lid of a can of beans, I felt a sudden sensation of pain in my finger. However, I continued to wash it, ignoring it while attempting to clear my thoughts.

I felt something grind and I peered down at my finger, but saw nothing. I winced.

Suddenly, I heard a loud, ear-piercing whistle from my side and I instantly cupped my ears with the palm of my hand, backing away from the source of the sound. To my surprise, I hit my back on one of the kitchen counters.

Roadrunner came into the room and said, “Sorry. My bad.” He quickly switched off the gas stove and then turned to face me.

“Connie…,” he said, “your finger.”

I lifted my hand to my view and looked at my index finger.

“No. Your ring finger.”

I switched fingers and examined that finger. The pain was answered and I noticed a cut made around the base of the finger, almost to the bone. Blood dripped down my arm and some fell onto my apron.

An urge surged through me and prompted me to wrap my finger with my other hand and suddenly wail out. Roadrunner flinched at my action. I then began to weep hysterically. I felt my body shake and I felt a pain, not from my finger, but from deep within, yet almost immediate and shallow.

I heard my brother whisper my name and his shadow climbed over me. I turned my body to the side and cuddled with the wall, turning away from him. I avoided his eyes.

“I know…,” he whispered as he forced me into his arms. I wanted to respond, but my voice was already pre-occupied with an unending release. He pulled me closer into him and I pushed away. He was strong and I was once again in his arms.

“I know…” he kissed the crown of my head.

I didn’t want him to see me like this. Not in this weak, vulnerable state. And yet…I wanted him beside me. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to hold me.

The Battle of Moltenburg chapter 10

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 18:20:07 GMT

"Hello? Is this the police station?," Thomas called from the opposite side of the phoneline. He was standing in a small phone booth.

"Yes, how may we help you?," a woman's voice said.

"I believe I was probably kidnapped."

"I'm sorry, sir. But, could you please make this a little clearer? Were you kidnapped or not?"

"I...I don't know how to put it. But, I think someone is trying to..." he paused for a fraction of a second, "kill me."

"All right. Where are you right now?"

Thomas peered around himself. There were some specks of mud stuck to the sides of the glass, so it was a bit difficult to make out his surroundings. He felt agitated and stressed out, like he was going to get an abdominal cramp any time soon.

Damn. What in the world am I going to do now?

Thomas tapped his foot lightly on the cement floor, feeling frightened and almost completely unaware of whether he was, in fact, aware.

"Hello?" the woman called from the phone again.

"Um..." he said.

Thomas looked to his right and barely made out the sidewalk through the dirty glass walls that surrounded him. He then spotted Earl, who was walking directly towards the phone booth.

Drat! Can he actually see me through this wall?

But, then, he noticed Earl staring straight at Thomas' eyes.

God. His eyes are so beautiful...

I've gotta get out of here. He knows where I am. I've gotta run.

Thomas let go of the phone and let it hover over the cement floor. He pushed open the door and dashed out and ran. He ran away from the man who called out for him.

Earl walked to the phone Thomas was previously using, reached down, and lifted the dangling device. He placed it on his left ear and listened to a woman saying, "Hello? Hello? Sir?"

And he hung up.

He looked towards the direction in which his Tommy ran. He looked shamefully down at his shoes and turned around, proceeding to walk back to his mansion, where Diane would probably be waiting for him.

----

Thomas ran out of breathe and he grasped, collapsing onto the fence he was walking besides. He wrapped his fingers tightly around one of the many wires that intertwined with each other. With that wire, he held himself up. Sweat slowly dripped down his forehead and he felt his thoughts fall away with the droplets.

When his breath finally steadied, he looks around himself to make sure he lost Earl, that man that played with his mind, heart,...and body.

Letting go of the wires, he walked to a nearby rock and sat down on it. Looking around the surroundings, he noticed that this was a small clearing of grass in the city. Earl's mansion was probably about ten miles from here. He knew this place because he came here quite often as a child, playing baseball with the neighborhood kids. He couldn't believe that he actually ran this far.

As a child, there was this one boy that he liked a lot. His name was Anthony and he had a deep crush on that boy. His eyes had a strange brown tint, almost red, and with a tint of black in it. His hair was light brown like copper. He had a well defined chin despite the fact that he was probably only 6 and he was very polite. Thomas remembered when that boy came to him one day and held his hand. They both just sat there, watching the rest of the boys play their baseball games, silently glancing at each other as the sun set. When the rest of the boys had left, Thomas felt that he could not handle it any longer and he leaned forward to brush his burning lips against Anthony's. That was when Thomas' own mother came...and stopped everything.

And Thomas thought about his past in this sort of way...until he felt something softly land on his left shoulder.

He looked to his side and suddenly jolted up when he saw the person that had just touched him. It was a boy, probably around eighteen years of age. The slight turn of his head revealed a severe deformation of its left side, from Thomas' angle of view.

That deformation surprised Thomas and he yelped in surprise and the boy jerked his hand away.

"I...I'm sorry," the boy said. "I was just wondering if you were lonely or...something. You looked pretty sad."

Sad? What is he talking about? Shouldn't he be sad himself, with that horrifying complexion?

The boy noticed Thomas staring at that part of his face and he hurried to cover it with his hand.

"Um..." the boy said, almost stammering in the process, "do you have a home?"

"Not anymore, I think. I ran away."

"Oh...okay... Well, I-I was just wondering if you did because I could take you to my place. It's not far from here and you'll need a place to stay on this day because it's pretty cold. It's Autumn..."

Thomas felt himself shivering. He had forgotten to bring a coat. He didn't notice how cold it was until now.

The boy then stepped forward to Thomas and took off his own wind-breaker and placed it lightly on Thomas' back.

Warmth filled Thomas.

"Um...yeah. I think I'll need a place to stay," Thomas said, with a half-smile and a look of defeat.

"Good. I thought you might." He takes Thomas' hand and Thomas felt a sudden rapid thump in his chest that didn't fit right with the rythmn before it. It was his heart and it sped up.

Walking with Thomas' hand in his own, the boy turned his head around to look Thomas square in the eye, "by the way, my name is Anthony. What's yours?"

Could it be him? But, no. His face doesn't look similar.

"Thomas."

Anthony nodded and as soon as a blink of an eye, they had already reached an apartment and had already begun to walk up the staircase to the doorway upfront.

Oh, no. Another house to get used to...

But, when Thomas entered through the door, he felt a sudden breeze of invisible peace. He felt a sense of space despite the fact that this was significantly smaller than Earl's mansion. And the mansion felt more crammed in.

Some clothes were scattered all over the floor and Thomas felt a little insulted by the fact that this boy that had the same name as his childhood crush brought him here. But, he felt that he would begin to like this apartment, even if just for that night.

Tears of an Ocean (The Battle of Moltenburg [not a chapter, only something I wrote])

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 15:26:41 GMT

Earl sat along the sides of a rock that came into contact with the cold, swooshing waters from the sea it stood by. The trauma that ran through the stone also vibrated through Earl’s thinning body.

Unable to think straight of anything else, his thoughts were on Thomas. He pondered and pondered about his beloved man for what seemed like a century since he came to this ocean.

Thomas probably jumped into that ocean, engulfed in pure hatred.

Earl thought this to himself.

The young man un-leaned himself from the large boulder and climbed on top of it, on top of the cold hard surface that felt like the true world.

Looking down from his short natural tower, Earl peered into the water beneath. The tide was rising. He wondered if the tears in the ocean were his own.

“Yes, they must be. They are my own. What other space would have been capable of holding that sorry that pours from me? It would be none other than the ocean floor," he whispered to himself.

A cold wave splashed against the rock once again. But the tide was high and a drop of clear liquid landed on his forehead. It stopped at his left cheek. Taking his index finger, he slowly lifted it off his facial skin and put it into his mouth.

It tasted salty, like the taste of cheeks wet from mourning.

I must face my tears. One day, I might be able to. Tears make you feel good. After they burst from you, you feel relieved.

Thinking that, he peered down at the water that remained splashing.

I wish my tears would do the same for me. If it could change who I am, would it be worth it? Would I be free from this curse of a personality?

His thoughts were overwhelming. The water splashed more and more as droplets touched his face. He turned himself around and looked up at the trees that soured above him. Trees are hard. They give you splinters, even though they provide you with shelter.

Was I like a tree to Thomas?

I gave him shelter and yet I hurt him, splintering him. What would it take to get away from my wooden self?

With that, Earl watched the trees fall beneath his view. His lungs filled with his tears and his nostrils stung.

He watched as Thomas appeared, shocked and reaching forth with his hand, behind a window of rippling glass.

Rose Liquid

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 17:41:14 GMT

Slash through
Air
And cut through
Bone
As soft flesh
And rose liquid
Seperate
Around the steel wedge.
Crying and screeching;
Echoes that shake the night
And make the leaves whiten
And crinkle
Like an old woman's skin.
Eyes, the size of
Silver coins
Pop open
And spill liquid
Out of young lettuce leaves.
Violins rot,
The wood decomposing
Along with its music,
With the bow sliding against
Rusty strings, sending
Salty red-orange particles to fly,
Only to be carried by fleas
That hide on the behind of a dead cow.
Rose liquid sinks deep
Into linen
That flaps from the stormy wind
That screams out your name.
Hollow faces dancing in the leaves
That fall like white snow
Onto a black swamp
That swallows light
Into its depths.
The leaves sink into
The dark surface
Like human teeth
Slipping back into their gums.
The long steel wedge strikes
Against the ground,
Rising back up into
Crunchy dead
Mush.
Dear Rose-red liquid,
Stick to that wedge.

It never lets go.

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 13:50:08 GMT

"Why are you so mean to me?" Unconsciously, Thomas his hands go to his face to wipe away the tears and he heard himself sniffle.

God, why am I being so emotional?

As Earl approached Thomas, the crying one turned his head to look away, when he spotted the table beside him. Earl was about five feet away from him, so he grabbed the side of the table he was closest to. Gathering all his strength, he lifted the end of the small reading table. Being lifted, the table looked like a card being swept by the wind, clumsily flying.

"Thomas, what are you doing?" Earl's face looked a little sterned as he fastened his walking pace towards the fuming boy.

"Don't you dare get any closer to me!" Thomas, with a surge of energy, pushed the wooden object heavily onto Earl, who was desperatly trying to brace himself with his arms.

Luckily, Earl wasn't heart, and Thomas felt himself relieved. But, without a moment's time he kicked his feet on the ground and ran as fast as he could while Earl pushed himself out from beneath the table.

Why am I running?

Thomas sped to the front door, setting his sweaty palms on the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. It wasn't, luckily.

I know you're not locked, but please open and don't fall on me or anything. I had to get hurt to get my way since I got here. Don't let this be the same.

Oh, it was way too easy. Thomas flinched from the sudden swing of the door. But, gathering strength from his unstable breathing, he stepped out and ran, forgetting to close the door behind him and forgetting to wipe away the tears that dotted the outdoor stairs.

----

Earl ran to the door, limping onto his sprained ankle. As he was, he spotted Diane standing on the staircase to upstairs, dusting.

"Where are you going, Master Blackwood?" Diane asked, abruptly stopping the movement of the feather duster in her right hand.

"Nowhere" was Blackwood's answer, "Now, excuse me, I wish to take a walk."

"Good bye."

"Good day."

And the door was shut, Earl disappearing from sight.

Diane continued to brush off the soft particles of dust off of the handles of the staircase. A smirk carved its way onto her lips.

She set the feather duster down onto the step she was standing on, and she walked to the front door. She locked it.

Why am I running? I must stop. I have to return to the mansion...er...I thought it was called the Moltenburg house. Wierd name... No! No! I will not return. Maybe I should ask someone around this street to help me.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 23:03:06 GMT

The nature of language
Beneath the hidden lies
Are all deep inside 
The minds of the innocent
That crawl under the beds
And deny knowledge of their
Meanings.

To grow is to mature,
To age,
To release knew energy
Through sources
That is slowly wearing away.
But, there are some
Forms of energy...

"What?" you say,
"What forms of energy?"
Actually, my young man,
There is only one 
That I speak of.
It does not root
From the cells of your body.

It roots from the 
Emotional heart
That glows beneath your
Skin, through your eyes.
That energy is what many
Call love.
It is energy, yet eternal. 

Listen to me, for I will be eternal to you.
Listen to me, as my breathe will begin to wear away.
Why do you ask me to stay, when you know I will by fate?
Of course, you desire my physical appearance, my 
False, mortal body.
But remember, while I am still young, still seventeen,
That my body shall not last centuries and neither will
Yours.

So take care that I am the only one you love, for
If your heart drifts away, 
You'll never find me again
Once I've passed away. 
I know, yes, I'm talking well beyond my age.
I watch you as you shake your head,
Your blonde curls swinging like ropes.
You deny my words.

Listen, my love.
I do not wish to harm you, you are too precious to me.
You know that life is too short.
Even five hundred years, and still too short.
Let our love pass for eternity,
Away from our physical being.
If lust is what keeps you with me,
Than my eternal being you are ignoring.

I am no philosopher. 
But, heed my words,
If our love stays this strong,
If we will stay with each other,
Even after death,
Our coffins will stay invisible to us,
My love. 
Listen to my heart...
While I yet live.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 22:56:35 GMT

His words strangle me,
For whom I love will
Not be
Him.

Adolescence

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 22:52:05 GMT

Breathe,
And childhood escapes.
Look back,
Memories locked away.
Grasping on any
Sensation,
So as to not lose
It to movement.

Keep moving on,
They say.
You lose it all, 
Only tasting,
Never feasting.
Obsession rises
To revive feelings.

Lost is your state,
Constantly flying
Through emptiness...until adulthood.
You can't love
Anything
Until then.
You want to love,
but passion is
Forbidden,
Because it holds
You back, keeps 
You from moving 
On, 
Constantly flying 
Throught emptiness...until adulthood. 

Your not going to be anyone 
Until then,
They say. 

Adolescence, 
The empty identity
That we try to fill.

The Battle of Moltenburg [part 8]

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 04:28:14 GMT

Diane left the libary after politely excusing herself. Thomas watched her, making sure she left completely. He felt like something was getting on his nerves whenever he meets her. But, then again, he has only met her twice. Nevertheless, she still was annoying to him.

Strange. She did so much for me. Why am I not thankful?

Thomas sighed. He hasn't sighed in a long time. Maybe it was finally time to sigh. It was in the right time, wasn't it? This was his second day in Earl's house and he still hasn't figured anything about what his relationship with this mean rich guy was supposed to mean.

Looking to his side, he found a thin leather book on one of the fine glass reading tables. Opening it to the first page, he began reading in curiosity. Suddenly, his face blushed a bright red when he came to discover that the book he was holding in his hands was, in fact, a romance novel. And not any romance novel; it was a homoerotic one. Yet, he continued to absorb the words.

The story began with a very young Robert Bagley, who was around 21 years of age.

Is this what Earl was reading in his past time?

"Robert, beautiful and graceful as he always was, leaned forward in an excellent elegant manner, to kiss this other young man. The friction between the flesh of their soft lips sent a signal of heartbeats, like that of hoofsteps of a black stallion, up and down Robert's body. Just when the fire burned between them, something moved and the heat was extinguished. And just when Robert opened his eyes, the other man had pushed him aside and ran. The other man ran like the wind, as though his life was in grave danger. But, was he? No. Robert was not a dangerous man. Robert could not understand. He had sacrificed himself for this, yet the boy dared to abandon him? Life was never fair, as he learned from past experiences, from past lessons. But, with hope still burning in his heart, he had sacrificed his emotional safety for the love he desired. He had no money, but he had at least a place to live. He starved, he collapsed so many times in the heat of the summer. He wanted love, but only recieved a lying kiss and no name. That boy, he now thought, would never meet him again..."

Thomas suddenly jolted out of the dreamy world of words that he was just now engulfed in, and looked up. He had heard a creaking sound of the library door. This time, the sound wasn't as loud as it usually was, but it was still noticeable. Wondering who or what caused the disturbance, he stood up. The door continued to open in a slow, steady manner.

A voice, numbed by the muffling of the walls by books, made its way to Thomas' voice. "Tommy? Are you there?" It was Earl.

The entering man, closed the large doors behind him, as he stepped onto the carpeting.

What is he doing here? But, then again, this is his library after all. He has all rights to enter here. But, in my book, he has no right to enter in my presence. Did he even know if I was here? Or did he search all over the mansion for me?

"Tommy."

"My name isn't Tommy," Thomas scowled.

"Hmph."

"I'd much prefer to be called Thomas, or even better, Mr. Valerie."

Honestly, I hate my last name. But, what right does he have to call me baby names?

Earl smiled. It was a very weak smile, as if he didn't even have enough energy to lift his facial muscles. It wasn't a smile like before. He seemed stronger back then.

What happened?

Earl's eyes were slightly red, signifying either that he was tired or that he was crying, or maybe both.

"What a pity. You weren't even called Tommy by your own mother." Earl sneered, and then let his expression drop, drooping once again.

A line of thought stroke through thomas' mind.

What did he say? How did he know that? It was true that my mother didn't call me by that baby name, but how did Earl find that out? He's probably around my own age...

Thomas' thinking was stopped abruptly when Earl said, "And what is that book you are holding?"

Thomas looked down at the book he was pressing to his chest with his arms. "It's none of your business."

Earl laughed lightly and shook his head, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your tongue is like acid flung in random directions. No, Tommy, it IS my business. That book is mine."

Thomas again peered down at the book his was holding. His face blushed from embarrassment, looking slightly sad, his eyes watering. He slowly walked towards Earl and handed the book to him.

"Sorry," Thomas said as he solemny placed the book in Earl's hand.

"Now that's much better." Earl put the book under his armpit and began walking past Thomas. The golden-haired boy stayed put. He felt a pang of pain in his chest. His tried to look at Earl, but his eyes became blurry with wetness.

Earl was walking towards one of the bookshelves and proceeded to place the novel in its proper location.

"Why?" Thomas heard himself shake as he spoke.

"Yes?" Earl looked back at Thomas, raising his eyebrow.

"Why are you so mean to me?"

End of Chapter 8

Arghhhhhh! How many times do I have to say their names? It'll be much simpler if I just had a heterosexual couple. If I have a girl and a boy, I could address them as "he" and "she" and never get the reader confused. With two men, however, I can't say "he" and "he." That would knock the reader off his or her reading track. I know! I could group Diane with Thomas. But, too bad, I already have plans for them.

Well, initially, I was going to have a longer chapter, but I'm too lazy, so I just cut it short. I kind of like Earl now. Heheheheh. He seems so dark and mysterious. I don't know, but he seems like he has multiple personalities or something. Even I, the author, can't decifer the thoughts of the characters; they have come alive. Lol. Hmmmm... I still dont get Diane. Who's side is she on?

Keep reading!

- June

The Vanished Life

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 03:54:33 GMT

Imagination swept across my mind's eye as I began to analyze my surroundings. The sun showered through the clear glass window, suddenly reminding me of the light

that existed in the home I spent my childhood in, reminding of my mother baking her delicious cookies in the bright sunlight. That window was in the same location as it was before, except the accessories were altered to a green, white-striped layer of cloth. Red stains used to exist there, sticky and slowly drying. I peered across the vacant room and saw the tv. My chest felt hard as tight like the taffy my mother pulled in front of my eyes. Any moment now, I felt, that I would pull that tv off that table and throw it across the room, shattering it into millions of pieces of glass and plastic. My fingers twitched at the sight of it, wanting to replace it with the photo picture of my dear mother, for that was where it belonged. A face of the now gone woman pictured in black-and-white, laced with snow-white along her collar. All refined with a smile that carved life into second-demensional form.

My eyes drifted to the right, a little down. A wooden table covered with a white table cloth. I looked at the table cloth, staring intently. My hand moved slowly under the fabric, and lifted the space between wood and woven thread apart. Nothing was there. I frowned. The last remains of my memory of my mother must have gone.

Hmmm, I thought, the long, golden hair must have been removed along with the blood. It seems that all my trophies associated with my mother-son relationship had disappeared.

The Letter of Waiting

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 03:52:34 GMT

My name is Mike. I am twenty-three going on to twenty-four. I am currently getting my masters in abnormal psychology. I am a fun guy, but also very simple. I live in a small, cheap, but clean apartment with my girlfriend.
I am sitting here, on this chair, in front of a wooden table that is set to the wall. A lamp lights the surface, that is littered with papers and books. Textbooks are pushed to the side. The wood is a red oak, varnished thickly to give it a warm shine.
I am holding a slip of paper. I found it in my girlfriend's underwear. The underwear was pink with frills on it. The piece of paper was pinned onto the outside, folded into the small frills.
Now, many would wonder why I would be rummaging through my girlfriend's personal stuff. Well, because she asked me to. I remember when she told me, "Mike! Wash the laundry, including mine, and make sure you put it in the dryer afterwards. I have to go to work the whole day, so I don't have time for it." She kissed me after that. I remember it very clearly, I am not insane. I don't know what job it was, she never told me. Still, as gentleman as I am, I couldn't resist to take a soft sniff of the cloth that once covered her most intimate parts.
I don't really know what job she had today, everyday it's different. What I do know about her is that she is a very beautiful girl. I wouldn't be able to doubt that. She has striking green eyes and flowing brunette hair. Her name is Alice, the words ring a loud bell in my ears. She loves children, she takes walks with them when baby-sitting for income. When I come home, she lets me talk about my rises and falls in life, and will save room for herself to talk afterwards. I am number one on the list to her. She once gave me advice on how to save money in the shortest amount of time, a secret to only her and I.
The paper I am holding in my hand right now is a letter. It starts of with, "Dear Alice."
I look at the very top to see the date the letter was written. It says, "June 8th, 1990". That was yesterday.
I scan through the letter and I know what it is. It is a marriage proposal.
It reads:

I have waited all my life to meet someone like you. I can't live without you, I need you by my side. Thanks for coming to my place every day to talk with me, cook for me, and make love with me. Thank you for the intense kisses you gave to me every time you left back to your home. You're so beautiful, it's unbelievable that you're single. Come to my place tomorrow. We can stay together all day long. I asked for you to marry me once, but you told me you would think about it. Come, and I'll give you a surprise. I'll propose to you again, but this time, I will impress you for sure.
The man dying for you,
Jake.

I raise my girl friend's underwear to the lamplight and make sure it was clean enough to notice. I then take the letter and I tear it to pieces between my fingers. I pin the pieces together to the outside of her underwear again and carefully fold the panties into her undergarment drawer.

My face is as stiff as stone.

Mony In My Pocket

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 03:51:14 GMT

"Listen. I know what you think, Madam, but I 'm not going to try to do anything to you. I just want you to take this money!" a young man said.

"I told you already! I don't want it. Just keep it." Mary tried to free herself from the man's grip on her shirt.

"Let go, you're hurting me." Sweat started to drip off her forehead and her heart began to beat rapidly. Who was this man? She felt that she could not trust this person who suddenly walked up to her and asked for her to take his money. Ha! She didn't even know if it was his money. He had just told her that he found it in his pocket and that he wanted to give it to her.

Finally, he let go of her and then swore in her face. With an insulted and hot-tempered facial expression, the young lady waked away from him in a hasty manner. Her high heeled shoes stamped fiercely against the stone pavement.

"Find someone else to give those bucks you stole to, you freak!" she yelled while briefly turning her head back.

She was a young, plain-looking, slightly overweight woman with curly blond hair. She had just walked out of her apartment building when she was attacked by this bewildered young man who dressed in a manner that seemed to express his high social status-perhaps a company-owner's son. From his pleas for her to take his money it seemed as though he had just stolen it. And this wasn't just some money. What he held in his hands was well worth up to 20,000 dollars. He must have done an illegal act at the bank recently.

Mary walked to her car and put her hand into her pocket to draw out her keys. She felt something. Her eyes widened as she carefully felt it. her body stood frozen and so did her face. It was money.

Looking around she saw a beggar sitting in a corner. Walking towards, she tried to create a sympathetic facial expression.

She leaned forward and handed the thick package of green paper to him and said, "take it." She felt her heart thumping, quietly begging in her heart for this poor fellow to take it. The police might have a search warrant through the city. This beggar didn't seem capable of clear communication.

The beggar kindly took it, pushing it dearly to his own chest and running away with excitement and joy. The guilt was off her now.

As she walked around her car, she noticed a small black vehicle. It stopped by her and rolled down its windows. A brunette woman with thick sunglasses looked at her and handed her a small package wrapped in black satin.

"Please take this. I know it may sound ridiculous, but I just found it in my pocket by mere chance."

The car drove away, along with the brunette. Mary could see through the side mirror that the woman was smiling. It was a grin, maybe evil, but Mary was uncertain. mary opened the package and much to her despair, found another bundle of green paper. Frustrated, and unable to find someone to hand it to this time, she threw the money on to the pavement and opened the door to her car.

"Today's another one of those weird days, isn't it?" Mary mumbled to herself as she cranked up her engine.

Her blue car drove through the crowded road, over emerald rectangular strips of paper that scattered the road side.

Can't Go Any Further

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 03:49:09 GMT

I can hear your voice

Tempting me to freeze

My footsteps.

Don’t near me,Thy forbidden voice:Its beauty; so real and luring.

Please, the wind,Take her voice awaySo that my heart may rest.

I can leave Soon…just one more step.I can see the ending. I’ll be freeFrom the grasp I so loved.

Release me,

Release your clenching tears

They slide down my face, too.

How I wished To tell youWhat you meant to me.

My world lured in your arms,

Warming it As the sun.

My feet struggle

Through the snow As it deepens…away from your warmth.

I call your name

But I shut my mouth. The sun dims in the distance.

The blizzard thickens.

I am walking away,My feet as slow as vine growth.

My screams echo off the clouds.

I can’t go any furtherMy heart is slowly deteriorating.

My arms reach back

To your presence,Caressing the last of your warmth.

I can’t go any further.

I can’t bear this pain.I need you by my side…My love, How can fate be so cruel?

Copyright 2008 June Lunare

The Battle of Moltenburg [part 7]

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 14:46:07 GMT

Thomas walked down the round spiral staircase to the first floor, to the dining room that awaited his presence. He was a little hungry, since he had been trying to sleep for quite a while with the pain, but in vain.

Stepping into the luxurious dining room, he caught sight of Earl sitting at the opposite end of the table, just like he was when they first drank tea together. The room reminded him of a hotel dining room, especially the one he went to as a child with his parents.

After noticing that Thomas had entered the room, Earl stood up from his seat, abandoning his newspaper and cup of coffee.

"Good morning Thomas."

Thomas flinched a little. He felt a little sick when Earl approached him, squeezing in the space between them. Hatred burned and love flew within him, all together at once. The memories of how loving Earl was in the bathing chamber and how cruel he was with the knife arose again into his mind, though he wished so hard to forget them. The feelings associated with them made him feel like his chest was being torn open.

He felt a tear trickle down his left cheek, then his right.

Darn you, Thomas, stop feeling, stop feeling. Earl has nothing to do with you anymore. Just because he had sex with you in the bathing chambers and just because he carved his possession tag onto you doesn't mean you have anything to do with him. The tears burn. Just make them stop, make them stop!

Thomas felt more tears squeezing out despite of his efforts to stop them.

Earl noticed the tears, and approached Thomas in a comforting manner. Thomas turns to his side, away from the man.

Why did I even come down here if I knew there was a possibility that he was waiting for me, like he always did?

"What's wrong, Tommy?" Earl asked Thomas softy into his ear, making the tearful one feel shivers down his body, especially there.

Earl began caressing Thomas's shoulders, making "Tommy" weak in the knees.

"Why?" Thomas said, "why do I feel this way?"

"Feel what way?" Earl asked him.

"I feel like I'm burning from the inside out whenever I think of you. But, it's not a painful burn, it's just...just..."

Thomas felt Earl slowly wrap his arms around him.

"Don't touch me." Thomas felt his tears run again. He wanted to know why this guy was his "best friend", not his lover.

"I hate you," Thomas said.

But I want you. I want you so much. But I'll never know why you're my "best friend' if we lose that relationship to something more intimate. I need to let you go. I like you...alot. Let's just be friends.

Earl let go, backing away with a silence that signified shock, and turned around.

Thomas' hand reached out back, not looking, to grasp the last of Earl's affections. But the space was empty. Earl was out of reach.

"Sit down and eat, Tommy. You breakfast will get cold."

Tommy sat. Tommy ate. But not a word was spoken from him that hour.

Thomas headed towards the library, alone. His thoughts, despite the fact that he thinks he is over with them, still speaks to him about his relationship with Earl and about Earl's loving sides and cruel sides.

Why do I even like him? Ow, my abdomen still stings. Well, at least I have the bandages wrapped around it.

He pushed open the large library doors, giving off a loud creaking sound that echoed throught the hallway. He looked around at the book shelves, only to find Diane dusting one of them. She was standing on a ladder, lightly brushing the high areas with a feather duster.

Hearing the sound of the door, she had turned her head around.

"Oh, hello, Thomas!," she said, looking down.

Thomas nodded at Diane, unsure of what to say. Diane had been so kind to him, he didn't know how to repay her. She climbed down the ladder and set her foot lightly on the richly carpeted floor. She then began moving the wheeled ladder to the side, getting ready for the next collumn of books.

"So, how's everything coming for you?" Diane asked. She turned her head around only slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"Fine. Everything is fine." Thomas' voice was cold and monotonous, sounding like a boring high school teacher.

Diane turned her head fully back, "What's with that expression, Thomas? What? You'd rather have everything not right?"

Everything not right? That's right, Diane. Nothing is right. Everything isn't fine, thanks to him.

The Battle of Moltenburg part 6

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 14:06:45 GMT

Part 6
Thomas lied in his bed, in a fetal position underneath the covers.

A maid entered the room, her black dress brushing against the side of the bed, carrying a bundle of washed clothing. Carefully and quietly, she set the clothing on the drawer near to Thomas' bed, so as to not wake him up. As she was slowly leaving, she heard some noises. Listening carefully, it was the sound of crying, coming from the bed. The sobbing was soft, yet noticable.

The maid was hesitant in approaching the young man, for it is possible that he was crying in his sleep. But, if she asked him if something was wrong, he would most certainly answer if he were awake. So she did.

"Is there anything that you would need, sir?"

"Just go away."

Hmmmm, she thought, he is awake.

She walked to the side of the bed that was closest to the doorway and sat on that side, the spring bed slightly sinking.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

There was a brief silence as Thomas just lied there, not budging one bit. Hesitantly, he finally poked his head out from under the covers. Looking into her eyes, he slowly nodded his head.

The young maid grinned a little, attempting to make it easier for the poor man. Knowing that it would be uncomfortable to suddenly begin talking personally without a connection, she introduced herself, "Uh...my name is Diane. I work here as the only maid...well...actually, I'm not the only maid here. Usually, there are at least five other maids living here, but they all left to meet their families during this autumn break. And, since I have nowhere else to go, I'm staying here with the master. I work just to keep myself busy."

Thomas nodded, letting her continue.

"And...you must be Thomas. I heard about you from Master Blackwood."

Thomas flinched slightly. Diane noticed that, and paused a little before continuing, "did something happen, between you and the master, I mean?"

Thomas studied her for a moment, trying to see if she was a trustworthy person, "would you tell anything I tell you to Earl?"

"Could you repeat that again?"

"Would you promise me that you won't tell Earl that I'm talking about this?"

"No, of course not."

Thomas explained to Diane about the incidences that happened between him and Earl. Diane looked a little uncomfortable, but Thomas didn't care at all. He just wanted someone to listen to him.

"Diane, I think he's taking advantage of me. I came here to find out what my parents were planning for me when they suddenly decided that this guy that I don't know a bit about is my 'best friend.' It seems as though he doesn't want me to know. He's probably only trying to distract me from the truth."

He then noticed Diane clutching tightly onto her white apron. Her face didn't show any sign of discomfort, but the gestures of her body made her mental state very obvious.

Taking a short breathe, the maid began, "If you want to, you can run away from here."

"What? But I want to know!"

"Just a word of advice, Thomas. There are many things about the master that you shouldn't know about."

"You mean, about Earl, right?"

Diane smiled widely and nodded. "I'm sorry, Thomas, I must leave now. I must attend to the master's chambers."

Thomas watched as Diane hastely scurried out of the room. Once she closed the door, Thomas slid back into his bed covers.

The memories of the time he spent that day in the bath arose in his mind. He blushed red hot.

He placed his hand on his stomach, feeling pain. Getting out of bed, he walked to his mirror. Lifting his shirt off himself, he examined it and the blood spots stained that sunk into its fabric. Looking into the mirror, he stared blankly at his own image.

Those words were carved into his abdomen: You belong to me! It stung as if it were being touched by red hot irons. They were the marks made in the changing chamber.

Blushing once again, he crawled back into his bed. He still felt himsefl blushing considerably. Shaking his head to get those inappropriate thoughts out of his steaming head, he buried his face into the soft pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Yes, Diane?" Earl spoke softly.

"Yes master, Thomas is doing well."

"Have you talked to him、Diane?"

"No, master. Not a word."

"Good."

Earl stood there in front of his mirror, playing with a small butcher knife, "I don't think Thomas will need this anymore. He won't be leaving now."

The Battle of Moultenburg [part 5]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:59:39 GMT

[part 5]

Steam rose slowly in swirls from Thomas’ neck, his skin dripping with warm water. The scent of Earl lingered on him.

He took the white cloth that hung from his shoulder and proceeded to wipe himself. His face was emotionless, no silent twitch of the mouth, no turning of the eyes.

He heard from his ear that someone was approaching from behind.

Earl stood directly behind Thomas, his chest nearly touching the golden boy’s soft back skin. The sweet scent of Earl, provocative and soothing, rose in tremendous amounts to Thomas’ nostrils.

Ear’s arm brushed against Thomas’ waist as it slid upward to his underarms. Earl’s hand stopped in front of Thomas’ eyes. The kitchen knife’s glimmers in the lamplight reflected off Thomas’ soft eye color.

Thomas looked to his side to see Earl starring directly at him. Earl’s eyes questioned with curiosity. Thomas looked back at the knife Earl held in front of his wet face. He wished the knife would just fall into his own hands. He felt the urge to just take that knife and hack Earl into pieces.

Fire bubbled in his insides as he grabbed the knife and snatched it out of his “friend’s” grasp. Friends? He didn’t even know what they were now after what they’ve done together. Gathering all the strength after most of it had been given to Earl, he pushed the knife through the air towards Earl’s abdomen. He knew he would come in contact with flesh, even slice it.

Suddenly something grabbed his arm, hitting a nerve in his upper arm, causing the weapon to fall once again with an echoing clank to the floor of the changing room.

“No…” Thomas whispered.

“Is this really what you want?” Earl’s voice rang through Thomas’ ears.

Thomas hesitated, still, his face remaining blank.

The Battle of Moultenburg [part 4]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:58:43 GMT

[Part 4]

A large wave of water stroke the tile floor. Thomas disappeared from sight. As the echoing of the splash diminished, several sounds of complaint spoke its way out.

Beneath the water, four male legs stood there. Two were holding fast to the bottom and two were kicking frantically. A small clanking sound could be heard. There, on the bottom floor, was a knife with a small towel. Bubbles from the commotion above blinded the view and nothing could be seen.

A woman dressed in black, frilled, and short dress with white aprons stood outside the closed entrance. Apparently, she was a maid.

There she stood, clenching her teeth, with tears pouring down her dove-soft skin. She squeezed the towels onto her breast, leaned over, and softly placed the towels by the door. She opened the door slightly, enough to slide the towels into the crack. She winced at the sounds inside: a mixture between pleasure and complaint; violent splashing that began to decrease over time, until it stopped completely. Yet, complaining continued. She suddenly slammed the door shut after seeing Earl standing in the water, holding someone else to the side of the bath with one hand, the other beneath the water.

Her eyes watered with tears as she ran as far as she could from the door.

The Battle of Moultenburg [part 3]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:57:33 GMT

[part 3]

Steam rose in large quantities from the soothing water. Droplets formed and trickled down the fountain spouts.

The bathing chamber was extremely large. The bath itself was large enough to be used as a swim pool. Thomas looked about himself. The room was brightly lit, illuminating every detail of his surroundings.

Tiled floors spread all around the rectangular, below-floor-level bath. In the center of the bath, a fountain rose high above the water, shooting hot water into the foggy air. Golden statues depicting angels lined the walls.

There, Thomas stood in awe. He had just entered the room. This was extremely frightening, yet again, exiting as well. He began to feel insecure once again, wondering if he could prevent himself from falling into frenzy, losing himself to his inner desires.

But, here, he must find out what was behind the conspiracy between his parents and Earl. Even if it meant to obey Earl, he mustn’t show his suspicions.

Thomas peered down at himself. He had expected the room to be more dimly lit, to ensure him of his own privacy. But in this room, he knew that every inch of him could be viewed without effort.

His keen ears picked up noises from the changing room just outside of the bathing room.

Earl was coming.

Quickly, Thomas sat at the edge of the bath and covered his private parts with the washcloth that concealed his weapon.

Earl entered the room, completely removed of his clothing. Thomas suddenly gasped, covering his mouth to prevent any more noises from escaping his now uncontrollable mental processes. In haste, he turned his widened eyes away from the enemy.

Nervously, he began to fidget.

Earl stepped into the steaming water. The liquid now reached his chest.

Relieved that Earl was now in the water, Thomas turned his eyes back to his friend, expecting his lower half to be covered. He smiled, attempting to start a conversation.

Unfortunately, Thomas was shocked to be visually reminded that the water was transparent. He knew this was not a good sign. He completely turned his head away, but the image was permanently stuck in his mind.

He pressed his legs together, trying to diminish the throbbing between them. A whimper suddenly escaped his lips as his body trembled. Earl examined the lad’s facial expression, which, unfortunately, revealing everything.

The dark-haired man didn’t seem surprised.

Instead, he went on with his own business, occasionally moving in revealing positions. Whether Earl understood what was happening or not, Thomas did not know. He focused entirely on not looking.

Completely lost in bewilderment, Thomas excused himself. He carried his precious washcloth along with him.

The Battle of Moultenburg [part 2]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:56:19 GMT

[part 2]

Thomas knew his friend very little. In fact, they weren’t friends at all. Although his parents were quite reluctant to tell him, he knew that this was something they’ve decided behind his back. He could not understand what his parents wanted to begin between him and his friend. An air of mystery surrounded this tradition within the family.

His parents were always quite regarding of his so-called “best friend”. What were they keeping from him? Who was this man supposed to be?

He continued to ponder.

“Is anything of the matter?”

Thomas’ friend’s clear voice startled him suddenly. Since his friend was sitting at the opposite end of the table, it was obvious that the man’s loud speaking was necessary for the ear to hear. Perhaps it was overdone. Thomas’ cup of steaming tea spilled on his hand as his body jerked in surprise. The pain caused him to softly wince and gasp.

His friend flew to his side. “Thomas?” Thomas peered upward at his friend’s face. It showed concern. His friend placed his palms softly on Thomas’ hand, lifted it up from the table; and, withdrawing a handkerchief from his breast pocket, began wiping the liquid off his skin.

“I’m sorry; I surprised you a bit, didn’t I?” The friend paused for a minute. “I didn’t expect you to be so…” There was another short pause. The rustling of his clothing could be heard.

“So…what?”

“Never mind.”

His friend folded his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his breast pocket.

“I suppose you wish for a nice, refreshing bath? I have it ready for your use.”

He examined the great grandfather clock standing at the far corner of the dining room. “It appears to be getting late.” His facial expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and one side of his lips perked upward, “I’m afraid there wouldn’t be enough time for us to bathe individually,” he muttered, placing emphasis on the last word. His eyes moved slowly downward towards Thomas.

Something made Thomas scream inside. He slowly backed away from his own chair. His friend kept his eyes locked onto him and followed his direction. Eventually, Thomas touched the wall.

He was trapped.

His friend placed his hands on both sides of the wall behind Thomas, in a slow, very deliberate way.

“It’s strange how you’ve been here for quite some time, and you haven’t even asked for my name.”

Silence fell between them. Thomas couldn’t bear it. His hands began to tremble. He caught short of breathe.

The slim figure dressed in black suddenly smiled. “My name is Earl Blackwood.” He let go of Thomas and continued, “Wait for me at the bathing chamber. I’ll be there shortly afterwards.” He moved toward the tea spill and began wiping up the mess.

What was Thomas to do now? He felt his heart throbbing in his chest. He obviously felt afraid. Not only afraid of Earl, but also of himself. What if he lost control? But, at the same time he felt exited. That was why he was frightened.

He couldn’t trust himself.

On the way to the bathing chamber, the golden-haired lad slipped into the kitchen and quietly stole a small kitchen knife.

‘Just in case,’ he thought, ‘just in case Earl…’ He could not think of it. He did not want to.

Thomas slid the knife in between a washcloth he held in his hand. He then opened the door to the private area.

And he stepped in.

The Battle of Moultenburg [part 1]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:55:06 GMT

[part 1]

A car, black and sleek, sat in front of a house, a large mansion. A cold blew from the west and swept up the golden leaves resting on the brick road.

A young man crawled out from the car, his clothing matching the car’s shade of color. Another cold breeze, almost freezing, again blew from the west and ruffled up his fine golden hair. He knew he had been waiting for this moment. Thomas Valerie had finally been able to meet his best friend. Actually, he came here to investigate something, something he kept hidden deep within his heart.

The formerly-dressed man began taking his first steps up the front porch stairs, when he noticed that none of the aging glass windows showed any sign of a light within the mansion. This gave him a chill, which ran down his long spine and urge him to turn back.

He knew he mustn’t turn away. If he did, he would be proven a coward. The best choice would be to stay put and to carry out his duty.

He found his courage once again, and stopped at the large wooden door. He looked at the intricate designs carved into the door. Since it was dark at the moment, he couldn’t correctly determine how the designs were supposed to appear to the human eye.

Reluctantly, he raised his fist and quite firmly, knocked on the door three times.

At first, no trace of life could be seen or heard.

Just as Thomas was about to turn his head to start his way back home, the door swung open.

There, in the doorway, stood a man around his own age. In fact, he was quite similar in appearance to Thomas. This man was strikingly handsome, yet seemed to possess some effeminate, gentleman-like qualities. His hair slowed in waves just below the ears and his eyes gave off a soft essence. He was quite slim and tall.

“I have been waiting for you, my friend,” the man remarked with a soft, yet vibrant voice. Indeed, this was Thomas’ friend. Thomas responded with a shy expression, almost blushing.

“Come in, it must be cold,” the man said, “As I have told you earlier in my letter, it would not be necessary to bring your belongings with you. You will be supplied here well enough.” Thomas blinked a little. He disobeyed, for he kept a possession in his right pocket: a small journal, for he knew that what would happen here would be worth remembering.

Thomas entered the building silently.

The door slammed behind them.

Little did Thomas know that his friend had plans for him, just as he had for his friend.

The battle has begun.

Hephaestion: Is true love real? [second chapter of Divorce is Illegal]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 07:03:33 GMT

Hephaestion, Hephaestion, Hephaestion. That was all Alexander could ponder about. His head was filled to the brim with that name.

"Alexander," he heard a voice call to him.

"Aww, Hephaestion. How sweet your voice that conjures up my name."

"Alexander," the voice intensified.

Alexander looked up at the ceiling. Hephaestion's face appeared again and again, each time in a different position, laughing, smiling, talking, and sometimes making that face he made when made love to.

"Alexander!"

Alexander lowered his eyes and looked straight at the man standing at the other side of the table. The blurry image looked just like Hephaesion, with long, crispy brown hair and a face, very fine indeed: the face with glimmering blue eyes in the fire light.

"Alexander, are you listening?"

Alexander snapped back into focus.

"Uh...what?"

Hephaestion sighed, "this is the fifth time,Alexander, 'son of Zeus', for goodness sake!"

"Doing what?"

"You were supposedly," Hephaestion stared into his lover's eyes and ironically whispered,"flying into heaven."

"What?"

Hephaestion rolled his eyes and shifted forward, "I meant you were losing yourself just now. We were in the middle of making plans to the buildings of Alexandra and you started to dose off into a coma, or something."

"I...I'm sorry." Alexander made a face of remorse, "I won't do it again."

"You told me that about an hour ago, and what were the results?"

"..."

"Alex." Hephaestion moved to his beloved's side and cuddled him in his arms. "If you don't really want this city built, just say so." He looked straight into Alexander's eyes, "I won't get angry at you, I promise."

Alexander remained silent.

"Alexander, what...what is it?," Hephaestion said while shaking his head slightly, still gazing into Alex's deep blue eyes. He tried to look closer, perhaps attempting to read his lover's mind.

Alexander felt terrible. How could he treat his loved one like this? Hephaestion was too important for him to make plans. He wanted the city built, but he wanted to be with Hephaestion even more. But, Alexander thought, if I don't build this city, the others might find Hephaestion useless and separate me from him once and for all.

"I want this city built."

"Oh, really?" Hephaestion raised one eyebrow. He then smiled,"that's what I like about you. Always determined, even in the times of uncertainty."

"Hephaestion..."

"Shhhh..." Hephaestion gave his beautiful Alex a long, passionate kiss. Aroused, Alexander reached under Hephaestion's shirt and caressed his chest.

"Unh," Hephaestion didn't expect that. Alexander's hand lowered down to his love's pants and began to dig into it.

Suddenly, Alexander jerked his arm out and shook his head, trying to control himself.

"Ummm...Hephaestion?..." His voice shook, his cheeks red with excitement.

"Yes?"

"C-could you leave me for now? You're being a bit of a distraction."

Hephaestion's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"I need to get this work done."

"Don't you need me?"

"Nah..I think I can handle it on my own."

"Well, if that's the way my Beautiful Boy wants it, then that's how it goes,...I guess."

With that, Hephaestion walked past Alex and exited the entrance. He looked back a little with a strange facial expression, smiling but sort of melancholic.Alexander's heart pounded. He placed his hand onto his chest, feeling guilty for hurting Hephaestion like that.

He returned to his work and began labeling the locations on the map drawn in sand. His hand trembled and consequently configured one of the images.

"Arrrrh!", he placed his hands onto his head.

After several hours of shaking and disfiguring the images, he finally gave up. He looked back at the entrance to the room.

"Maybe I should apologize," his voice sounded shakingly with guilt.

"Nah," a voice called to him in his mind, "you don't have to. He's Hephaestion after all. He'll forgive you, no matter what you do or what you say."

"No," his own voice answered, "Hephaestion is the only one I trust. If I lose him, my life would never be the way it was before."

"But you wanted that, didn't you?"

"Wanted what?"

"Your life to change."

"A change from my dark past, yes. But I don't want to lose the bright sides of it, too. And Hephaestion was one of my bright memories."

"And dark."

"What...why?"

"Without him, you wouldn't have to deal with other people so much. You would be able to enjoy this life all on your own, without anyone to speak of any criticism about you."

"Criticism is good."

"Well...then, what of those from your mother?"

"..."

"Just as I thought. You still fear your mother greatly, do you not?"

"...yes..."

"Why?"

"She's crazy. I feel like she betrayed me, calling my father weak and me divine, even if I didn't desire that title."

"You know, I've been wondering. If you did not wish to follow her wishes, why are you?"

"Well..."

"Your life was shattered and built by her wishes for you to become great and divine as she always viewed you so."

"I'm doing it for my father."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Do you hate your mother so?"

"Not exactly hate. I despise her."

"So then, what is Hephaestion to you?"

"A lover."

"No."

"A...friend?"

"No."

"A soul-mate."

"No. You know, Alexander, you amaze me sometimes. Despite the fact that you love Hephaestion, you do not know why. Let me ask you something. Alexander, what is love?"

"The eternal emotion that binds together mankind."

"Oh, really? Eternal? Do you honestly believe that Hephaestion will be with you always?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm..., you know Alexander, death on ones part can cause anger. If Hephaestion were to die without you, how angry would you be?"

"I'd follow him."

"What if you couldn't?"

"There is no such thing. I'll follow him no matter what."

"So...even if you were to die, all you would care about is Hephaestion. Am I right?"

"Yes,"

"What about your mother?"

"What of her?"

"She would grieve."

"No, she wouldn't. She has been selfish to the brink of her insanity since my childhood."

"Yes, perhaps. But, then, she is your mother, after all."

"...what are you getting to, Other Side of Me?"

"Your desire to escape from your mother and your inability to gain love from your father has left you lonely."

"Yes..."

"Thus...Hephaestion would only be a mere replacement of both your mother and father."

Alexander couldn't believe what he was telling himself. But then, a thought raced through his mind that his "other side" was probably right on the idea.

"Is Hephaestion really a substitute of my parents' love?" he asked himself. The idea seemed reasonable. He never thought he could think that deeply, though. Hephaestion was so much better at thinking this kind of thing.

Weeks passed as Alexander minded his own business. Whenever he met Hephaestion, he tried not to look at his lover's eyes, though he knew how much Hephaestion wanted it.

"Alexander!" Hephaestion called to Alexander one day.

"Hm?," Alexander grumbled.

"Why have you been ignoring me all this time?"

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Please tell me."

"Just leave me alone."

Hephaestion looked into Alexander's eyes that were looking straight forward, not seeming to even notice who was talking to him.

"Oh, all right, then."

With that, Hephaestion left Alexander again.

Weeks passed and even Hephaestion wouldn't talk to Alexander. Alexander's aquaintances whispered in the corners whenever either of the two lovers passed by, all alone without the other.

Finally, Alexander decided to start looking at Hephaestion. But, to his dismay, Hephaestion would not look back. Months passed until finally a year passed by without any contact between them.

One day, Alexander received a letter from his mother. He opened it. It read:

Dear Alexander,

I'm exeedingly proud of your decision to drop your interest in Hephaestion. I have always known that you wanted to step away from him. He is only a barrier to your eternal success. Soon, my son, I'll be expecting you to start producing at least one heir. I will not allow your blood to go unnoticed in this world, lost for all history once you die. Soon, I'll be coming to visit you. I'll see you then, Alexander. Remember, to be a son of a god is the greatest gift that a mother can give to him.

Your beloved mother.

Alexander stared into the parchment with solemn eyes. He traced his fingers over the paper and whispered his mother's name.

Just then, the young King heard someone enter the room. It was his spy. The spy lowered himself as he entered and bowed down at his King's feet.

"My King, there has been rumors that have spread through the entire court."

"Yes?"

"It is said that Hephaestion is planning on some sort of revengeful plan against you."

"Oh, and what plan would that be?"

"They would not tell me."

"Has your identity as my spy been revealed?"

"No."

"Good." A grin spread across Alexander's mouth as his spy left quietly. He turned back to his balcony, looking again deeply into the sky. Hephaestion's face seemed to appear in the star formations.

"Hephaestion," the King whispered. A feeling of sadness and anger, too complex to explain in words, rushed through his heart. He smiled once again and a tear dripped down his cheek.

He walked to his bed, crawled into it and fell into a deep sleep, drowning in his tears.

Hephaestion: Divorce is Illegal [Alexander fanfic]

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 06:59:20 GMT

Alexander stood on his balcony, looking straight into the night sky, mesmerized by the glorious stars that hung above him. They glittered constantly, even when they fell. Oh, how beautiful the night was. Wolfs howled. Birds chirped quietly and grasshoppers sang their lullabies. Alexander looked behind him at the young man sleeping in his bed: Alexander's bed. But, no natural beauty of the sky could match the beauty of Hephaestion. Alexander quietly walked to his bed. Sitting on the soft mattress, Alexander gazed into the face of the sleeping beauty. The skin was soft and flushed. The eyelashes, elegantly feather-like, enclosed the beautiful blue eyes. Reaching out his hand, Alexander stroked the boy's forehead, eyelids, and finally the lips. His fingers trembled with the sensation of the smoth texture running along the boy's skin.

"If only you could feel how much I love you," Alexander whispered. Hephaestion grunted and moved slightly by Alexander's touch.

"If only I could show you how much you mean to me."

A soft smile spread across the sleepy-head's face as he turned his head into the soft cloth of his lover's cotton-filled bed.

Alexander lifted himself off the bed and took his first step, when he felt something catch his cloak. Quickly looking back, he saw Hephaestion grabbing on to him. He was still asleep, his nostrils softly exhaling and inhaling. Alexander smiled and Hephaestion
let go, letting his hand dangle over the bedside.

"Alexander," the boy muttered.

A rush of warmth climbed through Alexander's chest as he heard this. He made his way back onto the bed, this time with tears.

Feeling wetness, Hephaestion awoke. He looked up from his position and blinked at Alexander's face.

"Why do you look at me that way, Alexander? Have I done something?"

"Uh...n-nothing."

Hephaestion watched Alexander hastily rush back to his balcony.

Hours passed by as Alexander waited for Hephaestion to fall back asleep again. But whenever he looked back, he noticed Hephaestion not only awake, but constantly and intensely watching the young king.

Finally, after the long hours of silence, Hephaestion spoke.

"Say, it is getting quite cold."

"Yes it is," Alexander replied, again facing the night
sky.

"You could catch a sickness tonight standing in the cold
night air."

"Yes, possibly so."

"Perhaps," the young beauty hesitated,"I could warm you
tonight."

"And what about you? My cold skin could freeze you."

"I wouldn't mind. Besides..." Hephaestion paused for a moment.

Alexander looked back, "What? What is it?"

"...I've been a little lonely lately. I haven't felt
your touch for only a few hours and it feels like ages."

"Oh?," Alexander said, "but you're married."

Hephaestion lowered his head and looked down at his hands.

"And since when today did I touch you?"

Hephaestion paused, and then spoke.

"It was not just today, Alexander. Even without you, I could feel you by my side. But, today, I couldn't feel you. Since I became exhausted from my wedding ceremony this morning, you allowed me to sleep in your bed, for I was too tired to attend to my wife. Since this morning, you've seemed awfully cold to me. I only felt you in my dreams."

"What dreams?"

"Is this an interrogation, like you always do?"

"No."

Hephaestion shifted to the far side of the bed, facing his back to Alexander, "...I had a dream just a moment ago that we were lying together on the shores of Persia. You told me how much you
loved me and you..." Hephaestion lifted his hand and stroked his own forehead, eyelids, and finally: lips.
"You touched me with much kindness."

Alexander stared deeply at Hephaestion. This scared the boy, but as he looked at Alexander, he noticed a tear fall
from the right eye of the king and into the carpet underneath him. Hephaestion watched as the tears began to
pour, which then led Alexander to collapse. The sobbing began.

Hephaestion rushed out of bed and to his lover's side.
He could feel Alexander shake uncontrollably.

"Alexander please," the blue-eyed boy held Alexander in his arms and kissed his blond hair. Alexander's tears poured down
on Hephaestion's hands.

"Please," and with a final swift movement, Hephaestion
met his lips with the king's.
Releasing his grip and soft lips from the King, Hephaestion spoke, "This marriage was not of my consent. Please forgive me. I always loved you and always will, even if I am bonded
with a woman."

Alexander looked up into his love's eyes, "If you truly loved me, why did you not stop this? I thought we would be together 'til our deaths in battle. Oh,
how I thought." Alexander covered his forehead with his rough, scarred hand.

"Shhh...be still, my love. We will stay together. That is why I married."

Hephestion stared intently into Alexander's eyes, looking back and forth across his lover's facial expression.

"What? Did you not know how much that would hurt me?"
"Alexander, please."

"I've truly tried my hardest to show you my love and you
married?" Alexander's eyes were now wetter than ever.

Hephaesion paused. He looked down again at his hands.

"Then did you not love me after marrying four women?," Hephaestion finally spoke.

Alexander stopped. Hephaestion was right. He did marry
four women, even while being in a relationship with
Hephaestion.

"They threatened me." Hephaestion said, "that they would separate you from me if I did not produce an heir. I knew I could not handle such a punishment."

"But then, I would have killed them."

"No, Alexander, they were messengers from your mother."

"My mother would never do such a thing... wait... actually, I think she would..."

"Since you were always with me and always loved me, she feared that you would not produce an heir."

"Then why have you married?"

"She believed that my marriage would cause you to hate me. Either way, I would have been gone from your affections."

"Gone from my affections... Please, Hephaestion, do you love me?"

"Yes, more than anyone else."

"Will you stay by my side?"

"Of course."

"Would you...accept all my love if I were to give it to
you?"

"Yes, you can love me all you like and I would be
grateful."

"When I die in battle, will you come with me to the
other world?"

"Will you do so also if I perish."

"Yes."

"Then I too shall follow you, even after death."

Alexander grabbed Hephaestion's hand and forced his lips
onto his. Hephaestion fully welcomed it, closing his eyes and submitting to the weight of his lover's body.

That night, the two made love in the warmth of one another and lay in each other's arms throughout the night.

The promise between them has now been sealed.