[NaNoWriMo] 2011: Colab. with Sophie

11.1.2011.2252
BHG


It was only a cold. A simple, common strain of rhinovirus. Kids got colds all the time. Hell, Ben recalled being perpetually sick in elementary school. Kids coughed without covering their mouths, tested everything with their teeth and ate their own boogers, so of course disease had been rampant. This couldn’t have been any different, right?

He stared down at his hands. Adam’s bright green hoodie. He had forgotten it on the subway. Ben had spent the entire morning hunting down the train from the previous day’s orange line just to find it. Adam always said it was his lucky hoodie.

Apparently it wasn’t lucky enough.

He closed his eyes tightly and listened to the faint murmurs of voices just down the hallway. His mother’s hushed, tremulous voice and the doctor’s calm, sterile, reassuring baritone. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but from the way his mother’s voice occasionally hitched in crescendo he could only figure it to be one thing.

He lifted the small fleece-lined hoodie up to his face and buried his tired eyes into the worn, soft fabric. His mother’s tentative footsteps drew nearer. She paused before collapsing beside him on the bench. He felt her arms drape tightly around his shoulders and winced as she began to shake him with her sobs.

“He’s gone. He’s … gone …” she gasped.

It had only been a cold.

.

Ch. 1

Ben was fifteen. He didn’t feel fifteen. In fact, he felt older. His mother always accused him of that. ‘You’re a thirty-year-old man trapped in a teenager’s body,’ she would say. He wondered if such a thing could be possible? Perhaps his brain had an overabundance of synapses which provided for early maturation? Maybe he was a famous scientist reincarnated, like Benjamin Franklin, or Benjamin Thompson?

Or maybe it was from having a deadbeat dad he never got to know, and from living paycheck to paycheck with an overworked and underpaid single mother? Maybe it was from having asthma, and no peers who liked him, and a little brother who was ten years younger who made it a hobby to drive him insane? Maybe it was from being bullied every day of his life for looking strange, being weak, having to wear thrift store clothes? He was pretty sure it was from not fitting in, not having girls even acknowledge his existence, and for being two grades ahead of anyone else his own age.

It wasn’t his fault that everyone around him was an idiot.

Quickly Ben shoved his textbooks into his already overstuffed book bag. He squeezed the duct tape on the right shoulder strap tightly, hoping to use his body heat to warm the adhesive to encourage it to stay intact. He didn’t need to spill his books all over the subway platform again. He didn’t want to relive watching his physics book succumb to the 1200 volts of the third rail again, let alone have to explain to his teacher that yet another tome of knowledge had been inexplicably ruined. He shuddered at the memory of his poor geometry book’s death by purple crayon, executed most efficiently by his exuberant artist of a little brother.

“Benjamin! Hurry up, you’ll be late!” He heard his mother’s frustrated voice through his thin bedroom wall. Somewhere on the other side of the wall he could heard his little brother Adam rambling away.

The kid never shut up. Ever. Ben had looked up stages of child development in a psychology book he had found in the library. He had been convinced that there was something wrong with the kid. Every breath Adam took ended with a question. That couldn’t be normal. He wanted to know everything. ‘Why is the sky blue?’ ‘Why do we have to go to school?’ ‘Why do you have to go to work, Mom?’ ‘What makes taste?’ ‘How did the universe begin?’

Seriously. The kid was a pain in the ass.

“Ben!” He heard his mother’s exasperated calls again, intermingled with Adam’s persistent chatter. He was sure the kid was asking their mother something about mammary glands.

“I’m coming. Calm down.” Ben shouldered his book bag gently and stomped out of his room just in time to see Adam tugging his own Spiderman backpack over his shoulders. The bag was way too big for him, but no matter what Ben had told their mother she insisted that he keep it. Never mind that halfway to school the thing was dragging on the ground and Ben ended up carrying it everywhere for him.

He snarled at the thought and blinked blearily up at his mother. It was six-fifteen in the morning. Nobody should be awake this early.

“Okay, I put a note in Adam’s book bag for his teacher. Also, I didn’t have a chance to make you guys lunches, so here is some money, okay? Remember, you need to get the reduced lunch, otherwise...”

“Yeah, I know. Okay.” Ben stuffed his handful of quarters in his pocket and scowled. There was nothing more humiliating than having to buy lunch at school. There were lots of kids who had to used the reduced lunch program, and Ben knew it was irrational to feel embarrassed about it, but being singled out and have to use the reduced lunch line was simply humiliating. He would rather starve. It looked like today he was going to have a bag of Doritos from the vending machine, again.

“Mom. Mom? Mom! Mom, listen!” Adam was practically hanging from her leg like a monkey. She nearly tripped on him while she pulled her coat on. “We’re carving pumpkins today!”

“That’s nice,” she murmured half-heartedly while she hurried to get her coat on. “Be a good boy, okay? Ben, have a nice day.” And she was gone out the door to her first housekeeping job. Eight hours at the Marriott and then an extra five at the Radisson.

Ben glanced down at his watch. They had a couple minutes before they needed to leave. He looked down at Adam just as he was wiping his nose with the sleeve of his green sweatshirt. “Stop that, that’s gross. Use a tissue,” Ben grumbled. He reached over to pluck one from the kitchen and shoved it in Adam’s sticky hands. The little boy gave it a sloppy blow before tossing it happily in the trash.

“We’re carving pumpkins today, Ben!” Adam repeated. “Miss Allison says we’re going to have a parade tomorrow and we should wear our costumes. I want to be Spiderman.”

Ben frowned. Had their mother even bought Adam a costume this year? Last year for trick-or-treating their mother had made them wear boxes wrapped in red and blue paper with Styrofoam cups taped to the front. They were supposed to be some bastardized version of Lego blocks. Adam had been ecstatic. This year, however, Ben’s little brother was more aware of the world’s latest trends. Anybody who was anybody would wear a super hero costume, and NOBODY wore home-made costumes anymore. Except poor people.

Ben frowned and stared down at the eager face of his little brother. “You’re annoying,” he said slowly, letting the words sink in. The kid didn’t seem to notice. He stifled a wet sneeze with the arm of his sweatshirt and bounced up and down, unable to sit still for even a nanosecond. “And you’re gross,” Ben added.

“You’re gross!” Adam wailed in retaliation, though his words held no malice. He grinned and gathered up a fistful of tissues on his own. He stuffed the balls of fluff into the pocket of his sweatshirt and smirked.

Ben rolled his eyes. He hated kids. “Come on, let’s go.” He pushed Adam though the front door, locked it behind them and meandered down the hallway toward the elevator and frowned at the familiar maintenance sign hanging just over the call buttons. Not again. He quietly cursed the broken elevator and himself for lingering in the apartment for the last few minutes. Now they would have to hustle to make it down the stairs and to the subway station in time for the orange line. He grabbed hold of Adam’s arm and began dragging him to the stairwell. Descending three flights of stairs was normally nothing, but was a cumbersome deed when one had a five-year-old in tow.

Especially the world’s shortest and particularly slowest five-year-old.

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Ben shouted as he practically dragged his kid brother down the stairs. Adam tripped and stumbled at every opportunity and was practically in tears by the time they reached the bottom landing. “We don’t have time for crying. We’re cutting it close as it is.”

“I dun wanna go to school...” Adam sobbed as they burst through the doors and out onto the open street. Ben scowled and cursed, trying to ignore the sniveling, boogery kid he had in hand and made his way haphazardly through the early morning foot traffic to the subway station. By the time they had descended the escalator into the belly of the city Adam had completely forgotten that he was upset and had become more preoccupied with shoving bits of tissue up his nose to stop up the inevitable flow of snot from his left nostril.

A half an hour later he was dropping off his snorting baggage at the elementary school and was on his own trek southbound six blocks to the high school.

It had been a normal school day, complete with the usual bullying from the upperclassmen and the girl he liked in his English class not giving him the time of day. He had his bag of Doritos for lunch, had his fill from the water fountain and stayed late to check out a few new books from the library for his upcoming science project. Was he the only one who gave a damn about the science fair? Yes, probably. He cradled the stack of books all the way to the subway station and back to the apartment. To his dismay the elevator was still, inexplicably broken. He hauled his load up the steps and to the apartment. He could hear SpongeBob Squarepants cackling just inside. He stumbled in just to see the television playing a particularly obnoxious episode at full volume, but the usual image of his kid brother parked with his nose glued to the screen was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom? Adam?” He called out as he dumped his books onto the kitchen table. He walked the few rooms of the house. Nobody was home. He switched off the television and slumped down to a sit on the couch. Strange. He fished his old candybar Nokia cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his mom. She didn’t answer. He clicked it off and tossed it on the coffee table. Maybe they just went out to get Adam a Halloween costume? That must have been it. He hopped up, raided the fridge for something to eat and completed his search with a cheese sandwich and a modest apple. It would have to do. He inhaled it quickly, shoved the plate on the coffee table beside his cell phone and slumped back into the sagging back of the pale yellow couch. He was tired. Before he had decided a short nap was in order his eyes were almost closed. A quick nap, and then homework, and then he would have to watch Adam for a few hours tonight while his mom did her second shift at the Radisson.

.

Ben nearly fell off of the couch when his cell phone began to chime. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep but the sun, which had been poking its way through the blinds just before he had dozed off, was now nowhere in sight. He frowned and wearily picked up the phone to answer it.

“Ben? Ben, are you at home?”

“Mn. Yeah, I am. Where are you guys? What time is it...” he looked around the now dark apartment, somewhat disoriented. He could hear his mother saying something to someone else on the other end of the line before returning her attention to him.

“We’re at the hospital.” His mom said plainly. Those simple words jolted Ben into immediate panic.

“Hospital? Why, what happened? Which one? Is Adam with you? Is he okay?”

“Calm down. Everything is fine, it seems your brother was sent home from school for having a really bad cold. They called this morning. I took him home and called out of work, but nothing I did seemed to help. He had a bad fever so I took him in to the emergency room. They want to keep him overnight.”

Ben stiffened and gripped the cell phone so tightly that his palm began to ache. “Emergency room? Is he going to be-”

“Yes, yes. He’s fine. He’s the same as ever, though he is just a little tired. Look, I am going to stay here tonight. He keeps saying he’s worried that the doctor is trying to steal all of his blood...” His mother explained. Ben smirked. That sounded like the little brat. “Heat up some Bagel Bites or something. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“Okay,” Ben replied. Then he sat in silence while his mother threatened to do bodily harm to him if he didn’t go to school in the morning. “Mom. It is the weekend, remember? Saturday...”

“Oh, right. Yes, well, make sure you do your laundry then. And mop the kitchen.”

“Right...” Ben sighed and hung up the phone. He reached over to flick on a lamp beside the couch, squinting as the room suddenly illuminated in the wake of the supernova of fluorescence. It wasn’t the first time he would have to fend for himself for dinner, but it did feel weird not having Adam around to take care of. It was oddly quiet. Had the ceiling fan always made that grating sound? And did the refrigerator always sound like it was about to self-destruct?
An hour later he had finished his math homework and wrote a paper for English. With fingers greasy with the remnants of his Bagel Bites, he slumped down onto the couch once more and stared at his cell phone. It was weird, being alone. He always thought he had been alone before. Sure, he was alone a lot at school, but at home it was unusual. He looked down at his hands before he wiped them absently on his jeans. It had been five years since Adam was born, and never once had the kid left his side. He was always there talking his ear off, asking questions or rambling aloud some child’s play alone in his room. Now there was nothing, an eerie silence he hadn’t remembered existing before Adam was born.

He wondered if the little booger brain was okay. Kids got sick. People went to the hospital all the time. He probably just caught some bug.Yeah, that’s it. Probably needed an IV, maybe some fluids or something. Mom said he had a fever that wouldn’t go down. The doctors probably had a cure for that, too. In no time he’ll probably be home on some sort of bubblegum flavored antibiotic, rummaging through Ben’s things, driving him bananas once again with his insufferable questions.

Yeah. He’d be home tomorrow. Ben was sure of it.

.

Ben cursed his body as it automatically woke Saturday morning, bright and early at 6am. He supposed old habits died hard, even for him. He had tried to go back to sleep many times, but it was no use. He was up, and alone once again in the apartment. He called his mother’s cell phone but got no answer, and supposed that no news was good news. Things were still too quiet without his brother around so he opted to create some white noise while he finished up his studies by putting on his brother’s favorite station for Saturday morning cartoons. Then he ran the coffee machine. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but the smell was just another thing to add to his list of things that made a normal morning. What else was he missing? A sock? That was pretty normal. His dark, straight hair was a complete mess, standing on end every which way, defying the laws of gravity. That was usual. The girl upstairs was stomping around on the ceiling, doing her usual early morning calisthenics. Normal.

By all accounts it was going to be a normal day. Except that everything was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. For one thing, his calculator stopped working while he was working out a particularly dreadful cosine. Then he was out of blueberry Pop Tarts, which was fine except that he had nothing else to eat except a boiled egg. And he cracked it in the middle of boiling it. He had eaten all of the Bagel Bites in the fridge the night before. His clothes were still wet. He had forgotten to move them into the dryer, and now they were acquiring a strangely sour odor. The phone kept ringing. Bill collectors, as usual. He answered a couple of them, but then unplugged the wretched thing from the wall. Anyone important would call his cell anyway. A zit had formed on his jaw overnight. The batteries to the remote for the TV were dead.

It was the apocolypse, the friggin’ end of the world. What else could possibly go wrong?

His cell phone rang. He jumped and quickly tried to snatch it off of the table. After fumbling and dropping it two times he managed to answer it.

“Hello? Mom?”

“No, it’s me. Dad.”

Ben scowled and fell hard on the couch. He bit his knuckle, resisting the urge to groan at the sound of his father’s voice. “Oh...”

“Where is your mom? I just tried calling but your house phone doesn’t seem to be-”

“She’s at the hospital with Adam. Not that you care,” Ben blurted the words as if they were burning his tongue. He immediately regret it. He could hear his father’s breath quicken on the opposite side of the phone.

“Adam? Is he okay?”

“Who knows?” Ben added, trying his best to sound as cryptic as possible. “I haven’t heard from Mom at all this morning.”

“What was it? Does he need his tonsils out?”

“Nothing like that, some sort of cold or flu I think.”

“...Oh. Well, if you know what hospital he is at I can try to call there...”

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Ben said with a frown while flailing his arm in the air in a hurrying gesture. His father always took forever on the phone. It was excruciating when he called. “Look, I’m busy. I gotta go.”

“Oh. Okay, well I’ll call around anyway. How is school, Ben? Isn’t the science fair coming up?”

“Busy. Sorry. Got to go, bye!” Ben hung up as quick as humanly possible and slammed the phone down on the lumpy seat of the couch. He stared at the phone for a long moment before grabbing it and throwing it full force across the room. It struck the opposite wall with a loud crack, making a small dent just under his mother’s favorite Pablo Picasso print.

He grit his teeth and stared, seething, at the sudden damage he had done to the wall. His mom would have that taken out of her security deposit, along with the hidden hole in the back of his closet he had managed to “accidentally” kick in while engrossed in a particularly heated fit of teenage angst.

He hadn’t always been this pissed off. He morosely recalled a time when he loved his father. No, he took that back. He loved his father, he just hated him at the same time. It was complicated and the more he thought on it, the more his head began to ache. He needed to bury himself in some school work, or study something that would one day make a difference in his life. He grabbed for his Physics book that was still laid out, beckoning him on the arm of the couch. No. He needed to get out. He desperately tried to phone his mother, but didn’t get an answer. He decided he would just go down to the hospital anyway. Just as he had shoved his feet into his sneakers his phone chimed in. He checked to make sure it wasn’t his father. Relieved to see his mother’s name flashing on screen he quickly tapped the keypad and answered it.

“Mom, Dad called and-”

“Okay. I am sure he did,” she interrupted brusquely. “Did you do your homework?”

Ben stiffened and narrowed his eyes. What a stupid thing to ask. “Of course I did.”

“Good,” his mother replied automatically, obviously distracted. “Look, Ben. I have to stay here for a while. It looks like your brother will be in here for a couple of days. His fever isn’t going down, but don’t worry, they are going to try to give him some stronger I.V. medications-”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Ben blurted as he attempted to keep on the phone and shrug his jacket on at the same time.

“No. You need to stay home.” The words were harsh and sharp. Ben paused in his fight with his right coat sleeve and stared blankly at the freshly dented wall across the room. A million questions began to run through his mind. Why? I don’t understand. If he is sick, he’ll need me, right? You need me, don’t you? Just before he could verbalize these thoughts his mother added, “They aren’t letting anyone in.”

“What do you mean..?”

“There are a lot of kids here who are sick. Their immune systems are weak, and so unless you are a parent or a patient, nobody is allowed to come in. I have to wear a mask while I’m in here. The doctors are saying it is some sort of new flu bug or something. I want you to make sure you take your vitamins. I won’t be home until late, and if he doesn’t get any better by tonight I’ll stay over again. There is twenty dollars under the bread box. Buy something for lunch and dinner, okay? Are you going to be all right, or do I need to call Mrs. Ward?”

Ben scowled and gave up on trying to get his coat on, and simply let it hang limp half-attempted upon his left arm. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if anything happens, just call your father or go next door and tell her, okay? My phone doesn’t get much in the way of reception here at the hospital.” His mother seemed even more distracted. A muted and incoherent voice spoke in the background, as if over a loudspeaker. “Okay, I got to go. Love you, honey,” then she was gone.

Ben stared down at his phone before shoving it morosely into his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he felt irritated. Betrayed. He shrugged it off, dug out the money his mother had told him to get and decided to go out and treat himself to a distraction of greasy hamburger down by the subway station. He finally managed to pull on his coat, grabbed his keys and left the apartment.

The hallway was quiet for a Saturday. He picked his way across the dull blue carpet to the elevator, scowled when he saw it was still out of order and reluctantly stomped down the stairwell to the first floor. At the bottom of the landing he heard voices coming from the lobby. He stopped at the first floor and inched up to the narrow metal door. He pressed his ear to its cool surface and waited for the voices to speak again. They did almost immediately, excited tones of youth he instantly recognized. Other boys from the apartment complex and school. He tensed and hesitated, his fingers gently touching the large lever of the door.

He never really did get along well with the other kids in the apartment. It wasn’t as if he had ever gotten into fisticuffs with anyone or anything, but ever since he could remember there had been a strange gap between himself and the other boys in the “neighborhood”. They were of a different make he supposed. Most of the boys in the apartment were atheltic, sociable and your typical teenager. They had no other interest other than where their next meal was coming from or who they were going to attempt to have sex with. Ben never felt like he could relate to any of them. They were dense, impulsive and rude. They thought he was a nerd, and never invited him to any of their activities. Impromptu soccer games out on the street were dominated by the jocks, especially Nathaniel, the boy next door.

Ben held his breath and listened to the murmurs and the occasional exclamation through the door. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could recognize the tones. Sure enough Nathaniel Ward was among them. There was no surprise there. Ben bit his lip reflexively and let his hand slide from the handle. He wasn’t sure he could handle walking through a group of meat heads right now. He was in a testy mood as it was, what with his little brother being sick and his mom practically leaving him to fend for himself. The last thing he needed was these jerks taunting him.

Their taunts were never too terribly aggressive, but they bothered him just the same. Nobody liked being shunned and teased. When they were all kids the jokes were basic. Nerd. Shorty. Four-eyes. Your typical, unimaginative insults. Now the insults were more sophisticated, and backhanded. Comments insinuating that Ben would always be alone, that he didn’t and would never have any luck with girls, that he was different from them in some way or another. Whenever he used to try and become part of their conversations he would be shunned as if he couldn’t possibly understand. Any time they talked about football, or what their fathers were doing a strange silence would come over the group and they would glance at him nervously, as if the topic was touchy or beyond his comprehension. It was humiliating and eventually Ben just avoided them altogether to soothe his nerves and keep some semblance of dignity in his quickly deteriorating life.
Why couldn’t life be simpler? Ben frowned and turned to press his back against the closed door. The nonsensical chatter continued from the opposite side. He would have to wait until they dispersed or left.

The voice that stood out most was Nathaniel’s. Ben didn’t know how he felt about the other teenager. He had known the kid for a long time. His mother used to babysit Adam on occasions when their own mom had unexpected delays in getting home and Ben was still too young to look after someone else. Their mom had always insisted that Ben go over there with Adam, but he was twelve by then and completely opposed to being babied by any adult.

The last thing that Ben ever wanted was to share any space with Nathaniel for any extended period of time. His mom would never understand that the tall, athletic “perfect” son next door was not-so-great at school, and part of a crowd of pubescent boys who made Ben’s life miserable on a daily basis. She didn’t get that if Ben was to go over to their apartment with the understanding that Nathaniel’s mom would have to “take care” of him that the Ward’s shining star of a kid would have plenty to tell his jerk-off friends the next day in class.

The last thing Ben needed was to fuel their disdain of him.

He didn’t know why they bothered to waste their time on him. Maybe it was a group mentality thing? Everyone had to have an enemy. He supposed that Natheniel was the leader of the group, so Ben had decided early on that his nemesis was the tall, popular soccer star next door.

They were complete opposites. As far as Ben knew, Nathaniel was no more intelligent than a paramecium. He was tall, strong, friendly, popular. He had a nice family, the perfect kind you saw on television. A square-jawed Dad with a good job, a pretty mom who stayed at home and nurtured and cooked and cleaned and took care of the neighborhood kids, and an adorable little sister. They lived in a large apartment, with nice furniture and clean floors. There was always something delicious smelling wafting through their door. When everyone else passed out crappy cheap candy during Halloween, Mrs. Ward always handed out elaborately decorated cookies. She was a friggin’ Martha Stewart. Ben couldn’t remember the last time he saw his mom actually bake anything.

For every change of the season or holiday Mrs. Ward would transform the front door of their apartment into a fancy, sparkling work of art. Fall leaves, Christmas lights, Easter Bunnies.

Everything was perfect, and though Ben knew it was ridiculous, he absolutely hated Nathaniel for it. It was easy to hate someone who you didn’t really know, and to be honest Ben didn’t WANT to get to know him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the brute. He just wanted to walk through the lobby in peace. He wanted to get through one day without having someone snicker or point and laugh at him at school. He wanted people to stop making fun of him for being small, and smarter than they were. His mother said they only made fun of him because they were jealous.

What a load of bullshit. What would Nathaniel Ward and his attractive, girl-popular athletic cronies possibly have to be jealous of? Ben was small, weak and awkward. He couldn’t play sports without having an asthma attack. Hell, if they cut the grass unexpectedly out in front of the apartment building Ben would have to hole up for the rest of the afternoon with his nebulizer running full blast. He couldn’t talk to girls. Nathaniel had a different girl trailing around behind him every other week. Ben had no friends. Sure, he had kids who he helped in class, or people he knew from the Science Club and the Astronomy Club, but he didn’t have anyone he could confide in. He couldn’t talk to anyone about his feelings anyway, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

So whenever any of this would come up in conversation with his mom he would avoid it entirely. She was infuriating, always telling him things would get better soon, and that he was just a teenager and that the world sucked for everyone but that he would grow out of it. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He just... he just wanted her to acknowledge his feelings, not dismiss them and be so fucking optimistic.

Ben gasped when he suddenly realized that he had clenched his fists so hard that he had bruised his palms. He hadn’t honestly thought he was strong enough for something like that. He sighed, shook his hands out and turned his head to stare up at the descending stairwell just overhead. The conversation just on the opposite side of the door continued, the voices coming through only as nonsensical and incomprehensible mumbling. Not that Ben cared to hear the specifics anyway. They were probably talking about something retarded, like sports or how many girls one of the goons had fucked by now.

Ben grit his teeth. He felt stupid. His mom said that the jocks were jealous of him, but in reality he was rabidly jealous of them. Viciously jealous of everything they had, and every advantage in life they had been given. He had no hopes of ever being popular, or strong, or athletic and looked up to by anyone at school. He just wanted the normalcy. He wanted to be average, in appearance and in intellect. Being intelligent was no gift, Ben was convinced. What benefit could there be in constantly worrying, analyzing and stressing over bad situations. He wished he was blissfully ignorant. He wished he could turn his thoughts off at will, even if for a moment, to be at peace. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry about whether his mom had enough money this month for rent or the utilities. He wouldn’t have to worry about his father’s motivations, or worry about how all of this would be affecting Adam.

As much as Ben lamented about how much he hated his little brother, he was the one thing that concerned him the most. He felt like he was already screwed up. Sure, there was no reversing the damage on him, but Adam was just a kid. He already was beginning to show advanced thoughts and ridiculously deep reflection for a five-year-old. Ben was terrified that one day Adam would wake up and become the angry, bitter pessimist that he had become.

His thoughts were immediately interrupted by the sound of a door clanking shut. The main lobby door. Ben held his breath. There was no sound from outside in the lobby. He waited, counted to ten, and then pushed his way through the door and out into the open lobby, hoping that the pack of wolves had finally dispersed.

.


“I don’t understand. Why can’t he come home? I won’t send him to school...” Ms. Hall asked hesitantly as she watched her five-year-old son play with the recline controls of the hospital bed gleefully.

“Look, Mommy! I can make it go up and down. Angles!” Adam wailed happily before busying himself with smashing his thumb into the red nurse call button.

Doctor Faust sighed and shook his head slowly, flipping through the child’s chart carefully. He stopped at medical history and frowned. “It is complicated, and I don’t have all of the details, but... well, you know about our concern with letting this virus spread? How we have quarantined the hospital to only patients and their one relative? The CDC has put out an alert that this strain of virus has... well, it has been known to take the lives of children.” The doctor studied Ms. Hall’s placid reaction before continuing, “And we don’t want to risk having your son have a sudden turn for the worst. Sure, he seems fine now, but we don’t know much about this particular virus. We don’t know what the gestation of the infection is, or in what order the symptoms progress. We got his fever down, yes, but his cough has become productive.”

Ms. Hall frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can get him cough medicine... and I have a caregiver who can watch him if he needs closer monitoring. I just can’t afford-”

“Ms. Hall. I understand your financial situation, and am aware that every night in the hospital is costing you a great amount of money, but you must understand that this is for the welfare of the public.”

“Then I expect that the CDC or the government will compensate me for this?”

The doctor shifted the clipboard to his other arm and sighed. “I will look into it. In the meantime, we also ask that you stay here in the hospital as well. You have had much contact with your child, and you may possibly be a vessel or carrier of this virus. We are attempting to keep it contained.”

Ms. Hall frowned and shook her head. “Impossible, I have to work. First you keep him here and cost me a thousand dollars a day just to monitor him- look, he is getting better- and now you are insisting that I don’t work so pay these bills back? You people are out of your mind!”

The doctor grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “That is out of my control. Perhaps you should address your concerns to the office?” He immediately began his retreat from the room.

“I have a fifteen-year-old son at home! Alone! What am I supposed to do?” She yelled down the hall behind him.

“Mommy, look! I can change the TV from the bed. It has lots of buttons.”

.

The burger was just as disgustingly slimy as Ben had remembered it being and every last glob of sauce and chunk of mystery meat was eventually transported to his stomach. He felt sick, but blissfully full at the same time. He flopped heavily down onto a nearby bench in the square just outside of the entrance to the subway and stared across the cement park at the fountain and the people milling about, having their usual Saturday fun. Performers playing music together on one end, some kids his own playing hacky sack and just loitering, enjoying the cool autumn afternoon. He recognized a few of the girls sitting on a bench nearby, especially Daria Lunden. The prettiest girl in school, hands down. She was stunning, straight off of television, with straight white teeth and shoulder length blond hair. Together with her two best friends, a brunette and a redhead, they were a complete set. He found himself staring and immediately tore his eyes away to glare down a passing elderly man walking his equally elderly beagle.

His phone rang. He didn’t want to answer it, but his worry for his kid brother forced him to fish it out of his pocket. His father’s number flashed urgently on the screen.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself before answering it with a stern, “What?”

“Ben? Where are you?”

“Out. Why?” He said as coldly as he could. He could hear his father release a frustrated sigh.

“I came by to pick you up. Your mom called. She said she won’t be able to make it home today or tomorrow, either. She is being held up at the hospital, so I came by to take you to my place for the weekend. She said she will be back Monday. Where are you, I’ll come pick you up.”

Ben grit his teeth and grunted cooly, “I am out. I won’t be home.”

“Ben, come on. Cut this shit out already.”

“No. I don’t want to go with you. I’m fine on my own.” Ben said angrily, his eyes closing reflexively to block out the image of Daria Lunden hugging a lanky black boy Ben knew from school. “Really. I want to be alone, okay? Just leave some money on the counter.”

“Ben...” His father sounded angry, and hurt at the same time. Ben didn’t give a shit. “When are you going to forgive me...”

“There is nothing to forgive, Dad. What’s done is done, right? I am fifteen, no. Sixteen in seven days. I can fend for myself for a while, okay? I don’t need you now-”

“Ben!”

“You want to be here for me now, but where the hell were you when I needed you most? Sorry. I got to go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. I’ll call Mom later, all right?”

“Ben, stop this shit. This is ridiculous. I am your father!”

Click. Ben jabbed the power button on his phone and shoved it into his pocket again. He took a steadying breath, opened his eyes and frowned at the newly transformed image of Daria Lunden making out with the newly arrived boy from school. He crossed his arms firmly across his chest and closed his eyes again, shielding them from the scene and the midday orange light of the sun. He was angry, but there was nothing he could do here to vent. He couldn’t go home, he knew his father would stick around and try to catch him at the apartment. He didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone to go see. He thought for a moment about hiding in the library, or going for a walk in the park, but his anger was exhausting and made him lazy.

“ … all of the kids in the hospital are being held for...”

“I know! Did you see the news? Seven kids in this school system alone have died from it.”

“Wow, really? I wonder if they are going to close the schools? Do they know what it is?”

“No, not at all. It starts out like a cold, then all of a sudden the kids died from respiratory failure.”

“That’s terrible...”

“I know, it is supposed to be a concern of the …”

The voices faded away. A passing conversation Ben had only managed to get a part of. He opened his eyes and watched as the passing women, with arms full of grocery bags, make their way down torward the subway station. Were they talking about his school district? Kids with colds, who suddenly died? All of it was eerily familiar.

He jumped up from the park bench he had been occupying and ran over to the newspaper and magazine stand just outside of the subway station and studied the local newspaper headlines. Sure enough, just on the front page of The Meadowlark there was a headline about a “Mysterious Ailment Affecting Local Children”. Despite the protests from the attendant Ben flipped it open and began skimming the article. The women had been right. Apparently the school system had seven kids already die from a mysterious cold-like illness. There were no details on the disease itself, only that they thought it was a virus. The ages of children affected ranged from two to thirteen-years. It had affected all four elementary schools and both middle schools in the district. Ben frowned and turned the paper over. The article was short, concise and practically useless to him. The attendant snatched it from his hands and shooed him away, threatening to call his parents on him.

Right. My parents, he thought angrily as he lumbered off away from the stand. He grabbed his phone and turned it back on. Just as he had anticipated, his father had left him three voicemail and had tried to call a variety of times. Ben ignored the voicemail prompt and dialed his mom. She wasn’t answering. He remembered how she had mentioned that there was hardly any signal in the hospital. He frowned and phoned the nearest hospital, St. Jade’s Memorial, and asked to be directed to Mr. Adam Hall’s room. They said there was no patient by that name. Fine, he called the next closest hospital, Healing Heart. He asked the same thing and the operator told him to hold.

A ring. Then two. Then a familiar, small but excited voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Adam? Adam, is that you?”

“Ben! Mom, it’s Ben! Ben, I have a TV!”

“Cool. Hey, are you feeling all right?” It was nice to hear his little brother on the other end, sounding relatively normal. Ben listened closely as Ben described the hospital room, and the doctor, and the shot they had given him the night before. Ben could only detect a slight cough and sniffle from the kid. Maybe he wasn’t as sick as those other kids who had died? He seemed to be okay. Maybe even better than he had been on Friday. Relief began to swarm over Ben’s chest and soothe his mind. It couldn’t happen to them. His brother was in great health. There had to be something wrong with those kids who had died. Maybe they were weak kids, or already sick or something?

“Ben. I am really cold. I need Greenie. I think I lost him.”

“Your sweatshirt? The green one... where did you...” Ben began to rack his brain. Did he see the sweatshirt at home?

“I really want it. Can you bring me it?” Adam asked in a small voice. Ben could hear his mother protesting in the background. She was asking for the phone. “But I am talking!!” Adam whined. Ben could hear his mother shuffling for the phone. Hurriedly he hung up and turned the phone off. He didn’t want to talk to her. He was pissed at her already for sending their father after him and all she’d have to say was that he needed to go back home to their dad. Like Hell Ben would do that. He wanted to go to the hospital to see them. He was scared now, with his newly acquired information about the recent death of the kids. Adam sounded all right but Ben wasn’t entirely convinced. If he could just see him, and see that he was okay, he would be fine. He would feel better, and then after that, he would do whatever his mom wanted him to. He would go to stay with his dad.

Ben nodded to himself, resolved in his decision to go to the hospital despite his mother’s protests. But Greenie... the hoodie. He couldn’t go home. His father would still be there, no doubt. Ben didn’t remember seeing the thing at the house anyway. Adam never went anywhere without the thing. He had told Ben only a month before when he had first gotten the sweatshirt that it was “lucky” and had some sort of “magic powers”. Ben had laughed at him and told him not to be ridiculous, but in hindsight the hoodie had some sort of effect on Adam. It was like a security blanket, soothing and comforting. If Adam needed it, Ben would try to find it for him. It was the least he could do.

Where could it be? Ben decided to try the school first. He hopped on the subway and rode it all the way to Second Street trainstop and walked the block to the school. It was closed for the weekend, but Ben knew there had to be someone inside. He loitered around for about half and hour and finally ran into a maintenance man in the service entrance. He asked if the man had seen the lost hoodie and convinced the guy to let Ben root around in the lost and found box in the office. There were plenty of kid’s clothes, shoes, and random odds and ends but Greenie the hoodie was nowhere to be found.

He got back on the train and began to ride it eastbound in the direction of the hospital. He racked his brain, wondering where else the thing could be, when it occurred to him that Adam may have left it on the train. The orange line, the train that went directly to and from the school stop and their own stop on Estoria Blvd. It took only an hour to hop off onto the platform at Estoria and wait for the orange line to return. He asked the driver and attendant if they had seen it and sure enough, there it was lying on top of a collection of other lost items at the back of the train.

Finally, something was going right today. Ben tucked the sweatshirt under his arm and carried it onto the train heading back toward the hospital and forty-five minutes later he was standing outside of the hospital staring ta a large yellow warning sign on the front door reading, “No Patient Guests Allowed At This Time: Patients and One Caregiver Only.” Just beneath it was a box of gloves and two sizes of face masks. Ben peered into the lobby. An elderly volunteer sat at the front desk typing on a desktop computer. There was nobody else in there.

How was he going to get inside? His mother was there already, and if he had to check in the lady at the desk would see that Adam already had a visitor and wouldn’t let him in. He couldn’t say he was his brother and explain his real reason for coming because then they would call his mom and she would send him off to their dad. He had to get in... as a patient?

He smirked and pulled on a mask and when the woman was looking down he snuck through the rotating door and into the lobby. When she looked up he was standing just beside the desk. He managed a weak cough and sniffle. “I’m lost.”

“Lost? Oh dear, are you a patient?”

“Yeah,” Ben managed to say in a pathetic voice, attempting to sound younger than he was and frightened. For once he could use his small, slight stature for something useful. He was fifteen, going on sixteen, but could easily pass for eleven or twelve if he really wanted.

“What’s your name, dear?” The old woman asked. Ben coughed again into the back of the mask and said meekly, “Adam Hall. I forgotted what room number...”

The woman typed something into the computer and then looked up. “Four-thirteen. Wait one minute, honey, and I’ll call someone to walk you back up there.”

“Oh... okay.” Cough. Cough. “I’m gonna get a drink,” he pointed to the water fountain and smirked behind the mask. The old woman nodded. Ben inched his way to the water, grabbed a paper cup, and then when the lady turned to use the phone broke out into a run for the staircase. He ducked into the stairwell and began taking the stairs eagerly to the fourth floor. By the time he had made it to the fourth floor his chest was burning from the exertion. He stumbled out into the hallway, figured out how the numbed descended turned left. Seven doors later he was just outside of 413. He didn’t bother to knock.

Just as he burst through the door he was shoved back by a gurney. He tripped and fell to land on his ass just in the hallway as a rush of people pushing the gurney stumbled past him. Doctors, a nurse and two people in blue scrubs. They were yelling back and forth over the gurney at one another, vanishing down the hall and around the corner. Ben stared for a long, dumb moment before staggering to his feet. Greenie was lying just beside him on the ground. He scooped it up and was about to run in pursuit of the gurney when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned and stared up at the tear-stained face of his mother. Behind her stood a doctor in a white lab coat. The door to the room was open, empty of its bed.

“Mom... was that-”

She didn’t give him a chance to ask. Before Ben could say anything else she broke into a sob and grabbed him, pressing him tightly against her chest. Ben stared over her shoulder at the doctor, dumbstruck. The man’s face was pale, and his eyes uneasy, darting around the room, avoiding eye contact with Ben.

“We’re going to do all that we can,” the man said weakly. Ben felt his mom drop her weight against him, felt her body shaking with sobs.

Somehow he didn’t believe him.

TBC.

[Original] Robot, Challenge 500 Words

Challenge: 500 Words
Prompt to Write
by, Black-Haired Girl

Powering up.
Booting back logs.
Gyroscope activated.
Memory booting … 80 percent. 90 percent. Complete.

223 opened his eyes. It had been a while since he had and his motors were nearly shot, so it took a bit longer than usual. Soon his lids lifted and his internal sensors activated.

Scanning.

Odd. The world seemed to have turned onto its side. No, wait. Gravity readings indicated that the Earth’s gravity still existed. The poles were registering from their proper coordinates. No, it wasn’t the world that had tilted. He sent a signal to his extremities. In less than a millisecond his 2333 MHZ brain processed the entirety of his situation. He had fallen over and was now lying on the floor in the workshop.

Scanning. Adjusting parameters.

Which way was “up”? Ah, there it was. Carefully he directed his arms to push himself from the floor, only to find that his right arm had been disconnected from his body. That made getting up a little more difficult, but somehow he managed. His internal weight distributors sluggishly kicked in, allowing him proper balance. Soon he was upright.

From this vantage he could take in the entire workshop. It was dusty and dark, much more run down than his memory recalled. The creator’s desks were in disarray. In fact it was not only just a mess, it looked as if there had been a tectonic disturbance at some point. He searched his subconscious security readings and pinpointed the exact time that his balance had been thrown off.

After a quick analysis he could his hypothesis to be true. There had been an earthquake of an 8.6 magnitude nearly two miles away from here. That explained his sudden fall and the disorder of the room. If his readings were correct the earthquake had occurred only five minutes before he had activated. The fall must have tripped him out of sleep mode.

Carefully he turned to look at the other prototypes lining the walls. Faceless and incomplete, they all were upright and appeared undamaged. He tilted his head down and scanned the floor.

Books, papers, and broken glass littered the floor at his feet. A large pile of books shifted as he scanned it.

Approach.

It was the creator. He was lying on the floor underneath a bookcase, which had tilted on its side. Carefully 223 grabbed the edge of the bookcase with his one functioning arm and dragged it off of the creator to get a better look. The creator was breathing.

Program search. Analyze. Assist.

223 shuffled to stand over the creator. He tried to search his programming for a response to this situation. He was programmed to be a personal assistant. He needed to assist, but how?

He detected an odd sound. Water. Rushing and roaring just outside of the boarded windows.

Tsunami activity detected. 223 grabbed an umbrella from the floor, opened it and held it over the now unmoving body of the creator.

Vocal chords vibrated, “watch your step.”

[Original] The Fight: Drabble

Usagi and Kitsune.
The Fight:
By, Black-Haired Girl

August 11, 2011

OC Characters: Usagi, Kitsune


“You’re insane! You’re really crazy, you know that?”

Usagi felt his shoulders tense. He bit his lower lip and resisted the urge to snarl angrily up the stairs at the man who had once upon a time, as of yesterday, had been his lover. He felt hate flickering hot and volatile in his chest, stirring up every repressed emotion he had ever held for that bastard over the past two years. It was coming. It was all about to come out, here on the stairs of the apartment complex. He could hear people murmuring at the bottom of the stairwell, obviously concerned at the slamming of doors and the heated screams that had been coming from the top level for the past twenty minutes.

Usagi knew he should leave. He knew that yelling wasn’t going to fix anything. It wasn’t going to make him feel better. It wasn’t going to make that fucker take back what he did, or change anything what had happened the night before.

It was over. Finally, it was over, and yet he still wasn’t satisfied. He clenched his hands into fists and yelled up the stairs; hearing his own heartbroken and choked voice echoing back at him like a slap in the face. “I hate you! I never want to see you again!”

“You’ll be back,” sneered the confident voice on the top landing. “You always come back.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Part of him wanted to scale the steps and punch that fucker in the face, but the voices on the landing below were growing in intensity. He heard someone whisper something about the police. He knew he had to leave. Of course, he would be the one to leave, as usual.

He spun around on his heels and stormed down the steps, nearly tripping over his own feet as his mind ran out before his body could keep up. A few of the neighbors from the first floor were gathered around the mailroom, staring at him as he stalked through the lobby and out the front door.

He didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t care about anything.

He stormed down the street with his hands fisted so tightly he could feel the burn of the inevitable bruises forming on his palms. He had to find something to hit, or kick, or generally destroy. He had to let this out. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave his own apartment because that prick had pissed him off. It wasn’t fair that he was the one out on the street while that asshole sat comfortably on their couch. He would bet anything that once he left the building that asshole had called him.

If that was what he wanted, then fine. Usagi couldn’t make him stay in love with him, and not run out and fuck every other asshole he could get his hands on. He couldn’t change the fact that for the past two years he had been wholly invested in a man who didn’t love him enough not to cheat on him. He couldn’t help that. It had just happened, hadn’t it?

But it hadn’t. He knew that he had chosen his fate. He had been suspicious of his lover for a while. He wouldn’t call him after work like he used to. He didn’t want to be seen in public with him anymore, and often just opted to stay in and watch movies and generally ignore him. He had seen suspicious phone calls on the caller ID. The other man wouldn’t let Usagi use his phone. He had been up to something, but Usagi hadn’t wanted to believe it. He didn’t want to think that someone would lie to him, especially the man he thought he loved.

He spat on the sidewalk and stopped at a crosswalk, glaring angrily up at the blaring red light that blocked his path. Cars whirred past quickly, trying to make it through the intersection before the light changed. All around him were people calmly making their way to their destinations, unaware of the anguish and frustration he possessed.

[Fiction] Original: For Josh - SMUT/YAOI

Title: For Josh
By, Black-Haired Girl

“You’ll never find another gig in this town, kid! You’re nothing but a washed up whore, and nobody would hire you! Sure, you got a great body but there is nothing but nastiness beneath that pretty face. The locals don’t take kindly to wicked people like you!”

Aki shook his head and smiled as he flounced through the double doors of the club, leaving his former manager screaming red-faced behind him. He stepped out onto the open street and smiled up at the brightly illuminated neon that surrounded him. He didn’t need old Dodge. He didn’t need anybody. He hadn’t gotten where he had by relying on anyone else but himself, and he would be damned if he would start now.

Dodge was wrong and he knew it. This city was full of wicked people, and the only way to get by was to have a good ass and a handsome face, both of which he had. That meant he could have anything and anybody he wanted. With a grin he put his hands on his hips and resisted the urge to cackle up at the cloudy sky. He didn’t have a care in the world. He knew he could get another gig in less than an hour. This street was full of clubs and meat markets. All he had to do was pick the one he wanted. Anybody would give their left nut to have him on their itinerary.

And just to prove it to himself he walked across the glowing street to The Pup Stain, his former employer’s rival club. Old Dodge would have croaked if he knew Aki was going there. Carelessly Aki pushed through the door, drifting easily through the smoky club to the bar stationed at the center of the floor. A haggard old woman with a face full of hoops and stud piercing smiled up at him from a glowing blue drink she had been concocting.

“Hello, Matilda.” Aki said with a fiendish wink. “How have you been?”

“Hahaha, you stray cat! Did Old Dodge finally get rid of you?” The woman coughed loudly and spat down on the floor behind the bar. Aki smirked and shook his head.

“I got rid of myself,” he said coolly, letting his eyes slip across the dimly lit club. A skinny young blond was gyrating and prancing around on a stage to his left in front of a pair of older men. “Looks like a slow night,” Aki said, gesturing to the bare barstools and lack of patrons in general.

The older woman scowled as she topped off the blue drink with a cherry before handing it off to a muscular middle-aged man in a practically sheer spandex bottom.

“Yeah things have been slow, my boy.” She assessed him slowly with dark, painted eyes. “Why, if we had a stud like you on our stage things would be different.”

“Hm…” Aki pressed a neon pink painted nail to his lower lip and grinned. “Well, I happen to be available! Besides, it looks like you need all the help you can get.”

He glanced back over to the stage where the blond was teetering clumsily over to the edge to retrieve a single credit from one of the older men.

“Ameteurs,” Aki mumbled to himself.

Matilda quirked a pierced brow at him and then smiled greedily, “will you teach him?”

“What? Now, listen here you old crone. Nobody can be taught what I have.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the struggling dancer. “That kid should just quit while he has the chance, before he breaks his neck trying to walk in those heels. Did he pick those?”

“Yes, the poor dear. He thought he would get used to them…” Matilda spat on the floor again before turning back to eye Aki slowly, “How much you want?”

“How much do you got?”

“Haha! Prolly not enough to pay you, pussycat.” Matilda cackled like the wicked witch Aki knew her to be. She then reached into her blouse and dug out a small satchel. She opened it, assessed the contents and then tossed it to Aki, who caught it in one hand.

“That is all I have until next week. I have expenses, ya know? You’ll get more if you bring in the crowds you were taking in over there at Old Dodge’s shit hole.”

The credits in the satchel would just have to do. Aki could have bargained for more, after all he was making three times as much with Old Dodge, but he would comply for now. He was too tired and lazy to argue, or to find another club on the strip. His feet were killing him and all he wanted now was a . . .

“Gimme a double shot of vodka,” Aki said with a smile. “You have yourself a new center stage.”

The old woman laughed and poured him a sloppy tumbler full, much more than a double but maybe she was feeling generous. He took the glass and turned to lean on the bar, watching the young blond wrap up his stage performance. It was a sad sight. Only two people in the audience, both of which were disgustingly old and unappealing. Aki wasn’t surprised to see that the boy could hardly pretend to be turned on and into his show; there was no motivation there. The tips the men were tossing on the stage didn’t seem too significant. And, to make matters worse one of the men’s hands were under the table.

“How rude,” Aki murmured over the edge of his glass. He took a swig of the vodka, downing it absently as he stared at the scene before him. The whole situation was ever performer’s worse nightmare. The music was wrong. The lighting was too bright, and the two old geezers were cheap and lewd. He could just sit there and watch the kid flounder, but some sick part of him wanted to be involved in the drama. He finished off his glass, tossed it onto the bar with a loud clatter and stepped lightly across the threadbare carpet to the couple that sat just beside the stage. The boy on the stage caught sight of his approach and nearly tripped over himself.

Aki slid up behind the man who was blatantly stroking himself beneath the table. He could see the glisten of sweat gathering at the base of his neck. Carefully he leaned down behind the man, reached his hand around the old slob’s waist and with a snatch as fast as the strike of a cobra he grabbed the man’s rock hard cock with a tight, forceful grip. The man shrieked in surprise.

“Now… how very ungentlemanly of you to touch your shit while this poor boy tries so hard to please you. Don’t you know that is illegal?” Aki purred into the man’s ear as he stroked the slowly shriveling mass with a rough caress. “Besides, if you’re going to get off it is gonna cost extra. And from the smell of the cheap toilet water you splashed yourself with this morning I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to afford the bill.” He clenched the cock hard and twisted it to the left, causing the man to flinch and cry out in pain. By this time the man seated beside him had stood up. The boy on stage had stopped dancing and was staring down at the scene in slack-jawed surprise.

“Now, get your filthy ass out of here and don’t come back until you can adequately pay for this fine young man’s services…” Aki hissed. He snatched his hand away and wiped it carelessly on the older man’s sleeve. The old man tucked his penis away with fumbling fingers and stood up from his seat. His comrade, the man who had been seated prior in the chair beside him, was glaring angrily at Aki with a deep scowl on his face.

“How dare you, you nasty little slut!” The pervert’s friend yelled over the deep throb of the music. He lunged at Aki with a fisted hand.

Aki heard the boy on the stage yell out in warning as the man swept a sloppy punch over his head. Aki was surprised but all too prepared for the attack. It wouldn’t have been the first time a customer had tried to strike him, and it wouldn’t be the last. He had been at this for years, and he knew how to fight just as well as he could dance. After all, wasn’t a fistfight just a series of choreographed movements in time with the energy of anger?

He saw the fist coming and easily avoided it with a quick sidestep. The man lunged reflexively again, throwing off his center of gravity. Aki led his movements, watching as the fool fell for every cue and lure. Finally, panting, the man paused just enough for Aki to swing into motion. He twisted his body and raised his leg, planting a roundhouse kick to the man’s jaw. The combination of exhaustion, liquor and having a four-inch stiletto boot slam into his face caused the man to stay on the ground.

The bouncers descended on the pervert and his fighting friend, escorting them none too gently to the exit. Aki smoothed out his tank top as he watched them go, inspected his patent leather boot for any scuffs and then looked at the stage. The blond who had been there before had gone.

Aki smiled. He looked over at Matilda, who only shook her head and scowled at him. He knew she had lost two customers who probably hadn’t paid their tabs, but he would make it up to her.

He made his way through the empty tables to the back door of the stage where the dressing rooms were. As he entered the back hall he heard scuffling and the sound of glass being shuffled. He slid quietly through the corridors, following the source of the noise until he came upon a meager little dressing room. The blond dancer from before was sitting in front of a lighted mirror, moving bottles of creams and make-up around on his crooked dressing table. Aki noticed he was trembling.

“Hey, are you all right?” Aki asked loudly, smirking at the sight of the boy jumping in surprise at the sound of his voice. The boy stared up at him through the reflection of the mirror, not turning to face him. He was young, much younger than he had looked on the stage. How old was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? Where had Matilda found someone so young?

“Yeah…I’m fine. Thanks for that.” The boy said quickly, averting his gaze from Aki’s to focus on smearing make-up remover on his eyes.

“No problem. We performers have to stick together.” Aki replied. He looked around the meager little dressing room at the cheap costumes and chintzy shoes piles high beside the door. This boy needed more help than he thought.

The blond looked up from dabbing a cotton swab on his eyelid. “You’re a dancer?”

Aki huffed and gestured to the tight blue sheer tank top stretched taut across his chest. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I suppose…” the blond murmured.

“The name’s Aki, my stage name is Alley Cat. Who are you?”

“Ben…” the blond said meekly. He reached down into a nearby drawer to retrieve a pair of square, dark rimmed glasses. He slid them over his nose and stood up from the dressing table to turn and address Aki. He stuck out his hand in greeting. “I don’t have a stage name…”

Aki snatched the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. “Well, that will have to change. Everyone has to have a stage name.” He released the hand and smiled. “I’m new here. I used to dance across the street. Let me tell you something from experience, Ben. Never trust a man as a manager. You have it good working here with Matilda. She doesn’t pay shit but she is the biggest fag hag there is. If you get a good hag, you’ll never have to worry about anything.” He looked around the room, found a stool and sat down heavily on it.

“Oh… um, well. I’m not gay.”

Aki looked up from further inspecting his boots and gawked at the meekish, glasses-wearing blond standing before him. If he had something to choke on, he would have.

“Wait a minute. You’re not gay? But you’re a dancer… and for men. You knew this was a gay club when you got hired, didn’t you?”

Ben shifted nervously on his white-socked feet and nodded. “Yeah, but… I needed the money. I didn’t know you had to be gay to work here.”

Aki sighed. “Well, I guess you don’t HAVE to be gay. It is just kind of unusual to see straight boys willing to let it all out for some homos, that’s all.”

Ben nodded and pushed his thick glasses up onto his nose. “Yeah, well gay people don’t bother me. I just really needed a job, and I wasn’t suited to work at the straight club.” Aki watched Ben blush.

“Yeah, I can see what you mean. Women normally go for the thick, muscle types. No matter: you have lots of potential. Those guys seem to really like you. I mean you look like you’re sixteen. You aren’t sixteen, are you?”

Ben blanched at the accusation and shook his head. “No! No, I’m eighteen. I’m just a little young looking I guess. My mom says I have a baby face.”

Aki laughed. “Well, she is right! You can market that look. There are plenty of perverts out there who want a guy like you. They would pay a pretty penny for it legally.”

Ben nodded and began to pull on a pair of ratty jeans over his black thong-styled underwear. “I thought so,” he said, as he got dressed. He tugged a snug fitted t-shirt over his head and jabbed his arms through the armholes, covering his boyish frame. “I thought I would have more than just those two. They are the only ones who ever come to see me dance… but now, I guess I’ll have nothing to give Matilda now.”

Aki watched as the boy shoved his feet into a pair of worn Adidas and began to tie them. He felt bad. Having interrupted his show had cost him his only source of income. How could this kid only have two nasty faggots watching him? He had a nice, slightly muscled body. He looked barely sixteen. He was a natural blond with fair skin and pale blue eyes. Certainly he could make it big out here on the strip. What was holding him back?

And then he remembered the shitty dancing the boy had done. He recalled the poorly choreographed gyrating, the wobbling walking and the awkward music he was listening to. He was naturally cute but he had no skills. He had no sexual prowess or seduction in his person. Now, seeing him out of costume, he looked like nothing more than your average anime nerd.

“Look, kid…” Aki smirked as he draped his arm across the doorway to block Ben’s way. “You have potential. Lots of it, and I want to help you. Forget those creeps, we are gonna make you big. You’ll be raking in big bucks in no time, believe you me.”

He watched as Ben gave him a skeptical glance. The boy was packing his things, and so early in the night. Was he giving up? Aki stomped his booted foot to get the youth’s attention.

“Look! You can’t give up now! You have all night. We’ll get some people in here, and clean up your costume. I’ll give you some pointers and in no time-“

“Look, Mister Aki. I have had a bad day. I really don’t want to dance again tonight. I might just give it up for good, I mean… look at me? Nobody would want to pay to see me iron my socks. I knew this was a stupid idea-“

Aki couldn’t help himself. Before he could stop himself he grabbed the front of Ben’s shirt and pulled him close, glaring down into his face with a stern expression. “Don’t give up! I don’t know your motives. I don’t know why you started this in the first place but you owe it to yourself and your career to take my tips. I can make something out of what I saw tonight. You just need finesse. I can teach that to you.”

Something seemed to be cranking through Ben’s mind. Aki knew he was thinking. He wasn’t sure what of, but he knew it had to do something with his options. He didn’t know the kid’s situation but he assumed he had to be desperate to put himself on stage with two gay pedophiles jacking off at the sight of him.

“I… I’ll take your help, if you will give it.” Ben finally conceded defeat, causing Aki to swell with accomplishment.

“Great. Now, from here on out you have to do everything I tell you, without question. Understand?” He let go of Aki’s shirt and watched as the boy smiled back, nervously.

“Yes. Of course,” he said, with an air of someone who had nothing left to lose.

“Good. Now, take off your clothes. Let’s get you into something uncomfortable…”

By one in the morning Aki knew Ben was ready. He had taught him everything he could in one evening. He had given him all of his secrets, his tips, and his advice… now it was time for Ben to put everything he had to good use. The boy was ready, now all he needed was an audience.

Aki peered out into the club. Only a few patrons were there, and they seemed more interested in the stocky older muscle that was grinding on the catwalk. They didn’t look the type. He had to find perverts, pedophiles and grandpas. He knew just the place to find them.

He stomped across the club, passing the bar along the way.

“Where you off to, kitty cat?” Matilda called out after him. Aki waved his hand over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back. Tell the DJ to prep stage three.”

He burst through the doors and out into the night, following the path he had followed so many times in his youth past the porn shops, through the red light district and down to the south side where a particular message parlor stood between a liquor store and a notorious opium den.
The man at the front door straightened at the sound of Aki’s boots pounding up the sidewalk. Aki stopped in front of the bouncer and smiled up at him.

“Jules! Long time no see,” Aki purred seductively. He inched closer to the enormous man, a tower of muscles and sinew, and smiled. The man was in his thirties, wearing a dress shirt and black slacks. His dark complexion and shoulder length, black wavy hair falling carelessly across his emerald green eyes. Those eyes sparkled with recognition.

“Well if it isn’t Alley Cat,” Jules said quietly. He reached out an arm and curled it around Aki’s waist. “What are you doing all the way down here?”

Aki let his hands slip over Jule’s broad, hard chest. His pinky finger grazed a nipple hidden beneath the fine, crisp cotton of the man’s shirt.

“I’m here to ask you a favor…” Aki murmured quietly, his light brown eyes darting up and down the street as if to make sure nobody could listen in. “I need some men.”

Jules laughed and let his hand slowly drop past Aki’s waist, his strong fingers gently caressing the curve of his ass through his tight leather pants. “Well, how greedy of you.”

“No, you brute. I need some men for show. I have a little boy willing to flaunt his stuff, but I don’t have anyone to watch it.” Aki bat at Jule’s invading hand playfully before gazing up at him with a serious, expectant expression. “Well?”

“Where at?” Jules asked, removing his arm from around Aki’s waist.

“The Pup Stain.” Aki replied. Jules nodded.

“They’ll be there in an hour.”

“Excellent…” Aki said with a clap of his hands.

“You owe me!” Jules bellowed as Aki began to retreat back up the street, heels pounding pavement.

“Tomorrow. I’ll suck your cock tomorrow!” Aki called back happily. He practically skipped back to The Pup Stain, entered the darkened club with a spring in his step, and returned to the back room where Ben sat waiting nervously in front of his mirror, staring at the dark blue and black eyeliner Aki had painted on his face only an hour or so earlier.

“Got an audience on the way. You’ll be fine, trust me. Just do everything I taught you.” Aki said in his most soothing voice, patting Ben reassuringly on the shoulder. Ben shrugged and looked up at Aki through the mirror’s reflection.

“I don’t know if I can. I mean… you know… “

Aki kept his hand planted firmly on the kid’s shoulder. “What do you mean? You’ll be fine, you did fine earlier when we practiced. There is nothing to be nervous about…”

Ben shook his head, his eyes filling with tears.

“Don’t! You’ll fuck up your makeup!” Aki blurted, reflexively grabbing for the tissue box. Ben shook his head again and sniffed loudly.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help but be nervous. I appreciate everything you have done for me, Aki. It is just that I am having a hard time focusing. You are just so attractive and confident. I don’t think I could ever be as successful as you. I don’t think I can live up to your expectation.”

Aki frowned and grabbed the back of Ben’s chair. He roughly turned it around and leaned down to dab at the boys eyes, catching the glistening tears before they tore through his mascara.

“Look, just do your best. You’re a good kid, and you try really hard. You’ll be fine,” Aki said softly. He dropped the tissue down to glide across Ben’s cheek. The blond looked up at him with bright, appreciative eyes.

“Thank you,” Ben sniffed. Aki stared down at him. Never once had he ever been thanked by anyone so honestly. He liked this kid, maybe more than he should have let himself. The kid still hadn’t told him why he had become a dancer but after spending the whole evening with him Aki could only assume he had a dark, personal reason for it. Maybe his mother was dying and he needed the money for her medicine? He could see Ben doing something as noble and stupid as that. He had a good heart, and he was just as pure and innocent as his face revealed.

Aki had never been this close to something so pure. He had never caught such innocent tears.

It was in his nature to smother innocence and steal it for his own, so when he reflexively leaned down to kiss the boy he nearly lost himself. Abruptly he came to a halt just before their lips met and stared in horror at the face before him, disgusted with what he had almost done.

“Aki…?” Ben said, his confusion plainly apparently in his voice.

“Ben, I’m sorry I…” Aki was at a loss for words. He started to pull away but was stopped by a hand that had materialized at the back of his neck. The pressure that appeared there pulled his face once again towards Ben. The blonde’s bright blue eyes were locked onto his face. In place of the sadness and pensiveness was a flicker of confusion and something else… hidden right there, just beneath the surface.

Aki didn’t have a chance to read it.

Ben had pulled their faces together, bringing their lips together in a tangle of hot and moist flesh. Aki nearly moaned. Ben’s mouth, the same narrow little pink lips he had been putting lip gloss on only moments before were now against his. He felt the boy apprehensively exploring his lower lip with his own. The sensation sent a thrilling shockwave through Aki’s body. The innocence and questioning of the kiss was something Aki had never experienced before. He had experience with men. He was notorious as a playboy, but never before had he ever experienced a kiss such as this. Part of him wanted to pin the other boy down to the ground where he could take over and force Ben’s mouth open with his tongue. He would probe deep into the little virgin’s throat and take control and teach him what another man could do for him.

But no. There was something about letting Ben take the reigns that was enthralling. Aki would let him. He kissed Ben back as minimally as he could manage, allowing the blond to make the decision on how far this would go.

Ben seemed to hesitate. Aki stopped moving. Was he going to pull away and end it? He felt Ben’s lips retreat slightly and part as if to speak. Aki tensed. He didn’t want it to end. He felt cheated and slightly angry that this was all he was going to get. He had never had anyone only kiss him without continuing further on to more thorough sexual demands.

Ben was pulling away. Aki wanted to scream in frustration. He opened his mouth to protest but was suddenly surprised by Ben leaning forward again to fill his parted lips with his soft, wet tongue.

Aki groaned. This was quite possibly the hottest thing he had ever experienced. Who would have thought making out with an inexperienced straight boy would be so fulfilling?

He let Ben explore his mouth, sparring the other boy’s tongue with his own. Ben tasted sweet and clean, unlike the smoky acidic mouths of his paid patrons. Their tongues slipped and slid over one another, tangling awkwardly in between their flushed lips. After a few minutes Aki pulled away from the blond and panted, trying to catch his breath. Ben was gasping as well, staring in horror at Aki as realization began to dawn on him.

“I’m sorry Aki. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive-“

Aki raised his hand to silence him.

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry… this is good. This will make you more comfortable on the stage. We have an hour,” Aki reached down to caress the boy’s lap softly. He wasn’t surprised to feel a firm lump between his legs. “Let me give you confidence.”

Ben’s eyes widened at the proposition. Aki knew it would take him a moment or two to understand what he meant. Rather than wait he decided to show him. He dropped down to his knees on the floor in front of Ben’s chair and with deft, practiced motions began to unbutton his pants.
“W-wait! You… you don’t have to do all that!” Ben stammered, squirming nervously beneath Aki’s prodding touch.

“Trust me. This will help you. I want to do this. I like you, Ben.” Aki smiled and with pale, painted fingers retrieved Ben’s stiffening cock from the soft folds of his boxers. Aki leaned down and breathed a warm, moist breath against it, causing its significant length to twitch. Ben emitted a faint groan and began to grind the soles of his sneakers against the cold cement floor.

Aki took that as consent and dropped his mouth down over the tip of Ben’s shaft, slowly, letting his tongue lap and slide over the underside. His saliva made quick work of lubricating the length of his cock. Carefully he enclosed Ben’s now throbbing member with his lips and swallowed back the small accumulation of precum wetting the head. He took him all the way until the head of his cock touched the back of his throat. Ben’s hips bucked forward at the contact reflexively. Aki couldn’t help but smile at Ben’s eagerness. Slowly he began to lift his head, tightening his lips to form a firm ring around his hardness as he went. His tongue lapped and twitched gently against the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the cluster of veins just below the swollen head. He repeated this, over and over again, quickening his pace gradually until soon he was devouring the blond’s member with fervor while the boy was whining and quivering with impending release.

“I’m… gonna… come…” Ben panted as Aki worked his cock with expertise. Aki paused in mid-suck to yank the remainder of Ben’s pants off, letting them pool at his ankles. Ben groaned as Aki ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, probing his hot, loose balls with gentle caresses before traveling further, past them to his taint. He rubbed his taint gently, forcing his cock deeper into his mouth. Ben shuddered and tensed as Aki’s fingertip glided further back to his tight, puckered asshole.

“N…No…” Ben breathed, though did not put up a resistance. Aki hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to defile the innocence the boy had, but at the same time he treasured it. It would be easy to force his finger up into his ass and pound it knuckle-deep while he let the boy fuck his mouth, but as hot as it would have been he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

No, he wouldn’t do it. He would obey Ben’s request.

Instead he began to message Ben’s balls gently while he continued to suck and swallow on his hard, eager cock. Ben was twisting under his mouth. The salty stickiness of precum began to gather on Aki’s tongue. A small stream of it had escaped his lips to trickle down Ben’s length to his balls, where it met Aki’s messaging fingers.

“C…c…coming….” Ben stammered. Aki quickened his pace and squeezed firmer on Ben’s balls as the boy began to cum. Hot, sticky fluid burst from the head of Ben’s cock, splattering against Aki’s throat. Ben jerked his hips up, slamming his cock reflexively into Aki’s throat. Aki relaxed his mouth and dropped his tongue. He waited until Ben was done and had settled, exhausted, into his seat. Then he slipped his mouth from his cock and swallowed a few times to down the hot, sticky cum. He wiped his mouth with the back of his clean hand and took a few heavy breaths, trying to will the raging hard on in his tight leather pants to go away.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…” Ben stammered as his lust began to subside. He had begun to realize what he had done. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Aki blinked and looked up at the compassionate blue eyes that stared worryingly down at him. This guy was the real deal, that sort of innocence couldn’t be feigned.

“Heh. Yeah, I’m fine. That was good. You feeling more relaxed?” Aki glanced up at the clock. They had fifteen minutes until the audience would be there and Ben needed to get into costume. He stood up slowly and hoped Ben wouldn’t notice the enormous rock hard outline at his crotch.
“Um.. yes, but.. you didn’t have to-“

“Look don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure,” Aki purred before giving Ben his most reassuring smile. “Now, let’s see about getting you into this.” He held up the costume and smiled.


The word had spread fast on the strip of the young boy Aki “Alley Cat” was turning out, and the club was surprisingly full. Matilda was flitting about behind the bar as happy as a pierced clam. All of the seats around the third stage were full and the tables surrounding that side of the bar were filled with curious onlookers.

Ben was waiting behind the curtain, wringing his hands. Aki looked him over once and smiled. “You look great. Just great. They are going to love this.”

“Are you… sure? I mean, I have never done anything like this before.”

“Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?” Aki asked, batting his eyelashes at the boy. Ben nodded and looked down at his bare feet.

“But shouldn’t I be wearing shoes?” Ben finally mumbled, wiggling his toes against the cold wood of the stage.

“Nah. You don’t do well in shoes; this will make your movements more natural. You’ll make it to heels eventually. Besides for this costume this is appropriate.” Aki reached down and smacked Ben playfully on his exposed rump.

“Remember everything we practiced. When the music starts, count to ten then come out. I’ll be right in back. You’ll be fine.” And with a bright smile Aki bounded away. He stepped out into the club and made his way to the seat he had reserved in the back, right center to the stage. A few of the patrons looked expectantly his way. Near the right left he spotted Jules. He gave the enormous man a friendly wink. After the thing with Ben earlier Aki was in need of a good fuck, and he would make use of Jules sometimes after the show to help him get rid of the semi he still sported in his pants. The thought of Ben’s little hips grinding up against his mouth sent a cold chill through his loins. He quickly took his seat and crossed his legs.

“Gotta think of something sobering…” Aki muttered to himself. Just then Matilda appeared beside him. Seeing this old woman in a halter-top with no bra was enough to turn anyone off.

“Well, let’s see this magic you’ve done on that poor boy,” Matilda said with a chuckle. She took a seat beside him and motioned for the DJ to start. The lights went low and a few laser effects began to illuminate the ceiling and surrounding area. Slow, smooth music began to play.

“10… 9… 8… 7…”

Aki smiled and watched the patrons lean in and squint up at the stage expectantly.

“6… 5… 4… 3… 2 ... 1.”

The music immediately picked up at the ten mark. Just as practiced a naked leg poked out of the curtain, followed by the scantily clad Ben. He walked confidently up to the front of the stage and began his dance. Aki smiled widely. The effect was extraordinary. The clumsy oaf from before was transformed. No longer was Ben a stereotypical no name stripper. Aki watched as his student worked the stage as Shiba Inu, an innocent and playful and soon to be naked puppy dog.

“Did he just let that man rub his tummy?” Matilda whispered before taking a large gulp from her cup. Aki nodded and smiled triumphantly.

“Yes. Yes he did.”

[April Prompt] Prompt Blog: The Ruse

Title: The Ruse
Written For April's Prompt on Prompt to Write

Geneva didn’t like the look of any of the men in the room. It was as if they could all see right through her. Every eye tracked her as she walked through the crowded smoking parlor and up to the bar where, with trembling fingers, she poured herself a drink of brandy.
How did she ever get caught up in a ruse such as this?

Carefully she took a swig. Instantly she regretted it. She tried her best to fight the urge to spit out the foul, burning liquid. Why on earth would men force such a torture upon themselves? If it took swallowing this poison to be a man then she had no desire to keep this up!

Sure, there were benefits to dressing this way. For one thing, she received no catcalls as she walked down the dark alleys to this establishment. If she had been dressed in her usual bonnet and bustle she would have been teased and taunted by the dredges coming home from the docks. This time nobody seemed to notice her. She had slid through the market easily with only minimal pestering by the merchants who normally would have been fervently trying to sell her ribbons and lace. Hardly anyone had tried to bother her at all, except for the occasional young girl who may have bought into her disguise a little too easily.

She had made it here undiscovered. It had been a piece of cake getting into the smoking parlor, an establishment explicitly reserved for only gentlemen. She had never before had seen the inside of such a place. It was completely different from the sunrooms and gardens kept for women to visit company. It was dark and oppressive. Everything was grand and expensive, plush and gilded. The air was musty and heavy with smoke. There were no windows, only large ornate oil lamps and fireplaces scattered throughout the enormous space, giving the dark room a sickly orange glow. Everyone had a drink or a cigar in hand, and all were partaking in gambling or billiards.

Geneva wasn’t impressed and she decided she would rather take the sunny arboretums and clean, fresh linen of a woman’s sitting room any day.

With a tight purse of her lips she forced the liquor and her tension down into the pit of her stomach. She had to focus. She had to remember everything that Thomas had taught her. She slouched her posture, stuck out her flat stomach, widened her stance and pretended to take another swig from her glass. The smell of the brandy made her cringe. As she lifted her glass to her lips she peered over its rim and searched the darkened room, scanning the faces for any sign of Aldon. She knew he had to be here; it was only a matter of time before he showed up.

Aldon MacMeyer. What a nasty pig. Geneva had never approved of him, but when her younger sister Melissa had come home so happy that he had finally proposed she couldn’t bring herself to adamantly protest. Melissa had looked so happy on her wedding day. Little did she knew that Aldon was a cad, and it was no surprise to Geneva that three weeks after their honeymoon he had been seen out on the town with another woman. Her sister had denied it, despite the many accounts given to her of his guilt. She loved him and couldn’t see a single fault in the slob.

It was up to Geneva to prove it to her. She and her friend Sir Walter Thomas had come up with the brilliant idea of this disguise. It would be easy, Thomas had told her. She would just have to go to the parlor, sit in the corner and listen. Aldon was notorious for being loud and outright about his affairs. He wore them like badges of honor. She would get proof from him somehow, whether it be a name of the mistress or the location of their secret meeting spot… whatever it was, she would get it and prove it to Melissa once and for all.

Geneva shuffled away from the bar just as two men approached it to retrieve drinks of their own. She slid quietly to the darkest corner of the room just behind a blackjack table and leaned her back against the wall. She wasn’t sure how long she would have to wait for Aldon to show up, but it wasn’t a problem. She had told her father she would be at the London Philharmonic with Thomas for their performance of the Greatest Works of Mendelssohn, which would certainly last all night.

She had nothing but time. With a satisfied smirk she reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette. She fished around in her coat pocket and found a match, striking it carelessly on the doorframe behind her. She lit the tip and gently drew a breath through the cigarette, watching an ember come to life on the tip. With a wave of her hand the match was out and discarded in a nearby ashtray. She took a leisurely puff and smiled brightly. It was the first time she had a smoke inside, let alone in front of anyone. How thrilling it was to practice her most guarded vice out in the open.

Ah, to be a man.

[RAW Edit] Ethan, Drabble

Title: Ethan
Drabble

by, Black-Haired Girl


“She had always wanted a baby.

I never much understood it but I suppose it comes with being a woman. There must be something down to the DNA that makes a woman bonkers for babies and my wife had this fever threefold. Ever since we had first started dating she had always lamented of a future with children. Her eldest sister had four natural births. Her brother had sired a fleet of little nobles. Now it was her turn to help me carry on my family name.

We tried. We tried for years. Sex became nothing but a chore. We charted ovulation. Every day was another check of her basal temperature. Every morning came another cocktail of fertility drugs and herbal remedies. Every attempt was precise, well calculated, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard we tried conception was unachievable.

I suppose it was natural for her to blame herself. I am told most women do. She cried every night and apologized to me frequently for her inability to be, as she would say, “a suitable woman”.

Her self-deprecation bothered me. I tried to get her to speak to the family physician about how she felt but she was too private for such exchanges. It began to eat away at her. I suppose I was in denial of it at first. I tended to overlook how odd it was that she spent so much time in the empty nursery on the third floor. I didn’t seem to notice how quiet and aloof she had become until it was too late.

Seven years into our attempt to have a child she began to shut down. It happened right after the outbreak. She stopped talking entirely. Four months had passed and she hadn’t uttered a peep to anyone- family or servants alike. She had grown pale and thin. Her once full, pink face had grown sallow and gaunt. She rarely changed her clothes. It had been weeks since she had brushed her hair. Whenever someone would suggest that she should take a bath or try to spruce up she would burst into tears and bury her face in her hands. I had called a therapist to consult her. He had diagnosed her with an inexplicable semi-catatonic condition and had little advice for us.
The only thing he suggested was to turn off the TV. I attempted this only once. The news was on. It was always on. She had been sitting on a couch staring unblinkingly at yet another extended program about the destruction beyond the compound when I snagged the remote and turned off the TV.

She screamed.

It was the most unearthly sound I had ever heard. Her face contorted into a horrifying expression I cannot begin to describe and her shrill voice tore through my ears and sent a stab of pain into my heart. I quickly turned it on. She turned to look up at me with bloodshot eyes. She was gone. Gone from me, gone from the family, gone from the world.

It had all been too much for her. The outbreak, having no children, being confined to the compound and shut away from the horrors of the world. I suppose watching the rest of the world lose their children was the only thing that made her happy.
If she couldn’t have them then they couldn’t either.”

Ethan stared down at his father’s neat and angular handwriting. His face felt hot. He quickly closed the leather bound journal and pushed it back into the top drawer of the desk. Footsteps began to crescendo from the end of the hallway. Anxiously he slammed the drawer shut and jumped to his feet just as the dark oak door to the study began to open.

“Ethan?”

“Good morning, mother.”

[RAW Edit] Deme and the Bike Shop

Title: Deme and the Bike Shop
by, Black-Haired Girl


Deme didn’t mean to be bad. He just couldn’t help himself, sometimes.

Make that all the time.

With a grin he wound his arm back and heaved the biggest rock he could manage at the large picture window of the bicycle shop. It crashed against the glass, causing the window pane to shatter into a thousand glistening pieces. He stepped back and watched as all of the shards fell to the ground, feeling his anger leaving him as it did.

“What the hell!”

“Time to go!” Deme yipped to himself, turning on his heels to run as fast as he could down the sidewalk. He could hear that know-it-all bicycle shop owner, Mister Memphis, hollering incoherently from somewhere behind him. He darted past a woman carrying groceries, ducked down an alleyway and clambered over a park bench and into the woods that separated town from his grandparent’s property.
The woods were dark but he had trekked the path quite a few times and was unhindered by its seemingly impenetrable thickness. Just a squeeze through this grove here, and a climb over this fallen tree there until finally he came to the halfway point through the dense forest. A small thicket surrounded by various types of brambles and shrubs open to the bright afternoon sunshine. It was one of his favorite places to hide and now was the perfect time for hiding. Mister Memphis would surely know he had chucked the offending rock through the shop window. Only a few minutes before the violation he had gotten into a particularly intense argument with the man about Schwinn versus Mongoose. Mister Memphis called Deme an idiot for something Deme couldn’t remember saying, and that was that. The rock tossing had been quite therapeutic.
With a relieved sigh he plopped down to a sit in the thin layer of leaves on the thicket floor and proceeded to tie his shoe.

What did Mister Memphis know? Nothing…
He was always right, wasn’t he?
Of course he was.

[RAW Edit] Two as One, Ch 1&2

Title: Two As One
by, Black-Haired Girl


Chapter One:

Gunner stared at himself in the mirror’s reflection. The man who stood before him was himself, and yet so different that the image shocked him. He straightened the long, black coat’s buttoned sleeves and pulled the zipper open just slightly to reveal the gray shirt beneath. His left ear ached from having been pierced to make his appearance as his father more authentic. He fingered his reddened, sore earlobe lightly. The dark amber stone set within the earring caught the light and seemed to glow with the same red light his eyes were now emanating. His feet were heavy and his shoulders weary from wearing so much thick, heavy fabric. Being trained with the monks, he normally wore light cottons and wools, not the leather that his father preferred. Not only did he bear a heavy, long riding coat but also beneath the thick outerwear he wore a tightly fitting matching vest and pants, adorned with various replications of the family crest, studwork and zippers.

The costume stifled his true self. He found that the weight and constriction of it all caused him to stand at his straightest to bear the weight evenly. No wonder his father stood so tall and moved so slowly and precise?

Gunner narrowed his eyes at his own reflection and shook his head slowly, angry that he had consented to such a charade. How could he possibly act like the dark lord? The things his father had done in the years before had been despicable. In fact, his entire existence was born of wickedness and Gunner’s creation had been possible only by the dark lord’s dealings with the most sinister of beings.

He frowned and set his jaw as tightly as possible, studying how it altered his features in the mirror. He lifted his chin and looked down the bridge of his nose at himself. His eyes, half-hidden by his long messy gray bangs, seemed to darken. In this position he looked exactly like the crazed, dark lord. The sight gave him chills. With a sigh he slumped to a crooked stand and let his face relax. His eyes returned to their normal, serious yet compassionate expression.
This façade was going to be exhausting to hold up.

His thoughts were interrupted by a brief knock on the master chamber door.

“Sire, we are ready to depart.”

Gunner frowned and quickly pulled his black gloves on, making sure to be careful not to agitate the bandage that had been messily placed over the wound on his palm. Then he turned to the bed and looked down at the long broadsword that lay before him. His father’s sword was the final item to make his costume complete. All who knew the dark lord knew he would was never without his sword. His father had entrusted the legendary weapon to him reluctantly, knowing that the ruse could not be performed without it. Gunner left his hand gently touched the elaborately carved hilt, watching as the reflection of his gloved hand blazed across the glimmering silver blade. He began to recall the many times he had seen his father slay men with this very blade. The now clean, shimmering sword had many times been splattered with blood. It was the blade that unraveled the entire continent. It was the very blade that had slain the previous lord, and the weapon that put the current dark lord upon the throne.

Another tentative knock sounded upon the door. Gunner flinched at the sound. There was no avoiding what he must do. He lifted the sword to his face, gazed into his reflection upon its surface, and transformed. His eyes darkened and he grit his teeth, watching as his jaw tightened and his neck lengthened. Once he was satisfied he looked the part he sheathed the weapon, turned with a flourish of fabric and stomped up to the door. He opened it so abruptly that the man who hovered on the other side nearly jumped with fright.

Gunner pitied him, but fought his best not to show it. “The next time you rush your lord, I shall see that you pay the time with your hide,” Gunner said in a low snarl. The man lowered his head in fear and humiliation.

“Yes… yes, of course my lord,” the nameless servant stammered as he stepped out of his master’s way. Gunner strode forward with his most authoritative gait and stomped down the hallway towards the courtyard where his father’s guard and accompaniment awaited. The men, who had been discussing plans amongst themselves, all silenced as he approached. They watched him with curious yet worrisome expressions.

Gunner easily found his father’s horse amidst the crowd of travelers, held still by a young freckle-faced stable boy. The horse was black, much like everything else his father possessed. Its muscular flanks quivered as he approached. It snorted and studied him with its dark, red eyes. It seemed anxious and confused. Gunner snarled under his breath. Of course, the horse would know he was not its master; animals had a way with such things.

Every step Gunner took towards the animal seemed to frighten it. It half-reared and nearly took the young boy holding the reigns with it. Then it tossed its massive head in agitation and stomped a large, flocked hoof nervously.

Gunner knew he had to do something, or the animal was going to trample him before he could even mount it. He slowed his pace and pulled the glove from his unwounded hand. Then he stopped a few feet away from the beast and held his hand forth towards its nose. It studied him with widened eyes before hesitantly sniffing his outstretched hand. Gunner assumed that his scent must have been very similar to his father’s because soon the animal began to relax.

He quickly walked to the side of the beast and mounted it with some difficulty, his garb weighing him down considerably. Once seated upon his mount he turned to look at the party of men who would be accompanying him. They were all staring at him in mute bewilderment. Gunner froze, realizing at that very moment that their puzzlement must have stemmed from his gentle gestures towards the horse, something they would have never seen the real dark lord do. He would have to remedy this situation.

“Well? What are we waiting for?” He barked in his cruelest voice. The men all looked away from him and began digging their heels sharply against their horses’ sides, forcing the animals towards the capital’s gate.


Chapter Two:

The journey from the capital to the merchant city of Salv was relatively uneventful. Gunner kept mainly to himself, which was accepted by his accompanying party, who all avoided speaking to him or looking in his direction whenever possible. The four-day ride was rather lonely, as far as Gunner was concerned, what with the servants and guard avoiding basic interaction with him. Was this how the dark lord lived day to day? Did he not yearn for companionship? After all, that was the basis of Gunner’s company; the men served each other out of friendship and companionship. This group of men was different, all focused on pleasing the lord out of fear rather than respect. They tended to their duties with precision and silence. There was no merriment those four days. When they stopped to set up camp a guard would wordlessly tend to his horse while two others would start setting up their master’s tent. Only in the dark of the night, when they were sure that their master slept, did they whisper to one another around the campfire. The words they had exchanged in the darkness were of the usual fabric of men’s thoughts: women, food, and war stories.

It was a relief to finally see their destination nestled in a valley beside the sea. The city of Salv was one of the largest on the continent and the center of trade and merchant travel. Ships from every point of the globe came to port here, bringing with them riches of the Middle East and the Orient. The buildings here were tall and thin, packed together amidst a labyrinth of gravel and pounded dirty roads. Bright flags and pendants swayed from tops of buildings, letting all who passed become aware of the prosperity of the man who lived within the fine home they hung upon. Gunner had only been to this fine city once, when he was very young, and even now with his worldly knowledge and pessimistic mind he couldn’t deny the beauty and wonder of the city by the sea.

The party entered the city’s wide gates and picked their way through the crowded city streets to the legislative hall located near the center of the city. The hall was quite possibly the largest single structure that Gunner had ever seen, even bigger than his father’s legendary keep, Fort Obsidian. The hall was constructed of large, granite blocks that were held fast by thick, towering pillars. The entrance was a semi-circle door opened and closed by a series of levers and pulleys controlled by a group of doormen in matching white and gold uniforms. It looked more like a fort than a legislative center. As Gunner passed through the open doorway he spotted armed guards pacing across suspended catwalks high against the ceiling. A feeling of unease settled within his stomach. Were the guards there to protect those inside from the ruffians and protesters of the city or, perhaps, were they present to keep the radicals within these walls in order?

As their large procession passed through Gunner’s musings became fastened to the forefront of his mind, for the guards all clutched their weapons tighter as they approached. Gunner’s entrance received apprehensive looks from the nearby guards and passing patrons. It suddenly occurred to him that he would not be able to melt into the background of this convention. His father’s reputation as a wealthy, powerful and brutal ruler would force him to play a vital role in the Committee’s workings. It would be how his father would have participated, and to uphold the dark lord’s identity he would have to play the part.

The horses were led to an open courtyard within the structure. Well-groomed stable boys ran from hidden doorways out into the sunlit circle to take the mounts and packhorses away. Just when Gunner’s feet landed on the dusty ground he came face to face with a stout man with a triangular beard and round, red cheeks. The man approached Gunner quickly, bowed as low as his protruding stomach would allow, and anxiously gazed up at him with dark, beady eyes.

“Lord Starion, it is a pleasure to receive you. I hope you traveled well,” the chubby man blurted as formally as possible. Gunner saw that the man had begun to sweat profusely and that his hands quivered at the mention of his father’s name. Pity began to swell within his chest but he bit back his compassion and tightened his jaw, as he had practiced the entire trip, hoping to be as convincing as possible.

“We fared well,” he said slowly, in his coldest and most indifferent voice. “Though I feel I must rest before the opening proceedings-“

“Of… of course, Your Grace.” The man stammered quickly. He turned on his dusty, silk slippers and began hobbling as quickly as he could towards a large opening in the round courtyard wall. “I shall show you to your room. Be certain that it is one of the finest in our facilities. You do us a great honor to addend our counsel, Your Grace, and we hope to make your stay as comfortable as possible…”

Gunner nodded his head, set a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword to steady it against his hip, and followed the rotund man with wide, easy steps. He rolled his shoulders beneath the heavy drape of leather upon his shoulders, feeling the stiffness in his neck release slightly. He couldn’t wait to be alone. The first thing he planned to do was to strip off this ridiculous outfit and have a good stretch. The corner of his lips twitched at the thought. Maybe he would smile a little, too. After all, his mouth had been set in a permanent scowl the entire trip.
The interior of the fortress was stunning. Gunner had never seen anything like it in his travels. The corridors the man led him through were enormous, and seemed to stretch on forever. The walls, floors and ceilings were made of shimmering, white marble. Torches on the walls glowed with bright white light, making the marble surfaced shift and glow. Every twenty feet a door interrupted the magnificence of the glossy, white walls. Each door was unique in design. Some had angels carved delicately upon their surfaces while others bore images of stories or histories. Gunner even spotted a few battle scenes, complete with slain men and demons rising from deep cracks in the wood.

“We have made sure to provide for your every necessity,” the main huffed between wheezes. “Your room has been fitted with all of your requests. We hope that it fits your needs and meets your standards, your grace.”

After walking for what felt like an eternity the man finally stopped before a dark, wooden door. The images carved upon its surface were surprisingly beautiful. It held no scene of history or angelic face, but a garden covered in roses. Thorny vines had been intricately developed around the design. Gunner wondered if the spines were sharp.

“Does this please you, sire?”

Gunner blinked and looked down. The man was staring up at him with a pale, worried expression. He realized that he had been staring at the door and the man, who seemed suddenly shaken, must have thought he was displeased with the door.

“It pleases me,” Gunner mumbled firmly. The man nodded briskly.

“Of course, of course. Your room has been prepared, sire. Please, if you need anything pull the cord beside the door, it will summon a servant right away. Tomorrow will be opening ceremonies, so for today you may rest and relax to recover from your journey.”

Gunner nodded and watched as the man pushed the door in. The room was dark, with only a dim glow flickering from a candle beside the door. Gunner didn’t care what the room was like; he was growing weary and anxious to be alone. The fat man tried to enter the room, perhaps to show him around, but Gunner raised a hand quickly to stop him.

“That is all,” Gunner snarled the best he could. The man nearly flinched at his words.

“Yes, well, very well, sire,” and without a moment’s hesitation the man had spun around and padded away as quickly as his silky slippers could carry him. Gunner watched him go before slipping into the dark room. He closed the door behind himself and slid the lock in place. Just to be safe, he checked the door to make certain the lock was secure. It was. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. His entire body felt heavy and his mind weary. He didn’t waste any time shrugging off the heavy riding coat. He tugged it quickly from his shoulders and let it fall with a dull thump to the floor. He ripped his gloves from his hands and unfastened the sword and sheath from his belt, setting them aside on the table where the lone candle flickered and danced, watching him shed his disguise. He rolled his head to the right, then to the left, ran a hand through his hair and smiled. The muscles at the corners of his mouth burned from disuse, however he welcomed the burn. It felt nice to stretch and smile. He lifted his arms over his head, stretched, yawned then picked up the candle from the table. As he lifted it up it illuminated the room with a pale, faint glow. He could see the outline of a four-poster bed, a doorway that he assumed led to the lavatory, and a fireplace with unlit logs within it. A writing desk sat beside an alcove with a curtained window. He smiled and looked over at the darkened bed, nodded to himself, then blew out the candle. The room flooded with darkness. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and shuffled carefully towards the bed in the darkness. He felt the wide, tall post of the foot of the bed, touched the soft silk coverlet and pressed his hand against the fluffy mattress beneath.

He wasted no time pulling off his boots. Then, with a lazy sigh, he slid down onto the bed. His body grew heavy and his breathing deepened. Sleep began to swarm across his mind and dampen his thoughts. His fingertips tingled pleasantly and his jaw slackened as he felt sleep overtake him.
The effect was short lived, interrupted by the sensation of something shifting upon the bed beside him. His eyes opened and stared straight ahead in the darkness. He listened closely. A soft, faint breath sounded beside his face and a small hand lightly touched his arm.
Within moments he was off of the bed and across the room. He groped in the darkness for his sword, clumsily unsheathed it and held it out in front of himself. He wasn’t sure what direction he was facing or where the intruder was in correlation to himself so he swept the air with the blade once, then twice before calling out into the darkness.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The covers rustled again. Gunner tightened his grip on his sword and felt the tension returning to his shoulders. The sound of feet walking across the wooden floor caused Gunner to nearly jump out of his skin. Just as he was about to lunge into the darkness and thrash his unseen foe the curtain across the window snapped away, letting the bright afternoon sunlight pour into the room. Gunner squinted against its intense intrusion. He suddenly felt as if he had been transported to a different room. The sunshine had revealed the bedchamber for what it truly was, a grotesque arrangement of over-stuffed chairs, gold plated mirrors, and jewel-encrusted statues. He squinted against the glowing, gaudy décor and glared at the figure that stood in the aura of light from the window.
It was a girl.

He gasped and stared in awe at the little girl who stood in the alcove. She could not have been any older than twelve years old. Her hair was rust-colored and poured over her shoulders in long, thick waves, settling at her waist. Her clothes were green and gold, elaborate and gaudy like the room. She had a dagger clutched tightly in a fist and eyes bright green, narrowed angrily at him.

“Who are you?” Gunner hissed angrily, dropping his sword to the ground. His fear was gone, for how could he fear something so small and lovely as this little child. She didn’t lower her dagger, but held it tighter in her hand.

“Lord Starion,” she said in a voice and tone that contradicted her age, “I am your personal servant. Do you not recall?”

Gunner’s stomach soured. This young girl was a servant to the dark lord? Wicked, and rather disgusting thoughts began to cross his mind. His father fancied small girls? The thought of his father bedding an innocent such as this brought a sickness to his throat. He gagged a little and lifted the sword again, pointing it at the young child.

“Leave this room, your services are no longer needed. Hear me?” His hand began to quiver in anger. Did his father honestly think that he would go to this length to impersonate him?
He watched as the girl’s hand wavered. Her narrowed, angry expression relaxed slightly. He watched, as she seemed to be hurt by his words.

“This will be in your best interest, go now, and speak of this to no one. You are free from your bondage to me,” Gunner said quickly, flailing his sword at her as if to accentuate the point. The girl frowned and lowered her hand with the dagger. She then slid it back beneath a fold of her dress and looked up at the point of Gunner’s sword. Her eyes followed its length up to Gunner’s hand, up his arm, and to his face. She studied him with her crystalline, green eyes for a long moment.

“Wait…” she said softly, her ruddy eyebrows curling in confusion. Then he delicate lips twitched and she smiled. Her smile brightened and her eyes began to glimmer in amusement. Suddenly she started laughing, an unrestrained, genuine sound.

“Hahahahaaaa!!” She wailed happily, throwing her head back as she cackled. Her glossy, reddish hair fell across her shoulders and shook along with her body as she laughed at him.

“What do you find amusement in this? You are free, leave now!” Gunner commanded, his sword still pointed at the little girl. She continued to laugh at him for some time before coughing and stifling her amusement with a hand. Gunner’s patience was wearing thin.

“Girl, who are you, to be laughing at your Lord,” he asked, perplexed. He was amazed that this little girl did not fear him the way that everyone else he had encountered as Lord Starion had.
“I… I’m Agetha,” she stammered between giggles, “and… and you, you must be Gunner. I can’t believe I had forgotten.”

Gunner’s grip tightened on his sword. He stared down at the little girl and ran his father’s instructions through his head. He had mentioned that an Agetha would be reporting to him, but Gunner had assumed that the old woman in his father’s chamber had been the woman in question. He would have never guessed that Agetha would be a child.

“You… are Agetha?” He said, bewildered. His eyes narrowed and he carefully replaced the sword to its sheath. “How can I know you are telling me the truth?”

The girl smirked and began boldly walking toward him. She was very short, at full height only coming head-height to his chest. Her arms and legs were skinny made her seem to be very fragile. How could his father trust in something so small, and seemingly insignificant?

“I know all about you. You are Gunner Starion, only son of Lord Starion, banished at age thirteen to live at the Ruche Monastery, created to be the heir to the throne, however you were deemed unable to rule, so you were sent there. You left the monastery at age twenty to join a mercenary group, where you learned how to be a gun master and master strategist. Your mission now was to be sent here in the place of our Lord Starion in the event that an assassination was to take place. You cannot live without the heartbeat of your father, the man who you were created to be in the exact image of-“

“That’s enough,” Gunner interrupted, waving a hand at her in a plea for her not to continue. “You know enough, I believe you.”

Agetha smiled, seemingly satisfied. “You didn’t expect me to be a little girl, did you?”
“Honestly, no.” Gunner frowned and slumped to a sit on a nearby, fluffy chair, and buried his head in his hands. He was tired, and his sudden burst of adrenaline at a possible intruder was now fading away, leaving him completely exhausted. He heard her bare feet padding across the wooden floor towards him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t worry, Lord Gunner, I will take care of you.”

The statement was absurd. A little girl devoted to taking care of a grown man? He frowned into his hands and shook his head, but she didn’t step away. “Don’t worry, sire, you will do great. Why don’t you rest, and when you wake up, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Need to know?” he looked up from his hands and stared into her now large, shimmering eyes. She smiled and nodded.

“Yes, on how to be a dark lord.”