"Honestly Kent, get out of the house."
The ceiling fan made passes, dashing black shadows into dancing pie slices. He made no response, a small tuft of his hair twirling slightly with the breeze.
His room mate moved with amazing speed, gathering up tossed cans, crumpled poems on old napkins, discarded and yellow socks. Howard Halston. A name like a movie-star, a face made for modeling, a body like a god. Kent continued to gaze apathetically upward, vaguely watching the crawling motion of a black arachnid as it traced those whipping shades of umbra. Howard spoke again, the tension in his voice rising.
"Kent goddamn it, are you just going to waste away there?" His tan and marbel cut skin has an attractive flush of anger. Again Kent ignored him. Which was a mistake, and both men knew it. Quickly, the house when from a droll and quiet cave, to a wrestling wring, Howard launching all 6 feet, and some odd inches of ivy-league god upon the skinny, bird-like recliner. Grunting, wringing at shoulders, sudden sweat and curses popped up out of the fresh college graduates. It was decided in about 2 minutes, victory clear. Howard stared down into the face of his friend, the rage leaving him with a jaunty beauty.
"Alright, fine, get off of me Dick."
"You know I hate being called Dick. I am not a 'Richard' for Chrissakes-"
"Man whatever, get that half-ton of muscle off of me!" Kent pulled like a lean cat out from the Adonis of a man above him. Dusting off a rather dirty v-neck, The one we'll all soon come to know as Scurvy, grabbed up his lightweight jacket off of the pillows he'd been cradled in just a moment before. And out the door he went.
***
The blue circus tent in the sky, occasional dazzled with the blazing, white-hot trapeze artist. A sky he found a solace in when his shoes weren't beneath his legs, but in front of him. It was a little cold outside, summer sun being drained from the cement like blood from the latest midnight snacks. Kent thought of Carmen. A dancer in the dark, like you heard about in all the latest pop songs. Lady Gaga, Riahnna, ladies of this new future sound, they all must have known her. Felt her movie like velvet, and speak like smoke.
Carmen, it wasn't her real name. She was the tattoo artist down in the lower east end. She had bright orange hair, trying to mimic some Bizarre magazine model. He listened to her talk about the new high-heels Dita von Teese had purchased, about how much her 'dermals had cost. Watched her as she penetrated customer after customer with her personal brand of poison. All the clients were her possessions. Branded, and some part of his quiet nature found that alluring. He wasn't sure what had drawn him into the shop. He didn't have a single body alteration, but still, the purple faux-velvet curtains had spoken to him, and in he'd gone.
"Hi there, how's it going Bambi?"
"Oh, um... I thought this was a cafe."
That was how it had started. Carmen called bull, and Kent had nodded like the pitiful guy he was. Then he'd come, voyeur to her many markings. He'd sketch her in every position possible. She grew more terse with him as time went on. Until there was a restraining order.
"Bambi, listen. You're cute, in your own mentally messed up way. But you're creeping me out."
And that was how it had ended. Like all the breath had been drawn out of him never to return.
Dying for Vitamin-C -while still human-
-
Scurvy (DELETED 936)
Re: Dying for Vitamin-C -while still human-
It was cold outside. His shivering made him feel pitiful. Kicked out of his own apartment, sitting in a park on a bench, looking around as though he was meant to be there. If he had had a cigarette tucked into his breast pocket, he would've lit it in a heartbeat. Instead, he rubbed his hands together, trying to avoid the chill running through him.
A owl called out somewhere across the trees. A lonely dog howled heavenward.
His heart longed for Carmen. Her dyed hair, her painted lips. Her gauges hanging like exotic fruit from her ears. He stretched out on the frigid metal bench. Eyes traced familiar stellar patterns through the trees. He thought of a date he'd had when he was in high school. The girl had picked him up from his parents house, and taken him out to a part. They'd laid in the grass, holding hands. She told him about how she'd liked Greek mythology. He'd told her how much he'd liked her. She'd given him his first real kiss. He felt alive. They didn't see each other much after that.
With a sigh, the nostalgia kicked him onto his side. Flesh felt stiff and distant. It was pleasant not to feel a part of his sadness, as though his mind was some distant island surrounded by icy waves. It was probably some ungodly hour by now. Maybe a bar was still open? Funny to think of going to one, because he was flat out broke.
A owl called out somewhere across the trees. A lonely dog howled heavenward.
His heart longed for Carmen. Her dyed hair, her painted lips. Her gauges hanging like exotic fruit from her ears. He stretched out on the frigid metal bench. Eyes traced familiar stellar patterns through the trees. He thought of a date he'd had when he was in high school. The girl had picked him up from his parents house, and taken him out to a part. They'd laid in the grass, holding hands. She told him about how she'd liked Greek mythology. He'd told her how much he'd liked her. She'd given him his first real kiss. He felt alive. They didn't see each other much after that.
With a sigh, the nostalgia kicked him onto his side. Flesh felt stiff and distant. It was pleasant not to feel a part of his sadness, as though his mind was some distant island surrounded by icy waves. It was probably some ungodly hour by now. Maybe a bar was still open? Funny to think of going to one, because he was flat out broke.