Summer of Oz: Out
Out
Prompt: Toby’s first day(or night) on parole.
Toby’s first night on parole. This is sad.
It’s brighter on the outside.
Toby hears sounds he hasn’t heard for years, neighbors fighting, Holly laughing.
Holly’s happy to see him, and so is his mother.
Holly’s small arms around his neck felt good, but now he can’t sleep at all.
She’s in her own bed, and his is on the second floor.
The bed is too soft, and it creaks.
He never got rid of that creak; though he promised Gen he’d try.
The bed is too big without her in it.
(Don’t think of a cramped bed with Chris in it)
His mother sold his old house at his behest, but kept the bed.
He wonders why he asked her to do that.
He has no recollection of it.
There’s a picture of him and Gen and Gary and Holly by the bed.
(he doesn’t need a picture to remember Chris’ sly grin after sucking him off)
There’s a book he never finished here.
The brothers Karamazov.
Funny, he read that in prison.
Chris never understood why.
His style was more pulp novels and Playboy.
Fucking white trash con man.
Fucking sexy white trash con man.
He moves restlessly and touches himself.
Maybe he can cry if he comes.
He jerks off quietly, expertly.
He comes and sees Chris’s smile, his body with a sweat-slick sheen on it, his cock in all its glory.
Now he does cry.
Not for his father or Gen or even Gary.
For Chris.
Fucker is in his blood.
Its like Oz is real, and this is a dream.
Toby doesn’t know who he is here.
In Oz he’s crazy, killer, prag, con, lover.
What is he here?
A father and a son?
A widower?
A parolee?
He doesn’t know anymore.
Maybe he never knew, and found himself in Oz.
Prompt: Toby’s first day(or night) on parole.
Toby’s first night on parole. This is sad.
It’s brighter on the outside.
Toby hears sounds he hasn’t heard for years, neighbors fighting, Holly laughing.
Holly’s happy to see him, and so is his mother.
Holly’s small arms around his neck felt good, but now he can’t sleep at all.
She’s in her own bed, and his is on the second floor.
The bed is too soft, and it creaks.
He never got rid of that creak; though he promised Gen he’d try.
The bed is too big without her in it.
(Don’t think of a cramped bed with Chris in it)
His mother sold his old house at his behest, but kept the bed.
He wonders why he asked her to do that.
He has no recollection of it.
There’s a picture of him and Gen and Gary and Holly by the bed.
(he doesn’t need a picture to remember Chris’ sly grin after sucking him off)
There’s a book he never finished here.
The brothers Karamazov.
Funny, he read that in prison.
Chris never understood why.
His style was more pulp novels and Playboy.
Fucking white trash con man.
Fucking sexy white trash con man.
He moves restlessly and touches himself.
Maybe he can cry if he comes.
He jerks off quietly, expertly.
He comes and sees Chris’s smile, his body with a sweat-slick sheen on it, his cock in all its glory.
Now he does cry.
Not for his father or Gen or even Gary.
For Chris.
Fucker is in his blood.
Its like Oz is real, and this is a dream.
Toby doesn’t know who he is here.
In Oz he’s crazy, killer, prag, con, lover.
What is he here?
A father and a son?
A widower?
A parolee?
He doesn’t know anymore.
Maybe he never knew, and found himself in Oz.