Trees--Part One
Whilst I'm recovering from hand surgery (for carpal tunnel), I was suddenly hit with this idea. Hope you like it. Remember--the usual disclaimers apply--this is FICTION--don't read if m/m disturbs you--don't sue me b/c I'm poorer than dirt, etc... Rated PG for implied m/m.
Trees--Part One
My fucking hand hurts. I’ve been writing for the past two hours and have produced nothing more than meaningless drivel. The new Duran album plays in the background, mocking me with it’s infections poppy-ness. How long has it been since I’ve been capable of producing anything remotely interesting?
I stand up to stretch out and hear and feel the discs in my back crunching--reminding me of exactly how old I really am. The kettle whistles and I stagger into the kitchen to get a cup of vanilla tea in the hopes it will soothe my battered ego. For the millionth time, I wish I were just some regular old bloke with a normal life. The sound of breaking wood makes me scurry over to the window, just in time to see a shadowy figure hit the ground with a loud thud!
“What the bloody hell were you doing in my tree?” I shout. It’s too dark outside for me to clearly see the face of the person lying on my lawn, so I grab the cordless and wave it in the air, screaming “Get off my fucking lawn before I call someone and have you arrested!”
“Are you kidding me?” the figure asks incredulously. “This is my fuckin’ house too, Robin,” he snorts.
I drop the phone to the floor and run to open the glass paned door. “Fancied having a climb, then?” I casually remark. Leave it to him to give me the fright of my life. It’s not as if I’m used to having people climbing about the foliage on a regular basis, after all. He gets to his feet, dusts himself off and gives me a quirky smile.
“Come outside. It’s a beautiful evening and you should enjoy it rather than stay cooped up indoors. Besides,” he snickers, “there’s a tree here with your name on it.” I think I’m going to kill him--as soon as my hand stops throbbing.
Trees--Part One
My fucking hand hurts. I’ve been writing for the past two hours and have produced nothing more than meaningless drivel. The new Duran album plays in the background, mocking me with it’s infections poppy-ness. How long has it been since I’ve been capable of producing anything remotely interesting?
I stand up to stretch out and hear and feel the discs in my back crunching--reminding me of exactly how old I really am. The kettle whistles and I stagger into the kitchen to get a cup of vanilla tea in the hopes it will soothe my battered ego. For the millionth time, I wish I were just some regular old bloke with a normal life. The sound of breaking wood makes me scurry over to the window, just in time to see a shadowy figure hit the ground with a loud thud!
“What the bloody hell were you doing in my tree?” I shout. It’s too dark outside for me to clearly see the face of the person lying on my lawn, so I grab the cordless and wave it in the air, screaming “Get off my fucking lawn before I call someone and have you arrested!”
“Are you kidding me?” the figure asks incredulously. “This is my fuckin’ house too, Robin,” he snorts.
I drop the phone to the floor and run to open the glass paned door. “Fancied having a climb, then?” I casually remark. Leave it to him to give me the fright of my life. It’s not as if I’m used to having people climbing about the foliage on a regular basis, after all. He gets to his feet, dusts himself off and gives me a quirky smile.
“Come outside. It’s a beautiful evening and you should enjoy it rather than stay cooped up indoors. Besides,” he snickers, “there’s a tree here with your name on it.” I think I’m going to kill him--as soon as my hand stops throbbing.