Texas is fun, thinks Ellis, waiting to see if the red-faced man gonna swing.
“Fuck you, faggot,” the man snarls, his buddies watching.
Ellis smiles. “Why honey, ah thought you'd nevah ask. Your place, then?”
Red face turns purple. Man swings.
He sidesteps in his smart little patent-leather boots, raises an exaggeratedly limp wrist to swat the punch away. The trio of good ol' boys decide to rush him-- this slight middle-aged man who's been mincing at them all night, this damned sissy with his lisp and lemon yellow cravat.
"superstition"deadwhitemaleJune 19 2010, 09:29:21 UTC
Listen, cher-- never put out the little red spark that clings on the wick of a blown-out candle: while it burns, some soul in Limbo enjoys rest from torment.
Mama said him that when he jest little boy. He slept with her on nights she got no man, and she let him blow out the candle.
Mama dies, boy goes where he gotta wear shoes, read books, sit straight. Confess bein' bad in chapel.
When her candle goes out, he breathes on it to keep the spark flared, counting how many seconds of peace he gives his mama the whore.
Ranulf Haas - #79 - Run (Author's Choice) (41/100)gunpowderwolfJune 19 2010, 23:06:47 UTC
Most people would run away from a 23-foot walking column of fire. Ranulf had never claimed to be most people, and indeed, he found himself running towards it.
His fingertips had elongated into claws, his teeth too large and sharp for his jaw, bloody drool wetting his chin. He snarled as ran, laughing like a madman, his green army uniform stripped to the waist.
He could feel his heart growing larger, his lungs stretching as he pushed his body to the limit. The moon was close, but his target was closer, and Ranulf welcomed the burn as he embraced hell.
Ranulf Haas - #47 - A Summer Sport (42/100)gunpowderwolfJune 19 2010, 23:08:39 UTC
Ranulf stared at the television, slack jawed, eyes wide. There was no way. Not…not Serbia.
“Well…” Etienne cleared his throat, glancing up at his uncle, somewhat gingerly. Geoffrey had already left the room, and there was the distinct sound of pavement being punched outside. “That was…”
“Embarrassing,” Ranulf answered for him, resisting the urge to put his fist through the television screen.
Etienne nodded, looking towards the door, considering his escape route before answering once again.
“At least it won’t be quite as embarrassing if we lose to Ghana.”
Ranulf turned, and his eyes glowed yellow. Etienne grinned, and ran.
Ranulf haas - #41 - Run In With The Neighbours (46/100)gunpowderwolfJune 19 2010, 23:09:24 UTC
“Let me take it…” Ranulf hissed, his legs tight with anticipation. The heavy hand of his adopted father laid on his shoulder, firm and unyielding.
“No,” Ghislain growled, leaning down, his mouth close to Ranulf’s ear. “Not yet. You have to wait.”
Ranulf rolled his eyes, teeth grinding, jaw aching. He watched the rabbit closely, nostrils flaring, lupine senses going into overload. He jerked forward, snapping a twig beneath his feet, and then yelled in exasperation as the rabbit tore away into the woods.
Ghislain snapped his bony hand against the back of Ranulf’s head, sighing and turning away.
It had taken too long to get to this point. Two wars, three continents, dozens of countries. Decades had passed, and only now was Ranulf finding how low his despair could take him.
He sat in the only chair he had bothered to bring with him, staring at the fireplace, the only source of light in the small cabin. Amon nuzzled his hand, whining softly, but Ranulf remained unresponsive.
The bottle of whiskey in his hand was bone dry, but by morning it would be shattered against the wall. Ranulf had let himself become a broken man, isolated, and alone.
Comments 20
“Fuck you, faggot,” the man snarls, his buddies watching.
Ellis smiles. “Why honey, ah thought you'd nevah ask. Your place, then?”
Red face turns purple. Man swings.
He sidesteps in his smart little patent-leather boots, raises an exaggeratedly limp wrist to swat the punch away. The trio of good ol' boys decide to rush him-- this slight middle-aged man who's been mincing at them all night, this damned sissy with his lisp and lemon yellow cravat.
Yessir, Texas's fun. So's camp, on rare occasion.
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Mama said him that when he jest little boy. He slept with her on nights she got no man, and she let him blow out the candle.
Mama dies, boy goes where he gotta wear shoes, read books, sit straight. Confess bein' bad in chapel.
When her candle goes out, he breathes on it to keep the spark flared, counting how many seconds of peace he gives his mama the whore.
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Val ducks his head down. "Just a thing," he mumbles. "They needed new instruments."
Professor Chester's hand stays on his shoulder. "Not everyone could do that..."
"I had the means, that's all..."
"Not everyone with the means would do that, Valentine."
He looks up then, gives a shy nod of acknowledgment to that as fact.
"You gave them an opportunity they lacked before."
"...they gave me one, too," Val says. He's learned so much from them.
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His fingertips had elongated into claws, his teeth too large and sharp for his jaw, bloody drool wetting his chin. He snarled as ran, laughing like a madman, his green army uniform stripped to the waist.
He could feel his heart growing larger, his lungs stretching as he pushed his body to the limit. The moon was close, but his target was closer, and Ranulf welcomed the burn as he embraced hell.
Reply
“Well…” Etienne cleared his throat, glancing up at his uncle, somewhat gingerly. Geoffrey had already left the room, and there was the distinct sound of pavement being punched outside. “That was…”
“Embarrassing,” Ranulf answered for him, resisting the urge to put his fist through the television screen.
Etienne nodded, looking towards the door, considering his escape route before answering once again.
“At least it won’t be quite as embarrassing if we lose to Ghana.”
Ranulf turned, and his eyes glowed yellow. Etienne grinned, and ran.
Reply
“No,” Ghislain growled, leaning down, his mouth close to Ranulf’s ear. “Not yet. You have to wait.”
Ranulf rolled his eyes, teeth grinding, jaw aching. He watched the rabbit closely, nostrils flaring, lupine senses going into overload. He jerked forward, snapping a twig beneath his feet, and then yelled in exasperation as the rabbit tore away into the woods.
Ghislain snapped his bony hand against the back of Ranulf’s head, sighing and turning away.
“Idiot.”
Reply
He sat in the only chair he had bothered to bring with him, staring at the fireplace, the only source of light in the small cabin. Amon nuzzled his hand, whining softly, but Ranulf remained unresponsive.
The bottle of whiskey in his hand was bone dry, but by morning it would be shattered against the wall. Ranulf had let himself become a broken man, isolated, and alone.
Reply
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