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Thread: Mr. Blair.

  1. #1
    HB Forum Owner greedy fly's Avatar
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    I was laying in prone wide awake when the idea came to me. The leakage on the ceiling had evolved into some cookie cutter grin, but the strength of the two dots that were the eyes seemed to be too sincere to mock me.

    I calmly footed from from the tanglehold of my sheets. They seemed more like cold paper than anything else. When my feet aligned with the floorboards, I swore they were warm for once and I felt like I could levitate. I couldn't.

    I found my stainless steel scissors straddled between the liquor and heaped Playboys on my dresser, and turned on the clammy ceiling light. I peeled away my white t-shirt and craned my neck at a sadistic angle to peer into the mirror behind me. My back wasn't some heaving fucking stone henge as were most men's my age. Instead it was dish-pale, and the bones chewed their way through the skin. My shoulderblades twitched in morse code.

    I took the scissors like a dagger in my fist and carved jagged tallymarks deep, deep on either sides of my shoulderblades. There was no blood, no pain; just twin open wounds. I set the scissors aside and scuffed into the square of the bathroom to draw a bath.

    I clogged the drain with some spunkfucked plug that was yellowed at the edges while the warm water leveled up. I can't stress the word "warm" enough. Warm like lukewarm. Like tepid, like falling asleep on your girlfriend's ti--breasts. I crawled in, immersed myself, saturating my incisions like the final touches on paper mache.

    I didn't linger for long--I had to shave. When I got out of the tub I dragged the single-bladed, inferior BiC across my face in a sloppy etch-a-sketch of lines. But for the first time in my life under those circumstances, I didn't bleed. I mowed every peppery spit perfectly and didn't even cringe in the soak of the aftershave.

    I felt an impersonal thrash in sync in both of those gaping holes in my back. It was like a knock on the door when you were just about to come to something fucked up like a movie with Brooke Shields when she was only like, fifteen or something or when you were taking your first guilty hit.

    It came again when I was trying to wipe the hair from my eyes (it was spring, and with every season I desperately needed a trim) but this time it rocketed me forward until my hipblades nicked the sink. I suddenly felt dizzy, my stomach tied up in boyscout knots, and I had to vomit. In that split second while I was contemplating launching myself at the toilet bowl and hugging it wreathe like in my arms--my rickety knees gave out anyway I hit the tile regardless and began to crawl.

    The sudden gunshots of pain splitting the seams of my shoulders made me shriek. This was a woman giving birth; this was a discouraged Tokugawa samurai with his intenstines spilled on the fucking cherry blossoms in gumpink confetti. My face contorted with agony. I howled at my neighrbors who couldn't speak English through the hollow apartment walls to save me -- to call 911. But the wings started to hatch.

    They dawned and broke through my holes, covered in jelly afterbith. The down feathers glistened in grease and blossomed out to their full potential, probably the most caustic erection in my life. I whimpered, I yelped, I watched in cracked awe.

    After rinsing my wings in the cold tubwater (which lapped away at the placenta, but made my feathers sooty) I took the elevator downstairs and nodded at the doorman on the way out. He just gave me the same old smile.

    "Good morning, Mr. Blair," he tittered brightly.

    He was blind. I suspected he individualized every person that lived in the building by the breeze of their scent and the degrees of arrogance in their stride. Maybe I always smelled like the scraps of a barfly.

    Today I grunted a greeting at him with startling enthuisiasm. Just me and my wings. My wing took a brushstroke to his cheek until I doused the glass on the city sidewalk with my calloused feet. They picked up miniature imprints along the way.

    My wings were dexterous; I used them to gauze-wrap around my lower abdomen as to hide my penis from the chill of winter's last gasp. My smile should've been infectious, but passerbys dodged me with fervor and horror sparkplugged in their eyes. Little Latino children burst into tears at first sight. I wrecked cars and made horns blare.

    What the fuck blooms in the spring? Whatever did, I felt like eating it. Daylilies, tulips, azaleas, cottonball clouds. I could eat it all.

    I crossed the street that had become stiff because of my grand entrance and did a Gene Kelly wrap-around an off-duty street lamp.

    People were spelling out a-p-o-c-a-l-y-p-s-e. I just felt like I had a new pair of shoes.

    <font color="#f22735" size="1">[ December 21, 2005 06:08 PM: Message edited by: methadrone ]</font>

  2. #2
    HB Forum Owner greedy fly's Avatar
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    Ignore the yellow belt of caution tape; there's no scene here, nothing to see. Behind the shudders that house termite-showtunes is just another moppy-haired muppet that caresses the television when evangelists take the stage, and whimpers because a condom takes the feeling away! He eats his macaroni and cheese nuclear-orange and storebrand, his tie sometimes interferes. On Thursdays he takes his mother to play Bingo, and he sits there with powdered donuts and a deadbeat buzz circling his head. Someday that's gonna be him. He tells girls he has phone anxiety (because he really does, honest!) so he can never call them back after the first time. When no one's around he plays air guitar, and nicks himself shaving his chest. Hendrix is on his bare-boned wall -- not that he ever listened to him a day in his life, but hey, he wanted to walk around barefoot. He has a vintage record collection, but only to look cool, because he could give two shits about Johnny Cash. He's really just a fan of the King. Then there's that other thing. It's this little trick he plays late at night when he's driving and the windows are down, wind swooning his throat, cock digging into his zipper teeth. But there's nothing to see here, just tape and a cat in a tree.

    <font color="#f22735" size="1">[ December 21, 2005 03:35 PM: Message edited by: methadrone ]</font>

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