OPEN ARMS

Lyrics; Fruits Basket theme song. ; w;

2009-05-02T06:12:38Z

E N G L I S H;
I was so happy
When you smiled at me
With a smile that melts away everything
Spring is still far away
And the cold earth is still wet
Was waiting for the day when the first grass sprouts
For instance, even though today is painful
Even if yesterday's wounds are left behind
If I open up the heart that I want to believe in
I can't be born again
But I can change as I go on
Let's Stay Together
Forever.

J A P A N E S E:

Totemo ureshikatta yo.
Kimi ga warai kaketeta.
Subete wo tokasu hohoemi de.
Haru wa mada tookute.
Tsumetai tsuchi no naka de.
Me fuku toki wo matte tanda~
Tatoeba kurushii kyou datoshitemo.
Kinou no kizu wo nokoshite itemo.
Shinjitai kokoro hodoite yukeruto.
Dakedo kabatte wa ikeru kara
Umare kawaru koto wa dekinai yo
Let's Stay Together itsumo.

MORE STORY WIP

2009-04-15T01:06:00Z

EYE FOR AN EYE

Short Story WIP by Melissa Peterson.
Concept "Listen to this song, then write a story inspired by it" By: Cassandra Schaible.

It was a crisp morning, dew had frosted onto grass and the land sparkled as the sun rose. Micah was sitting in his boat on the river, a fishing pole in his hand and a cap on his head. He had always been afraid of the water, ever since he almost drowned when he was a small boy. But now, he was a seasoned old man who had lived a long full life and found a fear of a natural resource to be quite ridiculous. Micah relaxed back in his boat, and kicked his feet up on the tackle box. Not much going on beneath the glassy surface. The sun reflected off the water and warmed Micah’s face, reminding him just how much he loved taking naps in the silence of an autumn morning. He had begun to drift off to sleep when he was jostled awake. Something had slammed into the bottom of his boat; he shot up and looked around quickly. He thanked the heavens his boat hadn’t capsized; it was expensive and hard to find a boat around here that could carry his weight. He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heavy heart thudding behind his ribs. He was so shaken up by the event that he pulled his fishing pole into the boat and readied himself to row off the water. He stood in the boat surveying the surface, when he was thrown from the boat. He hit the surface harshly and it burned his face. He thrashed around in the murky water, feeling sea grass wrapping around his ankles like fingers.

He opened his eyes but to no avail. There was no way he was going to be able to see what slammed into his boat. So, he removed his pocket knife and pulled it open, trying to slice at the sea grass. Out of the corner of his eye in the silence, he saw something floating towards him. The skin on his arms rippled with goose bumps. He recognized the shape, but he didn’t want to think about it. He started to feverishly cut at the water, trying to snag the grass to free his feet. He swore that if that grass let him go he’d never set foot in this water or on the shore ever again. He should have learned his lesson the first time he tried this lake. The shadow cleared and he felt his pant legs folding up, and fingers on his ankles, freeing them. He swam to the surface and thrashed around calling for help. He submerged again, but felt something pushing him to the surface, and helping him into his boat. Now that Micah was back into his boat he was shivering. He could barely feel his hands as he rowed to the dock. Leaving his fishing gear and his tackle box in the boat he ran clumsily down the dock, and into the safety of his cabin. He slammed the door closed behind him and slid down the door, trying to catch his breath. Not realizing at first that the breath was getting to him quite easily.
He could feel his hands again, and he looked to them. His nails weren’t blue, his skin wasn’t spotted and the skin was smooth. He felt along his face. One chin, small nose, and hot damn he had his jaw. He shot up to his feet and he ran up the hall to his bathroom. The face he saw in the mirror would have made him, if he wasn’t such a man, faint. He looked over his face and he laughed like a hysterical person.

If only his wife was still alive, he could show her how attractive he was. He breathed heavily, yelled and did all the things he couldn’t do yesterday. He heard some rustling in the living room, and he fell silent. He crept into his bedroom and grabbed his rifle and made his way back up the hall. He held his breath just enough to keep quiet. His eyes wide and his body ready to shoot at anything that moved. He jumped out of his skin when the clock on his wall chirped like a robin at the stroke of seven. Relieved that he wasn’t a quick shot or he would have let a bullet rip through his cabin and probably through his favorite chair; and inevitably through the television.
The sight that met his eyes this time was not something one normally would celebrate. There was someone sitting in his favorite chair, drinking one of his beers. He moved around the other side of the chair and the thing sitting there made Micah smile. It was a gloriously patterned Lion fish. Barbs sticking into the chair and out through the back. The fish was holding the bottle in a tightly wrapped fin. It put the bottle to its wide lips and took a swig.
Then, to Micah’s surprise, the fish spoke.

“G’day mate. What a sight to see.”

WIP.

2009-04-09T09:45:39Z

BLIND DATE

By: Melissa Peterson.
Concept by: Cassandra Schaible.

Introduction by: Melissa Peterson.
The unexpected events that were carried out by the main character, Paul Jones, led him to a life he lives to regret. Maybe you know how Paul feels. Constantly asking, “How could I let that happen?” You lay there attempting to repress memories, but only getting floods of what ifs, whys, and if onlys.
Paul is no different. He listens to music or watches television, even suffers a car ride during the sunset; choking on the nostalgia like he didn’t chew it right the first time. Feeling detached from a life he thought he had control of.
We hope from his experiences we gather the notion to pick our battles, and to choose our words. And maybe next time to just, “Let it fly.”

Paul listened to his flip-flops slap against his heel as he danced through his kitchen. He was listening to his favorite CD and enjoying the scents of his cooking. He had a date tonight, and through lack of funds and planning skills he decided to just invite his blind date to his place. His dad, who was never really fond of Paul, loved him enough to want him to be happy had set him up with a friend from work.
Paul was fond of older men, but he didn’t want to be dating anyone too much older than him. Being only twenty-five he had a lot of life to live. He didn’t need to be anchored down by lectures of investments and other commitments. What was he worrying about that for? His date, Judas, wouldn’t be there for another hour. Just enough time to shower, and get ready.
Paul was toweling his hair when he heard the door bell ring. He swore underneath his breath and tossed his towel into the hamper, throwing on a small knit black sweater over a light weight white t-shirt, torn blue jeans and he traded his bare feet for his thrift-store flip-flops. He answered the door, flashing a smile and gesturing to take his guests coat.
He hoped he wasn’t blushing; the date his father picked out was wearing an iron pinstriped black button down top. Fashionably casual, seeing as how the rest of his outfit was pretty much the same thing Paul was wearing. The man standing in the door way stood patiently, while Paul hung up his coat.
When the man introduced himself his voice melted Paul to pieces.
“I’m Judas Haynes; you have a really nice place here.” His voice was husky, gruff, seasoned. Paul felt the butterflies in his stomach surge with life. Paul also felt his arms shaking, and he struggled to keep calm. He was so nervous. Judas moved more into the living room, and ran his fingers across the back of Paul’s black leather couch. The television in the corner was switched off, and there was a change of music in the background. Paul always loved the atmosphere the mix of 50’s lounge gave to his apartment. He knew it was a favorite among his usual crowd as well, he hoped it wouldn’t have Judas leaving before anything exciting.
“I love this song; I used to be really good at the piano.” Judas semi-gushed, “Nothing professional or anything, just an after school thing my mom harped on.”
Paul was only half listening, he was watching how Judas moved his lips, how he barely let his tongue past his teeth when he pronounced words. Paul felt a chill and thanked Calvin Klein for loose fit. Judas smirked and he moved past Paul close enough to let him catch the cologne he was wearing. Nothing too special, old spice. How classy. Paul laughed a bit nervously as he explained to Judas that he had to cook, since the restaurant he wanted to go to was always booked.
Judas stood behind Paul, watching him over his shoulder taking in the smell of the sauce Paul was stirring. Paul cleared his throat and pointed with the spoon to the living room. He was half scolding, half flirtingly telling Judas to go make himself at home on the couch. Paul caught himself gloating about his endless channel surfing capability.
A few hours had passed before they realized it, talking about their jobs, and stories about Paul’s father had taken them away from the natural flow of time. Revealing things about each other that Paul couldn’t even tell his shrink. Paul cracked his neck slowly, letting out a soft groan that made Judas stir in his seat. Judas was on his sixth glass of wine, Paul only on his second. He was clearly more comfortable about this whole thing than his guest by now.
“Judas…?” Paul smiled softly. “Would you like to stay the night? The couch pulls out. I don’t think you should be driving.”
Judas agreed sleepily, a smirk on his face. Paul was imagining all sorts of things, while Judas, he hoped was doing the same. But, he would let Judas come to him, he wasn’t too desperate but he needed to know. Judas pushed away from the table and he went over to the couch, which Paul followed behind him. He removed the cushions, and made a pile of them. Judas moved the coffee table, while Paul bent down, pulling the bed out of the couch.
He disappeared down the hall, and then made his way back with some pillows and a blanket. He set the bed fixings on the mattress, then gestured for Judas to make it how he liked it. It didn’t take long for Judas to fall asleep, wrapped up in the blanket still fully clothed. Paul finished washing the dishes, and clicked off the kitchen light as he walked down the hall to his room. He heard Judas cough, and the creak of the bed as he rolled over.
Paul kicked off his flip flops and pulled his sweater off over his head, dropping it to the floor. After kicking off his jeans which had been hiding his black and white heart boxers, he laid down on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling while he grabbed the remote. His finger pressed the power button and was gifted with the soothing air from the fan.
Because of the fan he couldn’t hear Judas walking down the hall, but when he stood in the door way, Paul sat up on his elbows, smirking softly. Judas was sporting a wife beater, loose fitting black boxers and the same grin he had while he was sleeping. Judas walked into Paul’s room and laid down next to him on the king sized bed. He slowly sunk into the downy comforter, looking very peaceful. Judas ran his hand up Paul’s shirt feeling the edges of his abdomen, causing Paul to lean back on the pillows and close his eyes. He loved having his stomach touched.
He opened his eyes just enough to see Judas leaning in, closing them again as Judas pressed his lips to Paul’s. Paul leaned up into the kiss, returning it softly. His velvety experienced tongue slowly moved with Judas’ wide tongue. Their breath mixing together as Judas pulled Paul on top of him. Paul didn’t break the kiss as he felt himself gently grinding his hips to Judas’. They both still being clothed groaned into each other’s mouths. Their fingers intertwining as Paul moved his lips to kiss along Judas’ jaw line, then down the side of his neck. Judas lifted his hips, giving up a low moan.
Paul smirked when he nibbled along the curve of Judas’ ear, and getting a growl in response. Feeling every inch of Judas up against him was convincing Paul he was about to explode. Paul moved down Judas’ body, lifting his shirt and kissing down his stomach to the edge of his boxers. Tugging a bit on the fabric of his boxers and having no trouble what so every undoing the button with his tongue and teeth.

The next morning, Paul groggily woke up with Judas’ arm around his waist. Judas had his toned chest to Paul’s back and his soft breath on Paul’s neck. Paul turned in his arms, and brushed his hand along Judas’ cheek. Smiling softly, knowing Judas might freak out when he realized everything that was going on. They didn’t go past a blow job, Paul wasn’t a slut.
Judas opened his eyes slowly, his arms tightening around Paul to pull him closer. Kissing him even softer and sweeter than he did just a few hours ago. Paul was so relieved that he pressed himself against Judas. They laughed softly, and pressed their foreheads together, Paul smiling, and Judas looking comfortable but still tired.
“You are…incredible.” Judas complimented.
“So are you.” He paused. “Do you…like blueberry or cinnamon better?”
Judas nuzzled the pillow, and Paul watched his naked shoulders tense with the movement. He could feel those poor butterflies in his stomach getting revived again.

omgcapdeadly @ 2009-04-08T13:05:00

2009-04-08T20:06:51Z

P A U L
Chapter One – Thanksgiving Dinner
“Paul? Your father wants you to come to dinner.” The tone in his mother’s voice was as if she had just got done explaining why Paul, her only son couldn’t come to thanksgiving. But to appease the figure head of the family, she decided to call despite her best efforts to avoid it.
“But I don’t want to be around him and his family. I don’t have anything to say to them.”
“Well, honey, that’s just too bad. You know how important it is to save face, especially in your fathers case.”
“You can’t be on my side with this? You’re the only who’s O.K. with my choices.”
“No matter what you do, you will always be my little boy. But if you want to be a woman--.”
“Not a woman, mother. Just…” Paul paused, he didn’t know what he wanted. He bit his lips to fight back frustrating images of his family laughing at him. His stomach turned at the shocked look on their faces when he would eventually relay why he was working three jobs and never had the time to just…sit, or sleep.
“Just? What is it?" His mother sounded concerned. “I love you, Paul. What is on the tip of your tongue?”
Ginger, the love of Paul’s curled up on his lap. Purring as she buried her head underneath her white paws. He loved her because she looked like she was wearing a white scarf, gloves and socks on her orange body. He began to pet her head as he looked out the window, the silence was probably killing Jillian, his mother.
“It’s…” Tears welled up in his hazel eyes. “It’s nothing.” He couldn’t hide the thickness of his voice, due to the knot forming in his throat. “I love you too…” he sighed softly, regretting the words before they left his mouth. “What Is Charlotte wearing? I don’t want to show up in the same thing.”
“Paul! You cut that out!” Jillian laughed excitedly. “I am not sure what your sister is wearing, but I am sure you could call her and find out.”
Paul tightened his grip on the defenseless body of the cell phone in his hand. The sound of the plastic pieces squeezing together helped him decide to let up. He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.
“It seems…” Which what he was about to say was quite the relished lie. “That I have lost her number.” Emphasizing the right words to make it seem like an accident, but he knew his mother could sift through the deepest steaming pile and surface the truth.
“I know that you don’t like talking to her, but you know she—“

“She just tried to steal my thunder!” He yelled unintentionally into the phone. “She had no right to pull my wig off and tear the scarf you made for me. I could have won, and that jealous bitch couldn’t handle it.”
Jillian sighed heavily, anytime his sister was brought up, the memory of the talent show came flooding back in an apocalyptic wave. He was in the middle of his rendition of “Proud” by Heather Small. It was beautiful, his dress that he made himself, and the elegance that he portrayed. Charlotte had always been jealous of him which his mother knew, but she couldn’t do anything to stop Charlotte, wanting to save Paul all the embarrassment she could.
“Paul. I’ll call her for you, and I’ll find out what she is wearing…then I can text you or something.”
“You know how to text now?” He was so bewildered by this fact that he forgot about his sister.
“Yes! I am no longer in the dark!”
They both laughed at each other’s comments and then said their goodbyes and their well wishes. Paul hung up the phone and he tossed Ginger from his lap. He set his phone down as he crouched down, feeling his heel free itself from the soft sole of his flip-flop. His jeans stretching their holes at the knees from the effort of helping him go down so low.
He was looking for his favorite mixed CD that he still had from High school. He exclaimed an
“AH-HAH!” when he grabbed the green jewel case with a print out of Paul, and his best friend on the cover. His friend was the one who had made the CD and hid it in his locker until Paul’s sixteenth birthday, the same year he came out to his friend. Paul smiled brightly, biting his bottom lip in the center as he ran his fingers over the faces on the pictures. It was of them in their Talent Show outfits.
He popped the CD into the case, and used a ring adorning index finger to tap the Power Button, then eject, setting the CD carefully into the machine. Nudging it closed with the palm of his hand, he stood up. The black sweater on his torso slid a bit off his neck and half exposed his shoulder. He closed his eyes and turned the dial to up the volume. Everyone who lived around him respected Paul’s need for loud music.
He slowly rolled his hips, shuffle dancing his way to the kitchen. He was in a good mood listening to his favorite song, the song that ruined the relationship he and his sister had, but made him famous at the school as the token freak.
He sang along, his voice considerably deeper, but no less soulful and heartfelt than Heathers. Pulling what he was going to cook from the fridge. After his cooking experience, he sat down. Using the remote to turn off the CD player in the middle of his favorite Cher song. He turned on the television, and relaxed while watching the news. Tomorrow, he would go shopping for
next Thursday.
--
A few days later Paul found himself at the sale Target was having for the Thanksgiving weekend. The place was packed, but he was glad that he was really the only one looking at the discounted shirts. He liked going to Target because of the music that played over the intercom system. A song he recognized started to play, so despite his self control he normally had, he couldn’t help himself this time.
“I look up to the little bird that glides, across the sky…” Paul sang softly to himself as he shifted through shirts. He grimaced at a particular shirt that would make a blind man gag. He laughed at the image then moved on through the smalls to the extra larges. He was in a Target and he kept checking his phone waiting for the text from his mom. He finally decided to just flip his phone open one more time and just call her.
After a few rings he relieved his shoulder of the task of holding his phone to his ear. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth into the phone he chose his words carefully.
“Did you talk to the beast?” Grinning until he heard his mom sniffle. His heart skipped a beat and he dropped his shoulder, holding his phone a bit tighter. “Are you okay, mom?”
“Charlotte’s not coming.” His mother was barely audible past her sobs. He could hear his father screaming in the background and the other various obscenities mixed in meant trouble.
“Why not!” Paul demanded, he didn’t care for his sister, but she made his mom cry and he hated hearing her. He always felt so helpless when she cried because it made him want to cry too. “Actually, you know what? I am going to pay for some things then I’ll be over.” He looked at his watch, and the face read seven’ o’clock. He’d have to pick up dinner for himself too.
“Mom! Please stop crying!” He felt himself tear up. Not in Target. The only place he didn’t have an ex. “Try to calm Dad down, I’ll be over very soon.”
She didn’t say anything but a garbled mess of sniffles and pleads for him to hurry. He ran to the counter and almost dropped his debit card when he pulled it out of his wallet. He leant down and tapped in his pin then grabbed the red and white bag from the poor cashier that had been looking him over. He scribbled his number and name on a piece of paper and shoved it down the man’s red work shirt, smirking.
“Call me some time, I gotta rescue my mother now though, or I’d flirt with you.”
The man looked so confused and too shocked for words. He just waved then nodded assuring Paul it would happen. Paul laughed with excitement and nervousness that rippled through him as the cool autumn evening struck his sweating face. He ran to his car and hopped into the driver’s seat of his black ford focus, the force of him jostling the car caused the fuzzy dice dangling from the mirror to swing. It had almost hit him in the face but he tossed the bag behind him in such a way that it helped him dodge the kamikaze novelty object.
He waggled a finger at the dice, scolding them for some reason. He turned on the car and the deep voice of Cher ripped through the silence of the cabin, making Paul jump out of his skin. Getting his heart rate back to normal he peeled out of the parking lot. He caught himself at several red lights, and the worst of lines at his favorite drive through. Wendy’s was full of employees who liked to make you happy while slacking at the same time. Damned be the day when he got something from there he didn’t like. He was half choking on a fry as he tried to eat before showing up at his parent’s house.
As he pulled into the car port, he saw his father thrashing around in the living room and his mother a huddled mess on the couch. He could see she was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. What a bitch. He hated Charlotte even more for this. He ran up the flight of stairs and busted into the door, his hair a mess and his jacket fanning out behind him. Everything was in slow motion as he ran up to his Dad, grabbing his Fathers hands.
“CALM DOWN!” Paul bellowed at him. Richard’s face was even more shocked then David, the poor Target employee. Paul could see the tears that had been shed by his father, and he felt his stomach turn to ice. What was going on? What had Charlotte done that had been worth this?
“Paul!” His mother yelled at him, looking shocked too. Her tears had dried, but her face was bright red as if she had been laughing. He looked from his mothers face to his fathers and let go of Richard’s hands in sort of an awkward protest. He sat down on the couch next to his mom. As he handed her a tissue from his pocket, he kept his eyes on his dad.
“Answers. Now.” He demanded. His eyes narrowed and he couldn’t handle the suspense of such an emotional roller coaster.
Richard managed to sit himself down on the laz-e-boy recliner near the television. He slapped his knee, his way of kicking himself, he focused his eyes more sharply on Paul and shook his head. Paul was worried, even more so now that he had been before on the phone. Jillian grabbed Paul’s hand and held it tight. She bit her lip, this was the weirdest he’d ever seen his parents.
“Charlotte said that she didn’t want to be in the company of a faggot.”
Richard got up out of his chair and walked into the den. Paul and Jillian could hear the clinking of ice in glass, then the popping of a lid. The pouring of Gin was like a pin drop in a cave. Paul slid down on the couch and covered his face with his arms. Charlotte, that dumb bitch wasn’t satisfied with his thunder. She wanted every ounce of his pride and self respect. He swore she wanted him dead – but that wouldn’t make her happy. No, nothing would. He whispered to his mom, tears flooding from his eyes. Why did she have to say something like that?
“…What else did she say?”
“That she was going to be spending thanksgiving with a friend from work’s family.”
That was Paul’s cover. So she’s gay now too? This was just wonderful. She really did want the aspects of his life that she couldn’t buy but had to steal. Steal with her manicured nails and her toned, fake tanned arms. She had to scoop it all up like the last bit of ice cream or the last drop of milk. Hoarding it like the selfish whore only Paul could ever truly see her as.
“Great. The Dumb Bitch strikes again, but her new alias is the Thunder Stealing Lesbo!” Paul hysterically jumped from the couch, flailing his arms. Tired of his sisters constant theft. She died that night, for him, even more that she already was. Charlottes birth certificates, her dental records her life all burning up into nothingness. If he saw her he might just tell her she was gaining so much weight he reminded her of Rosie O’ Donnel, or Roseanne Barr. Fat dykes who still had some potential. Unlike his ratty faced sister who all she had to look forward to was sucking down cheap martinis and smoking American eagles.
“I can’t take her shit anymore, mother!” He continued his hysterics. Throwing his arms into the air then, drawing them close to his sides his fingers spread like thorny brambles; to emphasize the look they would have around Charlotte’s neck as he rung it. His eyes wide with anger, an intense fire burning behind his pupils. Jillian jumped up then, and grabbed her sons hands. She pulled him to her as he fell to his knees. Enough was enough, he decided. He pressed his head to his mothers blouse covered stomach. He smothered his face in the clean laundry smell of the fabric. His arms tightened, holding her close to him as she ran her fingers through his hair trying to calm him down.
His father returned to the room, holding the gin in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Richard had a pursed look on his face as he flopped down in his chair. His fathers, among other men who had the pleasure of owning such a chair, one comfort spot he enjoyed almost as much the bed he shared with Jillian. Jillian looked over her shoulder to her husband and nodded towards Paul, who was on his knees crying into his mother’s blouse. What an emotional time this had been.
Jillian helped Paul to his feet, leaning on her tippy-toes to wipe his eyes. She smiled softly at her son, and Richard didn’t look at either of them. Paul could tell, for his mothers sake, that he was fighting back punching Paul or banishing him. Paul was the only of their three children that didn’t give Jillian mini strokes every time they did something.
“…Give the boy some pie, Jillie.” Richard finally spoke. He shifted in his chair enough to grab the remote. Flicking on the television and clicking through the channels until Paul and his mother got the hint to go to the dining room.
Paul sat down at the table, and his mother joined him with a plate with a slice of cinnamon crusted strawberry pie; topped with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. He began eating the pie when he felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and it was a number he didn’t recognize. He hung up, then texted the number.
“Who is this?”
Not even a minuet later the message returned.
“Target David.”
Paul had forgotten about that lapse of sanity, and he felt his shoulders slag a bit. He laughed a bit even. He shook his head and then replied.
“Do you mind, if I call you when I get done here?”
Target David took a little bit to respond.
“Sure. Tell your Mom I said Hi.”
Paul thought this was a silly request but he laughed softly again, smiling. He nodded but realized that David wouldn’t be able to tell of his action so he sent one more message.
“She returns the sentiment.”
“Talk to you later.” Target David will not be forgotten again. He was clear on the agenda. Paul looked to his mothers smiling face.
“Is that a friend from work?” Jillian inquired as she took his plate from him. She was washing the dish in the sink when he answered her. She couldn’t hear his answer over the water so she stood in the door way, drying her hands on a soft looking white towel and asked him to repeat himself.
“Yes mom, he wants me to get home to check my email for tomorrows presentation.”
She looked a bit sad at the thought of him leaving so soon.
“It’s been a busy night for everyone, I think when you get home you should lie down for a little while, then check up on things.”
Paul rested his hands on Jillian’s shoulders, and leaned his head down, placing a soft kiss on his mother’s forehead. Rubbing her shoulders a bit then pulling her into a hug. He listened to her muffled words. She was praying, for his and his sister and brother. Paul hadn’t thought about his brother in a long time. He moved across the world, and owns a law firm in Japan with some of his buddies. Maybe he’d be there for Thanksgiving instead. What a pleasant surprise that would be.
She looked up at him, and she smiled softly, letting herself out of the hug she patted her sons hand.
“You better get going, it’s getting late.” His Father spoke up. “Your mother and I will be fine, in fact…” Richard trailed off a bit as he walked over and put on his coat. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
Paul gulped audibly, and he nodded. A nervous smile slid across his face and he looked down to his mother with a look that meant “HELP ME.” She just laughed and slapped his arm, pushing him in the direction of Richard.
“Drive safely, dear.”
He met his Father on the front porch and that panicky feeling crept its way into his stomach again. He had no idea what his father would say, well that was only half true. He knew what his father wanted to know. But, the way his father would go about asking, might not be the easiest to swallow.
“…Paul, son.” Richard spoke slowly. “Charlotte, was the one we were never proud of. I mean, I’ve never been proud of any of my children.” Richard winced at his own words, that’s not what he was going to say, too much Gin he supposed.
“You know that your mother and I love you, and even though I’m not particularly your number one fan, your mother sure as shit is.” Richard sighed and kicked a rock out of his way. “I talked to her earlier. I met this guy at work who might just…” He slapped his leg, trying to get the words out. “Just be your type.”
Paul felt his lungs fall into his intestines, and his knees give out a bit. He tripped and caught himself on the hood of his car which sent the alarm into a fit of wild mechanical screams. Paul fumbled with his keys, dropping them into the gravel. Crouching to scoop up his keys he decided to just stay down there. He tapped the button, and silenced the alarm. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool surface of the third love of his life. His perfectly working Black Ford Focus, with it’ aligned tires and always new car scent.
“His name is Judas, Judas Haynes, you’ll like him. I set you two up for the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. He’s pretty straight forward so it should be pretty easy to make up your mind, if you are going to bring him or not to dinner on Thursday.” Richard tapped his mouth and thought carefully about the next sentence.
“Give Vincent a call for us, please. Tell him we would like him to be there. And if you’re going to come out to the rest of the family, let us know beforehand so we know to put the nice china away first.”
All Paul could do was nod, he felt sick to his stomach. He needed to just get home. The drive back to his apartment was quiet, Cher couldn’t help him. Not right now.
---

A few days later Paul listened to his flip-flops slap against his heel as he danced through his kitchen. He was listening to his favorite CD and enjoying the scents of his cooking. He had a date tonight, and through lack of funds and planning skills he decided to just invite his blind date to his place. His dad, who was never really fond of Paul, loved him enough to want him to be happy had set him up with a friend from work.
Paul was fond of older men, but he didn’t want to be dating anyone too much older than him. Being only twenty-five he had a lot of life to live. He didn’t need to be anchored down by lectures of investments and other commitments. What was he worrying about that for? His date, Judas, wouldn’t be there for another hour. Just enough time to shower, and get ready.
Paul was toweling his hair when he heard the door bell ring. He swore underneath his breath and tossed his towel into the hamper, throwing on a small knit black sweater over a light weight white t-shirt, torn blue jeans and he traded his bare feet for his thrift-store flip-flops. He answered the door, flashing a smile and gesturing to take his guests coat.
He hoped he wasn’t blushing; the date his father picked out was wearing an iron pinstriped black button down top. Fashionably casual, seeing as how the rest of his outfit was pretty much the same thing Paul was wearing. The man standing in the door way stood patiently, while Paul hung up his coat.
When the man introduced himself his voice melted Paul to pieces.
“I’m Judas Haynes; you have a really nice place here.” His voice was husky, gruff, seasoned. Paul felt the butterflies in his stomach surge with life. Paul also felt his arms shaking, and he struggled to keep calm. He was so nervous. Judas moved more into the living room, and ran his fingers across the back of Paul’s black leather couch. The television in the corner was switched off, and there was a change of music in the background. Paul always loved the atmosphere the mix of 50’s lounge gave to his apartment. He knew it was a favorite among his usual crowd as well, he hoped it wouldn’t have Judas leaving before anything exciting.
“I love this song; I used to be really good at the piano.” Judas semi-gushed, “Nothing professional or anything, just an after school thing my mom harped on.”
Paul was only half listening, he was watching how Judas moved his lips, how he barely let his tongue past his teeth when he pronounced words. Paul felt a chill and thanked Calvin Klein for loose fit. Judas smirked and he moved past Paul close enough to let him catch the cologne he was wearing. Nothing too special, old spice. How classy. Paul laughed a bit nervously as he explained to Judas that he had to cook, since the restaurant he wanted to go to was always booked.
Judas stood behind Paul, watching him over his shoulder taking in the smell of the sauce Paul was stirring. Paul cleared his throat and pointed with the spoon to the living room. He was half scolding telling Judas to go make himself at home on the couch. Paul caught himself gloating about his endless channel surfing capability.
A few hours had passed before they realized it, talking about their jobs, and stories about Paul’s father had taken them away from the natural flow of time. Revealing things about each other that Paul couldn’t even tell his shrink. Paul cracked his neck slowly, letting out a soft groan that made Judas stir in his seat. Judas was on his sixth glass of wine, Paul only on his second. He was clearly more comfortable about this whole thing than his guest by now.
“Judas…?” Paul smiled softly. “Would you like to stay the night? The couch pulls out. I don’t think you should be driving.”
Judas agreed sleepily, a smirk on his face. Paul was imagining all sorts of things, while Judas, he hoped was doing the same. But, he would let Judas come to him, he wasn’t too desperate but he needed to know. Judas pushed away from the table and he went over to the couch, which Paul followed behind him. He removed the cushions, and made a pile of them. Judas moved the coffee table, while Paul bent down, pulling the bed out of the couch.
He disappeared down the hall, and then made his way back with some pillows and a blanket. He set the bed fixings on the mattress, then gestured for Judas to make it how he liked it. It didn’t take long for Judas to fall asleep, wrapped up in the blanket still fully clothed. Paul finished washing the dishes, and clicked off the kitchen light as he walked down the hall to his room. He heard Judas cough, and the creak of the bed as he rolled over.
Paul kicked off his flip flops and pulled his sweater off over his head, dropping it to the floor. After kicking off his jeans which had been hiding his black and white heart boxers, he laid down on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling while he grabbed the remote. His finger pressed the power button and was gifted with the soothing air from the fan.
Because of the fan he couldn’t hear Judas walking down the hall, but when he stood in the door way, Paul sat up on his elbows, smirking softly. Judas was sporting a wife beater, loose fitting black boxers and the same grin he had while he was sleeping. Judas walked into Paul’s room and laid down next to him on the king sized bed. He slowly sunk into the downy comforter, looking very peaceful. Judas ran his hand up Paul’s shirt feeling the edges of his abdomen, causing Paul to lean back on the pillows and close his eyes. He loved having his stomach touched.
He opened his eyes just enough to see Judas leaning in, closing them again as Judas pressed his lips to Paul’s. Paul leaned up into the kiss, returning it softly. His velvety experienced tongue slowly moved with Judas’ wide tongue. Their breath mixing together as Judas pulled Paul on top of him. Paul didn’t break the kiss as he felt himself gently grinding his hips to Judas’. They both still being clothed groaned into each others mouths. Their fingers intertwining as Paul moved his lips to kiss along Judas’ jaw line, then down the side of his neck. Judas lifted his hips, giving up a low moan.
Paul smirked when he nibbled along the curve of Judas’ ear, and getting a growl in response. Feeling every inch of Judas up against him was convincing Paul he was about to explode. Paul moved down Judas’ body, lifting his shirt and kissing down his stomach to the edge of his boxers. Tugging a bit on the fabric of his boxers and having no trouble what so every undoing the button with his tongue and teeth.

The next morning, Paul groggily woke up with Judas’ arm around his waist. Judas had his toned chest to Paul’s back and his soft breath on Paul’s neck. Paul turned in his arms, and brushed his hand along Judas’ cheek. Smiling softly, knowing Judas might freak out when he realized everything that was going on. They didn’t go past a blow job, Paul wasn’t a slut.
Judas opened his eyes slowly, his arms tightening around Paul to pull him closer. Kissing him even softer and sweeter than he did just a few hours ago. Paul was so relieved that he pressed himself against Judas. They laughed softly, and pressed their foreheads together, Paul smiling, and Judas looking comfortable but still tired.
“You are…incredible.” Judas complimented.
“So are you.” He paused. “Do you…like blueberry or cinnamon better?”
Judas nuzzled the pillow, and Paul watched his naked shoulders tense with the movement. He could feel those poor butterflies in his stomach getting revived again.

I wrote a short story.

2009-03-30T20:33:13Z

Casey gave me the idea, the story is from the doppelgangers perspective.

THE UNEXPECTED

You stared at me in the mirror, tonight, John. What a familiar, warm voice.
I listened to you singing to yourself in the shower, I watched you towel off,
and I watched as you stared at me in the mirror. Your eyes look so heavy...tired.
And those circles are atrocious, it looks like someone took their fists to you.
I would comfort you, but I can't touch you yet.
When you pulled down your eye lid I wasn't expecting it, sorry if that frightened you
when I didn't pull my eye lid down to copy you. It's okay, just blame the anti-depressants
and go to sleep. I seep some breath to the clear mirror, and with a manicured nail I inscribe a single word, reassuring and terrifying.

"Soon."

The next morning I watched you change into your work attire, I'm with you when you make your breakfast, and when you reach the end of your coffee, you stared at me in the bottom of your cup.
Our eyes are a beautiful sea water blue, our skin fits our figure, we are fit, we are beautiful.
You are the perfect candidate. You won't have to worry about being alive for much longer, but I still have to wait. I don't want you to see me too quickly, I don't want you to pick up on the surprise.

I am with you at lunch, in the quiet room you see me in the microwave door. My hand presses
against the glass and I look so longing, I don't just want to be with you...around you...I want to be you. You stare at me when you reboot the computer in your office, you see me when you
look at the picture of our beautiful wife. Our beautiful, dead, wife. It was our fault, we drove her to that. She took our kids, and she drove our car and she drank our white wine, and she died.
We attended the funeral, but I was in the floor. My ear pressed to the ground so I could hear your crying. Please don't ever let us cry, we don't need to be sad. Ever.

I breathed against the glass of the rear view mirror in our new car. The new car we bought with the
ten thousand dollar life insurance policy we talked our wife into. It caught interest, and grew and grew in the rotting recesses of our wives bank account and we cashed out good. I pressed my finger to the glass again, two words this time. We're getting stronger, we're slowly moving on.

"Just wait."

You sighed heavily and I felt our heart breaking. She would always ask us to slow down, to move at her pace, but she was dragging us underneath the water and she had to be taught a lesson.
We got her pregnant, twice. She deserved those kids, that pain, she almost died both times.
We forced her into the natural, uninhibited child birth. She hated us, but she got over it.
Weeks have passed, and I am still with you, but I don't follow you in the mirror anymore.
I've moved into your shadow now, so, I am even stronger when it's dark.

I know you can feel my breath on your neck, my nails on your skin. You should get up, and get
us a drink, John. We need something strong, and mature, to help us stop tossing and turning.
Please, please get something. It's been an hour, and we still aren't in bed again, but we are in the bathroom. You turn the water on, and it steams up the bathroom. Our reflection is blurred, and you write, but the reflection doesn't.

"Please, come home."

The three words I've been waiting for. Why do you look so scared, John? Don't you want to
be with our wife? My questions are so trivial now, that I laugh. I laugh our laugh and I will cry our tears. Where are you going? Nothing in the basement can save you. My legs are weak because I haven't had to use them. The atrophy of my growing muscles is painful and we begin to scream
from the pain, the intensity flares so harshly that you fall down the stairs. Another scream as the bloody white of our calve bone meets our eyes. Our sea blue, bruised eyes.

"No more running now."

You scream, but I don't echo you this time. I am crawling down the stairs because you just had to
be stupid and break our fucking leg. My fingers curve and almost break underneath my new found weight, and my skin reflects in a sweaty gleam the white purple clash of lighting flooding in through our living room window. My skin slips against yours as I put pressure on our broken leg.
Well, your broken leg. Mine will heal soon. I press our lips together, and I stare deeply into our eyes. I begin to grow our rain drenched hair, a soft brown color framing my face in a choppy layered style. Our pale, ghostly faces reflecting each other. I breathe in our breath and I press our chests together.

I watch as your eyes roll back into your head, and I can feel our heart beat together. My heart
is beating inside your chest, and I want it back. I press our nails to your chest and I push and push and PUSH my fingers into your skin, past our ribs and I grip MY heart. I can feel our hot blood on our cold sweat drenched skin and I RIP it from your chest and I let your head fall back onto our wood paneled floor and I let you bleed our blood until our last cry scratches its frail way out of our throat. I stand up from your body, our skin a pale blue, the veins engorged on our now graying skin.

I pick you up by hoisting you up at the armpits, pulling us to the basement stairs.
I drop you in a slump on the floor. Your leg broke even more as you caught the bone
on the stairs. It tore the skin more, too bad you're not alive to feel what you did.
But I can feel it, and it fucking stings. It's no longer "we". It's only me now.
I slam the shovel into the wood of our basement floor. It takes me hours to dig a hole deep enough.
I drop you into the hole, you should have done something about me earlier.
I bet you're pretty sorry that you met me. You should have listened to your therapist.
I pour kerosine on your body, and light a match. The flames rise to meet the sun shining down
from the clear sky.

I cover the hole, replace the boards then walk up the steps. It takes me another hour just to clean up all the blood. My leg is no longer broken, thanks for your strength. Thank you for taking
all those pictures giving me your soul. I take a shower to wash off the blood.
I don't do anything to stop the mirror from fogging up.

You're behind the mirror now, John. I see your writing, and the letters are so clean.

"Let me out of here."

I smile, our bright, heart breaking smile.

"No, it's my turn now."

Another Good Day

2009-03-30T05:17:51Z

Went with mom again to take Corey and Kailey over to Coreys so they could go to Alex's.
But, while my mom and I were at Good Will they called to have a ride over to Alxe's.
So...we picked them up, drove them over there and then we came home.

I downloaded Ace Ventura because I don't have my VHS anymore. ):
I also got "Salem's Lot", which I heard was cheesy, but I don't care.

Aaron and I went and saw "The Haunting In Connecticut." That was a super good movie
and I suggest it to anyone who likes a good horror flick.
Before we saw the movie, we ate dinner at the mall, yay for Ivars! <3

We also went to Hot Topic and I bought these cute flip flops:

This dinosaur pin for Corey:

AND A SHIRT WITH THE COMEDIAN ON IT. <333:

We were going to get earrings from Claire's but the mall was closing and I can't decide
under pressure.

After the mall we had some time to kill so we went to Target and bought s'more stuff.

But yeah, my day was pretty busy but I need to clean my room.

I HAD A REALLY GOOD DAY TODAY.

2009-03-29T04:00:35Z

I slept really well last night, despite the journal entry I posted before bed.
Well, last night my moms car battery died, so we had to use Aaron's car for the 45 minuet drive into Tacoma. We went to my mom's friend Judy's retirement home to play a dice game called
"Bunco."

Quick run down of the rules from Wikipedia...lol

"Rules can have house variants. But the standards widely recognized nationwide are: Players alternate turns. A turn consists of rolling 3 dice aiming to obtain the specified number. Players gain one point for each of the specified number. If the player gets three-of-a-kind of the specified number they get twenty-one points. The round stops when a player at the head table obtains twenty-one points. Then the next round starts. There are six rounds. They progress in order from one to six, inclusive. Note who wins each round. Whoever wins the most rounds is the total winner and usually receives a token prize."

During the game, I was going really well. My highest roll, with my team mate, Bobby was 52 points.
Since then everyone was excited to play the game with me. That made me feel really good and comfortable. At the end of the game I ended up with 415 points in total, 1 tie, 11 losses and 10 wins. I got a door prize, which was a little red lunch box and Judy gave me specifically a bag of
Organic White Peach Tea leaves and the bags to make my own tea! It was so much fun and I had such a good time! O.M.G. xD

Before we got to Judy's my mom and I stopped at the coffee stand just down the street.
She bought me a cherry smoothie, and she got herself a mocha which she said was nice because
it wasn't too hot to drink. Then, we got to Judy's after a long ...loooong car ride.
Aaron called and asked what was going on and he and I got into an argument, which lasted the
last fifteen mins of the drive. But, I got introduced to a lot of new people and I was so glad
that my mom asked me to go with her.

And for the boring stuff -

I remade my bed, and am now relaxing. <3

"I Want My Own Dreams."

2009-03-28T10:49:14Z

I have been issuing myself with an exercise in self control.
I have stopped biting my nails, and I haven't chewed them since
last Saturday. They're pretty long already and I don't know where
any nail care product is, even though we have a lot.

I went to Karen's last night (Since it's after midnight now.) I had a good time,
even though I started to fall asleep during the bleach movie.
I got dinner at Burger King and Sam, a friend of Amanda's brought over
Frosties for everyone. The Friday before last, he bought pizza for everyone.
He's pretty cool, I just need to get over how arrogant he can be.

I don't know what's wrong with me lately. It's like, I have all this shit to get
off my chest but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Even if they say
"You won't hurt my feelings." It's utter bullshit. It doesn't matter if the
person doesn't care what people think, and they'd rather have honesty, they're the ones
who take it the hardest.

I hate being mopey and feeling trapped. I want to run around and scream and laugh and do everything and anything and just fucking live my life. But this anxiety is strangling me.
I can't even check the mail anymore without thinking I am going to run into someone that
I have to force a conversation with, but in turn say something so completely off the fucking wall
and awkward that makes me want to just...disappear.

I think If I was a Superhero, I'd want "invisibility" to be my power. That or telepathy -- maybe.

It's Been A While.

2009-03-27T10:11:00Z

Joy reminded me about live journal.
I made a dA version of my current icon so I could use it for the
oekaki, too.
Uh, been pretty creative lately, so I've been drawing a lot.
Nothing fantastic, mostly because they don't really portray how
I really feel.

I am such a baby.

Anyway, going to start working out again tomorrow, shit, I need a shower
my head is killing me and I'm hungry since I didn't really eat anything.
There is some shells and cheese that I could make.

Like I said before, the creative mood has leaked into my cooking too.
I am going to write up some recipes, and post them in case anyone wants
some ideas for chicken, or how to make Apple Pie on the stove.

Bleh Family Guy is on, and I'm tired of this show.
Why don't they show good things on this channel?
I hate that The Mighty Boosh is hitting Adult Swim because it's going
to become Hot-Topic-Popular as soon as it does.

STOP RUINING GOOD TELEVISION, AMERICA.

Goodnight, Simon. 7-9-2007 - 10-2-2008.

2008-10-03T03:22:14Z

I had to go get some groceries to make dinner tonight, and as I pulled up to
the house, Casey's dad was here.
My mom was walking towards the car, covering her mouth and crying.
I got worried and asked her what happened, and she started crying harder
and whimpered out "Simon..."

I got out of the car and took the box from my mom's hand and I walked
toward the body of my cat, lying on the side of the road. I dreaded that
it was really him, hoping and praying in my head that it wasn't him.
Then I moved his head and saw the white spot of fur under neath his chin...
and I just started crying. My sister sat on the side of the road, she was crying
pretty hard too.

I walked back to the house, and grabbed a towel to wrap him up in.
I knelt down and scooped him up into the towel, and I started crying harder
when I felt that he was still soft and still warm. I picked him up, in the box
and felt how warm the box was underneath him.

After we got him back to the house, I got a shovel and dug him up a nice
grave where Hokey, Casey's cat was buried. I was slamming the shovel into the ground, I didn't realize how much effort it took to shovel something
so simple.

So, Goodnight, Simon. July 9th 2007 - October 2nd 2008.