He called me pretty boy when I first came here. Now he calls me trash, if he calls me anything at all.
"Hey trash, pick this up for me."
It didn't even start out as a joke, as if he'd been saying it all along. It didn't bustle merrily across stage, as if it had been sitting in the wings, waiting for its inevitable appearance. It was thrown, like a heckler's open disdain.
Pretty boy became someone else, belonged to someone else.
What was I supposed to think of that? Some bastard boy with more hair on his legs than his face was the same bastard boy I had once been to someone else, when I'd first appeared on the scene.
I had tried to ignore the signs; he had definitely seen them, and acted swiftly, ensuring he wouldn't have to go too long without a fix of flesh.
Just like I'd been tender, and the first pain had been tender, here was an ache that carried still that tenderness - it was a killing ache, but one devoid of love as the ones before it had not.
Now here in my place was another soft, sweet tender ache for him. The hardening that could only happen was not the one I wanted; my heart was not an organ I wanted firm, thickened, spilled, but handled - yes, oh please -
But now, having once let him in by the hairs on my chin(ny chin chin), I had grown a pelt that caressed me in his stead. No longer was I pork, but only potential predator. Possible competition. No longer prey, but another big bad wolf.
And here I look up at him, but I daren't speak; how can I when it is with a voice that neither of us care for? He has placed a suitcase down, and nudges it with his foot.
"Pick it up," he says. What can I say about his voice that isn't different from his face? He is ice, as far as I am concerned.
"It's got your stuff in it."
"It's been a long time," I attempt. My voice splits between syllables.
He catches my eyes: if he has a soul it is kept behind eyes that are made of frosted window-panes.
Ironically, he holds his arms open. I go toward him with brief hesitation, and he folds me into him.
"You're just my height now," he whispers.
"Just your height," I repeat. It is a stabbing thought as I realise that this is never what he wanted - no amount of hugging, kissing or sentiment can make me worth anything to him now. I am glad he had the best years of my life; it is right that at least one of us had them.
His grip suddenly becomes tight and constrictive. It isn't anything new, but it's not something I had expected now. He growls into the cup of my ear: "Remember, even now, if you ever tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you - you're dead."
Then he's soft again, and smiling, and I am released from him. He taps the waiting case with his foot again, and only when I've picked it up and turned to the door do I hear his - retreating isn't the right word; receding would be more apt - footsteps as he goes back upstairs. I don't think to what - to whom. All I can comprehend is that it is innocence he is interested in, and the age that encompasses it; what does flesh mean to someone who steals entire lives whole?
But it's what I have left. Flesh. Flesh and little else.
I hear a squeal as I close the door, but I know that it's not the one in need of oiling.
There is no satisfying closing line for a deviation such as this.
EDIT: Holy fuck, a deviation. Holy God. Goddamn. A DD. Bloody Hell. Thank you thank you thank you to for suggesting and for featuring, and a big thank you to all who favourite and comment (I'll be sure to try and give a llama to all who favourite, and to respond to all who comment! <3).
2nd EDIT:: I do read all comments, but all of my replies (for most of my deviations) tend to be along the lines of 'my (many) thanks... etc' and I feel a bit of a cop-out if it just seems if I'm saying the same thing to everyone; but please be assured that I read all of them, and I am grateful (gushingly grateful) to every single one, and to every person!
You present a look into the soul that at some point we all grasp but can never explain. you've done splendidly in allowing your characters to speak for themselves with no names to cast them. We're allowed to imagine them as we need to align our ideals and experiences with it. You've taken the big bad wolf story and transformed it into a biting, strong narrative in which the main character goes through a chrysalis of rejection and comes out aware, but still victim to the wants and companionship that human nature demands of us. It was brilliant. The narrator swallows pain to cope for need. I love it.
A very powerful piece. Somewhat of a "taboo" subject outside narrow niches of interest, but you have breached it with intellect and strength of character, confronting every issue within the boundaries of the plot and ensuring that nothing is left untouched.
The bad must come with the good, though, for without it we cannot grow as artists. In its simplest form, my only criticism is that your piece is too wordy. Your phrasing and syntax is imaginative, but you delve too deeply into structure - taking too many words to suggest ideas that would only need a singe clause to bring across.
Aside from that one criticism, your work is a fantastic read. Your figures of speech are appropriate and creative, your vision and flair pushing beyond the parameters of mediocrity into the realms of true art.
I've got quite an infatuation with Stockholm Syndrome and the psyche of the people who are affected; do they ever feel trapped, do you think, or does it feel just the same as love does? I think it's due to my internal feelings of helpless devotion, or rather, of being so devoted that you enjoy being that helpless toward another person, or people. It's either a grand statement of trust, or of complete foolishness, perhaps.
In this case, I think the attachment is a coping device; if the protagonist has convinced himself that he loves his abuser, than he can probably tell himself that he allowed himself to be (ab)used, and keep a sense of false control. Then again, if (and I might write a sequel to this, as it were) he discovers that, abuse or not, he really did love his abuser, I wonder how he'd deal with that in turn.
away time is back
:D! This time I've
got 1500pts to give
away c:The last
giveaway was really
well received so I'm
doing another! After
the way the last one
panned out, one
thing I would like
to remind you guys
of is to PLEASE
PLEASE follow the
guidelines so you
can be properly...
Guess what guys! I'm
reopening my stores
(Etsy and Storenvy)
and commissions, I
can finally announce
that I'm getting
married and I need
to save as much as
possible for the big
day, July 27th.
before anyone asks,
the wedding is not
been planning it for
a long time...
weeks theme of
Even though summer
is imminent, you
often find yourself
on your couch,
watching Honey Boo
Boo, thinking; "I'm
rather chilly o_o.
OMG I'M CHILLY." .
would rather blast
the air conditioning
and bundle up then
turn it down and
rely on the earth to
`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More