As Gotou unlocked the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of a mad scramble coming from inside the apartment. He rolled his eyes and didn't rush heeling off his work shoes in the genkan and setting them beside Masayoshi's sneakers; there weren't exactly a lot of places for Masayoshi(more) to hide anything in the studio apartment.
A shadow crossed his vision and he looked up to see Masayoshi in the door that separated the tiny kitchen area from the rest of the apartment. "Welcome home, Gotou-san," Masayoshi chirped cheerfully, and there was a smudge of blueish paint on his cheek.
Gotou narrowed his eyes at Masayoshi. "What is it?" he asked, and Masayoshi was the picture of innocence for all of fifteen seconds. "What are you up to, Masayoshi?"
"Nothing! I thought we'd go out for dinner." Masayoshi wasn't about to let him in the main room of the apartment.
"I'm still in my uniform," Gotou said, and pointed at Masayoshi's cheek. "And you have paint on your cheek."
Masayoshi scrubbed his palm over his cheekbone in horror - the wrong one, Gotou noted with amusement, and then he deflated slightly. "I wanted to get it done before you got home," he muttered, shuffling out of the way to show his handiwork.
The table was covered in newspapers, and there was a freshly-painted figurine propped on a paint-splattered stand.
"They're making Samurai Policeman figures now?" Gotou said, and wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"It wasn't RIGHT," Masayoshi said, jabbing at the box on the floor. "The colors were all wrong, it's not like it's complicated! I was fixing it."
Gotou sighed and put his hand on the back of Masayoshi's head, knocking their foreheads together gently. "You're an idiot," he said fondly, and smiled. "Thanks for fixing it."(less)
Shiro hesitated in the threshold of the cabin, a bag of ice under his arm. Lance lay mostly starfished out on the floor, one leg still hanging on the couch, arms thrown above his head. He lolled his head to assess the the threat, and seeing Shiro, let out(more) a long, dramatic sigh.
"I want my coat back," he said. "I'm going back to the sea. It's less wet."
"It's not that bad," Shiro said, stepping over Lance as he carried the ice into the kitchen. "The humidity will break in a few days, it'll be nice for a little while and then we'll get blasted into the ice age."
"How can you live like this? It's miserable." Lance waved just his foot in the air. "I'm sweating so much. Look at this. I started sweating again and all I did was move my foot."
Shiro smiled as he broke open the bag and filled a plastic cup with ice. "You big baby," he said, putting the cup on Lance's forehead and making him squawk at the sudden sensation of cold. He flailed upright, catching the cup of ice in both hands and savoring the feel of it as Shiro pulled his shirt off, moving into the bedroom. "I'm off until Friday," he said, and cocked his head at Lance. "We still have Keith's jeep, want to drive up north and see if we can chase down some cooler weather?"
"Isn't the full moon soon? Like, tomorrow or something." Lance crunched on some ice thoughtfully when Shiro didn't respond. "Ooh, does that mean you'll fuck me in the back of Keith's jeep under the full moon?"
"Pretty sure that was implied," Shiro said, as Lance flung himself to his feet.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's hit the road!"(less)
Gotou leaned his shoulder against the door frame, watching the gentle rain of a mid-October evening. He could hear Masayoshi fussing, the rustle of papers jammed between rental DVDs louder than he realized, and smiled to himself.
(more) The movie had let out an hour ago. When the rain started, Masayoshi had tugged him into a cafe, and they'd sat and had coffee and ... it was /nice/, even if Masayoshi had to pick apart the movie's rather thin plot and complain, extensively, about how this was going to impact The Show Going Forward.
(It was entertaining to needle Masayoshi into a nerdish rage, if only because he was so passionate about it he didn't notice that Gotou was being obtuse on purpose until Gotou was nearly done with his coffee.)
"They were right here," Masayoshi complained, and let out a small huff, folding his arms indignantly after securing the flap of his bag.
"There's a fifth dimensional imp out there who delights in disappearing your gloves," Gotou said, pushing off the door frame. "I ought to own stock in a glove company, with how many pairs I buy you."
Masayoshi wrinkled his nose when he frowned at Gotou, and for a moment Gotou was struck, because that was /cute/. Masayoshi's rebuke died on his lips, and they stared at each other for a moment, caught out unexpectedly. Masayoshi's ears went pink and his expression softened, and Gotou looked away and cleared his throat.
"Anyway," Gotou said firmly. "It's not even that cold out, you don't need your gloves tonight." He didn't startle when Masayoshi put his hand tentatively on Gotou's arm, and didn't jerk away, either, when Masayoshi slid that hand down into Gotou's own.
"No," Masayoshi said, as Gotou linked his fingers with Masayoshi's. "I guess I don't."(less)
Cornialia just wached as caleb her "friend" ran away back to the line to get his dorm number and schedule. she felt violated by those pigs. she hated them and she made a promise to kill them. she walked up the stairs feeling her throbing lips. she saw the(more) number on her paper 666. "excelant." she said as she opend the dorm and picked up the key that was hanging on the wall. it was white she had to fix that. she took out one of her sharpies and started coloring it in when she heard the door open. And there stood her worst night mare a girl dressed in all pink and make up with the worst perfume on ever. she schrunched up her nose and wished she could see caleb again. "hi im jena winn and you are?" she said as she enterd not to hiper good. "i'm cornialia" "oh thats odd but still cool" she held out her hand and as a natural instinct she shook it back. she noticed that Jenas finger nails were not pink but black like hers. Jena went to her bed and opend her suit case not a pink thing in sight thank god! she decided not to unpack her suit case becouse they would just be wearing the uniforms in the closet. she threw her suite case in the closet and looked at jena. she looked back and said "hey do you want to go get some lunch im starving" She hesitated but finaly said ok. she wanted to see caleb so bad she didnt know why either she had just met him. Jena and cornialia were walking side by side on the side walk it being a hot day they both a t-shits on. (less)
We got in line to have our stuff searched I saw Caleb stuff his cell phone on
the side of his pocket. "If you want to keep that you better give
it to me" I said motioning for him to hand it over. He handed it
over an(more)d I stuffed it into the faulty bottom of my suitcase. The
security guard checked me over and was starting to feel me up to see
if I had any weapons or electronics hidden any were. I had a mini
skirt on but he still felt up my legs. He was moving more up and over
my thigh. "There's nothing up there!" I told him. "Oh you'll
be surprised were i found some things." The room was Full of
security guards guarding the exits they looked on like the drooling
pigs they were. He was going slowly there was a mirror for people to
look in but you couldn't see them. I hoped Caleb was watching. Not
because I was perverted because I hoped he would burst in here and
tell them to stop. "Stop!" I screamed he only laughed and went to
the next leg. He was going higher than the thigh this time but he
stopped only to go to my stomach. He went a little higher than my
ribs when he was about to touch my breast Caleb started to pound on
the door. The security guard stopped remembering the mirror. Under
his breath he said oh shit. He said I was free to go without even
checking my bag. I ran out of the room feeling like I had been raped.
Caleb came bursting out the door and I ran to him tears streaming
down my face. I hugged him as tight as I could make up running down
i just don't under stand why you don't want to go to a bording school."
Corniela thought to herself as
she packed under force of not being able to take her best friend
along. Her best friend was a voodoo doll named Kenis he was (more)green
with funky red hair that stood out all over the place. As she packed
everything from combat boots to black candels into her suit case her
mother kept ranting and raving on how it was gonna make her a better
person. The bording school was for delinquits and her mother thought
she needed it. So
what if im goth it dosent mean im a delinquit Corniela thought to herself. Corniala could not get out of going and she new it. "Beep! Beep!"
the car was already hear. She grabbed her bags and since her tuition
to the hell hole was paid off till the end of her high school year
she decided why not and flipped her mom the bird. All the way into
the car she laughed an air cutting laugh.
As she plugged into her ipod filled with heavy metal she saw people line
up for her flight. When she walked up to her flight attend she gave her
a dirty look like Why the hell dose she get a vacation and i dont. So
she gave the same dirty look to her and walked on to the plane. She
sat down next to a young boy around the age of 8. His face diminished
to a scared look as she sat next to him. She rolled her eyes and
pulled out her laptop. She loged on to her chat room and there he
wasnt "Playa137" was logged off. her relativley crapy mood
i walked a mountain side alone for three weeks straight. it was all i could take. my year of the self fell short to selfish insecurity.
the comfort of warm bath water and black reflective surfaces were enough to turn my back to the mountain. i crawled bac(more)k into my cubicle life. i put my hand into my pocket to connect to the instant gratification but instead i found a mountain fern. i never put that mountain fern in my pocket. i tried not to think of how it got there. instead i plucked at its leaves awhile. a pang of guilt and existential crisis stirred in me with each pluck.
“this isn’t how you should live.”
“this isn’t where you should be.”
what a waste of a life.
i buried the mountain fern back at the mountain side. but most nights when I’m asleep i feel it against my palm.
Poor man's dollar is spent before he earns it. Life a cascading array of what he should be doing, could be doing - a better life watched from afar, stranded in a dream-life where no one wants to be. Real life glittering past the window of a fast-moving train(more) with no exits.(less)
He got up off the couch when he heard keys in the lock.
No-one else had keys to his apartment. He wasn't expecting anybody.
(more) His door wasn't locked.
Fact was he came home knowing the compost needed taking out; garbage too. He had indulged in a sit-down - shoes still on. A breather before riding the elevator back down, walking to the bins behind the building, weary because there would be people in the alley ready to sift through his trash.
He didn't usually leave his shoes on once he arrived home. The thought of all the shit he stepped made shoes a violation in his own house. Walking through the city it's all hork, shit, piss, spills. So he sat down for a minute only. Tired but wanting it tidy. The day had already been so long.
First thought was had he ordered food, and the delivery man was being presumptuous. He ordered food lots. Worked weird hours, week days bleeding into Saturdays, clock turning over to show midnight when his colleagues had left long ago, were partway through the sleep that would refresh them in time for the new day that for him was old and forming a crust. New old day.
Second thought (absurd): his mom entering his room, unannounced. Teenagerhood was the last time he had heard the sound of a turning doorknob when he felt himself to be in privacy.
It must be me, coming in. I am just getting home.
He got up off the couch to investigate but his inquiry was halted by the bullet that severed his maxillary artery. He bled out quickly, life leaving him in a hot red rush.
The intruder had expected to find her own home behind the door, and felt justified in her kill. (less)
Today is shit and this is already a fact at 2 am., 4 a.m, 5 - whenever the brain has a hiccup and wakes up, gasping for air the way it happens in sleep lately. Heart feeling too fat. Body breaking down, not that anything can be proven in(more) medical tests.
Wake up and the first thing one feels is exhaustion. Another day of 'no.' Saying 'no' all day until finally it is easier to not. When will it end? That terrible fight, and always giving in. If the fight could be won for one day, all of everything would change for the better. It is the fact of *one more day* that kills, every day.
Another day of wanting to dream while the eyes are still closed to the light. That terrible waking-up time. Yesterday still hurting, and today already breathing down the neck saying 'Open, open, open your eyes.'
A day being born where the jaw is aching for everything it let pass through the gates; stomach taut with nausea - yesterday's hungers still stagnating, like a clogged drain.
Own worst enemy. You dress together, eat together, meet each others eyes in the mirror. You barely know each other. It has come to this.(less)
There was something missing, though I couldn't say what. I was aware, when something needed to be done. But I couldn't make my body move until there was nothing left to do. Waif-like, I wondered through the house at all hours of the night, with no particular goal and(more) no particular reason. Before going out, I spent half an hour convincing myself it was worth it, and another half an hour sitting in one place staring off into space without a thought in my head. 50% of the time after that, I decided it wasn't worth it after all and removed my shoes and coat to slither back into bed.
Back then something was wrong, though I couldn't tell you what. I was tired when I needed to be awake, and anxiously energized when I needed to be asleep. And always there was the fog surrounding my home.
This morning the fog cleared for a while, and I noticed two things in succession. It is the first of October. Last year's Christmas tree is still up.
The fog descended again. I spent a half an hour wondering if it would be worth it to take the tree down, only to put it up in two months. I spent another half an hour staring off into space. Now I've crawled into bed with my shoes still on. (less)
Hidden in the movie were the smallest details that you could only glean time after time after time of watching the same scenes over and over again. It's not until you can mimic the scenes, breathe the performance that it all becomes apparent.
(more) It's in the way the water separates in the glass, where the lips leave the curved edges and leave behind indelible prints. It makes you realize that you leave behind so many things. Memories, finger prints, the touch of lips on glass.
And yet where does it all lead? Do the details come together and coalesce into something tangible or does it all come to this mismatched patchwork of experience where we try to glean some meaning?
It's hard to say. Even harder when the details aren't as readily apparent. All that's left to do is re-watch and re-live and pick it all apart until the patchwork becomes clear.
The sum of experience is the sum of who we are. It stretches beyond the individual, even beyond the collective.
Within that grand, cosmic equation lies hidden beauty. At least that's what I keep telling myself.(less)
His girlfriend slept at last, her pale cheek on his rolled-up sweater. It was not raining. He kept his shell on, cuffs tugged around his hands for added protection against the chill. He wanted a coffee! And Timmie's was just 30 feet away. He couldn't leave her. She had(more) just fallen asleep and God knows she needed it.
Her eyelashes like soot against her thin cheeks. Cold eating through the cardboard mattress.
Meanwhile the morning did the traitorous thing it always did: it changed from indifferent dark, the promise of drowsiness and time stopped. And instead the buses started, the traffic picked up. Heels clicked inches from her face, people hurrying into a world where the two punks on the sidewalk played no part. Dirty clothes and faces, audible alarm bells, visible need.
He'd cleared away the needles they'd accumulated through the long night. He would not leave her side even for coffee.
He felt as much solace looking at her sleeping face as a man waking in a marriage bed. He felt as much need to guard her. Coffee could wait, in light of her sleeping face, inches from the dirt and dirty itself.
The rich in their featherbeds might not understand, although they lived his feelings every day. Junkie, useless, rotten-toothed, lost. Cardboard buffer from the pavement, stolen hospital blankets to hide under. They lived his fierce need to protect, to go on with the farce. To guard the dusk those eyelashes cast on her sleeping cheeks. Her stilled mouth that kissed, that spoke of beauty - that gaped open as the stranglehold fix set in, rendering her senseless.
From then to now he did not understand when life had changed and started bleeding. How their teeth turned grey. Their love grey. Their sidewalks grey and everlastingly cold.(less)
In the news today, a woman testified in court. She spoke about her abuse at the hands of a man. It is the same news as yesterday, and the day before. It was heard a month, two, five months ago.
In the news tomorrow, people threaten her. Peopl(more)e insult her. They don't understand, they don't know. Even people who had their own abuse are mad, because this one has attention when theirs was silenced. Those who believe are few, and most of them say #metoo.
It is the longest trigger that you ever did see. Day after day, memories flood those who didn't have a choice, who didn't have a chance. Who can only speak up now and hope to god that someone listens enough, not for their sake, but for those who inevitably will be abused in the future. Because it never ends.
Women have fear instilled into them from the moment they can understand what fear is. The burden of protection falls on the shoulders of victims. The blame starts a fire that reaches into the future to lick at the heels of women who have not yet been abused but definitely will be. It begs them to burn with hatred, to speak out immediately. To not take no for an answer. After all, their abuser didn't. To be heard.
The news is a trigger. It brings back memories people try to push away, complicated feelings, and nightmares. Those who know, are not silent. They are fighting their nightmare-memories, shouting out, hoping that their struggles can help change the world. Even if just for one woman. For anyone.
They remind us abuse is not a timeline, or a short skirt or a party. They are reminding us. We just have to listen.
"Unasseppable!" he says to his stuffed animals, the piercing octave of anger toddler voice trailing down the stairs into the kitchen. Shit. What have I taught him? Such a tender age to know disapproval but it's hard and fast enough in his tiny brain to pass on to his(more) pink raccoon.
They start out perfect versions of themselves, and we tear them down one "unasseppable" at time until they fit into society. What have we done. What are we doing. Who's fucking unacceptable now?(less)