Young Writers Society

"I think it's time for me to go," I said. with what emotion?

Angel didn't bother acknowledging me, instead he begain to rummage through the pile pile of what exatly?. I felt the slightest disappointment, a small breath stolen from my lips, wasted on a cloud, lifted into the path of the ceiling fan's blades and, being unable to curve out of the way, sliced in half.

He doesn't care, I told it.

I scooted off of the bed and walked over to one end of the room to retrieve my shirt, then to the other end to pick up my jeans. Angel, having found what he was looking for, began to dress, and I did the same.

He finished first and watched me as I slid into my jeans. I caught his gaze analytical, the smallest smile teasing at the corner of his mouth.

"What?"

"It's just too bad I can't fuck you when you have your clothes on." He winked and my heart came to a brief stop.

For a brief second, I saw the steel in his eyes, the flash of a knife making a tiny cut, then a silver sliver of joy at the drop of blood brought forth, patient with the knowledge that a thousand tiny cuts could kill. I winced involuntarily and tried to concentrate on pulling on my jeans.

"I'm only joking," he added surreptitiously.

I nodded, keeping my eyes down, staring through my hair at his bare feet. I buttoned my jeans. "See you Monday, then?"

He walked over and slung an arm around my shoulder, leading me away.

"Now, Levi, here's the thing. We can't be acting like friends all of sudden, or people are going to suspect. The quarterback hanging out with a--well, we just wouldn't seem right together." We turned out into the hallway, making our way to the kitchen. "It would just make people suspicious. So when we're at school, the only connection we have is that we were partnered for a physics project. Acquaintances."

He stopped me and turned to look me in the eyes. Momentarily mesmerized I was torn to pieces by the sharp green colour of his eyes. "We agree?" he asked.

"Yeah." I could barely whisper.

"Cool," he said, smiling slightly. I was acutely aware of the weight of his hand on my shoulder. We stood in the silence for a moment.

"Is it--"

"Stop asking questions. You're getting on my nerves." He took back his hand and went over to the pantry.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I was just going to ask--"

He turned and silenced me with a glare.

I felt myself blush. He turned away with what looked like an eye roll--the kitchen was just as dim as his bedroom, and he hadn't bothered turning on the lights--saying something about brains and fucking. He walked with that tough-guy swagger, the sort of stride that told you it wasn't a good idea to get in his way. Being on the football team made him more muscular than most--still lean, however--and you could tell just by looking at him that he wouldn't hesitate to use his strength to his advantage.

I remembered a time at school, sophomore year, before I had even talked to him. I never found out what the kid did to piss him off, but while walking home I saw Angel drag him out into the senior parking lot, in between all the cars. A crowd formed. There was the perfunctory swing of an arm in a white t-shirt, perfectly precise as it fell to the ground, up again, down, motion so fluid it was like by the time his arm had pulled all the way back it was already going down. I taken for a second by the beauty of it, the seamless movement of his arm, but then I remembered the effect he was having and realized someone had to help the kid. No one moved, however, and in my head I prayed that one of them would help. And then I considered myself, but my mind told me that by the time I ran over to them the fight--if you could call it that--would have ended.

Across the road, a car began to honk. I looked back for a second, seeing the arm still in its cadenced endlessness, and then continued walking home.

Here he was now, and I realized that the fluidness extended to every part of him, yet still had that kick, like a river of electricity. It was something wild, barely contained in itself, in the tan skin which was like the glossy pelt of a panther, the muscles making their ripple underneath; the green eyes, green like leaves, sharp and predatory, beautiful in their passiveness yet monstrous when hungry; the shredding claws and crushing jaws yet unsheathed.

Curious, then, was the attraction I felt despite my knowledge. Was it what they felt, those helpless animals, right before they were taken into the teeth of their hunters, astonishment at the beauty that would take away their lives, possibly allurement--because I wanted to kiss him.

Even in my haze, I wasn't completely lost. I realized that he probably didn't even like me. But my attraction to him--it was as though when he had melted me, the phase change was somehow chemical in nature, changing composition, altering it, making me receptive to his electromagnetism, no copper cords necessary. Before, of course, I had been able to see his beauty. Now it was as though it was a bright light in my eyes, an infinite flash of lightning, the symmetry of his face, the sharp softness, like a blurred line, there and not; kind once and hard next, smiling and scowling--at me, at me--full lips, filled with a pink glow, long feather lashes that had brushed my innocence off my cheek, hair just long enough to run your fingers through, not as long as mine, straight and black.

When his lips had pressed against mine, I had tasted his lust. I wanted something more, though. Because once he had gotten off my shirt, I kissed him to kiss him, just that, to kiss a boy, and he stopped me to rid us of what was left of our clothes. But I could be nice to him, kind, and maybe one day he would let me kiss him just to kiss him. Maybe, one day, we could go away together, somewhere far, far away, where I was enough for him like he was more than enough for me.

And I imagined a future where my poor kisses and small courtesies were enough to make him love me.

I taken for a second by the beauty of it,

"I think it's time for me to go," I said.

I tried something different this time, but I think it came out very similarly to the previous chapters (in a bad way). A certain metaphor is KILLING me right now, but there's nothing to be done, because as I'm writing this there are only eight more minutes to post. Oh well. I had to write it especially quickly this time, which is why it's so short. Looks like chapter two will have a third installment.

Here he was now, and I realized that the fluidness extended to every part of him, yet still had that kick, like a river of electricity. It was something wild, barely contained in itself, in the tan skin which was like the glossy pelt of a panther, the muscles making their ripple underneath; the green eyes, green like leaves, sharp and predatory, beautiful in their passiveness yet monstrous when hungry; the shredding claws and crushing jaws yet unsheathed.

Curious, then, was the attraction I felt despite my knowledge. Was it what they felt, those helpless animals, right before they were taken into the teeth of their hunters, astonishment at the beauty that would take away their lives, possibly allurement--because I wanted to kiss him.

Even in my haze, I wasn't completely lost. I realized that he probably didn't even like me. But my attraction to him--it was as though when he had melted me, the phase change was somehow chemical in nature, changing composition, altering it, making me receptive to his electromagnetism, no copper cords necessary. Before, of course, I had been able to see his beauty. Now it was as though it was a bright light in my eyes, an infinite flash of lightning, the symmetry of his face, the sharp softness, like a blurred line, there and not; kind once and hard next, smiling and scowling--at me, at me--full lips, filled with a pink glow, long feather lashes that had brushed my innocence off my cheek, hair just long enough to run your fingers through, not as long as mine, straight and black.

When his lips had pressed against mine, I had tasted his lust. I wanted something more, though. Because once he had gotten off my shirt, I kissed him to kiss him, just that, to kiss a boy, and he stopped me to rid us of what was left of our clothes. But I could be nice to him, kind, and maybe one day he would let me kiss him just to kiss him. Maybe, one day, we could go away together, somewhere far, far away, where I was enough for him like he was more than enough for me.

And I imagined a future where my poor kisses and small courtesies were enough to make him love me.

"I'm only joking," he added surreptitiously.

seeing the arm still in its cadenced endlessness

I was taken for a second by the beauty of it,