|The Downside Of Humanitarian Work
Author: Garneau PM
As I watched him get beaten to a bloody pulp, my concerns for his health became fears for my own mental stability. Since when did I care about Ryan Williams' well being?Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Adventure - Chapters: 43 - Words: 177,887 - Reviews: 511 - Favs: 264 - Follows: 183 - Updated: 02-24-11 - Published: 12-30-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2758014
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Downside of Humanitarian Work has to my surprise been nominated for a SKoW for Best Sinker.
This is a complete surprise to me and I want to thank who ever nominated me.
I would also love it if you went on the SKoW website and vote for this story!
Thank you all,
I snuggled further down into the depths of sleeping bag trying to deny the fact that I was awake. I could feel the sun's rays glaring through the light material of my tent, piercing ferociously at my eyelids. I groaned in disgust at being woken so early. The day, as predicted was going to be sweltering. Rivulets of sweat raced across my skin creating pools of moisture throughout my pyjamas. Outside the murmurs of Mother Nature stirring crept to my ears.
The warble of the native birds and the rushing neighbouring stream were a vast contrast to the hustle and bustle of the city that I was accustomed to. As I lay focusing my hearing on the movement of other people outside my tent, I became aware of the unmistakable sound of breathing not far from my face. I jerked my eyelids open in horror. Stars inhibited my vision as my eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness of morning light.
The so-called pillow my face was nuzzled into had distinctly human characteristics. I could just make out the fine follicles of hair that dusted the bicep I was resting on. The firmness of my headrest suggested a gym membership. Nice. I concluded I'd either bunked up with a surprisingly masculine female or curled up with Mr November of the fire fighters' annual calendar having just saved me from the ravages of a wild fire. Yeah, you guessed it; I was totally rooting for the former of the two.
The broad and naked expanse of a masculine chest made it clear my second assumption was more accurate.
I guess my shot put throwing technique had to wait until another occasion for tweaking. You could tell how disappointed I was about the situation, considering my lack of participation in any sport.
It was then that I noticed the weight of an arm draped over my hip. Flicking my eyes down to look at the 'offending' limb, I took full advantage of the view. Unlike the more commonly used description of another eating utensil, we lay facing one another, pushed together like butter knives in a cramped kitchen draw. Knifing, to coin a phrase. Sounds a bit too hostile considering its 'fluffy' definition.
Damn. Someone had been working out, and it probably should have been me. The slippery plains of his six-pack winked back at me. Stay focussed, I ordered myself stopping my eyes from wandering down the V muscles gorges of his lower abdomen.
Not bad at all. I was not going complain that I was being 'knifed' against a body like this. However, no one's psyche could be this perfect or unblemished without some sort of deal breaking deformity. This filled me with doubt. There were only two places left for a deformity. There was nothing mutated about the legs that were entwined with my own. I doubted it was on his back, so that only left the face and one other place I was not even going to think about at the moment. I had to look. I could still get myself out of the situation. Maybe.
I could hear the crescendo of building orchestra that rose with gaze of my eyes. The Moment of Truth.
It's a monste- I lie. I couldn't actually see the face. Only the sculpted jaw line and mass of tussled brown hair. I had no view what so ever. I peeled my body away from the enticing arena of the chest. Ignoring the limp form of the arm on my hip, I raised and balanced my weight on my elbows.
I lost all hope of balance and toppled directly into its body.
What the fuck happened last night?