Androgynously Poetic
Written by jma and The Red Fatalities
This story is rated R for sexual content, drugs, and possible violence.
Also this story is a YAOI story! Yaoi/ Slash/ m/m, so all you
homophobes..I'd suggest the back button.^_^
Home, Travis thought as he gazed up at the newly acquired house, just as he did everyday upon arriving home from school. His eyes etching every detail of the cottage like house with its peach walls and light brown shutters. He found he still could not believe that it belonged to them-his family and himself. This house that now seemed so much more. It was a house that had become his family's home-as well as his own- in such a short amount of time. This home was a place where they could all start over. A place where they could forget the past pain and abuse and simply be. There would be no grouchy old man to ruin the moment. No shriveled recluse to violate an innocent woman. And most of all, no father to harass mama- which according to mama, made the boy himself (makes it clearer) the man now, the one that Ella came to for help, the one that mama depended on. Unfortunately also the one who seemed to work the hardest. . . for everything.
His chest was bursting with pride at his own newfound use, the boy began walking up the slight hill to the front porch of the house. The boy was so content on the feeling that he didn't even take note of the old rusty orange Ford pickup in the driveway as he walked to and through the door. "Mama! I'm home!" No answer. Shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manor, he moved into the hall intent on putting his things in their proper place. What he saw upon entering the hall was hardly what he had expected, in fact the sight couldn't have been farther from his mind. He had never seen such. . . horror in his entire life.
His mother's bloody corpse sat against the far wall in a sitting position, facing him. Her eyes wide, frozen in death with the terror she had seen in life, just before she was so obviously murdered. Her mouth was agape, her tongue lying limply to the side of her blood covered mouth. The sheer terror in her dead eyes warned him away, only there was something beneath his once alive mother, something that looked all too familiar to the young boy. Hardly realizing just what he was doing, he made his way to stand to the side of his mother's corpse. A silent scream seemed to contort his face as the familiar figure was placed in his mind, Ella, his younger sister of only six years. Both bodies seemed to float in their own pools of blood and fresh entrails.
Travis was at a loss, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He could not believe what his eyes saw. They couldn't be dead! They just couldn't be! This was his dear mama and little Ella! A faint sound forced him to turn his head towards his mother's bedroom. Slowly, with one last forlorn glance at the pair he tentatively made his way to the pack of the house. The door was partially ajar, enough to see a figure sitting upon the bed and a large red stain steadily spreading across his mother's once stark white bed spread. His hand was shaking in unmistakable fear he pushed the door open.
"T-Travis. . . my. . . boy. . ." Travis' eyes grew ever wider as his father gasped and fell across the bed. His lifeless eyes looking up at his son, a small smile across his mouth as he cradled his gaping wrists to his chest. The boy's eyes traveled from those wrists to the blood upon the sheets. . . and the blood covered, gleaming knife lying threateningly to the side of the crimson mess. He stood there forever, or so it seemed, staring at his dead father, the never-ending blood, and the soiled knife. Nothing made sense: the explanation that entered his mind just couldn't be real. Confused and frightened the boy did the only thing he was able to do. He backed up until his back met the door, and releasing a chilling scream of terror he dropped to the floor. With his head in his hands, hands that seemed to subconsciously, yet relentlessly pull at his own hair, he screamed and screamed.
Two hours later the small house was flooded with people: reporters, policeman, investigators. Most were looking about as if they saw this sort of thing everyday, quite a few attempted to speak with the boy huddled against the door, trying to stop him from hurting himself. They eventually went so far as grabbing his hands to stop the boy from ripping anymore of hair from his scalp, regardless that most was already gone. It seemed it was only when an investigator stated the obvious that the boy's head rose, and only when he had once more taken in the room and the bloody bodies of his family that he made a sound. The heart retching scream that escaped the boy's lips forced the members of the room to cover their ears with their palms in an attempt to relieve themselves of the pain of the harsh scream to their eardrums.
It was official . . . Travis' father had come to their new home and murdered his family and then himself. . . Travis was alone and was soon forced to enter a mental institution. . . to 'help' him get over his 'problem.'
Four years later.
One would say that feeling numb constantly is not feeling at all - are they out of their fucking minds? Okay, so I'm a druggie. . . how'd you guess? It's not like it really matters anyway, it's just me; I don't have any bullshit family to whine over me - so fuck it. I'll do what I want when I want - and that includes swallowing and smoking anything that makes me feel better. Well, it's better than the alternative at least, but let's not get in to that at this particular time. . . As you might have guessed I'm not too popular with the whole 'law enforcement' crew, and a bit too much so with everyone else. It seems that everywhere I go I meet an old or new acquaintance and all seem to want me in some way or another. I mean, I know I'm gorgeous, but damn - have some pride people!
I don't know if they realize it or not, but dropping at my feet and following me around is not exactly what I call appealing. Arrogant? Me? Yea, I suppose so. Then again it's kinda hard not to be when you look like me. Well, when you're me period. I suppose some people would even go so far as calling me a whore - but that is so not true. As I said before, I do anything I want, whenever I want. Why should I give up a hot body to save someone else's views on me, when people are gonna think what they want - regardless of what I do. It's an unwritten law or something, and if its not, it should be.
Oh God, only two hours and I have to be back in that bullshit place; I just got to bed for God's sake! I don't know why I'm even wasting my time at school anyways, it's not like I'm actually learning anything; I just go sit in a class and do the same thing over and over. I'm not a genius to be sure, but I am a hell of a lot smarter than they think I am. I guess they think all the drugs have fried my brain-riiiight.
Allow me to let you in on my personal thoughts on drugs. Drugs kill all of our dumb brain cells so that the smart ones don't have any to compete with, savvy? But seriously, I don't see what the big deal is. I mean yea, drugs can be harmful or whatever - but that's only to those dumb asses who overdose or some crap like that. I've never had any real problems with any of it and I've been using them for - how long now? Hmmm, can't quite remember, but for a while.
Now back to me; I suppose instead of talking on and on about all these 'material things' I should at long last tell you what makes me so very arrogant. And what makes most people lust after me - hehehe. I'm about six foot or so, give or take a bit, with bright lime eyes and short golden blond hair. Ah, my hair, I am in love with my hair and my colored tips that I change nearly every day. That's about the only thing I actually spend time on. Back to my body - despite my height I am far from lanky; I'm toned, if you know what I mean, with the whole six pack and formed arms, but as far as bulgingly built - uhm no. Never found that to appealing to me anyways, why would I want the body of someone I wouldn't want to fuck?
If you haven't realized by now I rather like the soft boyish curves and smooth skin of the more feminine male bodies. I mean I'm a seme - were you expecting otherwise? Oh yea, you've probably guessed by now that I'm GAY! Ooo yay a beautiful side effect of birth - blame the Gods! Anyway, a shower is needed and if I don't hurry I'll be later for hell (school) so. . . Alas! Parting is such sweet sorrow! (Note to self: wait until the weekend to take anymore 'X.')
Written by jma and The Red Fatalities
This story is rated R for sexual content, drugs, and possible violence.
Also this story is a YAOI story! Yaoi/ Slash/ m/m, so all you
homophobes..I'd suggest the back button.^_^
Home, Travis thought as he gazed up at the newly acquired house, just as he did everyday upon arriving home from school. His eyes etching every detail of the cottage like house with its peach walls and light brown shutters. He found he still could not believe that it belonged to them-his family and himself. This house that now seemed so much more. It was a house that had become his family's home-as well as his own- in such a short amount of time. This home was a place where they could all start over. A place where they could forget the past pain and abuse and simply be. There would be no grouchy old man to ruin the moment. No shriveled recluse to violate an innocent woman. And most of all, no father to harass mama- which according to mama, made the boy himself (makes it clearer) the man now, the one that Ella came to for help, the one that mama depended on. Unfortunately also the one who seemed to work the hardest. . . for everything.
His chest was bursting with pride at his own newfound use, the boy began walking up the slight hill to the front porch of the house. The boy was so content on the feeling that he didn't even take note of the old rusty orange Ford pickup in the driveway as he walked to and through the door. "Mama! I'm home!" No answer. Shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manor, he moved into the hall intent on putting his things in their proper place. What he saw upon entering the hall was hardly what he had expected, in fact the sight couldn't have been farther from his mind. He had never seen such. . . horror in his entire life.
His mother's bloody corpse sat against the far wall in a sitting position, facing him. Her eyes wide, frozen in death with the terror she had seen in life, just before she was so obviously murdered. Her mouth was agape, her tongue lying limply to the side of her blood covered mouth. The sheer terror in her dead eyes warned him away, only there was something beneath his once alive mother, something that looked all too familiar to the young boy. Hardly realizing just what he was doing, he made his way to stand to the side of his mother's corpse. A silent scream seemed to contort his face as the familiar figure was placed in his mind, Ella, his younger sister of only six years. Both bodies seemed to float in their own pools of blood and fresh entrails.
Travis was at a loss, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He could not believe what his eyes saw. They couldn't be dead! They just couldn't be! This was his dear mama and little Ella! A faint sound forced him to turn his head towards his mother's bedroom. Slowly, with one last forlorn glance at the pair he tentatively made his way to the pack of the house. The door was partially ajar, enough to see a figure sitting upon the bed and a large red stain steadily spreading across his mother's once stark white bed spread. His hand was shaking in unmistakable fear he pushed the door open.
"T-Travis. . . my. . . boy. . ." Travis' eyes grew ever wider as his father gasped and fell across the bed. His lifeless eyes looking up at his son, a small smile across his mouth as he cradled his gaping wrists to his chest. The boy's eyes traveled from those wrists to the blood upon the sheets. . . and the blood covered, gleaming knife lying threateningly to the side of the crimson mess. He stood there forever, or so it seemed, staring at his dead father, the never-ending blood, and the soiled knife. Nothing made sense: the explanation that entered his mind just couldn't be real. Confused and frightened the boy did the only thing he was able to do. He backed up until his back met the door, and releasing a chilling scream of terror he dropped to the floor. With his head in his hands, hands that seemed to subconsciously, yet relentlessly pull at his own hair, he screamed and screamed.
Two hours later the small house was flooded with people: reporters, policeman, investigators. Most were looking about as if they saw this sort of thing everyday, quite a few attempted to speak with the boy huddled against the door, trying to stop him from hurting himself. They eventually went so far as grabbing his hands to stop the boy from ripping anymore of hair from his scalp, regardless that most was already gone. It seemed it was only when an investigator stated the obvious that the boy's head rose, and only when he had once more taken in the room and the bloody bodies of his family that he made a sound. The heart retching scream that escaped the boy's lips forced the members of the room to cover their ears with their palms in an attempt to relieve themselves of the pain of the harsh scream to their eardrums.
It was official . . . Travis' father had come to their new home and murdered his family and then himself. . . Travis was alone and was soon forced to enter a mental institution. . . to 'help' him get over his 'problem.'
Four years later.
One would say that feeling numb constantly is not feeling at all - are they out of their fucking minds? Okay, so I'm a druggie. . . how'd you guess? It's not like it really matters anyway, it's just me; I don't have any bullshit family to whine over me - so fuck it. I'll do what I want when I want - and that includes swallowing and smoking anything that makes me feel better. Well, it's better than the alternative at least, but let's not get in to that at this particular time. . . As you might have guessed I'm not too popular with the whole 'law enforcement' crew, and a bit too much so with everyone else. It seems that everywhere I go I meet an old or new acquaintance and all seem to want me in some way or another. I mean, I know I'm gorgeous, but damn - have some pride people!
I don't know if they realize it or not, but dropping at my feet and following me around is not exactly what I call appealing. Arrogant? Me? Yea, I suppose so. Then again it's kinda hard not to be when you look like me. Well, when you're me period. I suppose some people would even go so far as calling me a whore - but that is so not true. As I said before, I do anything I want, whenever I want. Why should I give up a hot body to save someone else's views on me, when people are gonna think what they want - regardless of what I do. It's an unwritten law or something, and if its not, it should be.
Oh God, only two hours and I have to be back in that bullshit place; I just got to bed for God's sake! I don't know why I'm even wasting my time at school anyways, it's not like I'm actually learning anything; I just go sit in a class and do the same thing over and over. I'm not a genius to be sure, but I am a hell of a lot smarter than they think I am. I guess they think all the drugs have fried my brain-riiiight.
Allow me to let you in on my personal thoughts on drugs. Drugs kill all of our dumb brain cells so that the smart ones don't have any to compete with, savvy? But seriously, I don't see what the big deal is. I mean yea, drugs can be harmful or whatever - but that's only to those dumb asses who overdose or some crap like that. I've never had any real problems with any of it and I've been using them for - how long now? Hmmm, can't quite remember, but for a while.
Now back to me; I suppose instead of talking on and on about all these 'material things' I should at long last tell you what makes me so very arrogant. And what makes most people lust after me - hehehe. I'm about six foot or so, give or take a bit, with bright lime eyes and short golden blond hair. Ah, my hair, I am in love with my hair and my colored tips that I change nearly every day. That's about the only thing I actually spend time on. Back to my body - despite my height I am far from lanky; I'm toned, if you know what I mean, with the whole six pack and formed arms, but as far as bulgingly built - uhm no. Never found that to appealing to me anyways, why would I want the body of someone I wouldn't want to fuck?
If you haven't realized by now I rather like the soft boyish curves and smooth skin of the more feminine male bodies. I mean I'm a seme - were you expecting otherwise? Oh yea, you've probably guessed by now that I'm GAY! Ooo yay a beautiful side effect of birth - blame the Gods! Anyway, a shower is needed and if I don't hurry I'll be later for hell (school) so. . . Alas! Parting is such sweet sorrow! (Note to self: wait until the weekend to take anymore 'X.')