Author's Note: I know, why start another story when you can't even finish the ones you've already got up? Good question... why did I do that? But as I've heard someone say before, I have writer's diarrhea and I can't seem to shake off rather captivating story plots. Agh... I'm not sure how this story will be played out at the moment. I'm playing this by mood and impulse. I'm also not sure how long it will be. I hope you guys can give me direction. Feel free to criticize anything you think needs improvement. I'm looking for some good words to help me write better. So even if it's small, lay it on as thick as you can. Thanks!
There was a strange air about the room that night. He couldn't quite place it, but it seemed that he couldn't make himself comfortable. Not only in position, but also in mindset. There was something always bugging him, constantly confusing him, but the confusion came from not knowing what bugged him. And in that way he found his frustration and unease growing. He felt anxious, like he was expecting something. He hadn't told a friend to call him and, besides, it was close to one in the morning. No one would be awake to call him. He felt like he'd missed something. Most of the time he would be in bed, but tonight he could do nothing to calm the worry he felt so vaguely.

He had no tests coming up, no evaluations, and no important meetings. He didn't even work tomorrow. In fact, tomorrow was a holiday. He had nothing to do tomorrow. Yet the feeling in his gut that suddenly deprived him of his much yearned for sleep was eating away at him, gnawing, feasting.

He sat on the couch, watching nothing, reading nothing, and doing nothing. All he could do was sit. He felt too distracted to watch television or to read. He felt too shaky and nervous to do anything. And his stomach was curled in knots. He could go for a drive, but where to? And was the cost of gas actually worth it? He could walk… but it was getting cold and his winter jacket was at the cleaners in preparation for the upcoming winter. Besides, the cops swarmed the streets just hunting for an innocent late night stroller to pick on. He'd been at the butt end of that stick too many times to risk it again.

He looked across at the phone and closed his eyes, sighing. Why couldn't it just ring? He knew it was supposed to at some point. Something important was going to be told to him through that device. He could feel it. Call it intuition, but this feeling was too strong to just be ignored. Even though sleep evaded him quite skillfully, he laid down anyway and closed his eyes. What good was it to wait up for something that might not come to him until hours from now? He felt as if he should rebel against the captivating feeling and sleep through it.

And eventually he did. He fell into a sleep, not uninterrupted by nightmares, and slept. Through the fog in his mind, quite some time later, he awoke to the sound of a phone ringing. For a moment, he thought of letting it ring, his anxiety from the night before forgotten, but he'd never been one to ignore so he rolled from his couch and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?" he answered groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

"Hello?! HELLO! Aillen? Are you up? Are you up? Is this you? Aillen?"

He immediately found himself awake at the tone of the frantic voice speaking loudly from the other end. "Yes, it's me. What do you want?"

"I've been calling since eight. I've left almost twenty messages I think. Something terrible has happened. I can't even… begin to explain. It's…"

Before the sentence could be finished, he dropped the phone, his breath locked fiercely in his throat as he tried to make sense of what he had just been told. No, he thought, it couldn't have…

And quickly he grabbed his coat and strode blindly to the door, keys fastened in a strong grip, and got into his car.

Strong hospital… room 206 in the intensive care unit. The feeling all last night had been trying to tell him something and suddenly he knew why and what it was.

Author's Note: Oh my gosh... what could this possibly be about? It doesn't even seem to have a premise yet! Well, I'll let you in on a little info then! Call it author's "altruisticity" if you will. What I have in my head is a little story about homosexual incest. A mild love triangle, jealousy, marital abuse, and tragedy. Is this angst? Why yes, yes it is. And through my many vows to write something other than angst... well, you can see how far it got.

To hold interest, here's a slightly longer summary of the story:
Nigel made a friend in the ninth grade named Lukken who was exotic, sexy, and what one would call a 'flamer'. Lukken was a homosexual, proud, and outgoing. Nigel was homosexual, a typical 'closet-case', and shy. When Nigel brings Lukken home to meet his not so identical twin Aillen, it seems like the sparks fly. Only Nigel finds himself not just a little jealous, but extremely jealous, and starts to fabricate lies to make Aillen a little more than hesitant to pursue the handsome Lukken. But why was Nigel jealous? And is he a closet-case? Or is he just severly in love with his not so identical twin brother? And what does this mean for their future?

I'm not sure if that was any good in piquing interest... but I tried I guess. Har har. Next chapter coming soon I hope. ((checks clock)), man I'm hungry.