Human Nature. (when the shit hits the fan)

I.

People fear what is bigger than them, more than anything. It's human nature. Shark, mountain, the ocean; it scares the shit out of them, but for more reasons than your average phobias. See, people don't want be confronted with the fact that, in the grand scheme of things, they're incredibly small. They want to wrap themselves in their lives, friends, family, job, life, building it all up to such great heights, just so they don't have to face the reality; their insignifigance.

Every pretentious aspiring philosopher type likes to think, if he had the chance, he would swim beside a whale. This could, of course be genuine, rather than something he would say swaggeringly over a pint to a girl with nice lips, but even if it was, when faced with the whale, he would tremble. There he'd be, in the salty deep seas, swimming next to the biggest living creature on the earth, and he'd wet himself. He'd ask himself 'Oh, shit, I really am just tiny, nothing, aren't I?'. And the whale, being the magnificent, kindly animal it is would reply (in a deep and wise voice) 'No, no, you're really a very important part of the world as a cohesive whole. You're essential, you see.' The man, quite bewildered by the talking whale (underwater as well), would most likely gape and wet himself again, but if he could manage to make himself coherent, he would probably splutter something like 'What?'. The whale would respond with a hearty, deep-bellied laugh, and swim away, into the distance.

If we're completely honest, though, that's what we'd like the whale to say. If we were going to be realistic, the whale would probably say something to the effect of 'Yes, you really are nothing. Now go and smoke and drink and shag your life away. And tell your friends to stop bloody polluting the sea, you useless fucker.' And he'd also try and aim to hit the man (who would be very confused) with his tail as he swam away.

You see, we're hopeful. We're hopeful that we'll clean up the mess we made with global warming, pollution, the countries we've left in tattered ruins without having to lift a finger. We're hopeful that we'll not get fired for the incident with the photocopier, and that we'll somehow work through the debt thicker than the tumour growing like a seed in the corner of our brain, and that tomorrow will be fine and sunny rather than the forecasted storm and showers.

You see, it's human nature.

*

II.

He watched her, dirty dress gathering at her thighs as she lay against the park bench, the filtered sunlight making fluttering little spots on her body and face. She made a face and squinted as the sun glared into her eyes, and pulled her sunglasses from the top of her head and over her eyes. She snorted when she saw a bird shit on a neat-looking couple on the other side of the park, and raised herself into sitting position. He lit a fag, and continued watching her as she pulled her hair back into a long ponytail at the back of her head, her neck damp with sweat. She noticed his eyes, and her sharp gaze was on him, a cheeky smile on her lips. In a shot, she had leant over and plucked the cigarette from between his lips, jumping from her seat and laughing triumphantly as she galloped away, tossing a glance over a shoulder to see if he had followed.

"Come on, Billy! It's no fun if you don't chase me!" She shouted, and, as if to tempt him, look a long, hard drag from the stolen fag, grinning as she blew it out. Like he needed tempting. He was off the ground in seconds and on her tail, the scent of her so close, so near, and her laugh was gleeful as it was thrown into the air, not at all drowned out by the rushing wind as they ran and they ran (and they ran).

She finally slowed, her breath heavy and hard as he caught her around the waist, and they fell onto the ground, laughing and trying to stop so they could breath. Their breathing went back to normal, and their eyes met, his looking down into hers. She licked her chapped lips, bringing them slowly up to his cheek.

"I dropped your fag." She whispered, her voice husky and tantilizing before she burst into giggles. "Sorry." Her hair had come out in the chase, and a stray curl dropped into her eyes. She went to push it aside, but he stopped her hand, and reached up to caress it, and tuck in behind her ear. She looked so good, her hair spread like a halo on the grass and her eyes so bright, he couldn't take it anymore. He pushed his lips onto her own, hard. She smiled, and kissed him back for a bit, before pushing him off and leaning against a tree to light a cigarette. He lay on the grass, his body pounding painfully for her, and bitterly thought that one day, one day, he wouldn't let her do that, that she wouldn't want to do that. He turned his head to watch her blowing smoke rings, and his mouth began moving before he could stop it.

"Marry me."

She froze a second, but quickly lapsed back into her casual confidence, blowing smoke in his face and answering with a sad smile.

"No."

He was stoic, determined.

"Why not?"

She flicked her fag away, an amused smile on her face as she turned to look into his eyes.

"Because, Will, you're an asshole. And I'm going to marry a nice man, with money and a house. Besides, you know I'd piss you off until you'd kill one of us. I already piss you off enough, and we're not even married." She joked, a smile tugging at her lips. Always a smile.

"Bullshit." He hid his hurt with anger, and squashed a daisy with his boot. She sighed, and sidled close to him.

"Will, look at me." He kept his eyes on his boot, grinding the daisy further into the ground. She put her hands on his face and forced his head to face hers. Gently kissing him, he almost got lost in the feeling of her lips against his, but he wrenched himself away, pushing her to the ground. She looked unsurprised, but her eyes were still comically widened, pleading and questioning.

He started paced in a tight, controlled way, as if on the verge of exploding, a hand occasionally going up to his head to run his fingers through his hair. He turned to her suddenly, eyes ablaze.

"What is this?" His voice was low, gravely, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his melodrama. Instead, she continued watching him, silent and solemn. "What is this to you? I know what it means to me, but you…" The lump in his throat swelled, and he trailed off. When she didn't say anything, he got onto his knees and grabbed her arms, shaking her violently.

"Tell me! Tell me what this means!" He screamed, before his face crumpled, and his eyes began swimming with unshed tears. He buried his face in her lap. "Tell me." He said softly, his voice muffled against the material from her dress. She sighed, and stroked his head.

"Will, I've told you before; this thing between us, it's physical. You're brilliant in the sack, and I like being around you. You're like my mate. My mate who I screw." She smiled wryly at the irony of statement almost dreamily, but it was lost on him. He lifted his head from her lap, his eyes not revealing anything.

"Then what's the point? What's the point of all this if I want you in a way that isn't possible?" He was calm, he was soft. She flopped onto the grass and groaned.

"Jesus, Will, what's happened to you? You used to be fun! We used to have fun. Now you're doing this Danielle Steele routine, again."

"I love you." Calm turned to fierce, soft turned to loud as he straddled her, holding her down by her shoulders so she couldn't move. She made a soft little gasp as he bit at her neck, hard.

"I love you." He repeated into his neck, the feel of her surrounding him.

"That's nice." She sighed, her eyes half-closed, her body lax and tired. His heart leapt, and he circled his arms around her, gathering her in close. She snuggled in, her head fitting perfectly under his chin, every curve perfect for his own. Hope, he realised, was heavy in the equation. Hope that she'd awake with new-found passion and love in her eyes, and that they'd spend the rest of their lives together.

But she would probably roll away from him in her slumber, and yawn obnoxiously when she awoke, and wander home to crash into her unmade bed, and not once, not once think about him, alone and asleep in the park.

Human nature.

Created by Ruby 28.06.09 with some tender lovin'

A/N: So I've found this one night when I couldn't sleep, along with all those crap stories you think are pretty genius when you were writing them. This was the only one where I thought, hey, this isn't too bad so I played around with it a bit. I'm still not entirely pleased with it (the 'human nature' thing runs a bit dry I find, but I didn't really have a decent shot at trying something else, so I'm the one to blame) but I just wanted some opinions (*coughpraise*) on it from a objective not-my-baby point of view.

So yeah. Thoughts?