Title:
Keyword: Hand
For: Tommush

Let it be known by my dear and wholesome readers that at the time these events took place, I was busy.

You see, as a sixteen (going on seventeen, count them: seven days) my hand and I have some very rigorously scheduled appointments with our buddies turf burn and computer screen. You see, I figured my mom had learned to leave me alone when I lock myself up in my room right after school. When that happens I’m either engaging in activities she doesn’t need to know about, or doing things she doesn’t understand. It’s just one of those unspoken realities.

Today however she must interject. Today I hear my name a good two minutes in and I am displeased. My ignoring results in more of the worst, so I head downstairs after careful rearranging myself.

I stare at my mother who is at the foot of the stairs with the girl I was thinking about while yanking feverishly at myself. She is short and cute in the face with boobs that make morning grapefruit look tiny, and an ass carve from marble handed to the fingers of genetics by none other then Apollo. Her complexion is milky and freshly airbrushed, her hand teased – nay, convinced – inter a flattering ‘down’ thing, flowing over her shoulders to her wonderfully curved back till about halfway down. It’s dark and inky in contrast to her eyes witch are a strange shade of mossy green with flecks of what I swear to god is red. Its like a bloody grassland in her head, all of the hearts she must’ve torn out on the battlefield of love.

Oh fuck yes, I would tap that. I would get myself raw and come back for more (fifteen minutes and a glass of water later). Women are the only thing I care about and sh- wait. Why the fuck is she in my house?

“Jade says you’re studying together. You didn’t tell me you had a math test.” My mom smiles.

Math test? Is this sad excuse for a maternal figure even aware I don’t have math this semester? Can she comprehend this lie? Even if she does, is she going along with it because she knows Jade is out of my league, and is rubbing it in my face?

I nod silent and nod for Jade to follow me. My mother tells us to leave the door open.

I don’t.

“What she-demon business have you brought to my doorstep?” I am angry, my genitals ache.

“None, why? I just need to talk to you.” Innocent smile. God, she’s sexy.

“I was busy.” I glance nervously at the computer. Screensaver. I’ll kiss it later.

“I need to exchange a few favours.” Blow me.

No, really.

“I was thinking we could talk things over and stuff.”

Watching her mouth move makes me dizzy. I sit and try to look uncaring.

“My friend see, she likes your friend.”

Done. “Fuck this.” Fuck me. “You found out where I lived.” No, really. “All in the name of bothering me.” Please? “Oh Lisa and Brian.” I give up.

The dream couple, generic Lisa and bad boy Brian. They really should get over themselves and date or SOME shit shouldn’t they. Ugh. Fuck my life. Or my cock. Jade can take the cock.

Once in a place far from this one, long after your death and the death of your children and theirs, humans spread like wildfire. These humans flooded every corner of their world. These humans poisoned their air and polluted their minds and bodies. These humans were like children. With no foresight or hindsight they plunged forward into their own demise, satisfying only their needs of the moment and not their needs far from where they were. These humans caused suffering in their own kind. They caused pain in their friends and family. They fought against their fellows. Wars raged on, many at times and few at others. Weapons were everywhere. Every person could smell death.

Machines where made to help in fights and to keep the lives of those in power comfortable and easy, without regard for those in pain. Slowly their precious terra disintegrated.

When the humans branched out into space, as was bound to happen, things got messy. Humans branched off. The flood spread. Terra became a desolate place, and other planets where made fit for those in power. Armies where constructed by force for new rulers. Factions emerged and trends raged.

The hunt for the oracle began.

1

“I am Mindi!” Cried Oracle, angry with her new title.

“No, Oracle is what you are, now and forever.” Said her mother, quietly and slowly.

,.-~*´¨¯¨`*·~-.¸-(_B L Å € K M Å G P Ï £_)-,.-~*´¨¯¨`*·~-.¸


Without love your soul will die.

Once upon a car ride, my father spoke in hushed tones. He spoke to my cousin, and everyone was sleepy. Once upon a car ride, trucks were whizzing by. I had nothing left to say, worry, or cry about.

What was there left to say, really? In the confined quarters of a silver Camry there wasn’t very much. I knew the car, knew its smell, knew the contrast of my dark skin to the pale grey fabric lining the inside. I know the voice of my father, speaking in hushed tones, and the voice of my cousin who could never keep it down.

I knew my feeling, or perhaps I didn’t. I wasn’t sure. I remembered feelings distantly now. I could barely remember what had happened.

To this day, I don’t remember if we stopped at all. To eat, pee, or stretch our legs. I remember the long stretch of 401 and the air the must’ve been cold outside because it made the glass of my window cool. It wasn’t snowy or happy in any way. It was grey and concrete and sleepless. I don’t know if there was music.

I knew (and know), however, what was in the Camry’s trunk. I know still the few things I kept. Some pants, shirts, the shoes on my feet. Nothing else but a few books. I left everything with my friends. Anything they had expressed mild interest in was made to go to them, sent to them as a present for not leaving me forever like everyone else had.

The books I hadn’t taken went to Rebecca. I called her Becca-boo, because one of our dogs had been nicknamed that, and she liked to read. I had a lot of fantasy. She liked fantasy. The books went to her.

The strange eagle statue, a few other artistic things, all went to Amanda Bird. We called her birdie, and she liked all that stuff.

My china dolls, stuffed things, and the swans that tinkled and spun light through mirrors all went to Kate. She saved me.

And I had my shoes and a change of pants. Myself, the car, my father’s hushed voice, my cousins brash one. I had the contrast of my skin to the pale grey of interior. I had the Camry and the 401 and the concrete. I had the air that must be cold because it made my window cold, and I had the window.

I had a feeling that might be a broken heart. I had the feeling of injustice, and of pain and of sorrow. I had a feeling no one understands until they are me and play my part in the several act play that was the month leading up, and the climax of the Fight.

No one knows just what happened besides a very few whom I cried to. I am here now, and they like me, and forgive me for not being what my mother wanted.

She, it is a she he thinks to himself, rises out of the pond slowly. She is wearing a greekish looking thing, very nice, but still unidentifiable. her back is open, leaving a patch of smooth skin open. Why? A two foot long pleco is stuck to it. Thats a new one.

"Whats it's name?" He says quietly.

"Sasha." She says simply, as it slides off.

This can from Canadian Tire and cleaning my bathroom. At Canadian Tire I found the bike and the bow and arrows. I imagined a girl on this cute old fashioned powder blue and white bike with one of those spiffy modern bow and arrows, a background of the end of the world, or some other blown up place, posing like she was robin hood on a horse. The puddle came from the idea of me standing in my bathtub, the water around my ankles and too cold, the pj bottoms i was wearing up around my knees. I rather like this. I think I'll take it somewere.

Poor TJ and Maggie get no love. Maybe later.))))))


She was standing, static as she was at times like this, in a puddle of all places. Shin deep in cold, muddy water, her pants rolled up past her knees and her shoes misplaced somehow, along with her socks, leaving her feet cold and alone in the world. Dimmed muddy blue eyes stared at a rather apocalyptic scene. Everything had been destroyed, buildings, people. Any water that was there was full of metal-dust blood and bits of person, and there was plenty of water. They earth had carried rain over the bombed plain, trying to flush away the memory of what had taken place there it seemed. Once a thriving metropolis, now a ground zero as never before. The people who had lived here were destroyed and those who were far enough away not to die were scarred deeper then any cut.

Perhaps she ought to leave. She would catch a cold in she stayed in her puddle, and the nerves in her feet were protesting with ever growing vigor.

With one hand she hoisted the very high-tech bow her father had given her for her birthday not long ago back onto her shoulder, with the other she pulled deep dark strands of grey hair from her face and into the tangle of strands that were at least trying to behave themselves. She had tied her hair up long ago, but activity had cause it to change it’s mind and start falling out. No amount of tugging was going to fix it this time.

Perhaps, she though to herself, she should find some shoes? It wouldn’t hurt, the ground being as littered with dangerous things as it was. It would be foolish to go forward as she was. It was cold and her fashionable tank top what torn and small to begin with. Her jeans were not low rise, but they did not go very high up on her hips, and they were rolled up to keep them from getting heavy with water and dirt. If she was to survive this new place she needed proper attire. This was not such attire.

A few steps brought her out of the puddle and onto soft mud. It was cold mud, and her legs shivered because of the air. As cold as the puddle was, at the moment it seemed warmed then the rest of the world. A few more steps brought her away from the puddle until she made it to her bike. Scratched and dirty, light blue and not by any means appropriate for this kind of a place. It was mean to be ‘pretty’, not functional and easy to ride. Over one of the elegantly curved handle bars was her quiver of arrows. They were metal and sharp and strong and she had enough to protect her for a good wile. This would change and it would change quickly. She needed to learn how to make arrows, she needed a better bike (as much as she loved the one she had) and she needed better clothing. Oh, the work to be done.

This was a city. There was bound to be a shop or a mall or some such thing. There she could find something to survive in. There she could eat. Eat. Eat sounded better then anything she had ever heard.

Hopping onto the bike, barefoot, cold, hungry and alone, she began to drive in a slow progression through the anti-city.

She wasn’t sure what she would find there. On her round wheeled bike, powder blue and white, in her top and jeans, shoeless with a bow and arrows, she looked like her own anti form. Polished she would have looked like a wealthy teenager, doing well in the summer. Now she looked tired and alone and doomed. She looked like something from a zombie movie, next to the end of the world.




((((((I know, it's long. Might even get longer.

When You Were Young

You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch it now ... here he comes!

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you were young

Can we climb this mountain
I don't know
Higher now than ever before
I know we can make it if we take it slow
Let's take it easy
Easy now, watch it go

We're burning down the highway skyline
On the back of a hurricane that started turning
When you were young
When you were young

And sometimes you close your eyes
and see the place where you used to live
When you were young

They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet
You don't have to drink right now
But you can dip your feet
Every once in a little while

You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch it now here he comes

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you were young
(He talks like a gentlemen, like you imagined when)
When you were young

I said he doesn't look a thing like Jesus
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But more than you'll ever know

“Oh, Christopher.” Thomas-Jonathan says with an ease that is uncommon in human beings, even those who are completely numbed by they’re own habits. “Oh, Chrrriiiistopher, what is it like to be possessed by the devil, hmm?”

Christopher is numb, too, but in a different manner. He is numb because his is catatonic at the moment, staring at the wall in complete emptiness. He doesn’t move or speak; he sees no point, as he takes this strange, contorted position willingly. He likes to feel motionless like this. It is peaceful. T-J, however, is very lively today. He jiggles and moves and grins and laughs and yells and rambles, itching at his new tattoo shamelessly. He got it just above his right hipbone, a little rabbit jumping over the moon. He remembered having a dream about it, once, when he was a kid, and he had always wondered why he hadn’t tattooed himself with it long before. Now he risked ruining it because all he wanted to do was itch it.

“You should move. You should speak. You’ll worry your brother! He’ll be around soon and he’ll be worried, you know. Maggie’ll laugh, and you’ll have to figure out what to do with yourself.” He grinned wildly now. “Maggie’ll laugh.”

Christopher’s eyes darted around a bit, now, and T-J laughed. He liked to watch the silent, inward panic. Forced, jittery wildness of the crazy man inside this shell. He wondered how much it would take to make the kid throw up.