Quetzal – Understanding

But no easy answer would come to the serpent in the days following Domerin’s rejection of his advances. Try as he would to dismiss the conversation they’d had his mind kept swinging back to it, as if pulled inexorably by a force he could not explain. It had been so easy in the past to brush the man off, to forget him in the moments he wasn’t serving his desires. But even he realized that over the years that had become harder to do. He’d never wanted to admit that a mortal had any sort of power over him but as terrifying as the thought was part of him knew it simply wasn’t true anymore. He wanted Domerin, wanted what only Domerin could give him and that made him more precious than gems or temples built in his honor. Even the simplest thing could take on the greatest of meanings given the right situation.

With no urgent business in the city to occupy his mind the first day he’d tried to separate himself from his vessel, thinking being in his own form would rid him of the bothersome feelings. Surely whatever was bothering him lived in mortal flesh, some sort of taint he could easily rid himself of. But even on another plane, with the myriad forces at his call, he could not let them go. They were there, unavoidable like a grain of sand inside an oyster, and worrying over them was making it larger and larger. Frustrated and determined to find an answer to his questions he returned to the mortal plain. It had been the middle of the night when he’d reentered Sesha, dragging the man out of his sleep and pushing him aside while began to replay bits of his vessel’s memories, trying to find an easy solution to his quandary. Hours passed. He maneuvered the body almost without thinking to take care of any annoying biological functions but otherwise he seemed to just sit there, ignoring all else, focused on the within as he tried to understand.

Usually when he returned to Sesha after the man had spent time with Domerin he focused only on any information that would allow him to play and torment. He’d known the moment the man had begun to desire Domerin all those years ago and he’d used it well against him in the time since but after knowing it he’d had no reason to return to it, to live inside it. Each new thought and feeling had only been useful to him as fodder. Everything he was given he used to further himself. Hadn’t Domerin said as much of him? He’d been ruling over mortals since time unremembered but that didn’t mean he understood how they really worked. Now, though, he played through memories slowly trying to understand the why.

The morning came and went while he jumped from one memory to another until he found one that suited. He watched, as if standing over them, a recent memory of Domerin and Sesha joining, focusing on his vessel’s face. Domerin’s words came back to him asking for his moans, his trembling body. In the moment he watched again, letting each feeling from his vessel wash over him uninterrupted, the sheer intensity of a human feeling that was not fear or simple lust. It was so different from what he was used to feeling and even outside of the pleasure there was the sense of something else, something that one person could not do alone. He realized the closest he’d ever felt to it was with Domerin in his chamber, two working towards one goal. Slow or fast, it didn’t matter. He was not sure what compulsion took him then, perhaps some last attempt to show he would not be affected, but lastly he watched the memory once more but from Sesha’s perspective. He’d never tried to do this before, the thought had never crossed his mind, but now he wanted to feel it. He expected to fear being on his back, being under, being entered. But In those moments none of that were what mattered. The moans were his and it was his body that trembled beneath Domerin. The man was inside of him and he wanted it more than anything. He wanted it to last forever. He was part of something with someone else, completely, and it felt so right. In those moments, before he could stop himself, he understood why someone would desire this.

He’d pulled back from it feeling shaken, unsure, and exposed. Never before had his vessel felt so confining. The only person who knew was Sesha and though the man wasn’t laughing at him he felt him very strongly there in his mind, as if he were watching. He knew he shouldn’t have touched the memory in such a way but it was too late to take it back now when even his anger could not burn through the feelings left over. He remembered other conversations as if his vessel were offering them up to him, the priest’s only way to rebel against his master in his moments of weakness. Domerin saying so frankly that he did not like to be taken, that he hated it in part because he felt discarded, that it didn’t mean anything. Snippets of conversation that he’d heard but passed over for years as not important. But even if it was not important to him it was important to Domerin. He’d never thought of someone else’s feelings in that way before, at least not this seriously.

Part of him knew he had to fight against this. The god’s anger swelled inside of him, coils trying to close around his heart and mind. Surely it was his right to take whatever and whoever whenever he wished!? He’d said as much to Domerin in their last conversation but each time the man had refuted him. Each time he’d tried to explain the the thing he’d just felt inside of a memory. How could you put something like that to words? Unbidden he remembered Domerin’s hands running over a body as if it had been his own. Domerin’s scent, and weight, and heat and in those moments the flesh he wore shivered along with him. Never before had he felt so connected to the body he walked around in. He remembered so vividly Domerin’s whispers of pleasure as he tortured him in the chamber. His wish that those moments could last forever if only they could. He wanted Domerin again like that but knew it was not possible now. Denial was anathema to a god but it was there, unavoidable. Hadn’t Domerin said he wanted the same thing? So many thoughts he could not banish all rushing for his attention was a torment in itself. His need swirled inside of him mixing with his anger, and his fear. At some point he’d banished the servants from entering, though how many days had passed he could not quite say.

Domerin was not just any man, not just some cowering mortal. This was the man who’d challenged him from the moment they’d met, refused to bow to his whims. He’d desired him then as a possession, a toy but they were beyond that now. Another memory sprang up, his vessel’s shock when Domerin had spoken that he’d rather die than keep on this way. He’d given him his freedom then, thinking it would be enough. Instead he’d been surprised at what Domerin had done with it and been angry. He’d assumed things wouldn’t change. Of course a wolf on too short a leash would long to roam free. Domerin had left him. He’d left without word and returned without word. The only man in the world who would have dared to do such a thing. He could leave now if he wanted and never return and it was painful for the god to realize that he did not want him to go. Out of all the mortals in the world, if pressed, there was only one he would keep.

He was a serpent and it was in his nature to choke, to poison, to coil but what was the point of something if it lived but was not alive? It was Domerin’s fire that had drawn him to the man. Now he was faced with Domerin either leaving him or staying but being gone in spirit. Which was worse?

There was so much to process, so much he’d never had to deal with before Domerin had come into his life. Through the tumult he formed new thoughts of his own, new assurances for himself. He could change this fate. He was a god, he had the power to do whatever he wanted. He could give Domerin what he desired, really desired, and he could keep the man with him like he wanted. It wasn’t weakness to walk into something knowingly, to chose, and knowing he would get what he wanted out of it too. In the end only Sesha and Domerin would know. Sesha could never tell anyone and for all the trouble he’d given him Domerin had at least never betrayed his secrets. For the first time he felt secure that he could give this part of himself and not worry about being devoured, about being weak. He felt sure he’d solved the riddle. He could do this.

What remained now was to call the man. For the first time in days the windows were opened, a bath was drawn, food was brought in, clothes were laid out. He would make himself up and call the man and tell him he would finally get what he wanted. Things would be different.


Rainy Sunday

The mall usually wasn’t quite so busy on a Sunday. Of course, it wasn’t as if I was normally one of the human throng either. Being around that many people felt claustrophobic, but today the house seemed even more oppressive than usual and considering it was pouring outside, it seemed the best escape. I regretted the decision almost as soon as it was made, but there was no turning back once inside the doors. I was already wet enough and I could feel the water slowly creeping up the hems of my jeans. Dry off, just stay long enough to dry off. There was, of course, the added factor of not really having any money to spend on extras but there was nothing wrong with window shopping. I had gotten far to used to it by now. Now, more than ever, I longed to make an impulse buy, or four. A book, a game, some shoes that didn’t make my feet hurt. Anything to add something novel in my life. I knew it was impossible though. Rent was due soon enough, and the electric bill, and all the other nagging responsibilities of the everyday that no one in their right mind wants to face.

I moved away from the doors where the perpetual humidity tried to force its way in each time someone hurried in from the damp outside, and let myself be picked up by the current of humanity and be carried along. I let the old couples and mothers pushing strollers guide my steps. At least in this way, I didn’t have to think much and that was nice sometimes, far to nice. That gentle numbness, not having to worry about every little thing, those greater concepts that fueled the world but which frightened at the same time. Everything us mere mortals could and couldn’t understand. Those obedient drones. Seemed so many of these people had lost the ability to think for themselves and I always hated them for it.

Maybe, they knew something I didn’t.

Without even realizing how I had gotten there, I found myself passing the coffee shop. Carefully wading to the edge of the river I took pearch at the corner of the shop and checked my wallet. Ten bucks. No extras I tried to remind myself, but this was different. I needed it. I used to hate coffee but over the years it had become my close friend, supporter, and terror. Forget cigarettes, drugs, sex. My addiction was to everything caffeine. At least I could pretend that it wasn’t that. I could only imagine myself in a Twelve Step Program trying in vain to wean myself off caffeine, sneaking a cola or those damn mints in the back room while I put on a brave face in the group circle. Well, it wouldn’t be any different than the rest of my life, now would it? Lying, was far to easy a thing.

Fine, coffee. Not as if I could have said no anyway. At least there wasn’t a line. Just plain, regular coffee, none of that fancy stuff that cost five dollars with mounds of caramel and whipped cream on the top. More of a dessert than a drink really. Still, it always took me a few minutes to get mine just right. Cream and sugar had to be varied depending on what type they were offering. Or, maybe I’m just far to picky for my own good. I knew I shouldn’t drink to much coffee on an empty stomach so I got a beef pasty out of the bakery too even though I knew I shouldn’t. This was just a day for deveation. No good for my health, but I was already to far gone to care to much. Treasures in hand, now came the task of escaping back out into the mall. More like walking into traffic if you ask me. Turning against the flow I managed to weave my way to an empty bench and sit down so I could eat. I hate people watching almost as much as I hate people, but at least I had something else to concentrate my attentions on. The pasty was nice and hot, and the last thing I wanted to do was drop it. To bad I forgot napkins. It seemed like kids gone wild day. They went streaking and screaming past me like they hadn’t seen open space before. I honestly couldn’t remember what it was like to be that young. I hated kids, so stupid all of them. But they had ignorance as their excuse and it was hard to blame them for things they couldn’t yet know.

Well, usually. Today I could make an exception. It would be so easy to just stick my foot out and send one of them flying… No, no, bad idea.

Jack – A Character Sketch

Edited: 12 April 2009

If there was one thing Jack Cassidy hated and loved more than anything, it was the sound of someone crying. There was that burning hatred of the unknown passerby weeping over only god knew what; it tore at him, made him feel sick, and want to really give them something to cry about. But then… then there was that other sound: tears being shed because of something he’d done. Now that was completely different. It was better than vintage wine, a pair of blonde twins who’ve drunk just a little to much, or a hundred other things he could possibly think of.

It was pure incandesance.

A grin spread across Jack’s face and it was by no means something that would put anyone in his presence at ease. There was something distinctly malicious about it, a peculiarity about him when he finally showed his true colors. The young woman at the kitchen table only continued to sniffle and look up at him with those stunning eyes of hers. He had known right from the moment she flashed those blues at him he had to have her; and he always got what he wanted. How was he to know she had a lovely little knack for coming up with damn good screenplays too? It was like Christmas come early.

Her perfectly manicured hands rested next to the pictures he had personally come to deliver to her, the subject matter of which contained things she would certainly rather not let other people see. She hadn’t been to keen on handing over her work when he had asked and so he had seen to it that a little… persuasion was set in order.

“B-but why?” She finally asked, her larks voice laced with sobs, which made it only that much more sweet. “You said you… loved me.”

That devilish grin only became more pronounced and he fixed his own eyes on her, blue on blue. His voice was smooth and tinged with a hint of pleasure. “Of course I did, baby. You were the damn fool who actually believed I meant it.”


I couldn’t think of anything better than those Sundays, spent hiding out in the library, away from everything and everyone who could ever possibly bother me. It wasn’t only the place, but what was inside it that made it such a grand escape for me. The silence was soothing to my ears, or even if it was a bit loud I could simply put my headphones on and listen, letting the music drown out anything on the outside. But the true draw was the books. Books on everything and anyone. All of them right there at my fingertips to peruse at my leisure. It was like heaven. At the moment though, my interests layed with all sorts of fantasy stuff. I’d seen a few to many tv shows. Lucky for me though, those books were on one of the upper floors where mostly only people went who actually wanted to be there. I suppose I was lucky that our town actually realized how important a place like the library is.

It was a ugly, rainy Sunday when I decided that instead of listening to my mother nag me that I’d go spend the day at the library. There was a break in the showers and I figured since it wasn’t that long of a ride on my bike I could make it in plenty of time. I brought my poncho and an umbrella just in case and, at my mothers insistance, stuffed a sweater into my backpack. I was right, I did make it, but barely. I had only managed to get my bike chained up out in front of the library when the skies opened up and big fat drops of rain started falling. I only got a little wet before I dove under the awning in front of the doors, letting out a little breath of relief. Shouldering my bag again I headed on inside, immeaditly greeted by the smell of old books which I have to admit is one of my favorite things to smell. Giving a wave to the librarian at the desk, who knew me quite well by now, I headed up the stairs to the third floor. I only spotted a few other people on my way, which made sense considering how nasty the weather was outside. Weither I wanted to be here or not, I was stuck. Good thing I actually wanted to be here then, right?

I had managed to memorize where quite a bit of things were in the library, after having asked help so many times one of the librarians had drawn me up a little map of the shelves that I had used so much it was worn down. I still kept it tucked away in my bag, just in case. But this section, I knew very well where to find and so I wound my way through the towering stacks of books until I found my treasure. There were times I became so engrossed in a book I had managed to find that I simply sat down right there in the aisle and began to read, but today I took an armload with me and found myself a table in front of a window to do my very important research. Well, very important to me anyway.

I hadn’t seen or heard anyone else on the floor and so outside of the sound of the rain on the windows there was nothing to bother me. I hardly know how long I was there with my little fortress of books when there was a violent crack of thunder that shook the very windows and a moment later, the lights went out.

When I was little, I used to be afraid of the dark. I would cry out in the night if I woke and my mother would have to come in and soothe me back to sleep again. My parents had eventually bought me a little nightlight that helped to dispell some of the shadows and gloom, though it only ended up making other parts of the dark even darker. As I grew up though, I had slowly grown out of it and if I did have the occasional scare I would try my very best to just hunker down under my sheets, pretending they had all sorts of spells on them, so anything that tried to get at my under there would be burnt up or fried with electricity. It must have worked on way or the other and it set my mind at ease.

But plunged into the semi-darkness now set my nerves on edge. Dully grey light came in through the windows and somewhere behind me an emergency light flicked on, but neither illuminated the place enough for me to even make out the words on the page in front of me. It made me shiver, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

But slowly, far far to slowly, I realized that it wasn’t just being alone in the dark that was freaking me out so much. It was something else.

Writing Exercise, March 31

The prompt: Every morning…

Every morning, when he woke, it was to the sound of the alarm blaring on the night stand close to his ear. He never needed more than a few of those shrill rings to be drawn up out of his slumber, no matter how deep it might have been. Dreams had no defense against it. He was the alarms slave. He took comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one. But only a little.

There was a routine, every morning, weither work beckoned or not. Covers up, glasses on, to his feet before trudging off to face the day. He had read about sleep and routines in some magazine in a doctors office once, one of those psudo-medical journals that those in the medical profession figure are dumbed down enough so the rest of the world can figure them out. It had said, he recalled clearly, that it is a good idea to wake up at the same time every single morning. And, being in the state he had been at the time and quite desperate to try just about anything, he had. And the habit had merely stuck.

He couldn’t honestly say weither or not it had done anything for the better.

He pulled the blinds open after having navigated his way out of the bedroom into the small living room of the flat, flooding the room with the early light of the morning, still tinged with the oranges of sunrise. He leaned against the window, despite the crew neck and striped boxers that adorned him, and looked outside at the day. Birds were singing, one or two people jogging, all the things he saw every single morning. They no longer held his attention. Morning was not his time, though he greeted it everday.

Leaving the window to itself and the world for later he shuffled into the kitchen where the pot was already half full from the automatic brew setting. Just enough time to make up some toast. There were very, very few things in his life he liked, or was even proud of, but toast and coffee, that was something he… if he couldn’t like, could at least take comfort in. It was his, no matter how many other people in the wide world out there were having the exact same thing. It was his, in his kitchen, and in his life.

Breakfast, then a quick shower, shave, brushing of teeth, and dressing. And then work, as it was five out of the seven days of the week. His routine. Always.

He hardly even noticed when the phone suddenly rang…

A Writing Exercise

The prompt: ‘So these were my friends…’

So these were my friends. My friends. My beautiful infuriating friends. How often had we had such arguments. A hundred times? More? I couldn’t possibly count them all. Yet… still, they were all I had. All any of us had.

Ashley, George, Daniel. It wasn’t as if they were perfect, I could hardly say the same of myself at times. Well, most times. Apart we had nothing, but together, ah yes, together there was nothing that could possibly stop us.

Or, thats how it used to be.
And then he came along.

Tall, proud, and golden; Terrance Olridder was everything any of us could ever want, could only ever hope to be. He was the kind of man that women scream over when it first begins, and then cry over once it ends. The kind of man that other men either bow before in awe, or bow before while cursing dark profanities in the back of their minds. He wasn’t a bad person. No, not by a long shot, though… perhaps I thought so, in the beginning. Of course I thought so.

I will admit to my own fallicies in my own time.

But that is hardly what is important anymore.

I remember them, my friends, though even now their faces dull in my memory even as I try my very hardest to scrape every inch I can and create a lasting effigy in my mind. Ashley, beautiful in her own way. Wide eyes, warm as wood. One could only think of being embraced by trees and warmth. I always thought of the far off forests when we were alone together. How she managed, I will never know.

George was our bright one. Always looking to the skies, searching for that spark of goodness that he was so very sure lived in all of us. I never was able to agree with him on that. Everytime I mentioned so he flashed me with those bright blue eyes and for a few moments I forgot everything, my own fears, doubts, and misgivings. For those few moments I believed in what he had to say. He could do that to anyone, I was sure.

Daniel was the darkness. Even as it filled his outward manner and looks, reminded one of a man birthed from shadows. Ebony skin that seemed to pull the very light out of the air. He was mesmerizing to behold. We knew each other a long, long time. Since we were children. He and I, we understood each other as perhaps a very few understand each other. I loved him as a friend, a brother. I always will.

Even now.