01-29-2018, 02:50 PM
<b>TW</b>: This post contains allusions to/scenes of suicide/suicidal thoughts.
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Oleo+Script|Parisienne" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.R3y_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: transparent url('https://78.media.tumblr.com/51f0e0dd37fd6c21cda42d81ab224c02/tumblr_oz83mp1hxO1wc2gv3o1_1280.png')center;border: 2px solid #292929;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;}.R3y_container p {margin: 0;}.R3y_image {box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;height: 484px;}.R3y_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 15px 15px;color: #f7cada;background: #000;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;}.R3y_name {position: absolute;z-index: 3;text-align: center;font: 50px 'Parisienne', cursive;color: #f7cada;top: 440px;left: 220px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #fff;}.R3y_quote {text-align: center;font: 18px 'Oleo Script', cursive;color: #fff;padding: 20px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 4px #000;}</style><center><div class="R3y_container"><p class="R3y_name">Rey</p><img class="R3y_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/b0a0cd9494a6fca3c1594a8b3f96054e/tumblr_p2m3o9IXbD1smku65o1_1280.jpg"><p class="R3y_quote">-Black cat in disguise-</p><p class="R3y_message"><i>“Well, any thoughts about it?”</i> The elf asks again, and my flint-colored eyes dart to the mirror.
I’m … a two legger. A hue-<i>man</i>, I think is what they call themselves. <i>“I’m thinkin’ we trim the bangs outcha eyes and glide a lil’ off the sides, hmm?”</i> He rumbles, the sound of his voice like that of a grandfather who was too fond of his pipe. I turn around in my seat (a red chair, overstuffed and comfortable with a musty smell) to get a look at him and that’s when the rest of this new scene comes into focus.
I’m in a salon. I know this, but simultaneously I’m unaware of what the meaning is. There’s a lot going on in my head that’s been inserted for the purposes of this tale, and I’m struggling with the rush of information. Like the fact that I’m a male version of a human, instead of a female like I was in my normal body. Also that I recognize majority of the faces here - all male, like me, most close to my youthful age while a few older gentleman loiter around and flip through crinkled newspapers.
<i>Al’s Baber Shop</i> is painted on the open window facing the street, inverted and backwards from where I look but, as we all know by now, I’ve garnered the ability to decipher ‘English’, written or spoken aloud. I twist back to settle into the barber's chair, appraising my new face with silent contemplation (such a strong chin, and what fine, pale blonde hair!) before deciding to go with the obvious. <b>“Yea, that’ll do I think. Can we slick it back, after?”</b> I question aloud, the elf-turned-hair stylist nodding silently in agreement before lifting a bottle of water to douse my hair.
<i>“Like <u>that’s</u> gonna get’cha laid.”</i> Someone scoffs beside me; a darker-haired youth with a quirk to his brow - <i>Liam</i>, my brain supplies. In this story we’ve gone to the same school since we were kids. Small-town syndrome, it would seem. His sardonic nature irritates me but I crease one corner of my mouth and keep it shut. We’re best friends, after all; Liam has <i>always</i> been this way. <b>“Ain’t sayin’ I exactly want that to happen, Liam.”</b> I sigh, enjoying the feel of the scissors as they <i>snip, snip snip</i> through my hair.
<i>“Gah you freakin’ pansy!”</i> He guffaws, slapping one hand against the armrest, <i>“Might as well pay me the five dollars now, you done good as lost this bet!”</i> He chuckles, delighted with the new shade of red spreading across my cheeks. I can feel my personal barber’s hands slow, and in the reflection of the great mirror facing me, I can see the flickering eyes move away from paper and magazine to study us intensely. <i>“A bet, eh?”</i> My stylists murmurs, expert hands never straying though he seems distracted, <i>“Somethin’ yo mamma’s wouldn’t be too proud of, I’m sure.”</i>
Liam perks right up at this.
<i>“Listen to this: Rey here thinks he’s hot shyt or somethin’, and that some girl is gonna give ‘em the goods before me. Before me I say! Look at that ugly ol’ mug. So I says, ‘Nuh-uh, no way you loose-lipped buffoon. I betcha I’ll get to that finish line years a’fore you!’ And so what does this ninny do? He shakes that he’ll get it in tonight, after the big dance.”</i> Liam hoots, the sound followed by a murmur of low laughter all throughout the store.
I’m saved by the bell, literally.
The tingling sound of the door opening turns everybody’s attention; a girl ghosts through, arms laden with a fresh stack of local papers. If it were even possible, my cheeks ruddy to a bright crimson and I nod her way, once. She smiles shyly back. The stack of periodicals she carries gets dumped by the corner of the entrance and then she’s gone, fluttering away from the overwhelming smell of pomade and testosterone.
Her name is Mary, and she’s new to town. So new that I reveled in the sight of her bouncy, mahogany curls and her pretty blue eyes. The rest of the girls around here were too familiar - I’d seen them go through the awkward stages and wasn’t interested in dealing with <i>that</i>. <i>“Damn shame her momma’s a tramp -”</i> Liam whistles after her, one of the gentleman in the back nodding silently along. It wasn’t a secret that Mary had moved here with her mother, a woman unwed and therefore, automatically pinned as a woman with “loose morals”. <i>“- Apple never falls too far from the tree.”</i>
<b>“That’s my date.”</b> I say, turning in my seat abruptly to address Liam with obvious chagrin. It takes me only a second to realize my mistake.
<i>“OH HO HOOOOO you thought you’d just pave the way, eh? Take a one-way bus ride to easy street, huh? You DOG!”</i> Liam whoops, standing as his stylist waves his cloth cover off, like a matador tempting a bull. <i>“See ya tonight, stud.”</i> He winks at me, pointing his finger-guns at my chest before firing them off one-by-one. I grind my teeth together but tell him goodbye, anyways. No use in trying to stop a speeding horse once it’s loose from the gate.
<i>“That’ll do, ya think?”</i> My barber asks, smoothing the gelled wave of hair over the crown of my head with one final stroke of his comb. I <i>do</i> look like a stud. I pay the man what he’s due, throw in a tip on top and grab a paper on the way out. Between the town and my house, it’s a pleasant bike ride; the streets are quiet because everyone was getting ready for the dance. Only my neighbor, Mrs. Strong, peeks out her curtained window as I roll into our driveway, tan phone clutched tightly in her grasp and pressed close to her yaking jaw.
<b>“Hey Ma!”</b> I shout on my way in, one hand on the stair rail in anticipation of running to my room, but she pokes out from around the corner before I can take a single step. <i>“Rey honey, I just got off the phone with Mrs. Strong -”</i> She starts, my eyes already circumnavigating the inside of my skull, <i>“Don’t look at me like that - I just got off the phone with Mrs. Strong, she told me you were taking that new girl, Mary, to the dance tonight?”</i>
My mother’s expression looks downtrodden. You would think I’d left a stray kitten in a tree or something. <b>“What about it?”</b> I ask, and her eyes narrow incrementally. <i>“Well, honey,”</i> She says slowly, leaning in to share the secret with me, <i>“I hear her mother’s a … well, you know … a … ‘lady of the night’.”</i> She tells me, whispering the last phrase as if it were a curse. I’m surprised she doesn’t cross herself to ward off the evil in the thought.
<b>“That’s a lie. God don’t like gossiping, ya know.”</b> I tell her, escaping up the stairs before her temper can boil over into punishment.
In my room I’m alone, free to think about what was coming. The fact was I <i>liked</i> Mary, very much. She was patient with people, more patient than she had a right to be, and shy - wonderfully shy and demure. She liked butterflies; I often saw her doodle them into the corners of her notes while Mr. Sect droned on in science. It didn’t matter to me what everyone else was whispering around town, ‘bought her mom and stuff. I knew Mary had a kind soul, no eyes so blue could house a spirit anything less than pure. My mom called from downstairs, suddenly - <i>“REY, PHONE FOR YOU HON!”</i>
I picked up from my room. <b>“Yea?”</b> I asked, and a high-pitched whine answered back.
<i>“Rey you <u>cannot</u> seriously be thinkin’ ‘bought takin’ that little call girl to the dance tonight?!”</i> Emily Sue whined to me over the phone. I hadn’t asked her and I guess the jealousy hadn’t worn off yet. She’d been bugging me all week to ask her, and I had brushed it off with hopes she’d just plain <i>give up</i>. Guess I was wrong. <i>“- I mean this bet and all is cute, or whatever, but c’mon!”</i> She scoffed, <i>“You know she’s slept with every man from here to timbuktu, Gracelynn told me so! Said she’s knows some fellas back at ‘er old school or somethin’.”</i> She buzzed on.
<b>“Goodbye, Emily.”</b> I barked once, slamming the phone back onto the receiver. So, Liam was up to the usual - stirring the pot. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut about Mary being my date! What was wrong with me? I’d be willing to bet half the town was humming their tongues about it, the phone lines around here had to be white-hot with the news. <i>“Careful, that floozy-in-trainin’ already done sunk her claws into poor Mrs. Whittle’s boy - Yea, Rey, at’s him - she’ll be comin’ for your Sam next, just you wait. Gonna have us ‘nother one of them floating bastards out there.”</i>
Angrily, I dressed myself for the dance. All the way down the stairs, gritting my teeth through my mother’s too-tight hug, even pedaling down the street (corsage in hand) I could feel the whispers following me, growing in strength and horridness with every turn of my wheels. <i>“Who knows who ‘er father is, does it matter?”</i> and <i>“Like a turtle, that girl. Once you flip ‘er over ain’t no way she’s going right side up again.”</i>
When I skid to a stop near the gym, it feels like I’ve got a spotlight on my back.
Liam is the first to trot up to me as I breeze through the double doorway, his hands coming down to clamp my shoulders before he gives me a little shake. <i>“Big night, my friend, big night!”</i> He growls hungrily, slapping me on the back before letting me go. <i>“Here, lil’ somethin’ to get this night started!”</i> He murmurs, pulling me to a shadowy corner of the hallway as he reveals a hidden flask in his jacket pocket. I’m in good spirits, so I down some in a show of comradery but really, I need the liquid courage. I know the stinging wasps are already hovering, just waiting for the finale of ‘Rey and Mary’.
We make our way to the dancefloor, which is really just our normal gym gussied up to look like a paper mache meadow, and my eyes strain for any hint of blue in the crowd, any swish of dark curls or a light laugh. The first song fades into the next, and then eventually Liam leaves my side to wrangle a girl of his own, and before I know it the night’s winding down. All night I sit on the benches, rejecting Emily twice as I wait patiently for a sign of the girl who never comes. In the end it’s just me and the corsage, a butterfly nestled in between the wilting roses that Mary doesn’t even get the chance to see.
I don’t blame her.
-------------
On Monday, the town is shrouded by black juju.
Liam walks quietly to our lunch table, his eyes burning holes into my face because I refuse to look up at him - or anyone, for that matter. <i>“Hey Rey.”</i> He says, sitting down and offering me an apple, which I place next to the rest of the uneaten food on my tray. <i>“I know it’s sad, buddy. But it ain’t your fault. Ain’t no one’s fault. Okay?”</i> He offers, ducking his head to try and force a reaction out of me. He gets what he’s looking for.
<b>“They found her note, ya know.”</b> I growl darkly, <b>“As if findin’ her bloated body in Solomon’s River wasn’t bad enough.”</b> I spit, my vision blurring. <b>“ ‘What good’s a life that’s already been decided for ya?’ “</b> I laugh humorlessly, reciting the final edict Mary had condemned herself with. She’d wrote the note the night of the dance, and the next morning they found her belly-up on the banks, a heavy stone over her chest to keep herself down.
I can feel the tears flowing over the puckered scar on my cheek; hot, bitter, angry. To think of her final moments was just too much, the pain was something that, in my other body, I’d never thought I would experience. The emotion is deeper, more lasting. I drown in my sobs, wishing more than anything that this sad ending will be transformed, that when I lift my head again I’ll be somewhere else, far from here …
For someone who was abandoned as a child in Beqanna, I know all too well why Mary had done it.</p></div></center>
Words: 2,134
1. A hair salon
2. An unfair contest
3. A small lie that gets bigger and bigger
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Oleo+Script|Parisienne" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.R3y_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: transparent url('https://78.media.tumblr.com/51f0e0dd37fd6c21cda42d81ab224c02/tumblr_oz83mp1hxO1wc2gv3o1_1280.png')center;border: 2px solid #292929;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;}.R3y_container p {margin: 0;}.R3y_image {box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;height: 484px;}.R3y_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 15px 15px;color: #f7cada;background: #000;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border: 2px solid #292929;}.R3y_name {position: absolute;z-index: 3;text-align: center;font: 50px 'Parisienne', cursive;color: #f7cada;top: 440px;left: 220px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #fff;}.R3y_quote {text-align: center;font: 18px 'Oleo Script', cursive;color: #fff;padding: 20px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 4px #000;}</style><center><div class="R3y_container"><p class="R3y_name">Rey</p><img class="R3y_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/b0a0cd9494a6fca3c1594a8b3f96054e/tumblr_p2m3o9IXbD1smku65o1_1280.jpg"><p class="R3y_quote">-Black cat in disguise-</p><p class="R3y_message"><i>“Well, any thoughts about it?”</i> The elf asks again, and my flint-colored eyes dart to the mirror.
I’m … a two legger. A hue-<i>man</i>, I think is what they call themselves. <i>“I’m thinkin’ we trim the bangs outcha eyes and glide a lil’ off the sides, hmm?”</i> He rumbles, the sound of his voice like that of a grandfather who was too fond of his pipe. I turn around in my seat (a red chair, overstuffed and comfortable with a musty smell) to get a look at him and that’s when the rest of this new scene comes into focus.
I’m in a salon. I know this, but simultaneously I’m unaware of what the meaning is. There’s a lot going on in my head that’s been inserted for the purposes of this tale, and I’m struggling with the rush of information. Like the fact that I’m a male version of a human, instead of a female like I was in my normal body. Also that I recognize majority of the faces here - all male, like me, most close to my youthful age while a few older gentleman loiter around and flip through crinkled newspapers.
<i>Al’s Baber Shop</i> is painted on the open window facing the street, inverted and backwards from where I look but, as we all know by now, I’ve garnered the ability to decipher ‘English’, written or spoken aloud. I twist back to settle into the barber's chair, appraising my new face with silent contemplation (such a strong chin, and what fine, pale blonde hair!) before deciding to go with the obvious. <b>“Yea, that’ll do I think. Can we slick it back, after?”</b> I question aloud, the elf-turned-hair stylist nodding silently in agreement before lifting a bottle of water to douse my hair.
<i>“Like <u>that’s</u> gonna get’cha laid.”</i> Someone scoffs beside me; a darker-haired youth with a quirk to his brow - <i>Liam</i>, my brain supplies. In this story we’ve gone to the same school since we were kids. Small-town syndrome, it would seem. His sardonic nature irritates me but I crease one corner of my mouth and keep it shut. We’re best friends, after all; Liam has <i>always</i> been this way. <b>“Ain’t sayin’ I exactly want that to happen, Liam.”</b> I sigh, enjoying the feel of the scissors as they <i>snip, snip snip</i> through my hair.
<i>“Gah you freakin’ pansy!”</i> He guffaws, slapping one hand against the armrest, <i>“Might as well pay me the five dollars now, you done good as lost this bet!”</i> He chuckles, delighted with the new shade of red spreading across my cheeks. I can feel my personal barber’s hands slow, and in the reflection of the great mirror facing me, I can see the flickering eyes move away from paper and magazine to study us intensely. <i>“A bet, eh?”</i> My stylists murmurs, expert hands never straying though he seems distracted, <i>“Somethin’ yo mamma’s wouldn’t be too proud of, I’m sure.”</i>
Liam perks right up at this.
<i>“Listen to this: Rey here thinks he’s hot shyt or somethin’, and that some girl is gonna give ‘em the goods before me. Before me I say! Look at that ugly ol’ mug. So I says, ‘Nuh-uh, no way you loose-lipped buffoon. I betcha I’ll get to that finish line years a’fore you!’ And so what does this ninny do? He shakes that he’ll get it in tonight, after the big dance.”</i> Liam hoots, the sound followed by a murmur of low laughter all throughout the store.
I’m saved by the bell, literally.
The tingling sound of the door opening turns everybody’s attention; a girl ghosts through, arms laden with a fresh stack of local papers. If it were even possible, my cheeks ruddy to a bright crimson and I nod her way, once. She smiles shyly back. The stack of periodicals she carries gets dumped by the corner of the entrance and then she’s gone, fluttering away from the overwhelming smell of pomade and testosterone.
Her name is Mary, and she’s new to town. So new that I reveled in the sight of her bouncy, mahogany curls and her pretty blue eyes. The rest of the girls around here were too familiar - I’d seen them go through the awkward stages and wasn’t interested in dealing with <i>that</i>. <i>“Damn shame her momma’s a tramp -”</i> Liam whistles after her, one of the gentleman in the back nodding silently along. It wasn’t a secret that Mary had moved here with her mother, a woman unwed and therefore, automatically pinned as a woman with “loose morals”. <i>“- Apple never falls too far from the tree.”</i>
<b>“That’s my date.”</b> I say, turning in my seat abruptly to address Liam with obvious chagrin. It takes me only a second to realize my mistake.
<i>“OH HO HOOOOO you thought you’d just pave the way, eh? Take a one-way bus ride to easy street, huh? You DOG!”</i> Liam whoops, standing as his stylist waves his cloth cover off, like a matador tempting a bull. <i>“See ya tonight, stud.”</i> He winks at me, pointing his finger-guns at my chest before firing them off one-by-one. I grind my teeth together but tell him goodbye, anyways. No use in trying to stop a speeding horse once it’s loose from the gate.
<i>“That’ll do, ya think?”</i> My barber asks, smoothing the gelled wave of hair over the crown of my head with one final stroke of his comb. I <i>do</i> look like a stud. I pay the man what he’s due, throw in a tip on top and grab a paper on the way out. Between the town and my house, it’s a pleasant bike ride; the streets are quiet because everyone was getting ready for the dance. Only my neighbor, Mrs. Strong, peeks out her curtained window as I roll into our driveway, tan phone clutched tightly in her grasp and pressed close to her yaking jaw.
<b>“Hey Ma!”</b> I shout on my way in, one hand on the stair rail in anticipation of running to my room, but she pokes out from around the corner before I can take a single step. <i>“Rey honey, I just got off the phone with Mrs. Strong -”</i> She starts, my eyes already circumnavigating the inside of my skull, <i>“Don’t look at me like that - I just got off the phone with Mrs. Strong, she told me you were taking that new girl, Mary, to the dance tonight?”</i>
My mother’s expression looks downtrodden. You would think I’d left a stray kitten in a tree or something. <b>“What about it?”</b> I ask, and her eyes narrow incrementally. <i>“Well, honey,”</i> She says slowly, leaning in to share the secret with me, <i>“I hear her mother’s a … well, you know … a … ‘lady of the night’.”</i> She tells me, whispering the last phrase as if it were a curse. I’m surprised she doesn’t cross herself to ward off the evil in the thought.
<b>“That’s a lie. God don’t like gossiping, ya know.”</b> I tell her, escaping up the stairs before her temper can boil over into punishment.
In my room I’m alone, free to think about what was coming. The fact was I <i>liked</i> Mary, very much. She was patient with people, more patient than she had a right to be, and shy - wonderfully shy and demure. She liked butterflies; I often saw her doodle them into the corners of her notes while Mr. Sect droned on in science. It didn’t matter to me what everyone else was whispering around town, ‘bought her mom and stuff. I knew Mary had a kind soul, no eyes so blue could house a spirit anything less than pure. My mom called from downstairs, suddenly - <i>“REY, PHONE FOR YOU HON!”</i>
I picked up from my room. <b>“Yea?”</b> I asked, and a high-pitched whine answered back.
<i>“Rey you <u>cannot</u> seriously be thinkin’ ‘bought takin’ that little call girl to the dance tonight?!”</i> Emily Sue whined to me over the phone. I hadn’t asked her and I guess the jealousy hadn’t worn off yet. She’d been bugging me all week to ask her, and I had brushed it off with hopes she’d just plain <i>give up</i>. Guess I was wrong. <i>“- I mean this bet and all is cute, or whatever, but c’mon!”</i> She scoffed, <i>“You know she’s slept with every man from here to timbuktu, Gracelynn told me so! Said she’s knows some fellas back at ‘er old school or somethin’.”</i> She buzzed on.
<b>“Goodbye, Emily.”</b> I barked once, slamming the phone back onto the receiver. So, Liam was up to the usual - stirring the pot. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut about Mary being my date! What was wrong with me? I’d be willing to bet half the town was humming their tongues about it, the phone lines around here had to be white-hot with the news. <i>“Careful, that floozy-in-trainin’ already done sunk her claws into poor Mrs. Whittle’s boy - Yea, Rey, at’s him - she’ll be comin’ for your Sam next, just you wait. Gonna have us ‘nother one of them floating bastards out there.”</i>
Angrily, I dressed myself for the dance. All the way down the stairs, gritting my teeth through my mother’s too-tight hug, even pedaling down the street (corsage in hand) I could feel the whispers following me, growing in strength and horridness with every turn of my wheels. <i>“Who knows who ‘er father is, does it matter?”</i> and <i>“Like a turtle, that girl. Once you flip ‘er over ain’t no way she’s going right side up again.”</i>
When I skid to a stop near the gym, it feels like I’ve got a spotlight on my back.
Liam is the first to trot up to me as I breeze through the double doorway, his hands coming down to clamp my shoulders before he gives me a little shake. <i>“Big night, my friend, big night!”</i> He growls hungrily, slapping me on the back before letting me go. <i>“Here, lil’ somethin’ to get this night started!”</i> He murmurs, pulling me to a shadowy corner of the hallway as he reveals a hidden flask in his jacket pocket. I’m in good spirits, so I down some in a show of comradery but really, I need the liquid courage. I know the stinging wasps are already hovering, just waiting for the finale of ‘Rey and Mary’.
We make our way to the dancefloor, which is really just our normal gym gussied up to look like a paper mache meadow, and my eyes strain for any hint of blue in the crowd, any swish of dark curls or a light laugh. The first song fades into the next, and then eventually Liam leaves my side to wrangle a girl of his own, and before I know it the night’s winding down. All night I sit on the benches, rejecting Emily twice as I wait patiently for a sign of the girl who never comes. In the end it’s just me and the corsage, a butterfly nestled in between the wilting roses that Mary doesn’t even get the chance to see.
I don’t blame her.
-------------
On Monday, the town is shrouded by black juju.
Liam walks quietly to our lunch table, his eyes burning holes into my face because I refuse to look up at him - or anyone, for that matter. <i>“Hey Rey.”</i> He says, sitting down and offering me an apple, which I place next to the rest of the uneaten food on my tray. <i>“I know it’s sad, buddy. But it ain’t your fault. Ain’t no one’s fault. Okay?”</i> He offers, ducking his head to try and force a reaction out of me. He gets what he’s looking for.
<b>“They found her note, ya know.”</b> I growl darkly, <b>“As if findin’ her bloated body in Solomon’s River wasn’t bad enough.”</b> I spit, my vision blurring. <b>“ ‘What good’s a life that’s already been decided for ya?’ “</b> I laugh humorlessly, reciting the final edict Mary had condemned herself with. She’d wrote the note the night of the dance, and the next morning they found her belly-up on the banks, a heavy stone over her chest to keep herself down.
I can feel the tears flowing over the puckered scar on my cheek; hot, bitter, angry. To think of her final moments was just too much, the pain was something that, in my other body, I’d never thought I would experience. The emotion is deeper, more lasting. I drown in my sobs, wishing more than anything that this sad ending will be transformed, that when I lift my head again I’ll be somewhere else, far from here …
For someone who was abandoned as a child in Beqanna, I know all too well why Mary had done it.</p></div></center>
Words: 2,134
1. A hair salon
2. An unfair contest
3. A small lie that gets bigger and bigger