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January 3
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          the concrete smelled warm and dirty, like summertime, as his face was forced down into it. he could feel each breath as it puffed out of his nostrils against the ground, and then when he breathed in again the smell was fresher. his gums and teeth were getting scraped against the rough surface.
          he held still.
          “ignore me, i’m sure i’ll go away,” grinned a voice.
          he was three things; his own soft warm breath and the smell of the concrete; the pain stinging sharp and tingling along the knuckles of his right hand and along his gums; and his heartbeat.
          not a hand on the back of his head, twisted up in his hair. not heavy denim kneeling, panting, sweating over him.
          “kissing up on the sidewalk, sal? the scum and grime and filth?” a happy, satisfied throat noise. “isn’t that just like you.”
          he moved his tongue and tasted the ground by accident. he rubbed it along the roof of his mouth and teeth so he could taste the pressure instead.
          “just like dad, with your mom.”
he searched for a song to turn on in his head and let play and play and play.
          “you and my dad, all snuggled up to the comfort of a shitstained worthless walked-on cracking thing.”
          all that would play was the beginning of beethoven’s 5th.
          too sudden to block out, another hand, pressing down on his ass, pushing his pelvis into the hardness of the ground. tears in his eyes.
          “hump it, fuck it, call it ‘mommy’, ok sal?”
          twisting in his pain, he lifted his his hand and slammed his open palm down against the sidewalk.
          a hiss: “i could kill you right now.” the pressure on the back of his head increased and he felt that his front teeth might break.
         wet panting, on the side of his face. “did you know that some people live out entire lives without ever getting hurt this badly, sal?”
          he keeps his eyes open, on the ground, and doesn’t turn away, not even a centimeter.
          the hand on the back of his head lets up completely; his teeth seem to spring back into their proper place, aching. he doesn’t move, and the hand strokes his hair.
          “we’re going to be so much more interesting, after we’re done growing up together. we’re going to understand, so much better, like angels and demons do.”

 
   
:iconindigo-mouse:
i probably shouldn't write such weird violent shit
:iconketchup321:
~Ketchup321 Jan 3, 2013  Student General Artist
How fascinating!! You should put something else with it, something to go with the rest of their story or a short weird poem or something. And the Weirder you let your mind get, the more possibilities that open up with your writing and the more original it becomes, don't be embarrassed by this! I love it~ :)
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:iconindigo-mouse:
~indigo-mouse Jan 3, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thanks very much! i'll try to keep working.
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