The Conductor.March To Gallows
MARCH TO GALLOWS
Pallid pink lips were moving perpetually, undoubtedly reciting in dubious tones the now numerous black marks on my permanent record. But I couldnt hear the vocalized words spilling in my disgrace. My mind had stilted to most of reality days before really. Pieces would pierce through the mental shield but it mostly just appeared in all senses like a distant projection of life to me. I wasnt sure if I cared much at all anymore. I was coherent enough to know where I was and how to act now, but after all that had happened, I couldnt figure how things could possibly get any worse than they already were now.
Pale blue eyes looking over the pearled rims of bifocal lenses at me with so much concern-veiled disdain. And all I could do was sit there in the uncomfortable wooden chair before her desk and stare right through her like a scolded dog.
A week had passed since that night in English Lit, the week being full of despondency and dread. A full gambit
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Jimmy Yashi, who was standing outside the main offices, glanced up in my direction and immediately looked like a spooked woodland creature. His magnified almond eyes averted downward shamefully as Damian escorted me past. I could taste the reverent fear in the air. Turning away like Judas, Jimmy ducked into the administration offices. I couldnt lie to myself; that hurt.
Damian kept his right hand on my neck, his palm hot and his fingers firmly grasping the tendons beneath my skin. I momentarily thought of squirming away, but his fingers gave a threatening little squeeze and I quickly dismissed the impulse. Behind me, I thought I heard him scoff.
As we moved through students and faculty, all eyes peered shortly at us before nervously darting away in intimidation. It was completely unnerving watching this wave of people turning away on either side of me. The corridor began to feel like an endless tunnel of muttering vacant vessels as I shuffled along to what I was
The Conductor.fear itself.The Conductor.fear itself.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Passing bell rang and the class stood up to leave with much voracity, like race horses out the starting gates. I grabbed the straps of my backpack and tried to head out the backdoor before Mr. Mahler could catch me, feeling sure hed want a word. I could just see it on his face, the urgent need to rake me over the coals for my unconsciousness. There was a bottle-neck though, thirty-five some odd students all trying to fit through a three and a half foot wide doorway.
Miss Shastid, Id like to speak to you. Mr. Mahler called out loudly, like a barking rottweiler, before I could even reach the crowd before the door.
I winced, hunched my shoulders up around my neck, and turned back to go to his desk in surrender.
Mr. Herman Mahler had been teaching high school English for a decade and he still absolutely loathed it. It showed in the absolute white shock of hair amidst the jet black on his crown. It showed in the thick, greying caterpillars that sla
The Conductor.death wishes.The Conductor.death wishes.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
4:15p.m. and I was like a ball of nervous energy in still, sitting on some steps, glaring at a gleaming chrome bumper some distance from me.
The sun was setting, that weird apocalyptic color overtaking the sky from all the smog. You know that orange-brown death from above kind of color that smothers the azure pallet in the afternoons in the crux between summer and autumn? Yeah. Like Hiroshima and Nagasaki and The Terminator films all blasted up overhead. It cast a gloomy, sick dusk over the Southland. I felt like it bathed me in filth. I hated it but it also felt fitting to my state of mind then.
There was a short flight of narrow concrete steps at the back of the Auditorium building. It was an entrance to the standing room above the seats of the auditorium. They faced the student/faculty overflow parking lot. I had stopped there when the final bell had rung, while flowing with the crowd outside the gates, feeling scattered and miserable. As I
The Conductor.morning.The Conductor.morning.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Monday morning was like a hangover. The weekend had rolled up like a sick dog and lay a cloudy reflection, paralyzed in my 6:45 a.m. glass of milk. I still hadnt slept since very early Saturday morning when I had woken in sweat to Draculas eyes. I mightve drifted off once or twice, but only to have steel grey eyes jolt me wide awake, writhing emotions of elation and self-fear twisting up my thoughts. Wracked with conflict and reminded of it consistently.
The milk was making my stomach turn.
Shorty? You feeling alright? Mom asked, her bloodshot eyes worrying on me.
She and I sat in the dinning room, attempting breakfast. Grandma mightve been awake but she kept silent in her dark room off the living room in the front of the house.
I blinked dejectedly at my glass. Yeah, m fine, mom. Just didnt sleep well. I said and got up to pour the rest of the milk down the sink in the kitchen. It had gone warm and infused with
The Conductor.DeliveranceThe Conductor.Deliverance7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The 7Eleven on Colorado Boulevard sold cigarettes and alcohol without checking ID. Hesahn, the weekday register attendant, didnt give a shit. Day by day kids came in and if they didnt steal anything or give him a hard time about his race, it was a good day. I swear he mustve only been five years older than myself. Even after a year in this country, at this job, he still looked fresh from India. But most times he was unsupervised by his father, the owner of this particular 7Eleven, and would just go ahead and sell anything to anyone. As long as it was money. And Vice wasnt concerned with liquor stores then. I think the security cameras were bust, too.
With my darkest sunglasses on and a navy skater baseball cap Id gotten from my brother-which was always stashed in my backpack,-my hair obscuring the rest of my injured face, I quickly went through the mart. Grabbing a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, sterile soft gauze, a box of Garfield pl
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CLEANSED BY FIRE part b
...Wake up. Come see. Come see what Ive done....
The subtle caress of pleasurable slumber spoke words that Id never heard it utter before, through a voice I felt several laser beam connections with. Like verbal hands, they pulled at me.
The smell of smoke tickled my sense of smell, raising me from blissful deep slumber. Reluctant, I pressed my face harder into my pillow. But the smell persisted. The odor reminded me of the foothill fires of Chatsworth and the Valley, except there was a bit more of a bite to this smoke. A reeling hot slap of burning plastics to the nostrils. The memory of my brother and I playing Blitzkrieg and setting fire to model airplanes clicked by in my head. The scent developed and thickened.
Hazy-brained, I came to. My eyes blinking, noting no smoke in the cool blue glow of my television set. The dopplering wail of sirens coaxed my consciousness more. Followed by the blaring horn of what had to be a Hook and Ladd
damian diabloni want you to look at medamian diablon6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
--your bleeding heart dripping from tender prey lips--
i want you to show me
--your eyes alight with desirous reverence--
i want you to bow to me
--my rightful claim to yours that's most precious and pure--
i want you to belong to me
--already mine i just tremble at the words from your throat--