I'll wait up in the dark {tael/sal}
Jun 11, 2015 3:05:11 GMT -5
Post by Python on Jun 11, 2015 3:05:11 GMT -5
I WANT TO LOVE BUT I
T A E L B A R K L E Y
SMELL OF WAR AND RUNNING AND RUNNING.He was dressed in white on a Sunday morning. Between his curtains he could see the sun peeking its head above the horizon, splashing the sky with a blend of summer colors. It would burn extra hot today, and suffocate the district in a sweltering blanket of heat. He could already feel the discomfort nestled in the thick fabric of his church clothes. He hated the slick sensation of sweat against his skin. Father said it was what men did, they labored and they sweat from the responsibility; except his father was a rich man who didn’t work outside, so Tael didn’t see how that applied to him. He would rather avoid it entirely.
Mother fussed with the collar of his shirt, muttering her usual critiques. ”You should gel your hair back, you’d look handsome like that.” He just nodded and reassured her that he would try it. The lie left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Hair gel was disgusting, he wanted his hair to be soft and cute. Apparently that was too “girly” for his old fashioned parents. They would complain until the day they died.
His father patted him on the back and wished him good luck, like he needed it. Today the church seminar would begin with a song by the choir. Tael was the lead singer of this choir, and was – in his opinion – the only important member. As much as he hated the lyrics of the songs, he loved hearing the sound of his own voice. His parents always forced him to practice during the week. It was the only hobby of his they actually admired. This week there would be a symbolic wine-drinking session, where the wine was meant to represent the blood of Christ. His song followed that theme.
It tickled him to be the center of attention on stage, but wasting his talent on a religion he didn’t follow always disappointed him. It was the same old boring lyrics written by the church songwriter Ms. Poncy, delivered to his doorstep by her daughter Penelope. Apparently she had a crush on him, the poor girl. She was among the many faces in the church crowd this morning. Most of the girls were wearing basic flowery skirts and dresses, and the men were in whatever pants and button-up shirts they could find. It was all dull, but he sang his heart to them regardless. When he was finished, they clapped quietly and he bowed. Another job well done.
One of the other boys passed the wine around. It was red enough to trick the eye, but when he gulped it down it was bitter. He was pretty sure blood was thicker than wine, and wouldn’t taste so strong. It was the only alcohol his parents appreciated. He hated all of it. Too bitter, too strong of a burn, and he wasn’t interested in inhibiting his judgement. One slip up could ruin every secret he worked diligently to keep. The boys were always disappointed when he didn’t want to drink with them, but It never took long to shut their mouths and satisfy them. He was not a drinker, never would be, and Tael didn’t change for anyone.
His parents were chatting up old neighbors about horses. Every weekend they invited the public to pet and ride their horses. Kids loved it, and Tael always made it a show to invite his “girlfriend” over and help her onto the prettiest one. She wasn’t really his girlfriend; simply a cover up. She was his best friend, and had agreed to that little contract. She didn’t mind at all, really, and was one of the few people who accepted him for what he was.
Tael didn’t care enough to listen to his parents’ ramblings. He stood up and watched the boy distribute wine to everyone seated and waiting. The cup in his hand was wooden and ugly, but the boy holding it wasn’t so bad. His eyes lingered for a moment, probably for far too long. He knew people were too distracted to notice. Either way, it was an empty dream. That boy was straighter than a wooden board, and would definitely have as many splinters. He shrugged it off. He had lost count of how many unavailable boys were in the District. Many of them were in this church. It was a terrible misfortune, but he would never lose sleep over it. He had other hunting grounds to prowl through.
He yawned and waited for the bread to be distributed. He had nearly forgotten that bit. The crowd seemed twitchier than usual, way too eager to participate in this blood Christ thing. He was ready for it to end, for everybody to leave. The church was better off empty anyway. He liked it silent, and cherished the echoes he himself made in the dead of night. The buzz of the crowd annoyed him. Someone behind him was trying to explain that this “wine” was the blood of Christ. He turned around in time to receive a spray of it to his face.
It was sticky and reeked like alcohol always did, and he practically screeched in disgust.
”Ugh, gross! Watch where you’re spittin’, pig! You ruined my outfit!”
He wiped the stray droplets off of his face and grimaced.
