weight in gold { brothers }

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weight in gold { brothers } Aug 6, 2017 17:12:46 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2017 17:12:46 GMT -5

I haven't eaten all day.

One of those days, forgetting habituals for books -- reading and working and goddamn grave holes, I've been stressed all day. Marking pages of that old bible, I held my breath with window cracks; I know I'm easily persuaded. At this point it's just how I survive. Holding hands with words of text, reading all day until Bells gets home, the beauty of night shift jobs, right? Who is Jesus Christ on my tongue, it's fascinating. Creation, divination, words words things I don't understand and there's a section somebody ripped out that I think I'd kill for to get back. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, I don't understand what I means.

I asked Andie once what he thought and he told me to shut up.

Don't really blame him either, placing the book in my backpack, weighing down on my soul, he hates the thing. Hates all the questions but I just think he hates not knowing more than anything, "do you think any of this is real?"

"Hope not, you'd never stop talking about it."

The only real thing he's ever told me about it was that our asses would get thrown in the d.c. if we got caught with it: "religious propaganda." But I run the risk. Run with the risk, past old grapevines and broken fences, meeting up with Andie in the ghost story graveyard. Shovel in hand, backpack full of flashlights, matches, water, bandages -- can't be too safe. What if we died, y'know? God bless maybe I might get reading done tonight, mind slipping between crawling under the yard's fences and bible text. I'll translate all of what it means one day, belt scrapping against the underside of a metal plank.

"Shit," I just want to read illegal religions dude, "Andie help?" Whispered screams, like ghost hauntings.

Last Edit: Aug 7, 2017 15:42:44 GMT -5 by Deleted

ghosty
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weight in gold { brothers } Sept 12, 2017 12:37:02 GMT -5

Post by ghosty on Sept 12, 2017 12:37:02 GMT -5

a n d o r r a ;

Words tainted his mouth: such a shame they're all made up for some jumped up truth. Exodus, Genesis, it never fuckin ends. Such a shame that he holds these words with reverence from some beat-up book from some beat-up grave. The kid wouldn't know the difference between truth and lies, the ones that shouldn't see the light of day. The ones that get 'em locked up an' disappear. "Jesus Christ, shut up Vati. For fuckin' once in my life."

God I regret throwing the half-rotten book into his bag, here's what I get for trying to be kind to the kid. The tick of a watch on my wrist --

{consistent, reliable, stolen
}

I hate that word. Stolen. Sounds like it was someones possession; they're dead it don't matter. They ain't gonna miss it. But possessions, they mean nothin to them, but everything to me: hidden gold. Just a shame I gotta take Vati with me. Can't trust him not to spill the beans and get the both of us thrown to detention. Sounds like something that ass would do.

Give him an inch and he and his goddamn Bible takes a mile. "Fucks sake Vati, do we need the bag," whispered words, tremors of a frown fracturing across my face. "It's a graveyard, not an adventure, kid."

I go ahead, mind rushing of money and history: fenced up, gates and graveyards. Each grave, well, it's a profit, plain and simple. "Shit, Andie help" --

Eyes rolled as I turn; fucks sake. "Okay, so, " pacing back to the fence he somehow got caught on. "What ya done this time, Vati? How hard is it to go over a fence?"

Wouldn't be surprised if he burst into tears: he's kinda like that. Muttering to the wind; "Shoulda left you in that damn grave last time, saved me all the damn trouble."

Precious time wasted on precious little -- but that's part of the fun, ain't it?

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