Ravaged Jungle
Ravaged Jungle
Ravaged Jungle
Young children usually base their opinions of people on the way the look. The reflection of a person in the child’s mind. The boogeyman will look like the meanest person they’ve ever met. Warts on his nose, skin ashen and rotting, tattoos decorating his arms and chest. His voice creaking like an old stair case, as he whispers words that can destroy a child’s delicate mind.
Or he looks like that horrible first grade teacher, who repeatedly called you stupid in front of the rest of the class even though you were trying your best.
The tooth fairy looks like Glenda the good witch in ‘Wizard Of Oz’ The tulle colored hair and glitter frosted with stars and little child-like adults hiding in her puffy, frothy skirt. Her wand waving in pink swirls, making wishes come true for the price of a tooth.
And little boys dream their future wife looks like the chick from the Brady Bunch, Martha, or something.
I fell in love at ten. With a girl. Because of how she looked.
They had just moved in to the dilapidated split level next door and I was raking leaves in the front yard. I had looked down to pull out a splinter my finger had gained from the wooden handle of the rake, and when I looked up I saw an elf ducking and swinging high in an oak tree.
She was high up in the trees thick skeleton arm branches. Dirt and leaves stuck, tangling with her messed up, curling, golden-red pigtails, her knees scraped and dirtied from the effort of climbing, her face smudged with dust, her sunflower print dress ripped in long strips at the bottom.
She was pretending to be Tarzan.
I loved her right then.
“Whoa, whoa!”
Then she was toppling from that tree, giggling and yelling. I dropped the rake and ran over trying to catch her, unfortunately, while my legs were long and scrawny, the muscles were undeveloped making me too slow. She fell in a pile of leaves, I skidded to a stop in front of her, unsure of what to say or do. After all, ten year old boys aren’t the most sensitive creatures in the world. Her head popped up, and she was perfect.
Her nose was sprinkled across with freckles, her skin tan from being outside so often. Her green eyes sparkled and her face was that of a shy, yet curious elf.
Looking back I now can see the potential in that face. The complete womanliness of it, but then all I could think of was mischievous elves making shoes. Then tying the laces together to trip you.
I scratched the back of my head, ruffling through the thick, uncut hair, “Uhmm...” She smiled lightly, her brow furrowed in confusion, her eyes leaking suspicion. “I’m Teak.” I said, offering her my hand, her forehead cleared, her smile more open, “I’m Ana.”
That summer was the first I had ever enjoyed. Ana and I hiked around the ravaged jungle that was our neighborhood, we danced together until we couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t tell the difference between us. We painted and drew on rocks and trees and abandoned houses, and on each other.
We would swing from the tree I found Ana in and tell each other stories about little children who’d become captives of mad men, their skin would be peeled and used in soups; their bodies never found. We would cleave ourselves together and roll down hills, cover ourselves in mud and than pretend we were wild creatures.
That summer was bound to end.
When school began a teacher of mine found out about my insane stepfather. Child Protective services came to get me the next week. We stood in my frontyard, I shuffled my feet in frustration. I said the only thing that could be said, “I’m leaving, but swear you’ll wait for me?”
Swearing is a very serious thing for children, they have to keep the promise. Or the gods of kiddy land will give them the boot. And no-one wants to be kicked from kiddy land.
“Swear you’ll always be mine, just mine?”
She chewed her bottom lip and screwed up her face in thought. I was fascinated by the expression she made. She began nodding slowly, than quicker, her head jerking. Up, down.
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The music thrummed through my body, shimmering in those around me like flashes of neon light. The girl’s bodies swaying and rocking like sex, their faces glowing with a feeling of being immortal. That is what it’s like when your young, trying mind expanding liquids and powders. The reason for it all is feeling immortal, or trying too.
I jerked my fingers through the strings of my guitar, lingering on that last musical note. The roaring began like a wave coming from the back, to the front. The noise would stay buzzing in my ear for days, but I lived for the sound anyway. I looked to the side at the club owner, who signaled that our set was over. I placed my guitar on its stand and waving to the crowd, walked off the stage.
The band I was with was named ‘The Hunt’ and we were used to playing big crowds. After all, when you’re one of the best underground bands in London, you get used to big crowds. Not to sound cocky.
Later at the hotel party, our drummer, Harper, was already picking up groupies. He was looking for his one true love. He said that after their first kiss he would listen for something, something Shakespearian, and if she said it; that was his true love. He didn’t sleep with the groupies, even after luring them in like a cat with a mouse. Surprisingly, he was still a virgin.
I have no idea how a man could go that long without sex, I never could. And I always went for red heads. Perverse? Completely.
The liquor flowed like Poseidon’s oceans, decrepitating the mind. Men who normally claimed homophobia grappled and groped other men, their groins grinding together in a lustful frenzy. Masculine lips crushed together, only knowing the need to dominate; subdue.
In front of (eagerly watching) crowds women suckled silicone-injected breasts of females with hair like curled cotton candy, and collagen puffed lips. These people surrounded me and for once I was detached from their debauched intoxication, viewing it as a spider might view it from the wall.
The sight of men puffed up and parading like peacocks in a zoo. Their need to fuck practically a stink around them as they boisterously call to women with their own version of a mating call- “Get over here bitch, let me give you a taste of this,”- while cupping whatever monstrosity between their legs. Women showing off parts that were augmented on long tables with needles and blades.
Breast
Thigh
Hip
Ass
Stomach
Flirtatiously touching men’s arms as if the male species was above the primal need to spread his seed, as if we can control ourselves.
The girl’s hair filled with chemicals destroying the ozone layer. They tanned in the hot hot sun without sun screen -so they would be the perfect golden brown- and than were surprised when later they are diagnosed with skin cancer.
But I can’t stay in this indifferent state for long. The girls are sauntering up to me, moving their hips in a way practiced to entice me. The twinkle in their eyes, the smile on their lips, all promising to reveal themselves to me like sex goddesses -Unite! All the Paris Hiltons of the world.- And I can’t think anymore, I can only see the pink of her nipple
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Parents are confusing things.
If they aren’t beating, their punishing others who are weaker for their problems by humiliating them with words that feel like the worst beating. Or, at least that was my life. See my step-dad thought that; since he married my mom she was his, no-one could touch her. I couldn’t even hug her without a backhand meeting my face. Her skin was his. And everything that came from her was his.
I used to hate him for it, until Ana came along.
I knew her address and sent her letters, reminding her of my existence, but she couldn’t read the letters until she learned to read. When she could finally read and write she told me the letters had just piled up in a corner, since no one would read them to her. It happened for three years and she was finally able to read them to her self.
Our friendship continued this way, no calls, no visits, just letters of affection. And then she told me she met this guy.
His name was Allen (what type of name is that), he was a photographer, he took pictures of her and other girls, he took photos of what was MINE! Rage would fill my mind at the mention of him, my hands could feel themselves pummeling him, my face could feel the spatter of blood as it emptied itself from him in angry spurts.
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This was our last gig for awhile, I was going back to the States to get Ana. I had not sent letters for a month, she kept writing, asking what was wrong, what did she do wrong? It showed how she depended on me, how she needed me; which was as it should be. She should have known she didn’t need friends or anyone, just me.
I looked over to the group of women Harper was around, and saw her. Lily. She kept coming back no matter how I treated her, like a whore. She thought I could love her, it was almost sad. But she was the type of girl I knew I needed to protect, being the only guy she ever slept with. Though I’ll admit I was mostly an ass, but I had told her this didn’t mean anything. I still protected her from guys who would really fuck her up.
Throwing my paint covered jean jacket off I swayed over to her. I only slept with certain girls, the one’s I knew for a fact were clean. After all, when I finally had Ana I didn’t want to dirty her.
She looked at me shyly, with hope-filled eyes. I sighed, ran my fingers through the long strands of my green tipped hair and tried to smile at her. Her face cleared, blank, as if she saw in me and knew everything. Knew Ana. Women have a habit of doing that to men. She wrapped her arms around me, trying to hold on, nuzzling her wet face in my neck. I treated her so badly, but she still cared, why?
I put my arm under her knees, behind her back and lifted her body, bridal style. I carried her into my room and laid her on my bed, she was quiet now, like the dead.
“Why are you leaving me?” she said in that small voice of hers. She reminded me of Ana so much, which was why I kept her around. I lay next to her and pulled her close to my body, warming her. I treated her, for once, how she deserved to be treated.
Wiping her straight hair from her face I cupped the plump little cheek and kissed her fore head, she still carried some baby fat to her face. “I gotta go.” She shook her head back and forth, denying it, “Stay with me.” I drew in a deep breath, why was I such a jerk to this sweet girl again? “It’s time for me to go back to the states, Lil’.”
She turned her head away, “It’s another girl isn’t it?” I pushed my face into her neck and whispered, “I’ll just hold you tonight, if you want.” She nodded and wrapped her arms around me, snuggling close.
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Ana had once sent me a picture of her, about a year ago. She was jokingly doing a ballet stance, her arms lifted above her head, her toes pointed and parted. She didn’t have the typical body of a ballerina though.
It was more plump and not in a bad way. She was short, her body flowed like a soda bottle, her breast rounded and full. Hips perfectly curved in a round arc, bottom high and sweetly generous in flesh. She was soft and graceful, her face though seemed blank, like one losing all their dreams.
But it was a beautiful face none-the-less. A small nose, elegantly formed, pouting, pink lips, ears like darling seashells. Golden red eyelashes and eyebrows, hair that was wilder than ever, falling down her hips. And those eyes that made me crazy, sultry lowered lids, the lashes so thick, hiding secrets I would one day unravel.
Innocence shrouded her entire face, innocence of men he thought. He hoped she didn’t know what they wanted from her, what they would take from her.
It made me want to grin, to sing songs about love and beauty. To pay tribute to Aphrodite in prostrate form, seeing her dream in real form, in its entirety.
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I grabbed my duffel bag, as the voice of God, better known as the over voice, said my flight was loading. Before airports were a simple annoyance and then after 9/11 America went into stage: Paranoia. I knew the ride wouldn’t be a scene from Willy Wonka, but it would be some kinda crazy.
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A/N: If you find this entertaining at all, please review, it will continue anyway. I know Teak is a jerk, but his behavior will soon be explained.