errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
Grinders and Grinding
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
989
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
989
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
It Begins
It was another night in British Columbia. Smash was sitting at the wood side with a bottle of Jack and his regrets. Nothing more simplistic than desire could ever exist, from his vantage point, but that only yields love, which is a gestalt on it\'s own, and no less than a conundrum. He wasn\'t sure he\'d find solace in the bottom of a bottle, but his aim to was to see that end, unlike the ends his life never reached "“ never had a real relationship, never had loving parents, never had an easy ride with his peers, for that was true above anything less obstinate, and it was another rumination on death and dying. The Tibetans had the right idea, but he wanted his life to culminate soon than the graces of the natural sciences demanded.
Against the seasons, the rain poured down. It was the whim of whoever sat above in those clouds of steel and incendiary chemical by-products. It's just another day, it's just another fight. And the fight, longlorn in the valleys of nature's myriad dignitaries at peace with each other in the passing tides of the seasons. But, again, it was nothing a little human intervention couldn't ruin. Smash was aware of the true scope of his loneliness, and it played on him. So many had sprawled before him, and so many had made mockery of his affections. It was words strung into sentence; it as doomed to not be right.
So Smash sat and took in surroundings. The rain plummeted down in shades droplet---a thousand in a singularity. And his back was with the affluence of nature. Water was his left blood, but the rest of him desired semen; oh holy love piss. And as the rain subsides the sun makes its appearance again, slowly ascending into the heavens, not visible as it crawled up the horizon. And Smash produced a cigarette from his pocket and proceeded to light and suck. Almost like fellatio, it was hot and he his lips at the ready. Nothing more wholesome had ever been available to Smash, and it was almost cathartic: knowing that he might die sooner than projected for his age range. Smash didn't so much want to die as he did to escape his body, and soar over tree tops. In the city he had a life, but in the mountains he was free of the resolution to be at others' sides, and bolster them as they required, for alliance was beyond his scruples; everyone wanted everyone else t make them feel like a big shot---and the cycle was unending.
So as Smash sat and reflected on the day's grace, and clatter arose from the woods. It was quite the start for the creature that dwelt within the forest line. And it couldn't have been anyone with any sense. So, out of the trees came a stark figure, he grinded at Smash and sat down next to him. Smash shuffled his fate and turned to the lad, "who the fuck are you?" he inquired. And the words came like embers from a fire, "people just call me Vile, but you can call me Sir, if you like." "I think I'll have to pass on that one, dude," Smash resounded."
"So who are you?" Vile inquired. "My name is Smash, mostly because I smash shit." He still wondered where Vile's place in his day was, but he inquired no more of the powers that be, exemplified in the ebb of the foliage in the breeze. And with it the day broke against the hue of the Sun., the sky azure. It felt surreal. So much beauty needed to be plucked and extinguished. The cherry was most acrid before its time, and the time was now. To bring, again, cloud to sky, and scorch it will his ire.
And it was yet another time that little made sense. Looking over at his wayward companion, Smash asked "what the fuck is up with Mayhem bullshit?' "It's just a shirt," Vile replied, "it's not like Aus Rotten, they're actually a decent band!" And Smash snorted, "what the fuck do you know about punk?" "I know that Caustic Christ is a dumb name, and that's all I need to know!" retorted Vile. It's just something people can't agree on. Smash sat and sized Vile up. He was a broad-shouldered, long-haired lad of no more than 20. Bathed black and adorned with great boots of thunder. Smash, himself, was a slender lad. Being 23 and having no job he was aimless, managing, as he could, to keep himself in thrift store jeans and Chucks; his Mohawk plying foe the ceiling of wherever the fuck he might be.
Vile, growing restless, placed his hand on Smash's knee. "Sweetheart, I've got something you might like the taste of." Smash perked immediately and said "I don't know that you've got anything I might like." He was a far cry from amiable, not to the least extent, but he did think this broad lad might be less detrimental to his character if he could shut him up for a while. So Smash grabbed Vile's hips n swung him against the dirt. He pressed his lips against his, suckling junipers made for a grand scene. It wasn't as if he had seen anything less enticing today, to he lowered himself and ground, in some insipient fashion, on Vile "“ but Vile thusly pushed him away stating "another time, dear lad" and disappeared into the forest, leaving Smash on his own, wondering what he had done and why he bothered to do it.
Smash didn't care much for Vile, even still, but he wanted to against feel his chest heaving as he stabilized himself on them, his hands running over them; again he longed for something he didn't want. Vile seemed a reprehensible yet enthralling, and totally without regret. It was something he would taste the nectar of again, but not this day, no. So he regressed and watched as the stars rolled in.
Against the seasons, the rain poured down. It was the whim of whoever sat above in those clouds of steel and incendiary chemical by-products. It's just another day, it's just another fight. And the fight, longlorn in the valleys of nature's myriad dignitaries at peace with each other in the passing tides of the seasons. But, again, it was nothing a little human intervention couldn't ruin. Smash was aware of the true scope of his loneliness, and it played on him. So many had sprawled before him, and so many had made mockery of his affections. It was words strung into sentence; it as doomed to not be right.
So Smash sat and took in surroundings. The rain plummeted down in shades droplet---a thousand in a singularity. And his back was with the affluence of nature. Water was his left blood, but the rest of him desired semen; oh holy love piss. And as the rain subsides the sun makes its appearance again, slowly ascending into the heavens, not visible as it crawled up the horizon. And Smash produced a cigarette from his pocket and proceeded to light and suck. Almost like fellatio, it was hot and he his lips at the ready. Nothing more wholesome had ever been available to Smash, and it was almost cathartic: knowing that he might die sooner than projected for his age range. Smash didn't so much want to die as he did to escape his body, and soar over tree tops. In the city he had a life, but in the mountains he was free of the resolution to be at others' sides, and bolster them as they required, for alliance was beyond his scruples; everyone wanted everyone else t make them feel like a big shot---and the cycle was unending.
So as Smash sat and reflected on the day's grace, and clatter arose from the woods. It was quite the start for the creature that dwelt within the forest line. And it couldn't have been anyone with any sense. So, out of the trees came a stark figure, he grinded at Smash and sat down next to him. Smash shuffled his fate and turned to the lad, "who the fuck are you?" he inquired. And the words came like embers from a fire, "people just call me Vile, but you can call me Sir, if you like." "I think I'll have to pass on that one, dude," Smash resounded."
"So who are you?" Vile inquired. "My name is Smash, mostly because I smash shit." He still wondered where Vile's place in his day was, but he inquired no more of the powers that be, exemplified in the ebb of the foliage in the breeze. And with it the day broke against the hue of the Sun., the sky azure. It felt surreal. So much beauty needed to be plucked and extinguished. The cherry was most acrid before its time, and the time was now. To bring, again, cloud to sky, and scorch it will his ire.
And it was yet another time that little made sense. Looking over at his wayward companion, Smash asked "what the fuck is up with Mayhem bullshit?' "It's just a shirt," Vile replied, "it's not like Aus Rotten, they're actually a decent band!" And Smash snorted, "what the fuck do you know about punk?" "I know that Caustic Christ is a dumb name, and that's all I need to know!" retorted Vile. It's just something people can't agree on. Smash sat and sized Vile up. He was a broad-shouldered, long-haired lad of no more than 20. Bathed black and adorned with great boots of thunder. Smash, himself, was a slender lad. Being 23 and having no job he was aimless, managing, as he could, to keep himself in thrift store jeans and Chucks; his Mohawk plying foe the ceiling of wherever the fuck he might be.
Vile, growing restless, placed his hand on Smash's knee. "Sweetheart, I've got something you might like the taste of." Smash perked immediately and said "I don't know that you've got anything I might like." He was a far cry from amiable, not to the least extent, but he did think this broad lad might be less detrimental to his character if he could shut him up for a while. So Smash grabbed Vile's hips n swung him against the dirt. He pressed his lips against his, suckling junipers made for a grand scene. It wasn't as if he had seen anything less enticing today, to he lowered himself and ground, in some insipient fashion, on Vile "“ but Vile thusly pushed him away stating "another time, dear lad" and disappeared into the forest, leaving Smash on his own, wondering what he had done and why he bothered to do it.
Smash didn't care much for Vile, even still, but he wanted to against feel his chest heaving as he stabilized himself on them, his hands running over them; again he longed for something he didn't want. Vile seemed a reprehensible yet enthralling, and totally without regret. It was something he would taste the nectar of again, but not this day, no. So he regressed and watched as the stars rolled in.