Date: Mon, 18 Jul 2005 17:38:46 -0500
From: chomas (at) phreaker (dot) net
Subject: The Bracelet: Series 1 Episode 1
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^%% SERIES 01 - EPISODE 01 %%^
... Prelude ...
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=: D I S C L A I M E R :=
This work of fiction may contain references to sexual conduct between
minors and consenting adults. If this is illegal in your area of
residence you are advised to leave - you are breaking the law.
The characters, story and occurances in this document are purely
fictional, and any resemblence or relation to real life situations or
people living or dead is, frankly, fucked up.
=: I N T E L L E C T U A L P R O P E R T Y :=
This work of fiction is my own intellectual property, meaning I have
rights. I wrote this story purely for the enjoyment of Nifty readers,
and this is where it should stay. You may not copy, distribute (in
electronic or print format).
=: T H E A U T H O R :=
All that nasty business out of the way, hello and welcome to episode 1!
I'd like to publish the first few episodes in succession, but I need to
hold fire for Nifty to say its A-OK:
"Nifty receives many submissions each day and we need to distribute our
attention amongst all authors"
I've got the first couple of episodes written already, but beyond that,
who knows?
So come join me on this liquid adventure that could, quite literally, go
anywhere. Don't be impatient on the sex front, this is a story not a
porn mag, and there are many (excellent) postings in this category that
cater for that.
I'd love to hear feedback from readers. Please send suggestions and
positive feedback to chomas <at> phreaker <dot> net. Flames, spam, and
angry letters can be sent to root@localhost.
Have fun, play safe.
-- Chomas <chomas AT phreaker DOT net>
P.S. I do NOT condone smoking. If you don't smoke, don't start. If you
do smoke, good on you, but don't get other people to start. Your country
may be at risk if you fail to comply.
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=: S 0 1 E 0 1 - P R E L U D E :=
God how I hate Friday afternoons. If Newton had experienced the strange
time phenomenon that grabs 3 o'clock and 4 o'clock and drags them out
to 7 hours of boredom, he'd have shot himself in confusion. I grabbed my
smokes, saved my spreadsheet, and made my way downstairs for a bit of
"fresh air".
I was the only smoker on the sidewalk outside of our building this
afternoon, so I took pleasure in wading through my thoughts as I smoked.
The usual tobacco queue is good natured, but this afternoon I didn't
have the energy to make idle chit-chat with morons. Harsh, but true.
Why was I so drained? What made me feel this almost gut-wrenching
torment of painful existence? I mulled it over, drawing in the bitter-
sweet smoke from my cancer stick and inhaling deeply. My throat roared
with glee.
I was bored with my job. I was bored with my life, really. All I seem
to do is 8 hours of mind-numbing systems administration and reporting,
before going back to my one-bedroom flat with a bottle of wine and a
microwave meal for one. Even the cashier in the shop shyly purses her
lips and looks to the counter in pity at my lonely purchases. I make
enough money, which was the only reason I kept myself alive (twisted),
but I never spend any of it. Doesn't seem much point.
As I casually bent over to stub my cigarette out on the sidewalk, I
caught a glimpse of the highlight of my day at the far end of the
street. I lit another cigarette - it would take a good couple of minutes
for him to reach me. I glanced in his direction every now and then,
taking in his blonde hair, angelic face and small frame. He walked so
gracefully, gliding down the sidewalk towards me, his hair gently
swaying across his forehead.
I guessed he was about 11, maybe 12. I tried on several occassions to
time my cigarette breaks to coincide with his passings, but they are
infrequent and unpredictable. I hoped familiarity would break the ice,
so maybe one day I could smile in recognition and give a polite 'hello',
and if I was incredibly lucky hear a chirped response in that sweet, yet
unheard, voice of the angel.
The ridiculousness of my fantasies dawned on me, and my mind snapped
back to reality. Today was the day, and I'm going to say hello to him.
In about 30 seconds. 28. 26. Look, stop being stupid. If I want to say
hello to someone, I can, society isn't THAT fucked up. 18. Okay, act
natural. I've seen him before, I'll put on my 'oh I know you from
somewhere' face and flippantly say 'hi'. 13. I've got to tell my boss
when I go upstairs that we've lost $280,000 worth of data, so I can
bloody well say 'hello' to someone. I heard his soft footsteps approach
to the right, as I studied the complexities of the lamp post across the
street. Closer. Closer. I glanced right, first behind him, then at his
face, taking in his soft skin and frankly gorgeous choice of clothing.
This boy was a dream. Uh oh, his eyes met mine. I (rather goofily) tried
my 'recognision' face, and in doing so let some smoke drift into my
left eye. It stung as my contorted face followed his, and I managed to
dish out a simple "Hello". The boy slowed.
"Hello," he smiled back.
He stopped in front of me, quite close. I stepped back a little, rubbing
the infuriatingly embarrasing eye that was probably quite bloodshot by
now.
"Seen you before, thought I'd say hello," I said. Lame.
The angel just smiled back at me, holding his silence. I shifted my
weight slightly uncomfortably. His face remained expectant.
"My name's Drew," I said, extending my non-smoking hand. His smile
widened slightly and his eyes glistened.
"I know. I've sent you a parcel." He held my gaze a moment longer, then
turned back in his direction of travel, disappearing down the street.
I felt speechless. For the first time in my life, my brain was so dead
I couldn't think of anything to say - time almost slowed down with his
words but even in slow motion I was lost. I dropped my unshaken hand as
my eyes glazed over, embedded in a face of confusion.
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Authored: 18-Jul-05 By: Chomas <@phreaker.net>
Special thanks to the Nifty Archives for hosting my publications
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