Date: 19 Jul 2005 22:00:13 -0000
From: chomas (at) phreaker (dot) net
Subject: The Bracelet: Series 1 Episode 2 [Gay > Adult Youth]

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                             ^%%  SERIES 01 - EPISODE 02  %%^

                           ... The Bracelet ...

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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 story is held under the intellectual property of "Chomas", which
  means it may not be distributed in whole, or in part, without express
  written permission from the author. You may not print, copy, mirror or
  in any other way distribute this for the purposes of public consumption
  or monetary gain.


                        =:   T H E   A U T H O R   :=

  Welcome to chapter 2 :) Another shorty this time, just setting the mood!
  Thanks to Wolfie for the comments and suggestions, and again more are
  welcome at the usual address.

  Apologies for the messed up header in episode 1, apparently my mail
  client likes to strip backslashes because they're evil. Damn slashes.

    -- Chomas <chomas AT hotmail DOT com>


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            =:   S 0 1 E 0 2   -   T H E   B R A C E L E T   :=


  "Sir, I'm sorry, the data is lost." I said, looking at the meeting
  table to avoid his glare.

  The data in question was a substantial amount of research carried out by
  our sister company, and hosted for our most important client. 'Nightmare'
  is the understatement of the century, and heads may well roll. Mine, for
  a start.

  "Right. Fuck." was his expert response. I don't blame him. "I need a
  report by Monday morning explaining exactly what went wrong with the
  originals, the backups and the off-site failsafe. We have a lot of
  explaining to do."

  I nodded, keeping my mouth shut. It meant working ALL weekend, and even
  then it was pushing it. You really should see one of our 'reports'. No,
  sorry, I couldn't put anyone through that.

  "That's all, go home, get some rest. You'll need it."

  I nodded again, said my farewells and left for the week. My sigh of
  relief was evident and I stretched my arms as I left the office. Quite
  why I felt this relief is beyond me - I'll be working all weekend, and
  even if I wasn't, it would be a boring two days locked up in a tiny flat
  doing not much.

  As I walked home my mind mulled over todays events. Possible job loss,
  but I doubted it. Clever people don't shoot the messenger without a damn
  good reason. Not only is my boss clever, I haven't given him a reason.

  Okay, all good there. In fact my handling of the situation could even
  earn me a promotion. Well that just depends on how well I do my homework
  really. Heh, homework, I haven't heard that dreaded word since ...

  Aaah the boy. I'd completely forgotten about my little blonde angel in
  the midst of my corporate beheading. As I reached the entrance to my
  block of flats I mulled over his words. Very strange indeed. How on
  Earth could he have "sent me a parcel" without having ever talked to me?
  In fact I assumed he never even noticed my existence, always walking
  past me lost in his own world of school and friends and parents and
  everything else an eleven year old gets lost in.

  Unless he followed me home carefully one evening to discover where I
  lived. No way, that would make him weirder than me. Hrmmmmm. In a nice
  way though. I shivered.

  But as I approached the brass-numbered door to my flat, as promised,
  there was a small parcel carefully placed directly in the center of the
  doorway. I slowed my pace. It was squarly wrapped in tight brown paper
  and in black pen my full name and address was hand-written across the
  top. A postage stamp was present top-right, with the postmark perfectly
  stamped horizontally across it. Everything about the package dripped
  with perfection. Surreal.

  I bent over, picked it up, and let myself in. I placed it very carefully
  in the center of my living room table, put the shopping away, poured
  myself a glass of wine and dropped into my comfortable armchair. I sank
  back as the fluffy chair massaged my shoulders with its grasp and took
  several sips of alcoholic grape juice to settle the brain, staring at
  the parcel.

  Getting over the fact the angel himself knew my name and sent me a
  parcel took a good few minutes. I would have preferred a letter in
  speculation, I always feel special when I receive a letter from
  someone, but it never happens. I hoped there was a note that gave some
  kind of explanation to what's going on.

  Maybe he's just sent me a dog turd. I laughed into my glass, took a gulp
  and leant forward to reach the package. Sitting back again, I ran the
  paper-encased box through my hands as I inspected it. It measured about 4"
  in width, 3" high and 2" deep. The brown paper was folded perfectly at
  the corners and sides, and met across the back sealed with 1" strips of
  clear tape. The postmark was local, but unusually black and solid and
  squarely printed, genuinely looking like a postal clerk spent 5 minutes
  getting it right.

  I drew in a breath and carefully peeled back the tape holding the parcel
  closed. I removed the brown paper to discover a wooden box, deep deep
  brown in color and hinged across the back with tiny brass hinges. A
  rotating catch sat at the front mocking my hesitance.

  The wrapping paper contained no more clues, so I discarded it on the
  table and drank the last of my wine glass. I used the tip of my thumb
  to place the catch aside before opening the box. The wood was perfectly
  cut but seemed aged, with a padded black felt interior tightly encasing
  a bright silver bracelet. It glistened in the light.

  My other hand came over and slowly removed the cold hard metal from its
  warm home, rotating it infront of my face.

  "He sent me ... no way ..." I said to myself in amazement. 

  I couldn't even begin to speculate why a boy would send me such an
  amazing gift. My mind reeled at the beauty of it all, and slowly settled
  on the conclusion that it couldn't have been my angel who sent it. No
  way. The evidence suggested it, but the evidence was screwed up as it
  was!

  I shrugged to myself, squirmed my left hand through the cold metal and
  felt it settle against my wrist. Whoever it was from, I was grateful
  and it felt good to wear. I silently thanked them and placed the wooden
  box back on my table. At this point I had had enough wine to be quite
  content talking to myself, so I muttered myself into a light doze with
  unanswerable questions.


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      Authored:  19-Jul-05                 By:  Chomas <@phreaker.net>
      Special thanks to the Nifty Archives for hosting my publications

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