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This is not the entire piece, but "To Be Continued", and an excerpt of a chapter in the beginning of either an extended short story, or shrunken book.
There is much more to come.

The chilled green glass rests against my fingertips as a trail of dragon smoke escapes my lips. Stretching back I nestle against the sheets, warmed by pools of summer light flowing through the windows. A comforting heat, like a shirt pulled quickly from the dryer, I can’t help but press every inch of my exposed skin to it.

Fingertips again, these not mine, trace the sunlight on my arm; curled red tips leading to long black strands, these too not mine, no longer laying wild against my shoulder tickle my nose as they brush by. As weight of the glass disappears from my hands, it leaves behind a cool film. Seizing the chance, I tease her neck with the icy water and watch from nape to navel goose bumps erupt from her mocha chest. That knee weakening sound assaults my ears, her laughter.

I open my eyes and fall into beautiful wooden pools. Acrid smoke invades my throat, my lungs, as she breathes into me. Her playful tongue flicks against my own as I pull her waist closer to mine. Our proud violation excites us both. Our limbs tangle in time to Morello’s igniting chords blasting from the background. Ecstasy compounds as the chemicals set our minds on fire.

“Lisa will be home soon punkin, I gotta go” she says to me, in a voice that somehow holds childish innocence, that is embroidered with empathetic apologies for her guilt, over me. I frown, there's nothing for me to say. On the tips of her toes she drinks me in again, one last time for who knows how long. “Mmm, awwwhh, I like kissing you”, Who knows how long is worse than forever.

“Good, I could get used to it, littlefoot.” I pause, and she grins, “I know he’s coming back tomorrow, how long until you are mine again, hun?” No more grin.

“He doesn’t have a job, he doesn’t have any friends besides my friends…”, her voice trails off as her mind wanders. She doesn’t have an answer for that, “Soon I hope.” She meant that, her eyes aways betrayed her lies to me.

What the fuck did I think I was doing?
I wish I knew. I wish I could claim in a steady voice I was following my heart, giving me a sort of moral carte blanche for this withdrawal on my soul. I don’t know that for sure, nothing for sure. Maybe I was just following my dick- or was it the opiates? I hope otherwise. I have to stop day dreaming like this. About this.

I won’t.


I’m snapped out of my acid etched dreams this morning by that infuriatingly pleasant voice and squealing brakes, just like usual. “This is Washington, doors open on the left. Next stop is Jackson!” I mentally brace myself, and get ready to bear the slowly crashing September temperature as the train slows, hating more by the day the pummeling wind of those downtown aisles. All the while wanting to latch on to that dream and bring back it to life. At least I’ve still got de la Rocha screaming in my ears. “…pocket fullah shells”- and we stop short of Jackson. “Sorry for the delay, the train should be moving shortly”. Vexed, inconvenienced, I’ll be late for sure now. On the other hand, I get to sink back into those wonderful memories. Drooping my eyelids, I do just that.

His back is hurting again. He’s laying down on the couch, grinning up at us with his happy eyes and his twenty something scraggily goatee. We are talking, like we do, and only we do. People don't talk like this, spend their days debating philosophy, religion, love, life. We did though, and it was amazing, addicting somehow..Tonight it was something different from usual, a scholar refuting racism with science. I wanted to learn, and he was teaching me.

Can you believe it? A logical scientific proof being used to defeat the senselessness of racism, I wonder if he realized the idiotic irony of it all. He probably would have, prejudice is a subject he's quite familiar with. Abused and ridiculed for being too smart, for being too young to know, for his religion(more like lack thereof), for the drugs, for the acronym diseases of his mind, OCD, ADD, GTS, FMS, for the lovers he’s chosen; I’ve been stung by a few of these, we all have. Too many of these have been stuck onto him and maybe that’s why he studies what he does, the subconscious stereotyping of the human mind. MLK, one of his absentee mentors, said the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me. I find that ironic, I think he would have been happier lynched. Surprise, surprise, life really isn’t fair. I’d like to think these aren’t the times he was made for, that this brutish society can’t handle his particular level of brotherly loving Zen. But then I stop. I wonder if any time could stand, withstand him.

Across the room the dark girl is with us, next to his sister, craving at least one of us and watching the show of words. The sister is silent, but with every word her lips crave mine, with hungry eyes asking me to stay the night. My body agrees with her, wanting to repeat it again and again. Lure and spark of my libido that she is, she’s not the one my mind wants. A lull in the conversation, the siblings go downstairs to soothe their burning throats, Lizzie pulls no punches, all of our throats burn, and the rest of the night won’t be any different. Both her and I will resist a drink knowing the few seconds alone together it will win us won’t come again soon. A kiss will do more to soothe the pain. I smile at the dark girl, she winks at me, blows a kiss. I breath deep and blow a ring at her in return. With measured breath she destroys it and dives into my lap, her lips don’t leave mine until we hear them creep back up the steps. Quick as lightening she’s off the chair and back to her bed, face painted in her practiced grin of false innocence. “What’s so funny, you two?”, walking in. I chuckle, they’ve no clue what’s so funny. I convey the irony of this all to her in a text, as well as how much I want them to leave the room again. The next time my nonchalant gaze crosses hers, with thin lips her smile widens ever so slightly, and I know that as his arms wrap around her, this one thing is just for me

Now it’s time for us to get to the reason I'm here. Well, supposed to be here. Tonight’s lesson is on pharmies, and since it’s their first it’s even more exciting. It’s a game I’ve learned to play through many nights of self guided study, and one that I’m glad to both supply and share. I don’t know whether Paul will drift towards the ceiling or melt onto the couch but whatever his gravitational inclination I do know that soon his back, all his troubles, will be far from his mind. I just hope that extends to me. This is a pain killer that has the power to numb nearly any brutality, be it physical or imagined, when taken right. The metal and flame of the florid dragon has been distilled into a deceiving white pill, embossed with a V, stretched into a wavy radical.

Even though the metal is gone, there’s still ritual in it, a repeated habit come vague meditation. The senses dilate, focus and nothing is left but the surface, the tool and the powder. The card pounds again and again, striving to pulverize the grainy dust into refined rocket fuel, launching us to new heights. Pinching the bill and rolling it, my practiced fingers stretch the first line. Each in turn we draw a line and walk it, until there’s nothing left. My nose is filled with napalm and my eyes sting with tears, but through it I’m slowly disconnected. All the obstacles between me and her, all the distance, all the emotional bullshit of the siblings, the entire minefield of my mind slowly shakes free; blown away like so many dying autumn leaves, but not nearly as missed. The distilled dragon leaves only her, a reality I was scared to even hope for.

My mind rewinds; unravels?

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