Mlle. Guignol
13-03-09, 17:51
TITLE --- LOTUS
AUTHOR --- Varenntine
WARNINGS --- 18+, incest (father+son), yaoi, violence and foul language
AUTHOR'S NOTE --- I'm not gonna bother with individual chapter ratings. Read it all or don't read at all, it's all the same to me.
*
CHAPTER TITLE --- Boogie Woogie, or 'even if it kills me'
*
*
*
Darkness and nothing but endless static and the sense of anticipation. They’re all waiting for the sun to collapse, the world to end, the ocean to spill over into the universe. They take one step back and wait.
‘What kind of people are the young people these days?’
Waves of noise crash and there’s another sudden step back. Glass crunches under heavy boots. They’ll dance for hours, taking breaks that are only long enough to wipe the sweat off their brows, and then they’re back into the crowd, the breathing mass on the dance floor, wreaking havoc in their own little world, the one about to blow up.
‘Entirely different.’
Tick-tock, tick-tock, grey eyes watching in the eerie quiet. Watching while on the other side of the glass, the world has gone entirely mad and fire threatens to melt everything that’s not insane or twisted.
‘I wonder how that girl is…’
Secret handshakes, hidden meanings, more alcohol than one should have. One look is equal to a hundred love confessions, hurried and embarrassed. There’s not enough time to consummate true love. Instead, it’s all reduced to dirty fucks, quick flings and one night stands.
‘You know…the one I used to go out with.’
There’s no moment of peace and the wicked scent of youth rises into the smoke-filled air. Silence fills everything that the noise doesn’t, while the world burns down, hearts burn out, years pass. Years pass.
‘I want to increase the wrinkles on my brain, instead of the wrinkles on my face.’
There’s one glass, two glasses, three glasses. They’re all there and they’re begging to be taken in, downed instantly, before someone else takes them – they’re all eager for something liquid, something to slither down their throats and fizz out into steam as it reaches their stomachs.
‘Hey hey, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?’
Flickering neon, black light, glowing white, burning brighter and brighter. There’s the rush of water as they wash off, trying to cool down despite knowing that they’d end up back in the furnace anyway.
‘Ah, it’s the young people nowadays…’
Misconceptions, prejudice. Fluttering eyelashes, hushing their way across flushed cheeks. Parted lips and slight panting, an I-love-you that nearly was, a please-love-me that wanted to be.
‘Are you alright?’
Moving back (step step step step), surging forward (beat beat beat beat), their movements are all the same (twist twist twist twist), and it makes for interesting social commentary while queuing up when they all wanna piss at the same time, too.
‘When you turn to the left, “copying”. When you turn to the right, “copying”. It’s all just a façade for mass production.’
Dancers are fools, watchers are fools, singers are fools. A fool here, a fool there, they’re everywhere; if they’re all fools, you might as well destroy them.
‘Entirely the same.’
The dance moves within, the dance moves without, and the dancers are all losing their minds to the dance, their souls slowly corroded by poisonous passion, slowly corrupted by venomous ecstasy. Same beat, same steps, same moves, same vices, one heart.
‘The real question is, when do we all get to go home?’
The crowd disperses only to move back together, pairs form only to join together again.
‘You’re all entirely the same.’
But things slow down for one moment maybe, before everything spins out of control. One last dance for their gods (in the name of alcohol, the moonlight, and the holy music). Everybody’s tired, sometimes barely keeping up to the fast-paced rhythm, but they’ll keep going, spinning, dancing, moving, held together by threads made of molten glass and metal.
‘Are you ready?’
Their minds are all joined now, in the last effort. Their fingers are steel, their feet are iron, their shoulders are copper, all bound together by will, well-oiled by promises of filthy martyrdom that no-one believes but falls for anyway.
‘Can we go? Can we go?’
It sets the blood flowing, the last step.
And stop.
AUTHOR --- Varenntine
WARNINGS --- 18+, incest (father+son), yaoi, violence and foul language
AUTHOR'S NOTE --- I'm not gonna bother with individual chapter ratings. Read it all or don't read at all, it's all the same to me.
*
CHAPTER TITLE --- Boogie Woogie, or 'even if it kills me'
*
*
*
Darkness and nothing but endless static and the sense of anticipation. They’re all waiting for the sun to collapse, the world to end, the ocean to spill over into the universe. They take one step back and wait.
‘What kind of people are the young people these days?’
Waves of noise crash and there’s another sudden step back. Glass crunches under heavy boots. They’ll dance for hours, taking breaks that are only long enough to wipe the sweat off their brows, and then they’re back into the crowd, the breathing mass on the dance floor, wreaking havoc in their own little world, the one about to blow up.
‘Entirely different.’
Tick-tock, tick-tock, grey eyes watching in the eerie quiet. Watching while on the other side of the glass, the world has gone entirely mad and fire threatens to melt everything that’s not insane or twisted.
‘I wonder how that girl is…’
Secret handshakes, hidden meanings, more alcohol than one should have. One look is equal to a hundred love confessions, hurried and embarrassed. There’s not enough time to consummate true love. Instead, it’s all reduced to dirty fucks, quick flings and one night stands.
‘You know…the one I used to go out with.’
There’s no moment of peace and the wicked scent of youth rises into the smoke-filled air. Silence fills everything that the noise doesn’t, while the world burns down, hearts burn out, years pass. Years pass.
‘I want to increase the wrinkles on my brain, instead of the wrinkles on my face.’
There’s one glass, two glasses, three glasses. They’re all there and they’re begging to be taken in, downed instantly, before someone else takes them – they’re all eager for something liquid, something to slither down their throats and fizz out into steam as it reaches their stomachs.
‘Hey hey, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?’
Flickering neon, black light, glowing white, burning brighter and brighter. There’s the rush of water as they wash off, trying to cool down despite knowing that they’d end up back in the furnace anyway.
‘Ah, it’s the young people nowadays…’
Misconceptions, prejudice. Fluttering eyelashes, hushing their way across flushed cheeks. Parted lips and slight panting, an I-love-you that nearly was, a please-love-me that wanted to be.
‘Are you alright?’
Moving back (step step step step), surging forward (beat beat beat beat), their movements are all the same (twist twist twist twist), and it makes for interesting social commentary while queuing up when they all wanna piss at the same time, too.
‘When you turn to the left, “copying”. When you turn to the right, “copying”. It’s all just a façade for mass production.’
Dancers are fools, watchers are fools, singers are fools. A fool here, a fool there, they’re everywhere; if they’re all fools, you might as well destroy them.
‘Entirely the same.’
The dance moves within, the dance moves without, and the dancers are all losing their minds to the dance, their souls slowly corroded by poisonous passion, slowly corrupted by venomous ecstasy. Same beat, same steps, same moves, same vices, one heart.
‘The real question is, when do we all get to go home?’
The crowd disperses only to move back together, pairs form only to join together again.
‘You’re all entirely the same.’
But things slow down for one moment maybe, before everything spins out of control. One last dance for their gods (in the name of alcohol, the moonlight, and the holy music). Everybody’s tired, sometimes barely keeping up to the fast-paced rhythm, but they’ll keep going, spinning, dancing, moving, held together by threads made of molten glass and metal.
‘Are you ready?’
Their minds are all joined now, in the last effort. Their fingers are steel, their feet are iron, their shoulders are copper, all bound together by will, well-oiled by promises of filthy martyrdom that no-one believes but falls for anyway.
‘Can we go? Can we go?’
It sets the blood flowing, the last step.
And stop.