it's: m train
by: bj
in sum: watching the lights come closer like a bullet down the barrel.
label: bayliss/pembleton.
rating: pg-13.
sissies: i know you'll have no spoilers.
disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.
i say: first h:lots. be kind! double second person. two men, two descents, one story.
timestamp: 31.12.02.
archive: ask and it (probably) shall be given.
you say: all comments are appreciated, answered, and archived. allcanadiangirl@lycos.com.
M Train
You are not a part of this city, the rails scream, sparks flying blue and yellow in the darkness, find enlightenment in that.
It has only been six months, you tell yourself, it will take time to get over this. The shot buries itself in your neck and there are your footsteps falling away.
The car shudders and your head bounces between the back of the seat and the window, you wince, open your eyes.
You press his face into the pillow to press down your wailing rage. When he moans you figure he likes it rough. You push harder at both ends, he claws at the headboard in panic or pleasure, doesn't matter to you.
Hard breath muffled by cotton, snagged on tears. Fingers on the butt of your gun in your waistband, you leave him on the bed. You are half-strangled.
You climb into the last car of the M train and push your way to the back corner seat. After six stops the car is nearly empty: you and an elderly Asian woman with six paper bags of groceries.
Who shops at midnight? the old instinct wonders, and you pass out.
You are against the bar in another dive, another city, you are paying to hear Johnny Cash and drink bourbon when you have two bottles and twenty records at your apartment. You are wondering where the weekend went and you are dreading the morning with a passion you hold distant from actual work.
You are remembering how much you hated him and that you didn't even know his name.
You are not a part of this city, the Beam whispers as the tender pours you another double.
You pull out a cigarette and leave to catch the M train.
This is not dignified, some voice screams, this is wrong and worthless. But you push inside anyway and you remind yourself that everyone who would feel betrayed is gone.
She mewls and you've always hated that, you grab your pistol from the floor and press it to the back of her neck. Some would call what happens next rape but when you are gone her money is on the nightstand and she isn't crying.
Between nights you wander the line, you watch them get on and off and off again and you swear you're going to call somebody because this feeling is familiar and you know you're six inches from the edge.
It's only been a year, you tell yourself. Everybody needs time. You will readjust, you will belong here.
You will stop picking up strangers for fun and profit and trying half-heartedly to kill them.
But tonight is Friday night and Friday nights are for watching the lights come closer like a bullet down the barrel and fighting the urge to jump.
On Sundays you wake on your preferred side of noon and drink a pot of coffee so you're wide awake for drinking in the evening.
You grab your ID and head for the M train.
End.
by: bj
in sum: watching the lights come closer like a bullet down the barrel.
label: bayliss/pembleton.
rating: pg-13.
sissies: i know you'll have no spoilers.
disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.
i say: first h:lots. be kind! double second person. two men, two descents, one story.
timestamp: 31.12.02.
archive: ask and it (probably) shall be given.
you say: all comments are appreciated, answered, and archived. allcanadiangirl@lycos.com.
M Train
You are not a part of this city, the rails scream, sparks flying blue and yellow in the darkness, find enlightenment in that.
It has only been six months, you tell yourself, it will take time to get over this. The shot buries itself in your neck and there are your footsteps falling away.
The car shudders and your head bounces between the back of the seat and the window, you wince, open your eyes.
You press his face into the pillow to press down your wailing rage. When he moans you figure he likes it rough. You push harder at both ends, he claws at the headboard in panic or pleasure, doesn't matter to you.
Hard breath muffled by cotton, snagged on tears. Fingers on the butt of your gun in your waistband, you leave him on the bed. You are half-strangled.
You climb into the last car of the M train and push your way to the back corner seat. After six stops the car is nearly empty: you and an elderly Asian woman with six paper bags of groceries.
Who shops at midnight? the old instinct wonders, and you pass out.
You are against the bar in another dive, another city, you are paying to hear Johnny Cash and drink bourbon when you have two bottles and twenty records at your apartment. You are wondering where the weekend went and you are dreading the morning with a passion you hold distant from actual work.
You are remembering how much you hated him and that you didn't even know his name.
You are not a part of this city, the Beam whispers as the tender pours you another double.
You pull out a cigarette and leave to catch the M train.
This is not dignified, some voice screams, this is wrong and worthless. But you push inside anyway and you remind yourself that everyone who would feel betrayed is gone.
She mewls and you've always hated that, you grab your pistol from the floor and press it to the back of her neck. Some would call what happens next rape but when you are gone her money is on the nightstand and she isn't crying.
Between nights you wander the line, you watch them get on and off and off again and you swear you're going to call somebody because this feeling is familiar and you know you're six inches from the edge.
It's only been a year, you tell yourself. Everybody needs time. You will readjust, you will belong here.
You will stop picking up strangers for fun and profit and trying half-heartedly to kill them.
But tonight is Friday night and Friday nights are for watching the lights come closer like a bullet down the barrel and fighting the urge to jump.
On Sundays you wake on your preferred side of noon and drink a pot of coffee so you're wide awake for drinking in the evening.
You grab your ID and head for the M train.
End.