THE POET OF PURGATORY
WOW: meat. Dean tries to make the best of his time in Purgatory ...
Disclaimer: I don't own them
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Benny couldn't contain his curiosity as he watched Dean sitting back against a tree writing on a sliver of tree bark.
"What'cha writing?" he asked.
Dean looked up upon hearing Benny's voice.
"I found a pen in my jacket pocket last month," he replied. "I decided that whenever I got the chance I'd sit down and write something. It makes me feel human again, and not just like a piece of meat – which is basically all I am in Purgatory!"
"What d'you write?"
Dean shrugged. "Nothing long; I mean, gotta keep my wits about me. But jus' random stuff. Letters to Sam, letters to Mom and Dad, song lyrics, favourite film quotes, just …. stuff..."
Benny nodded his approval. "That's cool. What'y writing there? Some personal love letter?"
"Nah," Dean muttered; "nothing. Just some, uh … doesn't matter, it's crap anyway."
"Aw, c'mon," Benny prompted; "don't be bashful. What is it?"
"Damnit, Benny. It's a poem. Okay? I thought I'd try writing a poem!"
"A poem? "Benny whistled in admiration; "never had you pegged for a budding Shakespeare!"
"That's 'cause I ain't," Dean snorted; "like I said, 's nothing."
"Let me be the judge of that," Benny grinned; "c'mon Dean, let's hear it."
"No freaking way," Dean replied.
"C'mon," Benny wheedled; "we don't hide nothin' from each other here."
"When it comes to crappy writing," Dean replied; "we do."
Benny grinned and grabbed the fragment of bark our of Dean's hand.
"HEY, GIVE THAT BACK, DICK!" Dean yelled.
"Okay, so lessee," Benny grinned, and began to read…
"I tried to find some good things here, but there aren't too many. The only good thing in this place is my brother, Benny."
Dean sighed; "See, I told you, it's crap."
Eyes suspiciously shiny, Benny shook his head. "I think it's the best thing I've ever read. Brother."
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