Scene Sensory Distortion Snippets
He bruises pristine in the morning, just after the sun has barely risen and
the red orange glow that spills through the window paints Jell-O on the
black bedspread. Blotchy, blue tie-dye shadows itself to Billy's knobby
hipbones, so unlike the smooth curves of Joe's.
Hungry. Joe awakens, flipping over on his side to stare at Billy's slack
face and parted lips. They pull him closer, closer, enticing and inviting.
He doesn't realize he's shifted until he feels Billy's lashes flutter
against his cheeks. And by then it's too late.
"Sore." Billy mumbles, eyes still closed but awake.
"Serves you right for being so bitchy yesterday."
Billy opens one eye, the perfect, crystal blue of the orb shattering the
early morning fog of Joe's brain. "Fuck you." Billy's standard reply.
Joe snorts, and rolls over so his back faces Billy, traces cracks in the
old, peeling walls with his eyes.
Walls that remain silent forever, walls that never betray their love to the
When Billy scoots closer, molding his body to the curve of Joe's back, Joe
releases his breath and closes his eyes. They can drift for a little while
longer, enclosed by the silent walls and the silent air, thick with silent
Waking is only optional.
When Billy touches Joe's skin, it's clammy and cool. He feeds him some
instant noodle broth and waits as Joe sweats it out. One, two, three hours
until Joe's teeth finally stop chattering. By then his shirt is soaked
through, but his eyes aren't so bloodshot and puffy anymore, and he's
stopped bitching about the human body and its weak defenses against common
He tells Billy he's going to puke. Billy pulls his mohawk back, preventing
loose strands from stinging Joe's eyes, and Joe empties last night's beer
and this morning's chunks into the white toilet bowl.
Billy wipes his face, puts him back to bed.
Joe curses, a low, agonizing and sick sound. It's the closest Billy will
get to a thank you.
Later. Seven o' clock, when the crickets start chirping, Billy wakes up
from his nap to Joe's retching. He finds him slumped over the toilet bowl,
dry gagging and not pretty.
Billy tells him to go back to bed. Joe agrees silently, and wobbles when he
"I'm gonna fucking die." Joe croaks. The sound pricks Billy's ears, makes
him wince to think how it will sound come morning. When they have to
"No you're not," Billy tucks him back in bed, smooths down his mowhawk,
Joe wants to get the last word, but his brain is sloshing around in his
head. Instead, he tries to sleep.
Billy curls up on the floor next to the bed, and pulls Joe's hand down to
In the middle of the night, Joe wakes up, drenched and sticky, and tries to
crawl out to put a gun to his throbbing head.
He knows Billy has latched on - never could get away from the fucker - so
Joe spends the night staring at the cracked ceiling, Billy's hand coupled
with his, and thinks about things.