There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Spark
Ben accelerated the speed on the treadmill. Watching Marcus had become the focal point of his workouts lately, and when he wasn’t actually with Marcus, he’d fantasized about seeing him there. Watching him lift weights or run a six minute mile or smile back at him. It was so complicated, living next door to the perfect guy, the one guy he’d wanted in more than a year.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Company Class
It was rainy and the type of horrible November morning he’d come to hate – intensely. Between the coffee fix that didn’t work anymore and his inability to purchase the chemical enhancements which helped him deal with the day to day, Corey managed to stumble into the bathroom to ready for the day of rehearsals and the opening performance of Romeo and Juliet.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Disposable
It wasn’t enough that Scotty left in a fit of tears this morning, but Braden somehow needed to tell Kyle it was time to go, too. He’d been seeing both of them on and off for a month, and things were getting a little too tight for Braden’s taste. Too many close calls. Too many near misses. He dialed the phone, and when Kyle answered, Braden simply said “Come over” and disconnected.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Marcus & Ben
Marcus was, at first glance, the complete picture of fitness and masculinity. He was tall, well-muscled and lean. His thick chestnut hair was cropped short. He could dazzle anyone with a flash of his brilliant white smile and twinkle of his exotic green eyes. He was very social, played rugby and soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter and baseball all spring and summer. He was aggressive and competitive in nature, but not at all disliked.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Corey
The timer had already kicked the coffee pot into high gear by the time Corey managed to drag himself out of bed at 5:30. He padded quietly into the bathroom to shower. The hotter, the better, he thought as he turned the faucet to full-tilt. His muscles ached the soft, delicious ache of a particularly grueling workout. His life as a dancer in the city’s premier ballet company demanded that he be in the best shape physically at all times. At 31, he was on the downhill side of his career, as year by year his cartilage wore ever thinner and less durable. He was required to lift, carry and toss ballerinas around the stage…something which had been easier when he was nineteen.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Daniel
Daniel had noticed Braden first when he was taking out the garbage on Friday morning. He noticed his ease of motion, Braden’s quiet, seemless poetry of movement from the garage to the curb and back. Each time, toting heavy garbage bags filled with the detritus of his life. Living with obsessive-compulsive disorder meant trash days were always robust. Daniel noticed the systematic precision as Braden moved. Although handsome, he’d never be picked out of a crowd. Daniel caught himself staring an instant too long, and found himself flushed, embarrassed.
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within. Braden
Braden lived on the east end of the line of the five townhouses. His tidiness went unnoticed, except to the occasional visitor, or trick. His penchant for orderliness coupled with his obsessive-compulsive disorder made for an interesting package. At 29, he was a successful accountant, friendly and chatty…although socially awkward and inappropriate at times. His behavior ranged from general, generic politeness, to an unjustified and uncomfortable familiarity with everyone on the street. Neighbors would wave hello and then dart inside as to avoid conversation. Once trapped, you might be forced to carry on an inane discussion for the better part of an hour. It was much wiser to simply acknowledge him, and move inside. No one really knew him, but they observed him, noting his habits, his tastes and opinions. They kept a mental database. Watching. Noting.
Darren’s Revelation
“So that’s it then? You’re just going to throw us off the train?!” Darren rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “How unoriginal, and-if I may-so out of character for you. It’s almost pathetic!”
The Funeral
My eyes are closed. I don’t remember closing them. The air around me feels different: cold and sterile. There’s a smell in the air I can’t identify; not at first, anyway. Then I recognize it. It’s the smell of hopelessness. A wafting odor that exists at the threshold of death. A symphony of smells that srceams, gunshots, explosions, and the like would be sounds for the ears. They bring no hope. When I open my eyes I know where I am before the heavy fog blanketing my vision even clears up enough for me to see.
Brewing Trouble
Reality can strike like an out-of-control shopping cart loaded down with bricks and grinding on the hinge of one bad wheel, locked on a collision course with your feeble body. There is nothing you can do to avoid it. You step out of its path to find yourself in front of it again. It can leave you breathless. It can leave you happy and laughing; it can leave you curled in a ball behind bruised knee caps crying into bloody palms. Or, in my case, it can leave you screaming for dear life; naked as the rainy day you were born, on top of the curved metal roof of a train car traveling sixty-five miles per hour down a pair of narrow moonlit tracks in a humid summer night.
Part 4 – Guy & Niel
“Taylor…you in there?” came a soft, concerned voice from outside the bathroom door.
I looked up from where I sat in an emotionally-wrecked heap on the floor. I don’t know how long I’d been in the bathroom; or how long ago I had even stopped crying. I recognized the voice instantly though as the young porter boy named Jake. He knocked lightly on the door again. “Dude, I saw you go in there like two hours ago. I’ll open the door myself if you don’t open it.”
Darren
So there he was. All the six feet; jaw dropping; drool inducing; perfectly toned; icy blue-eyed; adonis looking essence of him. I watched him grab a bag of Skittles from somewhere above the door-his luggage most likely-and stare at me. His eyes were the most amazing color of blue I had ever seen. From somewhere in the vacuum that suddenly existed between my ears and my brain, I heard the sound waves of a voice. Echoed words telling or asking me something. My name. He was asking for my name and telling me his. I had to focus. He waved his hand and my brain regained consciousness.
The Porter Boy
Chaos. Pure, utter chaos. Apparently it’s a universal constant. A force that drives the stars, planets; the very matter of existence. Well, one thing is certain. It was the force driving my positive and peaceful mood right out the metaphorical window. I clenched my teeth and kept my fist balled so tightly as I squeezed and pushed and stumbled through the enclave of talking, screaming, laughing, crying, brainless, senseless hordes of mingling people crowding the platform and the train!
Leaving Home
It was happening again. A night repeating itself over again. A night that was so real yet still beyond reality. A warm, tepid night in some late summer. I wake up from the uneasy sleep I had fallen into in my own bed and find myself tangled in bleached white sheets. The humid darkness engulfing my surroundings is broken for a few brief and heart stopping seconds by a buzzing red light. It appears again and again every few moments. I’m in a hotel room, I realize… And I’m not alone.
I live in my house by the sea. I have lived there since I was eight. My grandfather took me in and gave me the love and support I needed after my parents died. I was shy and timid. I always have been. Eventually, I grew up. I became six-six and weighed 250 pounds. I grew fur all over my chest and belly, the same golden color as on my head. But I was always easier, more comfortable, working in the garden or cooking in the kitchen.
My name is Sam. I’m a firefighter. As the city was in the grips of an arsonist, I found my destiny. I wasn’t looking for it, but I don’t think anyone ever is. I knew I was gay, really understood what it meant, when I was thirteen. I remember looking through the big holiday catalogs when I was younger than that, looking for toys and finding the men’s underwear section and staring, enjoying what I saw. I didn’t understand what I felt though. But when I was thirteen, it all changed.
