he turned to glassI'm like any other teenager
lucky enough to have made it past puberty
posting my entire life on the internet
parents sick to death of my text alert ringtone
swimming in part-time paychecks
and graduation gown order forms
and I have a boyfriend.
Had a boyfriend.
Until the day he began to turn to glass.
Hold up, hold up. I know. It makes no sense.
How could that happen? Flesh and blood to glass?
Impossible, right? That's what I thought.
The first thing to go were his hands.
He'd wrap them around me and kiss me goodnight
he'd text me from a crowded mall food court every night at six
he'd tuck my hair behind my ear
he'd pull down the zipper of my jeans
but then I needed him to lift me up.
I'd slipped and fallen, tripped on my innocence
pretty soon after we'd laughed and tossed it aside.
I went to pull myself from the floor
and I put my hands in his
"What was that?" I asked him from the floor.
He slipped them into his pockets. "Nothing, babe."
Nothing. Just a crack. He tr
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I've decided that I really hate going to school. I walked home, kicking up the leaves that flew around my feet in drifts, and thinking about the past day. After the incident at my dad's work, and we had to move to a new city, I'd had to start going to a new school, too.
School sucks. It really does. You can't run around at all, you have to bring lunch in a paper bag (not carried in in your mouth), and the teachers don't believe in magic. Or werewolves. It really bites...
Maybe it's not so bad for everyone else. Maybe it's just, you know, being a werewolf that makes it so hard.
Whatever. Walking home is usually the best part of this new school, because I get to feel the wind through my fur--that is, hair--and the smells that come out in the afternoon are fantastic.
I was totally unexpecting the large beige van that pulled up alongside me. The passenger side window rolled down, and a soft voice drifted out.
"Good afternoon, young fellow. I'm lost. Could you give me directions to Sycamore street?" the driver asked politely. Something tugged at me. Something was off, here...
"I'll give you a big, juicy steak if you help drive me there." Suddenly, all thoughts of caution vanished.
"Sure, mister!" I grinned, opening the door and hopping in.
"My name is Peter, son. What's yours?" he said, smiling peacefully at me.
"I'm Kye. Kye Williams. Nice to meet you!" I looked around the inside of the van, but it was almost completely bare. The back two seats had been taken out, and the only things in the back were a coil of rope, a single high-heeled shoe, a rolled-up piece of paper that looked like it had been burned a little at the tip, and the shredded of what looked like a woman's panty. I turned back around, blushing a little.
"Hey kid, how about you come over to this place I know? I've got some cool things to show you." Peter smiled convincingly at me.
I thought about it. My dad said never to talk to strange people without maiming them a little, but Peter seemed nice! "That's where you have the steak, right?"
"Ste... Oh, yes, yes, yes of course."
Something still felt funny about this whole thing. Eventually, the van pulled up outside an apartment building. We got out and took the elevator up to the penthouse suite. Peter looked at the security keypad on the outside of the door.
"Hey Kye, what's that down the hall?" he asked, pointing. I turned, but didn't see anything. I heard a snap-fiss noise, and then the door was open. Peter walked confidently inside. He sat down at a comfortable looking couch, and patted the seat beside him.
"Hey, it's pretty hot in here, don't you think?" he purred.
"Errrrrrrrrryes yes it is?" I said. Alarm bells were ringing in my head now...
"You're a werewolf, right?"
"Wait, how did you know that?!" I exclaimed, leaping to my feet.
"I've always wanted to do this, ever since reading Twilight. Vampire and werewolf going at it..." He stood up too, a sort of... hungry look in his eye. I could feel the change coming. It always happens at the worst times! Fur started to sprout along the edges of my wrists and hands, moving up my arms and under my t-shirt.
"Kid. Take off your shirt."
"W-what?! No!" The fur was spreading quickly now, moving down my legs and turning my nails into claws and sharpening my teeth and lowering my voice pain god pain the fur is everywhere now wolfman here i come
He leaped at me, and I wasn't ready, wasn't changed enough. He took me down easily, put one hand on my chest, kneeled on top of me with one leg on either side of my arms. My head hurt, and I was way too dizzy to even try to move...
"I'm going to enjoy this a lot," he said menacingly. The fur started to recede again, the fear and anger pounding through my head just making things harder.
Then Peter froze over top of me, staring somewhere over my head. I sort of twisted my head backwards to see what he was staring at.
Without my noticing, the door had clicked open quietly. A stunned man, dressed in a huge black trenchcoat buttoned all the way down, stood in the doorway with a slightly open mouth, narrowed eyes, and blood on his big black combat boots. The man mouthed the shapes of words, apparently at a complete loss for anything to say. Silence stretched for almost two minutes while we looked at him, and he looked at us.
Eventually, he appeared to find some appropriate words.
“So it's going to be like this, then? I’m getting a sandwich. Neither of you move!” he snarled.
Peter glanced down at me in bewilderment, and I shrugged back, stunned. The man in the coat stumbled into the adjoining kitchen (leaving bloody bootprints on the white carpet the whole way), and began opening cabinets with a fury, tossing out bread onto a plate. All the while he muttered darkly to himself. Peter and I remained completely still, watching this in confusion.
"This feels really awkward. Or is it just me?" he whispered.
"No, yeah, I'm feeling it too..." I replied quietly.
Finally, the man wandered back into the living room, fell backwards onto the couch with a heavy sigh, and resumed glaring at the two of us. I realized that somewhere along the way, he had picked up a shotgun, which lay serenely on his lap, pointed loosely at the world in general.
“Now. Why are you in my apartment?”
Peter stared at him with the kind of expression that very smart people get when they realize they've just done something horribly stupid. In the ensuing silence, the man took a ridiculously sized bite out of the sandwich, which seemed to be made of an enormous slab of tofu stuck between two slices of bread. The man winced at the taste, spat it out, and caught my eye with a hint of irritated amusement.
"My roommate is very health-conscious," he muttered. "Oh, hang on a tic, where's me manners? My name's Sampson Hemp."
Peter gave a small sound of irritation. Hemp looked up at the vampire with what I can only describe as a cheerful glare.
"That's right, bucko," Hemp sang happily. "Of all the apartments in the city that you could have picked to do your weird, creepy child-molestation-vampirism-blood-sucky-werewolf-rape thing in," (here he made air-quotes) "you picked mine. I've been hunting you for a few weeks now, and you just waltz right in here. Of all the odds."
The air seemed to heat up a little as Peter's breathing started to increase slowly. Hemp could feel the tension too, and took a firmer grip on the shotgun, now pointed loosely at Peter.
Somewhat distracted, I realized how odd Sampson's accent was. It seemed like a strange combination of an American Southern drawl and a proper British accent, complete with word choice. I would have bet anything at that moment that he spelled it 'grey'.
Many thanks to Albatrossed for the Sampson icon, and many more to Oxiemoron for the fabulous portrait above!
I'm a writer who enjoys looking for interesting photograph opportunities, though as I lack any sort of photoshop and my camera is meant to be a video camera, most of my pictures are not wonderful. I typically write either about Sampson's universe, which is constantly being clarified and expanded, or seemingly random poetry usually about nothing in particular. But that doesn't answer the question.
I'm a dude with many interests and hobbies, most of which are considered cool, but few of which are marketable. I greatly enjoy cats and small furry creatures (My cats like those too!) and camping in the semi-wilderness. Among my many skills are such things as an occasionally fantastic and varied vocabulary, a perfectly odd sense of humor, and a rather irritating moral sense of right and wrong (which I try not to follow too often). I enjoy philisophical quandries and logic puzzles, but not for too long or my attention span starts wandering. Thank ye kindly, Deviant-type people!