frantz R.
02-07-2009, 10:29 PM
The pristine halls glowed with perilous sheen; snaky sneers of sarcasm riding the light waves with devastating silkiness to the fragile front door of William’s sanity, threatening to blow it all down. The swift attack of the nicknames and clever gestures fell upon him as if a chilling wind. Goosebumps appeared with exponential rapidity, forming tiny mountain ranges along his arms and legs, the curled hair on the nape of his neck standing out statutorily. Small fingers, big fingers, rough fingers, seductive fingers sliding along the sharp creases of his white dress shirts and pointed contours of his black dress pants, immediately stepping back peering at the tips of their fingers with mock-horror as if inflicted with an especially painful paper cut. Uproarious laughter ensued. Another was one that the girls seemed to enjoy the most; strutting with deliberate and masqueraded cruelty stop immediately at his side and ridicule, “He’s got that new boy smell.” Willis Damian Williams. No Assembly Required.
Willis Damian Williams was as pressed and crisp as his name. The rigid lines of his jaw connected to the triangular tip of his chin. Even, straight shoulders atop unbending legs. He emanated a plastic luster. It appeared that he was not introduced to the world embodied in the slimy, bloody christening of new life but from a minted package of which his parents carefully broke the seal. So proud of her son’s uncanny ability to gracefully yet uniformly slip out of the grip of trouble, Yolanda Williams, one day in the thick of the after mass recess, gently patting the curls atop Willis’ head purred proudly, lachrymosely, “Since he learned how to walk, my baby has never fell to temptation.”
Loneliness did befall Willis. As bright as they come; his report cards immaculate, capitalized ‘a’s ran as long as the sheet permitted. But academic glory had begun to lose its appeal slowly but surely over the years. Students with jovial faces and no future prospects confused him. The sure struts of the disheveled deluded him. The girls’ attraction to them perplexed him. Life outside of academia he knew nothing about only snatches of pleasant debauchery in scattered conversations about lunchrooms and floating buzz of the halls. Willis devoured the shared controversy with the lonesome greediness of a starving observer.
He longed to be touched by the devil; he knew it was by evil spirits that his fellow classmates were collectively possessed, blessing them with good times and good stories to tell the next morning. Today is his lucky day; snapped out of his contemplative consciousness by the intoxicating perfume of a scarlet-haired slim figure standing before him with an arm outstretched and perched mid-air amid his abdomen. His pupils descended with sluggish suspense and bloomed when encountered with the horizontally folded card. Snatching it like a piece of food that would finally sustain him through the night; the muddled, faceless voice scratchily crooned, “You’re welcome. You owe me,” chased by an ominous giggle. Willis, in a trance, took no notice. The invitation finally arrived.
Velvet ropes of smoke silkily floating about the red room romanticized the sublime scene for Willis. Wandering about the chaotic room with an untouched bottle of Heineken in tow, he winked at suspended eyes and booze-drenched gazes. Body lay upon body on the crimson carpet amidst hushed whispers and harsh kisses. Cigarette butts and contraceptive packages noiselessly caved under each careful step of his dress shoes. Through the ruby glare of the room, Willis wheeled in a full circle attempting and failing to pinpoint the ritualistic, subdued reverbs of an African drum. After his seven-hundredth and twentieth rotation he found the origin; meeting the gaze of pried-open eyes tapping mechanically on the drums, all the while set on Willis’ startled yet immobile ones. A cold, elusive, lusty hand stroking the dip in his back spiked his heartbeat. Once again, tip-toeing over a melting pot of indistinguishable bodies and colors, he whirls about in anxious anticipation; his left hand was softly, swiftly pushed to his face. Gurgling on the Heineken, the beauty just beyond the end of the green bottle merged into the burgundy background to form a ghastly liquefied visage. As his left arm silently fell at his side, his right hand was instantly occupied with further refreshment; all the while, the slender, tantalizing hands multiplied four-fold upon his back, some fingers playing a lustful tune upon his spine like a xylophone. Steadily sinking at the mercy of invisible seduction, the depths of the indistinguishable couch revealed itself. Not knowing or caring where he landed, ecstasy enveloped him, dissolving into the mounds of flesh …
The infiltrating sunlight gently baited his eyes open; setting off an explosion of hammering seeming to break out through the front of his skull. Incredulously squinting about through slit eyes, Willis, after several failed attempts, placed opposite arms at the opposing rims of his sunken rusted bathtub and raised himself up spider-like. The bright, invasive rays of light penetrating the sole window signaled his lateness to school. Bouncing against the sink and tub like a pinball, eventually making it to his room. Clumsily stumbling through the front entrance, back arched, his right hand gripping at the opposite ends of his temples with vice-like intensity, the hallway buzzed noisily. Willis straightened betraying his condition, strutted into the gridlock of conversational excitement. Sauntering to a cluster of eager murmur afresh he listened with vivacious fervor, itching to throw a twig into the fire. But his face slackened and took on a gray consistency, his memory of the night before failed him, like a man hoping to memorize the shape of a single snowflake in a blizzard, exasperatingly grabbing at puffs of recollections of the “good times” that have already gone and past. Someone must have seen him in his regular isolated position for he – Willis did not know for he did not bother turn up his downcast cast eyes – fired undoubtedly to Willis, “Well isn’t it goody four-shoes, the first pair were so bored with you they needed company.” Willis wanted to briskly respond that he has shaken his clean-cut image, he did take part in sinful indulgences, he was sure of it, and he did so just the night before. But he continued to stare down at the immaculate marble flooring and felt like a condemned man, doomed to spotless anonymity.
Willis Damian Williams was as pressed and crisp as his name. The rigid lines of his jaw connected to the triangular tip of his chin. Even, straight shoulders atop unbending legs. He emanated a plastic luster. It appeared that he was not introduced to the world embodied in the slimy, bloody christening of new life but from a minted package of which his parents carefully broke the seal. So proud of her son’s uncanny ability to gracefully yet uniformly slip out of the grip of trouble, Yolanda Williams, one day in the thick of the after mass recess, gently patting the curls atop Willis’ head purred proudly, lachrymosely, “Since he learned how to walk, my baby has never fell to temptation.”
Loneliness did befall Willis. As bright as they come; his report cards immaculate, capitalized ‘a’s ran as long as the sheet permitted. But academic glory had begun to lose its appeal slowly but surely over the years. Students with jovial faces and no future prospects confused him. The sure struts of the disheveled deluded him. The girls’ attraction to them perplexed him. Life outside of academia he knew nothing about only snatches of pleasant debauchery in scattered conversations about lunchrooms and floating buzz of the halls. Willis devoured the shared controversy with the lonesome greediness of a starving observer.
He longed to be touched by the devil; he knew it was by evil spirits that his fellow classmates were collectively possessed, blessing them with good times and good stories to tell the next morning. Today is his lucky day; snapped out of his contemplative consciousness by the intoxicating perfume of a scarlet-haired slim figure standing before him with an arm outstretched and perched mid-air amid his abdomen. His pupils descended with sluggish suspense and bloomed when encountered with the horizontally folded card. Snatching it like a piece of food that would finally sustain him through the night; the muddled, faceless voice scratchily crooned, “You’re welcome. You owe me,” chased by an ominous giggle. Willis, in a trance, took no notice. The invitation finally arrived.
Velvet ropes of smoke silkily floating about the red room romanticized the sublime scene for Willis. Wandering about the chaotic room with an untouched bottle of Heineken in tow, he winked at suspended eyes and booze-drenched gazes. Body lay upon body on the crimson carpet amidst hushed whispers and harsh kisses. Cigarette butts and contraceptive packages noiselessly caved under each careful step of his dress shoes. Through the ruby glare of the room, Willis wheeled in a full circle attempting and failing to pinpoint the ritualistic, subdued reverbs of an African drum. After his seven-hundredth and twentieth rotation he found the origin; meeting the gaze of pried-open eyes tapping mechanically on the drums, all the while set on Willis’ startled yet immobile ones. A cold, elusive, lusty hand stroking the dip in his back spiked his heartbeat. Once again, tip-toeing over a melting pot of indistinguishable bodies and colors, he whirls about in anxious anticipation; his left hand was softly, swiftly pushed to his face. Gurgling on the Heineken, the beauty just beyond the end of the green bottle merged into the burgundy background to form a ghastly liquefied visage. As his left arm silently fell at his side, his right hand was instantly occupied with further refreshment; all the while, the slender, tantalizing hands multiplied four-fold upon his back, some fingers playing a lustful tune upon his spine like a xylophone. Steadily sinking at the mercy of invisible seduction, the depths of the indistinguishable couch revealed itself. Not knowing or caring where he landed, ecstasy enveloped him, dissolving into the mounds of flesh …
The infiltrating sunlight gently baited his eyes open; setting off an explosion of hammering seeming to break out through the front of his skull. Incredulously squinting about through slit eyes, Willis, after several failed attempts, placed opposite arms at the opposing rims of his sunken rusted bathtub and raised himself up spider-like. The bright, invasive rays of light penetrating the sole window signaled his lateness to school. Bouncing against the sink and tub like a pinball, eventually making it to his room. Clumsily stumbling through the front entrance, back arched, his right hand gripping at the opposite ends of his temples with vice-like intensity, the hallway buzzed noisily. Willis straightened betraying his condition, strutted into the gridlock of conversational excitement. Sauntering to a cluster of eager murmur afresh he listened with vivacious fervor, itching to throw a twig into the fire. But his face slackened and took on a gray consistency, his memory of the night before failed him, like a man hoping to memorize the shape of a single snowflake in a blizzard, exasperatingly grabbing at puffs of recollections of the “good times” that have already gone and past. Someone must have seen him in his regular isolated position for he – Willis did not know for he did not bother turn up his downcast cast eyes – fired undoubtedly to Willis, “Well isn’t it goody four-shoes, the first pair were so bored with you they needed company.” Willis wanted to briskly respond that he has shaken his clean-cut image, he did take part in sinful indulgences, he was sure of it, and he did so just the night before. But he continued to stare down at the immaculate marble flooring and felt like a condemned man, doomed to spotless anonymity.