skinblade

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Pill pushed the blade closer to Dink’s neck.

Dink smiled and flicked his tongue in and out for the amusement of Pill. Pill pushed the blade against his neck but Dink only opened his mouth wider, exposed his fangs, and stuck his grape juice stained tongue out. “Bleh!” Dink let out.

Pill couldn’t help but laugh. When Dink made that face he couldn’t help but think of a crazed Nosferatu after a young girl’s blood. He flipped the blade down and placed it in his back pocket.

They packed up their things and headed downstairs.

“Me and Derek are going to Mark’s house,” Pill said to his parents.

Pill’s parents were both sitting in the living room, reading. His mom was perusing a Harlequin Presents romance novel about a greek tycoon and his dad was reading something on Iwo Jima. Pill’s dad had been a Marine, although he spent most of his time in mess halls preparing meals for the men.

“Just make sure you call us if it gets too late,” Pill’s dad said still staring at the book. “Your sandwich is on the counter.”

Dink stepped into the kitchen, wrapped the sandwich’s in paper towels and threw them in his back pack. He cinched down the straps tightly. Pill went over to each of his parents and gave them a kiss good-bye. He told them that he loved them both very much, and that he wouldn’t be out too late.

Pill and Dink stepped outside of the house. The sky was a beautiful mixture of crimson and lavender. They looked up at the sky, at the sinewy clouds above them, and as the clouds moved towards the East, the moon climbed out into the sky. The moon was full, the mood was perfect. Pill and Dink grabbed their bikes from the side of the house and sped off towards Hangman’s Road.

Dink felt an emptiness in his stomach. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t indigestion. Something was squeezing him from the inside. For the first time since they’ve begun their toiling, Dink felt a deep yawning fear growing inside of him.

At the end of Hangman’s Road, sat the town’s water tower. It was fenced off, but they had managed to snip through the chain link fence a few months back. Hangman’s Road was dark and full of dilapidated homes. Relics of a once-booming economy.

“What if your parents call Mook’s house?” Dink asked peddling faster so he could keep up with Pill.

“They won’t. Don’t worry about it. They trust me.”

Trust was a foreign concept to Dink. His parents were sadistically abusive. They would clothe him, feed him, and beat him with the same look on their face. He grimaced at the thought of last nights beating. It had something to do with a show on television, but the reason for the beating would not come to him. A spot on his back still hurt where the remote control had hit him with a violent thud.

Pill pulled out a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket, and unfolded it with one hand, while steering with the other. He looked over the phonetic guide, occasionally looking up to make sure he wouldn’t run off the road, seeing if there were any other combinations he hadn’t tried.

“We’re close,” Pill said into the whipping wind. “I can feel it.”

“Yeah, I think,” Dink peddled faster to catch up to Pill, “I think I can feel it too.”

The emptiness. The fear in his gut. The hate in his heart. Pumping rhythmically with his jealousy of Pill’s life. Why couldn’t his parents love him like that? Trust him? He wanted Pill’s life so much that he wanted to beat him down to take it at times. He wanted to rip his face off. Why did Pill get to have parents that loved him?

No, Dink thought. That should be me.

Continue reading: Dream #9 - Giants of Yesterday