When I first met John, he was a rebel. He hated the system and everything associated with it. I was raised on and subsequently abandoned Catholicism. But I never could shake that fear and obedience of the law and rules and structure. John had none of these qualms, and it was exciting. I wanted to be him so badly, but I just couldn’t. So I settled for being with him instead.

He came into my life as a hitchhiker, drifting in and out of cars and cities. I was on my way home from visiting my parents out of state. He told me where he was headed, but I don’t really remember where it was. He never made it there. We got to talking and found out we had quite a bit in common. He’d also been raised in an excessively strict household. He’d also been raised religiously, though Southern Baptist rather than Catholic. He was also into classic rock and knew the CD I had in the car word-for-word.

We stopped at a Denny’s in the middle of the night for some coffee. It was there that he mentioned that he didn’t have a place to stay when he got wherever it was that he was going. So I suggested that he could just stay with me at mine.

“But that’s not where I’m going.”

“I know.”

From that moment, I think we both understood that there was no going our separate ways. I’d found him attractive from the moment I saw him, thumb out on the side of the road. It’s the reason I stopped, to be honest. He must have seen something in me too because he agreed to come back to mine. Mine, that was still five hours away.

The rest of the drive back I thought he might sleep, but either the coffee was doing its job, or he was wired on my company. We continued talking, comparing our upbringings, and our respective takes on religion based on what we were taught as children. We were of similar minds that there might be an afterlife, but there was no way to know until we were there.

Once we pulled up to my home, I helped him get his bags, leaving most of my own in the car. We managed to get through the door but not much further before we deposited everything including our clothes on the ground. We made our way into the bedroom, our bodies intertwined and clumsily knocking various items to the floor. As we climbed into the bed he pulled away from me momentarily.

“Charles, are you sure about this?” He asked. “I don’t mind, but it is kinda fast.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I looked him dead in the eyes and said–

“I’ve never been so sure in my entire life.”

After that, some people might say we had sex, but I’ll always maintain that we made love. I believe it was present that early on. In fact, I believe it was present from the moment we saw each other. I know for sure that there was electricity coursing through my veins, and I hope, much like most people would, that there was the same reaction on his end.

The next morning I made us breakfast. Over it, we talked some more. He was trying to join some kind of ecological resistance movement, one that I’d heard of. They’d blown up pipelines and done other things to get themselves labeled as eco-terrorists. Or, it was assumed it was them. No one had come right out and claimed ownership of the attacks. But they were known for their less-than-non-violent espousing in regards to what we were doing to the planet. When I confronted him about it, he smiled and said that if he had to become a terrorist to enact change, then that’s just what he had to be.

I’d never had a cause that I was willing to die for, never an ideal that I was willing to kill for. So I found his dedication to his cause intoxicating. I asked him why he was so invested, why he cared so much. He said that the world was here long before us, and should be here long after we were gone. But at the rate things were going, there wasn’t going to be much world left for future generations. I melted at that answer, thinking of the children.

As I gathered our plates he asked me what I was doing for the rest of the day. I told him I had to go to work later, but I’d be back around seven.

“Do I need to be gone by then?” He asked.

I was slightly taken aback by the question. Of course, I understood the question, and why he asked it, but I hadn’t even thought of kicking him out.

“I was hoping you’d still be here when I got home, actually,” I said.

He seemed surprised, and I was a little bit too. I wasn’t the type to let strangers into my house, let alone let them stay there while I was gone. But for some reason I trusted him. So I told him what food I had and where I kept the remote to the TV, and left him alone, in my house, for over eight hours, hoping he wouldn’t run away.

He never did.

A few months later we were in the grocery store buying fruit together. I was in heaven. I’d tried to have relationships like this before, but the dating pool in my fairly small town was pretty nonexistent. At least, for people like us it was. So for him to come into my life the way he did was like something out of a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up.

It’s not like he’d had a ton of boyfriends before me either. Coming from the Bible Belt didn’t lend itself much to being homosexual. It was one of the reasons he’d left home, or been thrown out of it rather. His parents weren’t accepting of who he was in the slightest. Nor was just about anyone in his town. So he left it. He’d been on his own for years now, slowly drifting around. But now he had me.

Every fairytale has its evils though. My town wasn’t Bible-thumping, but it wasn’t exactly gay-friendly. We had our fair share of run-ins with hate. But for the most part, we kept to ourselves. We tried not to be too affectionate in public, or at least I did. John didn’t care much about what anyone else thought, so naturally to him I was a bit prudish. But he truly seemed to enjoy riling me up and “bringing me out of my shell,” as he called it. I was content holding hands, but he wanted kisses and such. I would give them begrudgingly, but I secretly liked them. He knew I did.

Not everyone liked them though, and some people were more vocal about it than others. John was vocal right back. Sometimes it got him in trouble, but for the most part, we were able to avoid it. Until that night.

We were walking in the neighborhood on a cool, breezeless night some year or so into our relationship. It was so nice outside, and we were walking hand in hand. Suddenly, something hit me in the head. I stumbled and raised my hand to my head. I was bleeding and covered in beer. I looked up and saw one of our regular tormentors, David. He was yelling slurs at us in a slurred voice. John was giving it right back. David came up and got up in John’s face, and before I could do anything John punched him. They began fighting, and I pulled out my phone and started to call the police, looking around and screaming for someone to help us.

A shot rang out. It felt like the slowest I’d ever moved as I turned my head to look at them. John was already falling to the ground, and David was standing there, a horrified look on his face as the gun shook in his hand. When he looked up we locked eyes, and I could see fear and regret. Then two more shots rang out, and he fell backward. I looked to John and saw him with his hands outstretched, holding the gun we kept in the bedside table for home defense. He dropped it to the ground, and I saw him cough up blood. I ran over to him, crying harder than I ever had in my life.

As tears obscured my vision, I picked him up and held him in my arms. It had all happened so fast. I hadn’t had a chance to do anything.

“I thought I might need that. I don’t know why, but I had a feeling,” he said.

I heard sirens going in the distance, and neighbors were looking nosily out of their windows, blinds drawn but cracked.

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Don’t say anything, just wait for the ambulance. It’s got to be on the way.”

“Charles,” he said before another bloody cough. “I love you, but I’m not gonna make it. This is it, I know it.”

“No, no it can’t be,” I sobbed. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry Charles. But hey, look on the bright side– I’m gonna find out what the afterlife looks like.”

My shoulders heaved and tears ran down my face, landing on his and stinging my cheeks.

“Charles, I’m starting to go. I’m getting cold. Which is kind of funny don’t you think?”

At that, I wiped my tears and looked at him with incredulity.

“What could possibly be funny about that, John?”

“Because Hell is hot,” he said with a smile on his face as he closed his eyes. “And according to both our faiths, that’s exactly where I’m going.”

“I love you, John.”

Silence greeted me. No witty banter, no smart comment. Only silence. I could barely hear the echoes of the police getting closer, more and more sirens filling the air. The only thing that filled my ears was my own heartbeat as I looked down at my lifeless lover. As I gazed at him, I saw the gun in my peripheral. A thought shot through my mind.

I reached down and grabbed it as the police arrived. They got out of their cars and shouted at me to put it down, but I had a plan. I barely heard them as I raised the gun to my temple.

Honestly, it felt natural to follow him into Hell. In a way, there’s nothing I’d rather do. Nowhere I’d rather be.

The trip with Daniel was supposed to be a simple one. We’d pay to climb the mountain, and our guide would help take us to the top. Simple. If I’d known what was really in store for us, I might never have gone.

It was our second day on the mountain when the avalanche happened. We saw it coming and managed to get underneath a rocky outcropping that protected us from most of it. Our guide was not as lucky, and instead was crushed under the snow when part of the outcropping collapsed underneath the force of the snow. He disappeared with a short scream, obliterated by the white onslaught raining down the mountain. And with that, we were trapped, three walls of rock and one of snow. We were on the less traveled side of the mountain because we’d wanted a challenge, so it was unlikely that anyone would find us. Even after they started looking a few days or a week from now when we hadn’t come back, it would be a miracle if they found us at all, let alone before we’d starved or frozen.

Space was not much of an issue; we had plenty in our icy prison. But supplies were something of a problem. The guide was the one with the food. All we really had was basic supplies, and a hot top with a little propane tank. Daniel thought it would’ve been fun to cook something on top of the mountain. Instead, we sat across from each other in this space we would share for potentially the rest of our lives, cold and miserable.

“Hey Danny,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You remember that time when we were kids, and we made that shitty little igloo in my backyard?”

I did. Daniel and I had been in each other’s lives for as long as I could remember. We’d grown up together, best friends. We only took a break from each other during college, when he went away while I stayed in town and got a job.

“Yeah, I remember that. It ended up collapsing on us.”

“Hopefully the one we’re in right now is made of tougher stuff,” he said with a chuckle.

Daniel always could find the good in the bad. He could always cheer you up in a shit situation. He was just that kind of guy. The kind to crack jokes when you were at your worst, make you laugh even when you didn’t want to. Make you smile even when the only thing you thought possible was a frown. He was just a genuinely great guy, and everyone saw it in him. What he saw in me though, I didn’t know. I’d always been ungainly and unpopular. But he never left my side.

“Hey Daniel,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you come back?”

He scrunched up his face. As though the question had offended him.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You could’ve been anything, gone anywhere. But you came back to our shitty town. Why?”

And it was true. Daniel had always excelled academically, and always been gifted athletically. He was just a good ol’ homegrown American boy. When he went to college, it was a full ride. After that, he went to medical school and became a doctor, a surgeon. Then, he came back to our hometown. The hometown I’d never left.

He seemed to ponder for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“I just really missed it. I missed the people. I missed my family,” he said. “You can only get so far out there without the people you love.”

I leaned forward and said –

“Bullshit.”

He seemed taken aback by this, the soft smile disappearing from his face.

“You had the whole world to explore, you could be making a million a year, you could be driving exotic cars, but you came back to our hellhole for family? Family you could’ve visited every year at Christmas? I’m not buying it.”

The small cave became quiet with my outburst, even the crackling of the snow seeming to silence itself. He wrapped his arms around his knees as he brought them to his chest. After a few minutes, I really began to feel bad. I shouldn’t have said that. My life was full of things I shouldn’t have said. Unlike Daniel, I was dumb. I had little common sense, and I’d been working shitty minimum-wage jobs since I was sixteen. I was twenty-six now. A decade of mediocrity. I was only on this trip now because he'd paid for everything.

“It was for you, Danny.”

Daniel’s voice pulled me out of my self-pity. I looked at him and we locked eyes. He was serious.

“Wha-”

“I moved back because I missed you, Danny,” he said, cutting me off. “Life just wasn’t the same without you man.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“What are you talking about Daniel?”

He sighed, his breath freezing over in the air. He looked resigned.

“I missed you. I just couldn’t find anyone like you out there, and I tried. I wanted to have someone with me, someone like you. But there was no one. They just couldn’t fill your shoes man.”

I was in shock. No one had ever said something like that to me before. No one had ever told me I was really worth much, let alone that I was irreplaceable.

“Daniel, where is this coming from?”

He shrugged. “You’re my best friend dude. Always have been, always will be. I love you, bro.”

“I love you too man”, I said, holding back tears. “But I still don’t get it, there’s nothing special about me.”

“That’s not true Danny, there’s always been something special about you. You’ve always looked at life in a way I never could. Even in your darkest hour, you didn’t give up. You kept going.”

He was talking about when I was addicted to heroin. It started shortly after I heard he’d gotten into med school. I looked at my life and didn’t see anything worth living, so I tried to escape. I did it off and on for years, getting clean and relapsing. But when Daniel came back to town and found out, he sent me to a really nice clinic that actually helped me. He paid for everything, and to repay him I’d stayed sober ever since. It’d been two years now since I’d touched the stuff. But I still didn’t understand.

“You always saw the art in life, the beauty. You looked at nature like it was a gallery, not a terrarium. You never cared about understanding, you could just exist. I could never do that.”

With that, I saw tears in his eyes as well. I saw pain. He was telling me something he’d never told anyone, I could tell. This was something he’d been living with for a while.

“I wanted to hate you sometimes,” he said. “Because you seemed so happy just to be here. But I could never bring myself to it. I just wanted to be like you so badly, Danny. So badly.”

We were both crying now, the tears stung my cheeks, the cold turning them into icy rivulets of sadness. He was more composed, but I was sobbing. I couldn’t hold it back. I’d always wished the opposite, that I could just be more like him. I’d always wanted my parents to be proud of me like his were, for people to like me the way they did him, for girls to talk to me so easily. I just wanted to be better. And this whole time he wanted to be, what? Dumber? So stupid that the weight of life could be lifted off of his shoulders. What a weight, what a horrible burden he carried, I thought bitterly. To be so loved.

“Fuck you, Daniel,” I said, venom in my voice.

Now, he was the shocked one. His mouth opened in surprise.

“Fuck you. You think you’d be better off as me? You think being some dumb, heroin-addicted loser who barely got out of high school would be better than what you are? A fucking doctor! That’s what you are, you’re a fucking doctor, and everyone loves you.

What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His mouth shut tensely, and he choked back his tears. Once again the quiet reigned supreme in our prison cell. After what felt like an eternity, in actuality probably just a few minutes, he whispered something.

“What?” I said.

Again, he said something softly. So softly it couldn’t pierce the sound of silence.

“I can’t hear you, Daniel.”

“I said I don’t know!” he roared.

His suddenly fierce demeanor caught me off guard, and my anger was quickly forgotten.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me Danny! But something must be because I hate my life! Every day I wish I hadn’t woken up. Every night when I go to sleep I hope it’s for the last time! Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized?! Do you know how much I wish I had the balls to just blow my brains out?! But I can’t, Danny! I can’t fucking do it!”

Now I was fearful. Daniel was standing, shouting at me as I curled tighter into myself.

I felt like a child who’d once again said something stupid. I spoke before I thought about the implications. He took a step towards me.

“I guess I’m getting what I want, huh Danny?! I guess it’s finally ALL gonna happen for me! Everything I ever wanted!”

I was terrified and grabbed the pick next to me. Daniel saw this, and a look of realization and self-conscious horror came across his face. He backed off and sat down once again. I clutched the pick to my chest, trembling in fear rather than cold.

We sat there, him looking forlorn and dead inside, and me, shaking. The temperature was dropping, and soon I was shaking with the cold.

“Hey, Danny.”

“Yeah, Daniel?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Daniel.”

“Can you take that pick, and put it right in my temple?”

His request startled me at first, but after a moment of thought it didn’t seem outlandish, given his recent revelation. But I didn’t have the guts. We both knew it.

“It won't hurt me,” He said calmly. “One good swing, that’s all it’ll take.”

My hands were sweating, writhing about the pick in nervousness.

“Please, Danny. I don’t want to freeze to death.”

My eyes widened, and I felt nauseous at his request. There was no way I could. I couldn’t murder my best friend.

“Daniel, I know we got a little heated, but we don’t need to do anything like that. We could still get rescued!”

“I don’t want it to come to that,” he said calmly. “I don’t want to make it out of here.”

“Daniel,” I said, pleadingly. “Daniel please don’t ask that of me. I can’t do it.”

He looked up into my teary eyes, and I could see the defeat in his.

“Okay, Danny,” he conceded. “But know this, I won’t make it out of this life alive, and I’d rather it be by your hand than mine. So please, reconsider doing me this mercy.”

With that, he laid down and rolled over to face away from me, and I was alone. I sat there, wondering what he meant by that. His life was wonderful! He had so much to live for, why wouldn’t he want it? The longer I sat there, the colder I got, and the more confused. Eventually, I crawled over to Daniel, and on my knees I asked him –

“Why?”

“Why what, Danny?”

“Why don’t you want to live?”

He was silent.

“I can’t do this if I don’t know why, Daniel.”

Silence.

“You’ve got so much to live for, you’ve got such a great life. Why end it?”

More silence. And then –

“Because none of it means anything. It’s all a pointless charade. It’s all just a chore at this point. The only thing I want anymore in this life is you, and I can’t have just that. So I don’t want any of it.”

I thought for a moment.

“What do you mean, all you want is me?”

He sighed.

“I told you, Danny, I love you, man.”

I sat behind him for a moment. Then I raised the pick into the air. My hand was shaking violently, and so I gripped it with both. Tears streamed down my face as I tried desperately to do what he wanted, to give him the only real thing he’d ever asked of me.

“Danny?”

“Y-yeah Daniel?” I stuttered, my speech impeded by my heaving chest.

“Thank you.”

I froze, my hands stilling themselves. And then I swung.

My aim was true, and with a horrible squelching sound the pick sank itself into his head. He jerked, then lay still. Blood should’ve been rushing from his head, I thought, but instead, it flowed slowly. It was pushed out by ambient pressure rather than a heartbeat. It was an almost peaceful scene. I sank back onto my heels and looked at what I’d done. It took a few seconds, but the realization soon washed over me, and I began to weep once more. Now that I’d done it, I was once more jealous of him. I’d never thought to get out, to end it. And now, here I was, trapped with the body of the person I loved the most in the world.

I began removing my clothes, and as I did the cold cut me deeply, quickly reaching into my bones. If he was gone, I wanted to follow suit. I just hoped freezing to death wasn’t going to be long or painful. Soon, though, I stopped trembling. I was confused, and tired, very tired. I laid down next to Daniel, holding him tightly, the pick still in his head.

“Hey, Daniel?”

“Yeah, Danny?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that you hurt for so long.”

“It’s okay, Danny. It’s alright.”

I can still remember my first kill. I was only nine. My grandfather had taken me hunting – deer hunting. My job was just to be quiet and watch, and to carry the things he couldn’t or didn’t want to. I was good at my job; watching people silently was something I did well all on my own. I had always been an odd child. I was particularly sensitive for a boy, my grandfather said. He was very much the epitome of a man's man. Since he’d only had a daughter I was his chance at raising a boy, and he was constantly disappointed. I let him down left and right, but I didn’t really care.

He scared me.

I suppose I never really loved him the way my mother wanted me to, but that’s a different story. For now, we’re out in the cold hills of the back-country, waiting for a buck to pass the blind. I shivered in the corner while my grandfather scoured the snow with his scope looking for a trophy. I could tell when he’d found one because his body tensed up and the rifle stopped moving. I saw his breath in the air, and then I didn’t. His finger cradled the trigger and he squeezed it so slowly you could barely see the movement. Bang.

He didn’t exclaim, he didn’t emote in any way. He just kept looking down that sight, following the wounded animal across the frozen hellscape it was in. Eventually, he pulled back the rifle and grunted. That was my cue. I grabbed the pack and followed him down the ladder and across the snow. The shot had scared away anything in the immediate vicinity, but we did see a creature or two on the way to the deer. Nothing my grandfather deemed worthy, though.

When we finally got to the animal I was tired – it was quite a trek for a nine-year-old. I saw clouds of hot vapor coming still from its mouth, and blood stained the white sheets around it. My grandfather had only wounded it; greatly wounded it, but still. I didn’t know what we were supposed to do at this point. I assumed he would shoot it again.

“Go on,” he said.

I simply looked at him, not knowing what he meant.

“Go on,” he repeated. “Get out a knife.”

I did as I was told, but once I had the blade unsheathed I simply stood there, shaking awkwardly in the cold.

“Get over there and kill it. Cut its throat.”

I began to cry. I didn’t want to do this.

“Don’t be such a baby!” he roared. “Just do as I say and get over there! Be a man!”

Still sobbing, I approached the beast. Its chest heaved up and down slowly in time with the puffs from its mouth. As I came closer I could see its eye – it was glazed and empty. It didn’t even see me as I stood over it with my blade, the cold steel glinting in the light reflected off the ground. I crouched down, silent by this point, afraid of it. But as I continued to gaze upon the dying animal, I felt something change. I looked deep into its eye, and for a moment I saw recognition. For a moment I could tell that it knew what I was there to do. I brought my knife to its throat and whispered an apology as I dragged it across its skin and through its fur. I put as much force as I could into it – I only wanted to have to do it once. Blood spilled from the cut and onto my hands, a sign that I’d done what needed to be done. As the light faded from the creature's eyes and the blood slowed, something else in me changed. I could feel it, a difference in me.

“Good job,” my grandfather said, startling me out of the creation of this core memory. “A bit messy, but I knew you could do it.”

I think he might’ve been proud of me for the first time in my life. But I couldn’t care less. I’d never sought his approval, and I didn’t need it now.

I just hope that deer forgave me.

One blue sock. That's all I have to remember him by. That's all that she left behind when she stole my baby boy. She took him and everything we'd bought for him with her, and loaded up the moving van with it all. The court told me that it was her right as a parent. They also told me that I had none. They said I wasn't safe for him, that I was too unstable.

At least my brakes work. She couldn't say the same.

Charles was a sinner, not a saint. Did that mean he was a bad person? He tried to do good - he tried to be good - but sometimes his thoughts were so dark, so violent. Ever since he was a young adult he’d been in and out of therapy as he could afford it, with most of his sessions focusing on his abusive father. They’d given him a myriad of medications, ranging from helpful to placebic, and he could never afford to stay on any of them on his own; certainly not without being provided samples by his doctors. On his income, it often came down to rent or doctors; food or medication. And the thoughts weren’t constant, nor were they usually that bad. They were intrusive and he could usually brush them off, but when they were bad, they were horrible. They became forceful, and loud inside his mind, filling up his skull with their demands. They told him to hurt people, people he didn’t like; sometimes even people he did like.

Throughout the years he’d had many relationships, both romantic and not, that had failed quite spectacularly. Despite his thoughts and his male role models, he’d never gotten physical. He just always pushed people away, most of the time before they’d even gotten to know him well enough to determine it was worth trying to stick around. His own family didn’t invite him to the holidays anymore. He was unnaturally and unapproachably large, and he’d stopped trying to make human contact long ago. Most people tended to simply avoid him and his cloud.

Not John.

John had approached him one day inside a local grocery store. Charles was picking up more soup so he’d have dinner for the week when he heard someone behind him ask him if he knew where something was. He couldn’t remember the something, all he could remember was being unreasonably angry that some stranger was talking to him. He was oftentimes unreasonably angry though and had learned to cope with it through his therapies. When he turned around and confronted the stranger, informing him that he did not, in fact, work there, he was met with an unusually sincere and heartfelt apology. The man told him that since he was wearing a red polo, he had thought Charles was an employee. It was Charles’ first time into this particular store, and he told the man as much, before telling him he thought he’d seen some of whatever the man was looking for down one of the other aisles. The man thanked him and backed his cart out, walking off to find… whatever it was he was looking for in the first place.

“You handled that really well.”

This time Charles was startled by another voice behind him, one much closer. When he turned around he saw John. He was standing not two feet away wearing a red polo almost identical to Charles’, but with the addition of a tan vest and a walkie-talkie. Usually, when people got that close to him it made him terribly uncomfortable, but for some reason, he felt okay. Charles mumbled something about it not being anything special and made to move his cart when John put his hand on it. He explained that they had really good meat and produce sections at the other end of the store.

Confused, Charles’ eloquent response amounted to a heartily verbose-

“What?”

“Well, I noticed that your cart is full of mostly frozen meals and canned soup,” said John. “I figured that maybe you hadn’t seen the meat and produce sections yet, this being your first time here and all.”

Still confused and now slightly embarrassed, Charles admitted that he didn’t know how to cook. He could feel himself getting stressed. Could feel the urges coming on.

He made to excuse himself when John said something surprising.

“Well then maybe I could cook for you. I get off early Saturday and I don’t live too far from here.”

Charles was dumbfounded by John’s forwardness. He’d been approached by people before, but never in such a public place, and certainly never so bluntly or so quickly into a meeting. He felt like a gazelle being stared down by a lion with the way John was looking at him; with eyes so blue and bright, and a half-smile on his lips as if he could tell he was looking at his next meal. Taken aback by the abrupt shift in the conversation, all of his urges had disappeared. His response was once again lengthy and wordy - a fresh take on his earlier “what”.

“I said I can cook you dinner. At my place. Saturday. If you’re not busy, that is.”

Charles confirmed in the negative, and John produced pen and paper from his vest.

“Perfect! Here’s my number. Text me and I’ll let you know a time and my address.”

Charles took the slip of paper from him, and nodded, still in a slight state of shock. John said some goodbye that he barely heard and turned away to get back to his work. By the time Charles had regained his senses, he was gone. Slightly embarrassed, he walked to the registers, paid for his cart, and left - quickly.

When he got home he put away his groceries, a simple process that didn’t take nearly long enough. When he was done he sat down on his couch and pulled out the slip of paper John had given him. It was inexplicably heavy in his hand as if the ink was made pure of lead. He stared at it for what felt like hours, reading the name and number over and over again while past relationships played out in his head. Was he ready to let another person into his life? His last relationship had ended in flames - she said he was too much work, too distant, too angry all the time - and he wasn’t sure that he’d changed all that much. He’d gotten on a new medication that seemed to be helping his thoughts, but was it enough?

With a certain mental shakiness, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He was going to give it a shot; the worst that could happen had already happened to him before. He texted a short hello to the number, explaining who it was. Within minutes he got a response; just a time and place, nothing more. It felt like such a formal and detached way to go about this, almost businesslike in nature. No “hello”, no “how are you?”. Just an exchange of information. Charles was actually a little relieved, as he wasn’t the best at small talk. His hulking form and constant look of perturbance generally kept people away, leaving him with few chances for conversational improvement.

From there he went about his day, which consisted mostly of tidying up and watching tv, reading a few articles on his phone as he sat there; the news or a sitcom acting as white noise in the background. Around the beginning of the end of the Sun’s trek through the sky, his phone went off. It was John. He apologized for his earlier abruptness, explaining that he’d been busy at work but he was off now. Charles wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He knew he had to reply, of course, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Every time he went to text back he saw that predatory look in John’s eyes, and his fingers fumbled. He wasn’t used to feeling smaller than someone, and it wasn’t really a feeling that he liked. It made him wonder if perhaps he should just ghost John and never go back to the store - just absolve himself of the whole situation and everyone in it.

No, that was stupid. That was cowardice, and he’d done it too many times before. This time was going to be different - John was going to be different. So with resolved fingers, he typed out a message telling John that it was okay and that he understood being busy at work. He worked mostly as a bouncer, and sometimes as security at events, so he very rarely got to check his phone while he was working. He’d taken so long to reply that he was a little nervous hitting send. In fact, he’d taken so long that it was time for him to get ready for work. As he was putting on what he lovingly referred to as his “uniform” John messaged him back, asking where he worked. He told him that he bounced at a few clubs, but tonight he was working a new one, a club downtown called Bears. It was a gay club, and he’d been recommended to them because much of its clientele were examples of its namesake; his size and strength made him perfect for dealing with any unruly brutes that might think they were hot stuff. John said he’d never been there and that he’d have to try it out sometime, and that was the last message he got before he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

When he arrived for his shift the club was just starting to get going. He skipped the line and told the doorman his name and that he was here to work. He gave Charles a nod, and after confirming what Charles had said over his radio, let him in. Once inside Charles went to the bar, where the bartender informed him of where to go to get his own radio and meet the boss. Charles thanked him and headed to the back. After introducing himself to a few more people he was outfitted with an in-ear radio and told that he would be watching the dance floor. Being that the club was a two-story operation and impressively large for its facade, they briefed him on the building's layout, exit points, and procedures. He took about five minutes or so and committed the information to memory before walking back into the heart of the club. He made his way to the dance floor, settled himself into a high corner, and began his long night of people watching.

Charles was good at his job, very good, and he was proud of that. He was usually able to de-escalate situations without having to resort to force, but when force was the only way he was a ringer. He’d not lost a fight since high school, and over the years he’d developed a penchant for simple incapacitation over brutal victory. It had served him well in his chosen profession, earning him many a job - clubs didn’t really like employees beating up their patrons no matter how rowdy they got, it just wasn’t a good look. So when he got a call over his radio that someone was harassing a patron at the bar and refusing to leave, he was ready to do whatever it took to resolve the situation.

When he got to the bar it was painfully obvious who he’d been called to remove. The man was quite large and clearly plastered, his loud exclamations were slurred and his step was staggered, and it looked like he was trying to grab someone sitting at the bar. Charles walked up to a few feet behind him and shouted over the music to get the man's attention. The man turned around and Charles saw in his eyes that he knew who Charles was and why he was there. Charles told him that he needed to leave.

“Ahm not leavin’ unless this li’l cutie comes wit’ me.”

It was only now that Charles saw who the man was harassing - John. They locked eyes, and for a moment Charles was stunned. At that moment the man said something that Charles didn’t comprehend, and reached over and grabbed John by the ass with a smile on his face. Before he realized what he was doing, Charles clocked the man square across the jaw. The man fell across the bar and grabbed one of the fixed stools to keep himself off the floor.

Hurt him.

The man got up, the punch seeming to have sobered him up quite a bit.

Hurt him.

The man swung at Charles with a strong right, but it was slow and wide. Charles caught it and sent his own right sailing straight into the man's chest.

Hurt him.

As the air left his lungs the man stumbled backward, gasping. Charles stepped in and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him closer.

Hurt him.

Charles took the man by the back of his neck and arm and began to forcefully guide him towards the nearest exit.

Hurt him.

Charles saw other bouncers coming towards him and radioed that he had it under control. He dragged the man through the club and outside into the alley, where he threw the man to the ground. As the man picked himself up Charles told him not to come back and turned around to go back into the building.

“Whatever. That little fucking faggot isn’t worth it anyway.”

Charles stopped.

Kill him.

He turned back around and before the man could say anything else Charles buried his foot in his stomach.

Kill him.

The man rolled over on the ground and vomited, but Charles wasn’t done.

KILL HIM.

Charles walked over to the man who was now groaning and apologizing. He put up his hand and asked Charles to stop, but his fist barreled through the weak defense and collided once again with the man’s face. Charles picked the man up and began beating him senselessly, striking him over and over. Nothing existed but the two of them, nothing mattered but hurting this man; killing this man.

Suddenly Charles returned to himself, snapping back to reality. He looked down at the man, bloody and quite limp in his hand. He’d messed him up pretty bad - he’d fucked up. The man probably needed medical attention.

“Shit.”

Charles dropped the man and pulled out his phone, having just the contact for this situation. It was one of his oldest acquaintances, a man by the name of Robert. He was an EMT for a living; the best in the city. He'd done several tours in the middle east as a medic and knew how to stitch up just about anything better than just about anyone. They'd known each other for years, but more important than their history was the fact that Robert owed Charles a couple of professional favors. Charles pulled up his contact card and waited while the phone rang.

“What do you want?” Robert’s voice cut in.

“Can’t I just be calling to say hello to an old friend?”

“What do you want Charles?”

“I need your help. I messed someone up pretty bad again.”

“Where are you?”

“Bears. In the alley out back.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“No sirens.”

“Make it fifteen,” Robert said before the line cut out.

With that Charles gave the man one final glance, before heading back into the club. He made his way back to the bar, hoping that he hadn’t spent too much time outside. No one had called asking where he was, but that wasn’t what he was worried about. He saw John still there, and without a word, he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the restrooms. Once there he pushed John into the handicap stall and locked it behind them, but when he turned around John was nowhere to be seen. He was startled by the unbuckling of his belt and looked down to see John on his knees.

“Oh Charles you’re my hero,” John exclaimed overenthusiastically, “how ever can I repay you?”

John said the last bit with upturned eyes, and before Charles could say anything his pants were around his knees and his member was on John’s cheek. He tried to say something, to tell John that he’d only wanted to talk to him, but all the words were sucked back into his lungs when John swallowed his half-erect dick. Charles was a proportionate man, so the ease with which John was taking him showed skill and practice. Charles was stunned and somewhat helpless as John continued his ministrations, and before long he felt a swelling in his groin. He tried to tell John, but it was like he knew, and with one final push John shoved his lips down to the base of Charles’ cock. With John’s nose buried in his loins, Charles let out a disproportionately fragile gasp as he came directly into John’s throat. John simply stayed there, swallowing every drop. Once Charles was spent, John pulled himself off with a gasp. Charles’ knees gave out, as the strength in his legs simply vanished, and he couldn’t register whatever it was that John was saying. All he caught before John walked out of the stall was-

“See you Saturday.”

Charles was dazed for a few moments, but he quickly regained his wits when he heard the thumping music of the nightclub grow louder before being muffled back to bass once more. In a hurry, he scrambled to pull up his pants and get off the floor. When he finally made it out of the stall there was no one in the bathroom. He rushed out to try and catch John, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Charles, where the fuck are you? Everything okay?” A voice said over his earpiece.

He remembered now that he was still working; he’d just had sex with a near-stranger on the clock.

“I’m fine, just had to use the restroom,” he said into his mic. He’d never been so mortified, aroused, and confused at the same time. He'd only ever had sex in public a handful of times when he was younger, and never with someone, he'd not even been on a date with. At least, not the public part.

"Well hurry up. I'm not paying you to shit."

"Got it," he replied.

The rest of the night passed by in an uneventful blur, the near physical embodiment of white noise. By the time he got off, it was late night and early morning. By the time he got home it was even earlier morning, and later night. As he got ready for bed he couldn't help but think about John, no matter how hard he tried not to - which honestly wasn't very hard at all. John had already begun worming his way into Charles’ mind. Charles was perplexed by John; he was both afraid of him and intrigued by him. He’d never met someone so forward, so sure of themselves in every action, so confident that everything they did was right. It was like he could see the future and knew what course of action to take to get what he wanted. And he wanted Charles, and now Charles wanted him. It was with cautious optimism that Charles went to sleep that night, daydreaming turned to night dreaming to dreaming of the day Saturday.

The week passed without incident. Robert informed him that the man in the alley made it home safely, and Bears invited him back. But with every day that passed, he became more and more nervous, his anxiety growing like weeds in his psyche. Every time he cut down one thought another one popped up in its place. Despite his battle against the dandelions of his mind, he became more excited with each day. As Saturday breached the horizon he was having trouble sleeping; tossing and turning in the night. His dreams kept taking him back to that night, to that bathroom stall.

Finally, it was the night - it was time. Charles wasn’t even sure how he should dress, so he made himself up in his most casually nice livery - simple jeans and a sweater. He made his way by foot to John’s apartment, as they both lived close to the store where they’d met. How Charles had never seen that store before that day he hadn’t a clue, and maybe someday he’d come to regret ever having found it at all.

But today was not that day.

Charles walked down a poorly lit hallway, some of the lights having thoughtlessly burned out without bothering to replace themselves. The carpeting may have been dirty, but in the dim light, it was hard to tell. The building was obviously old from the outside, and Charles could now see that the inside was not much better. But the place did have a certain aesthetic to it, peeling paint and all. It felt almost like a movie set, but then again most of the city felt that way to Charles. He was from a smaller town down south; one that didn’t really agree with his lifestyle. So he moved north, to somewhere bigger and more accepting. To him, the entire city was like living in a movie. It was all so intriguing - the sets, the props, the characters. The buildings, the traffic, the people.

People like John.

He’d only had two interactions with him, and already he was hooked. Normally he’d be running for the hills; he didn’t like the way John made him feel powerless, he didn’t like getting sexual so quickly with someone - he didn’t even typically like dark hair. But John possessed some sort of magnetism; animalistic and spiritual. Charles was drawn to him in a way that he hadn’t been before, and it honestly terrified him. But the way that John made him feel was exhilarating like he was the most desirable thing in the world.

Before too long he arrived at John’s apartment. He stood outside the little red door for a moment, thinking about how this was his last chance to run, then knocked heavily on the door. Heavy, police-like knocks were all he could manage with hands as big as his. Shortly after the third handfall, the door swung open. John was standing there, looking cute as the buttons on his tight little shirt. And his tight little pants. It looked like he had a tight little everything. That was no good. Charles had a bad feeling about this.

“Well look who decided to show up!” John said. “You ready for a real date?”

Charles was somehow caught off guard by the subtle reference to their encounter the other night. He managed a chuckle and answered in the affirmative. John invited him inside, and as he crossed over the threshold a smell he hadn’t smelled in a long time entered his nostrils - the smell of a home-cooked meal. He could smell meat, a very different meat from his bare microwaved chicken breasts from which he got most of his protein. This meat had flavor, spices, substance. It smelled heavenly.

“I made us steak and potatoes,” said John. “I hope you like it. I get a killer discount so I get to go all out. New York strips and the potatoes are loaded.”

Charles took off his coat and made his way further into John’s apartment. It was a stark contrast to the hallways. Everything seemed to be nicely, if scarcely, appointed, and the brick walls and arches gave the place an immense amount of character. Most of the furniture seemed to be of some sort of farmyard-industrial style - a lot of wood and a lot of metal.

“Come, come,” said John. “Sit down and let me get you some food. A big guy like you must be starving.”

John ushered Charles into his dining area and sat him down at a large wooden slab of a table. It had place settings on either side of it, and soon John brought out the food. The steaks looked and smelled heavenly, and John wasn’t kidding when he said that the potatoes were loaded - they had butter, sour cream, cheese, chives, and underneath it all was brisket. Charles had never had a meal like this outside of a restaurant, or maybe ever if he thought about it hard enough.

John sat down across from him and beckoned Charles to eat. He did so, gladly. The steak was tender and a little chewy, pink in the middle, but with seared lines on the outside. Charles wondered how John had managed it without a grill.

“So, how do you like it?” John asked. “I tried for a medium. I didn’t know how you wanted it so I tried to play it safe.”

“It’s delicious,” said Charles.

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

The rest of the meal consisted of a pattern. John would say or ask something, and Charles would muster some short reply. Before long John asked -

“You’re not much for conversation, are you?”

Charles nearly choked on his next bite; he’d been found out. He coughed and apologized for his lack of gusto in their communication thus far.

“It’s okay,” said John. “I can think of more interesting things to do than talk anyway.”

In the blink of an eye, John was underneath the table. Charles managed to stammer out a ‘what are you doing’ before he felt John undo his zipper.

“You know exactly what I’m doing,” said John as he pulled Charles’s dick from his underwear. “All you have to do is say stop, and I will, but judging from this guy here I don’t think you want me to.”

Indeed, Charles could feel himself growing in John’s hands. He didn’t want him to stop. After just several short seconds of stroking, Charles was completely hard.

“God, you’re big. Don’t stop eating,” John commanded. “I want to make this a meal you won’t forget.”

Charles was in shock. He’d never done something like this before, never been told what to do like this, but he did what he was told. He cut off another piece of his steak, and as he put the meat in his mouth he felt something warm and wet envelope the head of his penis. It was amazing. As he ate John continued sucking and stroking him, and as he continued eating the initial shock faded. It was replaced with a sense of power - this made him feel bigger and stronger than any amount of time in the gym, more than winning any fight. Being serviced like this, made him feel like a king.

He felt the head of his cock hit the back of John’s throat, and John began jerking the rest of him fervently into his mouth. Charles couldn’t hold out for long with this kind of filthy sensation, couldn’t help from filling up John’s mouth - just like he wanted.

After Charles was spent, he pushed his chair back and allowed John up off the floor.

He wiped the spit and cum from John’s chin.

“Man you really don’t hold back do you?” said John. “I like that.”

Charles said that he liked him. He’d never had a first date like that before.

“Oh, it’s not over yet stud. You’ve seen what I can do, now it’s time to see what you can do.”

Charles followed John with his eyes as he sauntered to the bedroom, his girly hips swaying as he did so. Once he reached the bedroom door he turned around and winked at Charles before heading inside. At this point Charles simply couldn’t contain himself and followed John’s lead, heading to the bedroom himself. What followed was graphic, nearly violent, and entirely heavenly. Charles had never had sex like what he had that night, never met someone with so much sexual energy.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morn, Charles was allowed his rest. He slumped over in the bed and slept like the dead. Later that day - not much later - he awoke to the smell of bacon. With a titanic groan and a stretch he pried himself from the bed, and made his way, naked, into the kitchen. John was standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but an apron. His hair was wet, and when Charles came up behind him he could smell the lavender in it. He wrapped his arms around John, engulfing his body in the embrace.

“Hey there stud,” said John. “Did I wake you?”

Charles told him that he hadn’t. That it had been the smell of the bacon. No one had cooked him breakfast in a long time.

“So it’s my meat you’re after! I would’ve thought you got plenty of it last night.”

Charles chuckled.

“Well your timing is perfect,” John said. “The eggs are done, and if this bacon goes any longer it’ll be burnt beyond recognition. I was going to bring it to you in bed, but since you’re up we can just have it at the table.”

The breakfast was good, the bacon being not nearly as bad as John had made it out to be, and they had pleasant conversation over their coffee. Soon John had to go to work, though, and they said their goodbyes.

As Charles descended in the elevator he thought back to last night. He’d never had anything quite so passionate before - not even with partners he’d had for a while. There was something… special, about John; something unique. He liked it, a lot.

The following days passed in something of a blur, melting together in one long chain of messages between himself and John. Soon they had a date out in public, and from there, things really took off. They began a whirlwind of a courtship, full of excitement, new experiences, and sex. It didn’t take long for Charles to start falling for John, and after a month or so they were expressing their love for each other as passionately verbally as they did physically. It was a very special time in Charles’ life - the best time he’d ever had.

As the leaves of the trees began to transition from shades of green to their beautiful Fall hues, their relationship was thriving, and they decided that they would move in together. Well into Winter, and they were happy together, with nothing but a few minor squabbles. Until one day, a ghost of their past reared its ugly head and reached its poisonous tendrils into their life.

Charles was in the kitchen loading his new medicine into his pill organizer when a knock came from the front door. When he answered, the man said his full name, half questioning and half factual. Charles confirmed that he was indeed the person they were looking for, and the man introduced himself. He was a lawyer, representing the man he had left in the alleyway of Bears. Charles was being sued. The lawyer handed him a folder, saying that if the criteria in the folder were not met, then they would be taking him to court for assault with a deadly weapon, and he would be facing serious jail time. The choice was his.

Charles was dumbfounded. He had completely forgotten about the incident in question. As the lawyer turned to leave, Charles asked on what grounds was he being sued. The man simply said, “it’s all in the folder,” and walked away.

Charles couldn’t bring himself to open the folder and read its contents. It weighed a hundred pounds in his hands, so he set it down on the table and stared at it. He couldn’t look away from it, his mind racing at what this meant for him, and for John; what it meant for them. What it meant for his job, for his relationship, for his place in society. Every single worst-case scenario came to mind and floated about inside his head. They bounced off each other and produced terrible offspring in the form of further thought. This was how John found him when he came home hours later; overwhelmed and motionless, staring at a folder on the table.

John said his name a few times and then shook him gently, and Charles came back to reality somewhat violently. The transition from being trapped inside his own skull to being aware of the world around him was like being ripped out of a cave through a waterfall. The simple roar of his thoughts became a cacophony of reality. He was disoriented, to say the least.

John asked him what was wrong, and with a weary tone, Charles told him everything. He told him about the beating, the lawsuit, the threat of jail. John was shocked. He’d no idea of what Charles had done that night. John opened the folder and began to read it aloud. With every word Charles’ spirits sank further; what they were demanding was akin to his life. There was no way he could come up with what they wanted. Defeated, he told John that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean for this to happen. John was less than understanding - he was furious. How could Charles do something like this? How could he hurt someone like that, for any reason? And then to try and cover it up? The physical effects of Charles’ punishment were listed out in the form of hospital bills, physical therapy receipts, thousands of dollars in medicine. The psychological effects were less obvious, but included in the total were months of counseling sessions and even a visit to rehab courtesy of an addiction to pain killers. On paper, Charles had nearly ruined this man’s life - now it was time to pay.

Charles tried to explain himself, but John wouldn’t listen. John said he was a criminal for what he did to that man - that he was a monster. Charles felt as though someone had stabbed him through the heart. His chest tightened and his mind began to fill with anguish. His body was hot, and his muscles were spasming with nervous tension. He continued to plead with John, to try to tell him that it was a one-time thing; that it was for him. That simply made John angrier, and Charles could see the disgust in his eyes. John told him that they were through, that what they had was over - that’s when Charles snapped.

Charles began begging John to stay, screaming as he’d lost control of the volume of his voice. He cried tears of pain as he moved closer to John, and as the tears came his vision left him, blurred by the salty solution of great emotion. John backed away, telling Charles that he was frightening him, that he wanted to leave. Charles had him cornered in their kitchen, and was wailing sentiments of love and loss at an ever-increasing pitch. John grabbed a knife from the block and told Charles in a shaky voice that he didn’t want to hurt him. But Charles couldn’t hear him. His senses were dead to the world, the only thing he could feel, see, or hear was his own sadness.

Suddenly John swung the knife at him, cutting his forearm deeply. Charles howled in pain, and in an instant, his cries of agony and anguish turned into a roar of anger. He punched blindly and knocked John to the ground. The knife fell out of his hand as he hit the ground, and quickly Charles was upon him, his body and mind full of blind rage. He was no longer in control of his faculties as he reached down and grabbed John by the throat, he was being piloted by his emotions, by his fury. He lifted John into the air by his neck, and with both hands began to squeeze. John kicked and scratched furiously, but it only served to fuel the fires within Charles. He didn’t even feel John’s windpipe collapse beneath his thumbs, never noticed the color of John’s face changing as blood pooled within it. John’s frenzied attempts at freedom lost their vigor as his eyes began bulging from their sockets and the world darkened around him. Charles was still squeezing, harder and harder, his massive hands nearly completely encompassing John’s neck. The violence within him swelled in a roiling fire that swallowed his entire being, and though John stopped moving he continued his crushing ministrations. He shook John’s limp form as he cried out with passion and pure unadulterated emotion. He was so absorbed in his anger that he didn’t even hear the police break down the door. He didn’t hear them as they shouted at him to put John down. He didn’t even hear the gun go off.

He was torn from his fury by a pain in his back that rivaled the pain in his soul. In an instant, he was once again aware of himself, of what he was doing. He dropped John to the ground and stumbled backward. Another shot rang out, and he fell to the floor. As his life began to slowly fade from his body, he looked at John, gazed upon the beautiful man that he had ruined. As the darkness closed in and his organs began to fail, his last thought was of their first meeting in the store, of John’s smiling face. He held onto that image as the last of his soul left him, and carried it into the never-ending darkness.

It was a beautiful autumn morning. The leaves were falling lazily from their branches, their warm tones contrasting with the crisp air. As they littered the ground around us I reached for a doughnut.

“Charles,” said my companion, John. “Do you think about the past much? The things that were?”

I took a bite from my doughy delight and thought for a moment about his question. It was phrased strangely to me. Being focused on the things that were, and not the way they were. Like longing for an old car that you used to own, while simultaneously ignoring all of the problems that caused you to sell it in the first place.

“I suppose I don’t,” I said. “I think that I prefer to look to what’s to come, rather than worry about what already has.”

John grabbed a chocolate frosted and contemplated my answer. It was obviously not what he was expecting. Perhaps he was thrown by the switch-up - asking about one thing and receiving an answer about something different.

“So you really don’t dwell? You don’t commiserate, none of that?” He asked.

“I suppose I dwell sometimes,” I said. “But I try not to; I try to move on quickly. It’s just futile to me to lust after something that’s already come and gone. If I want something back I try to focus on what I can do to get it back. The steps I can take to bring my desires to fruition.”

“Huh,” he grunted out between bites.

“I wonder what today’s future holds for us,” I said as I reached for another doughnut. “I hope it’s as nice as breakfast.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” his father bellowed. “What did you just say, you stupid bitch?”

His mother tried to answer, but her words were beaten down by the back of his hand. As she hit the floor, he was upon her, yanking her up by her beautiful hair as she howled in pain.

“You don’t ever talk back to me! I’m the best fucking thing you’ve got, and you know it! Without me you wouldn’t even have this shithole: you’d be out on the goddamn streets! Don’t you ever…”

His father’s shouting grew ever louder as he struck her over and over and over; her cries pleading for help, desperately trying to touch the ears of anyone who could listen. His callous fists desecrated her delicate body, reducing her to a quivering, sobbing pile of flesh and bone without value in this civilized world.

Outside his muscles seized, his joints ossified, and he was frozen on the fire escape. The wind cut his eyes as he was forced to watch while his father destroyed his mother. Her cries became weaker and more infrequent—eventually they ceased altogether, and he stared, eyes bulging and mouth agape as his father dropped her lifeless form in the doorway.

Suddenly, his father’s body tensed; through a predatory sixth sense, the beast felt the presence of prey. He straightened and turned slowly. Their eyes locked, and his visage twisted with a monstrous rage as he began a slow march towards the window.

“What the fuck are you doing out of your room, Charles?” his father roared. His face continued its unholy contortions as it pulled colors from the walls and sucked light from the lamps. “Who the fuck told you that you could leave your room? Huh? ANSWER ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

His father’s voice deepened and warped into a demonic squeal that grate on his very soul. The ants were shrieking beneath his skin, consuming him from the inside while the scarabs made their way up his body, tilling his flesh with their steely limbs. He shut his eyes and ears as he tried desperately to end it. His heart pounded and left a vacuum in his tightening chest as he fell to his knees. His blood roared deafeningly, and his father’s Luciferic snarls grew in intensity. They filled his head and battled within its confines, each growing louder and louder and louder and louder until he felt his skull split apart by their feudal volume—

The noises cut off with a jarring abruptness, and his eyes snapped open as he collapsed on all fours, his fingers woven through the metal grate in a white-knuckled grip as he frantically sucked in the oxygen his father had deprived him of moments prior. His condition was deteriorating; the memories were becoming too real – becoming far too real. He didn’t have much time. He forced himself to his feet and collected the gas cans with trembling hands. He had to keep moving, no more detours, no more windows.

You can write about anything, with the proper research. Of course writing what you know is easier, but it shouldn't limit you in your writing. Branch out, read, learn. If you don't know something, you should look it up rather than omitting it. If you want to be a better writer, then you should better yourself.

To lose love would break me. If I could no longer love for all eternity, if my feelings for my wife and child were reduced to a simple liking, I would absolutely crumble. I would live my life forever and alone if only it meant I could love my family, dead and gone though they might be.