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Prologue
RobinHood
post Aug 28 2010, 09:33 PM
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I like it here. It's got the right mix of people you need to make a good night. Groups of young, pretty guys grinding and thrusting together, waiting to see which ones pair off and drift to the darker corners. Girls on hen nights enjoying a night of oblivion with minimal risk of unwelcome perving. Sad old men who never got up the courage to come out when they were young, standing and looking, hoping for a late invite to the party. The token straight guys dragged here by girlfriends on a fun night out, feigning discomfort but secretly glad that the night won't end in a random punch-up outside. Confident, swaggering guys holding court in the smoking area, swapping over-priced pills for tenners from young kids giggling over tripping for the first time.
They're all here for a reason. To get drunk, to dance, to have a laugh, to get f*cked in all senses of the word. It's fun. Different enough to feel like a bit of a thrill, but secure. Safe. They're all here for a reason. I'm here to watch. To look. And to find.
I'm standing on the balcony which circles above the dance floor, unseen to those below, cast into darkness by the lights shining down on the revelry. There are a few others nearby, leaning on the railings. A man in faded blue polo probably deluded into thinking he can snare a hot young thing, but deep down resigned to being past his prime. An over-weight girl in a too tight, too short, too red, too everything dress who is glued to her phone, maybe texting to complain about how her good a night her hotter friends are having. A few others. Maybe they're fabulous, smart, interesting individuals with great personalities. Doesn't matter. They're not what I'm looking for.
Then I see it. Him. The far side of the dance floor from where I'm standing, gyrating with his friends and sipping something offensively bright from a plastic bottle. He's tall, blonde haired, and pale. Willowy, maybe, is the word. High cheekbones, drawing me up his face to wide eyes which even from here I can tell are a piercing grey. Like steel. I push myself away from the railing, down the stairs, and onto the floor.
Perhaps my hair changes colour a little as I move through the throng towards him. Lightened slightly. Maybe it was just a trick played by the swirling lights. Either way, he hasn't noticed me yet. I slide up next to him. Enough of a touch to make it clear it's intentional. Not enough to make me just another sleeze to be glared at and dismissed out of hand. I take my hand away and move just far enough beyond him that he has to turn to keep sight of me. As he swings round, still in time with the music, hands in the air, his eyes meet mine and I smile. He grins back a bit, crooked smile full of energy and cheap vodka. I know it then, but he doesn't. He's mine. He is lost.
Later, and the noise has become just that. A blur of sound that doesn't mean anything; just a backing track to his time with me. His friends have went home an hour since, tittering and whispering in his ear as they moved off to their cab home to bed. 'Get your coat, you've pulled,' or wishes of a good night, something inane of that ilk, I imagine. It doesn't make much difference at this point, to him. I doubt he even noticed. He didn't notice a lot of things, to be honest. If he noticed that my lips were cold, or that my eyes had gone from dark brown to pale blue even has he got lost in them, he gave no mention. He didn't know what he was. What I am. Not that it mattered. Dirty f*cker. When the last song ends, I lead him outside, into a taxi, and away.
We get out a the top of a road of terraced houses, off the main road, no different from the ones on either side. I'd chosen it at random anyway; it would have what I needed. His hand is warm in mine as he trails behind me, pulled along by my charm and his intoxication, a sheen of sweat still shining on his forehead despite the coolness of the night. Halfway down the street, I stop, and he stumbles into my back, giggling at his clumsiness, or perhaps the contact. I half turned and winked at him, turning into the alley which seperates two houses.
'We can get in the back way,' I say, simply, and he laughs again, perhaps taking it for some hilarious double entendre. I am witty, it has to be said. In the dark of the alley, I halt, and lean against one of the brick walls, fumbling in my pockets as though searching for keys to the house which isn't mine. He moves in against me, his crotch pushed up against mine, leaning into me for another kiss.
My hands come out of my pockets, and as the silver dagger slides into his belly, there is not sound. No blood. His head snaps up and he staggers backwards. There is a second where his grey eyes are full of shock, looking into mine one last time. Then, his pupils begin to contract, and then his irises, until where before there had been grey, they were now stark, solid white. His mouth sags open, and for a moment he is perfect still, a sculpture of a quite beautiful young man, the jeweled dagger of my knife jutting from his midsection the only discrepancy. Then, he begins to blur around the edges. He goes from statue to oil painting; indistinct. Soon he is mist. Then, he is nothing.
I am alone in that dark place. I take moment's pause to contemplate a good night's work, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction. Then, I turn and walk back out towards the streetlights. I need a shower. I feel dirty.
 
Butterface89
post Oct 1 2010, 10:12 AM
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Okay. You held my attention, especially in that vital first paragraph that could make me want to move on the the second paragraph or skip this piece of writing altogether. Great hook as an opening line that made me want to read more into the paragraph. I've noticed that each paragraph has yet another "hook" in it to make the reader want to read more.

It seems to me that you wrote what you wanted to write here, but you kept the reader in mind as well, making the subject matter interesting to "lay" people as well as people that share the interests reflected in the story.

There is also ACTION, which I love. For me- your current reader- that simply means that the story is 'moving', doing something; I feel like I'm moving forward towards a pay-off as I read this. In reading this, I also felt that your story has an 'ending' to it...a beginning and an ending that is clear or inevitable. I felt that there was conflict present in the story as early on as the second paragraph ( the conflict of sexuality stood out to me). I didn't finish reading this but the point for me is, I shouldn't have to reach the ending to see what I've just mentioned.

Thanks for sharing:]
 

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