[Romance/Paranormal/Mystery/Thriller/LGBTQIA] Daryl Okafor came to the mining town of Marvis Pass to escape a judgemental family and community. In this new world, he meets Al Lewis, a steadfast talc miner, and they quickly fall in love. After alm...
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The ceiling. It's filled with a few holes where insects have burrowed. There's some rugged strips of wood. Painful texture. It bothers the eyes.
Daryl picks at a spot on the back of his hand as he lays on his back, listening to the sharp sounds of Al chopping wood outside. The hatchet slips through the future firewood like a fingernail through soap. Last night...it was stressful. Nothing bad happened, but it was just a further reminder of the wedge this realm is shoving between them. They still haven't consumated their love, but they were in no rush. However, before the plague, Daryl could sense they were approaching the time of their mutual readiness. After their untimely deaths, though, this place seemed like no world to share intimacy. It snuffed the spark of physical arousal, of hormonal friskiness.
They wanted to give it a go after the sun had slipped away under its blanket of the mountains on the horizon, but their horrors and anxieties made it impossible to raise their libidos. They just stared at each other's half-naked bodies, but their slow pulses felt nothing. After exchanging a few more soft kisses, Al and Daryl curled up together and dropped their consciousnesses into a cold slumber.
Daryl slips out of the bed and throws on his shirt and pants before slipping on his boots and scuttling out the door. He pads towards the working Al, keeping his footsteps quiet, and leans against a frail post holding up the house's roof. Al's shirt is unbuttoned to his navel, and great gray stains of sweat taint his armpits and back. The sun hadn't been up for too long, but its thermal energy is already having uncomfortable effects on the beings existing below.
A navy blue strip of fabric, worn from time and emotion, is wrapped around Al's right hand, knotted at his wrist. This piece of cloth is only brought out from the dark depths of a nightstand drawer when negative feelings are running amok inside the miner. It's the remains of a childhood blanket that Al would drape over himself when his parents would engage in terrifying yelling matches. It was a common occurrence many, many years ago, and this object served its purpose extraordinarily well. So well, in fact, that its mystical powers still work to this day. Only Daryl knows about the significance of this navy blue cloth, and when Al is alone or with him, he will chew on the blanket as if it is a giant gob of blue raspberry gum. Sometime he will amble around the house just letting it hang from his lips as he nibbles on a corner. He will waltz about like a blue tongued lizard. He would wear it to the mine every now-and-then but wouldn't dare to teethe.
Al pauses his work and looks up at Daryl, adjusting the brim of his hat, moving it away from his big eyes. "Hey. Didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. I've been awake for awhile." Daryl closes the few meters between them and takes the wrapped hand into his grap. His fingers dance over the knot. "Do you wanna talk?"
Al gently pulls his hand back, kneading his tied palm with his free hand's thumb. "Not really."
