first day was wretched.
first week was rubbish.
bunch of snooty uptown kids.
most of them with no talent.
fuckin' hated it.
couldn't teach them shit.
but i did meet a cool lad.
called adam, played the strings.
juts like me, and i'd sing.
formed a two-man band.
was amateur. nothing serious.
something to kill time.
but together we sounded pretty sick.
maybe one day we'd make it big time.
worst part, though, was the girls.
all-american, white teeth and underage.
adam and i'd resisted at first.
some wouldn't take no, play little games.
knew it was bloody, downright wrong.
knew it needed to stop.
you get too confident, never getting caught.
it's a just aimless fun.
and not unconsented. keep coming back.
would've kept at it, i would have.
then you meet someone who puts you right.
i was keeping watch that night—
having a smoke, fine—
when i saw the distant fire.
◦◦◦
sorry to make him all bad like that with sinful perversions, but no stories are perfect and most of my characters are very far from. i like a disturbed damsel in distress type, you know me! but no, i am not condoning that this kind of behavior is okay, understand that...
YOU ARE READING
firelight ⚇ m.t.h. ⚆ book 1
Short Story"fine. whatever," she huffs. "you want my story; why i sleep outside with only a blanket... by a campfire? well, the offer goes both ways. you have to tell me why you work at a camp that seems to make you unhappy." "fair. and i'll tell you now that...
