Jack and Jill

2

Jack's long white dreads fell on his bronze colored shoulders, wet and heavy like that of a polar bear just back from a swim. He grabbed a towel from the hook mounted on the inside of the bathroom door as he climbed out of the shower and opened the door, his nipples rigid from the sudden drop in temperature. Though he often preferred to keep his house cold, the sensation of stepping from a hot shower onto the cold tile in the cold bathroom with a rush of air from the door being opened made his nipples hard and he liked it.

Boston was perfect. In the winter, he'd leave the heat off, letting his windows frost over. And there were enough nefarious characters around that if the grim reaper came knocking every few days, no one would mind. Today was one of those days; there wasn't much in the way of enjoying things.

Jack dried off. His skin was pale and covered in scars but he liked it that way. It gave it character. He was vertically challenged and he blamed that on his mother; she, too, was short. The Cali bamboo floors throughout the rest of the apartment were cool to the touch; he'd recently gotten his carpet replaced and walls painted a bright color.

He hung his towel and ambled into his bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. It was bare, painted an off-white. Jack needed to recharge, to recoup his energy; he hated peopleing. They were so plain. So dull. They chatted incessantly.

His phone chirped on the nightstand. Laying back with his legs still hanging off the side, he grabbed for his phone only to push it to the floor. Thud. With a deep sigh, he rolled to his side. It chirped again. Jack peeked over the edge of his bed to that his phone had landed face up, lit up from the last notification, a text from Jill; she'd sent several messages. 1888. He unlocked his phone to a picture of a redheaded, freckled faced, South African on his phone background. The message icon indicated he had multiple new messages. "All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy," they began. "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. I have a candlestick." "Jack should come jump over it." Jack snickered as he locked his phone and put it on the nightstand.

Blue jeans rolled up to mid-calf, graphic tank top, cardigan, and black slip-on sneakers. He brushed his teeth and hair, not with the same brush, grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone and left. His door opened to an opening with a stairwell in the middle and a green door on each brick wall; the floors were Victorian tiles.

"omw"

He slid his phone into his jean pockets. Jack was a very dull boy indeed. Being rejected by both Lucifer and God, being bound to live out eternity on Earth, being unable to die, makes living a little less exciting, knowing he can't die and having done everything one could do in a single lifetime and then some. All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy, indeed.