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| Quick Watson, Faggotry is afoot. by FOF 05/02/2003, 4:09pm PDT | ||||
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| Jack Shillings stood tall amoung other men of his kind. Those stocky buck tooth rangers of the west, hardened to the elements, those kings of the hills. Every sinew, every muscle in his body has been burnt, broken, beaten to the shape it was now. Tough, strong, unbreakable. Jack Shillings was a man with scars, the scars of honest rough work, the scars of a thousand battles fought in honour and in patriotism and a single solitary scar, caused by a woman decades into his past in which he kept, polished like the medals of war veterans. Because this single solitary scar, this long streak of neverending pain, phantom as it may be, was all that drove Jack Shillings to do what we will, when we wills it and how he wills it to.
A thousand years ago, in a land a thousand worlds apart, with a thousand different faces, stood a man who was just a man among many others. He had the hopes and dreams that any sane man would want. A comfortable well paying job, a wife to go home to, someday, a son in which he can raise, play ball to, or a daughter he would give away, to a man deserving of her of course. A dog, a house, safe from the terrors of urban life and maybe a car in which he could say was his baby. Simple dreams, for simple men. Yet sometimes, when you are least aware, when you think everything has been fulfilled. Life, the universe, decides to present to you a gift. The gift of dreams, of ethereal desires and within this gift, this noble, pure treasure from the heavens, do you forsake all that is simple and instead, become heroes. Such was the gift life presented Jack Shillings on his 21st birthday, a young marketing undergraduate in the throes of his graduation. She walked in, no, she glided in, no, she descended. And Jack Shillings, who is not a man alien to girls, was caught awestruck in the presence of a woman. Jack Shillings, who had lost his virginity in an alcoholic inspired frenzy to his childhood sweetheart, who in turn, cause others to lose their virginity in an alcoholic frenzy, Jack Shillings, who had never believed in the artful defecation that was romantic poetry, Jack Shillngs, whose simple dreams were born from a man with a simple mind; went mad. Her name was Alexandra, and she was a great conquerer of many hearts. Yet she herself was unaware of her beguiling beauty, of a classical charm, and unaware of the sheer sultry sex appeal she exuded. She was an innocent, in the war of emotions, she was like Helena, unaware of her importance, destined to sink ships and sever hearts. And to Jack Shillings, she gave him dreams, then mercilessly, because apathy is rarely forgiving, tore them away. Jack Shillings, having been single for the better part of the last year, threw himself into the fervour of the chase. There were roses by the hundreds, chocolates by the dozens, and the odd little card. Somewhere deep inside him, a poet awoke and Jack Shillings discovered lyricism he never knew existed, expression he never know he could feel. Jack Shillings was alive, Alexandra was his life, and whichever way it was looked at, is would have been an epic tale, fit for kings. They were married, two years later, under the cherry blossoms of Japan. And then life for Jack Shillings, started unraveling. Continuation pending inspiration. In achieving perfection, anything that is utterly shit, is just practice. |
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Quick Watson, Faggotry is afoot. by 05/02/2003, 4:09pm PDT  |
