Factions of New Vegas (the great khans, the followers of the apocalypse, the white glove society, the powder gangers, the new vegas strip itself, the boomers, caesar’s legion, the brotherhood of steel and the new california republic)
When the words came they were shallow and meek, but only in presentation. The kind of words that perhaps peasants had uttered under their breath for thousands of years while being whipped by drivers who’s masters were Pharaohs, Consuls, Lords, Kings, or Czars. You could always see the line from lash, to leash, to leisure when you stand as far away as historians do. His obedience was beaten into him, his abuser’s was bartered for, and up above bequeathed by god, fate, or birth. Subjugation was the way of the world then, as it was before, and as it is now. I think it will be too if you ask me, but not for him, not in that moment. Though his words were low, and his voice almost a whisper his spirit screamed and his body vaulted and as he killed the agent of oppression if you were unlucky enough to be just beside him, you might have heard him utter “I will suffer no more trespasses upon my will.”
I mean I don’t even want to tell you about what makes me unhappy about you because the only thing that makes me unhappy about you is the amount of time I spend worrying about if I am making you happy, which is fucking ridiculous to begin with. So if you are hung up on that and it makes you unhappy then we are already in a recursive loop of shit.
I have those fantasies sitting across from you on some wobbly bar stool as you rub your index finger around the rim of a half full glass of some imported beer the long haired, dark eyed bartender recommended to you. The small ones of a simple stolen kiss or some one night stand filled with half faked laughter the morning after. I think about the I would feel if I did and what parts of me I would have to ignore to go through with it. What parts of me would feel betrayed by that short but morally irreconcilable act. I roll it over in my mind slowly as you take another sip and spill a little on your dress and you get up to go to the bathroom to wipe what you can away. I look at your ass as you get up. I feel guilty for doing so.
I enjoy the passing thoughts that can be so easily swatted away by just remembering past conversations or a stark deep realization that you are not in fact the kind of person who could. That is all that is required usually all that I need to let go of the string of images that I create when I let my mind wander when looking at that sort of company. This time they want to stick and live a bit longer in my head and no amount of rationalization seems to be able to make them move. I feel defeated enough by my own thoughts.
You return with only the slightest of dark spots on a yellow skirt and you try to cover it by crossing your legs as you sit and I try not to look at them. I stare off into the distance and pretend I am calm, pretend that I could be content.
Nightwing and Deathstroke costumes.
Every now and again I get it into my head that I would love to write and draw a face paced comic combining rock and roll, campy science fiction, with philosophical and religious overtones and then I remember Mike Allred did it when I was ten.
The cashier said “Your total is seven eighty-nine, sir” and that snapped me back into reality for a second. I swiped my card and entered my pin and swiped my purchase off the counter and walked briskly away but still managed to hear the quick thank you from her. I pushed the door open and half jogged across the parking lot to my waiting car and quickly, hands free, unlocked it and got in. I but my bag in the passenger seat and with both hands grasped the steering wheel. I looked down at the green digital clock screen. I had fifteen minutes before work and all I had to do was literally drive across the street. So rather than get a jump on counting down the register and combing through the e-mail that had accumulated over the night I just sat in silence for a moment and breathed the deep greenhouse affected warm air that had been trapped in my car. It was stale and hot enough to feel stifling but I still just sat and tried to enjoy the moment of not having to be anywhere, to not have to think about anything.
…and in that soft quite moment before the car door slammed I realized i had relegated myself to hell on Earth because someone once told me I was unworthy of heaven. With each step I swore I could hear the cracking of ground beneath me until it finally opened up and swallowed me whole. I awoke a year and a half later in my own bed having learned nothing.
I got to see my favorite band on Saturday in the company of my favorite people at one of my favorite places. The days they are good.
me when someone tries to flirt with me