a fall

K1 flashed a smile, his sharp incisors bright against the night. L’s stomach churned as they inched closer to each other—bare knees almost touching. Sweat was rolling down his back and for the first time, he noticed the surprising lack of wind. Around them, others were leaving or making out or twirling tiny black straws in empty plastic cups. The music was slowing, the bartender yawned and checked his phone. K felt pulled by a morbid sensation. Eyes stuck and glaring at each slip of L’s teeth, he felt his body twitch to stop himself from lunging forward. He craved the feeling of teeth to flesh. A chill swam up his back, pricking his skin with tiny goosebumps. He wanted to devour. Or no, to be devoured: his flesh ripped apart, the meat of his muscle pulled between each sharp and gleaming tooth. 

He needed to get up. He tried standing and stumbled. L, looked nervous and stood straight up, starting toward him. He needed to get out of here, just catch his breath for a minute. He felt his breath catch in his throat; his pulse quickened with each new revelation now flashing through his head. K and him tangled naked in bed, his large frame pressed against him, bulging bicep wrapped tight around his neck and squeezing. K and him alone, late at night, walking down an alleyway outside a coffee shop. K in a cramped car sobbing2.  K biting deep down into his neck, draining blood from body, and smiling. He shook it away. He imagined himself jumping from the building, stretching out his arms, a wild and feathery set of wings unfurling from his back. Yes, he could fly away; the skies were a blanket of calm and speckled black. He read about it once: an old folktale of men who grew wings when they needed them most. How did it end? Soaring, always soaring.

But, then a sinking thought. Could the wind carry him? No, things were wrong. Everything was stale and sinister with spite. K was still staring at him with his twisted and mocking face. L turned away, imagining himself tumbling from the sky–plummeting like Icarus into the deep void of the night. Yes, he would have to watch. Sit there snarling as L stepped over and sank into the earth. The ground would open up. He was sure of that. The great jaw of the street would unhinge and swallow him whole. There he would keep falling, sinking further into the abyss—no retreat.

His breath was quick. He stumbled to the edge of the building, barely conscious as the crowd around him panicked. A bartender jumped from behind the bar, a man rushed over—none of them were quick enough. His vision blurred; his world spinning in neon purple and bright pink. He felt his knees give out and suddenly all he could think about was the hardness of the concrete rising to meet him. Then, the freeness of the fall. The creep of the dark. The familiar weight of K’s arms cradling him into a deep and restless sleep.