I'm posting this for a friend (Ben Williamson... maybe you heard o' him?)
-- please keep all replies privte to *him* (his address is above and
below).  I am not responsible for content or formatting.  Thank you.  ^_^

--Matt

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"When I was in school, I cheated on my metaphysics exam: I looked
 into the soul of the boy sitting next to me."  -- Woody Allen
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---------- Forwarded message ----------
Okay... here is the end result of putting Ben, code-geek extraordinaire,
in a god-forsaken marketting meeting for 4 hours.  

It's fooked up, vulgur, offensive, probably sexist, and a bunch of other
things I can't remember the words for.  I promise i'm not this messed up
in real life.  Okay, I'm exaggerating the disclaimer, but it isn't my
normal light fare.  Probably a lot less offensive than Melrose Place or an
issue of Preacher, but just telling you it ain't Wedding Peach.

anyway...  I was just trying to work on portraying human confusion and
frustration.  So... here goes, read at your own risk, C&C always welcome.

--

"Oh no." She sighed down at her torn, blue fingernail.  "I've broken a "
"Promise?" He finished with a grimace, sliding into the barstool beside her.
"Heart."  She bared her satisfaction through sharpened teeth.
For an instant, he saw a yellow feather clenched between her bee-stung lips.
"You cold, sadistic "
"Bitch?"
"Stop finishing my sentences."
"You first."
"Why?  She never did anything to hurt you."
"Ah, I'm sorry.  Did your little kitten scratch her wrists?"
"Fuck you!"  He struck her hard across the face.
"Mm... did that already."  
Her blood seemed seductive in it's grotesqueness, dribbling from her nostril
and being caught lovingly by her moistened tongue.
"I... you know very well that wasn't my fault."
"That's funny, I don't remember sticking MY dick in anyone."
He lunged forward, slapping at her again.  She caught his wrist in mid-strike.
Her grip was surprisingly strong.
"You were never this rough before.  It's too bad."  She exhaled a subdued 
giggle, and he caught the scent of raspberries on her breath.
She leaned towards his hand to kiss his fingertip, staining his fingernails
with crimson.  
"Which hand do you like best?" she mumbled around his fingers, talking a trail
across his hand, raspberry swirling as she went. 
She'd always been very good with her mouth.
"Stop that, god damnit!"  He drew his hand back as if smitten.
"I excite you." It wasn't a question.
"Why?  She was your best friend!"
She leaned in, sniffling momentarily at his throat then whispering into his ear.
"Because I can."
"Jesus christ!  Just get the fuck away from me.  From both of us!"  He slammed 
the door, knocking a picture frame to the ground.
With her back to a wall, she slid down onto the cool tile floor.  She clawed 
scarlet furrows into her cheeks, sobbing in rage and frustration.
Why couldn't he see how much she loved him?

Ben Williamson

"Down the road I go.
 I am following my fishie.
 
 La la laaaa.
 
 Because my fish knows where to go."

 -Delirium, from Sandman