It has just now dawned on me that I may well be a sucker for punishment you know. Twelve hours straight writing without so much as coming up for air once, that has to be some kind of record surely, even by my standards. I simply must take a break soon as I’ve neglected my body during that time, my bladder is running well over capacity, and there’s a coppery tang in my palette through starving myself of nutrients. In addition, I’ve begun to feel lethargic and weighted, vicious cramp has set into both legs, and my eyes are now devoid of any kind of lubricant. I’ve got to cease this mdness as this will put me six feet under if I don’t get ship-shape sharpish. But I’m on a roll and we all know what that feels like.
Twenty four chapters in, right in the thick of it. I’m plutonium right now so, you see, ceasing just isn’t a particularly attractive proposition. I never really understood the meaning of I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Surely when I croak I will be too busy being…well…DEAD to catch up on any unbanked winks. Nevertheless, I do rather care for the sentiment. It’s such a distraction, dead time and space, unproductive. There was a time where I could pull an all-nighter and go straight through to the cock-crow. Now that I’m approaching forty that is no longer a viable option.
Why do our bodies betray us? What now seems many moons past, my shell would just take the hit. Should the candle have been burned at both ends then there was never any cause for alarm. I had reserves, long since depleted rations of lustre for such instances. Now all I feel is exhaustion. Seven twenty four…that’s around an hour and a half plus change to get my act together. Ordinarily I’d remain in my joggers and not sweat it. Anyone’s got anything to say to me, well they can damned well tell me in my jammies.
There shall be none of that tonight as I have rather exclusive company imminent. The guest list reads as follows:
Emory Slone Melanie McCurdie-Boutin Annie Laws Bagley
Sharayah Claire Davis Shelly Philemon Diana Evans
Carolyn McCain Graham May Denton-Wilke Cheri Pennell
Anthony Crowley Kittie Harrelson Jilly Gibson
Alicia Darby Craig William Giles Siara Tyr
That’s quite a soirée on the cards. Fifteen close friends all of which I have grown to adore, warts et all. Some I know intimately, others I am still getting to know but all have endeared themselves to me in one way or another. Over the past eight months or so, I have forged friendships I already know will last my lifetime…and that thought comforts me when I finally lay my head down each dawn. It is the first time we’ve got together like this you see and that can be a daunting affair, especially given the fact that we come from different parts of the globe. Lots of chemistry, neurons exchanged and brains licked…it is going to be monumental.
So, about this secret I’m working on. It’s a reactionary piece, inspired by an act of kindness which seldom plays out in one’s lifetime. A rallying of the troops at a time when I felt as though my mortality was on a knife-edge, my darkest ever hours. I was practically homeless for a weekend in December…voluntarily. What possessed me to battle the elements and risk all that I had achieved to that point? I lost sight…become blinded by the red pills I was being spoon-fed daily. Their solidarity and a staggering level of commitment in tying Gruehead Family Christmas together complete with crimson bow, humbled me to my very core. They accepted me when others in closer proximity couldn’t and I owe them all a party the likes of which they’ve never dreamed.
Fuck a duck in the ass-whistle, this is getting me nowhere. As pleasant as it is reminiscing, this parable is not going to write itself. I never suffer from block, prose and I are bosom buddies and thine font runneth over the moment I dip the Crimson Quill and bleed it to parchment. But finding an ending is proving more troublesome this time out. Such a large investment from such a glorious troupe of true Grueheads deserves something spectacular in return. I may have a little smoothing over to do as my lack of an instant reaction was seen as a little inconsiderate by some…and I understand this, truly I do. But I’m a real one-off, my mind never claims to work in the normal manner. I process differently to most and often this can be misconstrued. It really touched my heart, you know…it really did touch my heart.
So, eighty minutes left on the clock. What can I do to turn the tides in my favor? A rapid speed-wank in the shower would be a start I guess. Nothing thoughtful, just me, my cantankerous cock and a quick mental montage of the Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers variety. That’s all it should take to disperse some honey and I’m guessing it’s better out than in as time slows down a little after masturbation, or at least that’s how it appears. After slapping my sweaty palm on the shower wall like Rose from Titanic, I shall clad myself in suitable robes, apply a thin orbit of fragrance and bust out some irreverent pop while I prepare the finger foods. If I dally not, I should be done by eight and that leaves a good hour before the guests begin to filter in. Job seems to be a good ‘un.
I hold up my end of the bargain and clean the pipes, as it were. Never the most romantic way of describing one’s self defilation but needs must, when time is decidedly of the essence. As I towel off in my boudoir I decide to crank the audio to get me in the mood and what better way then with Simple Minds’ Alive & Kicking, one of my personal darlings from the entire epoch. It cannot help but rouse me and, indeed, I begin to feel revitalized and more than primed for an evening to remember. Heaven knows what kind of debauchery lies in wake, the Grueheads are a sexually charged bunch of individuals and, once the alcohol begins to flow, I’m sure it will get more than a little messy.
I pick my attire and begin to suit up. In all the commotion I negate to spot the hulking figure in the doorway behind me, statue-like as it assesses the situation. It doesn’t so much as flicker. Meanwhile I’m oblivious to the peril and carry on belting out lines from the song. The music is just loud enough for me to sound like I’m doing a fairly astute job of it, it’s funny how much better one sounds when the volume is above a certain level but right now I’m feeling like Jim Kerr. My mind is darting around in a dozen places, such is the magnitude of the evening before me. In the back of my thoughts is ‘Caretaker’, my labor of love has been meticulously structured thus far and, once I have settled on a suitable conclusion, is sure to blow them all away. Anything less just will not do.
It started out as a manuscript way back in my late teens. I always did have the creativity for writing but just not the life experience. It was wet behind its ears back then but, now that I have faced so many of life’s harsh realities, I am versed to turn it into something truly remarkable. If only I could draw it to its close. This needs to be plutonium, anything less would spell failure and that is not something I wish to contemplate. These people spent the best part of a month putting their blood, sweat and tears into their contribution and tonight they’ll know exactly how it resonated.
In my infinite wisdom I decided to fashion my tale around this very night…these very people. It made sense to follow this course and I cannot wait to see their reaction, once I proceed with my big reveal. At my fable’s current waypoint, many of them have already perished at the grimy hands of their angst-ridden antagonist. A handful remain and ‘Caretaker’ is beginning to furiously percolate within the pages. I just know they’ll get a kick from my treatment, I’ve had a lifetime getting intimate with slasher flicks and know the pitfalls. My story ingeniously sidesteps many of the clichés and doesn’t follow the rigid rule-set laid out which simply insisted on being adhered to.
I chuckle to myself, pushing back any concerns and focusing on soaking up the upcoming adulation. It is never all about me however; every kind comment they shall receive tenfold in return as I have every intention of gushing. Paying it forward has its own exclusive benefits, nothing pleases me more than knowing I have been responsible for empowering another soul. Love shouldn’t need to be such a solitary emotion and I am plenteous like a plumped piñata right now. In fact I believe it is time for some lurve-making music as there are so many ways in which to show affection and the notion of one, in particular, gets me hard.
This calls for some rare groove, Starvue Body Fusion to be precise. I fire it up and begin grinding my pelvis like an unhinged reprobate. No harm, no foul. It amuses me how much soulful swagger we exhibit in moments such as these. Not only do we become Vandross in the crooning stakes but we also believe vehemently that we have diamonds in the soles of our shoes. We don’t or maybe that is a little presumptuous…I don’t. My kind of moves look far better behind incessant strobe. I jived my tight white cheeks off the soul train before it had become stationary, twisting my ankle in the process. Since then it has never been quite the same.
Okay, glad-rags on. Time to take my nectarinal derriere downstairs and apply some finishing touches to the buffet, in advance of the first arrival. I lean forward and stop the music but there is another sound still active. Breathing, if you can call it that. Guttural growls probably better fit these exhalations and they emanate from directly behind me. Suddenly they are accompanied by a metallic aroma which hits both my polyps and taste buds at directly the same moment, causing a slight wretch. I spin where I stand but do not complete my rotation as my temple meets the blunt edge of a cold blade and I am knocked instantly unconscious…
It is 7.49, just over an hour before the first guests are due to arrive.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
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Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014