Joe's fingers dance a mad tango on the keys, the room around him filled with the clik clack of the keys, the dull laughter issuing from him, and the gentle sobs of the only man he ever loved behind him.
"Stop saying that!" he cries in despair, "Your reign of tyranny is almost at an end!"
Behind him, Davey stands, muscled thighs rippling in the light. He moves towards his lover---
---strong legs needed only a single stride to cross the distance between them.
"Joey, you're acting strange," he pronounces, eyes fixed on the computer screen. "And you've spelled 'favorite' wrong."
"I'm spelling like the Brit I am, you American twit!" the awful aspiring author articulates. Based on the bellows of before, he should really consider adding to the Poetry section, rather.
The tears once again start to flow from poor Davey, a veritable waterfall of grief.
Davey, darling, I'm doing this for us, is what Joe really should be saying. Instead, he brays, quite donkey-like, "Stop your bawling at let me finish! When I'm done things will be back to normal."
"Things were never normal," he wails in anguish. "We've always been different from other people, you know that!"
Being the cheeky arse that he is, Joe rationalizes not to retort, but rather to recommence his tireless typing.
Great, the Alliterator again, his moody mind mouths, might it have managed to manifest a meager mouth to make maleficent mouthings with. Seriously?
A declaration of done-ness drowns the distress of Davey, as Joe has now decided that his chef d'oeuvre is now destined to defy the dauntings of his dastardly narrators.
Ludicrous laughter once again launches itself from the lungs of Joe, pointer-finger poised to press the key that would change his world.
"Yes! I have done it!" he says, certain that only seconds separate him from salvation.
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