Chapter IIX: The BesetMature


It's unbearable. The music, the drugs, the sex; it doesn't make that go away. There comes a point in every teenager's life when they should ask their self: 'How far have you yet to fall?’ And, I assure you; it is not something I ever asked. And now I pay the price.

-- Blog Entry #23, Ashok "x.Shocka.x" Chandra


Andrei and Alexei lay on either end of the sofa, their legs together. The television was on. A Canadian youth television station was playing, and Andrei seemed to be the only one paying attention to the animated characters.

The babies sat on the floor, pushing around toy animals and cars, making harmless noise. Ashok was pushing a plastic panda against a car, playing his part with innocent baby chatter. Caitlin had a giraffe in hand, and was prancing it around erratically.

The five-key, rainbow piano sat on a side table, out of their reach. It contrasted with the pale, green wall and the dark brown, sculpted wood that framed the grand house.

Andrei lay against the pillow, his conscious awareness limited to the television.

Alexei was watching the children, his face unreadable.




Later in the morning, the art kit came out. Saturday, May 16th, 1992. The classified section was spread out to cover the floor. Markers danced about erratically, and children's faces and arms were vandalized.

They've left us alone! With crayons! Ashok grinned, "Cait!"

"Are either of them like us?" She queried, her speech also laced with a juvenile accent.

Ashok scribbled quickly with his tiny hands, writing on the back of their drawings with the same abbreviations and acronyms he'd once used in Internet text.


i dnt thk so

I don't think so. Ashok.


lol, I thk so 2

I'm laughing, and I think so too. Cait.


we cn gt thru ths wout them

We can get through this without them.

theyll be like irl soon

They'll be their real life selves soon enough.


thr in the bathroom getn head

They're in the bathroom giving each other head right now...


Ashok had not realized this, and quickly turned over their drawings. He looked at her, wide-eyed. Resentment towards their friends quivered through his tiny body.

"They'll get over it," she whispered.

"What if they don't this time?"

"What's it mean to you? They'll still grow up to be the same great friends and band mates!"

Ashok grimaced, "How many like us are there, and how many subtleties does it take to change the course of someone's life?"

Oh, I didn't think of that. She replied, in the same quiet voice, "Why do you hate gays so much?"

"I don't hate gays!" Cold, defensive, angry. I don't hate you.

Too loud, let's hope they can't hear us. There aren't any baby monitors on, are there? Calm, collected, "Well, what makes you hate gay men?"

"It just doesn't sit well with me. And in this case, it's incest. That's all it is," Ashok assured her, much calmer now.

I don't like it when he's not willing to talk about his feelings. Cait stared off into space. The sun was bright. Flowers were blooming. Yet, something was wrong.

Silence; of noise, of heart, of mind, and of soul.

"AAAAH!" A yell, feminine and cold.




I know that scream! Alexei stopped what he was doing, and pulled out and away. There was urgency to what he'd been doing, and yet it seemed insignificant in comparison. I must see for myself!

The sound of slapping wet flesh.

"What the-"

"I'll check on the babies, hang tight bro'."




The hard, marble stairs tapped with each rampant step. Black sneakers ran frantically down, and as they reached a climax, he slid onto the carpet and looked down the hall.

A small, tender body was convulsing. And beside it, a darkly tanned young infant was crying. He was shocked, and utterly powerless. Caitlin!

Alexei stood twelve meters away, in the hall. His face was, once again, an unreadable mask. No concern showed in the least bit. His gelled hair was unkempt. Saliva marked his shirtless chest. And tight, gray jeans framed his boyish figure. The fly was open, and upon it was an obscenity that made Ashok turn away, breaking out of character.

By the Prophet's wisdom, save me . . . save me from this place.

Alexei seemed unconcerned with his partial nudity, and did not seem to interpret Ashok's turn as anything out of the ordinary. Instead, he was focused intently upon the twisting, convulsing form of Caitlin Malcolm. She's passing through!

Caitlin jerked upon the carpet, with a graceful violence.

The boy, his focus unwavering, yelled so that his twin could hear him, "They're perfectly fine."

Ashok turned again, back to Caitlin. He knew she was not fine. And he knew, something was terribly wrong. And now, it was Ashok who wore the emotional mask upon his face. Forcibly, he crawled towards Alexei as the nearest adult. Tender, afraid. I must not let him know what I am!

Her spine arched, back and forth. Limbs shook, with terrible power. Eyes, closed in death. Eyes, wide open in stimulus overload. Body limp, unmoving. Spine discarded, body crying. And then, again, it jostled into action. And again.

The End

12 comments about this story Feed