The Watchtower

A short story about a boy and his boyfriend's adventures in an imaginary land.

"Tommy, don't go. Not yet. It hasn't even started raining."

"But the watchtower, Shane. We oughta find a way to get there soon."

"It ain't going nowhere."

The blue clouds are surreal, spinning, twirling, and like a birds chest, visibly growing with water by the seconds until they burst by the pierce into red rain and sizzle down from the sky like fireworks. He's smiling now, brilliantly smiling, flailing his arms, running around Tommy and his half naked body.

"The princes of the sky! The atmosphere, Tom! Does it love us? Do you really think it loves us?" He stands there beside Tommy and ponders, really deciphers whether they care. He points to Cupid's son as he flies away and says, "Look at him. You think he laughs with joy or laughs for humiliation?" But Tommy isn't there anymore, and Shane has somehow instantly followed him. They're in the face cut of a tree.

"Shane, don't!," and he pulls him back in. "It's the black rain. That means the businessmen poisoned Cupid Jr.'s arrow. F*****g businessmen."

Shane doesn't even have time to worry before a servant floats up, holding her palms against the inside of her static blue aura.

"You boys need a way out of here?" A lightening rod flashes before her face. She extends her hand as the aura warps around her wrist and as Tommy gives his hand to the servant, the blue orb envelopes him, going past his shoulder, up his neck; he grabs Shane's hand before it reaches the other side.

The lady introduces herself as Mia, Sir Cupid's dreamer. Cupid doesn't sleep for his meticulous love-planning, therefore Mia sleeps and dreams for the king. And now they've elevated above the grounds and above the buildings, eyeing the black rain and all of its venom. Luckily, she says, the only things affected by it are those living with eyes and ears; the trees and flowers and grass are safe from its harm.

They near a visible castle, painted in swirls of Day Glo red, blues, orange, and the all-mighty white stars and stripes. Windows with drapes, pale violet and pink flowers, blue and green plaid, tattered and swaying with the vibes of the air. People dancing, their huge feet flattened against the bricks, and their lips and pearls beaming, arms lazily flying above their heads. The whole building a motion picture, and the flag across the whole front flapping with an imaginary wind.

"These are the kings' children," Mia describes and they land on a keep as the aura pops like a bubble. They are introduced by a man swinging and ricocheting a sledgehammer in the air, over one shoulder, past the other, catching it in perfect timing, talking a mile a minute, faster than his hands, saying, "Here, well, you know the black rain don't come 'less them b******s had a reason to stick a needle filled with poison snuck into Cupid Jr.'s sack, you understand? Aint no devil worse than them men, and no philosophy to it, just soaked in black and while, slithering in a field of hate and negativity, the roots of the hell where they grew up.

"Well, Mia, good to see you not sleeping again," he winks, "Shane, this oughta be your Tommy, the never-ending Tommy." Tommy, with a string around his waist to hold up the brownish cloth covering, glances to his love and the man pauses all jittering, bows before him, hammer behind his back, and recites, "Cassidy, at your service, all needs and all help." Shane takes his uncles hand dearly thanks him.

They go on to sit in a circle, red hookah as the eye, sharing the two hoses. Shane's eyelids separate and he is presented with the view of the town, Jess and little Sarah walking home, Willard's round belly, round cheeks and graying hair as he closes up his bread shop.

"No, I never even knew she was gonna be there." Shane turns and sees Tommy hand the point to Neal. "Oh, look who's awake, sleepy-head!"

Tom leans over and kisses Shane. "How long was I out?"

"About half an hour," Uncle Neal says, "You ready to head on home?"

"Actually, Uncle Neal," he grins to Tommy, "I think we're gonna stay here tonight."

He starts up and wipes his pants, "Heh-heh, well alright, no story in the newspaper tomoruh 'bout some kids vandalized the town watchtower."

"No promises, Uncle Neal."