A Reminiscent Writer

A Story by Jack

Cheap cigarette smoke hangs stale in the air of a dimly lit room with no windows. A dark brown, chipped wood table is cluttered with ink stained papers, with words written through a deep bottle of rum.

Forgotten by humankind. Reminiscent of the days of my innocent youth… before the corruption and sorrow of the world was cast upon me. The days when we were young colts, who felt like stallions. Running wild, salty sweat dripping from our bodies, the sun beating on our backs. Spirits flared as our virility drove us like bulls charging a matador. Clashing with anyone who rose to the challenge. Our hoots and hollers echoed across the dry, dusty plain.

As the sun set, we would wash in the creek. The water cooled and rejuvenated us as we whooped and chuckled about the adventures we had taken on today.

The night brought new energy as the moon created a pleasant sweat on our long buttoned shirts. We took to the town, with music swimming through the night sky. White, blue, and pink blouses swayed around us, tempting, teasing, luring our starving eyes. Our feet picked up, as our hips grew more passionate. Fiery air and sweet perfume pouring down our nostrils as we pulled in. Faster and faster we moved, without a hint of urgency. We were elegant, yet dangerous. We pull in as the heat in our stomach builds. We toss our heads back as we howl to the moon, Wild Boys.