Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Changing Seasons - 1. Winter- Meeting at the bus interchange
Hi there, my name is Erik and I just wanted to tell my story. I’m not very good with my choice of words so it will probably be a bit bland, like me. My grammar is probably not the best since I don’t pay attention to my English classes. I just want to pour my heart out in the only way I can. I don’t even write drafts nor have any editors to check on this. Fine, call me a mess. I am a mess. I don’t want to sound pretentious and give you the best imagery of love but I’ll try my best to convey it to you in the only way I can. Oh right, shit. This is the part where I introduce the setting right? Well here it goes.
The bus interchange was embraced with a thick layer of fog; it was so thick that the other bus stands felt like they did not even exist. It was intensely cold. Duh, it was July. You are probably wondering where the hell I’m from. Welcome to Sydney, Australia folks! A country that has nothing to offer aside from its beaches that I don’t go to since it’s the middle of winter and even if summer came, I still wouldn’t go. There was also the city but there was nothing much to see aside from the opera house and the harbour bridge which I grew tired of. In conclusion, I don’t like this country. It’s bland, there is nothing to see or maybe I’m just looking at everything in the wrong way. Okay, I apologise. I have digressed too much and you probably don’t even care about my opinion. We should go back to my story on the interchange.
So there I was, standing alone. It was not an option to sit on the steel benches because my balls would probably freeze to death, shrivel and fall off. I had permanent goose bumps going on around my body since my choice of clothing was too thin for winter. I wore the high school’s sloppy joe that didn’t do shit to shield the cold and no, it’s not that gross looking food that looks like poo. I was too retarded to wear my navy blue shorts in the middle of winter since pants never suit me; at least that’s what I think. Even worse, I was wearing my beaten-up black, low converse which had holes everywhere giving access to the freezing temperature and I just stopped feeling my own feet after a while. It was the typical, casual get-up that won’t make you be the victim of bullying and others actually find it kind of hot, or maybe that’s just me. Since I explained my outfit, why don’t we talk about what’s inside of it? I stood at five eight and had a normal teen-ager build; just a hint of muscles in my arms, chest and legs thanks to years of mandatory sport but my stomach was just smooth and skinny. I guess I’m pretty normal. I don’t like physical activities really, I only do it so I can pass my physical education class since participation is graded which is stupid. What I love doing is sitting on my computer chair while playing Super Smash Brothers all day and the occasional reading of fluffy stories from nifty archives and gay authors that filled the gaping hole in my heart that needed another boy. Life was okay I guess. I’ve been talking about myself too much again and I apologise. I promise I’ll tell you the story on the bus interchange now.
I was rubbing my palms together and blowing hot air on them occasionally. My nose was red and numb but when I touched my nostrils, they were dripping with watery snot which was gross. I looked like a mess! I kept rubbing them with my sleeves which were already getting soaked with snot! After fixing myself for a few minutes, I started seeing a shadowy figure emerging from the thick fog. I was shocked to see him here! He never went to this bus interchange and he shouldn’t, he lives fifteen minutes away from school for crying out loud! Don't ask why I know where he lives. The running figure’s name was Gabriel, he was my crush since year 8 and now that we are in year 11, those feelings were still unchanged. He was beautiful, whenever I see him everything goes blank and I start imagining us in different scenarios where we were together. I mean, who wouldn’t dream about him? He stood six feet tall; he had short curly brown hair, had pale-blue eyes of an angel that closed slightly which smiled with his mouth when he was happy, a strong jaw-line that emphasised his masculinity, and thin, pink lips which were followed by a clef chin that was just too adorable to look at. As much as I admire his angelic but masculine face, his body was just something that made my knees weak every time I feast my eyes upon them. He had broad shoulders, well-defined collar bones, his arms were muscular, his chest were wrapped in a strong thick layer of muscles, his stomach had abs that was rewarded for his strong passion in athleticism and his legs revealed a landscape of muscles of different sizes which was oddly, my favourite part of his body. Muscles, muscles, and muscles- I should’ve described him that instead but I wanted to share every detail why I was sexually attracted to this gorgeous hunk in front of me! My eyes grew wide as he lifted his left arm up to wave at me while he ran between the interchange that he emerged from to mine. Why was he giving me attention? We weren’t friends. The only conversations we ever had been to ask him what we have for next period which he always responded in a cold, dull tone. But before I could lift my arm up to respond to his friendly gesture, I saw blood everywhere, sprinkled lightly across my face and was also splattered on the ground where the bus had run him over. I felt like my feet were glued to the ground, my face was prevented to look down on my crush’s remains, I shook violently but I swear it was not from the cold weather. I couldn’t shed a tear nor react in some sort of way. I was too shocked, it happened too quickly. My crush was crushed.
- 6
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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