baby, i am the iliad (of course you couldn't read me) adam
Jul 21, 2024 20:36:01 GMT -5
Post by clover ❁ on Jul 21, 2024 20:36:01 GMT -5
![](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fd/d1/24/fdd124bcc9d619db503d4d1078a4c8f5.jpg)
florentine.
it's late july and i am restless, having spent more than enough time lying on the hot sand dreaming about infiltrating the office of the president under the guise of providing top-notch handjobs. i've grown bored of all the ways in which i could slit his throat, as well as what else i could remove from his person first. i've watched a thousand oiled bodies sink down beside me to develop their complexions. if they fall asleep, they grow pink and then a satisfying shade of red, like meat overcooked. i never wake them up, just let them roast, although they never seen to properly char.
the figures shift and change as the sun moves across the sky, and eventually it comes to my favourite part; the youngsters, drunk on their own self-importance, come out of their snotty institutions and remove the too-tight boaters from their big heads and arrive on the beach as though everybody has been waiting for them. predictably, they bring flasks of shitty liquor and loosely rolled joints, put together by indelicate fingers. i prop myself up on my elbows, eyeing them off. it's important to watch for a while to get a good grasp on who kicks up the most sand when the walk. i find that getting grit in other people's eyes correlates nicely with other traits i am interested in.
somebody lights a fire. i am surprised they even know how. i was under the impression that their servants did this for them before they tucked them into bed at night. two girls slip off their jewellery and discard it in a pile of their cardigans, which were undoubtedly hand-spun by crying orphans in some lesser district. they run for the shore, screaming shrilly as they hit the water. i could slip the bracelets and necklaces into my pockets now and be gone, but that would be too easy. i don't just want finery, i want to fucking party.
my victim becomes apparent to me as he ambles across the beach, looking for all the world like he'd happily trample a puppy if it stood between him and the three beers he was clutching. he's pretty cute and he looks stupid. i ready myself for the attack, smoothing my hair back into the hairclips i snagged from the last one's mother's bedside table.