chill my bones [goat/tom]

[Tom]

There's blood and sweat intermixing. He can feel the mixture sliding down his chin onto his neck and shirt below. Hand pulls up the rag that he's carrying and dabs lightly at the spot. He had beat the bigger guy that night. Fists would bruise from the lunges he had thrown. Pain was slowly throbbing to life throughout his body, but the smile still was on his face. Mother and father would be waiting at home for him. There would eyes on the bruised knuckles and bleeding nose. There's a gentle touch of an angel that always seems to brush his cheek. Gracing him with better luck than so many others.

Boys and girls come out in body bags, bloodied memories, and broken hearts from the underground and the arena that they flock to. Unlucky boys and girls that end it all with a game of broken bodies. A chuckle leaves his lips as he can remember his friend's words after his fight. They bleed through his skin like the compliments that he receives. Words that set their own accord through his body. Channeling all of that good feeling to his body. A hearty whistle floating out through his lips. Hands swinging softly at his side as he has a bit more hop in his step.

"Great fight, O'Nyle. Win two more and you move on in the tournament."

All he needs is two more to continue on into the fun stuff that comes later on in his underground fighting. No one knew about it, except himself, his opponents, the people who pay money to go see them, and their right hand men who help train them. All he could remember was feeling like he was burning. Every swing at the larger opponent set his eyes on fire. Punch after punch there was nothing more than a floating feeling that sends him higher. When he steps into a ring, the fire in his heart comes out. There's passion that takes him forward. The laughs that leave his lips in a cocky way, but would be the truth of how he felt. Happiness, even though he had been hurt so bad many times.

Each fist that the larger guy swung at him hit him hard. Blood was still dripping, almost an hour later since the fight had ended. The streets were black, cold, and hard against his feet. The gentle breeze of the evening sends a shiver down his spine. If only he had been smart enough to remember his jacket. Arms crossed in front of his chest to try and keep him warm. Every evening was cold to him, no matter what season it was. The chills always made him colder. Fights made him warmer. His parents's chilled eyes and worried glances always makes him colder.

That's when he saw the kid heading home. A pretty boy who had chilly blue eyes, but he can see the tiredness that's underneath. Blonde hair that moves gently in the wind. A friendly smile pulls at his lips as he checks his nose with a finger. No more blood. No more awkwardness with others. Only bruised knuckles and bruises along the face. Too dark to see at the time they were at. He's seen the kid before. At least, he swears he has. School was a likely option as he saw everyone there. Though, he can't remember where. Either way, he was intrigued by why someone who he would consider a pretty boy be out that late. There were creeps out there.

Luckily for the kid, Ike was there to protect him now. He seemed to be heading the same way Ike was going. A smile upon his face as he runs to catch up to the kid. Words leave his lips with a friendly warmth to them. There's no resisting his friendliness. At least, that's what he thinks. He'd find out soon enough.

"Hey man!"

There's a pause of curiosity in Ike's eyes. How do you approach a stranger and speak to them freely. Ike did it every day, but something felt different in his own skin. Ignoring the nerves that were coming, he pushes through. His mother would have told him to man up. His father would have laughed. His sister would have rolled her eyes and left him alone. He continues again.

"Let me walk you home! There's some creeps out here. Wouldn't want some creepy old guy to come onto you!"

It was a joke to Ike. A smile to ease it as joke. Stranger or not, Ike felt compelled to approach the kid. His mother and father wouldn't mind him being a little later. They knew he was out until super late. They worried, but his father always said he was out doing things with girls. This wasn't true, obviously, but he still always got a chuckle out of it. Mother always told him to treat them right. After he spoke, he could feel the chill come back to his skin. Eyes still staring at the pretty boy.

The stars glow above, with a chill in his bones.

An uneventful evening was now beginning to get interesting.

[goat]

blair noland

Work ran late tonight. Well, it ran late for me. As I was just about to turn my sewing machine off, my supervisor came by and dumped a wad of fabric into my lap. He said one of the other workers, who will remain nameless, had been slacking. He needed somebody he could trust to get these dresses done by tomorrow. I couldn’t say no. Working longer means more money at the end of the week. It also means less sleep. I’m never in a rush to get home, but tonight, the idea of warm blankets wrapped around my body gets me to walk a bit faster.

The night is cold, not a bitter cold like during winter, but a soft chill that creeps its way through the holes in my sweater. I try to pull my sleeves down my hands without making the torn seam worse. It tears more, of course. Just my luck. I curse under my breath, making a mental note to repair it when I get home. The promise of sleep seems further and further away with each heavy step on the pavement. It feels as if a thousand pounds are being balanced on my shoulders. Can you fall asleep standing up? I know you can fall asleep sitting in front of a sewing machine, I’ve seen it far too many times.

I adjust the sleeve. My fingers ache, having been pricked with needles countless times this week. I’m usually so careful. The exhaustion must be catching up to me. I’m trying to outrun it, but each day wears me out more and more, and it will get me eventually. I need a break. A long, long break. If I took a break, though, there would be no money. My father wouldn’t be able to afford my mother’s medicine. My mother would probably die.

It’s bad to think about things like that. I push those thoughts to the back of my brain, so far I won’t be able to retrieve them. It was a good thing to work late tonight. It was a very good thing. Don’t resent it. It was a good thing.

My home is not too far from the factory, but tonight, it seems miles away. Perhaps I’ll never make it back. I’ll have to lie down in the middle of the road, let the sweet embrace of sleep take hold of me there. The sky is dark enough. I close my eyes, just for a moment, just let me close my eyes-

"Hey man!"

Shit. Was I falling asleep? This is not the best place to do it. I turn to face the person who shouted at me with no possible clue of what they could want. I don’t have money, or anything valuable on me. Does a life count as a valuable item? God. This is how I die.

The vague shape in front of me becomes a boy. Maybe a man. I can’t see him too well in the dim light, but he doesn’t look much older than I am. Definitely more muscular. If he’s planning to beat me up, there’s no way he wouldn’t succeed.

"Let me walk you home! There's some creeps out here. Wouldn't want some creepy old guy to come onto you!"

That only seems a little suspicious. Still, it doesn’t feel like he’s here to do any harm. He’s got a smile plastered across his face that I see no hint of malicious intent behind. I could be totally wrong. After all, I don’t think I interact with enough people to fully understand the scope of human emotion. God, why do I have to overanalyze everything? I should stop being a nervous wreck and take a chance for once. If this turns out to be a bad decision, well, it’s my funeral. Literally.

I clear my throat. Any feelings of exhaustion rushed out of me when this boy yelled out in the otherwise silent night. “I’m not sure if I’ll end up dead if I say yes, but I’m just going to go for it. So. Sure. Walk me home.”

wc; 685

[Tom]

Worries that once chilled his bones disappears into a warm glow that pulls from his stomach to his cheeks.

He can feel the brute force of the punches upon his skin once again. Their forceful pushes creating black and blue marks. that would appear the next day. Winning or losing, he always ended up with bruises somewhere. This wasn't the first fight where a guy had put up his own fight against Ike. There was the big guy who knocked him out the first time he stepped into the ring. A punch to the nose was all it took to knock him out. The larger man standing before Ike begging Ike to get up and swing again.

Unfortunately, he wasn't strong enough then.

Now he could handle it on his own.

“I’m not sure if I’ll end up dead if I say yes, but I’m just going to go for it. So. Sure. Walk me home.”

A chuckle escapes from his throat. Killing someone was never something that was on his list of things to do. Walking pretty boys or girls home was on his list of things do to. He'd rather them be safe than not be. There's a silence to the air as Ike feels the chill that goes down his spine in the dark. He's turning to look behind him and then back at the pretty boy who's name he didn't know at all. There's a gentleness to his features that Ike can make out. A little more boyish in looks than himself, but it adds to the look. There's blue eyes that he can see now that he is closer than before. A small smile pulling up at his cheeks as he wraps an arm around his shoulder. Words confidently falling from his lips.

"Wouldn't even want to kill ya. Though, if I tried, I bet you could solve your way out of it anyways. I'm not so smart after all."

It was the truth. Ike hadn't been the smartest of kids. His sister was smarter than him and she was years younger than him too. His grades weren't all there either. He struggled when it came to school, but if it came down to a fight, he knew everything that he could do with his body and fists. It was almost like a dance. Step to step, fists flying in directions to knock out anyone. There was no way that he could win in a battle of wits, no matter who it was. He was just not all there. If it was a battle of strengths, he could win. There's a chill in his chest again.

The smile comes back in an attempt to warm the air around them.

"Anyways, I'm Ike. Your own personal bodyguard for the night!"

He's always been the type to relax into someone. Arms around the shoulder. Small hugs that warm the heart. Smiles that bleed through the skin. Friendship or acquaintances, he was always interested in others, even the ones he's fought. Bloodied noses and all, they were still a person who deserved to be treated right. Always fooling around with someone in a joking manner. Memories of how he used to cling to his mother with all the attention he could give when he was younger to the recent worried looks when he comes home tired and bruised. They knew that something was wrong, but he was happy they never pursued the issue of him coming home sore and broken.

The smile comes back as he reaches out to he pretty boy. Eyes glancing at pretty boy's hand as he sticks out his own with confidence. There's a jump in his step as he continues along with the other guy. A chill tingles at his spine as his other hand fumbles with the side of his pocket in which he uses to protect his hand from the chilly outside. Words fall from his lips again with kindness and honesty to them.

"It's nice to meet you though. You seemed like you could use a pal to walk you home? May it be my ego talking or just the tiredness of the night, but I always enjoy having someone else to chit chat with on the way home."

There's a smile on his lips as he can remember the last friend who walked him home.

There wasn't one.

Only a trainer who taught him to fight with his fists rather than with the heart.

There's a chill to the image in his head that he blocks out.

All he needed to do was to get pretty boy home and to forget about the past.

Then he could be okay.

Even if he wasn't, he had to keep smiling for everyone else's sake.

[goat]

blair noland

After I speak, the boy laughs. It’s a small laugh, a chuckle, and I worry that means I was right. He’s out here to kill me. I can’t tell him I’ve changed my mind. That’s not how getting murdered works. I’ve already accepted his offer and there’s no going back. If this is how I die, this is how I die. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan. That is, assuming you have a plan in the first place. I certainly don’t. I’ve been in the dark for the past sixteen years, lost, trying to find the right path. It looks like the right path for me is dying at a young age in the middle of the night.

He’s smiling, though, in a decidedly non-murderer way. I’m back to thinking that I’m overreacting, and I’m not going to die. Jesus, Blair, make up your mind! Either you make a run for it or you stay here and take a chance on this. I never take risks. I never do anything that’s the slightest bit out of my routine. Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep. That’s my life, and it’s boring, and I’m not sure I’ll ever escape it, but for now, it’s what I have to do. My purpose will find me some day, and I don’t think being killed tonight is part of that. I take a deep breath.

“Wouldn’t even want to kill ya. Though, if I tried, I bet you could solve your way out of it anyways. I'm not so smart after all.”

Okay. Playful banter. I smile, just a little. He’s still smiling, and I wonder if he’ll smile the rest of the walk. I wonder how somebody can bear to smile for so long. I figure your face would begin to hurt eventually. Maybe I’m just not used to smiling. There aren’t a lot of things in my life for me to be happy about. The boy continues to talk. “Anyways, I'm Ike. Your own personal bodyguard for the night!”

I’ve been meaning to get me one of those, I want to say, but my anxiety added to the chill of the night have made it hard to speak. I open my mouth, willing sound to come out, but nothing happens. I must look so stupid right now. He knows I can talk. I just spoke a few minutes ago. I take another deep breath, forcing air into my lungs. Ike seems more than happy to carry the conversation, which comforts me.

“It’s nice to meet you though. You seemed like you could use a pal to walk you home? May it be my ego talking or just the tiredness of the night, but I always enjoy having someone else to chit chat with on the way home.”

That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a while. I’m serious. I have a few assorted friends around the factory, but they don’t care enough about my well-being to make sure I get home safe. Then here I am, thinking this guy is here to kill me, and he turns out to actually be cool. I’ve never thought of myself as a lucky person, but this is as close as I’ve gotten. I think I’m okay to talk now.

“If I were smart, I’d be going to school instead of working. I don’t know much of anything. Besides types of garment stitches, of course.” I let a small laugh fall from my lips. My voice sounds strained, weak. It’s the best I can do right now.

Ike sticks out his hand. I take it. “I’m Blair. I don’t, uh, really ever have anyone to talk to. So thanks, I guess.”

I can’t remember the last time I met somebody new. It feels… nice. Talking to the same people everyday is easy, it’s familiar. I like to stay within my comfort zone. Tonight, though, I haven’t just left my comfort zone. I’ve been catapulted out of it, and now I’m hurtling through unknown territory, not sure where I’ll land.

“My house is kind of far,” I tell him. “Sorry.”