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31_days2007-01-06 09:07 pm
acesodapop.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-01-06 09:07 pm
6 january . duck season . swan song
Title: swan song
Day/Theme: 6 jan // reaping nothing from this helps everything.
Series: temporada de patos (duck season)
Character/Pairing: moko, flama
Notes: rated in that strange limbo between pg13 and r! this was a mexican film released in 2004. characters: fantastic! movie itself: eh.
He is 19 years old and can't stop thinking about his best friend at 14 as he has sex with the stranger from the bar.
"Are you alright?" Bar Stranger asks (though he couldn't really give a shit, busy as he is fiddling with all of the buttons on his jacket and tugging hard on Moko's bottom lip).
"You look distracted." There are fistfuls of hair and fistfuls of fists and if he hadn't taken sex ed at school and seen so many American action films all his life, he'd think they were actually grappling and fighting each other in a tiny enclosed bathroom stall, instead of grappling and what they were actually doing.
"I'm fine." Moko wriggles his torso a bit and a shirt goes flying (his or stranger's, who knows or cares) and pauses suddenly, blinking his thick lashes under the flickering of the fluorescent lights and giving a slow smile as his elbows painfully bump the toilet's closed lid. The stranger's breath catches for a moment at the perfect beauty and peace of Moko's features.
Then he bends his head quickly down and there is tongue and burning and alcohol and a fond memory of ducks.
*
He is 16, and everything is moving too fast; thankfully, he forgets everything, especially his old best friend with the curly red hair and embarressing face freckles (especially that one on literally the center of his nose, and the other one caught in the crease under his right eye, that showed even more whenever he smiled and his whole face crinkled up like an old man's).
He catches Rita in time, just before she leaves. She's sitting on the trunk of her crappy old Japanese car and smoking a cigarette while looking out at the street. As always, she looks effortlessly beautiful.
"I'm 18 now, Moko. I'm going out there, to find myself. Get my shit together." A shine of reflected light from inside the car catches his eye and makes him smile (crinkle up, like an old man, freckles and skin and sun) when he recognizes the old jar, filled half-full to the brim with marijuana. "You'll get arrested before you're halfway across the border."
She follows his look and grins. "My mother's stash? Haa, she doesn't need it anymore. Plus, I'm going to use it to bribe the border patrol. And maybe get some free gas."
He tries, uncomfortably, for a hug. (he'll never be good at this) Rita, always the teacher, beats him to it, wraps her arms around and leans her head on his shoulder where it's never belonged. "Remember when I was 16? You were like a head shorter than me. Punk."
"And you tongue-kissed me anyway." laughs Moko. With grace, Rita goes on her tip-toes and kisses him again (like it's the first time). While he's distracted, she lifts two slender fingers and plugs his nostrils. She whispers: "I was a lonely 16-year old. You'll be a lonely 16-year old, without me. And you're still a punk."
When he's finished cussing and trying to blow his nose through one nostril in a dignified way, she's already started up the car and turned the stereo volume to max. (She's using up two parking spaces and is almost certainly partly covering the handicap space.) Her hand makes a little wave out of the window before she tears out of the apartment parking lot and turns left onto the street.
*
He is 14 and short and skinny and terribly awkward, but none of it matters yet. Nothing matters, because his best friend is moving away and leaving and gone.
"Flama!" He shouts pointlessly. He runs down the hall, as fast as his stupid short legs can take him, and the apartment is horribly empty. Runs outside, leans so far out over the railing that a passing neighbor says "Hey!" in an alarmed way, and with a terrible start, sees that dumb red hair and the long clumsy elbows and knees (there's a freckle on the skin behind his left knee, though he's not quite sure how he knows that) getting into a crappy American car that's way too small for all of the things Flama's mom won from Flama's dad.
"Flama! Flama!" He's getting hysterical. If he were high enough (Rita's just down the hall) he could jump down right there, but the nosy neighbor's still there right next to the stairs.
The car's already backed out of its lot and awkwardly pauses for a moment (Flama's mother is still terrible at stick-shift cars after 10 years) when his foot's touched the last step of the stairs. It jerks, once, and rolls forward, faster than Moko's exhausted legs can take him. He shouts his name again.
Whether he could hear it or not, Flama turns around in his seat and looks out the rear mirror of the car, staring in that slow steady way of his at his best friend sweaty and hunched over like his spleen's burst.
Moko lifts his hand in farewell, and Flama doesn't even budge. (maybe, moko thinks, maybe he's a retard and thinks he has those psychic powers or whatever he always reads about in his japanese comics, and he's doing it right now, and he's saying bye moko, i'm sorry i'm such a shitty friend for not even getting out of the car to do a proper goodbye and let's see each other again, i'll even let you lick my ear again and eat all the pizza and shoot at fine china with a pellet gun, i'm sorry, i'm a retard, bye moko)
After a few seconds, Flama turns to face the front again, and all Moko sees is the back of his head moving away, turning right at the street, gone.
"Fucker," he says out loud, without quite realizing it, and the tears are rolling down his face and no, he doesn't quite realize that either. He crouches down to his hunches and cries some more, feeling very lonely for a 14-year old boy.
*
Day/Theme: 6 jan // reaping nothing from this helps everything.
Series: temporada de patos (duck season)
Character/Pairing: moko, flama
Notes: rated in that strange limbo between pg13 and r! this was a mexican film released in 2004. characters: fantastic! movie itself: eh.
He is 19 years old and can't stop thinking about his best friend at 14 as he has sex with the stranger from the bar.
"Are you alright?" Bar Stranger asks (though he couldn't really give a shit, busy as he is fiddling with all of the buttons on his jacket and tugging hard on Moko's bottom lip).
"You look distracted." There are fistfuls of hair and fistfuls of fists and if he hadn't taken sex ed at school and seen so many American action films all his life, he'd think they were actually grappling and fighting each other in a tiny enclosed bathroom stall, instead of grappling and what they were actually doing.
"I'm fine." Moko wriggles his torso a bit and a shirt goes flying (his or stranger's, who knows or cares) and pauses suddenly, blinking his thick lashes under the flickering of the fluorescent lights and giving a slow smile as his elbows painfully bump the toilet's closed lid. The stranger's breath catches for a moment at the perfect beauty and peace of Moko's features.
Then he bends his head quickly down and there is tongue and burning and alcohol and a fond memory of ducks.
*
He is 16, and everything is moving too fast; thankfully, he forgets everything, especially his old best friend with the curly red hair and embarressing face freckles (especially that one on literally the center of his nose, and the other one caught in the crease under his right eye, that showed even more whenever he smiled and his whole face crinkled up like an old man's).
He catches Rita in time, just before she leaves. She's sitting on the trunk of her crappy old Japanese car and smoking a cigarette while looking out at the street. As always, she looks effortlessly beautiful.
"I'm 18 now, Moko. I'm going out there, to find myself. Get my shit together." A shine of reflected light from inside the car catches his eye and makes him smile (crinkle up, like an old man, freckles and skin and sun) when he recognizes the old jar, filled half-full to the brim with marijuana. "You'll get arrested before you're halfway across the border."
She follows his look and grins. "My mother's stash? Haa, she doesn't need it anymore. Plus, I'm going to use it to bribe the border patrol. And maybe get some free gas."
He tries, uncomfortably, for a hug. (he'll never be good at this) Rita, always the teacher, beats him to it, wraps her arms around and leans her head on his shoulder where it's never belonged. "Remember when I was 16? You were like a head shorter than me. Punk."
"And you tongue-kissed me anyway." laughs Moko. With grace, Rita goes on her tip-toes and kisses him again (like it's the first time). While he's distracted, she lifts two slender fingers and plugs his nostrils. She whispers: "I was a lonely 16-year old. You'll be a lonely 16-year old, without me. And you're still a punk."
When he's finished cussing and trying to blow his nose through one nostril in a dignified way, she's already started up the car and turned the stereo volume to max. (She's using up two parking spaces and is almost certainly partly covering the handicap space.) Her hand makes a little wave out of the window before she tears out of the apartment parking lot and turns left onto the street.
*
He is 14 and short and skinny and terribly awkward, but none of it matters yet. Nothing matters, because his best friend is moving away and leaving and gone.
"Flama!" He shouts pointlessly. He runs down the hall, as fast as his stupid short legs can take him, and the apartment is horribly empty. Runs outside, leans so far out over the railing that a passing neighbor says "Hey!" in an alarmed way, and with a terrible start, sees that dumb red hair and the long clumsy elbows and knees (there's a freckle on the skin behind his left knee, though he's not quite sure how he knows that) getting into a crappy American car that's way too small for all of the things Flama's mom won from Flama's dad.
"Flama! Flama!" He's getting hysterical. If he were high enough (Rita's just down the hall) he could jump down right there, but the nosy neighbor's still there right next to the stairs.
The car's already backed out of its lot and awkwardly pauses for a moment (Flama's mother is still terrible at stick-shift cars after 10 years) when his foot's touched the last step of the stairs. It jerks, once, and rolls forward, faster than Moko's exhausted legs can take him. He shouts his name again.
Whether he could hear it or not, Flama turns around in his seat and looks out the rear mirror of the car, staring in that slow steady way of his at his best friend sweaty and hunched over like his spleen's burst.
Moko lifts his hand in farewell, and Flama doesn't even budge. (maybe, moko thinks, maybe he's a retard and thinks he has those psychic powers or whatever he always reads about in his japanese comics, and he's doing it right now, and he's saying bye moko, i'm sorry i'm such a shitty friend for not even getting out of the car to do a proper goodbye and let's see each other again, i'll even let you lick my ear again and eat all the pizza and shoot at fine china with a pellet gun, i'm sorry, i'm a retard, bye moko)
After a few seconds, Flama turns to face the front again, and all Moko sees is the back of his head moving away, turning right at the street, gone.
"Fucker," he says out loud, without quite realizing it, and the tears are rolling down his face and no, he doesn't quite realize that either. He crouches down to his hunches and cries some more, feeling very lonely for a 14-year old boy.
*