This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. This was stupid, Ace was stupid, and Myles guessed he must have had a death wish too. Why all the people who had given up couldn't just go and take care of themselves was beyond him. Just one more person making themselves Myles's problem.
His heart was pounding, but he stood from the couch, shaking off Ivy's hand from his shoulder. His hands were shaking, but he raised the gun anyway.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" His voice shook too, but he had to ignore it. What was he gonna do, put his head down and say "Oh yeah sure, you're totally right, you can definitely hold us all hostage, Ace!" No. He couldn't do that, and he couldn't just back away from the jerk with the gun. He couldn't climb out the window again. Ivy couldn't run. They all knew that Ace couldn't get what he was demanding, but he just kept demanding anyway, pushing the envelope.
"Are you deaf? We don't want you. So shut up and get out!" His voice cracked.
Declyn had asked him. Maybe Ace was asking him too.
who is the lamb and who is the knife?
PM For Entry! Day 9, Post Announcement
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"You keep sayin' fuckin' we this and we that, but Garren didn't seem to mind me walkin' in," he pointed towards Garren, "Ivy sure didn't mind warmin' my fuckin' bed," he gestured towards Ivy, "So say what the fuck you mean Myles--this ain't a we thing, this a fuckin' you thing and me? I'm tellin' you to get the fuck over it."
He spat again--but he was so dehydrated it was just spittle. He was still posturing, but he wasn't backing down and he wasn't planning on it.
"I already said, I think I'm gonna rock with y'all for a bit," he said defiantly, "And you ain't really gonna do shit about it and we both know it."
He spat again--but he was so dehydrated it was just spittle. He was still posturing, but he wasn't backing down and he wasn't planning on it.
"I already said, I think I'm gonna rock with y'all for a bit," he said defiantly, "And you ain't really gonna do shit about it and we both know it."
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
More complications, always more complications, and Myles didn't need this, they didn't need this. There had always been a "they,", and it was a "they" that Ace could never be a part of, and he knew that, and that was why he was trying to ruin it.
Just a cheap replacement for what Ivy really wanted, a wannabe that couldn't accept he didn't belong. That wasn't how things worked. This wasn't some Disney channel movie where the wannabe got to overcome the odds and get the girl or however that nonsense went. If Ace really cared about Ivy, he'd have let her rest. If he wanted anything other than a power trip, he'd leave quietly. He'd shown his true colors now, and he wanted to still act like he was better than Myles? Like he could just shove people around and get whatever he wanted? Like Myles hadn't suffered enough and was going to have to put up with this too now because Ace had to have a tantrum, couldn't accept the place he'd always been in? He'd never been anything more than a mistake Ivy made out of desperation.
"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up, and just leave!" If he hadn't been holding Ace at gunpoint, Myles would have all but stamped his foot in his own rising tantrum. "You think you can just- just-" Myles's words failed him, his weapons of choice paling in comparison to the one in his hands.
Just a cheap replacement for what Ivy really wanted, a wannabe that couldn't accept he didn't belong. That wasn't how things worked. This wasn't some Disney channel movie where the wannabe got to overcome the odds and get the girl or however that nonsense went. If Ace really cared about Ivy, he'd have let her rest. If he wanted anything other than a power trip, he'd leave quietly. He'd shown his true colors now, and he wanted to still act like he was better than Myles? Like he could just shove people around and get whatever he wanted? Like Myles hadn't suffered enough and was going to have to put up with this too now because Ace had to have a tantrum, couldn't accept the place he'd always been in? He'd never been anything more than a mistake Ivy made out of desperation.
"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up, and just leave!" If he hadn't been holding Ace at gunpoint, Myles would have all but stamped his foot in his own rising tantrum. "You think you can just- just-" Myles's words failed him, his weapons of choice paling in comparison to the one in his hands.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"I think I can do whatever the fuck I feel like doin' at this point," he said and with so much confidence he almost believed it, "And I sure ain't gonna let Myles fuckin' Whateverthefuck your last name is keep me from doin' it. Not when I can die tomorrow."
He stepped forward. One step at a time. Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
"I ain't scared of you."
Another step. It was all confidence. All the war was mental. He wasn't gonna let Myles see him sweat or make him flinch. Head held high, bare chest exposed and gun pointed downward--he walked forward with purpose.
"So if you gonna shoot fuckin' shoot," he dared, "I bet you fuckin' miss."
He stepped forward. One step at a time. Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
"I ain't scared of you."
Another step. It was all confidence. All the war was mental. He wasn't gonna let Myles see him sweat or make him flinch. Head held high, bare chest exposed and gun pointed downward--he walked forward with purpose.
"So if you gonna shoot fuckin' shoot," he dared, "I bet you fuckin' miss."
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Ace stepped forward, and Myles flinched.
The crack of the gunshot and the recoil jerking his arms up and back cut through the roaring in his ears and the loud gasp of his breath.
The crack of the gunshot and the recoil jerking his arms up and back cut through the roaring in his ears and the loud gasp of his breath.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
He didn't miss.
And down went Ace.
And down went Ace.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Down went Ace, and Myles reeled back a step. The back of his legs collided with the couch, and he almost fell back onto it, barely catching his balance. He thought he might have cried out in shock when he actually pulled the trigger. He wasn't sure. Ace had made him do it. The entire world narrowed itself into Myles and Ace, Ace hitting the floor, there was blood. There was blood.
This was all Ace's fault, he should have just walked away and taken care of his death wish somewhere else, he shouldn't have made Myles have to take the safety off the gun just to feel safe. He wanted out of this situation. They had to leave now. They had to- should he shoot Ace again, just to be sure? He had to run. This shouldn't be happening.
Myles wrenched one hand away from the gun and clapped it over his mouth, trying futilely to quiet his breath as it escalated towards hyperventilation. His ears were ringing. Declyn had fired this gun? It had been so quiet when he shot Declyn in the trees. He wanted to go back there. Ace shouldn't have asked him for this. He didn't want this-
This was all Ace's fault, he should have just walked away and taken care of his death wish somewhere else, he shouldn't have made Myles have to take the safety off the gun just to feel safe. He wanted out of this situation. They had to leave now. They had to- should he shoot Ace again, just to be sure? He had to run. This shouldn't be happening.
Myles wrenched one hand away from the gun and clapped it over his mouth, trying futilely to quiet his breath as it escalated towards hyperventilation. His ears were ringing. Declyn had fired this gun? It had been so quiet when he shot Declyn in the trees. He wanted to go back there. Ace shouldn't have asked him for this. He didn't want this-
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
There was something vital, Ivy realized, that she had lost on that first morning, when Julien had shattered the last illusions of the life she'd left behind. Something she couldn't name, some piece of who she was that had just been missing all along. She pulled it back for moments; rolling her eyes at Connor, telling Julien to go fuck himself. But mostly that thing that defined her, the strength, the self-assuredness, the pettiness, the cloak of invincibility that protected her—it had left her a long time ago.
Whoever said fear was the best teacher didn't know anything. All it had done was hollowed her out and sewn her lips shut, staring blankly at Ace, begging him to shut up but only with her gaze. Any word, any sudden action could be what set them off, better to be quiet, better to let this end the way it was obviously supposed to. One of them would back down. It should be Ace, it could be Myles, it didn't matter as long as one of them would swallow their pride and give up. They both had to know how stupid this was. They both had to know they were staring death in the face.
Ives, Ace said, and she'd accuse him of trying to grab her heart with the word alone if she didn't know he was too honest to be that manipulative. Only Wyatt ever called her that. Ace had picked it up, at some point. She hadn't minded until now. Until he tried to wield her formless affection like a cudgel, didn't mind warmin' my fuckin' bed, she felt violated in some way she couldn't name and still her lips held fast. She wanted to scream, she wanted to storm out, she wanted to do something, she wanted to hate Ace and maybe she did. Not enough. Nothing was enough. Fear puppeteered her with cut strings.
Her and Myles had been in sync their whole lives, arm in arm, word following word, and watching him, listening to him, she saw what she'd lost. No one had dug their claws in and dug the life out of him. He was himself, and he was her, with that thoughtless sort of bravery that came from years of knowing that the world couldn't hurt you. Stupid and reckless. They were still the same, after all.
But she still didn't expect the gunshot.
Some noise escaped her that she couldn't hear over the explosion that went off two feet from her head. She watched it happen and still didn't understand. Another sound as Ace hit the floor. Ace's body. Ace. She saw blood. She'd seen so much blood. Her stomach clenched but not as much as it should have. Blood and thunder ringing in her ears, still. Myles was paralyzed, and for a moment so was she.
She—what did she want? She hated him a little but not like this. She wanted to help him but not enough to count. She wanted one of them to have not been so uselessly stubborn. She wanted them to listen to her when she couldn't even speak.
Myles didn't move. Garren, stuck in the doorway still with no weapon and no bags and nowhere to run, didn't move. She was the bad guy again. For not stopping them, or only stopping them now. It didn't matter.
"Myles."
Her voice trembled.
She reached for his arm.
Whoever said fear was the best teacher didn't know anything. All it had done was hollowed her out and sewn her lips shut, staring blankly at Ace, begging him to shut up but only with her gaze. Any word, any sudden action could be what set them off, better to be quiet, better to let this end the way it was obviously supposed to. One of them would back down. It should be Ace, it could be Myles, it didn't matter as long as one of them would swallow their pride and give up. They both had to know how stupid this was. They both had to know they were staring death in the face.
Ives, Ace said, and she'd accuse him of trying to grab her heart with the word alone if she didn't know he was too honest to be that manipulative. Only Wyatt ever called her that. Ace had picked it up, at some point. She hadn't minded until now. Until he tried to wield her formless affection like a cudgel, didn't mind warmin' my fuckin' bed, she felt violated in some way she couldn't name and still her lips held fast. She wanted to scream, she wanted to storm out, she wanted to do something, she wanted to hate Ace and maybe she did. Not enough. Nothing was enough. Fear puppeteered her with cut strings.
Her and Myles had been in sync their whole lives, arm in arm, word following word, and watching him, listening to him, she saw what she'd lost. No one had dug their claws in and dug the life out of him. He was himself, and he was her, with that thoughtless sort of bravery that came from years of knowing that the world couldn't hurt you. Stupid and reckless. They were still the same, after all.
But she still didn't expect the gunshot.
Some noise escaped her that she couldn't hear over the explosion that went off two feet from her head. She watched it happen and still didn't understand. Another sound as Ace hit the floor. Ace's body. Ace. She saw blood. She'd seen so much blood. Her stomach clenched but not as much as it should have. Blood and thunder ringing in her ears, still. Myles was paralyzed, and for a moment so was she.
She—what did she want? She hated him a little but not like this. She wanted to help him but not enough to count. She wanted one of them to have not been so uselessly stubborn. She wanted them to listen to her when she couldn't even speak.
Myles didn't move. Garren, stuck in the doorway still with no weapon and no bags and nowhere to run, didn't move. She was the bad guy again. For not stopping them, or only stopping them now. It didn't matter.
"Myles."
Her voice trembled.
She reached for his arm.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles might have looked still enough, but he was spinning. It wasn't like with Declyn. There hadn't been people around to see, there hadn't been a fight. Was this a fight? Myles didn't fight. His heart was hammering so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest, another spray of blood just like Ace. He wanted to throw the gun down and run. Noise washed over him, but he didn't understand it.
Someone grabbed his arm, and he jerked away, and this was how they had always fit together, and she didn't let go even as he tried to escape. He stumbled away, arm outstretched, gun still in hand, finger still around the trigger, and Ivy was holding it steady, standing on the other side of the barrel.
He whipped his head to the side to meet her eyes, realize again that it was her.
Everything slowed down and stopped, and it felt like there was a moment that things were quiet again before Myles dropped the gun and started screaming.
Someone grabbed his arm, and he jerked away, and this was how they had always fit together, and she didn't let go even as he tried to escape. He stumbled away, arm outstretched, gun still in hand, finger still around the trigger, and Ivy was holding it steady, standing on the other side of the barrel.
He whipped his head to the side to meet her eyes, realize again that it was her.
Everything slowed down and stopped, and it felt like there was a moment that things were quiet again before Myles dropped the gun and started screaming.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Oh.
The second explosion was closer than the first.
Ivy didn't realize, at first, why she'd stumbled a step backward. Why Myles was staring at her, wide-eyed, the look she remembered in a half-lucid daze when he'd burst through the front door screaming her name, familiar yet distant. Why she hurt in a brand new way, not quite absorbed by the hundred other pains clamoring for her attention. It hurt. Tendrils of ice and fire spiking through her veins. She had felt worse.
She looked down at the red rose blooming on her chest. She grasped at it but her fingers only came away damp.
"Myles?" she asked numbly, but it was swallowed up in his screaming.
She had no response when the ground reached up to meet her.
The second explosion was closer than the first.
Ivy didn't realize, at first, why she'd stumbled a step backward. Why Myles was staring at her, wide-eyed, the look she remembered in a half-lucid daze when he'd burst through the front door screaming her name, familiar yet distant. Why she hurt in a brand new way, not quite absorbed by the hundred other pains clamoring for her attention. It hurt. Tendrils of ice and fire spiking through her veins. She had felt worse.
She looked down at the red rose blooming on her chest. She grasped at it but her fingers only came away damp.
"Myles?" she asked numbly, but it was swallowed up in his screaming.
She had no response when the ground reached up to meet her.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
When Ivy hit the floor, Myles was only a second behind her, dropping to his knees so hard that it probably bruised. He was only faintly aware of the pain, already reaching out with frantic hands to press over the spreading red spot on her chest. He'd just thought about hearts bursting out of chests, but not hers.
Myles was making noises that weren't words. He wasn't even trying to speak, really. He'd have shot anyone who had grabbed him at that point, because he was untethered from the earth and freewheeling through space, everything falling apart all around him. The second shot hadn't been any more an accident than the first, but he hadn't meant it.
"Don't- don't-"
This wasn't real, right? This was a fever dream. Right? It couldn't really be happening, right under his hands. Ivy's lips were moving, but she wasn't really speaking either, staring at him wide-eyed.
Myles was making noises that weren't words. He wasn't even trying to speak, really. He'd have shot anyone who had grabbed him at that point, because he was untethered from the earth and freewheeling through space, everything falling apart all around him. The second shot hadn't been any more an accident than the first, but he hadn't meant it.
"Don't- don't-"
This wasn't real, right? This was a fever dream. Right? It couldn't really be happening, right under his hands. Ivy's lips were moving, but she wasn't really speaking either, staring at him wide-eyed.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Myles. There was a whole room, there were other people, but her world had shrunk in an instant to a spotlight centered on him and her. Myles and Ivy. Ivy and Myles. Always in the same breath. His hands on her chest and hers over top of them, more instinct than anything meaningful. His skin burned.
She'd grabbed his arm. She hadn't been thinking. She had just—what? Wanted him to stop. Wanted him to something. Wanted him to walk away with her. Wanted to hold his hand, wanted to go back to the lake and go swimming with him, wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and cry, wanted a life back they were owed. Wanted more.
She would fight and scratch for every moment but every breath filled her lungs with mud. She opened her mouth to make words but all there was was blood oozing from between her lips.
It had hurt more. It had hurt so much more, before, this couldn't be it, this couldn't be serious, they would work it out, she thought, but she heard herself wheezing, her shattered heartbeat wrong in her ears, this was stupid, this was so stupid, she didn't understand.
She couldn't leave him. She'd promised.
Please, God, let this not be it.
She'd grabbed his arm. She hadn't been thinking. She had just—what? Wanted him to stop. Wanted him to something. Wanted him to walk away with her. Wanted to hold his hand, wanted to go back to the lake and go swimming with him, wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and cry, wanted a life back they were owed. Wanted more.
She would fight and scratch for every moment but every breath filled her lungs with mud. She opened her mouth to make words but all there was was blood oozing from between her lips.
It had hurt more. It had hurt so much more, before, this couldn't be it, this couldn't be serious, they would work it out, she thought, but she heard herself wheezing, her shattered heartbeat wrong in her ears, this was stupid, this was so stupid, she didn't understand.
She couldn't leave him. She'd promised.
Please, God, let this not be it.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
They would make it sound like he had done this on purpose. They'd lie again, say that Myles had shot his best friend and watched her lay dying on the floor and done nothing about it. They wouldn't say that it was all Ace's fault, because he wanted to pick a fight that he couldn't win and force Myles's hand. They were sitting on the other side of the camera, laughing at him as he gasped and sobbed and started to cry in earnest while Ivy's blood ran between his fingers.
Ivy's hands pressed down over his, and it had to be enough. It had to. It always had been before.
There was a sound of thunder.
Ivy's hands pressed down over his, and it had to be enough. It had to. It always had been before.
There was a sound of thunder.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
He was down…but he wasn’t out.
His body hit the ground and he felt a burning from his shoulder go deep towards his chest and back. It was sharp and strong and it was like the biggest hit he had ever taken on the field times ten. He would like to tell you that shit moved in slow motion, that he had clarity and was thinking clearly—no, instead there was only a panic. Shit wasn't moving slow, it was moving too damn fuckin' fast! He stared at the ceiling and thought about when he would hear the next few gunshots.
He thought about how they'd be the last things he ever heard.
He closed his eyes, he waited and his hand held onto that BR-18 like it was the ticket to heaven. Never fumble. Don't give up. No pain, no gain. Old habits forged in the fires of fear. Mantras and meditations. Whatever cliche worked. Even in his last moments he was grasping onto platitudes and sayings hoping to craft wisdom out of wisecracks. It was a fool's errand, but he had long been proven the fool.
Another gunshot and he was still there.
He opened his eyes, he sat up as quick as he could and he slid backwards on his butt towards the doorway he had just exited from. Before shit had went down. He felt so heavy, fuck. He leaned against the doorframe. Still sitting, barely able to think straight—but very much able to aim. He normally hesitated. That was his problem. In the moment? When the chips were down? Ace came up short. He fumbled at the goal line. He never made the right choice especially when the wrong was available. He was never aggressive when he could instead be complacent.
He sat there, gun locked and loaded, bleeding onto the floor and himself. He stared at Ivy—laying there dying the same. Myles had done this…but he had been provoked by Ace. Another sin of his, because, y’know…he was addicted to topping himself. He didn't mean for shit to go this far. He was just trying to be tough. He was just trying to make a point. He was just trying to fuckin'...to feel good about something while he could! It wasn't fair! This whole fuckin' shit!
But he had to take responsibility.
He started this shit, it was on him to finish it. This dude had truly fuckin' snapped. If he let him walk...what else would he be responsible for?
Yeah, sure, whatever.
Myles had his back to him when he unloaded the clip. The gun felt like lightning in his hands.
His body hit the ground and he felt a burning from his shoulder go deep towards his chest and back. It was sharp and strong and it was like the biggest hit he had ever taken on the field times ten. He would like to tell you that shit moved in slow motion, that he had clarity and was thinking clearly—no, instead there was only a panic. Shit wasn't moving slow, it was moving too damn fuckin' fast! He stared at the ceiling and thought about when he would hear the next few gunshots.
He thought about how they'd be the last things he ever heard.
He closed his eyes, he waited and his hand held onto that BR-18 like it was the ticket to heaven. Never fumble. Don't give up. No pain, no gain. Old habits forged in the fires of fear. Mantras and meditations. Whatever cliche worked. Even in his last moments he was grasping onto platitudes and sayings hoping to craft wisdom out of wisecracks. It was a fool's errand, but he had long been proven the fool.
Another gunshot and he was still there.
He opened his eyes, he sat up as quick as he could and he slid backwards on his butt towards the doorway he had just exited from. Before shit had went down. He felt so heavy, fuck. He leaned against the doorframe. Still sitting, barely able to think straight—but very much able to aim. He normally hesitated. That was his problem. In the moment? When the chips were down? Ace came up short. He fumbled at the goal line. He never made the right choice especially when the wrong was available. He was never aggressive when he could instead be complacent.
He sat there, gun locked and loaded, bleeding onto the floor and himself. He stared at Ivy—laying there dying the same. Myles had done this…but he had been provoked by Ace. Another sin of his, because, y’know…he was addicted to topping himself. He didn't mean for shit to go this far. He was just trying to be tough. He was just trying to make a point. He was just trying to fuckin'...to feel good about something while he could! It wasn't fair! This whole fuckin' shit!
But he had to take responsibility.
He started this shit, it was on him to finish it. This dude had truly fuckin' snapped. If he let him walk...what else would he be responsible for?
Yeah, sure, whatever.
Myles had his back to him when he unloaded the clip. The gun felt like lightning in his hands.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
The shots caught Myles in the back and flung him forward in a rag doll sprawl across Ivy. His chin hit the floor hard; he bit his tongue and tasted blood. Another second, another breath, and his mouth was flooded with it.
"Gch- hgh..." He was choking. He was on fire. Shot in the back, through the lungs, he knew how it worked, he'd seen so many movies. Myles's fingers scrabbled on the floor, fingernails digging in for purchase that wasn't there. He couldn't lift himself up. He could feel Ivy's blood soaking into his shirt again, déjà vu, second verse same as the first. Everything was blood and tears.
He felt Ivy move under him, maybe trying to push him off, maybe trying to get away. He couldn't help her. He couldn't even tell her "I told you so".
Wasn't it funny? Myles, of all people, had never expected to get shot in the back.
"Gch- hgh..." He was choking. He was on fire. Shot in the back, through the lungs, he knew how it worked, he'd seen so many movies. Myles's fingers scrabbled on the floor, fingernails digging in for purchase that wasn't there. He couldn't lift himself up. He could feel Ivy's blood soaking into his shirt again, déjà vu, second verse same as the first. Everything was blood and tears.
He felt Ivy move under him, maybe trying to push him off, maybe trying to get away. He couldn't help her. He couldn't even tell her "I told you so".
Wasn't it funny? Myles, of all people, had never expected to get shot in the back.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."