Stay away from me
Don’t find a way to get in
I care only for art and career
So scared of death that I try to leave part of me here
I am lonely
Lonely in the fact that I need to be loved
And told I am deserving

jamie keeps the hideout comfortably busy to the eye. messy, but in a cozy, “home sweet home” kind of way. it’s especially pleasing during christmas.

they’ve got some tires of varying sizes for a couch, with a soft leather skin slung over it as a makeshift blanket. tables topped with gadgets and eskies full of lukewarm beer and salted lizard strips surround it in a circular formation. a radio sits in the center.

the couch is nested in the lowest part of the hut, with the ceiling hanging snugly over it, casting a constant shadow over the couch no matter the time of day. makes for a good nap location.

during december, jamie drapes some makeshift fairy lights from the ceiling over the couch. they cascade over the inset in the room like one of the bead curtains in the bars in sydney. when jamie connects them to the portable generator, they cast a warm golden glow over the room.

jamie always feels the need to justify putting the lights up. mako lets him ramble on about keeping the spirit of christmas alive, and the importance of national holidays to the human psyche and whatnot.

in all honesty, mako doesnt need a justification. he enjoys the lights. but he knows jamie typically doesn’t like wasting resources, and this is his way of justifying it to himself.

on christmas eve, they tune the radio to one of the local junkers station. they’re playing christmas hits from america and england, stuff from ancient movies and covers by musicians from another age. some beer cans and shishkebab sticks litter the floor. they’re lying comfortably on their couch, looking at the night sky through the large, glassless window on the other side of the hut.

jamie’s on his back with the blanket haphazardly covering him. he’s fiddling with the fairy lights, delicately weaving them in between his fingers.

the song cuts abruptly for a message from the broadcaster; real old dude, voice deep and cracking from age. he tells them that the clocks have just hit 12. jamie looks over at him with a lazy smile on his face, and laces his fingers with mako’s own.

“merry christmas, ya big lug.”

As I walk in this valley of life, I saw him at the middle. Gracefully dancing his heart out, enjoying every beat of his soul, savoring the splendor of this life. I saw his eyes, twinkling like stars in the night sky. I saw his smile, who captured this young heart of mine.

mako decides to take the old truck out for a wash. hasn’t used it in years, just keeps it for nostalgia’s sake. he uses the newer, floating truck for the weekly supply runs.

he keeps the dinged up red thing in the back of the barn, right next to the hay. the engine roars to life, sound too great for the menial task of moving it outside to the clearing near the water pump. hayseed peers out from the cornstalks to investigate the noise.

out comes mako from the barn again, this time with two pails, a bottle of liquid soap, and some large sponges. he eyes hayseed.

“just taking her out for a wash.”

the scarecrow lets out a tinny, noncommittal “hm”, but wordlessly grabs one of the pails from mako. the tips of his burlap gloves clumsily trail along his hands.

he watches as hayseed fills the pail up to the brim, watches him slowly make his way to the truck with absolute determination not to spill the a drop.

soon as he gets there, the scarecrow looks at him expectedly. mako tosses him a sponge and the bottle of soap.

however, before he gets to cleaning, hayseed slings the straps of his overalls off of his shoulder. roadhog’s at a loss– is he stripping down? should he turn around? should he say something?

but hayseed settles with tying the straps in a knot around his waist. it hangs uncomfortably low, revealing his sinewy hips and thick happy trail. mako swallows.

this was going to be interesting.

Nearly worked over all Murderer’s Maze Chapters and 500 words in Chapter 11 - today’s a good day. If everything works out I’ll upload all chapters revised +  new details by Tuesday as well as Chapter 9.

roadhog traces his fingers over hayseed’s stitches while they watch television one day.

hayseed makes a low whirring that’s awfully close to a moan.

roadhog cant pay attention to the news report anymore. its not like the signal was that good anyway.