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“I don’t get it.” A blonde boy says, fingers tracing down the side of another boy’s skin. The older boy stares down at the younger, arms behind his head. The blonde boy lets his slender finger trace over everything, from the older boys neck to his belly button. “I don’t get why you say we’re different.” The boy pauses, finger stopping at the edge of the older boy’s pants. “Our bodies are the same. We both have the same things.”
The older boy sits up, making the younger slid off of his body and fall to the bed. He gasps in surprise, his head hitting the pillow with a soft ‘thump’. The older boy pokes the blonde boy’s nose, and then gives him a soft kiss on the head. The younger boy can feel the red stain his cheeks and turns his head, trying to hide his face from the boy above him.
“Stupid.”
The blonde chokes on words, turning to face the boy above him. He pouts, turning his head once more.
“Do you think I meant our bodies are different?” The black haired boy flicks the blonde’s nose. He gives a quick peck to the blonde’s cheek, and then lets his lips touch various spots on his neck. The blonde tries hard not to let the ripples of pleasure down his spine control him. He tries to speak, but fails. So he nods his head, closing his eyes.
“Of course you did.” The older boy grins against the flesh of the younger boy’s neck, sucking on the spot a few seconds after. He wants to leave a mark; he wants the boy to be aware of what happened.
“D-Don’t do that, Drake.” The younger boy whimpers, fingers digging into the blanket.
“Why?” Drake asks, voice echoing in the dark room. “Is it because you know I’m making my mark?”
The young boy doesn’t answer, but takes in air. He blows it out. Drake isn’t surprised that the breath is shaky, uncertainty filling the air.
“As I was saying, I don’t think we’re different because of our bodies. We’re different because of our minds.” Drake pulls away, looking down at the blonde. He instinctively moves away a few blonde strands from his face, locking eyes with the blonde. He felt his eyes softened. In seconds his lips were on the younger boys, giving him an innocent kiss.
He lifted his lips up after a few seconds, smiling. The boy gave him a confused look, hands resting on his chest. Drake whispers to the boy, “You really are beautiful, Sammy.”
Sammy’s face flushed at the remark, hands gently pushing Drake off. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fist.
“I’m tired.” He says, closing his eyes and falling backward onto the bed. Drake chuckles and brings the blanket over Sammy’s fragile body.
In seconds Sammy was asleep. Drake scratches the back of his head and chuckles again. He decides right about then that they weren’t so different after all.
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There's a fork in the road. A long, metal, fork. Sarah and I put it there when we were kids, laughing and being silly. Everyday I pass that fork on my way to school. Everyday I try to get the fork out of the ground. Everyday I fail.
Sarah is now going to college, leaving me. I'm moving to a different part of town. I won't see the fork anymore. So I stand there, staring at the fork. I walk up to it, wrap my fingers around the handle and try to pull it out. Like always, it doesn't even budge.
Long, slender, fingers wrap around my hand. A mouth is to my ear, blonde hair in my face. Sarah smiles into my hair and whispers, "Let's pull it out."
And together we pull.
It comes out like it was nothing. I look at the fork in amazement, it's in perfect condition. Nothing is rusting, nothing.
I turn on my heel and extend my arm out. "Take it, Sarah. It's good luck."
Sarah gives me a warm smile, taking the fork and slipping it in her pocket.
That night, I found out something horrible happened. Sarah and two of her friends were in the car. Sarah was the one driving. I found out that a huge truck went crashing into my sister's door. But, only two people were killed. Sarah actually had walked out of the car, not even a scratch on her. The fork still snuggled in her pocket.
Sarah gave me the fork. She smiled at me and said it was a good luck charm.
That night, I put the fork underneath my pillow. And that night, I was shot directly in the middle of the forehead.
That morning, I woke up.
The fork was placed on my chest, my hands holding it securely. When I looked over the side of my bed, I saw a dead man. There was a bullet hole in his temple.
I screamed.
Now that fork is hanging out in living room. Like a beautiful picture. People admire it, and I always look at it with a smile.
The fork we bought at a garage sale. The fork that was stuck in the ground. The fork that saved us both. I wonder if that fork will save someone else someday.
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