Paranormal snippet of the day
Oct. 12th, 2010 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdFrom Singing Up the Moon, available in HOWL AT THE MISTLETOE from
http://www.literaryunderworld.com
Corin’s gypsy blood and Cian’s wanderlust had made it hard to settle down. They’d roamed and roved, aging gradually, until here they were, in Memphis. One of the last places Corin ever wanted to live. He’d argued for Canada or at least Vermont, civilized lands as opposed to the South, which he saw as a vast cultural wasteland of homophobes.
He hoped, for their safety, he was wrong. He looked again at Cian in the twilight. Too many years of caution restrained him from taking his lover’s hand. They were old. Let the brave children, like the two girls he had seen kiss before the cafe, demand their acceptance and be bold and open. With age came awareness of mortality and fragility.
They walked, side by side, north. Cian turned his nose up at Celtic Crossing and the penny-whistle that floated out the open door of the faux-Irish pub. They passed Black Lodge Video and the houses. At the railway bridge, they crossed Cooper and headed back south, passed the drum shop, the David Mah gallery and the yarn store.
The Memphis Gay and Lesbian Community Center had a rainbow banner out for the Cooper-Young Festival, a change from the usual subtle yard sign. Cian tipped his head and Corin shrugged.
The cheery person at the desk greeted them and had them initial in before offering a tour. A small place, but warm and welcoming. The crowd watching Ginger Snaps in the TV room waved in vague acknowledgment.
“Thursdays are always movie night,” the guide explained. “Have a schedule.”
“Thank you.” Cian gave a small bow and they left. He looked it over as they walked. “Blue Suede Bears? You certainly qualify, lover.” Corin snarled at him.
They passed Jasmine, Tsunami, Dish and the Blue Fish. At The House of Mews, they paused. Even though Corin kept well back, the cats caught his scent. He had to go sit in the gazebo on the corner while Cian soothed the animals. A tiny calico bristled, her tail a bottle-brush as she bounced, puffed and spat. Cian calmed the panicky cats and Corin stayed well out of scent range.
They turned the corner onto Young and peered into the galleries. The Java Cabana filled the evening with the scent of coffee and the sounds of slack-key folk-rock. Cian gestured south.
“Let’s see that labyrinth at First Congo that I read about.”
Corin shrugged. “Neither of us took to the New Faith.”
Cian smiled. “A labyrinth is much more my people’s tradition than theirs. It’s a meditation, of sorts.”
The painted lines on the asphalt were having no effect on Corin. He leaned against the church and watched, smelling the neighborhood and the people. The end of the sunlight gleamed on Cian’s hair as he walked the lines that curved upon themselves. Corin was content to watch his lover’s unearthly grace, his slow glide through to the center of the labyrinth and back out.
The sun had set, and there were no cars coming. Cian stole a kiss, pressing Corin between the wall of the church and the stairwell.
“Home now, lover. You’ll get your mating.”
Corin growled, feeling the pull of the nearly-full moon. “Home, elf. Now.”
The last trailed into a near-howl. He looked embarrassed at losing control.
Cian kissed him again and took his hand. “If we cannot walk freely in our own neighborhood, we may as well be caged.”
http://www.literaryunderworld.com
Corin’s gypsy blood and Cian’s wanderlust had made it hard to settle down. They’d roamed and roved, aging gradually, until here they were, in Memphis. One of the last places Corin ever wanted to live. He’d argued for Canada or at least Vermont, civilized lands as opposed to the South, which he saw as a vast cultural wasteland of homophobes.
He hoped, for their safety, he was wrong. He looked again at Cian in the twilight. Too many years of caution restrained him from taking his lover’s hand. They were old. Let the brave children, like the two girls he had seen kiss before the cafe, demand their acceptance and be bold and open. With age came awareness of mortality and fragility.
They walked, side by side, north. Cian turned his nose up at Celtic Crossing and the penny-whistle that floated out the open door of the faux-Irish pub. They passed Black Lodge Video and the houses. At the railway bridge, they crossed Cooper and headed back south, passed the drum shop, the David Mah gallery and the yarn store.
The Memphis Gay and Lesbian Community Center had a rainbow banner out for the Cooper-Young Festival, a change from the usual subtle yard sign. Cian tipped his head and Corin shrugged.
The cheery person at the desk greeted them and had them initial in before offering a tour. A small place, but warm and welcoming. The crowd watching Ginger Snaps in the TV room waved in vague acknowledgment.
“Thursdays are always movie night,” the guide explained. “Have a schedule.”
“Thank you.” Cian gave a small bow and they left. He looked it over as they walked. “Blue Suede Bears? You certainly qualify, lover.” Corin snarled at him.
They passed Jasmine, Tsunami, Dish and the Blue Fish. At The House of Mews, they paused. Even though Corin kept well back, the cats caught his scent. He had to go sit in the gazebo on the corner while Cian soothed the animals. A tiny calico bristled, her tail a bottle-brush as she bounced, puffed and spat. Cian calmed the panicky cats and Corin stayed well out of scent range.
They turned the corner onto Young and peered into the galleries. The Java Cabana filled the evening with the scent of coffee and the sounds of slack-key folk-rock. Cian gestured south.
“Let’s see that labyrinth at First Congo that I read about.”
Corin shrugged. “Neither of us took to the New Faith.”
Cian smiled. “A labyrinth is much more my people’s tradition than theirs. It’s a meditation, of sorts.”
The painted lines on the asphalt were having no effect on Corin. He leaned against the church and watched, smelling the neighborhood and the people. The end of the sunlight gleamed on Cian’s hair as he walked the lines that curved upon themselves. Corin was content to watch his lover’s unearthly grace, his slow glide through to the center of the labyrinth and back out.
The sun had set, and there were no cars coming. Cian stole a kiss, pressing Corin between the wall of the church and the stairwell.
“Home now, lover. You’ll get your mating.”
Corin growled, feeling the pull of the nearly-full moon. “Home, elf. Now.”
The last trailed into a near-howl. He looked embarrassed at losing control.
Cian kissed him again and took his hand. “If we cannot walk freely in our own neighborhood, we may as well be caged.”
