Eric Arvin

“She nodded her head in approval and hesitantly shut the book, breathing a reader’s sigh. That wonderful inhale/exhale reaction one does after finishing a book that has somehow touched you. Completion. Inner peace. Separate peace.”

“Gay angels are all the rage in heaven.”

“Great courage, Joe.”

“Lou reluctantly drew back, still holding Joe, and placed his soft lips on Joe's own. Existence reacted to their reunion. Immediately, it was as if two halves became whole once again. The sky flashed colors overhead as they stood together: day to night, night to day. They stood motionless and kissing for so long a period that they might have been mistaken for part of the landscape, as vines climbed up their legs and grass grew around them; as dirt gathered and buried even more the scattered fragments of the abbey. Only the keepers of time knew that lifetimes did indeed pass, possibly entire eras. And yet it was but a scant moment to Joe and Lou. All of it but a simple, longed-for embrace neither time nor death could contain.”

“Squee-squee-squawky-squiggly-squee.”

“Then, there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.”

“Oh wouldn't that twist your twat if that turned out to be true!”

“For what’s a writer without longing?”