Parker
03-07-2013, 06:12 PM
Iceglow and I were discussing death and Ghosts. We talked about who we would haunt if we passed away but couldn't go to heaven yet and I was thinking about a cool old movie I watched lately.
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"Ah, that was a good namechange".
Psy smiled and sat back in his posting chair, his latest prank complete.
"I wonder how long it will take Formy to realise his name is now Formoanhault, hehehe".
1am. Time for one more pot before bed. Nights had been sleepless lately, now that he was gone. But then again... it couldn't hurt to check one more time.
Psy opened a new tab and clicked the bookmark he'd made. Last login date: Two months ago. Of course he hadn't returned. It was impossible. Iceglow was dead.
The old record player worked just like it always did. The opening notes brought waves of nostalgia and loss and joy and grief all at once over Paul. Yes, the lyrics were true. Paul had hungered for that touch. Too late now, too bad. Deal with it already.
Paul sat at his stool, dipped his hands in water and kicked off his Crocs. He slapped a lump of greyish clay on the wheel and teased the pedal, keeping the speed low. He'd hate to make a splattery mess (more memories).
klok-klok, rustle, klok-klok, rustle
Psy whipped his head around, fringe flying. Nothing there. He must've imagined it. That sound though. So familiar... Whatever, maybe the record player was being weird or something.
His foot slipped, the pot flopped over half-formed. It was crap anyway. Uninspired. Psy no longer had his muse.
klok rustle klok rustle
Psy's heart raced. He realised that he finally recognised the sound. The klok of cowboy boots on hard floor. The rustle of double-denim. No, that would be impossible.
klokrustleklokrustleklok
Suddenly there were hands on his, someone else’s breath on his neck.
"I'm here. Do you want a hand?" whispered Steve.
"How? How can this be? You're supposed to be de-", a finger on his lips stopped his sentence.
"Hush now, let's see what we can do about this".
Psy felt the warmth behind him as Iceglow slowly guided his hands over the clay. The scent of Brut and hair gel filled his head and he just lost himself in the moment, savouring every second.
"I've m-missed you so much, Steve".
"I know, here is something to remember me by".
Psy could feel the clay between his fingers as Iceglow guided his hands upward now, the clay becoming somewhat cylindrical, but widened at the top in a sort of half sphere.
"Heh, this is gonna be longer than any post I've ever written, haha", Steve winked.
The work was over and done with too soon. Tools carved the surface making it veined (heinously so), fingers shaped the tip. It was delicate work that took time but it was still over too soon. Psy could've stayed in those hairy arms forever.
Psy awoke with a start and realised he was alone now. The wheel was off. The towering sculpture was drying under a heat lamp and miraculously alongside it was a beautifully-formed pot. The record slowly span, the needle had long raised itself off the grooves, there was only silence now.
Psy's phone went off - he'd received a PM.
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you knew what had happened to my name..."
Psy smiled, he was finally ready to move on.
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If you were dead, who would you haunt and what would u do? It can be anyone. A loved one? A forum friend? A celebrity? Would you help them make a pot? Scare their enemies? Peep on them in the shower? Discuss.
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"Ah, that was a good namechange".
Psy smiled and sat back in his posting chair, his latest prank complete.
"I wonder how long it will take Formy to realise his name is now Formoanhault, hehehe".
1am. Time for one more pot before bed. Nights had been sleepless lately, now that he was gone. But then again... it couldn't hurt to check one more time.
Psy opened a new tab and clicked the bookmark he'd made. Last login date: Two months ago. Of course he hadn't returned. It was impossible. Iceglow was dead.
The old record player worked just like it always did. The opening notes brought waves of nostalgia and loss and joy and grief all at once over Paul. Yes, the lyrics were true. Paul had hungered for that touch. Too late now, too bad. Deal with it already.
Paul sat at his stool, dipped his hands in water and kicked off his Crocs. He slapped a lump of greyish clay on the wheel and teased the pedal, keeping the speed low. He'd hate to make a splattery mess (more memories).
klok-klok, rustle, klok-klok, rustle
Psy whipped his head around, fringe flying. Nothing there. He must've imagined it. That sound though. So familiar... Whatever, maybe the record player was being weird or something.
His foot slipped, the pot flopped over half-formed. It was crap anyway. Uninspired. Psy no longer had his muse.
klok rustle klok rustle
Psy's heart raced. He realised that he finally recognised the sound. The klok of cowboy boots on hard floor. The rustle of double-denim. No, that would be impossible.
klokrustleklokrustleklok
Suddenly there were hands on his, someone else’s breath on his neck.
"I'm here. Do you want a hand?" whispered Steve.
"How? How can this be? You're supposed to be de-", a finger on his lips stopped his sentence.
"Hush now, let's see what we can do about this".
Psy felt the warmth behind him as Iceglow slowly guided his hands over the clay. The scent of Brut and hair gel filled his head and he just lost himself in the moment, savouring every second.
"I've m-missed you so much, Steve".
"I know, here is something to remember me by".
Psy could feel the clay between his fingers as Iceglow guided his hands upward now, the clay becoming somewhat cylindrical, but widened at the top in a sort of half sphere.
"Heh, this is gonna be longer than any post I've ever written, haha", Steve winked.
The work was over and done with too soon. Tools carved the surface making it veined (heinously so), fingers shaped the tip. It was delicate work that took time but it was still over too soon. Psy could've stayed in those hairy arms forever.
Psy awoke with a start and realised he was alone now. The wheel was off. The towering sculpture was drying under a heat lamp and miraculously alongside it was a beautifully-formed pot. The record slowly span, the needle had long raised itself off the grooves, there was only silence now.
Psy's phone went off - he'd received a PM.
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you knew what had happened to my name..."
Psy smiled, he was finally ready to move on.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you were dead, who would you haunt and what would u do? It can be anyone. A loved one? A forum friend? A celebrity? Would you help them make a pot? Scare their enemies? Peep on them in the shower? Discuss.