"Would anyone like to read their poems?" Jack asks, he twirls a pencil in one hand, his other hand supporting his resting chin.
Hands shoot up, but like always, Jack calls on the only girl he sees--Catherina.
The other girls sigh, defeated, as Catherina walks up to the front. She cocks a hip out in Jack's direction, and slowly turns her notebook pages until she finds what she's looking for.
She brushes strands of hair away that stick to her lip.
"I want to be," she whispers. "held in your hands.
hands that i can fit my entire body
and soul into.
i want to feel the age
of your kiss
between my legs.
i want to touch places
you have
that other people don't.
i want to be yours
if it means
you'll make that sound
again."
The room is stunned to silence, not by the skill of the poem, no one ever really cares if a poem sounds good or not. It's all about what a poem does--or doesn't--say.
"What's--what's the title?" Jack asks, breaking the carefully hierarchic silence.
"Hound."
YOU ARE READING
HOUND
Short Story"People are like hounds, they sniff out your weakness, play with your pain, and will hunt you down until you worship them." WARNING: in some chapters, not all, there is adult content. You've been warned.
