The Cole Turns To Ash
"Yeah. Saint Cole the Profane, in the flesh."
He laughs a bit. I don't mind him laughing at me. Just as long as he's paying attention to me.
"Good name for yourself."
"Ha." He's coming a little bit closer to me and it's kinda freaking me out. He's still smiling, but he's got a glint of something else in his eyes.
"W-wha..." I manage to say, before my back comes in contact with the wall.
"I love your eyes," he says, staring at me like I'm the most important thing in the world. The same way he stares at his dog. I'm jealous, once again.
His hands are on both sides of the wall, pinning me to it like I'm some fucking poster. I lick my lips a bit and look up. I can feel his hot breath on my forehead.
Some people dream of being astronauts. Others aspire to be bakers or movie stars. After graduation, Cole wants to become a professional homeless man.
Does that sound crazy? Strange? Mentally deranged?
Regardless of the circumstance, sixteen-year-old Cole is sarcastic, apathetic, pessimistic, and just, well... a lump of coal. The complete opposite of one Ashton Matthews.
Cole may only have an eye on one boy, but attraction is a funny thing. And it's only made all the more powerful and illogical when you talk to Santa on a regular basis, wear gloves to avoid physical contact, and believe that the next major uprising will be the fruit AIDS communist revolution.