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Description
Echoing through his dreams was the same question.

      "If you were given the choice to know the moment of your death, would you want the answer?"

      Aiden awoke in a sweat.It was the same dream he had been given since early childhood. Since he was a mere 5 years old an still fascinated by shiny glass, days at the beach and butterfly wings. Amidst his childhood innocence were darkened nights of himself crawling across a large darkened house with his legs numb and pained and wet with blood. Of a large man with ashy skin and a lazy eye stumbling down stairs after him. The windows would light up with blue and red police flickers and commotion would always clatter the normally silent front yard.

      He sat on the side of the bed and ran his hands across his legs, feeling the stubble starting to become noticeable again. Is this guy one of my tricks? Is it a befouled lover who finds out their betrothed preferred me to their grotesque visage? The snorting heap of a man on the other side of the bed punctuated his question firmly. Probably. With that Aiden stood and walked naked onto the black wrought iron balcony.

      Outside was unseasonably warm for the Bahamas, especially at night. Overlooking the downtown, he saw the glint of the ocean far at the horizon, almost submerged in the buildings and spires of the sprawling metropolis. The wind was a ghostly wrap of cool moist sea air, the streets still echoing faint music from the last few nightclubs getting ready to turn in, and the occasional sputter of a car passing through or a motorbike rocketing by. The night sky was fair, glowing around a half moon silver and still, most of the stars obscured by the sallow cloud-line that was always sign of torrential rains to come in the morning sunrise. He shivered off a long gust of cold wind and walked back inside to see the snoring mound still deep in post orgasm slumber.

      In the kitchen a fresh pot of coffee hissed off the last few spurts of heat, warming his hands as he prepped a mug for himself and reached for a second, only to stop and place that mug vacantly at he dusty end of the table. No need to make that second mug, stupid, the dead don't need coffee. Which was worse, living every day wishing to be with the dead, or knowing when they were going to finally die, and unable to change that fact no matter how hard one tried? He added half and half and two spoonfuls of sugar and sat on his couch cupping the warm mug. A bird perched on the railing of the balcony and shrieked, startling the long deep snoring behind him into a stumbling shadow that moved to the bathroom.

      "Is that fresh coffee I smell, Aye?"

      "Yessa, it certainly is Mr. Big. It certainly is."

      Pompous ass…

      "Cream, no sugar, son. One Ice cube and a pinch of pepper. " The toilet seat banged down and the bathroom door quickly slammed shut. A muffled "And one of the jelly donuts too!"

      Aiden shook his head and stifled a sarcastic laugh. It was like it always was. All about Mr. Big. All about his needs. But, Aiden reminded himself, He is the client. We live to serve.

      He quickly prepped coffee as requested and plucked the last donut, freshly powdered, placed it onto a dark blue porcelain place, next to his coffee, on the counter. Heavy footsteps shifted and a meaty, aromatic hand settled on Aiden's shoulder.

      "Thanks, son, You're a doll."

      Mr Big settled down with his coffee and donut across from Aiden, unsettling the months of dust on the table and trailing bathroom perfume behind him, seething the entire kitchen with a funky coffee-sewage soupiness. There was a repugnant snorting as Mr. Big breathed through his nose, gobbling down the donut in chunk-ripped pieces,  covering his fingers and chins in sugar and dark purple jelly. He disgusted Aiden, in the light of the kitchen amongst the flower designs and fine dishware, the glass vases and heavy wooden spice racks and dried potpourri shelved between sculptures and silver tea sets. Tis hulk of a man, hairy, sweaty, grunting, was a pig in paradise. And Aiden couldn't get the visage of that pig rutting and bucking and rubbing itself all up and down Aiden's soft supple teenage skin.

      The door clattered the silence, an eager knuckle rattling the pewter of the curio cabinet in the front hallways loudly, followed by restless silence and what sounded faintly like a shotgun cocking.

Description
Echoing through his dreams was the same question.

      "If you were given the choice to know the moment of your death, would you want the answer?"

      Aiden awoke in a sweat.It was the same dream he had been given since early childhood. Since he was a mere 5 years old an still fascinated by shiny glass, days at the beach and butterfly wings. Amidst his childhood innocence were darkened nights of himself crawling across a large darkened house with his legs numb and pained and wet with blood. Of a large man with ashy skin and a lazy eye stumbling down stairs after him. The windows would light up with blue and red police flickers and commotion would always clatter the normally silent front yard.

      He sat on the side of the bed and ran his hands across his legs, feeling the stubble starting to become noticeable again. Is this guy one of my tricks? Is it a befouled lover who finds out their betrothed preferred me to their grotesque visage? The snorting heap of a man on the other side of the bed punctuated his question firmly. Probably. With that Aiden stood and walked naked onto the black wrought iron balcony.

      Outside was unseasonably warm for the Bahamas, especially at night. Overlooking the downtown, he saw the glint of the ocean far at the horizon, almost submerged in the buildings and spires of the sprawling metropolis. The wind was a ghostly wrap of cool moist sea air, the streets still echoing faint music from the last few nightclubs getting ready to turn in, and the occasional sputter of a car passing through or a motorbike rocketing by. The night sky was fair, glowing around a half moon silver and still, most of the stars obscured by the sallow cloud-line that was always sign of torrential rains to come in the morning sunrise. He shivered off a long gust of cold wind and walked back inside to see the snoring mound still deep in post orgasm slumber.

      In the kitchen a fresh pot of coffee hissed off the last few spurts of heat, warming his hands as he prepped a mug for himself and reached for a second, only to stop and place that mug vacantly at he dusty end of the table. No need to make that second mug, stupid, the dead don't need coffee. Which was worse, living every day wishing to be with the dead, or knowing when they were going to finally die, and unable to change that fact no matter how hard one tried? He added half and half and two spoonfuls of sugar and sat on his couch cupping the warm mug. A bird perched on the railing of the balcony and shrieked, startling the long deep snoring behind him into a stumbling shadow that moved to the bathroom.

      "Is that fresh coffee I smell, Aye?"

      "Yessa, it certainly is Mr. Big. It certainly is."

      Pompous ass…

      "Cream, no sugar, son. One Ice cube and a pinch of pepper. " The toilet seat banged down and the bathroom door quickly slammed shut. A muffled "And one of the jelly donuts too!"

      Aiden shook his head and stifled a sarcastic laugh. It was like it always was. All about Mr. Big. All about his needs. But, Aiden reminded himself, He is the client. We live to serve.

      He quickly prepped coffee as requested and plucked the last donut, freshly powdered, placed it onto a dark blue porcelain place, next to his coffee, on the counter. Heavy footsteps shifted and a meaty, aromatic hand settled on Aiden's shoulder.

      "Thanks, son, You're a doll."

      Mr Big settled down with his coffee and donut across from Aiden, unsettling the months of dust on the table and trailing bathroom perfume behind him, seething the entire kitchen with a funky coffee-sewage soupiness. There was a repugnant snorting as Mr. Big breathed through his nose, gobbling down the donut in chunk-ripped pieces,  covering his fingers and chins in sugar and dark purple jelly. He disgusted Aiden, in the light of the kitchen amongst the flower designs and fine dishware, the glass vases and heavy wooden spice racks and dried potpourri shelved between sculptures and silver tea sets. Tis hulk of a man, hairy, sweaty, grunting, was a pig in paradise. And Aiden couldn't get the visage of that pig rutting and bucking and rubbing itself all up and down Aiden's soft supple teenage skin.

      The door clattered the silence, an eager knuckle rattling the pewter of the curio cabinet in the front hallways loudly, followed by restless silence and what sounded faintly like a shotgun cocking.