This story contains scenes of love and sexual interaction between two or more adult males. If the reading this material is illegal in your country, state, province, county, municipality, etc., please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further. If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.
The author retains all copyright, and rights to this original story. You may not publish it or any part of it without explicit permission from me and me only! This story is completely fictional in every way and places and characters mentioned, DO NOT exist in real life.
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Special thanks to my editor Nate. Thanks For Reading! Under The Moonlit Sky Chapter 6
Chezney
Deep within me there is a pain. Not just an ache, but a pain so strong, so excruciating, so powerful it makes you numb. There is nothing you can do to ignore it as it slowly grows inside of you; eating you from the inside out until there is nothing left. I tried to cry, but tears just burn my face. There is a devil on my shoulder, watching me burn the memories straight into the ground. Watching the roaring fire create hell on earth.
But there is an angel by my side. She tells me everything will be okay, just fine. But she doesn't feel the pain within me. She doesn't feel the ripping and the tearing. She doesn't hear the moaning and the screaming. She doesn't see that the flames become people, faces. Dancing, moving in their seductive manor, forcing me to see each and every person HE stabbed my heart out with. Each and every person HE has KILLED me with. Because the memories of him not only burn within that house, but the memory of myself burns with it.
And the angel; she forces tears in my eyes. She is begging, pleading for my return. Pleading for an answer to her screams. But the devil has already taken the last of me. The deal is done. There is no peace, no salvation, no justice. Just a flame, an inferno and haunting laughter.
Both my parents were addicted to drugs and alcohol. My mother more so with alcohol my father more so with drugs. I remember once night when I was just ten years old so vividly. We lived in a moldy old broken down two-story house. My parents were having one of their late night parties which I was to be sent to my room and not to come out until the sun came up. But being ten I was always curious as to what goes on at these types of parties.
So that night I snuck down stairs. There were people everywhere both young and old. Some were dancing to this strange kind of music and others were sitting around the couch in the living room. That's where my mom and dad where. I couldn't see very much as to what they were doing because there were people all around them. So I went downstairs a little further, hiding under the end table that was placed in the hallway outside the living room.
Peering in the room was heavy with smoke but I could see my parents clearly. Some of the people around them were drinking out of bottles, cups and a couple out of clear plastic tubes. Others had needles and pipes in their hands sticking them in and out of each other, including my mom. She was sitting on top of another guy with her dress up around her waist. There was another girl sitting beside her, taking her arm and pushing a needle of fluid threw her. The girl looked like she couldn't be any more than fifteen years old. My father was on the other side of the couch. Half passed out with a drink in one hand and a pipe in the other.
I sat there and watched them for what seemed like hours. My father eventually fully passed out but my mother got bored with the guy she was with and moved on. She was drinking straight from the bottle while she danced around, letting all the other guys and a few girls too, touch her in random places. I guy from across the room got up after just sitting there the entire time and came across over to where my mom was. He had a needle in his hand and pressed it deep into her arm and dragging her back to the couch on top of him. After this I got bored and started to head back upstairs to go to bed. The second my foot hit the first stair, my father suddenly got up and walked towards the staircase. I tried to run and hide but it was too late. My father already saw me.
"What are you doing up you little fuck!?"
His words were heavily slurred and at this point I started to shake. I had made the mistake once of getting my father angry when he was drugged, and I still have the scar across by back till this day from him hitting me with a thin leather belt.
"I..I was thirsty plea..."
He didn't give me a chance to finish when he hit me hard across the face before grabbing me and dragging me back upstairs. I was then locked in my room for two days with nothing to eat, drink, or even a place to go to the bathroom. No matter how loud I screamed and pleaded there was never an answer.
On the evening of the second day my mother finally came up to my room and unlocked the door. She looked so tired and worn down. Beaten and broken, I felt sorry for her. The drugs had overtaken their minds and they didn't know any better. That was until she said something to me that I will never forgive her for.
"If you are going to ruin our parties at least offer your fagot ass up to some of the guys and get us some cash. Get downstairs and get your dinner before it gets fed to the dog."
That is when I lost all respect, all hope for my parents. I did my best to stay out of their way, determined to prove myself better. At fifteen I got a job at the local record store and that was around the time I found an old guitar just lying in the back of an alley. I took it to a local guitar repair shop to see if there was anything seriously wrong with it, and it turned out it was in perfect condition and well-tuned. I attempted to give myself lessons until my boss from the record store offered to give me lesson. From then on all I did was play music.
At sixteen my father died of a drug overdose. My mother threw me out claiming her new boyfriend didn't like fagot teenagers living around his house. With no place to go I turned to Morgan. We were already good friends at the time and she was able to convince her parents to let me stay in the basement. They were really good people and I did my best to show them how grateful I was. Soon after Chezney and the Assassins were born.
The memories of life only seem to bring more pain and destruction. Adding to the despair of reality. And within me the music that once kept me alive is slowly fading away. The songs I wrote of love are dying as the songs I wrote of him are dead. Beyond the flames lies the reality of life without, without will, without justice, without me.
Note To Readers:
Thanks to all the readers who support this story. Each and every comment I get mean so much to me. For more of this story as well as my other story Finding Myself Within Eric, please join the group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/shadowcastingcollections