[continuing from the last]
But it was still getting heavier and heavier, a sort of painted magnet, made wooden, drawn up to his solidified heart. He seemed consumed by the acts with each fair frownings, but his mouth remained closed. The sour taste was dying out momentarily. His blue eyes saw the house, he spinned his rough white shoes to the right and began to walk towards it. Kid A’d been stopped for a while now.
It was a house of memories, a house of the olds. He’d been there many times beforehand, and the owners were always welcoming towards him, but he never liked them, coupled with the inhabitants and participants. He deemed them all as ghastly. There was a wooden rooster on top of the wind vane, it was swaying stupidly in accordance with nature’s vigorousness, as mad as one that was just losing its head. Frank’s headphone almost dropped off, as it hung on the back of his ears, covered and cornered by packs of feeble black hair that seemed too weak to stand for it. He pulled out another cigarette and held it in the inbetween of his lips, with the knowledge that the lighter couldn’t possibly, effectively set it on. Reus, the gray-haired doorman, in his uncomfortable and impertinent black suit with a red-striped tie, with his sailor hat, started cupping both his hands near his mouth and shout:
"Looking Deanish out there, b-buddy!"
Frank didn’t answer, but he sniggered a bit, in such a way the cigarrete might just be falling in instead of falling out. As if sneers. Someone faraway was calling for him, triggering soundtracks of The Fountain, but he left his mobile phone there willingly for the doorman to play games of Insomnia, then walked forth with an unplugged headphone. Sounds of the banner touching the slowed metal door were on their ways to escape out of this world, blending and making a miniature mixture of cracks, vibrations and repercussions. One could see goosebumps being created at the back of his neck, like a teenage boy who was reaching his first orgasm.
"Wear gloves," he turned back and said, before the sparks of flawed and natural lights were shut from him. "It’s mine."
"Of course it’s yours, b-buddy!" Reus answered excitedly. "Have fun!"
Just as soon as the fading darkness, the quietness also settled in. The shut of the door still traveled around, through ceilings and floors, awakening rightful owners. Kaleidoscopical windows seemed troubled by the winds outside, as if trying hard to break out from the sorrowful fate of meaningless beauty. A cockroach was having a trip hanging upside down, swirling time and time again to the curvaceous shape of the stairs. As soon as Frank was reminded by by his clearest possible reflection on the floor, he quickly removed his shoes and put it in the designated corner, along with others. He figured that either he was mistaken, that his mind was a mess at the moment, or that there was a new acquisition in town. Red, black, yellow, green, white and no pink, it usually was the way it had always been before. No pink.
The elevator and its music were still the same, however. That checked the surroundings for Frank, he smiled briefly with such realisations and quiet contents. One of Debussy’s, recognizable through lots of hearing, he knew it as he was told, but he never bothered to check which one it was. He would not, this Frank Hoetz, he would not like to join into the mainstreams, but typically, he didn’t listen to classical music very often. He knew the names, the famous names and numerous founders of the genres, but he never really cared for the contents themself. Supposedly, in an elevator like this, without “his” own chosen music and headphones, he would have liked to tap a few steps, nod a few heads to the transgressing flows and rhythms, to appreciate more, but in reality he wouldn’t care less. He was still wearing his unplugged headphone right now, standing with his head facing the button going up and up, like a time travelling hippie half-assedly intervening kids in the middle of a Canadian snow fight, all things unrelated yet in their right and suitable places to express. Just an unplugged headphone, but in actuality, he was well-protected against the notes, against the rare moody temptations of going extremely low to extremely high in a course of a few seconds. He took amusement in sorrows of outsiders, one errored push of a key couldn’t possibly trouble him or enlightening his artistic ego. He would prefer it to the awful pop songs.
"Afternoon of a Faun." he mumbled.
"So you do know it then, Frank?" a womenly voice spinned out from the top of the elevator. He was almost there, the highest floor, to then be taken to the opposite way again. His thoughts flied past his borders of consciousness and never to be seen again. He was a butterfly, flying along with his sister’s waving and curly hair at the beach, naked scenes. Though usually black, in sunshine, it was gorgeously dressed in an unusual light brown, faring wonders from the Sun. He would sit at her right shoulder for a while after that, by an old oak tree nearby, and spy the curves. The unholy rounds, the fresh, moving cleavages, visions of predominated sins. He wanted to fly lower and lower along the milky ways of pink flesh, to be drowned in awe of the perpetual youth of his sister. Frank’s mainmast always yielded, even at the sight of a clothed her, even at the imaginated sight of one. He didn’t answer.
"W-Well okay." the voice talked awkwardly, as if breaking up. "Where’s your phone anyway?"
"Reus wants to play some games."
"Oh, is that right? That explains why I can’t connect with you."
"What’s the problem?"
"Oh, I just wanted to warn you," it halted for a moment. "We have a new member."
Frank remained silent, but secretly satisfied because he was right. Not too satisfied, perhaps, as with the confirmation, his annoyed face was finally let out.
"So don’t start any trouble, he’s new."
"He?" Frank asked.
"But his shoes—?" his blue eyes widened to the flashy gray. "His shoes are pink, aren’t they?"
"No he’s a barefooting fan. Anyway, I will leave you alone now, just wanted to warn you that’s all. Have a nice day, and don’t start troubles!"
He wanted to ask more, he wanted to smash the transmission with his fists until the womenly voice started talking again, but his sister quickly drew him back. He wanted to save his sister. He wanted to make the best out of her, he wanted to give her the real dosage, the right dosage. He wanted to be inside her, saving her from all the douchebags, all the rebelling dumbasses, all the guns-shooting bastards of the world. He wanted to dive into her sexual chaoses of dreams, and right what was wrong. The automatic clicking sound of the elevator went off suddenly, just as he almost spurted. The floor Highest was reached, all that were left in him were regrets and repressions that couldn’t be told to other outsiders. Welcome electronic signs, as per usual, showed him ways. He’d been there many times before, but he couldn’t ever figure out how to remember the way in. It was like a maze, in which builders died out slowly one by one in the course of the construction. A few more lefts and rights, he reached a room full of piles of pillows. There was a man lying comfortably with a little gaping smile on one pile, staring straight as Frank came in.
"Who are you?" both contemporaneously asked.
After a suitable period for a childish pause, the man, who was looking about in his forties or fifties, said:
"I’m the new member. Who are you?"
"I’m Hoetz." Frank couldn’t hide his pocket of spit in his neck. "Why are you the new member?"
"Hoetz? Not that I don’t believe you, but sir, there are many Hoetzs in this town, more than I could count or bother to. I wouldn’t know which branch you are from to contact."
"Aren’t we supposed to contact each other?"
"No you aren’t!" Someone came from the second maze behind the man, shouted out. "Also, you two are getting on quickly, it seems!"
As he was beginning to present himself fully, with his casual black hair, the speech continued from where it left off:
"You oughta introduce your name first, what did I tell you? Cris, you are meeting the legend himself, Mr. Frank Hoetz. He’s our youngest outsider."
Cris was rubbing his pinched nose with both of his index fingers. Frank was cringing. He couln’t possibly care less. He would rather hang out with Reus, the doorman, than with this buch of lame turds. The sister would agree with this thought of his, her horny brother’s. His lust was dying out, seeing the man freckles slowly revealed through the blinds of darkness. Welcome signs couldn’t help, it kept blinking, which made an already unpleasant sight much, much worse. Arguably, the guy was just slightly more as ugly as Frank, but he couldn’t stand the sight of the creature. He was, to Frank, the least likeable character in the group, not just physically. But then again, the group as a whole wasn’t supposed to be likeable.
With a big grin, showing a lone, crooked pack of teeth which wasn’t taken care of in the right method, he shouted excitedly:
"Alright let’s get going! The convention is beginning in merely ten minutes!"
[to be continued]