looking
PERMANENT EXHIBIT: THE
for inspiration. Would
GUARDIANS
anyone like to tell me why
these three boys are so very
by Megan Derr
tired out and had to take a
nap? :-)
Beau walked along the deserted sidewalk,
grateful for the silence. He’d been dragged out
Looking forward to
someone tackling a little
to celebrate in the parade chaos, but all too soon
m/m/m.
it devolved as it always did, and he wanted
[PHOTO: Three tanned,
simply to be alone. It would only get worse as
toned, perfect young men lie
people got drunk, got grabby, and eventually
sprawled and entangled,
got carried away.
deep in sleep. Two lie on a
white settee, while the third
So he’d slipped away at the first chance, and
leans against it, head
breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the all-
pillowed on them both. All
are dark haired and even-
but-dead portions of the city. The sounds of
featured. Two wear white
revelry were muffled, the lights barely
briefs, one wears black.
noticeable now, and hopefully everyone was so
Hands negligently drape
busy having fun they would not notice until too
over shoulders and thighs as
they dream together.]
late that he was gone.
Sincerely,
Noise in an alleyway made him jump,
Tam
increase his step, his breath puffs of steam as he
hurried along in the growing dark.
How he would love to be gone forever, just
somewhere … somewhere else, anywhere else,
where he wasn’t touched and harassed and left
feeling used even as they praised him for being
such an inspiration. Beau shook his head, trying
to dispel the sour thoughts.
There was debris everywhere, dirty puddles
from the recent storm. The fresh scent of rain
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 78
clashed with the smells of trash and neglect, and the whole area had a
feel of creeping gloom as the sun slowly set. He shoved his hands into
his pockets and kicked at an empty soda can, then kept walking. It
was eerie how deserted the entire place was—not even a single car
parked along the street. Most of the buildings were boarded up, and if
any of the others were open, they were closed for the day.
No, that wasn’t entirely true, he saw. Bright, yellow-orange light
spilled from one, all the way at the end of the block. He walked
toward it, curious as to who would bother to be open at seven o’clock
in such a dead area.
As he got closer, he realized the building was run down, but still
had a bit of class. A massive picture window revealed a simple,
elegant waiting room. He saw a desk, but there was no one at it, only a
mug of coffee or tea or something.
Stepping back, he tilted his head up to peer at the sign over the
door: The Gallery
Curious, he pushed the door open and slipped inside. The room
smelled like a good cup of chai, and the warmth that rolled over him
drove back the mid-fall chill outside. He looked around for a brochure
or something to explain what kind of gallery it was, but there was
nothing at all.
Movement caught his eye, and he stared at the man who had
appeared soundlessly from the door at the far end of the room. The
man smiled and said, “Good afternoon. It’s not often a muse simply
wanders into my humble Gallery.”
Beau made a face. Everyone called him that—muse, inspiration—
and he hated it. He was tired of being a muse; no one ever saw him as
anything else. All damned day, he had listened to people spout off the
ideas he had given them, the music he’d inspired, until he was sick of
fucking hearing about it. He wanted someone to see past the weird
ability he had to inspire poetry and song and whatever the hell else
people credited to him. “I was bored,” he said. “What kind of gallery
is this?”
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 79
The man smiled in a way that made Beau shiver in a haunted
house kind of way. He pushed nervously at his glasses, before
remembering he’d switched to contacts, and shoved his hands back
into the
PERMANENT EXHIBIT: THE
for inspiration. Would
GUARDIANS
anyone like to tell me why
these three boys are so very
by Megan Derr
tired out and had to take a
nap? :-)
Beau walked along the deserted sidewalk,
grateful for the silence. He’d been dragged out
Looking forward to
someone tackling a little
to celebrate in the parade chaos, but all too soon
m/m/m.
it devolved as it always did, and he wanted
[PHOTO: Three tanned,
simply to be alone. It would only get worse as
toned, perfect young men lie
people got drunk, got grabby, and eventually
sprawled and entangled,
got carried away.
deep in sleep. Two lie on a
white settee, while the third
So he’d slipped away at the first chance, and
leans against it, head
breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the all-
pillowed on them both. All
are dark haired and even-
but-dead portions of the city. The sounds of
featured. Two wear white
revelry were muffled, the lights barely
briefs, one wears black.
noticeable now, and hopefully everyone was so
Hands negligently drape
busy having fun they would not notice until too
over shoulders and thighs as
they dream together.]
late that he was gone.
Sincerely,
Noise in an alleyway made him jump,
Tam
increase his step, his breath puffs of steam as he
hurried along in the growing dark.
How he would love to be gone forever, just
somewhere … somewhere else, anywhere else,
where he wasn’t touched and harassed and left
feeling used even as they praised him for being
such an inspiration. Beau shook his head, trying
to dispel the sour thoughts.
There was debris everywhere, dirty puddles
from the recent storm. The fresh scent of rain
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 78
clashed with the smells of trash and neglect, and the whole area had a
feel of creeping gloom as the sun slowly set. He shoved his hands into
his pockets and kicked at an empty soda can, then kept walking. It
was eerie how deserted the entire place was—not even a single car
parked along the street. Most of the buildings were boarded up, and if
any of the others were open, they were closed for the day.
No, that wasn’t entirely true, he saw. Bright, yellow-orange light
spilled from one, all the way at the end of the block. He walked
toward it, curious as to who would bother to be open at seven o’clock
in such a dead area.
As he got closer, he realized the building was run down, but still
had a bit of class. A massive picture window revealed a simple,
elegant waiting room. He saw a desk, but there was no one at it, only a
mug of coffee or tea or something.
Stepping back, he tilted his head up to peer at the sign over the
door: The Gallery
Curious, he pushed the door open and slipped inside. The room
smelled like a good cup of chai, and the warmth that rolled over him
drove back the mid-fall chill outside. He looked around for a brochure
or something to explain what kind of gallery it was, but there was
nothing at all.
Movement caught his eye, and he stared at the man who had
appeared soundlessly from the door at the far end of the room. The
man smiled and said, “Good afternoon. It’s not often a muse simply
wanders into my humble Gallery.”
Beau made a face. Everyone called him that—muse, inspiration—
and he hated it. He was tired of being a muse; no one ever saw him as
anything else. All damned day, he had listened to people spout off the
ideas he had given them, the music he’d inspired, until he was sick of
fucking hearing about it. He wanted someone to see past the weird
ability he had to inspire poetry and song and whatever the hell else
people credited to him. “I was bored,” he said. “What kind of gallery
is this?”
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 79
The man smiled in a way that made Beau shiver in a haunted
house kind of way. He pushed nervously at his glasses, before
remembering he’d switched to contacts, and shoved his hands back
into the
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