Vanished

Vanished

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

When Wes Alcott arrives home from an 18-month deployment overseas, he discovers that his home is gone – literally. The property where his house stood is now just open grassland with no indication that any structure had ever been built there. When he goes to speak with the man who sold him the property, the man doesn't recognize Wes and tells him there was never anything built on that property. As Wes confronts friends and family, he is continually turned away as a stranger, each of them insisting they've never seen him before. Befriended by an 18-year old boy named Jake, who is in town to visit his grandmother, Wes and Jake hunt for the answers that will explain what happened to Wes' hometown and the people in it, while he was gone. With Jake being the only one who believes him, he begins a strange journey that will lead him to conclusions he may not be able to accept.

Summary

When Wes Alcott arrives home from an 18-month deployment overseas, he discovers that his home is gone – literally. The property where his house stood is now just open grassland with no indication that any structure had ever been built there. When he goes to speak with the man who sold him the property, the man doesn't recognize Wes and tells him there was never anything built on that property. As Wes confronts friends and family, he is continually turned away as a stranger, each of them insisting they've never seen him before. Befriended by an 18-year old boy named Jake, who is in town to visit his grandmother, Wes and Jake hunt for the answers that will explain what happened to Wes' hometown and the people in it, while he was gone. With Jake being the only one who believes him, he begins a strange journey that will lead him to conclusions he may not be able to accept.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Jake

Author Chapter Note

When Wes Alcott arrives home from an 18-month deployment overseas, he discovers that his home is gone – literally. The property where his house stood is now just open grassland with no indication that any structure had ever been built there. When he goes to speak with the man who sold him the property, the man doesn't recognize Wes and tells him there was never anything built on that property. As Wes confronts friends and family, he is continually turned away as a stranger, each of them insisting they've never seen him before. Befriended by an 18-year old boy named Jake, who is in town to visit his grandmother, Wes and Jake hunt for the answers that will explain what happened to Wes' hometown and the people in it, while he was gone. With Jake being the only one who believes him, he begins a strange journey that will lead him to conclusions he may not be able to accept.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 20, 2013

Reads: 1172

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 20, 2013

A A A

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Jake

Once again, they were sending him away. They were the ones to blame for everything. Yet they had the nerves to blame him instead. It was Jake's lack of respect — is what they always said. For lack of sizable balls — or cunt — to admit they had done a crappy job as parents. Guess who teaches a kid respect, fuckers? That isn't one of the virtues you learn on the streets.

Three times in juvenile. Community service. A file that stacked as high as the Empire State. He knew more about picking locks and wielding a switchblade, than about Pythagoras or the water cycle. All that before he reached the legal age to drink alcohol.

Could have been much worse. He could have turned into a junkie, but didn't. They should be praising him for that, at least. This time he got it easy. Milking cows with his grandma was much better than feeding the poor. Leave the poor to Mother Teresa.

The pencil rocked between index and middle fingers, and tapped a rhythm on the window. His feet pressed against the backrest of the seat in front of him. The notebook that was half-full with dark poems and drawings, rested open against his folded knees; currently ignored. The scenery on the other side of the glass had gradually become greener and less stale. He checked the time on his iPod. Still many hours to go.

He tried to find rest in the soothing movements of the bus, without success. Loud music blasted out the earphones in different styles. Some better than others at toning down the jackhammer sleeping next to him.

Jake's body remembered, as fresh as a morning mist, the feel of the guy's gray eyes when Jake approached the row of seats. He froze and stared for a second. Like Angel's. But he didn't find in this set of gray the warmth Angel's always had for Jake. Well, almost always. Jake averted his gaze. “Excuse me.” He slid to the window seat, and didn't glance at the guy again.

The lump in his throat was gone by now. Angel was not here. And this guy was...for sure a jerk with the “hero” gone to his head. If G.I. Joe weren't so edible, Jake would have elbowed the fucker already. Who snores so loud in front of other people?

Patience was another virtue he didn't learn on the streets. A tug on the headphones' cable, and the music was off his ears. Now with no camouflage, the snoring hammered through his skull; a hair louder than the music, but light years more irritating. He sighed with his eyes closed, then snapped them open to glance sideways at the face of his neighbor. He reached with his left hand, ready to pinch the guy's nose — harder than he would have if he weren't so annoyed.

Rounds of small, barely detectable electric currents pulsed and tickled from his fingertips, along the arm to the elbow as his hand hovered, almost touching the man's skin. He pulled back with a low gasp, and looked at both sides of his hand. What was that? He glanced at the guy's face, as if there lay the answer to his question.

My arm fell asleep. That's it. It fell asleep like this tractor did. His hand came up over the guy's face again and the currents didn't manifest this time. He started to recede, lowering himself back on his seat. At the last moment, he changed his mind, and went for one of those hateful tickles on the nose — and crossed his fingers that the Green Giant didn't have a sense of humor.


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