twenty-second post; fanfic- and the poor man loved the great, part one
title: and the poor man loved the great
characters: Mello (narrating), Badou
summary: It's important to remember that as much as this isn't a novel, it's even less of a love story.
A good part of the Bible's book of Job can basically be described as, "And so-and-so answered and said:" followed by a pretty nice-sized monologue about God and life and why things happen. Chapter 21 has Job (answering and) saying, "The wicked do prosper." Out of context as that is, if it's true, sodomy must be why I found Badou.
Badou Nails is tall, ginger-headed, good at placating me, and better at pissing me off. The third is why I can love him. The fourth makes it better.
We've never actually said it to each other. We know it, though. We've done it through things like this. 'Love, Badou' to end a note, something a little too close to holding each other in bed. We've been together a while now, and I say 'together' with the idea that we've been around each other that long. Two years.
It's not like me to stick with someone for a long time.
It's not like me to love someone, either.
Look. This isn't going to read like a novel, or a report - a coherent recording of events. There's no clear way to classify what I'm writing right now. If you want something that'll pin it in close, we can call it a memoir: it starts out as an idea. Thinking things through. Before you know it, you're recalling. Then you're writing it down to keep track.
I guess that's what happened here.
It's important to remember that as much as this isn't a novel, it's even less of a love story. My relationship with Badou Nails is, to put it lightly, a dysfunctional one, and, at times, almost completely negative. There's an important point, though: although we're lovers, we also stick together as brothers. Perhaps more appropriately, comrades. The soldiers of the new world and the old world and everything inbetween, long-haired and, previously, carefree. Cigarettes were currency and if the check bounced, kissing was the compensation.
I use past-tense here because carefree costs more than cigarettes, now.
Another key idea to have before taking off with this, is the idea of travel through time and dimensions. Don't call me a hack. I've done it countless times by now. I'd tell you the key, but I don't think it's the same for everyone; for me, Badou was required. We'd be together and then for a moment, the worlds would just... mesh. And then we'd be somewhere else. We've laid together in fields of flowers before a town was built, we've put our feet in parts of the sea very few people have. It's almost parallel to our relationship.
I'm prefacing this series of recollections with such an introduction because I'm not sure who's going to be reading this. Should it fall into the hands of someone who's never met either of us, some background is deserved. That's the most likely scenario, I'm thinking, as anyone who knows either of us would be scattered throughout the multiverse.
I should say, 'anyone who knows Badou.' He's easy to read and I'm a forced enigma. Speaking of which, they call me Mello. I'm twenty-one years old, and I probably won't be alive much longer - I'm good at what I do, and what I do is a lot of dangerous shit on behalf of myself, under the semblance of pitching for the public - so I'll say this:
My name is Mihael Keehl.
I've never told Badou. If he does manage to get ahold of and read this, now he knows. I'm a little less of a mystery now, right?
My name is Mihael Keehl, and I've tried to save the world. One of them, at least.
Now that such a secondhand courtesy is out of the way, I guess I can get started with really remembering. It's only fair to try and start at the beginning.
characters: Mello (narrating), Badou
summary: It's important to remember that as much as this isn't a novel, it's even less of a love story.
A good part of the Bible's book of Job can basically be described as, "And so-and-so answered and said:" followed by a pretty nice-sized monologue about God and life and why things happen. Chapter 21 has Job (answering and) saying, "The wicked do prosper." Out of context as that is, if it's true, sodomy must be why I found Badou.
Badou Nails is tall, ginger-headed, good at placating me, and better at pissing me off. The third is why I can love him. The fourth makes it better.
We've never actually said it to each other. We know it, though. We've done it through things like this. 'Love, Badou' to end a note, something a little too close to holding each other in bed. We've been together a while now, and I say 'together' with the idea that we've been around each other that long. Two years.
It's not like me to stick with someone for a long time.
It's not like me to love someone, either.
Look. This isn't going to read like a novel, or a report - a coherent recording of events. There's no clear way to classify what I'm writing right now. If you want something that'll pin it in close, we can call it a memoir: it starts out as an idea. Thinking things through. Before you know it, you're recalling. Then you're writing it down to keep track.
I guess that's what happened here.
It's important to remember that as much as this isn't a novel, it's even less of a love story. My relationship with Badou Nails is, to put it lightly, a dysfunctional one, and, at times, almost completely negative. There's an important point, though: although we're lovers, we also stick together as brothers. Perhaps more appropriately, comrades. The soldiers of the new world and the old world and everything inbetween, long-haired and, previously, carefree. Cigarettes were currency and if the check bounced, kissing was the compensation.
I use past-tense here because carefree costs more than cigarettes, now.
Another key idea to have before taking off with this, is the idea of travel through time and dimensions. Don't call me a hack. I've done it countless times by now. I'd tell you the key, but I don't think it's the same for everyone; for me, Badou was required. We'd be together and then for a moment, the worlds would just... mesh. And then we'd be somewhere else. We've laid together in fields of flowers before a town was built, we've put our feet in parts of the sea very few people have. It's almost parallel to our relationship.
I'm prefacing this series of recollections with such an introduction because I'm not sure who's going to be reading this. Should it fall into the hands of someone who's never met either of us, some background is deserved. That's the most likely scenario, I'm thinking, as anyone who knows either of us would be scattered throughout the multiverse.
I should say, 'anyone who knows Badou.' He's easy to read and I'm a forced enigma. Speaking of which, they call me Mello. I'm twenty-one years old, and I probably won't be alive much longer - I'm good at what I do, and what I do is a lot of dangerous shit on behalf of myself, under the semblance of pitching for the public - so I'll say this:
My name is Mihael Keehl.
I've never told Badou. If he does manage to get ahold of and read this, now he knows. I'm a little less of a mystery now, right?
My name is Mihael Keehl, and I've tried to save the world. One of them, at least.
Now that such a secondhand courtesy is out of the way, I guess I can get started with really remembering. It's only fair to try and start at the beginning.