Entirely a fantasy. No, I'm fine, really. I have lots of story ideas, too.
He entered the dilapidated barn quietly. Standing still for a moment just inside the open sliding door, he looked around to get a sense of what he was looking for. Off to the left was an opening to a large empty area with exposed beams, and he went there. This part of the barn was darker but for skylight visible through a few gaps in the wooden boards high in the walls. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a naked male body dangling from one of the beams, its feet eighteen inches above the dirt floor of the barn. The body's hands were cuffed behind him, but his legs were untied. The hanged man was not moving. It looked like he hadn't moved for a while. The visitor moved a little closer.
“Hangdog... wake up,” the visitor said. He got very close and turned on a flashlight. Shining it in the hanged man's face, he said, louder, “Hangdog!”
“Unnnh,” came from the apparently not-quite-dead man. The visitor saw eyes open slightly then close in irritation.
“Wake up, dumbfuck.”
Hangdog opened his mouth. Though no words came out, the shape of his mouth seemed to indicate “Why?”
“You have stories to write, that's why. You have to get back to work.”
Hangdog's toes wiggled. The visitor wasn't sure what that meant. He could smell dried sweat from the hanged man's crotch, tinged with a little urine that might have dripped from his half-hard cock shortly after the hanging started. But he wasn't going to let himself be distracted from his quest by all that.
“I'm gonna let you down. We can't have this,” the visitor said as he went to where the far end of the noose-rope was tied to a cleat in the wall. He didn't see Hangdog mouth the words “Fuck, don't” and he wouldn't have cared if he did. The visitor untied the knot and let Hangdog down somewhat carefully, considering he was dealing with dead weight here. Hangdog lay on his side for a couple of moments before the visitor realized he might have to loosen the noose. When he did, Hangdog managed a couple of weak coughs.
“Don't say I never did anything for you,” the visitor said. “I want to see a new story online by the end of the month.” He started to walk away.
Hangdog struggled to sit up, finally managing a word flung weakly at the visitor's back: “Cuffs?”
The visitor stopped. “Oh.” He reached in his pocket and fished out a handcuff key.
“Here,” he said as he tossed it gently at Hangdog's chest.
Hangdog stared as the key slid down his chest into his crotch. “Thanks,” he said, the sarcasm lost in his throat's soreness.
The visitor turned and left. Hangdog took 25 minutes fumbling to pick up the key and work it into the lock in the cuffs behind him. By then his head was clear enough, and he could find his jeans and boots and head home.
Posts
