#greg;

[lonelymuses]

✰  tag dump.

[feastingwhispers]

♣ — a fading memory @milktomiilky

     He could never imagine how adults could look when shrunken down. No, not as if their legs have suddenly decreased and cut down like a tree stump. But rather, he couldn’t imagine their voices in a higher pitch. Them with shorter or longer hair or fuller, rounder cheeks everyone cooed at. He couldn’t imagine adolescence. And yet, it was a thing everyone went through.    Color was a “technically new” invention if you wanted to hear young Greg’s opinion. So, to hear a man like Jon’s father recollect on his youth: the boy would envision muted (repetitive) colors. He could merely craft up the idea of a child’s body - with a black and white photograph of the trucker’s head, quite literally, taped on. 

  The Ron of then had cut facial hair and no sideburns, of course. As someone who was ten: Greg knew it was quite impossible for any little boy to have a beard.     If his mother had the courage to muse about her youth, such an obscene image for her would come floating about in his mind too. And so, if Greg could not imagine his mother as a child: he certainly couldn’t imagine how her brother’s (his uncles) looked. 

   The day he met Seth Duerson, he was shocked. Shocked how his hair could just lay down while his sister’s did the very opposite. The moment he stepped up to the front of the church beside Jon and gazed over Eugene Duerson’s serene, dead face; Greg was to sit down in the aftermath. Trying to compare, trying to pin-point the key similarities the three siblings shared.      Surely, it was the nose.    Rhoda claimed she didn’t want to be within Seth’s home, but here she was. Scoring over the family album. Sitting beside her, Greg thought her scowl didn’t match how watery her eyes were (but ultimately knew better than to say that.) “This is me.” She whispers. Her long finger extending to tap on a picture he couldn’t even properly see yet.    And when he does see, he wonders if her hair has always been like this at each and every age. It’s big and curly now, the photograph tells him that it was thick and curly then. He sees she’s been making the same expressions forever too; the scowl, the narrowed eyes...Greg had been so in thought, observing his hand-me-down-clothed mother so thoroughly: he missed how her fingers found a way underneath the elastic.  He had not known that it was her father - his grandfather’s - picture she stole until the car ride back home. Loud country music between them, louder wind coming in through both sides of the rolled down windows.    “See this man?” He never expected the photo to be presented, he doesn’t know how she does it. Steer and somehow remove an item from her br- Greg doesn’t think about it, disgusted.     “That’s your Paw.”    “Grandpa?” He corrects, eyes squinted as the sun shows no mercy through the wind shield.    “S’what I said, right?”    He looks onto him - a man beside his wife. A man who looks like a giant in comparison to his wife and cabin. Noticing the cabin is what causes him to wonder just how tall the dark-haired man is. She speaks again before he has the chance to even dare try some mental math,   “He looks like you.”    Now rather than focusing on height, Greg strains trying to look at that unclear face. He supposes he can make out the jawline, the thin lips. The nose...Greg supposes he does look like him. “He’s tall.” Is all he can say, deciding to keep this photo safe in hands.     Surely, the scoff is her way of smiling endearingly; “you’re tall.”   From then on, there would be times in which Greg walked beside little Jon on the pavement. The setting sun casting their silhouettes on the pavements, his limbs look longer than they should have and he can hear his mother’s gently say, he looks like him.   The sight of Bern Duerson stays with him in even the most insignificant ways. It causes him to gaze over his face in the mirror once puberty sets in. He doesn’t have signs of dark hair on his chin, does he? He can’t have a beard. If he doesn’t catch it now it will be a long one. A hillbilly-ish beard.   He’s going to look like him, Greg knows with neither fear or acceptance. But it turns out.   He doesn’t look like Bern. He doesn’t look like Seth. Or Eugene or even his mother. He doesn’t look like a single Duerson because he is adopted.    And on days like this, when he sits the closest to the window as Mr. Watson says they’re going over homework; Greg does not fret if the answers he dared to put little effort into last night are right. With two fingers pressing his temple, he wonders, just who he looks like the most in his family. His real family.   The memory of seeing that hillbilly man beside his little wife and little cabin for the first time fades away.

[feastingwhispers]

Random…surreal, events could occur any time here. The desert is always the place for oddity. You see, Area 51 is among the sand and cacti not the skyscrapers and subways after all. Aliens were never one of Greg’s interests but, they were not banned or sealed away from his youthful imagination. Once he thought, what if aliens had high-tech wrist watches they could take-on human form with? All they had to do was roll their long lime finger through the silhouetted options before them. Coyote, Pig, Lamp, Human… with human picked, in just a flash the extraterrestrials would look indistinguishable from he, mother, and Jon.  Or maybe, when their airship crashed – toxic fumes were released. Space plus their home-world had a different sort of ‘oxygen,’ you could say. Therefore, this rural town’s atmosphere was effected for worse by these fumes. Foreign fumes seeped up people’s nose (well, except for him and his family) and that’s why they did ridiculous things. However, all these unfortunate people had to do was leave town. They would then be smarter and a lot more conscious of what they were doing.  One day, Greg’s eyes won’t be so pure. He will understand that the behavior between Floyd and Della is human as human can be without alien interference.      She swore. He swore but, in this slower sadder way. She threw his shirts, shoes - one falling to the ground, the other smacking against his wide forehead. Della spoke in a certain kind of language. English. But somehow a foreign form of English that went beyond a little boy’s comprehension.

   On the verge of being hidden from sight or accepting being open for all to know Yes, she’sstanding outside, observing this nonsense: from her own doorway, Rhoda’s face is strong with dead eyes and these bitterly curved lips. His mother has an arm curved underneath the risen one which maintains her cigarette. ( In what Greg felt was such sophistication ) She could roll her eyes but instead huffs with attitude. Her eyes go down to Greg who stands right in the doorway beside her. His eyes go up to her.  This gaze suddenly, almost magically, causes an expression on him similar to her own. Greg knows (or THINKS he knows) what mother’s saying. And so, he wrinkles his nose. Looks onward and hard as she does to the scene. The fantastical idea of this ruckus being indirectly caused by aliens whisks away from his brain: Floyd and Della were just being stup –                      Ignorant.

 Communication between the mother and son always went on this way. The glances, the shifting and re-positioning of lips. Even posture said something too. Greg felt their non-verbal communication could vary a good hundred ways, ninety at minimum. Of course, Rhoda talked too: she talked and in doing so gave him requests, asked him questions among other things like insignificant small talk. But to know mother couldn’t believe this? That she thought this was all stupid? She just had to look his way or hum his way.  There was never a sign Rhoda would one day use words to describe her disdain. No foreshadowing one day she was going to talk about serious things. It’s just one Friday when it all begins. In her car, she slows down at the corner where the eleven year old is on the path of journeying home. Tells him to get in, they’re going to the market.  “Make me a list.” Her order is concluded with a cigarette flicked from the window. No mind is given to Greg’s ‘hidden’ attitude as he opens his backpack. It felt wrong meddling with your school items in a car. Not only that but he hated writing while in a car. Never does Rhoda say what to put on paper, for its Greg who ALWAYS makes her the perfect lists with everything. He knows exactly what to do, exactly how she wants it to begin. Now while Rhoda knows she made no mistake in abruptly picking her son off the street; the next following seconds feel like a lifetime. The low and soft country music playing between them isn’t enough for her satisfaction. “It’s Tiffany’s death day.” If there was a better way to say this – a better word to use than ‘death day’ – Rhoda doesn’t dwell on it. Greg’s silent, already erasing his jagged E. The lack of response has Rhoda wonder if he remembers the doe-eyed brunette. Also wonders if she just wasted her breath. Finally the boy says, “That’s too bad,” all in one-focused breath. “It’s sad Jon didn’t get to know her.” “I know.” As Rhoda swallows, it feels as though a lump is there. Almost ready to choke her. The next claim is harder, “I miss all my friends.” “Visit them.” A scoff comes as she blinks her eyes. The days of would-be crying are assumingly long gone as she can say in response, “Who has that money?”  The car may stop as she pulls into the parking lot, but these sorts of conversations do not. These murmurs of the deceased – the complaints of eye-roll worthy occurrences at the Diner resurface. And ever so randomly at that. Oh. The glances she gives him live on in those off-the-wall chaotic situations where its best to stay quiet but, these talks overshadow it.  Greg never felt bothered by this, needless to say. Never realizing it showed a sort of…loneliness, his mother had within her. A loneliness that drove her to speak to her son so directly, as though he were an old friend. Only reasonable friend.

[feastingwhispers]

He’s nine years old and, read plenty stories where parents are useless and one-dimensional because they’re not important to the narrative. He’s seen ( fuzzy-screened ) cartoons and shows and movies were parents are depicted with key traits pretty much aligning with their book counterparts. The father might be wholesome and supportive, with desires to toss a baseball in the backyard with his son after dinner.  Other times, portrayals show he’s very busy. He’s not home because he earns the salary, the salary that provides for everything, and is worn when he gets back at night. He’s distant and surly but, of course, he cares.The mother is his opposite. She has light, perfect hair and aesthetically fits against him. She’s a house dweller or a grocery store dweller. Warm and tender…full of smiles and love.

He’s nine years old and, the media he has consumed shows that parents always written something like that. But fiction doesn’t equate to reality. Even though fiction is really nice.  Greg has never had a father. He knows he exists, lives and breathes somewhere within America. For he’s certain his mother would have told him if he died. But she never said that, merely claimed he wasn’t of importance. What’s he matter? He’s not here to see you. Bluntas her words were: they made sense. Uncomfortable as her words are: Greg accepts that his mother doesn’t have fair hair nor does she wear wholesome smiles for everyone, everything, and everybody. It’s not apart of her personality.

And yet despite the fact she frowns more than she smiles; his mother has had male friends. Lovers. Partners. But, even when things looked nice between them; real nice as they stumbled into the trailer drunk and teasing the other in gentle, endearing fashions, they would never stay. ‘I’m not having a man fuck up my money.’ She once said, back turned as she searched her coat pockets for cigarettes. He’s ten years old and, with a keen mind feels that he has a mother who inhabits traits of the fatherly role. She rolls her eyes, scoffs, sniffs and flares her nostrils; seemingly distant. And oh, how she works hard at the Diner. Just like a man in his Office. Yet - she’s also full of love, as a mother is meant to be. Because she buys them clothes. Feeds them. Soothes them. And because of this, the fact she takes on dual roles on her life, Greg knew this is why he never needed a father.  A father did not have him feel empty or as though he was missing something in his life. Besides, as she always said; he would mess up their money.

[hiatus-editing-blog]

   The day started out lovely. Everything seemed to be going right and not even the heat bothered many people, but then everything went straight down the drain, for Jamie at least. It was a simple request, for him to come out and meet one of Matthias’s friends and the way Matthias seemed so excited to meet this other named Quinn, he couldn’t say no. Plus, free pizza was involved.

   From the moment he met Quinn, a bad taste lingered in Jamie’s mouth. His stomach turned and the fellow didn’t seem quite right. Jamie also had an inkling that he had met this male before.. but he couldn’t have. The warning signs should have been enough to make Jamie fake sick and hightail it back to his shared apartment with Willow but he wanted to make Matthias happy so he stuck around. The uncomfortable feeling in Jamie only grew as he felt Quinn’s piercing gaze on him at certain times as they all walked around the park. It felt like he was being studied.

   At one point, Matthias thought it was a good idea to leave Jamie and Quinn alone together while he went off to find something to eat for all three of them. Once Matthias was gone, the stares only increased and it was starting to really get on the Ghillie Dhu’s nerves. Before he could speak up and tell the smaller teen to ‘stop staring, its rude’ Quinn’s lips curved into a smirk and he broke the silence first.

   “It’s been quite some time, Jamie. The last time I met you, your hair was so much longer.” Jamie couldn’t think as his breath hitched in his throat. What was he going on about?

   “Ah, I remember hearing that at the lost of a loved one, Ghillie Dhu’s cut their hair. Am I correct?” Quickly, Jamie grabbed a hold of Quinn’s arm and dragged him into the woods nearby. Pushing him up against a tree, Jamie grabbed a hold of Quinn’s front collar and look him straight in the eyes.

   “Woah, no need to be so hostile! You were so much kinder before? Has your heart hardened after losing a certain someone?” The grip of Quinn’s front collar tightened but he paid no mind as the smirk on his lips grew. “Losing a certain person named Greg.”

   Throwing Quinn to the ground, Jamie straddled the younger teen and punched him once, twice, three times. Blood started to drip from Quinn’s nose but that smirk would not leave his face.

   “Never say his name ever again.” Gripping a hold of Quinn’s blonde hair, Jamie locked eyes with him once more. “How the hell do you know about him anyways?” The male being held down gave the man above him a fake hurt expression.

   “How can you not remember me? After playing such a big roll in your life! I’m offended.” Not even finishing his sentence, Quinn’s body started to change causing Jamie to let up slightly and stared at the male, bewildered at what he was watching. The body thickened and the once blonde hair turned ginger. More freckles lined Quinn’s nose and cheeks as his eyes changed from green to brown in the blink of an eye. His whole body changed from what he just appeared to be but Jamie was much more familiar in this form.

   “Do you remember me now?”

   A loud scream erupted from Jamie’s throat as his eyes immediately turned red and black. Rage surged through his veins and started to control his every movement. Wailing down on ‘Quinn’, his punches didn’t let up but the one being punched seemed to be effected so little by this.

   “You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!” Jamie roared, his knuckles starting to grow numb. He definitely remember this sickening face. The man under him was the one that killed his only love. 

Greg.

[hiatus-editing-blog]

Meeting In The Fields

(( Before anything else I’d like to say a few words! Jamie has been watching humans interact for a long time and although he can’t speak english, he can understand it if he hears it! Anyways, here’s a whole lot of fluff of two important friends meeting one another. ))

(( I can’t believe I wrote something this fluffy before oh my gosh ))

Looking out of the branches, Jamie stared out at the small portion of farmland in awe. Fixing his position on the tree branch from where he sat, the boy took a quick glance over his shoulder to see if any of his people had followed him. Luckily he spotted no one nearby. Sighing in content, Jamie brought his hand up and brushed back the long strands of hair that fell in front of his pale face. Getting a better look at the farm land he noticed many strange creatures he heard one of the human’s call “cattle” or “animals”. He found the many creatures strange but intriguing with every look he got of them. Taking another look over his shoulder to make sure everything was clear for him, Jamie scampered down the tall tree and started to make his way over to one of the animals that were closest to the edge of the forest. This animal was white with black spots splattered around on it’s body and seemed very at ease while it munched away on the grass. Wobbling his way over to the animal, Jamie hesitantly reached a hand out and placed it on the side of the animal. The animal then let out a cry that sounded very odd and foreign to the young boy’s ears and it startled him so that he pulled his hand back in surprise. Watching the large beast turn it’s body around to the two now held eye contact, Jamie had the instinct to run but instead he put out his hand again. Slowly the animal stepped forward and placed it’s nose against the palm of Jamie’s hand. Smiling and letting out a giddy giggle, the boy started to walk away while whispering a good bye in his native tongue.

Walking across the large open field, Jamie couldn’t stop smiling at feeling the wet, fresh grass under his bare feet. They tickled him and it felt like the earth was giving his feet little kisses. Putting his arms out, the pale hands felt the crop he’d come to know as wheat that passed him by. Hearing a new noise that sounded like clucking, Jamie looked up and noticed he was closer to a wooden structure (or “home”/”house”) then he had meant to be. Startled by the new realization, Jamie stopped in his tracks and stared. Hearing the clucking some closer, Jamie snapped his neck in the direction of the noise and let out a loud screech of terror as an unknown animal launched itself at Jamie. Feathers started to fly as the boy fell backwards with the creature standing on his chest and pecking at his nose. Wailing his arms around to get the monstrous beast off of him he overheard a giggle. Stopping all body movements once again, Jamie held his breath and wished with all his soul that whoever or whatever made that giggle it wasn’t a human. He already wasn’t aloud to come this far out of the forest and he was never supposed to have a human see him. Suddenly, two hands wrapped around the animal and it was lifted off the terrified boy who stared up into the cloudless sky hoping that if he didn’t move, he couldn’t be seen. In a matter of moment’s after the animal was lifted, a face popped out above Jamie’s face. The face staring down at him was one of a child that looked around his age and a smile was plastered to his lips. Once Jamie saw the face leaning over him, he gave out another screech and bolted upright. Struggling to get back onto his two feet the ghillie dhu tried to get away but fell back onto his face. The giggling started up again which made the boy turn and stare at the human who didn’t seem as threatening as he had heard from his fellow people. Staring in confusion with his eyebrows knitted together, the human boy brought out a hand.

“Hello, my name is Greg! What’s your name?” The boy’s eyes seemed to glisten with joy as he introduced himself. Jamie only stared at the hand before bringing his eyes back up to the boys. Letting his hand fall back at his side, Greg smiled.

“You’re a shy one aren’t cha’?” Greg asked as he sat down in front of Jamie. It surprised the ghillie dhu at how calm this human was acting. Did he not know what he was? How could he not with his appearance? Sure the ghillie dhu seemed human at first but once you got a look at their eyes, hair, height, etc you could tell they aren’t as human as they may have seemed.

“I know you aren’t human. My papa talks about your kind a lot! Even though it isn’t in a very nice way. He’s not a very nice man.” Greg glanced off to the side and his bright blue eyes seemed downcast and for some reason, Jamie’s heart ached at that. He didn’t want this boy to look so sad. Reaching a hand out, Jamie put his hand on Greg’s chest which seemed to startle the other for a brief moment but Greg smiled and wrapped his hand around Jamie’s.

“Do you know how to speak english? I want to know your name.” Jamie opened his mouth to speak but he soon closed it, his face starting to turn scarlet. He has never spoke his native tongue to a human before and it was quite embarrassing. Another giggle erupted from Greg. That damn giggle was heavenly.

“Take your time, there’s no rush.” Greg gave a reassuring smile while squeezing Jamie’s hand tightly. Jamie nodded and opened his mouth again. Not even a month ago while watching the humans from a distance, he had heard a name that seemed to stick with him. That name was Jamie and he decided from that day, that’d be his true name, not the one given to him by his fellow creatures.

“Ym aemn is ieamj.” Jamie murmured, his face turning a bright red as he took his eyes away from the boy. Feeling the gaze of the other not leaving his face he looked back up and noticed the large smile.

“Did you say your name was Ieamj? That’s an odd but interesting name.” Greg was a bit taken aback at first when Jamie started to feverishly shake his head. Trying more this time to pronounce the human language correctly, Jamie tried over and over again straining himself.

“Eajim...Emjai...Ameij...Mejai...Jemai..” He took in a deep breath.

“Jamie.” He breathed and smiled. He pronounced the name correctly. Feeling arms wrap around him, Jamie tensed but then awkwardly brought his arms around the other young child. He has observed other humans do this action before so he wasn’t clueless on how to handle the situation, but it was just a new and weird feeling. He could still feel the heat on his cheeks.

“I really like that name, it fits you Jamie.” Greg pulled back and patted Jamie on the cheek. Hearing a door slamming open, a gruff voice called out for Greg and the boy in question frowned at hearing his name being called.

“I’m sorry Jamie but I need to leave for now. Promise me you’ll meet me here again tomorrow? I want to get to know you better. I can also teach you english if you’d like.” Jamie started to not and smile at his new found friend.

“I siropme.”

“I’m going to assume you said that you promised. I’ll see you around.” Placing a quick kiss on the freckled cheek of Jamie, Greg ran off back towards home leaving the ghillie dhu dumbfounded but happy. Turning around, he also started to head back home making plans on meeting in this same field again tomorrow.