Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

 24th of May *Knock* *Knock* *Knock* Christian and Stephen stirred awake in their beds. A quick look at the alarm clock showed 2 AM; who in the actual fuck would be knocking on the front door at this time of night? The two brothers stared at eachother in the dark room, hoping that the visitor would just go away. However, it was the click of the lock and the heavy swing of the front door that worried the two. The sound of his mother and father gasping was the final noise before the house fell silent once more. “Christian…” The 18 year old twin voice shook in anxiety, hoping his older brother would relieve whatever terror he had. It had always been that way with the two: Stephen would wake from some night terrors and Christian would always be there to snap him out of the stupor. This night, though, Christian sat silently under his covers- he had no idea what was happening. Before he could even begin to speculate, there was a gentle knock on their door. “Boys?” The sweet voice of thei...

  “What’s up, kids? Your God, Master James here. Just got back from playing ball with a few of the boys, worked up quite a sweat. What do you think, slaves? Have you all been good to your God lately?” James flexed his guns, sweat still dripping from his bushy pits. He smirked at the camera, kissing his bicep to the raucous barrage of hearts and eggplants fluttering up his screen. He’d started with only a few followers on Twitter, mostly guys who thirst followed a few of his traps. That humble little gaggle of gays grew exponentially in just a few months, and it wasn’t long until he’d had boys begging for his sweaty jockstrap after his basketball matches, or a pair of weeks-worn gym socks. Not only were they begging, they were willing to pay out. Into his mind popped a brilliant little idea to make some side cash. He was just finishing college, was gonna start some menial sales job that probably wouldn’t end up paying much… why not capitalize on the idea. Custom videos, to private c...

 By 5:30, Ezra was finally off work at the local diner. He’d clocked out, barely finishing his side work as he was bolting toward the old clinker in the parking lot. The announcement was going to be dropped by 6, so he had about thirty minutes to get to Vinnie’s house off Lakeshore Drive; that was across town, but if he was lucky enough to make the bridge before the fishing boats came back in, he could make it! He threw the old Saturn into reverse, flooring it enroute back into town. A little ding on his phone signaled Titus had finally texted him back. “yo you still comin for the oz?” Titus wasn’t often a man of many words, especially in text. Ezra sent a thumbs up, speeding down the winding road as the mist began to sweep into the harbor. The pines were waving in the wind, wooden fence gates swung from right to left… The wind was beginning to pick up. Passing over the bridge, he cheered, throwing his fist into the air as he saw the drawbridge rise up behind him to let the parade ...

 The truck pulled up to the coordinates, just a slight hint of the sun peeking through the top of the forest canopy lighting the surroundings. Fernando had travelled 837 miles, even hitchhiking the last leg of the trip when the GPS lost service around Island Pond. Hopping down out of the truck, the stout truck driver handed Fernando’s backpack to him, a concerned look on his face. “Son, are you sure this is where you want to be dropped off? There isn’t any cell service for miles, and the closest town is almost 10 miles from here. No one is gonna know you’re out here…” Fernando smiled, tossing the bag over his bony shoulder. “Yes, sir. Thank you, this is exactly where I need to be. I appreciate the ride!” The old man nodded, shaking his head as the door shut. Fernando watched, a smile across his face as the truck pulled away, leaving him alone in the forest with only the sound of wind and rustling leaves remaining. He put his hand into his pocket, pulling out the stained, frayed pie...

 I looked around the locker room, hoping no one was watching. Luckily, it was empty. No coach, no players. I was free to enjoy my typical Friday night ritual. I’d tried this with Warren’s cleats after a long game, or Chase’s sneakers after basketball practice, but I always wanted to try with Coach Halvorson’s Nike trainers. Turning to my right, I saw them on the bench next to the bench where I was sitting. I smiled as the smell hit me, the smell that only comes from a pair of worn out, sweaty shoes. They were perfect. I reached down, picking up the sneaker. It had been soaked with sticky sweat for the past few days, the sweat dripping slowly onto the floor. He wore them all the time, on the field, in the halls, in the gym… Looking down at the floor, there was a thick dark streak, running from the shoe on the left to the shoe on the right. The streaks seemingly got wider and wider as I watched. It squirmed and pulsated, but I couldn’t look away. Looking down at the shoe, the inside ...

 Elliott nervously scribbled on his flashcards, hoping to God that it was enough to pass the exam. Dr. Whitacre was a notoriously tough grader, and she would absolutely kick him from the Senior Expedition if he were to get anything less than a 97. Mycology was Elliott’s passion, so missing the trip to the rainforests of Borneo was NOT an option. Luckily, he was fortunate his roommate Guillermo was returning from his class trip to the Amazon, so he could hopefully give some insight into what to expect, if not help him study for the exam. The doorknob jiggled, and he could hear the insertion of the key into the lock. The door swung open and closed, Elliott completely enveloped in his flashcards. “Hey man, I’ll be with you in a second. I’ve got like two more here, but I have to hear about the trip!” He was met only with silence, and the loud thunk of a duffel bag hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps began to walk toward the wardrobe to the left of him. Guillermo must have gotten some he...

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