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Angel by Gabriel Duncan

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Guest rusticmonk86

I started writing Angel in the spring of 1999. I was not yet thirteen years old. I had just come out to my classmates and to my parents. The deep isolation I felt fueled my writing. The depression and self-destructive hunger I had pushed me farther than I had ever gone before. I sunk deep into a world of fantasy and perfection. Thus, "With Scott" was born.

My imaginary friends . . . . I never had them. That is until I felt truly alone. I wrote about a perfect suburban world (the only one I knew then) where love was around every corner. Where the person who knew the same isolation that I did, share the same thoughts, hopes and dreams . . . was just an arms length away.

But, like I said, I came out. And I found a gay support group in my city. I was introduced to my peers. And I found my first boyfriend. It was culture shock for me, to be around gentle boys. (I use that in the most non-derogatory sense you could ever imagine.) But, one of them became my boyfriend. . . . . Off and on for two years. I didn't know anything better. And I exposed myself to many risks I shouldn't have. I knew it was dangerous. But I just didn't know how much. And I didn't want to believe that "primero would bring transmittance".

Then I fled the public school system and took haven in a private alternative school, twenty minutes away from home (by car). I was barely 14, then, and had just said goodbye to my first. It was terrible, and I hated him for a long time. But I was still as fresh-faced and driven towards destruction than ever. And I still didn't want to believe in the truth, that some boys are bad, some boys lie, and some boys will do anything to sleep with you. Then there are other boys, who harbor something deep and dark inside. But I didn't want to believe. So I pushed it deep down, until it became a deep sort of cynicism I felt in my bones.

I met Him online, through some website. I can't be too exact, because it is true that he never went down for rape; only for consensual oral sex with a minor. But I still have my memory--which is still like a dream. And I did forget for several months. I had a new boyfriend, then. He was really someone to just fill the bed. I was in love with the idea of being in love with him. Or maybe I did love him. But it was something soft and blooming. It was the drugs that broke us up. The marijuana. He and I used to smoke and fool around. We didn?t do it all the time. But it was just enough . . . . Anyway, I?m sure you know how that story turned out.

?Tell him to stop sleeping around.?

So that?s what I did. I started sleeping around. Fuck Him, fuck her and fuck you, too.

I was still appearing on workshop panels with the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN). But that petered out as I sunk into the world of school, drama production and parties. Those were the best times of my life. High school washed over me like a wave of euphoria.

Then I found vanity, money and the chance I never had. All of these cute young little faggots who wanted to fuck and fall in love, just like me. I hated them. I hated them so much. Not just because they lied to me. But because I believed them. I was lulled into a peaceful slumber every time. And then I became angry that Scott didn?t exist. So I wrote ?Just Don?t Think I?m Not?. Towards the end, I revolted against the readers who had so much invested in the characters and story of J.D. Tin. I was posting it chapter by chapter to Nifty. And I hated them, once again, because they reminded me of myself. Because I didn?t want to believe I was weak, or was that alone and unhappy.

So I took control. I fucked older guys. I fucked younger guys. I took cherries. I rode on top of men like it was my business. If I had been more self-destructive, I would have sold myself. But I believe I give a piece of myself away whenever I am intimate with someone. So I tried to make sure nothing was left. It didn?t work. So I became a bigger pothead. I took more risks. I fucked and fucked and fucked. Then I set a building on fire. But that was after getting my license. After the wreckless driving, which I was never caught for. After I decided that school was a waste of time now that I had reached the highest level of mathematics. After I took the pathetic California State High School Proficiency Exam and passed with little effort. No wonder this state is so low in the food chain. Of course, I wasn?t caught for arson either. I turned myself in. But that?s a completely different story . . . even though it?s not.

So who is Adam? Someone I?ve felt like many times before. And people I?ve known throughout my life. I?ve been subject to and witnessed domestic abuse. Adam is the person, caught in the cycle, who can?t find the way out. Oh, how I wish I could help him.

Who is Eve? Someone weak and powerless. Like me. Someone who can?t say, ?No?. Like me. Someone who just turns a blind eye. A dependent. She is the perfect victim. And, trust me, they exist. But they only exist because they are made.

Who is Scott? Scott is the perfect boyfriend. Mr. Right. He doesn?t exist. He is only an idealized dream, which will never be realized 100%. Scott is the imaginary boyfriend I had. Scott was the past I was in, in 1999, when I first started writing these trite little stories.

Poochie is the pillow, the hope, the ray of light; something soft and cuddly and warm. Poochie is the something you hold on to when everything else feels like it?s falling away.

Who is Macy? She?s someone understanding, an older sibling, perhaps. She?s someone who?s willing to sit you down and show you the ropes. But she?s also someone who doesn?t quite know how to reach you. Maybe that?s just from Adam?s perspective. She?s not intuitive enough, she doesn?t push hard enough.

Who is Sam? Sam is ?Captain Save-a-Ho?. He?s always fresh-faced. Na?ve. He wants to help people like Adam. But he finds out, painfully, that?s just not his job description as a boyfriend. And it shouldn?t be his burden, either. But it?s hard to wake up next to someone who?s crying like that, who is obviously reaching out for help, but won?t (or can?t) take it.

Who is Cole? Cole is the closest person to me. The farthest down the line in my life. He?s been Adam, Sam and Jason. He?s been na?ve, raped, helpless, hopeless, self-effacing, loathing and self-destructive. He, in my mind, is the true narrator of the story.

Who is Helen? Helen is the cool the mom. The woman who everyone knows. Someone with a good relationship with her offspring, and a sound outlook on life. She is empathetic and generous.

Who is Victor? Wise and frank. Level-headed, although eccentric, and well-educated. He is the voice of reason, and the cool adult.

Who is Jason? Jason is my first. Jason was me. Jason is self-destructive, egotistical and ingenuous. Jason is a player and heartbreaker. Jason is trouble. And he?s everyone?s first lesson in unrequited love.

Who is Jerry? Jerry is the closet case. Jerry is experimenting, the wild card. He is ambivalent. But, most of all, he is a good friend. He?s someone you can trust with your darkest secrets. Unfortunately, he?s also someone you can forget about when a new love interest arises.

Austin and Seonaid, Cole?s friends on the train: their all the friends we have, who aren?t as close as your best friend, but whom surround and support you none-the-less. The folks you can depend on to cheer you up.

Who is Onawa? Onawa is the boy who very well may come along when you least expect it. He is new and wonderful, caring, someone whom you?ve never felt so comfortable with. Onawa is someone who you can just talk to, without any pretenses, without stressing about what to say next, without expectations. He?s someone you better grab on to when you find him. But, most importantly, he?s out there. And he?ll appear when you?re ready for him, and not a moment sooner. He may be just another lesson, or he may be ?the one?. That?s just something you?ll have to find out on your own.

All together, they are the people I?ve come across in my life. And Angel is just a series of events that ties them together. Angel is the poem that started it all. Angel has become a requiem for me in 1999, for the loneliness and isolation. It?s also a message to all you serial monogamists, co-dependents and dependents and you sleepy sheep. Wake the fuck up and get out of your head, or you?ll wind up like those poor motherfuckers, too.

I didn?t write this story to crush you. Or to make you want to rescue some run-away gay teen off the streets. I didn?t write this to make you feel sorry or guilty. I certainly didn?t write this glorify things like cutting, rape, murder or domestic abuse. And I certainly didn?t write this to be another fucking emo bible. I didn?t even write this for you. So, in the immortal words of our kind narrator, ?STOP FUCKING READING THIS!?

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Umm . . . say I had another chapter. You know, sorta pulled it out my bum. Is anyone interested?

Yes!

...that's actually one of my favorite sources of inspiration. :pottytrain2:

Kisses...

TR, big Angel fan

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Umm . . . say I had another chapter. You know, sorta pulled it out my bum. Is anyone interested?

Yes!!!!

[my sole qualifier being that you wash it first] :cat:

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