Hovel Of Hope

*I wrote this one in 36 minutes, no editing.

Landon put the pencil and sketchbook down on the wicker table directly to his left, leaned back and rubbed his eyes. He's been at this for years now and the only visible improvement is his lack of frustrations over his lack of improvement.

He leaned back in his worn-out wooden rocking chair, the only piece of furniture, the only memento in fact, he had of his grandparents, who both passed when he was still a baby, and allowed himself a couple of slow, deep breaths before regaining his composure.

After all, he bought this small, two bedroom cabin overlooking the hills of the Adirondacks out in Essex County strictly for the picturesque beauty in abundance. The previous owner put the three-acre land on the market expecting whoever dotted their name to the sale to demolish the property and put up something a little more modern or at least in tune with the owner, but Landon insisted upon keeping the small, rustic cottage in tact..

“It's charming,” Landon remembered saying. “Its character bodes well with its surroundings.

Having been a slave to the cannibalistic demeanor of the big city of New York for over half a decade, Landon felt it was the right time to abandon the warmth and decadence of a well-paying job and return to his more primitive roots. His parents, both products of the counter-culture movement of the 60s, always prided themselves for their reliance on the bare necessities or what they described as “basking in the warmth of nature's bosom”, and they were both adamant in passing down this manner of basic self-reliance to their only child – Landon, hence the name.

“Mother Nature doesn't demand capitalistic tactics to enjoy her fruits,” They would tell him to the point where he was so humiliated by their free-spirited ways that he left home right after High School (which they tried to dissuade him from attending) and did not speak to them for several years.

He left his hometown of Burlington, Vermont to join the quasi-robotic stream of briefcase walkers parading down Wall Street with a purpose. He worked hard, talking orders as efficiently as he barked them, earning himself a modest yet sizable income, but the longer he indulged in all those things his parents tried so desperately to warn him about, the more he hated himself and hated his parents for speaking so truthfully and being so right.

It wasn't long after his yearning for a more pastoral environment took hold to the point where he became completely disinterested in the lifestyle he worked so diligently to attain. He began repairing the bridge he collapsed with his parents and also started removing himself both physically and emotionally from the drudge of the big city. Spending his free time browsing the classifieds, he started yearning for a sign, any sign, that he wasn't crazy for wanting to leave all this behind. That's when he saw the small ad for a quaint cabin in complete and therapeutic isolation from the real world. Without even thinking twice, he called the number accompanying the ad and introduced himself and his intentions. Within a week he had quit his job and arranged for the majority of his luxuries to be boxed up and dropped off to various charities around the city (“At least they'll starve in front of a 57-inch color TV,” he joked to the mover, who smirked and shock his head in an exaggeratedly sympathetic manner). What was left was whatever he was able to cram into his Jeep Cherokee, and with a flick of a switch to off, he shut the door to his oversized loft in Manhattan, dropped the key off to Santo, the Concierge roaming around in the lobby, and sped off to start his new life.

Nowadays Landon spends most of his time embracing that which he came so dangerously close to losing. He has tried and failed to hone his artistic side and duplicate the scenic tranquility via pencil and paper, but no matter how many times he tries, he just can't seem to adequately pay tribute to the serenity it provides.

Yet, above all, no matter how aesthetically overwhelmed or content he may be, there's one though that continually permeates throughout his inner-being.

“Goddam I miss Cocaine and prostitutes...”

Music and other drugs...

The tribal echo of the drums bounced rhythmically around the 70-year-old concert hall. The other four senses heightened by the inability to hear thanks to the pounding vibrations undulating throughout, mixed in with the rattling of the empty glasses, beer bottles and stained glass windows hidden behind wooden panels creating a symphonic cacophony of noises. A throng of late-night zombies swayed in time with the music in a subservient manner, increasing the intensity of their movement to coincide with the gradually increasing pace of the tempo.

The locale wasn't exactly typical for Craig, who chose to forgo good judgment and normally reserved evenings for a change of pace. After all, he was now a stranger in a strange land, having just moved to the untamed and tempestuous lifestyle accustomed by the inhabitants of Los Angeles. There was only so much he could take living in small town Brampton. Late night focal points centered on starry starry nights and the quiet rustling of tree branches rustling in the piercing dark. It was time, he accepted, to explore greener pastures in less greener pastures.

Elle's slender body pulsated in a controlled yet spastic manner, emitting sexuality with every sashay of her hips, every glide of feet, every soft touch of her hands embracing her own body, her curious fingers caressing up and down her arms, running along the hardening goosebumps in a comforting yet highly erotic manner. Elle was and is a normally reserved girl who masks this forbidden side with a stale, monotonous emotionally void shell in the everyday world. Those who don't know her beyond the mundane of the Monday-to-Friday workweek appreciate Elle for being an adorably shy creature who uses the warmth of her comforting smile to mask what many mistake as social awkwardness. Those, however, who know Elle more intimately know her as more of a wild child, void of inhibition and restraint. The music, the environment, the combined satisfaction of having her senses invoked, heightened and teased, were all she looked forward to through the week and all that made the insufferable banality bearable.

This was hers.

No one could take this away from her.

The passionate glow emanating from her subconsciously lascivious behavior found its way to Craig, who himself had also allowed the ambiance to dominate his inner being. The heat from the dance floor overtook the artificial air being pumped throughout to keep things cool. Craig glanced around until his eyes gazed upon a beautiful creature in a sleek black dress, eyes closed, sauntering aimlessly in musical worship. A small bead of sweat dripped invitingly down the nape of her neck and further down her exposed back to regions beyond. He slowly moved his way closer to her, occasionally getting lost in his own surroundings both visually and aurally, until she was within arm's reach. She herself lost in her own thoughts not aware of a new body in the vicinity until she felt the heat emanating from the sexuality he oozed.

Her eyes crept open, glazed from the dreams and images pervading her thoughts. She smiled a smile similar but different than the one she flashes at work. This smile was intimidating and exuded confidence. She caught his eyes looking at her and he did not turn away when she gazed directly at him; the intentions were clear and everything that needed to be said was communicated through that unspoken connection. She closed her eyes again and continued letting the music override her senses. Craig strolled in closer so as to feel her without touching her. When he put his hands on her hips, she did not flinch. Instead she turned around and moved in closer, invoking the first real physical contact between the two. She tenderly slide her hand up his thigh to his hand, dropped what felt like a small pill into his soft yet masculine fingers and whispered softly into his ear the only words spoken between them.

“Swallow this.”

Even through the deafening music, her sultry voice sent a chill down his entire body and sent a spark up to his brain to do whatever she tells him to. She flashed that carefully calculated yet still seductive smile. her hand lingered in his for a second before she wrapped her fingers around his like a fist and casually guided his hand closer to his mouth, She kissed the back of his hand then removed hers and returned to her trance-like state, closing her eyes and running her fingers through her hair, all while swaying along to the music.

“I'm a long ways from home,” Craig thought to himself as he slid the small dose into his mouth and prepared himself for a ride to the unknown...