The Measure of a Man
Sep. 6th, 2003 07:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionThe Measure of a Man comes in at 460 words. Completely inspired by a dream I had last night. Don’t remember the dream itself, but the soundtrack of it was White Bird by Its a Beautiful Day.
He paced the small room, back and forth, over and over, the sound of his boots oddly muffled. He didn’t have much space in which to walk - barely three full steps along the width, approximately five and a half along the length. He wondered what the actual useable floor space was. He could make a fairly accurate estimate based on the average length of his stride, but now he was curious.
He’d had reason to measure his feet once - Ray had made some comment about the correlation between foot size and the size of a man’s penis. They’d never actually gotten around to measuring their penises (who knew Ray’s feet were so sensitive?) but he did know the exact length of his foot. He sat on the cot and removed his boots. After careful consideration, he left his socks on. The thickness of his socks was negligible, not worth the effort of unlacing his jodhpurs to remove them.
He set his boots carefully on the folded blanket so they would not impede his progress. Placing his back against the wall he slowly walked heel to toe, arms outstretched to maintain his balance. The results were beyond depressing. Seventy-eight square feet. All he was entitled to was seventy-eight square feet, including the furniture. In the Northwest Territories - at home - he had miles, twenty three square miles per person. Right here, right now, he had seventy-eight square feet.
He glanced out the small window, tracked the sun’s shadow through the winter haze. He wanted to go home.
The sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor outside brought him to his feet. It briefly occurred to him that he wasn’t in proper uniform, but the sight of Ray opening the door banished all other thought.
“What were you thinking, Ben?” Ray asked casually, even though Fraser suspected that any attempt on his part to dissemble or evade the question would turn that casual stance to anger. He sighed, swallowed, and answered with his usual honesty.
“He insulted you, Ray. He called you a fag. I’m afraid that I stopped thinking after that.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been called worse. You can’t punch out Dewey just because he’s an asshole.”
“Ray...”
“I know it’s hard, but you can’t fight my battles for me, Frase. Especially because we both know I am a fag.”
“He made it sound like a terrible thing.”
“He thinks it is, and you breaking his nose ain’t gonna change that.”
“I’m sorry, Ray.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. You’re lucky he’s decided not to press charges. Only took Welsh and Huey a couple hours to convince him.”
His lover leaned against the cell door, crossing those long legs at the ankles. “Now, get your boots on, and lets go home.”
Fun Facts about the Northwest Territories:
http://freespace.virgin.net/john.cletheroe/usa_can/nt/intro.htm
He paced the small room, back and forth, over and over, the sound of his boots oddly muffled. He didn’t have much space in which to walk - barely three full steps along the width, approximately five and a half along the length. He wondered what the actual useable floor space was. He could make a fairly accurate estimate based on the average length of his stride, but now he was curious.
He’d had reason to measure his feet once - Ray had made some comment about the correlation between foot size and the size of a man’s penis. They’d never actually gotten around to measuring their penises (who knew Ray’s feet were so sensitive?) but he did know the exact length of his foot. He sat on the cot and removed his boots. After careful consideration, he left his socks on. The thickness of his socks was negligible, not worth the effort of unlacing his jodhpurs to remove them.
He set his boots carefully on the folded blanket so they would not impede his progress. Placing his back against the wall he slowly walked heel to toe, arms outstretched to maintain his balance. The results were beyond depressing. Seventy-eight square feet. All he was entitled to was seventy-eight square feet, including the furniture. In the Northwest Territories - at home - he had miles, twenty three square miles per person. Right here, right now, he had seventy-eight square feet.
He glanced out the small window, tracked the sun’s shadow through the winter haze. He wanted to go home.
The sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor outside brought him to his feet. It briefly occurred to him that he wasn’t in proper uniform, but the sight of Ray opening the door banished all other thought.
“What were you thinking, Ben?” Ray asked casually, even though Fraser suspected that any attempt on his part to dissemble or evade the question would turn that casual stance to anger. He sighed, swallowed, and answered with his usual honesty.
“He insulted you, Ray. He called you a fag. I’m afraid that I stopped thinking after that.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been called worse. You can’t punch out Dewey just because he’s an asshole.”
“Ray...”
“I know it’s hard, but you can’t fight my battles for me, Frase. Especially because we both know I am a fag.”
“He made it sound like a terrible thing.”
“He thinks it is, and you breaking his nose ain’t gonna change that.”
“I’m sorry, Ray.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. You’re lucky he’s decided not to press charges. Only took Welsh and Huey a couple hours to convince him.”
His lover leaned against the cell door, crossing those long legs at the ankles. “Now, get your boots on, and lets go home.”
Fun Facts about the Northwest Territories:
http://freespace.virgin.net/john.cletheroe/usa_can/nt/intro.htm
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Date: 2003-09-07 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 12:05 pm (UTC)BTW, the woman in your icon looks a bit like Constance Bennett. Love the hat!
How Fraser is it?
Date: 2003-09-07 04:08 am (UTC)"(who knew Ray’s feet were so sensitive?)" -- indeed!
Re: How Fraser is it?
Date: 2003-09-07 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 06:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 12:24 pm (UTC)Sometimes I get the title first, and the story is built around it. In this case the glimmer of a story showed up, then the title, which fleshed out the rest of the story.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 12:23 pm (UTC)They’d never actually gotten around to measuring their penises(who knew Ray's feet were so sensitive?)
That's a scene I'd pay to watch too. ::g::
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Date: 2003-09-07 12:33 pm (UTC)As for Ray's feet, well he's a dancer. I'd think part of his soul resides in them.
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Date: 2003-09-07 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-07 09:37 pm (UTC)Fic about Ray or Fraser in prison/ jail besides M-A's "Less a Day" and possibly her "Accountability" there's Sperenza's "Chicago's Most Wanted." Also see the related (if you squint) series by Elizabeth Mc "Slaves."
Julia
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Date: 2003-09-07 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-08 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-08 04:09 pm (UTC)