From the first stone cast ripples upon the surface of time, it was our kind, the damned that brooded, spreading our sins across the world. Unable to f...el as mortals after that dark embrace, hatefully contempt in this forever lonely experience, our kindred loathed what they had become and hated mortals just the same. A tenderness only captured in life, lost in our moment of weakness as from the beginning, the one with sin cast the first stone in. The guilt of regret a heavy stone to bear, we. “I’ll help,” I said. I unbuttoned the fly, lowered the zipper. His pants started to sag, revealing the top band of his underwear and a bulge below. I pushed the pants aside and cupped the bulge, which was still growing. I pressed my face against the cloth, felt the heat within, smelled a not unpleasant muskiness. As I pressed my lips against the cloth, feeling his cock underneath, he made a sound almost like purring. I helped him to step out of the pants and briefly stopped to admire him. What. They were busy removing a water damaged wooden window. "Hey Carlos, you guys going to work till five?" I asked."Full work week," he said.Since I had stopped by the house I brought my checkbook and a wad of cash. I wrote Carlos a check and one for Juan. They both signed them back to me and I paid them in cash from the grease pit. It gave them money for the weekend and gave me a record for their form 1099. My bookkeeper insisted on doing it that way.I drove home after paying my two employees. I. Jazz Improvisational WritingWhen I decided to write this essay, one of the things I wanted to point out was the fact that I really didn't think of The Quiet Ones as a story. It's more of a sketchbook, a writing playground, or a literary sandbox. Specifically the way the story grew was I wrote Chapter One with no idea where it was going, or that it was even going anywhere. In Chapter Two I had a vague idea of what was going to happen in Chapter Three, and in Chapter Three I had an idea for.