|Pic found at weltenbummler1949 photobucket page.|
“…ocksucking, motherfuahhh…” Another blast of vodka and pill laced bile erupted from that famous face, once so beautiful that angels wept. Now, the retching and years of self-abuse had ravaged that perfection.
Sam had taken all he could with the last bout of vomit and verbal spewage about his personal life choices.
Dylan was his friend and his supposed future leader, but right now he was a used up, washed out rock star more interested in how low he could actually go before death sought him out. The gentle, honorable wolf inside him had buried itself so deep; he couldn’t even help heal this lost and beaten body.
Could his friend really die from this abhorrent addiction or was there some way to bring back Dylan’s beast?
He braced himself for the ripe, raunchy smell of bodily waste as he reached down and grabbed Dylan by the shoulders. He dragged him to his feet and leaned against his back, his lips to the broken man’s ears. “You should never be called wolf, you disgrace their beauty and their magnificence, just by being who you are. Dry out, grow up and be the man I know you can be.”
Sam let go and watched as his friend slid face first into the mess he’d made. The depressing sight was etched into his artist brain. Dylan Wolf, Rockstar extraordinaire, drunk, drugged and soon to be forgotten…
~You know, I've had this idea for a story tingling around the edges of my brain for a while and Mz. Muse has been kinda clammed up about it. I think because she is still not sure of the collective characters nor the problems they face. She did loosen up with the ditty above...~