story time!

mwhahahaha....yes my pretties...i have another to post...so read it...please? :) (disregard the spelling problems...just..wince and keep reading)
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Edmund hated it. Edmuch despised every tiny pore on its face, and every speck of dust on its shirt. This wasnt how things were, it just couldn't be.The shining, dreamy white vestage was more pleasing. Not this casual, slack-dressed, short-haired, geeky personage. Where were the things Edmund had learned of and prepared for? After agreeing to host this exchange student, Edmund had gone through his days in a haze of gilt images. How could DeVinchi and Michalangelo have gotten it all so horribly wrong?

Edmund looked moodily down at the dinner he was preparing. No meat was a must, a stipulation that only slightly mollified Edmund's indinaties. No meat, but huge quantities of dairy products, great mounds of fruits and vegtables; and due to some metobolic quirk, gallons of coffee were also required. He hacked brutally down on an unsuspecting tubor, slicing and dicing with much more force than nessacary, sending bits of bewildered potato everywhere. He kept at the chopping for a bit, letting his frustration run its course. Whan at last he calmed, the small kitchen looked like an axe murderer had taken a dislike to an offensive carrot.

Gathering up the bits and pieces of the mutilated vegtables with a sigh, (there went his perfectly prepared entree) he mixed them togather and began to saute them slowly. His guest wouldnt care. He'd just serenly, smile over the ruined dinner, and ask Edmund how his day had been. Polite, calm and intellegent. At least his guest's emotions were on par with the propagated image. That, but nothing else. The guest wouldn't answer questions, he'd just smile and deflect Edmund with ease, talking of what he had observed whilst Edmund was at work. Edmund was hopeless at pinning his guest down, inexprianced at asking deep probing questions. Usually people talked to Edmund. Spilled their souls to him, talking through years and expriances, loves and loathings. Edmund was just one of those guys people felt, insinctively, that they could talk to. The guests instincts were either out to lunch, or he had remarkable self restraint.

Edmund placed dinner on the table, looking ruefully at the less-than-perfect quiche, and called Jeff (as he insisted on being called) to come and eat. They sat down, got through the normal, polite chit-chat and than began to eat silently. Halfway through his salad, Jeff looked up.

"The devil is a black dog." Jeff said, munching a speared cucumber.
Edmund nearly choked on his Italian dressing.
"What did you say?" Edmund finally managed to hack out.
Calmly Jeff regarded him, fork poised, loaded with bib lettuce, carrots and cucumber slices.
"I said, the devil is a black dog," Jeff looked at his tempting fork load. "with six red eyes and simply obnoxious mannerisms." The fork's contents disappeared into Jeff's mouth.

Edmund could only stare. Weeks it had been. Weeks of the tiring dinner routine, silent bedtimes, and uneventful mornings. What his guest has said wasnt as astonishing as the fact that Jeff had said something. Than Edmund's brain caught up to Jeff's words. He lay his fork down. Jeff followed suit.

"I'll make you a deal" Jeff said, before Edmund could speak. "Dinner first, questions later."
Edmund nodded quickly and began to shovel dinner down as gracefully as he could manage. Jeff seemed in no hurry, and went on chewing with deliberation. To Edmund, the dinner seemed to drag on forever. Jeff insisted on eating each part of his dinner with his usual calm enjoyment.

Edmund was fairly wriggiling with impatience by the time Jeff had finished his plate of food. Without bothering to wash the dishes, he placed them in the sink ( much as he would have loved to just fling them and go, they were his late grandmere's favorite plates) and fairly sprinted back to the apartment's main room.

Jeff sat near the picture window. The window was the reason Edmund had brought that particular apartment. It wasnt the low price, or the proximity of the river, but the huge double paned windows that let Edmund see for miles on clear days.

Jeff gazed out the windows, apprently watching the birds that visited Edmund's window boxes. Edmund took the other window seat.

"Now, " said Edmund; "the Devil."
Jeff took a moment to answer. He never did anything with haste, always appearing to deliberate everything he said.

"Yes." Jeff sighed. "You wanted to here about the black dog below." He paused. " And you want me to explain why my description fits your dreams."
Edmund started a bit, than looked hard at Jeff.
"How? How can you know what I have dreamed?"
Jeff smiled.
"You talk in your sleep. And I asked."
Edmund sighed, closed his eyes and began to rub his temples.
" I should have known." He muttered in the direction of the cat-smug angel across from him.

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thats it, but i think it does rather nicely ending at that point...hmm..might extend it...what do you think? not that it matters, but i like feedback :)