Post by kapziel on Aug 23, 2008 0:26:53 GMT -5
NOTES: Rating: T
Extra Notes: Not named after the Guns n' Roses song- Coincidental (I wrote it during the month of November, and rain is a repetitious motif). Furthermore, creative license is already applied (also posted within my dA). Without further ado...
“November Rain”
On his last Monday on Earth, he woke up and stared at the ceiling with a rather somber look on his face. “I’m tired,” he whispered to himself. After only a little over eighteen years of age, his will to live was already stripped away from him. Getting up, he ruffled his black hair and ran his fingers over his face, taking time to feel the bags under his dark brown eyes. He looked around his room, as if it was the first time he’d been there; a small desk to the left of his bed, a large cabinet and bookcase filled with books on famous philosophers, but a specific section devoted to Nietzsche to the right of his bed. Empty, he thought to himself. With a heavy sigh, he looked up with a jaded expression at the crucifix his parents had mounted above the window, and repeated, in a tone slightly louder than before, “I’m tired.”
He reached over to the small desk and picked up an empty picture frame. He stared at it and remembered that a picture used to be there, a picture that had brought him joy, that had brought a certain calm to his soul, a picture that had reminded him of a time when life was not this meaningless, or empty. He stood up and walked towards the window, staring out at the trees in the backyard, slowly slipping into the repetitious nature of life, fading away into autumn. Raindrops assaulted his window, and as he looked outside, he mumbled, “It’s going to rain again, all week, I bet…”
“I don’t think so,” his father piped in, surprising him. “Come on downstairs, breakfast was ready half an hour ago, kiddo. Mom cooked eggs and bacon… again.”
“Okay, I’ll be down soon,” he responded, never taking his eyes away from the raindrops, because he feared that his father would see what he was trying so hard to suppress: the tears forming in his eyes. A grind, the same old grind, day after day, he thought to himself, and with a rather delicate sense of curiosity, he traced a circle on the window, and watched as the rain kept pelting the window pane.
He walked downstairs, and he kept his eyes cast downward, and made sure not to notice the medals and pictures which adorned the wall along the stairs, marking his accomplishments. Instead of being proud symbols, they represented a halcyon; one that, to him, would never come again. Upon entering the kitchen, he took a seat opposite that of his father, and stared at the plate of food before him. Compared to his father’s plate, his food was placed rather sloppily together. He paid no heed to this, it had become a recurring symbol of his mother’s spite. “So what plans do you have after school today?” asked his father.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll hang out with friends or something.”
“Don’t come in too late. Whenever you do I have to get up and open the door myself, seeing as your father never seems to wake up to your heavy knocking,” added his mother, keeping her back to them as she washed the dishes. He had remembered a time when her tone was motherly, affectionate. Yet now, there was nothing but apathy in her voice.
“And make sure to take the meds the doctor prescribed, before leaving today,” his father piped in.
Breakfast continued with silence, no other words were necessary. He walked out without glancing at either his father or mother and picked up the school work he had left on the table by the door. The only thing written on the front cover was his name: Vince Laertt. He left the house, and walked out, without locking the door behind him. He waited for his mother or father to run after him, to tell him to wear a raincoat, but he expected too much, and in that, he walked away. The heavy rain pelted his tired expression, and the raindrops traced the tired lines on his face. His eyes, despite being dark brown, carried a heavy burden, that of loneliness, a deep, brooding depression, and yet, in the back, covered by the veil of darkness surrounding it, remained a singular flame of hope. He watched as a flower on the ground was pelted mercilessly by the raindrops, and, reaching down, smiled as he covered the flower with his hand, allowing it to raise it’s head up towards him. He remembered a time when he had done the same thing. He had knelt beside a flower and covered it with his hand, and how she had smiled at him. Those were sunny days, before the rain came, not only in the world around him, but in his own world as well. He frowned and walked away, and the flower continued to sulk in the rain.
The air was warm, and the humidity did not make the rain feel cool to the touch. He kept his gaze on the ground, looking upwards only to make sure he was walking in the right direction, towards the bus stop. “The only senior in high school still taking the bus, christ,” he muttered.
“Is that so?” asked an unfamiliar female voice.
He looked up and saw her face, pale, but beautiful, with oval glasses that augmented her hazel eyes. Her hair was slightly curly, long enough to reach her shoulders, and she had a very shy demeanor, blushing immediately after he looked at her. In that one moment, the one second he spent looking into her eyes, he lost himself, and everything felt absolute.
“I personally like the bus,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a generalization like that. I mutter things sometimes. I’m sorry,” he replied, his gaze not leaving her lovely face. He noticed that it had stopped raining.
“Is there… something on my face?” she asked, nervously.
“No, nothing, sorry,” he stammered. His face flushed, and when they reached the bus stop, he glanced over at her, every now and then, as if he was unsure that such a being could exist. He was the last one to get on the bus, but she stood in front of him, and before she got on, she whirled around, poked his forehead, and giggled.
“I’m Seri Prencen, and you are?” she asked.
“Vince,” he replied, rubbing the spot on his forehead where she had poked him.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“I just moved back a week ago. I’m living with my mom now.”
“I see.”
She moved her face closer to his. “You don’t say much, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind and…”
“Don’t worry,” she replied gently.
She nodded, walked into the bus, and took a seat in the back with her friends. He took a seat by the front, and felt his heart pounding, and the spot where she poked him felt cool, and he nervously touched it. “Seri,” he muttered. As the bus drove off, the sky darkened, and it suddenly started raining again.
Classes went by without a hitch. He had stopped paying attention as soon as senior year started. All he did was come to class for the sake of attendance, and constantly stared out the window. He looked at his notes after class and noticed all he had written was Seri, over and over again. I don’t remember doing that, he thought to himself.
The bell rang, and as the students slowly walked out of the classroom, he picked up his notes and stuffed them into his bag. As he was walking out of the class, his teacher called out to him.
“Vince, you haven’t been paying attention for the last few months. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Harbin, I just haven’t been myself lately,” he replied, staring at his shoelaces. I just want to get out of here, I don’t want to talk to anyone, he thought to himself.
“Your grades have been slipping.” Mr. Harbin looked out the window, and kept his back to Vince.
Vince didn’t reply. He kept staring at his shoelaces. Please, just dismiss me, he thought.
“Your parents told me about what happened.” Mr. Harbin turned around, and walked towards Vince. “So, what did they do to you in the hospital? Are you taking medication or placebos?”
Vince took a step backward, and then another, and finally, before he knew it, he had run out of the classroom, and ran down the hallway, without a care as to where he ended up. Always running away from everything, he thought.
He didn’t see her for the rest of the day, and he walked home after school. He didn’t “hang out” with friends, simply because his friends had given up on him months ago, when he fell into this brooding depression.
He refused to say her name aloud, nor mention her in writing or even conversations, because whenever he did a sudden surge of pain would overcome his chest, and the want to die suddenly arose, which often drove him into madness. Lines upon lines of scars covered his wrists, and despite the looks he received from the kids during lunch, he sat by himself, and never spoke, unless the teacher specifically called on him.
When he reached the house, neither of his parents’ cars was there. They’ve left for work, and that means another lonely evening by myself, he thought. Dinner bored him. He didn’t stay up long enough to hear his parents walking in around midnight. He tried to sleep, but there was something keeping him up. The thought of a single person kept him awake, and he smiled as he fell asleep.
During his last Tuesday on Earth, he stared up at the ceiling with a small grin on his face. “Seri,” he whispered. He got up and stretched, noticing how his muscles felt weak, after having been depressed for so long, the lack of exercise was evident. He looked over at the empty picture frame and turned it face down. He looked out the window and noticed that the rain had eased up over the night, but a few raindrops here and there pelted his window pane. A slight knock on the door reminded him that breakfast was ready, and in a rather relaxed manner, he walked down to the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said, accompanied by a yawn afterwards.
“You’re in a good mood today, whatsup kiddo?” his father asked, flipping the pages of the newspaper.
“Nothing really, I met a girl yesterday, before getting on the bus.”
A long pause followed. His mother stopped washing the dishes, and his father brought the newspaper up to cover his own face, hiding it from his son. Breakfast continued in silence. He quickly walked out of the house as soon as he could and headed straight for the bus-stop. I hate how they respond to me when I say that, he thought to himself. His fists clenched, he didn’t notice the sudden change in the weather. The raindrops grew more and more frequent as he walked away from the house, yet his eyes gazed upwards, with a smile on his face. The rain drops caressed his face, and for a moment he stopped, spread his arms wide, and stood there.
“You’re sort of strange,” a familiar voice spoke up behind him.
He turned around and saw her, and once again, he kept his eyes on her face, unable to pull away.
“Hello again… Umm, Seri, right?” He asked nervously.
“Mmhmm, that’s me,” she responded playfully, winking at him.
He couldn’t help but smile. She walked ahead of him, but before she got on the bus, she took a quick glance backwards to where he stood, rooted in place. For a moment he saw her smile, but she turned away before he could confirm it. He felt something in his chest, a warmth of some sort, but he frowned and ran inside the bus, dismissing the notion.
It was snowing that one night. On impulse, he reached for her hand, and she stepped backwards. Tears were streaming down her face, begging him to back away, to leave her alone. He stood, confused, under a street light, as the snow continued to fall around them.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need time, I’m sorry,” she replied, tears streaming down her face. She backed away from him. “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I love you anymore. I don’t know if I ever loved you. I just… I don’t know!”
“I love you.” He took a step forward, his voice quivered. “And you told me you loved me, and we’ve been together for almost three years.”
“Will you just shut up? I don’t want to hear this! I don’t want to hear any of it!”
She ran away, and didn’t turn back once to look at him. Under the street light, he stood there, and watched her run. The warmth in him receded and, in a daze, he walked home. He felt it, this gaping hole, a pit, an emptiness, in the center of his chest. He wanted to fill it, to find something, anything, to replace the emptiness in his chest. And as he walked home, his breath visible in the dull and lifeless glow of the street lights, he noticed his shadow, twisting back and forth like a pendulum, a constant reminder of the pain he felt. He stopped under a street light and looked at his hands, and he thought about an unexplainable warmth in his hands. Now, they felt so cold, so frigid, without her hand holding on to his.
During his last Wednesday on Earth, he awoke with tears streaming down his face. I’ve been crying in my sleep again, he thought to himself. He looked out the window and watched the raindrops pelt the window pane. He walked to the kitchen and noticed a note on top of the dining table. It read, “Vince, take your meds before going to school.” There was no breakfast served, nor were there any signs of food in the refrigerator. With a heavy heart and an empty stomach, he picked up his book bag and walked to the bus stop.
He saw her, with her back against a tree. He approached cautiously, not knowing what to say, being lead on only by his emotions. “Hey, what’s up?” He asked.
“Oh, hello again,” she smiled at him. The warmth in his chest arose again. He stood beside her nervously, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he had felt it. A warmth he hadn’t felt for a long time. His right hand felt strange, and as he looked down he realized she had grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers. He blushed, but did nothing to push her away.
“Why…”
“You’re not one to pay attention, are you? Your notes are quite interesting, if I must say so myself,” she whispered, and grinned at him as she pulled away. True, he hadn’t noticed her in class, but his mind wandered, and he never paid attention. How foolish of me to have not noticed, he thought to himself.
He blushed even more and was about to respond when the bus pulled up. She squeezed his hand for a moment, let go, and got on the bus. He followed her, and couldn’t help himself from smiling.
It was snowing that one night. He had managed to find his way home, despite how he walked aimlessly, completely dazed and confused. His parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway, and he marched, in a trance-like state, towards the bathroom. Each step was heavy, and his breathing was labored. He looked at himself in the mirror, and traced the lines on his face, carved by sleepless nights and influenced by the strong scent of alcohol.
He slowly took it out from the case: a small, glimmering piece of metal. He examined it at first, with a strange sense of curiosity, and watched, with empty eyes, how it sliced his index finger with such ease. He felt the tears trace the lines on his face, but merely watched as the white sink was soon stained with small crimson drops.
His sorrow had manifested itself, and he slowly started to shrink away into the darkness, feeling like a spectator. His hands moved by themselves, invisible strings guiding his every action. The razor danced on his skin and left a trail of rivers and streams in its wake, carving canyons and crevasses. The pain didn’t register, all he felt was a tickling sensation, and his hands were starting to feel weak. His mind played a sorrowful requiem, with each note being played by the trickle of his blood upon the floor. He had fallen backwards, his arms laying limp on his sides, and he had smiled to himself, then. His eyelids had felt like lead weights, and he had to close them. A rush of cold entered his body, and he felt his chest pounding. He remembered hearing footsteps, and someone screaming. It felt cold, back then, because when he closed his eyes, he saw a world covered in snow.
During his last Thursday on Earth, he woke up violently, his shirt bathed in sweat. He got up and looked down at his wrists. He sighed deeply, and muttered, “Seri.” He smiled. He stared at the ceiling without a single thought in his mind. He had spent the entirety of class the day before wanting to be with her. He glanced over at her every now and then, yet she was always looking somewhere else. Yet when he looked away, he had the feeling that she was staring at him, as if to play a game of cat and mouse.
He walked down to the kitchen and sat down opposite his father at the dining table. Once again, his mother had her back turned, face to the sink, washing the dishes. His father was reading the newspaper. They said nothing as he sat down. He spoke first, “Remember the girl I mentioned a few days ago? Well I…”
“We’ve talked about this already,” his mother said.
A long silence followed.
“It won’t be like last time, this time I think…”
His mother turned around and looked at him. “Do you know how long it took us to get over what you did? Do you know how many times I had to deny it to my friends? I’m a laughing-stock amongst the other mothers! I love you, you’re my son, but ever since you went and tried to kill yourself over a girl, well, what’s there to love? I want to love you, I want to care for you the way a mother should, but what does it matter if you’re just going to go and try to off yourself again eventually?”
“Why does it always have to be about you? You have no emotions!” He stood up, with a furious look on his face.
“What do you know? You’re a kid. That’s all you are. You are a child who can’t face his own issues,” she argued.
His father remained silent. Vince knew his father had tried to connect with him, but now, when he needed him, his father remained silent. Too little, too late, dad, Vince thought to himself. Vince grabbed his book bag and ran out of the house. The rain drops pelted his face, and all he wanted was to see Seri, to have her tell him everything would be fine. He hurried to the bus stop, with the bleak sky offering nothing short of a torrential downpour as a tribute to his despair. He slipped and fell face-first into the ground, and for a while he lied there, his tears mixing with the blood from the scrape on his forehead and the rain water, and for what felt like forever, he lied there, sobbing. He felt weak, and he coughed violently as he lifted himself up from the ground. He wiped his forehead with his forearm, and disregarded the blood. Staggering to the bus stop, his gaze never left the floor, and he only looked up when he saw her running towards him. She embraced him and buried her face in his chest, and when she looked up at him, her hazel eyes were filled with tears. He didn’t have to say a word; it felt like she was already aware of his problems before he even opened his mouth. They stood there for a long time, and they watched as the bus came and left. The rain lightened up, and he stared at her, and listened as her sobs slowly dissipated. As she looked up at him again, she quickly stood on her toes and kissed him.
“I love you,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.
It suddenly stopped raining. She looked questioningly at him, and stepped out of his embrace.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can say the same yet,” she replied, looking down and fidgeting.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean, if it’s too soon then…”
His voice trailed off, as the rain slowly started to fall again.
They stood, facing each other, both staring intently at the other’s face. He felt lost, confused. He took one step backwards, then another, until finally he was running away. He didn’t know why, but he felt it again: the cold emptiness slowly seeping into the pores of his skin, and the warmth he just felt was slowly draining out. She yelled out to him, but the rain muffled her voice, and by then, he had already gone home, and locked himself inside. Mom and dad have already left for work, he thought to himself. He stood against the door, his back pressed hard against it, and he heard a knock.
“I’m sorry!” she yelled. He kept his back to the door, and waited. When he could no longer hear her breathing heavily on the other side, he sank to the floor and cried.
They held hands that one time, while they walked through the park nearby. The leaves were slowly starting to fade, their vibrant green slowly shifting into the gold and crimson colors of autumn.
They walked under a large tree, and as she looked up at the leaves, he surprised her by hugging her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. She kissed his cheek and giggled.
“Close your eyes, please,” he whispered.
He fished in his right pocket for a few seconds, and held his hand up to her face.
“Open your eyes,” he said, lovingly.
She stared at the ring and broke away from his grasp. She wore a confused look on her face, and he stood there, surprised at her reaction.
“No… I’m sorry, not now,” she told him. Her eyes had never felt so cold, so empty. She turned around and walked away.
He stood there, and placed his hands into his pockets. A small breeze blew, and the crimson leaves on the ground began to shift around him, and soon, he was in a maelstrom of leaves. He closed his eyes, and looked up at the evening sky, and watched as the bright sky slowly turned dark brown, and waited until the streetlights flickered on. He kept his gaze at the sky, as if he was waiting for something…
He awoke on Friday morning with a feeling of emptiness in his chest. It felt cold again, as if the blood in his veins were frozen, and he shivered under the covers. He felt weak, and as he got up, he fell to his knees and coughed violently. He pushed himself up, and marched downstairs, to the kitchen. His father sat across from him, with a newspaper held up to the point where his face was hidden, and his mother was again, washing the dishes. He stared at the rather messy plate in front of him: bacon and eggs, again. He poked his eggs, and looked up at his father.
“I love you, dad,” he said, his voice quivering, as if he was unsure that he would have been able to say it.
His father lowered the newspaper, and stared at him.
“Thank you, Vince, I love you too,” his father replied, rather affectionately.
Vince stood up and walked towards his mother. She said nothing, and did not even turn to face the two during the conversation. He tapped her shoulder, and as she turned to face him, he embraced her.
“I love you too, mom,” he said, his voice quivering again.
She stood there, speechless. She smiled, and he remembered that she used to smile that way, a long time ago. She wiped her hands and kissed his forehead.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning, but you seem cheerful and positive. Dad and I won’t be home until much later, but we’ll go out to eat this weekend, okay?”
“Sure, that sounds great,” he replied, looking down at the floor.
He left and started walking toward the bus stop. The second he heard the door close behind him, he sulked and felt his tears mix with the rain drops. He walked to school, and arrived late. He went to Mr. Harbin’s class and took his seat, ignoring Seri’s sorrowful gaze. The day was a blur, a painting gone awry. He walked home, and noticed his parents were still at work.
The den was dark, and the only light came from the bare rays that were able to peak into the room from behind the blinds. They left the T.V. on again, he thought.
“Tonight we’re expecting heavy rain, and by tomorrow, we’ll be all set, folks,” the weatherman droned.
He looked outside the window and noticed how, despite the fact that evening was rapidly approaching, that it was almost as dark as night. The sun did little to try to peak from behind the veil in the sky, keeping the warmth at bay.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, he walked casually into the bathroom. There were a myriad of thoughts that plagued his mind. He reached into the side drawer and pulled out a razor blade. With his index finger, he traced the scars on his wrist, and smiled. “To replace one pain with another… that’s the only way I can cope with things,” he assured himself. He placed the razor blade above his wrist, and listened to the sorrowful requiem he knew so well.
He wore a blank expression on his face as he walked outside. His heart was pounding, and at first he walked slowly, and then he started to run, and finally, he began to sprint. The truth was evident: he expected too much, from everyone. He expected love from Seri, compassion from his parents, and pity from everyone else. He realized his own flaw, and yet, he did what he knew best: he ran away. He passed houses, but to him they were all a blur, like a painting ruined by a deluge. There were footsteps behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. He just kept running, until finally exhaustion kicked in and he fell to his knees. He looked upwards, at the sky, and closed his eyes as he felt the raindrops on his face. When they trickled down to his wrist, it stung, and he pushed his wrists against his chest, letting the blood seep into his clothes. He willed himself to lie down on a patch of grass nearby, and as he watched the night sky, his eyelids began to feel heavy. He felt someone lifting his head, and kissing his face. He opened his eyes and saw Seri-illuminated by the streetlights-crying, her tears streaming down her face.
“I love you,” she whispered between sobs.
He looked up at the sky and, as he blinked, the rain stopped, and everything suddenly felt cold.
“It’s snowing again,” he muttered weakly. He smiled at her and lifted his hand, and wiped a tear from her face.
He closed his eyes and left her there, with the dawn quickly approaching, and not a single cloud to be found in the sky.
Extra Notes: Not named after the Guns n' Roses song- Coincidental (I wrote it during the month of November, and rain is a repetitious motif). Furthermore, creative license is already applied (also posted within my dA). Without further ado...
“November Rain”
On his last Monday on Earth, he woke up and stared at the ceiling with a rather somber look on his face. “I’m tired,” he whispered to himself. After only a little over eighteen years of age, his will to live was already stripped away from him. Getting up, he ruffled his black hair and ran his fingers over his face, taking time to feel the bags under his dark brown eyes. He looked around his room, as if it was the first time he’d been there; a small desk to the left of his bed, a large cabinet and bookcase filled with books on famous philosophers, but a specific section devoted to Nietzsche to the right of his bed. Empty, he thought to himself. With a heavy sigh, he looked up with a jaded expression at the crucifix his parents had mounted above the window, and repeated, in a tone slightly louder than before, “I’m tired.”
He reached over to the small desk and picked up an empty picture frame. He stared at it and remembered that a picture used to be there, a picture that had brought him joy, that had brought a certain calm to his soul, a picture that had reminded him of a time when life was not this meaningless, or empty. He stood up and walked towards the window, staring out at the trees in the backyard, slowly slipping into the repetitious nature of life, fading away into autumn. Raindrops assaulted his window, and as he looked outside, he mumbled, “It’s going to rain again, all week, I bet…”
“I don’t think so,” his father piped in, surprising him. “Come on downstairs, breakfast was ready half an hour ago, kiddo. Mom cooked eggs and bacon… again.”
“Okay, I’ll be down soon,” he responded, never taking his eyes away from the raindrops, because he feared that his father would see what he was trying so hard to suppress: the tears forming in his eyes. A grind, the same old grind, day after day, he thought to himself, and with a rather delicate sense of curiosity, he traced a circle on the window, and watched as the rain kept pelting the window pane.
He walked downstairs, and he kept his eyes cast downward, and made sure not to notice the medals and pictures which adorned the wall along the stairs, marking his accomplishments. Instead of being proud symbols, they represented a halcyon; one that, to him, would never come again. Upon entering the kitchen, he took a seat opposite that of his father, and stared at the plate of food before him. Compared to his father’s plate, his food was placed rather sloppily together. He paid no heed to this, it had become a recurring symbol of his mother’s spite. “So what plans do you have after school today?” asked his father.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll hang out with friends or something.”
“Don’t come in too late. Whenever you do I have to get up and open the door myself, seeing as your father never seems to wake up to your heavy knocking,” added his mother, keeping her back to them as she washed the dishes. He had remembered a time when her tone was motherly, affectionate. Yet now, there was nothing but apathy in her voice.
“And make sure to take the meds the doctor prescribed, before leaving today,” his father piped in.
Breakfast continued with silence, no other words were necessary. He walked out without glancing at either his father or mother and picked up the school work he had left on the table by the door. The only thing written on the front cover was his name: Vince Laertt. He left the house, and walked out, without locking the door behind him. He waited for his mother or father to run after him, to tell him to wear a raincoat, but he expected too much, and in that, he walked away. The heavy rain pelted his tired expression, and the raindrops traced the tired lines on his face. His eyes, despite being dark brown, carried a heavy burden, that of loneliness, a deep, brooding depression, and yet, in the back, covered by the veil of darkness surrounding it, remained a singular flame of hope. He watched as a flower on the ground was pelted mercilessly by the raindrops, and, reaching down, smiled as he covered the flower with his hand, allowing it to raise it’s head up towards him. He remembered a time when he had done the same thing. He had knelt beside a flower and covered it with his hand, and how she had smiled at him. Those were sunny days, before the rain came, not only in the world around him, but in his own world as well. He frowned and walked away, and the flower continued to sulk in the rain.
The air was warm, and the humidity did not make the rain feel cool to the touch. He kept his gaze on the ground, looking upwards only to make sure he was walking in the right direction, towards the bus stop. “The only senior in high school still taking the bus, christ,” he muttered.
“Is that so?” asked an unfamiliar female voice.
He looked up and saw her face, pale, but beautiful, with oval glasses that augmented her hazel eyes. Her hair was slightly curly, long enough to reach her shoulders, and she had a very shy demeanor, blushing immediately after he looked at her. In that one moment, the one second he spent looking into her eyes, he lost himself, and everything felt absolute.
“I personally like the bus,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a generalization like that. I mutter things sometimes. I’m sorry,” he replied, his gaze not leaving her lovely face. He noticed that it had stopped raining.
“Is there… something on my face?” she asked, nervously.
“No, nothing, sorry,” he stammered. His face flushed, and when they reached the bus stop, he glanced over at her, every now and then, as if he was unsure that such a being could exist. He was the last one to get on the bus, but she stood in front of him, and before she got on, she whirled around, poked his forehead, and giggled.
“I’m Seri Prencen, and you are?” she asked.
“Vince,” he replied, rubbing the spot on his forehead where she had poked him.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“I just moved back a week ago. I’m living with my mom now.”
“I see.”
She moved her face closer to his. “You don’t say much, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind and…”
“Don’t worry,” she replied gently.
She nodded, walked into the bus, and took a seat in the back with her friends. He took a seat by the front, and felt his heart pounding, and the spot where she poked him felt cool, and he nervously touched it. “Seri,” he muttered. As the bus drove off, the sky darkened, and it suddenly started raining again.
Classes went by without a hitch. He had stopped paying attention as soon as senior year started. All he did was come to class for the sake of attendance, and constantly stared out the window. He looked at his notes after class and noticed all he had written was Seri, over and over again. I don’t remember doing that, he thought to himself.
The bell rang, and as the students slowly walked out of the classroom, he picked up his notes and stuffed them into his bag. As he was walking out of the class, his teacher called out to him.
“Vince, you haven’t been paying attention for the last few months. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Harbin, I just haven’t been myself lately,” he replied, staring at his shoelaces. I just want to get out of here, I don’t want to talk to anyone, he thought to himself.
“Your grades have been slipping.” Mr. Harbin looked out the window, and kept his back to Vince.
Vince didn’t reply. He kept staring at his shoelaces. Please, just dismiss me, he thought.
“Your parents told me about what happened.” Mr. Harbin turned around, and walked towards Vince. “So, what did they do to you in the hospital? Are you taking medication or placebos?”
Vince took a step backward, and then another, and finally, before he knew it, he had run out of the classroom, and ran down the hallway, without a care as to where he ended up. Always running away from everything, he thought.
He didn’t see her for the rest of the day, and he walked home after school. He didn’t “hang out” with friends, simply because his friends had given up on him months ago, when he fell into this brooding depression.
He refused to say her name aloud, nor mention her in writing or even conversations, because whenever he did a sudden surge of pain would overcome his chest, and the want to die suddenly arose, which often drove him into madness. Lines upon lines of scars covered his wrists, and despite the looks he received from the kids during lunch, he sat by himself, and never spoke, unless the teacher specifically called on him.
When he reached the house, neither of his parents’ cars was there. They’ve left for work, and that means another lonely evening by myself, he thought. Dinner bored him. He didn’t stay up long enough to hear his parents walking in around midnight. He tried to sleep, but there was something keeping him up. The thought of a single person kept him awake, and he smiled as he fell asleep.
During his last Tuesday on Earth, he stared up at the ceiling with a small grin on his face. “Seri,” he whispered. He got up and stretched, noticing how his muscles felt weak, after having been depressed for so long, the lack of exercise was evident. He looked over at the empty picture frame and turned it face down. He looked out the window and noticed that the rain had eased up over the night, but a few raindrops here and there pelted his window pane. A slight knock on the door reminded him that breakfast was ready, and in a rather relaxed manner, he walked down to the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said, accompanied by a yawn afterwards.
“You’re in a good mood today, whatsup kiddo?” his father asked, flipping the pages of the newspaper.
“Nothing really, I met a girl yesterday, before getting on the bus.”
A long pause followed. His mother stopped washing the dishes, and his father brought the newspaper up to cover his own face, hiding it from his son. Breakfast continued in silence. He quickly walked out of the house as soon as he could and headed straight for the bus-stop. I hate how they respond to me when I say that, he thought to himself. His fists clenched, he didn’t notice the sudden change in the weather. The raindrops grew more and more frequent as he walked away from the house, yet his eyes gazed upwards, with a smile on his face. The rain drops caressed his face, and for a moment he stopped, spread his arms wide, and stood there.
“You’re sort of strange,” a familiar voice spoke up behind him.
He turned around and saw her, and once again, he kept his eyes on her face, unable to pull away.
“Hello again… Umm, Seri, right?” He asked nervously.
“Mmhmm, that’s me,” she responded playfully, winking at him.
He couldn’t help but smile. She walked ahead of him, but before she got on the bus, she took a quick glance backwards to where he stood, rooted in place. For a moment he saw her smile, but she turned away before he could confirm it. He felt something in his chest, a warmth of some sort, but he frowned and ran inside the bus, dismissing the notion.
It was snowing that one night. On impulse, he reached for her hand, and she stepped backwards. Tears were streaming down her face, begging him to back away, to leave her alone. He stood, confused, under a street light, as the snow continued to fall around them.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need time, I’m sorry,” she replied, tears streaming down her face. She backed away from him. “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I love you anymore. I don’t know if I ever loved you. I just… I don’t know!”
“I love you.” He took a step forward, his voice quivered. “And you told me you loved me, and we’ve been together for almost three years.”
“Will you just shut up? I don’t want to hear this! I don’t want to hear any of it!”
She ran away, and didn’t turn back once to look at him. Under the street light, he stood there, and watched her run. The warmth in him receded and, in a daze, he walked home. He felt it, this gaping hole, a pit, an emptiness, in the center of his chest. He wanted to fill it, to find something, anything, to replace the emptiness in his chest. And as he walked home, his breath visible in the dull and lifeless glow of the street lights, he noticed his shadow, twisting back and forth like a pendulum, a constant reminder of the pain he felt. He stopped under a street light and looked at his hands, and he thought about an unexplainable warmth in his hands. Now, they felt so cold, so frigid, without her hand holding on to his.
During his last Wednesday on Earth, he awoke with tears streaming down his face. I’ve been crying in my sleep again, he thought to himself. He looked out the window and watched the raindrops pelt the window pane. He walked to the kitchen and noticed a note on top of the dining table. It read, “Vince, take your meds before going to school.” There was no breakfast served, nor were there any signs of food in the refrigerator. With a heavy heart and an empty stomach, he picked up his book bag and walked to the bus stop.
He saw her, with her back against a tree. He approached cautiously, not knowing what to say, being lead on only by his emotions. “Hey, what’s up?” He asked.
“Oh, hello again,” she smiled at him. The warmth in his chest arose again. He stood beside her nervously, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he had felt it. A warmth he hadn’t felt for a long time. His right hand felt strange, and as he looked down he realized she had grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers. He blushed, but did nothing to push her away.
“Why…”
“You’re not one to pay attention, are you? Your notes are quite interesting, if I must say so myself,” she whispered, and grinned at him as she pulled away. True, he hadn’t noticed her in class, but his mind wandered, and he never paid attention. How foolish of me to have not noticed, he thought to himself.
He blushed even more and was about to respond when the bus pulled up. She squeezed his hand for a moment, let go, and got on the bus. He followed her, and couldn’t help himself from smiling.
It was snowing that one night. He had managed to find his way home, despite how he walked aimlessly, completely dazed and confused. His parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway, and he marched, in a trance-like state, towards the bathroom. Each step was heavy, and his breathing was labored. He looked at himself in the mirror, and traced the lines on his face, carved by sleepless nights and influenced by the strong scent of alcohol.
He slowly took it out from the case: a small, glimmering piece of metal. He examined it at first, with a strange sense of curiosity, and watched, with empty eyes, how it sliced his index finger with such ease. He felt the tears trace the lines on his face, but merely watched as the white sink was soon stained with small crimson drops.
His sorrow had manifested itself, and he slowly started to shrink away into the darkness, feeling like a spectator. His hands moved by themselves, invisible strings guiding his every action. The razor danced on his skin and left a trail of rivers and streams in its wake, carving canyons and crevasses. The pain didn’t register, all he felt was a tickling sensation, and his hands were starting to feel weak. His mind played a sorrowful requiem, with each note being played by the trickle of his blood upon the floor. He had fallen backwards, his arms laying limp on his sides, and he had smiled to himself, then. His eyelids had felt like lead weights, and he had to close them. A rush of cold entered his body, and he felt his chest pounding. He remembered hearing footsteps, and someone screaming. It felt cold, back then, because when he closed his eyes, he saw a world covered in snow.
During his last Thursday on Earth, he woke up violently, his shirt bathed in sweat. He got up and looked down at his wrists. He sighed deeply, and muttered, “Seri.” He smiled. He stared at the ceiling without a single thought in his mind. He had spent the entirety of class the day before wanting to be with her. He glanced over at her every now and then, yet she was always looking somewhere else. Yet when he looked away, he had the feeling that she was staring at him, as if to play a game of cat and mouse.
He walked down to the kitchen and sat down opposite his father at the dining table. Once again, his mother had her back turned, face to the sink, washing the dishes. His father was reading the newspaper. They said nothing as he sat down. He spoke first, “Remember the girl I mentioned a few days ago? Well I…”
“We’ve talked about this already,” his mother said.
A long silence followed.
“It won’t be like last time, this time I think…”
His mother turned around and looked at him. “Do you know how long it took us to get over what you did? Do you know how many times I had to deny it to my friends? I’m a laughing-stock amongst the other mothers! I love you, you’re my son, but ever since you went and tried to kill yourself over a girl, well, what’s there to love? I want to love you, I want to care for you the way a mother should, but what does it matter if you’re just going to go and try to off yourself again eventually?”
“Why does it always have to be about you? You have no emotions!” He stood up, with a furious look on his face.
“What do you know? You’re a kid. That’s all you are. You are a child who can’t face his own issues,” she argued.
His father remained silent. Vince knew his father had tried to connect with him, but now, when he needed him, his father remained silent. Too little, too late, dad, Vince thought to himself. Vince grabbed his book bag and ran out of the house. The rain drops pelted his face, and all he wanted was to see Seri, to have her tell him everything would be fine. He hurried to the bus stop, with the bleak sky offering nothing short of a torrential downpour as a tribute to his despair. He slipped and fell face-first into the ground, and for a while he lied there, his tears mixing with the blood from the scrape on his forehead and the rain water, and for what felt like forever, he lied there, sobbing. He felt weak, and he coughed violently as he lifted himself up from the ground. He wiped his forehead with his forearm, and disregarded the blood. Staggering to the bus stop, his gaze never left the floor, and he only looked up when he saw her running towards him. She embraced him and buried her face in his chest, and when she looked up at him, her hazel eyes were filled with tears. He didn’t have to say a word; it felt like she was already aware of his problems before he even opened his mouth. They stood there for a long time, and they watched as the bus came and left. The rain lightened up, and he stared at her, and listened as her sobs slowly dissipated. As she looked up at him again, she quickly stood on her toes and kissed him.
“I love you,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.
It suddenly stopped raining. She looked questioningly at him, and stepped out of his embrace.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can say the same yet,” she replied, looking down and fidgeting.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean, if it’s too soon then…”
His voice trailed off, as the rain slowly started to fall again.
They stood, facing each other, both staring intently at the other’s face. He felt lost, confused. He took one step backwards, then another, until finally he was running away. He didn’t know why, but he felt it again: the cold emptiness slowly seeping into the pores of his skin, and the warmth he just felt was slowly draining out. She yelled out to him, but the rain muffled her voice, and by then, he had already gone home, and locked himself inside. Mom and dad have already left for work, he thought to himself. He stood against the door, his back pressed hard against it, and he heard a knock.
“I’m sorry!” she yelled. He kept his back to the door, and waited. When he could no longer hear her breathing heavily on the other side, he sank to the floor and cried.
They held hands that one time, while they walked through the park nearby. The leaves were slowly starting to fade, their vibrant green slowly shifting into the gold and crimson colors of autumn.
They walked under a large tree, and as she looked up at the leaves, he surprised her by hugging her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. She kissed his cheek and giggled.
“Close your eyes, please,” he whispered.
He fished in his right pocket for a few seconds, and held his hand up to her face.
“Open your eyes,” he said, lovingly.
She stared at the ring and broke away from his grasp. She wore a confused look on her face, and he stood there, surprised at her reaction.
“No… I’m sorry, not now,” she told him. Her eyes had never felt so cold, so empty. She turned around and walked away.
He stood there, and placed his hands into his pockets. A small breeze blew, and the crimson leaves on the ground began to shift around him, and soon, he was in a maelstrom of leaves. He closed his eyes, and looked up at the evening sky, and watched as the bright sky slowly turned dark brown, and waited until the streetlights flickered on. He kept his gaze at the sky, as if he was waiting for something…
He awoke on Friday morning with a feeling of emptiness in his chest. It felt cold again, as if the blood in his veins were frozen, and he shivered under the covers. He felt weak, and as he got up, he fell to his knees and coughed violently. He pushed himself up, and marched downstairs, to the kitchen. His father sat across from him, with a newspaper held up to the point where his face was hidden, and his mother was again, washing the dishes. He stared at the rather messy plate in front of him: bacon and eggs, again. He poked his eggs, and looked up at his father.
“I love you, dad,” he said, his voice quivering, as if he was unsure that he would have been able to say it.
His father lowered the newspaper, and stared at him.
“Thank you, Vince, I love you too,” his father replied, rather affectionately.
Vince stood up and walked towards his mother. She said nothing, and did not even turn to face the two during the conversation. He tapped her shoulder, and as she turned to face him, he embraced her.
“I love you too, mom,” he said, his voice quivering again.
She stood there, speechless. She smiled, and he remembered that she used to smile that way, a long time ago. She wiped her hands and kissed his forehead.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning, but you seem cheerful and positive. Dad and I won’t be home until much later, but we’ll go out to eat this weekend, okay?”
“Sure, that sounds great,” he replied, looking down at the floor.
He left and started walking toward the bus stop. The second he heard the door close behind him, he sulked and felt his tears mix with the rain drops. He walked to school, and arrived late. He went to Mr. Harbin’s class and took his seat, ignoring Seri’s sorrowful gaze. The day was a blur, a painting gone awry. He walked home, and noticed his parents were still at work.
The den was dark, and the only light came from the bare rays that were able to peak into the room from behind the blinds. They left the T.V. on again, he thought.
“Tonight we’re expecting heavy rain, and by tomorrow, we’ll be all set, folks,” the weatherman droned.
He looked outside the window and noticed how, despite the fact that evening was rapidly approaching, that it was almost as dark as night. The sun did little to try to peak from behind the veil in the sky, keeping the warmth at bay.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, he walked casually into the bathroom. There were a myriad of thoughts that plagued his mind. He reached into the side drawer and pulled out a razor blade. With his index finger, he traced the scars on his wrist, and smiled. “To replace one pain with another… that’s the only way I can cope with things,” he assured himself. He placed the razor blade above his wrist, and listened to the sorrowful requiem he knew so well.
He wore a blank expression on his face as he walked outside. His heart was pounding, and at first he walked slowly, and then he started to run, and finally, he began to sprint. The truth was evident: he expected too much, from everyone. He expected love from Seri, compassion from his parents, and pity from everyone else. He realized his own flaw, and yet, he did what he knew best: he ran away. He passed houses, but to him they were all a blur, like a painting ruined by a deluge. There were footsteps behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. He just kept running, until finally exhaustion kicked in and he fell to his knees. He looked upwards, at the sky, and closed his eyes as he felt the raindrops on his face. When they trickled down to his wrist, it stung, and he pushed his wrists against his chest, letting the blood seep into his clothes. He willed himself to lie down on a patch of grass nearby, and as he watched the night sky, his eyelids began to feel heavy. He felt someone lifting his head, and kissing his face. He opened his eyes and saw Seri-illuminated by the streetlights-crying, her tears streaming down her face.
“I love you,” she whispered between sobs.
He looked up at the sky and, as he blinked, the rain stopped, and everything suddenly felt cold.
“It’s snowing again,” he muttered weakly. He smiled at her and lifted his hand, and wiped a tear from her face.
He closed his eyes and left her there, with the dawn quickly approaching, and not a single cloud to be found in the sky.