Sunday guaranteed that there would not be as many people in the bus station as there would be on weekdays, but there were still many of them waiting on the terminals when Thomas arrived. He found Felix on Terminal C, wearing his trademark dark clothes, in stark contrast to his day-glow white skin. He waved a greeting, and Thomas walked in his general direction, taking a seat next to him, the other benches empty. This wasn’t the bus line with too many commuters- the 12 bus only came once every two hours, and for now they were alone in that spot.
“Thomas, got your notebook?”
“Yeah. I’m going to use it, I guess. I’ve never had to before. I never really think about these people after I finish my observations, but it’s relaxing to do.”
“Sounds like it. Do you have a monthly bus pass? I can’t really come here on weekends with nothing to do but watch people. I don’t have that kind of money. My mom would talk about how the bus used to be $2.75 when she was younger, and now it’s a whole seven bucks. “
“Seven bucks is relative. Yeah, I have a bus pass. One of my friends has a bunch of them, I buy him booze and he buys me bus passes. I go around all day.”
“Where do you get booze? ID's have chips in them now.”
“I have a college friend who I do essays for. He has his ways.”
“Man. You must be really smart to be able to do essays for a college kid.”
“Not really.”
An old woman in Terminal B tripped and fell as the bus drove at the stop, to be helped by what appeared to be an Arabic or Indian boy- Thomas was never good at identifying. The elderly woman was giving him a derisive look and quickly shook off her hand as she got to her feet.
Felix whispered, “That woman there. Maybe she lost a son in the Iraqi war.”
Thomas looked at her sadly, and lowered his voice as well. “She’s wearing old tennis shoes. She doesn’t have a car, or someone to drive her. Maybe her son is dead, or all grown up and neglecting her.”
“Maybe she has more than one son,” the other continued. “Maybe she was raised a racist.”
“Everyone’s raised a racist, one way or another,” Thomas replied.
“What about the Indian kid?”
“He’s dressed in Neo Retro. That’s really trendy. ‘It’s the future, let’s dress like what old people thought was the future’ - they always look so dumb.”
“Everyone who’s rich and artsy in my school dresses Neo Retro. They’re always going, ‘Felix, you untrendy bastard.’ and I have to look them in the eye and say I have no money to pretend to be a character from a sci fi novel.”
“It’s like Halloween every day, but three times as stupid. Maybe that Indian kid just wants to fit in.”
“No one tricks or treats anymore anyway.”
“They’re all afraid of being killed, Felix.”
“Death isn’t really that scary.”
Thomas watched the old lady board the bus, and sighed. “Death isn’t that scary when you’re young, because you think you’re immortal. Try telling that to an old person.”
“I don’t think I’m immortal at all, but we both heal quicker than regular people. Do you sometimes wonder if we are though?”
“You mean, immortal? That’s kind of weird.”
“Valiant Co. People already have longevity pills from them, who knows.”
They sat for a while in silence, and Thomas wrote down the old woman’s appearance, her cherry blossom shawl and the tennis shoes. Then he saw something that caught her eye, a young woman about their age, at the far end of the bus station, with strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes, in a seafoam green summer dress.
Felix froze.
“Nelo.”
Thomas looked at the girl, then back at his friend. “Nelo?”
But Felix had already rose from his seat and began running past Terminal C and B, skipping over the barrier fences, and almost getting hit by the number 40 bus, the screaming people and honking clearly not present in his mind. Thomas could hear him shout, imploringly, urgently, and felt the worst kind of sorrow.
“NELO! NELO! DON’T GET ON THAT BUS NELO! WHY THE FUCK HAVEN’T YOU CALLED ME? YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST SAID FUCK YOU AND GOODBYE! WHAT HAVE I EVEN DONE TO YOU?!!! TELL ME!!! NELO, PLEASE!!!!”
She got on the bus, avoiding his glance, and Felix slammed against the bus door as it closed, the bus driver securely shutting the entrance. He ran in front of the bus, spreading his arms out wide, the honking noise getting louder. They were going to call security, and Thomas, in a panic, ran after him, pushing him out of the bus’s way.
Felix was crying. Thomas, still gripping his arms, shook him gently.
“We have to leave. I’ll get my friend Matt to drive you home, he lives close by.”
No response. Thomas dragged Felix along, and he could feel no resistance. He reached for his cell phone.
“Matt? It’s Tom. Can you pick me and my friend Felix up from the bus station? What? You have an essay due tonight? I’ll do it, Just pick us up. We’ll be across the street by the barber shop. Alright, I owe you, thanks.”
Felix was still crying. Thomas let go of his hand.
“Who’s Nelo?”
“Some bitch.”
“Oh... are you gonna be alright?”
“I guess, I don’t know.”
They waited in silence, and Matt drove in a sleek black car, bleach blond hair with black roots.
“Hey Tom, I’ll email you my essay. Um, is your friend alright?”
“He’s fine.”
They went into the seats together, and Felix lowered his head, covering his face.
“Where to?”
“Kennedy Park, near that apartment complex with the yellow bricks.”
“Alright.”
The ride was in silence. Thomas watched the car window to avoid Felix’s face, eyes lost in the buzzing trees. Matt was never a good driver.
“We’re here. It’s only 10:30, you’ll have plenty of time to do my essay. It’s no sweat, just a summary thing.”
“Sure, will do. Thanks.”
He drove away. Felix was no longer in tears.
“Thomas, thanks. I owe you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is a big deal. You’re a really good friend, and I barely know you.”
“You’ll get to know me.”
“That’s true. I’m glad.”
“Take it easy, ok Felix?”
“I’ll try. You want to come inside my house for a bit? Maybe eat lunch? My mom’s boyfriend and her are out... somewhere doing stuff and they’ll probably be out till late into the night.”
“Sure. You can read me more of your Pelago story.”
“Yeah, that would be cool. I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s great.”
“Thanks again... for not being a prick.”
Awkward laughter.
“I try.”
Previous
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
02: Greeting
Felix called at 10:45 at night, a tad bit late.
“Hello?”
“Hey Thomas. Sorry about the stuff that went down in my house- hey, what's that banging and shouting I'm hearing?”
“Nothing, it's just my aunt slamming her fist at my door. I locked it. I'm sure it will pass.”
“Wow... you two get into an argument?”
“Kind of. I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I told her all the money in this house is from me, and when I leave they'll have nothing left.”
“That's true though. Don't worry about that.”
“...I don't love my mother.” Thomas said out of the blue, and felt his heart marching in his chest. “Is that bad?”
Felix was silent for a moment.
“I love my mother dearly, but I say mean things to her sometimes because I've given up on saying nice things. She doesn't listen to nice things. She likes it when men trash talk at her. It's disgusting.”
“My aunt calls me scum on a regular basis, and my mother cries when she sees my face on the rare instances that she comes out of her room. I want to feel guilty, but I don't.”
“Then don't think about it. It's not worth it.”
“Maybe... maybe she'll start talking again after I turn eighteen and leave them, when the money's all gone. Who knows.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Now I'm just being whiny. Let's not talk about this anymore. Want to hang out tomorrow?”
“Sunday afternoon?”
“Yeah. I was thinking earlier though, in the morning, by the bus station. I have this weird hobby where I look at all the commuters and imagine what kind of life they have.”
“I thought you didn't have hobbies, you told me. That's kind of interesting though. If I were anyone else I would have told you that you were weird, but that's actually really cool. Kind of like what I do with reading people's blogs, but in real life.”
“Yeah, I know it's weird. This isn't really a hobby. It's just something I like to do.”
“Do you write about the people too? In a notebook. The stories you make about them.”
“Not really.”
“You should try it, you might come up with really cool stuff.”
“I might.”
“Your aunt's still slamming at the door... are you sure you're alright there?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about it.”
“Alright. I gotta hang up, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow. How's 9:30 sound?”
“Sounds good. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Thomas put down his cell phone.
“THOMAS OPEN YOUR DOOR RIGHT NOW! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME? THOMAS OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR! I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A PIECE OF MY FUCKING MIND YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT.”
He did nothing as she shouted obscenities at him. And then:
“STOP IT. YOU'LL DISTURB MOM AUNT ROSE!”
She shut up then. He could hear her crying and sobbing, but no longer cared about what he had done, climbing into his bed to go to sleep.
I hate her. I hate my mom. I hate this.
He looked at the ceiling, a dull off white, and counted his blessings. He had a roof over his head. He had very good grades. He also had a friend now, one that didn't use the fact that he looked like a college student to help buy them cigarettes and booze. He had only two years left of living with his mother and his aunt, and colleges were already offering him scholarships.
Thomas closed his eyes. He dreamed of Pelago and the alien boy, as though watching a movie with the sound muted. They were both standing knee deep in a small pond while holding hands, the sky raining tears.
“Let's drown here,” she said.
“I am afraid of death,” he said.
They sang lovely words- it sounded like words, but he could not understand them.
When he woke up, it was five in the morning. It was probably better to leave early, he thought, showering and getting dressed. After eating cereal, he left the house, with a pen, and a little black notebook a friend bought him for Christmas but never bothered to use. Why not, maybe writing down the people stories like Felix had suggested would be fun.
Previous
“Hello?”
“Hey Thomas. Sorry about the stuff that went down in my house- hey, what's that banging and shouting I'm hearing?”
“Nothing, it's just my aunt slamming her fist at my door. I locked it. I'm sure it will pass.”
“Wow... you two get into an argument?”
“Kind of. I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I told her all the money in this house is from me, and when I leave they'll have nothing left.”
“That's true though. Don't worry about that.”
“...I don't love my mother.” Thomas said out of the blue, and felt his heart marching in his chest. “Is that bad?”
Felix was silent for a moment.
“I love my mother dearly, but I say mean things to her sometimes because I've given up on saying nice things. She doesn't listen to nice things. She likes it when men trash talk at her. It's disgusting.”
“My aunt calls me scum on a regular basis, and my mother cries when she sees my face on the rare instances that she comes out of her room. I want to feel guilty, but I don't.”
“Then don't think about it. It's not worth it.”
“Maybe... maybe she'll start talking again after I turn eighteen and leave them, when the money's all gone. Who knows.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Now I'm just being whiny. Let's not talk about this anymore. Want to hang out tomorrow?”
“Sunday afternoon?”
“Yeah. I was thinking earlier though, in the morning, by the bus station. I have this weird hobby where I look at all the commuters and imagine what kind of life they have.”
“I thought you didn't have hobbies, you told me. That's kind of interesting though. If I were anyone else I would have told you that you were weird, but that's actually really cool. Kind of like what I do with reading people's blogs, but in real life.”
“Yeah, I know it's weird. This isn't really a hobby. It's just something I like to do.”
“Do you write about the people too? In a notebook. The stories you make about them.”
“Not really.”
“You should try it, you might come up with really cool stuff.”
“I might.”
“Your aunt's still slamming at the door... are you sure you're alright there?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about it.”
“Alright. I gotta hang up, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow. How's 9:30 sound?”
“Sounds good. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Thomas put down his cell phone.
“THOMAS OPEN YOUR DOOR RIGHT NOW! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME? THOMAS OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR! I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A PIECE OF MY FUCKING MIND YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT.”
He did nothing as she shouted obscenities at him. And then:
“STOP IT. YOU'LL DISTURB MOM AUNT ROSE!”
She shut up then. He could hear her crying and sobbing, but no longer cared about what he had done, climbing into his bed to go to sleep.
I hate her. I hate my mom. I hate this.
He looked at the ceiling, a dull off white, and counted his blessings. He had a roof over his head. He had very good grades. He also had a friend now, one that didn't use the fact that he looked like a college student to help buy them cigarettes and booze. He had only two years left of living with his mother and his aunt, and colleges were already offering him scholarships.
Thomas closed his eyes. He dreamed of Pelago and the alien boy, as though watching a movie with the sound muted. They were both standing knee deep in a small pond while holding hands, the sky raining tears.
“Let's drown here,” she said.
“I am afraid of death,” he said.
They sang lovely words- it sounded like words, but he could not understand them.
When he woke up, it was five in the morning. It was probably better to leave early, he thought, showering and getting dressed. After eating cereal, he left the house, with a pen, and a little black notebook a friend bought him for Christmas but never bothered to use. Why not, maybe writing down the people stories like Felix had suggested would be fun.
Previous
02: War
Aunt Rose prepared dinner for herself and Iris, which had already been eaten when Thomas got home. He washed the dishes, ate an orange from the table, and and passed by the living room, seeing his aunt's glazed eyes watching television, a stupid sitcom about the nineties.
“What the hell are you doing coming home so late?”
“I went out.”
“Did you wash the dishes?”
“I do everything asked of me, you know that.”
“You're getting smart with me now, Thomas, you little shit.”
Thomas, for once, looked her straight in the eyes.
“When I leave at eighteen, you won't have any money left, because you rely on me. You have no job.”
“How- How dare you.”
His voice remained even. “How dare you. Blaming me for my mother's breakdown. She hasn't touched me since I came out of her. It's not my fault she got knocked up by a cute Asian boy in college. It's not my fault she had no money and decided to sell her body for a science test. And you know what else? I support you. I support her. The money that keeps this apartment, the money that pays for your food, most of it comes from me, thanks to what she gets every month.”
She rushed forward and raised her hand to hit him, but he grabbed it firmly before it reached his face.
“I pay to keep you alive, and you know this.”
Rose, of small stature, was entirely engulfed in Thomas's shadow in the dim light. She used her free hand to punch Thomas in the stomach, but he remained unmoved. For a moment, there was only silence, and then tears from his aunt, which did nothing to soften his face.
He let go of her arm, and left for his room.
Previous
“What the hell are you doing coming home so late?”
“I went out.”
“Did you wash the dishes?”
“I do everything asked of me, you know that.”
“You're getting smart with me now, Thomas, you little shit.”
Thomas, for once, looked her straight in the eyes.
“When I leave at eighteen, you won't have any money left, because you rely on me. You have no job.”
“How- How dare you.”
His voice remained even. “How dare you. Blaming me for my mother's breakdown. She hasn't touched me since I came out of her. It's not my fault she got knocked up by a cute Asian boy in college. It's not my fault she had no money and decided to sell her body for a science test. And you know what else? I support you. I support her. The money that keeps this apartment, the money that pays for your food, most of it comes from me, thanks to what she gets every month.”
She rushed forward and raised her hand to hit him, but he grabbed it firmly before it reached his face.
“I pay to keep you alive, and you know this.”
Rose, of small stature, was entirely engulfed in Thomas's shadow in the dim light. She used her free hand to punch Thomas in the stomach, but he remained unmoved. For a moment, there was only silence, and then tears from his aunt, which did nothing to soften his face.
He let go of her arm, and left for his room.
Previous
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
02: Love
“Whoa. That was really good.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my better ones. My earlier works aren’t as good as this.”
Thomas would have also commented on how strange his voice was, so different from his regular voice, as though the sounds said were a direct window to that world, rather than the faltering noise of a poor, or even adequate messenger. It was like he didn’t even hear him speak.
“That’s all you have so far?”
“I don’t have a lot, but there’s little more than this. I’ll read you a chapter every week if you want.”
“Sure, your writing is great. Really great. I’m so bad with words that I can’t even say how great it is.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it. I don’t really show my writing to people.”
“I’ll count myself lucky- hey, I have a question though.”
“Yeah?”
“Was the alien guy based off you?” He said this carefully. Felix’s eyes were a dullish blue-gray, and his hair, while not quite white, was a very light blond. The reference was too obvious.
“Yeah, he’s a gratuitous author insertion. Or an author surrogate, like the pros would call it.”
“That’s kind of funny-”
Thomas could hear the apartment door open loudly from inside Felix’s room, car keys jangling, and the sound of a woman’s laughter, followed quickly by a man. Also, sexual profanities, and the woman was giggling at them, “oh,” and “oh you” and “oh yes” and more girlish chuckling. Felix’s face blanched clean of blood, and his friend whispered.
“Is this a bad time? Should I go home?”
“It’s fine.” It didn’t sound fine. “My mom’s just... just... starved for attention. I don’t recognize this guy. He sounds new.”
“Um, what should I do then?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything.” Felix smiled, and Thomas felt a tearing kind of sorrow.
“My mother won’t even speak to me,” he said out of the blue, and immediately lamented the comparison. “Sorry- that was totally inappropriate...”
“It’s fine,” he repeated. “Tell me about your mom.”
“My aunt told me she didn’t want to see me born, but Valiant already paid her off to raise me. You know this, ‘test wombs’ get stipends every month to feed us for as long as we stay alive until we’re eighteen. My mom didn’t want to touch me. She didn’t talk, she went mute. My aunt had to raise me and I stayed in school day cares and extra curricular activities just to avoid her.”
“That’s tough. Sorry.”
“I’m free money. Two years from now they’ll never want to see my face again. I never asked to be born. It makes me wish they were- no. That’s just shitty of me.”
“Wish they were?”
“Dead.”
“No, it’s not shitty. Calm down. I’d never wish anyone dead, but I know where you’re coming from.”
“You’re a better person than me, Felix.”
“I taunt rich kids and then confuse them by laughing instead of shouting when they beat the shit out of me. I don’t know what that makes me. But you know, I don’t mind.”
“...Mind what?”
“The world is so, so ugly. And that’s why it’s so beautiful.”
“You lost me.”
Felix sighed. “It’s fine.”
The room door opened, and almost made Thomas jump. Felix’s mother looked a lot like his, pale skinned, blue eyed, with delicate features. It disturbed him. A hickey on her neck, a bruise under her left eye- it all made him feel ill.
“Aw, Felix, you got yourself a friend! Does he know Nelo?”
“No mom, Nelo is a rich bratty girl who has existential problems and refuses to speak to me. Go back to your boyfriend.”
“His name is Stephan, you’ll like him!”
“No I won't.”
A small pause, and then she left. Thomas looked down at the carpet, a dark navy.
“You can leave if you want, Thomas.”
“If you want me to.”
His voice did not shake, but something felt like shaking and trembling inside. “I want you to stay actually, but I’m embarrassed now. I’m really sorry.”
Thomas, uncertain, took out a notepad and scribbled down his cell phone number and address.
“Call me. We can’t hang out at our house, but there’s places we can go.”
“Alright.”
They both stood. There seemed so much to say, but no way of saying it.
“Thomas- it gets better. It better get better. I will make it get better, or I will die.”
Felix, emperor of distances and silences. Thomas nodded, not entirely following.
“Call me.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my better ones. My earlier works aren’t as good as this.”
Thomas would have also commented on how strange his voice was, so different from his regular voice, as though the sounds said were a direct window to that world, rather than the faltering noise of a poor, or even adequate messenger. It was like he didn’t even hear him speak.
“That’s all you have so far?”
“I don’t have a lot, but there’s little more than this. I’ll read you a chapter every week if you want.”
“Sure, your writing is great. Really great. I’m so bad with words that I can’t even say how great it is.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it. I don’t really show my writing to people.”
“I’ll count myself lucky- hey, I have a question though.”
“Yeah?”
“Was the alien guy based off you?” He said this carefully. Felix’s eyes were a dullish blue-gray, and his hair, while not quite white, was a very light blond. The reference was too obvious.
“Yeah, he’s a gratuitous author insertion. Or an author surrogate, like the pros would call it.”
“That’s kind of funny-”
Thomas could hear the apartment door open loudly from inside Felix’s room, car keys jangling, and the sound of a woman’s laughter, followed quickly by a man. Also, sexual profanities, and the woman was giggling at them, “oh,” and “oh you” and “oh yes” and more girlish chuckling. Felix’s face blanched clean of blood, and his friend whispered.
“Is this a bad time? Should I go home?”
“It’s fine.” It didn’t sound fine. “My mom’s just... just... starved for attention. I don’t recognize this guy. He sounds new.”
“Um, what should I do then?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything.” Felix smiled, and Thomas felt a tearing kind of sorrow.
“My mother won’t even speak to me,” he said out of the blue, and immediately lamented the comparison. “Sorry- that was totally inappropriate...”
“It’s fine,” he repeated. “Tell me about your mom.”
“My aunt told me she didn’t want to see me born, but Valiant already paid her off to raise me. You know this, ‘test wombs’ get stipends every month to feed us for as long as we stay alive until we’re eighteen. My mom didn’t want to touch me. She didn’t talk, she went mute. My aunt had to raise me and I stayed in school day cares and extra curricular activities just to avoid her.”
“That’s tough. Sorry.”
“I’m free money. Two years from now they’ll never want to see my face again. I never asked to be born. It makes me wish they were- no. That’s just shitty of me.”
“Wish they were?”
“Dead.”
“No, it’s not shitty. Calm down. I’d never wish anyone dead, but I know where you’re coming from.”
“You’re a better person than me, Felix.”
“I taunt rich kids and then confuse them by laughing instead of shouting when they beat the shit out of me. I don’t know what that makes me. But you know, I don’t mind.”
“...Mind what?”
“The world is so, so ugly. And that’s why it’s so beautiful.”
“You lost me.”
Felix sighed. “It’s fine.”
The room door opened, and almost made Thomas jump. Felix’s mother looked a lot like his, pale skinned, blue eyed, with delicate features. It disturbed him. A hickey on her neck, a bruise under her left eye- it all made him feel ill.
“Aw, Felix, you got yourself a friend! Does he know Nelo?”
“No mom, Nelo is a rich bratty girl who has existential problems and refuses to speak to me. Go back to your boyfriend.”
“His name is Stephan, you’ll like him!”
“No I won't.”
A small pause, and then she left. Thomas looked down at the carpet, a dark navy.
“You can leave if you want, Thomas.”
“If you want me to.”
His voice did not shake, but something felt like shaking and trembling inside. “I want you to stay actually, but I’m embarrassed now. I’m really sorry.”
Thomas, uncertain, took out a notepad and scribbled down his cell phone number and address.
“Call me. We can’t hang out at our house, but there’s places we can go.”
“Alright.”
They both stood. There seemed so much to say, but no way of saying it.
“Thomas- it gets better. It better get better. I will make it get better, or I will die.”
Felix, emperor of distances and silences. Thomas nodded, not entirely following.
“Call me.”
“I will. Bye.”
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Interlude A: Ascent of Pelago, Chapter One
Ascent of Pelago: Chapter One
Pelago had long, fire red hair and eyes black as coal. When she sung, it was the shattering melody of thunderstorms and earthquakes. When she danced, the flowers would bow down in her name. When she spoke, the rain would go silent.
Everything was silent nowadays, from the solid teeth of the dead, to the sun, to the foraging animals who ate a good few human bones. As far as she could tell, she was the only one left, and felt nothing. Father was dead. Mother was dead. Lover one was dead. Lover two was dead. Friends, enemies, and frenemies, all dead.
For a period, she questioned why she felt nothing. In psychology class in her freshman (her only) year of college, they talked about the five stages of grief, the Kubler-Ross Model. In her many notebooks that she collected, she wrote the stages down.
1. Denial (No denying the corpses on the ground, and voiceless mouths, and maggots, and the stench, that too.)
2. Anger (She was angry, but it dulled down)
3. Bargaining (Who was she to bargain with? God? The Dead Dalai Lama? Vishnu, Shiva, Those Wiccan Deities? Herself?)
4. Depression (She was depressed, but that too, dulled down.)
5. Acceptance (Acceptance, now that was crazy.)
Early on, there were some odd days, with wild happiness- “I'M FREE! I'M FREE! NO ONE TO PLEASE, NO ONE TO ARGUE WITH!” Those came and went. She would go to the open marts and loot the rotten food, forage for weapons to keep the animals at bay, and go on her merry route. Mostly, days involved crying, which turned to months, which turned into half a year.
January 2- it was freezing cold. She dragged around a shopping cart and a tent for emergencies, and wandered for the sake of wandering. Winter was spent on the rich part of an empty hotel, warm with down comforters. There were few bodies on the that floor, and it had all the amenities, including large jugs of water. There was no point going outside, after all, until one day, she spied the walking figure of a human outside of the hotel, white hair blowing. It was a casual gait, and the person's figure was blinding, white clothes unmarred by dirt. He was crossing the street. She could not see the face from so high up.
Pelago's heart sprinted a mile long race as she ran down the flights of stairs to get a glimpse of the figure, so eager for company, disregarding whether or not this person was a possible threat. Flinging herself out the doors, she found him standing outside, and gasped.
He was not an old man like the white hair suggested, which was shoulder length and untied. Instead, he appeared to be about her age, slender, and a bit taller than her father, who was a tall man indeed. His eyes were an eerie sky blue, face faintly handsome and red from the cold, and he wore a dress shirt and similarly white pants.
“I-Uh- I um, oh god oh god oh god-”
Clearly she had lost the ability to speak coherently after six months of solitude. She was almost in tears, and the young man opened his mouth, voice not unlike a church bell, the kind rung in ceremonies. Almost too clear, when she considered it- too solid.
“You are the only human left, Pelago Jane.”
She cried now.
“Are you an angel?”
He hesitated.
“I was supposed to tell you that, as the missions stated, but it appears that you aren't a believer.”
“W-what... what are you talking about, oh god oh god are you going to kill me?”
“I will do nothing of the sort. I was sent here by my superiors. Your preservation is precious to us, but I am higher than lying and pretending to be some sort of fool deity to impregnate you with some higher power.”
She could not speak.
“I am to remain with you for three human cycles. We will extend your life. Tell me all you can about Earth history. We would like to hear it.”
Her knees wobbled underneath her. Pelago sobbed and sobbed. The stranger's tone changed to one of trained, rehearsed sympathy.
“I know this is difficult for you.”
“Like hell you do.”
His eyes blinked in surprise. “No, you are right. I do not know how difficult this is for you. This is difficult for me as well. Three human cycles is a long time to waste, and I doubt they will return for me-”
She slugged him in the jaw, and red blood escaped his nose. He laughed, a noise that was surprisingly without spite, a noise one would usually get after telling a mild joke.
“We shall be here for a while, Pelago.”
Previous
Pelago had long, fire red hair and eyes black as coal. When she sung, it was the shattering melody of thunderstorms and earthquakes. When she danced, the flowers would bow down in her name. When she spoke, the rain would go silent.
Everything was silent nowadays, from the solid teeth of the dead, to the sun, to the foraging animals who ate a good few human bones. As far as she could tell, she was the only one left, and felt nothing. Father was dead. Mother was dead. Lover one was dead. Lover two was dead. Friends, enemies, and frenemies, all dead.
For a period, she questioned why she felt nothing. In psychology class in her freshman (her only) year of college, they talked about the five stages of grief, the Kubler-Ross Model. In her many notebooks that she collected, she wrote the stages down.
1. Denial (No denying the corpses on the ground, and voiceless mouths, and maggots, and the stench, that too.)
2. Anger (She was angry, but it dulled down)
3. Bargaining (Who was she to bargain with? God? The Dead Dalai Lama? Vishnu, Shiva, Those Wiccan Deities? Herself?)
4. Depression (She was depressed, but that too, dulled down.)
5. Acceptance (Acceptance, now that was crazy.)
Early on, there were some odd days, with wild happiness- “I'M FREE! I'M FREE! NO ONE TO PLEASE, NO ONE TO ARGUE WITH!” Those came and went. She would go to the open marts and loot the rotten food, forage for weapons to keep the animals at bay, and go on her merry route. Mostly, days involved crying, which turned to months, which turned into half a year.
January 2- it was freezing cold. She dragged around a shopping cart and a tent for emergencies, and wandered for the sake of wandering. Winter was spent on the rich part of an empty hotel, warm with down comforters. There were few bodies on the that floor, and it had all the amenities, including large jugs of water. There was no point going outside, after all, until one day, she spied the walking figure of a human outside of the hotel, white hair blowing. It was a casual gait, and the person's figure was blinding, white clothes unmarred by dirt. He was crossing the street. She could not see the face from so high up.
Pelago's heart sprinted a mile long race as she ran down the flights of stairs to get a glimpse of the figure, so eager for company, disregarding whether or not this person was a possible threat. Flinging herself out the doors, she found him standing outside, and gasped.
He was not an old man like the white hair suggested, which was shoulder length and untied. Instead, he appeared to be about her age, slender, and a bit taller than her father, who was a tall man indeed. His eyes were an eerie sky blue, face faintly handsome and red from the cold, and he wore a dress shirt and similarly white pants.
“I-Uh- I um, oh god oh god oh god-”
Clearly she had lost the ability to speak coherently after six months of solitude. She was almost in tears, and the young man opened his mouth, voice not unlike a church bell, the kind rung in ceremonies. Almost too clear, when she considered it- too solid.
“You are the only human left, Pelago Jane.”
She cried now.
“Are you an angel?”
He hesitated.
“I was supposed to tell you that, as the missions stated, but it appears that you aren't a believer.”
“W-what... what are you talking about, oh god oh god are you going to kill me?”
“I will do nothing of the sort. I was sent here by my superiors. Your preservation is precious to us, but I am higher than lying and pretending to be some sort of fool deity to impregnate you with some higher power.”
She could not speak.
“I am to remain with you for three human cycles. We will extend your life. Tell me all you can about Earth history. We would like to hear it.”
Her knees wobbled underneath her. Pelago sobbed and sobbed. The stranger's tone changed to one of trained, rehearsed sympathy.
“I know this is difficult for you.”
“Like hell you do.”
His eyes blinked in surprise. “No, you are right. I do not know how difficult this is for you. This is difficult for me as well. Three human cycles is a long time to waste, and I doubt they will return for me-”
She slugged him in the jaw, and red blood escaped his nose. He laughed, a noise that was surprisingly without spite, a noise one would usually get after telling a mild joke.
“We shall be here for a while, Pelago.”
Previous
Monday, November 1, 2010
01: Protagonist
They settled on meeting during weekends, at Felix’s house. Neither of them held any sort of religious observances, so Sundays worked as well. The first Saturday, after the initial awkwardness, was the both of them trading war stories, from typical child neglect to plans for the future. As it turned out, Felix wanted to be a novelist, and Thomas, just as he had stated, had no dreams.
“Aren’t you good at something? Everyone’s good at something, even if only a little bit. I’m not that stellar a writer, but I have dreams anyway. Don’t you do stuff? Drawing? Play a musical instrument? Dancing?”
“Not really. I have good grades, I guess. I can memorize stuff.”
“Go on.”
“Like, I remember when I met you, you were wearing a black shirt, and light blue jeans that had a little rip near your left ankle, and white sneakers. The guys who were beating you up was a brown haired kid with a big nose and a pasty black haired guy with a bowl cut with a lot of pimples and a digital watch that was stuck at 3:33, when I looked closer. Someone in the crowd was calling you a faggot. A few elderly people on the other side of the street were watching, and a mother passing by with her toddler pushed him away and offered to take him for ice cream, because he started crying. A limo was driving by at some point, and the windows rolled down a little-”
“Eidetic memory, wow.”
“Eidetic?”
“Photographic memory, Thomas. Do you remember everything like this?”
“Mostly only things I want to remember. When I study for a test I just look at the textbooks and memorize what the words and letters look like in my head.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“I guess.” Thomas scratched his head, and shrugged. “Mind showing me some of your writing? You have me interested now. Is it on your laptop?”
“Nah, it’s in a notebook.” Felix rummaged under his bed, everything in his room seemingly spotless, and took out a red marble composition book, college ruled.
“I’ll read it to you, if you want.”
“Sure.”
Previous
“Aren’t you good at something? Everyone’s good at something, even if only a little bit. I’m not that stellar a writer, but I have dreams anyway. Don’t you do stuff? Drawing? Play a musical instrument? Dancing?”
“Not really. I have good grades, I guess. I can memorize stuff.”
“Go on.”
“Like, I remember when I met you, you were wearing a black shirt, and light blue jeans that had a little rip near your left ankle, and white sneakers. The guys who were beating you up was a brown haired kid with a big nose and a pasty black haired guy with a bowl cut with a lot of pimples and a digital watch that was stuck at 3:33, when I looked closer. Someone in the crowd was calling you a faggot. A few elderly people on the other side of the street were watching, and a mother passing by with her toddler pushed him away and offered to take him for ice cream, because he started crying. A limo was driving by at some point, and the windows rolled down a little-”
“Eidetic memory, wow.”
“Eidetic?”
“Photographic memory, Thomas. Do you remember everything like this?”
“Mostly only things I want to remember. When I study for a test I just look at the textbooks and memorize what the words and letters look like in my head.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“I guess.” Thomas scratched his head, and shrugged. “Mind showing me some of your writing? You have me interested now. Is it on your laptop?”
“Nah, it’s in a notebook.” Felix rummaged under his bed, everything in his room seemingly spotless, and took out a red marble composition book, college ruled.
“I’ll read it to you, if you want.”
“Sure.”
Previous
01: Meet
Two weeks had passed since the first meeting, and the address stayed in Thomas's empty pencil tin, like a martyr's relic bones. He had yet to open it up, but that dull Saturday morning didn't include any other plans. Address crumpled in Thomas's fist, he pondered throwing it out and forgetting, but curiosity overtook him. Had it been a much earlier time, with less crazies and less suspicion, he would have probably gone over without qualms. But what if the stranger had sinister intentions? A kid getting beat up and laughing over the blows was enough excitement for a whole month, and it wasn't even the end of May yet.
He flattened the sheet of paper, the written letters surprisingly small, almost as though they did not want to be seen. Oh, he knew of this apartment complex. The 40 bus passed by it, which he usually took to buy art supplies in a shop in White Plains. All this time, Felix had lived there.
It was then that Thomas came to a realization that Felix had not even asked for his name. That was wild; if he had not been too curious before, he certainly was now. Against better judgment, he took the bus, and carried a pocket knife, a useless precaution if the kid had a gun, which was unlikely anyway. In the rare possibility that this would be a threat to his life, martial art classes and all, it was better than staying at home and being glared at by his Aunt Rose.
The bus ride took twenty minutes, and he arrived at one in the afternoon. Third floor, number 8. Thomas rang the bell, and was greeted by Felix, in sweatpants and a white shirt, who looked pleased with himself in a subdued sort of way.
“Hey! Come in. Looks like you decided to show up.”
“Um, yeah. My name is Thomas, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to ask you that. Thanks for telling me, I must look really weird now.”
“It's fine.”
“You know my name, right?”
“Yeah, it was on your name tag.”
“Alright, cool.”
The apartment living room was impeccably clean, if sparse. Not a spot of dust on the coffee table or the little book shelf. They did not have a television- who watches actual TV anymore- and had a razor thin laptop at the corner, black and sleek. The walls were devoid of any decoration, other than one photograph of a younger, perhaps six or seven-year old Felix that was almost easy to miss, hung by the door.
The table had a plate of orange vitamin apples, the skin a bright tangerine. It was sliced up neatly into wedges, accompanied a cup of peanut butter. Felix took the plate and offered it to him after getting one for himself.
“My mom keeps buying these. She says it's better to get vitamins from actual food, which is why the vitamin water stuff doesn't sell as well anymore.”
Thomas looked at it questioningly, but thought it better to be polite, taking a piece. He always considered the flavor to be an overpowering mixture of what tasted like orange artificial sweetener, and not like one would expect from a real apple. Dipping it in peanut butter, as Felix did, seemed even more unpalatable.
“Sit down,” Felix told him, all too eager. Thomas did so, and after finishing the cut apple, decided to put out his questions.
“So, Felix. Why'd you invite me here?”
“I was bored. Don't worry though, if you think I invited you here to hurt you or something, then you made a big mistake. Look at me. Do you honestly think I have the body to hurt anyone?”
A good point, but Thomas still had qualms.
“People don't randomly invite strangers into their houses though. It's not like it's the 1950's or biblical times.”
“Mostly I just wanted to see if you'd actually come. And you did, so now we're friends. I think.”
Thomas frowned. “It doesn't work that way.”
Felix had a look of contemplation, which held for a good ten seconds.
“If it didn't, you wouldn't have come here.”
Another good point. An irrational kind of anger was forming in Thomas, though he was normally not one to ever get angry.
“Alright, so we're friends now. Mind telling me your likes and dislikes? Dreams? Aspirations? Fears? The kind of stuff friends are supposed to know about each other.”
Smiling, the other boy shrugged, and began to speak. His voice was plain, slightly higher than average pitch, and had a peculiar kind of power.
“I like reading old blogs of people from years ago, old archived discussions on late nineties and early 2000’s. I like old music. I like sleeping. I like knowing people who I don’t know. I like watching people walk by, sitting in subways and buses. I like to see people happy and suffering. I like making fun of rich kids, and get beat up, because even though they’re ugly they’re beautiful too- everyone. Everything. I’m afraid of dying, but at the same time if I lose, I probably will go about doing it.”
Thomas held in his breath. There was no possible way to follow that up.
“...Lose? What do you mean, lose?”
“Life is beating me up. Worse than those private school boys. I know I’m not going to win. I give it till I’m twenty-four. If things don’t look up by then I’ll kill myself.”
“That- that... you shouldn’t do that. I’m sure you’ll have people who’ll miss you.”
No more smiles in the room.
“My mother gets a new boyfriend every week and pays no attention to me. She lives off what’s left of her inheritance, and when I was born that was her saving up more money. We have no close relatives within two states. I have no friends.”
“Except me.” It felt right to him.
Felix nodded solemnly.
“Except you.” Hesitation. “What about you? What are your dreams?”
“I don’t have any. I just sort of live.”
“I’ll see if I can change your mind.”
“I... I’ll see if I can change your mind about you killing yourself too.”
They both laughed.
“Good luck to us both then, Thomas.”
Previous
He flattened the sheet of paper, the written letters surprisingly small, almost as though they did not want to be seen. Oh, he knew of this apartment complex. The 40 bus passed by it, which he usually took to buy art supplies in a shop in White Plains. All this time, Felix had lived there.
It was then that Thomas came to a realization that Felix had not even asked for his name. That was wild; if he had not been too curious before, he certainly was now. Against better judgment, he took the bus, and carried a pocket knife, a useless precaution if the kid had a gun, which was unlikely anyway. In the rare possibility that this would be a threat to his life, martial art classes and all, it was better than staying at home and being glared at by his Aunt Rose.
The bus ride took twenty minutes, and he arrived at one in the afternoon. Third floor, number 8. Thomas rang the bell, and was greeted by Felix, in sweatpants and a white shirt, who looked pleased with himself in a subdued sort of way.
“Hey! Come in. Looks like you decided to show up.”
“Um, yeah. My name is Thomas, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to ask you that. Thanks for telling me, I must look really weird now.”
“It's fine.”
“You know my name, right?”
“Yeah, it was on your name tag.”
“Alright, cool.”
The apartment living room was impeccably clean, if sparse. Not a spot of dust on the coffee table or the little book shelf. They did not have a television- who watches actual TV anymore- and had a razor thin laptop at the corner, black and sleek. The walls were devoid of any decoration, other than one photograph of a younger, perhaps six or seven-year old Felix that was almost easy to miss, hung by the door.
The table had a plate of orange vitamin apples, the skin a bright tangerine. It was sliced up neatly into wedges, accompanied a cup of peanut butter. Felix took the plate and offered it to him after getting one for himself.
“My mom keeps buying these. She says it's better to get vitamins from actual food, which is why the vitamin water stuff doesn't sell as well anymore.”
Thomas looked at it questioningly, but thought it better to be polite, taking a piece. He always considered the flavor to be an overpowering mixture of what tasted like orange artificial sweetener, and not like one would expect from a real apple. Dipping it in peanut butter, as Felix did, seemed even more unpalatable.
“Sit down,” Felix told him, all too eager. Thomas did so, and after finishing the cut apple, decided to put out his questions.
“So, Felix. Why'd you invite me here?”
“I was bored. Don't worry though, if you think I invited you here to hurt you or something, then you made a big mistake. Look at me. Do you honestly think I have the body to hurt anyone?”
A good point, but Thomas still had qualms.
“People don't randomly invite strangers into their houses though. It's not like it's the 1950's or biblical times.”
“Mostly I just wanted to see if you'd actually come. And you did, so now we're friends. I think.”
Thomas frowned. “It doesn't work that way.”
Felix had a look of contemplation, which held for a good ten seconds.
“If it didn't, you wouldn't have come here.”
Another good point. An irrational kind of anger was forming in Thomas, though he was normally not one to ever get angry.
“Alright, so we're friends now. Mind telling me your likes and dislikes? Dreams? Aspirations? Fears? The kind of stuff friends are supposed to know about each other.”
Smiling, the other boy shrugged, and began to speak. His voice was plain, slightly higher than average pitch, and had a peculiar kind of power.
“I like reading old blogs of people from years ago, old archived discussions on late nineties and early 2000’s. I like old music. I like sleeping. I like knowing people who I don’t know. I like watching people walk by, sitting in subways and buses. I like to see people happy and suffering. I like making fun of rich kids, and get beat up, because even though they’re ugly they’re beautiful too- everyone. Everything. I’m afraid of dying, but at the same time if I lose, I probably will go about doing it.”
Thomas held in his breath. There was no possible way to follow that up.
“...Lose? What do you mean, lose?”
“Life is beating me up. Worse than those private school boys. I know I’m not going to win. I give it till I’m twenty-four. If things don’t look up by then I’ll kill myself.”
“That- that... you shouldn’t do that. I’m sure you’ll have people who’ll miss you.”
No more smiles in the room.
“My mother gets a new boyfriend every week and pays no attention to me. She lives off what’s left of her inheritance, and when I was born that was her saving up more money. We have no close relatives within two states. I have no friends.”
“Except me.” It felt right to him.
Felix nodded solemnly.
“Except you.” Hesitation. “What about you? What are your dreams?”
“I don’t have any. I just sort of live.”
“I’ll see if I can change your mind.”
“I... I’ll see if I can change your mind about you killing yourself too.”
They both laughed.
“Good luck to us both then, Thomas.”
Previous
01: Shatter
"You're the reason why your mother is in so much pain," his aunt told him without sensitivity, as though speaking through an automated teller rather than a person. Thomas, to her, was not a person anyway.
Iris Keller, his mother, looked nothing like him. Fair skinned, brown haired, and blue-eyed, she was beautiful, if hollow. She never left her room other than to take the trays left for her at her door. Her room had its own bathroom, and Thomas had given up trying to speak to her.
"Slanty eyed test tube," his aunt would curse at him, racism apparent, fear even more so. 6'3" and not quite white, Thomas was the result of carelessness. Her mother, as he had learned, was wild those days, and in an act of desperation sold her womb. And there he was now, alive and well. And there she was now, a dead shell, a backwards birth. In the rare instances where she did see her son's face, she would cry.
"I never asked to be born," he said once, eight years old and prone to fits of tears. His aunt would slap him. He'd run to his room, and wish he was dead. It was better not to think of things like that thoroughly, he knew better now. It only made him sad.
Love me. Love me love me love me love me please, I'm begging you mommy, please, I love you, it's not my fault, I love you.
Eight year old Thomas. What an idiot. That much didn't change.
Previous
Iris Keller, his mother, looked nothing like him. Fair skinned, brown haired, and blue-eyed, she was beautiful, if hollow. She never left her room other than to take the trays left for her at her door. Her room had its own bathroom, and Thomas had given up trying to speak to her.
"Slanty eyed test tube," his aunt would curse at him, racism apparent, fear even more so. 6'3" and not quite white, Thomas was the result of carelessness. Her mother, as he had learned, was wild those days, and in an act of desperation sold her womb. And there he was now, alive and well. And there she was now, a dead shell, a backwards birth. In the rare instances where she did see her son's face, she would cry.
"I never asked to be born," he said once, eight years old and prone to fits of tears. His aunt would slap him. He'd run to his room, and wish he was dead. It was better not to think of things like that thoroughly, he knew better now. It only made him sad.
Love me. Love me love me love me love me please, I'm begging you mommy, please, I love you, it's not my fault, I love you.
Eight year old Thomas. What an idiot. That much didn't change.
Previous
01: Encounter
May, close to the end of school, was the encounter. They met in a crowd of strangers, Felix at the center. Two other boys were pummeling him and Thomas, passing by while walking to the bus, stopped and tiptoed at the edge, taller than most.
Small framed and copy paper pale, Felix was a sight to behold, limbs twig-like, hair a faint blond. He was laughing. The harder they hit, the more he laughed, cuts on his eyebrow, bruises on his face, blood on his swollen lower lip. His laughter reminded Thomas of cathedrals and pews, and saints who were hung and burned.
When the mob dispersed, Thomas remained, staring shamelessly at Felix. The young man was wiping his cuts with his black shirt. Thomas took two steps forward.
"What do you want?"
"Do you... need help?"
The smile following this was meek and unassuming. "These will heal by tomorrow morning."
"...Valiant Co," Thomas blurted out, a hunch. "You're like me."
He froze. "Whoa. I was told most of the tests don't live past toddler age."
What followed was silence. Breathing, whispering through Thomas's ears- he could feel everything, from the veins inside him to Felix's little sniffles from his bloody nose.
"Let's be friends," Felix offered out of the blue, the school name tag still around his bony neck, Felix Sarai, Junior, Seller High. A public school. Thomas, surprised at his frankness, looked him in the eye with furrowed brows.
"Okay, sure," he answered, in shock at himself.
"I gotta go home, but here's my address." Felix scribbled down on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper from his pocket, and handed it over, before walking in the opposite direction, casually waving goodbye.
What a weird kid.
Previous
Small framed and copy paper pale, Felix was a sight to behold, limbs twig-like, hair a faint blond. He was laughing. The harder they hit, the more he laughed, cuts on his eyebrow, bruises on his face, blood on his swollen lower lip. His laughter reminded Thomas of cathedrals and pews, and saints who were hung and burned.
When the mob dispersed, Thomas remained, staring shamelessly at Felix. The young man was wiping his cuts with his black shirt. Thomas took two steps forward.
"What do you want?"
"Do you... need help?"
The smile following this was meek and unassuming. "These will heal by tomorrow morning."
"...Valiant Co," Thomas blurted out, a hunch. "You're like me."
He froze. "Whoa. I was told most of the tests don't live past toddler age."
What followed was silence. Breathing, whispering through Thomas's ears- he could feel everything, from the veins inside him to Felix's little sniffles from his bloody nose.
"Let's be friends," Felix offered out of the blue, the school name tag still around his bony neck, Felix Sarai, Junior, Seller High. A public school. Thomas, surprised at his frankness, looked him in the eye with furrowed brows.
"Okay, sure," he answered, in shock at himself.
"I gotta go home, but here's my address." Felix scribbled down on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper from his pocket, and handed it over, before walking in the opposite direction, casually waving goodbye.
What a weird kid.
Previous
01: Shell
Thomas likened Felix to apple cores and dull, small seashells that were crushed underfoot with little incident, beautiful but hidden in dirt and sand. He'd never tell him this, naturally, for boys their age were not one to compare each other to rotten fruit and pieces of flotsam. Sixteen had implications. If you were to call a boy beautiful, you were probably gay. Thomas was confident he had no interest in either genders, but found Felix beautiful anyway.
Another one- a caged sparrow. Those didn't survive well in captivity. Felix once told him that life is captivity, until you stomp enough men to be in a thin, rarefied atmosphere in which you no longer see the bottom you were once in. But Felix had no intention of stomping men, as much as he would have liked to.
Suspicions were high that Felix had no intentions to be anything but dead, but that was another story to tell. Thomas would have begged him not to, naturally, because his other friends used him for homework and his fake ID. Begging, for whatever reason, never seemed beneath him, but somehow he knew his opinion would have no sway.
"Thomas, what do you think happens after we die?" Felix asked him a month before, chilly early November cutting into both of their bones, the heat out again for the umpteenth time in Felix's awful apartment.
"I don't know, I think nothing happens. And if something did happen, it's probably not nice for most people."
"I want to stay here."
An eyebrow raiser, that statement. Felix and his sufferings, everyone and their sufferings. Why would anyone want to stay?
"Everyone says that the after will be better, Christians say prepare for it, and Buddhists, even though they don't have a heaven, want you to prepare too."
"Why do you say you want to stay?"
"I want things to work out. And if they don't, I want to be here when everything goes."
"I still say nothing happens."
"I never said otherwise," Felix replied. "That's why I want to stay."
All possible responses to his friend's train of thought eluded Thomas, so he settled on nodding.
"The world is just so violent. Violently stunning and amazing and perfect, and if everyone saw that everything would be better."
His eyes- Thomas saw distance. Felix was the emperor of distances, heliosheaths away despite being seated just across from him.
"I guess. I don't know," he replied.
Another one- a caged sparrow. Those didn't survive well in captivity. Felix once told him that life is captivity, until you stomp enough men to be in a thin, rarefied atmosphere in which you no longer see the bottom you were once in. But Felix had no intention of stomping men, as much as he would have liked to.
Suspicions were high that Felix had no intentions to be anything but dead, but that was another story to tell. Thomas would have begged him not to, naturally, because his other friends used him for homework and his fake ID. Begging, for whatever reason, never seemed beneath him, but somehow he knew his opinion would have no sway.
"Thomas, what do you think happens after we die?" Felix asked him a month before, chilly early November cutting into both of their bones, the heat out again for the umpteenth time in Felix's awful apartment.
"I don't know, I think nothing happens. And if something did happen, it's probably not nice for most people."
"I want to stay here."
An eyebrow raiser, that statement. Felix and his sufferings, everyone and their sufferings. Why would anyone want to stay?
"Everyone says that the after will be better, Christians say prepare for it, and Buddhists, even though they don't have a heaven, want you to prepare too."
"Why do you say you want to stay?"
"I want things to work out. And if they don't, I want to be here when everything goes."
"I still say nothing happens."
"I never said otherwise," Felix replied. "That's why I want to stay."
All possible responses to his friend's train of thought eluded Thomas, so he settled on nodding.
"The world is just so violent. Violently stunning and amazing and perfect, and if everyone saw that everything would be better."
His eyes- Thomas saw distance. Felix was the emperor of distances, heliosheaths away despite being seated just across from him.
"I guess. I don't know," he replied.
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