Dec. 9th, 2001
My Blue Boy
Dec. 9th, 2001 03:38 pmI've written this already a while ago. I never actually finished it. I found it again yesterday. Hm. Maybe I should finish it after all... It's a whole novel I have in my head and that's the introducing story.
My Blue Boyby Silver
Five Days
I was standing a bit off from the place where all the people were. My hands buried in my pockets, I was watching them, impassively, as if it was some television show. I liked doing that. To me, life is something beautiful to witness, just because I am no part of it. Laughter, joy, being together with your family, that's something wonderful I've never known.
My life has always been a lonely one. Has it ever been different? I do not remember. All I know is the look of this pair of pale gray eyes, staring back at me through the looking glass, cold and dead, like a fish. That's the one thing I inherited from my mother, I guess.
Believe me, I've tried. I've tried so hard to see the greatness of life, God's grand gift. And in a way, I did. I understood what other people saw in it. I was emphatic enough to do that. I just couldn't apply it to my own life, sad as it may sound.
I lifted my hand and let it run through my long hair, enjoying the feel of the wind as it gently grabbed it and spread it in the air. I marvelled at the fact that it's grown so quickly. IT'S BEAUTIFUL. Yes, it is... I've let it grow, just like I was told to. It used to be silver blonde, almost white, but I dyed it blue. Prussic blue. I still chuckle at the thought of my mother's shriek when she saw me like that for the first time.
The lovely scenery in front of me soon got boring and I moved on, along the paths, crossing the lawn. The wind angrily tore off a couple of yellow and red leaves and threw them in front of my feet, but I spared them as I strode on.
My destination was a small temple-like construction that was towering over the park. The wind was always the strongest there and when the weather was like this, people hardly ever went up there. This made it the perfect location for me.
I perched myself on the railing and rolled myself a nice smoke. As I stuck it between my lips and gave myself a light I thought about how cool it would be if this temple actually had any meaning and the unnamed woman at my back actually was the image of an ancient goddess worth my worship. I amused myself with the idea of performing pagan rites at her, asking for her blessing and approval. This actually made me chuckle.
I don't think I believe in God. At least I'm not sure and that's probably answer enough. There must be something out there, I just don't know what. Probably it's just some universal force that takes the form of whatever I fancy to worship and if I'm inclined to believe, it can scared the bejesus out of me that I might not be doing it the right way and thus be damned for all eternity. Whatever. If there's an afterlife, I just hope it's better than the crap I've got down here.
My glance wandered off to the paths that run like veins through the park. I could see people there, running now, as it started to rain. They ran in groups, hugging their sweethearts or pulling their children with them, holding their coats together to protect themselves from the rain.
Those are people who are loved. Who have a destination and who want to protect the ones they love. People who are lonely don't run in the rain. What does it matter after all when you get wet? When you return home, nobody will notice your sorry state and when you catch pneumonia and die, no one will mourn you. Thus, lonely people don't run in the rain. That includes me.
I don't have any memories of a happier life. Memories of days beyond sadness. I'm sure there must be some, but they are out of reach for me. I have always been lonely, my father has always been dead and my mother has always been... my mother. I was only 11 when he died, so I surely should remember, but still I don't. The present is just too present, I guess. But I don't really mind. I never live in the past and I certainly don't live in the future. I don't plan and I don't regret.
I'm glad that I found this stoic way of treating things. I can see it from a distance now. It used to be different though. Not too long ago, I used to get angry all the time. When my mother asked her polite questions and I felt that she was intruding my life. Then I would yell and rage, only to cause one of her benign smiles that didn't reach her eyes. And she would forget about me and I would get angry again. It was an endless, useless circle of pain.
That was a very significant day in my life when I said goodbye to this habit. I remember it well. I had passed out over a bottle of expensive whiskey. That was the only thing I actually managed to buy myself, because then people don't assume you're just another kid who's setting out for a binge. And I could afford that. I could spend all of my allowance on such crap since I never planned for the future. Why bother?
So there I was, lying on the floor, in a pool of my own blood and the shards of the shattered bottle pressing into my skin. Those fancy bottles, they are shaped the way that they don't roll away when you let go of them, but they still break when you hit them in a frenzy. I could feel the blood leaking out of me, quickening my heartbeat and that might have been the first time I got a taste of this.
I just didn't care. The alcohol made me warm and mellow and the loss of blood gave me a tremendous exhilaration. I closed my eyes and started drifting off. That was when I heard this voice in my head for the first time. The calm voice of a man, talking to me in the most patient and loving way.
Hell, I have so many memories in my head, but this one I've lost. I can't remember what exactly it was that it said to me, but it made me snap back into reality with a painful suddenness. I became aware of my cuts and my sickness, the disgusting way my shirt stuck to my skin, the drying blood and pieces of glass making it very uncomfortable. I realized the twisting and turning of the room and I groaned helplessly. Grabbing the curtains, I tried to pull myself into an upright position, but I was too weak. Suddenly I felt this support in my limbs, flowing through my veins like electricity and I managed to sit up.
Then I sat there, dressing my wounds. I had a first aid kit for situations like this, since I often cut myself, both unintentionally and deliberately. So I sat there when I heard this voice again, or maybe it was just my imagination. GROW YOUR HAIR AND BE KIND TO YOUR KIN, the whisper said.
Oh yes, my "kin". Yeah right! A little more than kin, and less than kind...
I wanted to snort derisively in reply, but then I found myself promising it. "Yes...yes, I will."
Said hair now whipped into my face as the wind took hold of it once again and brought me back into reality. I began to feel the cold and shivered. The magic was broken and I realized that it was time to face my life again, a life that had me trapped like a rat, that went on and on each day with a nauseating persistence that it made me want to scream in pain every morning when I opened my eyes only to find that nothing had changed.
Who would have thought that five days later, I'd be dead?