Endless Secret -- Cat's Eye FanFic

The endless space of a color that only appears to be blue. My eyes wonder aimlessly, staring at the details of the airplane. To my right, a hibernating man oblivious to the shouting and screaming of the passengers. The weeping of the women and children deemed the weaker specimen, file into a mob and exit to the front of the plane. They will be spared. After all, my friends are extremists of peace.

I am hurled onto the ground of the business class, warm from the frantic footsteps of the terrified people. Everyone remaining is told to “get down!”

They are not terrorists. They are not hijackers in my head. The familiar looking comrades simply completing a task crucial to the research I was a part of just yesterday. This is what they believe in. If speaking my opinion about the science I uncovered was a crime, then I would be criminal as well: a person without the right of forgiveness. Instead, I am to be a forgotten marble, buried under the bridge of the living. Unaware of my tendency to exist.

My colleagues in search of their own definition of “just” are now looking through my clothes for an electronic, my baggage for a clue, my seating area for an answer. The words that I was to present on to the scientific community are now scattered onto the ground. Those are not the papers they want. The wingless butterflies fall on top of a few nameless, faceless victims. But I am not a victim. I am the target.  The reason. The unwanted broken glass in the bottle of prized marbles.

I feel like an onlooker until an acquaintance picks me up off the ground.

“I’m sorry, Stephen.”

My research and speculations are unwanted. I am a danger. To the lives of the passengers who have the misfortune of sharing their plane with me. So I stand up and run. I won’t get far. It’s simply my distraction. Unlike the secret of the universe, which will spill onto the Earth eventually, the action of defiance belongs to me.  I open the painted door of the airplane that leads to a space without humans; the air without breathe. The coldness bites into my eyes shocked open far too wide. I close my eyes.

The men know they are after me and silencing my work. They know they must mimic the actions of a hijacking. They know the value of life. Better than anyone else.

To those people, I am only a common marble. Just like the marbles I found on the playground discarded by other children because they were cracked. I hid them in the center of the jars of puries and water babies and cat’s eyes. Even broken marbles deserve to belong somewhere.

I hear the ringing of the trigger and cracking of the finger and the silent whisper of goodbye. The aqua particles of water await my blood and bones; the moisture will be my resting place.

I fly.

Jazz Club

So I always go to this jazz club and they always give me a hard time on the style of the brass I like. But the way they play it... It's like the music isn't even hitting my world in a way. The world cannot tell me what I want to hear. It's not like the world is still spinning and it's not like I could care. It wasn't anything of use to me and I don't know if I care. But there's this starling noise humming through every single one of my thoughts and I can't understand what it means. The reasons behind the dull pounding haven't gotten me thinking or made a revelation. It's not the way it works for me. Music simply gives me a small escape form the rest of the world and it gives me a reason to look on the brighter side of things. The sound of the brass is what makes the symphony exciting and new. The jazz with a breezy feel and serious message gives me a reason to smile, or cry depending on the circumstances.

But the way they play it that jazz club... It's so FAKE. The tenor sax is playing, but the sound doesn't ring through the room in the same way. The alto sax is playing, but the sound isn't booming the room in the same way. The piano is playing, but the keys aren't producing the same quality of music, as the piano that's tuning in my dreams. The trumpet... The bass... The drums... It's not the same. None of it is. It's not the same music I once gave up my life for. It's not the same music I fell in love with. It's not the same music I listened to in my dreams.

How do I explain this? The jazz club in great for business, with it's new popular music selection and rowdy teenagers.

Heart's Over

He walked down the same alley way he did an hour ago, a month ago, a year ago. He sang here when he was drunk from the numerous successful expertise business meetings, desperate with a broken heart, high on drugs killing his life.

Yet, this time it was different. He stumbled around looking for a couple dollars of change on the ground so he could start saving for his next shot. Kevin needed hallucinogens to forget about the pain of mourning and escape the hopeless society he once called home. But drugs don’t ease the pain for very long, and when he couldn’t handle his broken heart any longer without contemplating suicide, he turned to drugs. Now, the drugs have turned on him and taken him into a dark abyss.

Kevin found himself lying on the ground of the alleyway, finally too tired from lack of sleep and proper nutrition.

As his job, friends, wealth and family one by one abandoned him, the musical melody that was stubborn and strong stayed with him. Giving him the inspiration and heart the write the most incredible songs, he still couldn’t pull his life together to continue his career as a singer - song writer. It was easier to stay in the alleyway, peddling money until he got enough for his next dose, his next prescription of medication for the wounds his dead wife left, anyways.

No one could heal those terrible slashes.

‘Why bother forgetting?’ he thought, ‘It’ll get better after I get. It’s the only way to freeze the images of the blood won’t stop flowing. It’s the only way to escape the reality where his wife killed herself from depression; a reality where he never noticed.’

“My heart won’t stop aching,” he said aloud, breathing heavily, on the verge of tears.

Like any other time when the hurting of his shattered heart became too much to bear and the next available hit of his narcotics seemed too far away to imagine, he sang.

The ocean of flooding hearts

Open up a hole to hide

The scattered parts

Of my love that has been shot from the inside.

The sea of lost emotion

Could not understand

My painful under-estimation

Of the King of Kings and the sovereign holy land.

The love he took away

The hope it stole from me

The nights that blend into day

Make me unable to believe

She’s really flown off to a better place, he finished in his head.

The applause should have startled him, but at that time at night, the roads and alleyways were not the most respectable place a person could be singing, and sudden noises were things he quickly adapted to. His life as a homeless man was an infinite amount of times less stressful than his musical career. But that might be due to his lack of reason to live. Death didn’t shock him. Blood didn’t startle him.

His wife had already abandoned his dimension, and the purpose of life was lost that moment.

The check for a thousand dollars that had been handed to him, however, shocked him to no end.

“Who are you?” Kevin demanded suspiciously, taking the check nevertheless. Only thinking about when the nearest bank would be open and how quickly he could rid of the heart ache, most of what the gentleman was saying was lost to the wind. The question was only a distraction so he could run away if the man offering him help was police.

Deciding to suddenly turn away from the man in front of him that was introducing himself, Kevin felt the other grab his arm. Tensing him muscles and getting ready to fight if needed, he found himself facing the second shock of the night.

“You can start over, you know.”

Kevin shook his head.

Life wasn’t that easy. A person can’t just wipe the footprints he imprinted onto the path, clean; can’t go back in time in prevent events; can’t deal with problems differently.

“A person’s heart can’t erase its memories and start over, you know.”

Marching

March is suppose to have something significant, right?
Like January is New Year.
Like February is Valentine's Day.
Like every month of the year is suppose to mean something, right?

All I can think to look froward in March, is March break. Still, it seems too long, already. For me, it wasn't the biggest deal is elementary school and it's not a big deal now.

Especially this year.
Especially when my mother hates my dad and my dad has finally had enough. There a startling revelation that decided to explode over my head like a hand grenade. The intimidating silence is already haunting my dreams and I haven't even thought about the "separation." My parents are too business for a divorce. It's bad for reputation.

There's really not much to look forward to March break. When the only time I get off, is to think about whose house I want to live in, how much money I can squeeze out of my parents, and how many nights a week I get to spend sulking, cause all friends are with their families, maybe you can get my drift...

It's not the prospect of a vacation that sickens me. It's me.

I know I shouldn't be taking out my anger on a month.

Sounds

Why does he sound happy?

He sounds like he's delighted to be here, when I know he's not. When I know he was focused here but the bullies. By the rulers of the hallway, he follows them like a loyal subject. Not for any reason I can think of. And I want to ask him to justify his actions, but I'm afraid I'm reading the situation wrong. I'm afraid that I'm making a mistake, and that he really wants to be here. But I also know I wasn't hallucinating when I observed the scene from yesterday. I know I saw a look of desperation.

As my friends walk towards me, I tear my attention away from boy before me and turn around to laugh at some lame jokes I don't really understand. My head is pre-occupied by what I witnessed yesterday and I'm still hung up about it. I can't shake the thought and I can't hear clearly the words being spoken around me.

Only the words he said are running through my mind at an infinite speed per hour and I see the fear in his eyes. There's no doubt what I heard was right.

"Please. Stop. I can't take it anymore," he sobbed.

But I'm still afraid to speak up. I'm still afraid to do something. It's wrong, it's twisted. It's just... not right.

Luckily, I have a little bit of courage in reserve, somewhere buried deep inside my conscience. Maybe the guilt brought it out or maybe the regret from not doing something at the first moment I watched the event brought on this newly produced bravery. I find myself walking into the office and writing an incident report, not quite sure what to describe. So I stop. I grab the first teacher I see in the office and I talk to do her. I tell her honestly what I heard, what I saw, and even what I felt.

Feeling a little lighter as a walked out of the office, I set out to make a new friend.

Replay

I trudged onwards knowing there was no exit. Onwards down the metallic hallway without the closest door squeaking even a little in my tired presence. But what was the use? Without a way to escape my hell, the best I could do in this situation was the prolonging of the pain given to my already scarred and blood-deprived body. Even though every step was an effort almost too great for me to withstand, I managed to muster up the will to go on; the thought of seeing my brother kept me going.

As I tried to push open another doors I knew was locked, somewhere in the desperation of my mind, I prayed for a miracle. Any divinity that could get me away from this hallway, I would be willing to worship for the rest of my existence. Still, dreams cease to be reality.

HIS steps behind me were silent and the only indication of his presence was the aura I was now slowly getting used to. The only feature I remember about the man was his scarlet, red eyes. Before, fear would strike my entire body, but I felt almost nothing as his gloved hands came up behind my delicate skull and wiped the blood around my neck, almost gently.

“I’ll be alright,” he purred.

While my breathing was ecstatic, my heart beat was still strong. The thought of living to see my brother scrambled inside my mind as the only coherent thing that existed.

Growing up with someone was the single most annoying thing in the world. When every word my brother spoke was as predictable as my failing grade, I came to know him better than I should have. I’d seen him laugh till he cried, and smile till all the emotions he would bury in silence flooded out in the form of silent tears. Yet, I’ve never heard him scream. Not like the blood rupturing sound that assaulted my ears. It wasn’t a sound of pain or frustration. It was a sign of absolute lost hope. Feeling as if my own world had been tortured by merciless devils, the air suddenly became too dusty and the endless hallway seemed too constrictive. My breathing went out of control.

However, it wasn’t until I saw the crimson splatter onto the maroon carpet, did I realise the knife He was holding had plunged into my arm.  Still, the pain never hit me. The tear did first. Along with the salty tears that came in the same volume as the never-ending ocean water, the thought of dying along with my brother struck me.

I vaguely remember my capturer whispering something incoherent into my ear, as I fell onto the floor staining it a new shade of crimson red.

***

I woke up surrounded by a nurse working roughly over me in a room with lights too bright for my newly opened eyes.

“You’ve just been in a car accident. It appears as if you’ve had an allergic reaction to the medication the doctor prescribed and you’ve been hallucinating. ”

Her words didn’t register in my mind.

***

The downward spiral continued until I heard him say, “It’ll be alright.”

I was laying in His arms now, head completely unsupported. My eyes flipped to the back of my head as the sight of the carpet welcomed me to a new kind of terror; a different scene of fright His scarlet red eyes didn’t show. The carpet may be the key to silence in his hallway and maze and the carpet didn’t extend to the room with the light coming underneath the door.

But I was now close enough to the dried fluffy surface that I could see the maroon wasn’t an even shade. The once white carpet was stained with the colour of dried blood.

***

“Don’t worry. The drug should wear off soon. Your brother’s in the waiting room. Would you like me to call him here? Blink once for yes, or twice for no.”

I summoned the strength I didn’t know I had and blinked my eyes. As she left my annoyingly beeping monitored-room, I breathed a sigh of relief; the first in a long time. My brother was okay and I, to some degree, would be okay, too.

My bother entered my hospital room with gleaming eyes. It was so hard to look away, so mesmerizing that I almost didn’t notice the man with the white coat walking in. Immediately, my brother’s blissful laughter over my recovery was tuned out by the motion of His hands hovering over the two of us.

That man...

With the scarlet red eyes...

Spirit of Giving

I met my angel at a New Years Party. It was a season of closing old doors and opening new ones. A new year was a time of endings and new beginnings. In the harsh, cold winter of Canada, I saw a haven of warmth in her pool of creamy brown eyes. It was a mash of feelings, somewhat along the lines of perfection and destruction. She was a blend of innocence and hatred. I felt myself walking towards her without the slightest hesitation, as I studied her eyes in the distance. The blunt pain seen in her eyes was beyond beautiful. I wanted to know the fallen angel for myself.

***

Mary had been blind seen a car accident on the edge of the highway. The car simply lost control and found itself being smashed to pieces by the oncoming truck. The impact of the crash, the sound of the shatter windows and the taste of blood from her raw bitten lips, she would never forget. It was the same accident that took the lives of her parents before she could remember what the light of the world looked like. She was too young to remember what kind of grief she was plagued by after the loss of her family and the guilt ate her alive. Mary longed to see the world again. Even if it was just a second, Mary needed to see the faces of her parents one more time. One more second of light. There was nothing she wasn't ready to give in order to peek at the photo of her once complete family.

Still, she was poor.

***

I thought I'd give myself a chance and I decided to approach her with a smile. My charm turned onto the maximum capacity and quickly overflowing, as I walked towards her. As my feet closed the distance between her and myself, my heart was flattering quicker and my cheeks were glower redder. I felt in love at first site in the season was giving.

As I made the effort to talk comfortably with her, the thought that ran through my mind was:
I have nothing to lose. 

***

As Christmas rolled around again, I was ready to give Mary the best Christmas present anyone had ever received. She would get the cornea transplant she was waiting for. She would get the miracle she had been praying for. My fallen angel would fly again.

I was right. Never had I seen such an ecstatic expression explode onto her face. As Mary jumped into my arms, I tighten my grip around her, as if to say I would never let go. Somewhere in my human heart, I didn't want her to be able to experience the light of the world. There was so much hatred, so much discrimination, so much jealous that her blindness gave her ignorance to.

As I collapsed onto the bed, I reached for the drawer and managed to put my latest health check up paper along with the rest of them; but the small motion took too much strength as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

***

I drove to the hospital that night. After carefully parking in the garage, I trudged my way in to cardiac client as I had done so many times before. It was routine. Yet, this time, my world was filled with an excepted kind of regret. Soon, my tears wouldn't stop.

As my doctor approached me, the donor card in hand, I wiped my liquid weakness away to evaporate into the abyss. There was a certain lady who had stolen my love. There was a certain divinity that needed wings to fly and I had the perfect, matching pair.

By New Year's Day, Mary would have her new beginning and I would have my closing. I would be able to rest in peace.

It's Too Loud

There’s a blunt and violent idea streaming through the depths of my mind. The same way the water will not stop flowing no matter how calm the river, I cannot shake the thoughts that haunt my soul and shatters what little sanity I have left. I cannot tell where the intention began – exactly which part of my life went wrong. All I hear is a voice becoming unbearably loud. A whisper has become undeniably prominent. The control that locked a beast is loosening from the echoes of the sounds. I want to escape the resonance. Yet, there is no corner in this chamber for my sanity to hide.
***
“Killing spree in the downtown core”
***
There’s a bunch of men outside the glass door screaming something I cannot comprehend. When the movement strikes my eyes, there a compulsive need to pull the trigger that I do not have the power to ignore. I have already given into the temptation. So I shot into the direction of all the noise hoping to calm the people yelling at me in a disturbing tone of voice.
Eventually, everyone is silent again or perhaps I have lost my sense of hearing. I can see myself lying in a pool of scarlet red, but my eyes close before I can confirm anything. At least the beast is satisfied. It will be asleep for a while.
***
“Massacre ends in hospitalization of twenty-five victims. Killer is in hospitals with life threatening conditions.”