It was a cold winter night. Snow was falling from the sky, and it was windy enough that it would hit you straight in the face. Luckily, I was not out there, I was just home, watching out the window as I waited for my soup from yesterday to come to a boil. It wasn’t much, but it was dinner—however late it was.
Christmas was fast approaching. As a kid I would’ve been excited beyond reason, but now I could not muster such feelings—this was the first one I would be spending alone, all on my own. It was dreadful to imagine all my neighbours with their families, having lavish dinners, drinking and laughing and sharing presents. Meanwhile I would probably just order KFC to break the monotony of this dull life of mine, which I would then eat, alone, on this very table. On the bright side, I am not the sorry loser who has to work on Christmas and deliver my food, at least I have that going for myself. Not that I have a job anyways.
I snapped back to the present upon hearing my doorbell ring. I looked at the clock on my microwave, way past midnight—I never had visitors, even less so at such an ungodly hour. Still, I went to answer the door. Behind, in the pitch-black stairwell, stood a dark figure, leaking water all over the floor. One might’ve mistaken it for a swamp monster straight from a horror novel, but even in the dark I instantly recognised a familiar face—it was my best friend, Connor.
“I have two questions. One: what the fuck are you doing here. Two: what the fuck are you doing here at this time” I asked.
“Hello to you too” he laughed, “I lost my keys so I couldn’t get home, figured I would be welcome here.”
“I mean, sure, you are always welcome and all, but you mean to tell me you walked all the way from your place to here, out in that frozen hellscape, in the middle of the night?”
“Yup, quite the Sherlock you are mon ami.”
“Oh, thank you my dear Watson, please come in, may I offer thee some tea perchance?” I joked with a terrible British accent and signalled him in.
He stepped into my crammed apartment. He was pale and soaked, now leaking water on my carpet. I look around the place—my bed was unmade, there were scrambled books and notes everywhere, two thrash bags were by the door waiting to be taken outside, and a layer of dust covered every surface. I was red out of shame; I hadn’t registered what a mess the place was until now.
“Sorry for the mess, I’ve been meaning to clean,” I said, “would you like a change of clothes? Maybe something warm to drink? You look a bit cold.”
“Please and thank you!” Connor acclaimed, and started to struggle out of the wet clothes, tossing them in a neat pile on the shower floor before walking deeper into the apartment. “Not one for the festivities, eh?” Connor noted, “Not even a tree, yet alone decorations. Shame, shame on you Matthew!”
He insisted on calling me Matthew, even my parents called me Matt. I didn’t really mind it, but it was still kind of peculiar.
“Didn’t feel like celebrating this year, not really in the festive spirit.” I responded while digging my closets in search of clothes for him.
“Why not? Christmas is amazing!”
“Really no reason to, being alone and all.”
“Alone? How come.”
“Had a little falling out with the folks so I am not welcome there anymore.”
“Shit dude, that blows. You know, you could always join my family for the holidays, I am sure mom and pops wouldn’t mind.”
I managed to find some clothes. “Here’re those clothes I promised, let me now go fix you that drink.” I said and walked into the kitchen.
Instinctively I went to see if I could make him a hot chocolate, that would surely warm him up; I grabbed the milk from the fridge and tried to smell if it had gone bad—alas, it had. Still, I figured I could do it in water instead, so I put a pot of water on the stove.
In the other room Connor was changing his clothes. I stole a glance of his shirtless body; he was fit, in good shape. He certainly had a body worth admiring, no gym-freak but it was evident that he took care of himself—something I couldn’t say for my plump self, I barely ventured outside these walls.
The water came to a boil and I prepared a cup of hot chocolate: a mugful of hot water and three, no, five spoons of cocoa powder. It would probably be better with a milk base, but not much I could do to remedy that—beggars can’t be choosers.
“Your drink is ready,” I called, “might want to drink it here in the kitchen, it’s a bit tidier than that side.”
“Swell, thanks.” He walked into the kitchen, my clothes looked rather baggy on him, there might’ve been a couple sizes between us. “Having a late-night dinner, eh?” He said, pointing at the pot of soup I had forgotten about.
“Oh, right!” I rushed to attend to it: luckily it was still fine, “Want some?”
“Sure, I could eat.”
I grab two bowls and pour some soup in both before bringing them over to the table, then grabbed a couple spoons. My dining table wasn’t large by any metrics, but it could comfortably accommodate two people.
“Thanks.”
We ate our soup in silence, and about every three spoons Connor would take a sip of his hot chocolate. What a cursed combination of foods that was, still, it was nowhere closed to the culinary crimes against humanity this apartment had seen.
“Feeling any warmer?” I asked, noting that colour had started to return to his face.
“Much. Like night and day.” He responded. “Now, about those Christmas plans…”
“I don’t know—I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You don’t have to come, but know that you would not be a burden. You are family too.”
I smiled, “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll have to sit on it.”
“Well, you do have like a week or so to decide. Mom’ll probably want to know asap, but take your time.”
“Aight.”
“Now, what is this falling out with your folks?”
“Ah, it’s nothing, just a stupid argument.”
“It’s not nothing if they disinvited you from Christmas, not very Christian of them, is it?”
“No, really, it’s nothing. I just said the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’ll work itself out with time.” It was the understatement of the year, a blatant lie, but I didn’t want to worry him. I didn’t need his sympathy, what good would it do.
“I’ll not push it further; I’ll take your word for it. But know that I am here for you, if you need to talk or something.”
“Isn’t it me who is here for you right now? You are in my apartment and all, were waiting by my door like a wet stray.”
“Both can be equally correct.” He smiled.
I look at the time. “It’s getting late, we should probably start dozing.”
“You may be right. Where’ll I sleep? Next to you?”
“That is a good question.” I said, visibly distraught by that last comment. Looking at my bed I realised the sheets hadn’t been changed for longer than I cared to admit. “I should have a sleeping pad and bag somewhere, those ought to do it.”
“Sweet! You look for those and I’ll start looking for the floor from under here.” He said, pointing at the pile of junk on the floor.
He was joking, but had no idea how embarrassing the state of my apartment was to me. I tried to express amusement, probably in vain, and went on to search for wherever I had tucked my camping gear. I wasn’t sure when I had last been out camping, it had probably been years at this point. I checked from under the bed, and from my closets, before eventually finding them from under some clothes I had been meaning to wash.
“Found them.” I said, meanwhile Connor had dug himself a foxhole in the battleground that was my apartment.
“Sweet, thanks.” He responded, taking them off my hands and setting them up in the clearing.
“Let’s sleep then.”
Connor took off his shirt and settled into the sleeping bag. I had again stolen a glance of him, this time from the front. He had fairly well-defined abdominal muscles, like some Instagram thirst-trap. I remembered how he had played football when he was younger, even taught me to play—well, to kick a ball properly at least. I grew to quite like playing the sport, even if that too has been on hiatus for a couple years.
“If you’re going to stare, at least take me out for drinks first.” He teased.
“Sorry, I was zoning out!” I apologised, realising I was probably staring deep into his soul.
“Uh-huh, must be real tired then.”
I rushed to turn off the lights and then tucked myself into bed. “Good night then.” I said, awkwardly.
“Nighty night.” He responded, in good spirits.
“I’m sorry for staring.”
“It’s okay.”
I open my eyes and all I can see is darkness. It takes a moment, but my eyes adjust and I can begin so see; I am in the woods. It feels like I snapped out of a trance but then it all started coming back to me—we were camping, me and my friend Eliah. I remember a bottle of vodka, which might explain how I ended up here, passed out lying on the damp forest ground. It hits me that Eliah is nowhere to be seen, and frankly I have no idea where we made camp, all around me are only trees and rocks. I stand up. It’s odd—I feel disoriented but I don’t feel like I had been drinking. It is puzzling, but I shrug it off as nothing.
Soon I notice light coming from among the trees, it must be our camp, I deduce. The fire is apparently still burning, maybe Eliah is still awake. I can't think of a good reason why he didn't wake me up. I push my mind aside and walk towards the light that doesn’t seem to be far away.
Soon I reach a small opening and see our tent and campfire. I notice my bag next to the fire, maybe a bit too close. I move it next to the tent and look around—Eliah is not here. Maybe he too is passed out somewhere out there? Somewhere near to where I woke up perhaps? I dig a flashlight from by bag and venture back towards the way I came.
The forest was dark, that much I can see. My flashlight does not do much to remedy that, it is starting to be low on batteries. I call out to Eliah but get no response. The ground was damp and my shoes were starting to be much of the same. I reach the spot where I woke up and see nothing around me, until the light from my flashlight reflects back from something. I walk up to the glimmer and find another flashlight—this must be Eliah’s. I call out to him a couple more times but hear no response. Upon further thought I don’t hear much of anything, the forest is deadly silent. Still, I have a strange, eerie feeling, like someone is watching me. I shrug it off as just more of the same dizziness or some animal, maybe an owl.
I walk around, occasionally calling out to Eliah, for what feels like hours, but have no luck. He is nowhere to be found. I reach a trail; it is the very same we followed here from the edge of the forest. I call out once more, no response. I have been searching for so long with no luck that I decide to turn back, maybe I will have better luck in the morning, or maybe he has gone back to camp?
I retrace my own footsteps back towards the camp, they were quite well defined on the moss and mud much of the area was largely covered in. It was impossible to recognise any landmarks in the pitch-black darkness, so I was entirely left on relying my own tracks.
After a while I freeze as I register another pair of footprints alongside mine, only these seem to be barefoot. Upon further studying the footprints I noticed they were very fresh, and at times went over my own. They follow my tracks, trying to find me for sure. They also seem erratic, zigzagging for a while and then continuing in some other direction. It was surely Eliah; it has to be! He must’ve lost his shoes and might be panicking, trying to find me. I call out to him again but again, hear no response, not even an echo. I decide to follow the footprints, it would be a sure way to find him.
The prints continue for ages, forming erratic patterns along the forest ground. At times there were larger prints where he has seemingly tripped and fallen over. It was all a bit creepy. My confusion just grows larger for every thought I give to it all.
A little way off the prints seem different somehow, like he had fallen but not quite. Then they continued like he has been crawling forward. Then I feel my heart skip a beat as the tracks start very clearly looking like something—or someone—is being dragged along the ground. Like everything up to this point had been him running away from something, and here that something finally got to him. I keep following the trail, until it stops like to a wall, only there was no wall, it was in the middle of the forest.
I look around, no more tracks to be seen. I call his name, getting no response. I start to panic, barely able to breathe. Then I flinch as something hits my cheek—it was like a drop of water, only it was warm. I wipe it off with my hand and see it coloured red. I can feel my heart almost cease to a halt. Slowly I turn my head, look up only to see a sight I wish I hadn’t; it is Eliah, my best friend in the whole world, hanging on a tree branch like some fresh-slaughtered animal.
His clothes are gone and his jaw torn off, many fingers missing, the entirety of his left foot too; wounds cover much of the rest. He is dead, there is no question about it, and what remains does not tell a painless story.
No matter how much I wanted to, I am unable to look away. I am in shock, frozen, paralysed. I can’t wrap my mind around it all. Who? Why? How? So many questions I cannot answer. It is like a scene in a horror movie, but this is no movie—only pure horror. Blood continues to fall onto my face, one drop at a time, colouring it all red, still I cannot move. Memories, a whole life, flash before my eyes. I remember when me and Eliah met, I remember us hanging out, spending time together. I remember when he had his first girlfriend, and when they broke up, I was there for him. I remember his mother taking me in after that car accident, treating me like her own son. I remember Mrs. Wilson’s biology class and how we used to play cards there, how we had to redo that course because of it. All those memories, are they all that remains?
I hear sounds coming from somewhere behind me—that feeling of being watched is back. I cannot move, I feel like a stone statue—destined to remain still for all of eternity. Still, I know whoever, whatever did this is now looking at me, I am to be next. If I do not move, I will surely die. But even with that knowledge, I cannot move a muscle, I cannot even close my eyes.
It couldn’t have been more than a moment, though it felt like an eternity. First there is Eliah’s lifeless body, then there is nothing as my senses fade into darkness.
I open my eyes and all I can see is darkness. It takes a moment, but my eyes adjust and I can begin so see; I am in the woods.
The dark corridors and intersections flew past her as she ran, making her way directly towards the nursery. The night was steadily setting in and the windows barely had any light coming through them, apart from the occasional glimmer of the fires raging outside. The palace of grey stone had never seemed so haunting. Step after step, the Queen got nearer to the nursery, and among the steady sounds of her feet hitting the smooth stone surface of the floor she could hear the increasing yells of the revolutionaries getting closer by every moment that passed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she made it to the nursery door. Quickly looking around her, and making sure nobody was near, she opened the lock and gently pushed the heavy door of darkened spruce open. The old hinges let out a violent squeaking sound, as she entered the nursery.
To her relief, there was nobody there, and her son was calmly sleeping in his crib. The queen took a deep breath and one happy glimpse of that small creature. Prince Elijah, named after his late father, that beautiful creation of her own blood. The small baby boy was such a beautiful sight, that she could barely take her eyes off of him. Yet her daydreaming was cut short by the nearing screams, swearing death to her name. Anna gently took her baby son to her arms and started making her way to the hidden exit not too far from the nursery.
As she stepped back into the corridor, she could see the flames of torches dancing on the walls, the revolutionaries had nearly caught her, and had blocked her way to the hidden exit. The only way out was now through the main gate, and she knew that. She made a run for it, carrying young Elijah in her arms as she did. The shaking and loud noises woke up the boy, who started crying, the sound of which echoed in the corridors.
They made it to the gate. She tried to run down the steps, but lost her balance and fell, sending young Elijah flying into the air. When she got up, she was relieved to hear the young boy still crying, yet shocked by what she saw as she got her eyes off the ground. One of the revolutionaries had snatched the baby out of the air into his arms.
The handsome young man stood over her, smiling, as he looked her straight into her eyes. Elijah’s crying was the only thing breaking silence. The man holding her son said four words, loud and clear, “Death to the Queen”, as in one swift movement he snapped the baby’s neck.
Her heart shattered, as complete silence fell over the war-torn city. Anna could hardly breathe. She collapsed on the ground, sharp pieces of gravel piercing the skin of her knees. She was forced to watch as the man dropped her son, forced to witness as the lifeless corpse of that innocent creature, less than two summers old, hit the gravel-covered courtyard ground.
Still devastated from shock, her eyes fixed on that lifeless corpse, Anna offered no fear and no anger to the man now approaching her with his drawn-out sword.
There I was, having that feeling again. It’s a pleasant feeling, one that could last for a lifetime. It’s a hypnotising feeling, giving me unbelievable pleasure for every breath I take. It’s the feeling of love. A chemical reaction in this meaty machine called a human body—a burst of dopamine or something. I wasn’t too sure about it; biology class was when I always took a nap.
It was like a dream, that boy. An exchange student from Asia—Taiwan, I think. Extremely cute, I thought, and smart too. There was something about him that pierced through my shell, struck my heart like a bullet. There was no denying it; I was in love, that boy from Taiwan had stolen my heart. I was in love, happy for once. A bright light breaking this cavern of darkness I call a heart.
But could this ever truly last? A boy from Taiwan, Taiwan is on the other side of the damn planet! I could meet him now, but perhaps our ways would never again come together. It was a grim feeling this, this uncertainty. It tore me apart like one of those medieval torture devices. I wanted to cry. I love this boy, I just shouldn’t, it would be easier not to. And what if he doesn’t like me back? It felt guilty feeling this way, thinking of him as my own even when he probably didn’t even know my name, to him I was surely only a face in the crowd.
No, I thought, I would not let these thoughts bring me down. I would tell him how I feel, and he will either like it, or he will go back to that island and never speak to me again. It was time to pick myself up by the bootstraps and do it. I had made up my mind. That was what I would do tomorrow, I would tell him how I feel, damned be the consequences.
The morning shined, and I got up, brushed my teeth, skipped breakfast, clothed up and got on my bike. I knew he would stop by the park on his way to school, that was where I would do it. It was not a long ride; on the way I imagined all the ways this conversation could go. He’d certainly feel the same way, we’d go out on a proper date, I was almost sure of it. I passed the bakery, the florist and the library on my way. I thought of all the things we could do together.
I was almost at the park when I saw him. He was just sitting there, on the bench, feeding the ducks. What a lovely sight it was, made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Alas I was getting nervous; my heartbeat was getting more and more intense. The time was now, that realisation hit me, it was now or never.
I left my bike on the grass and walked up to him. He greeted me with a sweet smile. He was so unbelievably cute with that smile. I only grew more nervous as the seconds went by. I took a deep breath and was about to open my mouth to let out the words, but I did not have the chance—I was paralysed. He looked me in the eyes in anticipation of whatever I was there to say. Those beautiful, brown eyes were looking at mine. An intense staring contest.
I managed to get some words out of my mouth but I could not register what they were. In my mind I rambled something nonsensical, some form of gibberish. He smiled for a moment.
I imagined how he came closer to me, so close I could smell his cologne. I could see every small mistake on his skin, every detail, every feature. He came closer and pushed his soft lips against mine. The world stopped around us, seconds passed but they felt like minutes, the world was in complete stop. No noise, no movement—nothing. I felt his warmth, the taste of his tongue and the beats of his heart. I was living in the moment, this moment, in this kiss that could last a lifetime. I felt reality fade away, time slowing down. I was here, and I was now. I was happy.
But my daydreaming was cut short when he asked who I was.
”Hi Matt, is everything alright? You look a bit down today.” Connor asked, with his sweet and innocent smile wide across his face. He seemed worried.
“Yeah, I am fine, just a bit tired” I responded, knowing full well it was a blatant lie, I had not been fine for a long time and I knew it. I was always sad, always down, today I just could not be bothered to hide it. I knew it wouldn’t matter how I looked today. Despite acting every day for the past five years, hiding my true self from the world, today I didn’t feel the need for it. For the first time in years, maybe ever, I was fully myself. Nothing was holding me back—all the chains were gone and the veil was broken. For the first time, in a long time, I was Matt Walter Johnson again.
I felt every pair of eyes in the building staring right at me, though I could not blame them; I looked fabulous. I was wearing a black suit jacket and a pair of jeans. As they say, when you go to meet God, you must look nice.
I stepped into the elevator, barely able to make out the floor numbers through my tearful eyes. I wiped them off and gently pushed the button that marked the roof.
Smooth jazz played around me, as one might expect, but I did not focus on it. I was preparing for what was to come. My feet were trembling, cold sweat was dripping down my body and tears down my face. I did not want to die, but at this point it was the only choice left.
A high-pitched ping echoed in the elevator as the doors open, the end of the journey. I step out onto the roof. Despite being in the middle of the city, it was quiet. The smooth jazz of the elevator had turned into nothingness. No cars, no birds, not even any wind.
Slowly I creep towards the edge. Looking down, I saw the city. Buildings upon buildings and cars as far the eye can see—granted all of them were a bit blurry, with all the tears. I take a step back and collapse onto the concrete rooftop. This was to be my demise, but I am not strong enough. Tears rolling down my face and down onto the concrete, I sit there for what feels like an eternity.
Yet my crying is cut short by a silhouette sitting down by my side and putting a hand around me. Turning my head, I see that sweet and innocent smile again. Still in tears, I practically jumped into his arms, embracing him in a tight hug. I was lost, still am, but I felt safe in his arms. I wasn’t ready to die, I didn’t want to die, but I felt I had no other option.
“I don’t want to die.” I managed to blurt out.
“I know,” he said, “and you will not. I am here now.”
