The Best of Heaven, The Worst of Hell
Chapter 1 – Margin Lines
When a star dies, we continue to see it in the night sky; though it isn't the star we're seeing, rather the light it sent while still breathing. Within the darkness of my eyelids I continue to see her.
I had felt an intense sense of eternity; before the end, that was. And that end has already happened, like an old, discarded shoe, no longer welcome on the heel nor sole.
My heart was a burst firework as a twinkle of hope had resounded around my ribcage; yet – too much like a firework – there lay only a solace left afterward.
"Are you ready to talk about it today?" The balding bastard woke me from my reverie.
The area around me was trying desperately to be considered cosy and safe. The same, frustrating space I've visited for the few previous months; the same balding bastard sat exactly opposite, the same, stale air conditioning, and the same me.
"We did talk about something new last week; would you like to begin where we left off?" He spoke fluidly from the last bar of voice.
I looked dismissively away, feeling my speech anything but happening; I was embarrassed, ashamed, pissed off. Doubting my mask of complexion, I faced entirely away, not wishing to meet his steel eyes again.
"I'm here to help you, Yamato, but I need to understand before I can"
Pressure silenced my vocal cords further; a dull burning nauseated my chest.
Silver hairs embedded in his jawline and cheeks were stroked with a hand, and emotion which I couldn't comprehend from my slightest side view.
"I want this room to be a happy place for you"
At that exact moment an unbearable sadness filled me; I stared absently around the room; stuffed toys of bears and other cuddly animals perched around the perimeter space, some nosier ones peered closer. Brightly coloured seats, tables and cabinets filled-out the room like kindergarten.
Children's books gazed a patronisingly wide-eyed gaze at me which didn't leave, and the floor was soft like jelly.
The remainder of the session happened majorly the same.
Park surroundings enveloped me; 15:00pm.
Back rested roughly against tree trunk; birds sang, bittersweet.
Notepad out of my backpack, pen perched apathetically, words were not to be found. I called off the search, but remained planted. A red balloon floated across the sky, listening intently to the nearby stream like a patient fishing boat.
I was grateful for the margin lines – they made the paper seem a little fuller – a little less empty.
A ripple startled it and a breeze was its getaway car.
Just like a margin line, a new component to the environment jogged swiftly closer only to become further away.
A person, male, around my age of eighteen; the heat of the day must've gotten to him as the sweat plummeted down his starry face like a waterfall. A loose, red T-shirt fell easily over his frame and white shorts, mostly brown with dirt, nearly reached over his kneecaps.
He seemed entirely in his own universe, oblivious to the light of sun which would've blinded any other pair of chocolate, like his, eyes.
One leg upward like a smiling flamingo, a finger inside the back of sockless running shoe and a pull straight, then the other immediately after. He didn't seem overly concerned about the position he'd left the empty vessels – all skewwhiff and without any care.
Lips smiled, opening partially, very partially, then fully in a blissful laugh I heard even from where I was positioned; he seemed to be in on a private joke with himself, which I nor the wildlife nor trees were privy.
A bluebird flew his way, down low, then spun its wings right around.
This directed his eyes towards me.
Big, open eyes, like a warm, innocent hug somehow; the mouth didn't move, but it didn't have to; the eyes left me soon thereafter, leaving my eyes unrequited.
He stretched flexibly, touching the toes of his small feet.
How could this person live in this world, on this Earth, and be smiling, in complete contrast to myself; I wonder what his secret is.
Maybe he's disgustingly rich. Maybe he's royalty. Maybe he's a secret agent on a top secret mission to be happy all the time.
Maybe he's in love.
The clouds shift by, signifying a slight change in temperance, and despite my curiosity, I stood up on my way to leave the park.
Soil spills littlie as I embark down the hill and onto white stony path. Unavoidably, there he stood, shorter than myself, and I failed at not staring at his hair; caramel in this sun stuck out inconsistently, partially covering his top third of facial features.
Several freckles escaped, however, decorating his nose like modern art.
Those chocolate eyes looked into mine, but somehow, not into mine at all.
As if a conversation was about to ignite, but the decision changed half-way though the sequence, his lips parted lopsidedly and he hopped north-east.
The liquid of the stream escaped a little onto the bank – greenish tint almost ouching me.
"Instead of wading through germ-ridden water, you should be out with your friends"
"Friends? I haven't many" He sang offhandedly.
Bony ankles delved deeper underwater, before a kick of a chuck of water droplets, then they dropped too merrily on me.
"Well, doesn't that bother you?" Genuinely bewildered, I asked.
He stopped dead.
"Bother me?" With a tilt of the head.
"Yes, bother you"
"Bother me… How?"
"How do you mean how?"
"In which context?"
"In the context of doesn't that make you feel lonely?"
He contemplated the notion, eyes distant in profound concentration.
"Nope" He answered simply, then commenced once more, skipping through the stream like an idiot.
Annoyed with his naivety, or envious, maybe, I chased in a fast walking pace – safely on the dry patches, though.
"Doesn't anything bother you?"
No stopping of wet feet this time.
"Worrying is one big, silly circle" Wide, wide grin.
And that was that.