Questions.
Monday was a dull blue.
Saïx sat still.
He kept his hands folded, and he kept his face from distorting into a small smile he got from the silly fantasy he would twist in his vast mind. His eyes wavered over everything in the lobby. Everything, every little detail, from the coffee table in it that had a crack in it exactly parallel to the wooden seat three chairs over from the blond who sat across from him, to the telephone booth on the most remote wall from him, which he assumed to be about eight yards away, at a minimum.
He sat still and waited for his appointment to start, so he could go in, do what he came here for, and get out without another word to the secretary who sat at her desk playing Tetris on her phone. Trying his hardest to ignore it, he could hear the small beeps that would echo from the small speakers of the phone at a volume level that was too quiet to be heard, but too loud to ignore. It was the perfect thing to create headaches from.
Nose-wrecking and almost too much, the smell of the lobby was like a vile mix between a library book that was older then the blue haired male was -24, mind you- and something that could have been reminiscent of a hospital, or something else that dealt equally with the obviously deceased.
Saïx could hear the rain pounding outside above the 2-bit beeps from the secretary's phone, and with the sound of every little clink hitting the lobby windows time after time again; he decided it safe to assume it was also accompanied with a bit of hail, which he never much cared for the sound of.
Tuesday was a sad shade of green.
Waking up, Saïx found himself to be brought to reality exactly 7 minutes before his alarm was to go off. He found himself exactly 7 minutes and 13 seconds before he had to face reality and its fullest ability to make him feel like shit. Saïx found himself being woken up for the third time that month by the same barking of the same dog that lived with the same neighbor next door who disliked Saïx.
And Saïx also found himself running low on coffee, and made a mental note of it as he proceeded to brew himself a cup of '100% natural Columbian coffee' that said, in small print on the opposite side of the can, 'grown in Tennessee'. He smirked as he noticed this while attempting pour water into the small hatch in the back of the coffee maker, obviously failing as about 1/10 of a cup proceeded to run down the miracle-making piece of shit antique, and spill oh-so-gracefully onto the marble-impersonating countertop. Clipping the hatch door closed with an unsatisfying click, he then proceeded to whip up a towel from a wooden drawer exactly 2 cupboards over from the over-aged coffee pot, and clean up the mess that he made everyday from the constant making of coffee to keep himself from passing out.
Then, after his coffee that he proceeded to chug down impatiently with the help of a few ice cubes placed in it, he then got into his own lying suit and tie that he ever dreaded wearing from day to day, black blouse, almost with a silky feel to it, over a classy white shirt, matching pants to follow the suite, and his silken tie a color that differed from day to day.
Today's color was green, only the shade wasn't a rambunctious shade, like was ever-present on gaudy high school girls he would see walking to and from school, and it wasn't a dark shade that was almost mysterious, it was slightly dulled, and seemed a bit dreary, sad if you would call it that.
But he digressed, and hastily grabbed his wallet, car and house keys, and a single tube of chap stick that he had used for about 2 weeks, shoving one in his pocket, leaving one prominent in his hands, and using his other hand to put the other to use on his stinging lips.
He then headed out, being greeted silently and mockingly by the other residences of Hollow Bastion.
Wednesday was a vibrant purple.
Today was someone's birthday.
Saïx only knew this because this person shared a cubicle with him, and he proceeded throughout the day to get a total of 157 'happy birthdays'. This number could have been more, but it was mainly just how many times someone wished the unlucky part-timer a thanks of birth that Saïx noticed, since that was how many times the blue-haired male had messed up on his 7-page report by accidentally writing a possible 'birthday' instead of 'shipment', or the possible mid-word misspellings that were so terrible he wouldn't have been able to tell what the word originally was, had he not been the one who wrote it.
Today was someone's birthday, and Saïx was amazed that the young sandy-haired worker had actually gotten a gorgeous bouquet, as did everyone else for their birthday, since he didn't think that the giver, a lovely Miss Aerith, would actually thin out her prized garden for a part-timer. Saïx, however, was not amazed when the big boss, who was a suck-up to his superiors and a cheat to the competition, Mr. Hades, stopped by to momentarily tell Demyx that even if it was the date of his holy birth, it was no excuse for him to slack off. The big boss was then shot the bird behind his back from the sandy-haired worker.
"What a prick." Was all the nameless part-timer had to say about the perfectly ignorant boss when the suck-up was out of hearing-range. Saïx momentarily felt a chuckle coming up from his stomach, but cleared his throat to silence it and proceeded to do work-related things that he would have loved to have given up on the moment they were assigned to his being.
The blue haired male then proceeded after work to go to his half-hour appointment that was mandatory from the doctor to keep his easily-lost temper under control.
And he still kept his eyes focused on the mundane objects in the lobby as he waited for his appointment to start 1 minute later then it was scheduled, gazing momentarily over the plastic fruit basket in the center of the cracked glass table, looking up to gape silently –with a closed mouth of course- at the paintings on the walls, a total of 3, each other them a boring picture-like print of a flower. The first one being a cliché rose of a deep red, almost as though it were imitating an apple, the second being a less-appropriate sunflower, and the third being a type that Saïx was only able to identify as he passed by the flower painting to his therapist appointment, catching a name-tag stating it to be a peony.
The entire time he smelled the death-like appeal of the lobby and he wanted nothing but the paintings to be real enough to over-power the awful scent.
Thursday was a calm off-white.
Saïx woke up in a state of almost-bliss. He also found himself to have been in a great mood, or what would have been a great mood, had it not been for a headache that felt as though he was either hung-over or had a days-long migraine. Neither were the case and he just preceded into the hallway bathroom as he checked the medicine cabinet for any form of Ibuprofen that was available.
Looking himself up and down in the bathroom mirror for half a second before proceeding to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water with his medicine, he noticed how worn down he looked.
He noticed the small bags under his eyes that signaled –almost pleaded- he needed a couple days of vacation just to sleep. He noticed the apparent bed-head that he hadn't yet taken a brush to, and how instead of the usual way his hair would come off his forehead, being pulled back into a sort of point in the back, like was so prominent in gravity-defying anime characters, and then the rest of his hair being loose and long, extending to the middle of his back, his hair was frizzy and messy. He then proceeded to make a mental note to use a bit of mousse along with his typical use of hair-gel, just so that it would cover up this mess.
The dog that belonged to the blue haired male's neighbor decided that exactly 6:57 was a perfect time to howl its head off in a way that Saïx was unaware was even possible, and hastily placed himself before the antique, fake-Colombian coffee-grind filled, coffee pot again and tried to treat the howling as though it was just white noise. Like any other day, the 24-year old male would fill a container full with water, and proceed to open the small hatch in the back of the aged pot, today only spilling an amount that he could evaporate with his own body-heat, and closing the hatch for the fourth time that week with a never-satisfying click.
He could feel a shadow of a headache in the back of his mind, and reminded himself quickly that he had to take out the garbage before leaving, or else he would have to waste his all-too-short lunch break on coming the whole 16 minute drive home just to dispose of garbage properly, instead of getting to eat a regular work-meal.
Friday was a thankful yellow.
After work, Saïx proceeded to his 6-o-clock therapist appointment, a thing that happened every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, ever since exactly 67 days prior from today. After work, Saïx would have liked to have hit the town, gone out for a generous drink that the sandy-haired part-timer that worked so naively had offered him as the two proceeded diligently to clock out at exactly 5:45, the appointed time for all workers to leave.
Today, his therapist, a Mrs. Lockhart, a spunky woman with long locks of black hair combed long onto the middle of her back, gazed at him with eyes that looked like she was mentally preying off him. Today, his therapist spoke to him in a Russian tongue. Almost at the top of her lungs .she sang him a lullaby that made the rough Russian slur that came out in waves that seemed to get tangled in each other seem like it was a beautiful language that was just flourishing with beauty and other such superficial qualities.
After her foreign hymn, she asked her current prey how it made him feel. He had only one response, and he felt a bit off for saying it.
"I don't like the sound of hail."
Saturday is a whistles shade of grey.
Sleep. Saïx only wanted a few extra hours of sleep, and then he promised the world that he would get up and do all the chores around the house that he had refused to do every day of the week. The promise though, he knew wouldn't be allotted to happen, since the world kept on interrupting his nap, they kept on interrupting everything he tried so desperately to cling on to.
He had stared at his red-lettered alarm clock, finding that it had been 1:24 for the past hour, and that it only changed the glowing bright digit that indicated minutes after what seemed half a decade. The dully shadowed white blankets that had once covered Saïx were kicked off at some point in the middle of his struggles with the demon known as restlessness.
In the midst of his attempts of sleep, which were getting him nowhere at light speed, he eventually sat up, turned on the T.V. listlessly with a lazy remote – which sat promptly on his nightstand, in-between the red-glowing alarm clock and small, almost pointless, lamp- that was running on half a battery, and found the screen to be displaying a half-panicked Channel 14 news cast weatherman. The blue-haired sleepless male's hand still clenched the remote as he watched the startled man that went by the shady name of 'Vexen', as said on the opposite side that Vexen was placed over the weather display.
"The area near Hollow Bastion engulfed in a—" He would start, and Saïx would ignore the rest of the sentence with the assumption of it being white noise, with the assumption that everything was just fine on the weather. Blinking back a fleeting sense, Saïx tried to delude himself that the weather man was wrong.
After all, when they said it would be sunny, it would rain, and when they said it was the end of the world, they meant that a few balls of hail were going to show themself.
"--A huge hole formed in—"
But what happened when they said it would hail?
Sunday was a metallic shade of turquoise.
Saïx did do as he had promised the day before, only with the help of some procrastination, a wonderful thing that was commonly known as a vacuum cleaner, and a lack of will to do anything with shaking hands that could easily be fixed with two cups of coffee and three eggs placed on toast that was mildly burnt.
Only after the blue haired male had completed his task of finishing all of his brunch – as it was now around noon since he hadn't gone to bed until about 3:30 the night prior because of his previous lack of sleep- along with reading the weekly newspaper the paperboy still gave him even after Saïx explained that he didn't pay for the informative articles, the blue haired male decided to tidy up his house to make it at least look presentable.
And while no one besides Saïx was ever inside his house, or had even asked where he lived as of late, he still liked to have it be tidy for a rare chance of someone possibly coming over and seeing how well he kept his dwelling.
And while the majority of his house was clean, he still proceeded to go over it with a vacuum cleaner until he could see invisible sparkles in the back of his mind. The only room he didn't want to even bother messing with too much was his bathroom, since the fake-marble countertop around the sink was thoroughly trashed with every kind of gelling product Saïx had ever bought that wasn't completely empty and in some random land-fill miles and miles away.
After a 'hard day's work', he continued to plop himself down on his couch and think pathetically to himself that he was lonely.
Monday was a violent shade of red.
Saïx was woken up again that night, like had been exactly 6 days ago. He found himself being woken up; this time however, almost an entire hour before the clock was to strike twelve. And, being who he was, would have found this to be an extremely annoying detail if it was that stupid dog next door who still belonged to a neighbor that Saïx knew had no real face.
But that wasn't the case.
The 'annoying' thing that had woken him up was a large rumble, it was loud, and it shook the entire house, but it wasn't like that of an earthquake. It was as though something had exploded nearby, like the ground was resisting being swallowed, like something was going terribly wrong outside.
And Saïx, being who he was, grabbed onto his creamy white comforter like a child would to their 'blanky', rose to his feet in a manner he thought to himself hurriedly was rather composed and well-balanced, all things considering the heart-rending shaking, and his half-asleep state. A white trail following his every step without even the option to stop, he placed himself before his curtain-drawn window, removing one of his hands from the blanket to reach out at grab a stick that, when turned counter-clock wise, would open it without question.
And then, at that moment, Saïx proceeded to fall to his feet, his knees overlapping themselves, buckling him over to just stare wide-eyed at the scenery he had to take in. He wanted to believe that he was dreaming, that he was just seeing things, but no matter how many times his gaping eyes would blink, the small thing would be there.
He could see a big pool of blackness, only it was like a huge abyss that was taking everything in, and returning it to nothingness that it once began as. The gaping darkness, it was welcoming in everything and everyone, leaving nothing where it disappeared besides the color red and a crater.
Faintly hearing the dog next door, he was soon finding himself realizing that the mutt was no longer singing pleas to escape, it was silent. It was completely silent, and Saïx couldn't find the ability to do anything more then pull the white comforter he had grown so fond of within the whole two years he had owned it over his shoulders, and huddle himself into a cocoon.
He knew what was going to happen before this was all over.
He knew it was hailing.
And he also knew he was stuck where he was.
Tuesday was a surprising shade of 'what the fuck'.
Saïx was struck dumbfound to see that one of the vicious pools of darkness had stopped before him. It had stopped almost an entire yard in front of him. The room he originally sat in was almost no more, and what used to be a window was now a gaping hole, which had swallowed the whole lot of the wall and proceeded to suck up other parts of his room. The huge hole, which was nearly an understatement now, since there wasn't much left of the wall now to leave a hole in.
Wavering eyes trailing over the landscape, he was not surprised, but almost fucking amazed –and grateful of too- that he could see a large truck, possibly as big as half of his bedroom, which was originally by no means small, and with a huge logo spraying one side of the van saying nothing but 'Committee'.
When the van had gone about its own, almost unorthodox, means of getting there, it had stopped before the huge hole inside Saïx's once flourishing bedroom walls, it breaks making a load screech that the blue haired male found he could not let his ears be entirely exposed to. The passenger-side window was rolled down quickly, followed by a young boys face and brown hair that stuck up in ways it shouldn't have without at least 3 bottles of thick hair gel, around 15, Saïx half-heartedly thought.
"Get in!" The brunette quickly said, jerking his head backwards towards the other part of the large van that was not used for the driver and passenger when Saïx just stood there with a look that spoke in large quantities of shear gratitude.
Without further ado, Saïx quickly turned around, grabbed the outfit he had chose out for himself to wear, a deep, almost foggy, grey suit with a silken tie of pale yellow and small dots of a serene baby blue that was so common on male toddler's clothing. The boy nodded to the driver, or maybe just to himself, when the blue haired, very frazzled, male, made his way to the back of the van.
He didn't feel alone in the category of feeling so sincerely awkward.
He could feel the eyes of about thirty scared victims, and he was still trying to process if this was all a dream, or if some of the people there were actually real, and this was like a huge walking nightmare. He couldn't tell if this was all real, or if it was just some fictitious fantasy that he created so easily at work to get away momentarily from the mundane tasks at hand.
But he knew, in some way or another, that this was not a dream, it was The Descent.
And he was stuck in the middle of it.
Reviews are pretty nice, hot diggity. HINT HINT.