AmeCan: My Favourite Colours
The tiles. Repeating in an almost mocking pattern, snickering at his attempt to run and run.
The walls. Grains of emptiness, telling him that it was useless, too late.
The lights. Dim and poignant, about to tell him something that would shatter his heart into a billion small bits.
All of this passed once in a single, quick, hasty thought as Alfred sprinted down the hallways as fast as humanly possible. Warm tears whipped behind him like raindrops in the wind. He had been trying so hard to hold them back. But each memory, each day, each beam of sun came to gather in his memory like a funeral, lurid and empty. And ten more tears came for each memory.
One struck out at his weakening emotional wall.
It had been a clear, sunny March day. Alfred had bounded out to the park with much enthusiasm, excited to once again feel the warmth of another cheek on his own. He walked down the sidewalk slowly, enjoying the day. There was a slight breeze, keeping the day not too warm and not too cold, but just perfect. Perfect.
The word perfect had always been a word Alfred had used sparsely. Even someone like him felt that some words were just tossed around like an old blanket, trampled on, sat on, slept on, kissed on, made love on, starwatched on. They were fragile, and just one slip had the power to smash someone's heart like an angry hammer breaking delicate porcelain.
There was one thing that was perfect. Honestly, and whole-heartedly.
Matthew.
As he and Alfred spun around, hand in hand, heart to heart, in the wind and sunshine, nothing could replace that moment. Matthew's warm hand caressing his own, his silky blond hair moving in such a graceful way, his deep, beautiful violet-blue eyes, gazing, filled with love, his melodic giggles chiming a song of joy.
Now, that same Matthew was somewhere in this maze of halls, most likely sitting, alone, in slow agony. Dying.
If Alfred didn't get there in time, he would die as he had lived most of the time.
Alone.
He continued to sprint down the hallway, feeling as though his chest would burst any second, feeling like he would cough blood from pushing his physical strength so far. But he didn't care. Nothing mattered any more except getting there in time. What if he didn't get to say one last goodbye? Their last words...he couldn't remember the last words he had said to Matthew.