Title: One Moment
Author: Rib
Summary: Finally, Kenny thinks, salvation comes.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: No.
Notes: Yeah.
One Moment
Kenny is 281, although he appears 24. He is inebriated and the bar management has had enough of him. He is tossed out, face first into the cold, hard sidewalk. He feels his nose crack and blood drips down past his mouth. He wipes it on his sleeve.
Kenny is less of a man and more of a shadow. There are all sorts of filth on his coat. The ragged white wife-beater has long since turned grey. His jeans are torn in too many places, patched up with electrical tape, which also encloses his shoes. He is capped by a torn beanie, dropped by some kid some time ago. His dirty blonde hair is matted with mud and his face shines with the sweat of a man who has lost hope. He is caked in a nasty layer of regret.
Kenny had, at some point, just stopped. He stopped caring, he stopped trying, he stopped believing and stopped living, altogether. He'd loved. He tried, and he loved. He stopped trying, and he loved. But they would leave. They could only love for as long as they lived, and that wasn't enough. He was cursed to roam the world forever, alone. If he died, he would return. He couldn't leave. He was trapped.
At the beginning, he hated all the others. These assholes who were free to just leave the world. He was angry at them. He despised them. But it wasn't their fault. (So then, was it his?) So began living like he currently did. A shadow. Generations and generations passed. He would watch. He never talked to anyone anymore. He just watched. The alcohol. The drugs. These could make him forget, for a while. But after the buzz died, he was left again, He often ran out of money. And he would do anything to get some. Nothing was immoral anymore. They could fuck him and torture him and kill him, as long as he got his fix. He needed to forget. Even for just a little while.
Kenny peels himself off of the sidewalk, mind hazy. The drinks are still coursing through his veins. He heads for the wall of a building to hold himself steady. It's a shady neighbourhood, and he can't remember the last time he left. He hobbled along, shoved occasionally by hurrying passers-by or cruel by-standers. He arrives at a street corner.
Kenny's eyes widen. They haven't widened in a long time, and shots of pain erupt on his temples and cheeks.
A young boy, barely 17, leans against the facing wall. His hair is a mass of bright red curls. His eyes glow like tinted wine bottles against a sun. Kenny doesn't like how his slightly tan skin shines against the neon lights. Kenny doesn't like how he is scantily clad. He hates those old men a few feet away, whistling and mocking him. There is something familiar about him and Kenny can't remember. There's something in his chest; a bubbling, boiling sensation that spreads throughout his body. His empty shell is being filled. The once-arid feel on his eyes disappears, and he feels wonder creeping up his spine in a shudder. The breathing corpse of a man is being revived.
Suddenly, Kenny loathes himself. He tears through his cloudy thoughts, trying to recall who the boy is, and why he finds him so beautiful. He hasn't wanted to remember anything in such a long time, and he worries he might not be able to. He struggles through his murky consciousness, feeling blindly for something—anything that he can find. It frustrating and tiring and saddening.
Kenny reminds himself that he must not go back to this. He stumbles, in his thoughts, on the memory of this feeling. He remembers that he'd stopped with it, and promised he would never return to it. It would only bring him despair, in the end, and he needed no more of that. But this was infinitely more intense than anything he'd ever encountered before. It was sharper and larger and much more indescribable.
Kenny can't help himself. He runs blindly across the street and cars screech to a halt in front of him, and the drivers cuss at him from the window.
He arrives in front of the boy and realizes he has no idea what to do. He stands in front of him and stares at him. There's something about him, a pristine air of peace. Kenny thinks, if he comes any closer, he'll pollute that purity. The boy is staring back at him, looking worried. His lips move, and he steps forward, taking Kenny's arm gently. Kenny doesn't know what he said. The boy pulls him, leading him into the building he'd been leaning on. Kenny follows, unquestioning.
Kenny is brought to a room. It's a familiar enough sight; the stained carpet, stained sheets of the iron-framed bed, the peeling wallpaper. The rank smell of all kinds of human waste, aged and drying is on every inch of every motel room in this city. He is seated on the edge of the bed. The boy grins at him.
"Hi Kenny."
His voice rings through Kenny's head like a church bell (he remembers when there were churches.) He realizes the kid shouldn't know his name. He opens his mouth to speak, and his throat is dry. "Who are?" He croaks. He feels hideous in front if this boy and wants to curl up and melt.
The boy's smile becomes noticeably smaller and sadder. "You don't remember me," he takes a seat next to Kenny, taking his hand. He leans over to kiss him on the cheek, and then on the lips.
Kenny feels like he's been electrocuted, and he wants to again.
"That's okay," the boy says, "You'll remember all you want when we go." He begins straddling Kenny. "I missed you so much," he whispers into Kenny's ear. "Kenny, I'm going to save you. I'm taking you away, Ken. You're being set free."
Kenny's breath is caught in his throat. The boy is nuzzling up to his neck. Something clicks in his mind. "Kyle."
/
Kenny can't help himself. He runs blindly across the street. A car intersects him, and the familiar feeling of a two tonne metal body going 60 miles colliding with his side crosses his mind. He flies at the windshield, impaling it. His reddened vision is made blurrier by tears.
He's stuck.
One Moment
On a lighter note, I was fresh out of the shower this morning, and I was looking for my glasses everywhere, since I'm blind without them and they weren't on the sink, where I remembered putting them. Absently and jokingly, I asked my Kyle doll, "Where'd you hide my glasses, babe?" I flipped the blanket in front of him and found them. The conniving asshole.
Please tell me what you think.