So I'm posting something, which is a fuckin' miracle because I just deleted all my stories, I haven't finished anything in years, and I'm never happy enough with anything I write to share it. It's fairly short, but here's a little character piece on Nate. It gets a little abstract, and it's pretty internal, but you all are smart people, you'll figure it out.
Please review! That would be awesome!
Madeleine Juliette
You don't have to end up with people who self-destruct
Go find a lover who will never leave
"I Will Never Forget" – Kimya Dawson
…
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
Yeah, I hope I never get sober
"No Children" – The Mountain Goats
They never said it. It hurt less for them to just assume.
Words are hallow, meaningless gestures; so easily manipulated.
Nate preferred to rely on actions. He could rely on his own ability to discern truth from fallacy. It was better that way. You can't trust anyone, you only have yourself in this world, connections and attachments will only destroy you; it only takes one small breath in the wrong direction and this house of cards comes crashing down.
Nate knew that already, he learned it at a very young age after being cruelly removed from his biological mother's side, and again while being passed like a baton from foster home to foster home.
Joining the band had only made everything worse. He became a prize. Something to show off.
No longer human, but instead a title.
Nate preferred being unwanted.
He'd only ever been good at two things, anyway. Lying, and speaking in metaphors.
Caitlyn was the best goddamn thing that had ever happened to him. She made him real. He had abandoned her years ago. About the same time he gave up on himself.
And now he struggles to inhale; it's been so long since he's been able to feel that rush of air into his heavy and drowning lungs.
But maybe it isn't just him. Six billion lungs straining against thin and polluted air. It's a half-battered existence, this life. A brutal excuse for humanity. No longer just a struggle to live, but a struggle for the will of life.
How are we to survive?
He lit a cigarette and bent down to watch as a black beetle struggled above ground, legs flailing haphazardly, grappling for the dead Texas earth, just above reach. Nate laughed bitterly as it struggled, recognizing the symbolism, and dually realizing that it would be better if the insect just stayed underground. Loosing patience, he took a small step forward, twisting the remains of his life under his boot. He didn't need the reminder. It was all a goddamn metaphor anyway. Nate could only hope for such a short and uncomplicated demise.
He felt a pang of something akin to regret as he sank, defeated, in front of the beetle's remains, already partially obscured by a growing layer of dust. Maybe it wasn't metaphorical after all, maybe he was wrong; maybe it was an omen. Or perhaps a test. Nate was almost certain he had failed.
He sank lower, burying his hands in his hair, obscuring his face. He felt the cool pressure of the heavy ring that rested on his ring finger. A reminder. He just wanted to run. He was good at running, but running wasn't an option this time. Now he had a duty to perform. He was needed; his sister needed him.
He spat. Another bitter memory.
He launched forward, renewed with intent. He would feel no more pain for her. It was time for Nate to be selfish. She chose her life. It was her goddamn decision. It was her life she had sacrificed for an undeserving cause: an ungrateful, selfish, drunk mother who would rather watch her own daughter's destruction than face justice for her own sins.
He would be cold, detached. He will not fail.
But she was just too good.
Nate sighed, and lessened his pace.
She was too good.
beat.
Nate's under no illusions. He knows there is no glory in death. (death for religion, death for patriotism?)
Death for nothing.
beat.
But we live to die.
Another brutal practice of working for your paycheck at the end of the day. It's a dissatisfying demise. You die only to learn that life comes with a heavy tax. There comes a certain irony, to find in death, you spent your devout life paying a useless fee to false gods, and idols, and manipulative men.
Nate used to believe in a god.
Instead, he lives without hope. Is it so much better? Nate, too, works every day for his payment, and he, too, is drowning in the polluted air.
beat.
From day to day, Nathaniel Black trudges through his schedule, every day the same. No thought required. He lives without hope for a future. His life continues for its own sake.
Nate had realized that he is lead to increasingly dangerous means of accessing his humanity. Nate doesn't mind. Nate has nothing left in this life to loose.
It's nothing major, he just climbs a little too high, leans a little too far, drinks a little too much, stays out a little too late, and it gets a little bit worse every time.
Sometimes, Nate imagines throwing himself in front of moving traffic in order to land himself in the hospital, and escape from the numbing monotony.
Beat, beat.
But Nate knows he won't do it.
Because Nate knows he's too big of a coward.
Beat, beat.
He begins to realize that his eyes are closed.
He begins to realize that he can't move his body.
'Atlas' he thinks, 'So this is what the weight of the world feels like.' He tries to laugh.
He faintly hears a rasping gurgle, which sounds foreign to his ears.
Beat, beat.
Beat, beat.
Beat, beat.
"Nate? Oh thank god."
A female voice. His muddled mind couldn't quite place it.
"Stay calm. Don't struggle."
Nate silently agreed. It was all a goddamn metaphor anyway.