Pieces of Me
Chapter Two:
Dead Like You
I'm just someone's memory. And even then, I am just a fading one.
AN: Thanks to everyone who read the last one and added the story. Special thanks to those who have messaged and I hope you guys keep at it. I love opening my email to find little words of praise and bliss in there. It makes the day so much more enjoyable. Sorry for the tremendously long wait but here's chapter two. Hope you enjoy.
Nothing: what a horrid word. It suffocates the lungs and burns the throat as it scars the tip of the tongue in its recognition. Truly a cursed word but I cannot seem to mind anymore for that is all that I have left. Bitter, cold and alone left to wonder throughout the poor confinements of my mind. Even now I can hear it buzz and whine as it turns relentlessly, yearning for something I do not have, something I may never have.
Nothing always sounds like something until you actually experience its white walls of delusion and proper insanity. Desolate lands stretch for miles only to be left to rot away. Not so much as a glimmer of hope remains to save you from this horrid land of ash we have made for ourselves. It's all turned into the blank pages of nothing, blank pages that stretch across this barren waste land.
Nothing; that's all that I remember and perhaps that is the worst part. Bits of scarps that have been dropped from the table, that's all that I have left. That's all that I have to hold on to. Is that fair? I don't know. I can't seem to remember.
What I can appear to remember is my name, Danny Chandra. The rest seems to plunge back down into place upon recognition, a little morbid game of hide and seek. The mordant realization of death was my first founder. Unfortunately, figuring out that you are indeed deceased is not a considerate way to start you back on the trodden path of recollection. Walking through an indolent human seems to have a foreboding effect upon yours truly. This trepidation rests callously upon a teenager's shoulders especially one without her memory.
I am still unaware of the benefits towards being a ghost but I am uncertain if I wish to fully comprehend them at all. They may bind me to this state of mind, an action I wish to relinquish. However, what could come from someone if they are rendered incapable of remembering anything prior to their death. The earliest memory I have is one of me staggering for shelter and comfort. I remember so well because that was the day I met Bill. That was the day where it all began. That was the day I died and became again.
The paved streets of New York City twist and turn amongst one another so vigorously that they eventually blur into one seemingly lane. Each one rendered submissive to the continuous heavy pounded rhythm of oncoming cars. Each one blaring upon their horn as if was their life support, the only things left to hold on to. Streaks of white and red clash upon the streets, yet black is all that remains upon the dense sidewalks. It was easy to fall captive towards the city's rhythmic tune but not for me. For me, I was deaf to the living and their insufferable noise.
I tumbled upon the mid afternoon sidewalk only to be passed as if I were nothing but air. Hurrying alongside a particular lady clad in a velvety fur coat, a hasty explanation rushed forth from out my lips only to crowd the thin line of space between us. Not even a flinch. The words failed to sink within the calico of her skin. She never acknowledged my existence and instead pressed forth with her weekly window shopping extravaganza.
She was having an affair. I am not sure how I know this or came to this widely accusation, but I just knew. I paid no mind to it for I had my own questions to seek answers to. The others would just have to wait.
To the next one and then to the next one, always asking the same questions. Where am I? Who am I? What day is it? Can you help me?
Apparently no one can. A sea full of people painted black with their own sins apparently does not have the time to spend on such outlandish questions. No, they are far too busy wasting away their lives in persistent caution of their own waves. Ironic, is it not that they themselves shall bring about their own demise? If only I could tell them. I fear they will not mark me regardless of the topic I choose.
It was when I tried to make contact that it all fell apart. I caught a fleeting glimpse of hand, something pale and translucent, marked white against the common sea of black. Fuzzy from the dull light of the clouded gray sky, my entire existence had begun to slowly wither away. Even the once dark jade that bound itself tightly to my arms and chest was beginning to wash away along with the faded denim of a once blue pair of jeans. It looked ill and horribly out of place amongst the rolling tides of the blacken New York City bay.
This could not be me, that one miserable thought refused to be vanquished serenely by the creeping notion of trepidation. This could not be happening to me. Despite their frequent disturbances across the rigid surface of my mind, they found no craves to call their home. There was no place for their denial in this land of broken glass and ash and so they fell. They fell like all the others.
The fear came next. It numbed the senses and blinded me by its will. I can still remember it vividly for the fear of being alone is no light matter one can easily subdue. No, it lingers upon the skin until it embeds itself, becoming part of you, a part you will always carry. You bury it in the back of your mind, wishing to conceal it from the world. But it will never be silenced. Even now I can still here its laughter, taunting me, whispering the woes of the world.
I wanted to reach out to them, shake them all and make them believe I exist. But how could I do that when I fail to convince even myself?
I reached out to a nearby man, wishing to feel the soft caress of the glossy fibers that wove his shirt upon the tips of my fingers. I wanted to feel the warmth of his skin and the tension in his heavy shoulders as he lost himself in thought. Instead, my hand sank effortlessly within his arm, never to be seen until he moved only a breath later. My hand was still faded, translucent and far from normal. I turned it up to meet my gaze only to be met by the penetrating glares of the dirty side walk beneath. So pale. So unnatural.
What circle of hell have I stumbled upon?
It was then that I finally received my answer for a gripping sensation tore away upon the center of my being. A middle aged man walking briskly with his leather bound suitcase clutched tightly within the grasp of his weather beaten hand managed to walk through me to only come out sneezing. I felt no pain. I felt nothing really. Absolutely nothing, and that's what scared me the most. Not the fact that he failed to turn back towards me and growl out his apologies or that no one else gasped upon this sight of indescribable events. No, I was terrified because I couldn't even feel the hairs upon my neck rise.
And then I ran. I ran as if my life depended upon it and for all I knew it could.
It was the only thing I could think to do, the only explanation I fooled myself into believing; if I could just make it past that corner I will be safe. This will all disappear and I will return home.
Home. There was a word I had yet to think of. It was now that I wanted to go there, run there with open arms and free of all cares. However, I can't remember where it is or even what it looks like. Surly I have one. I must have one. I wish I could go there now, escape this sea of a black demise.
Lost in a daze of thought, I tumbled into the street, falling hard upon the wearing asphalt only to feel no impact or grinding lesions upon my knees. I looked down astonished to see no blood, abrasions, or even lack or skin. My eyes widened upon the sight.
What am I?
It prickled my mind as it stung its way through, leaving more confusion only to be added to the list of unanswered questions. If only I could feel something, then I would know if I was alive. It was hard to determine if this was all just some dream. I can't feel pain. I could no longer be hurt. What else was there for me to discover?
The raging winds of change could be heard a mile away. The question remains though, do I want to listen? Do I wish to head their warning? I am not sure. I still can't seem to remember.
I was no longer normal, that much was certain. But what have I been reduced to? Some form of a girl? Some empty shell of a person that once existed, once walked the face of the earth to laugh upon the sight of day? What am I?
The wind shifted and blew past me, unable to waste its time upon my silly little questions. It was then I realized it brought forth a new stream of cars. All were painted yellow and all were blaring their thoughts out in snarled growls of honks.
Instincts took hold, forcing me into a stiff duck. I still remember the way that I shook when the first passed by with its horn echoing throughout the narrow passage I consumed, each one louder than the last. It still sends me into the aftershock of memories as the same chills clamp down my vertebra, sliding past the bones and lingering upon the skin. They felt so foreign on top of my spine, so unnatural and unwilling. I face the realization that I may never forget them.
I clamped my hands tightly over my ears but to no avail. The tires screeched past, scratching the surface of the worn out road. I saw them stream through my leg, a flash of black against the insipid flesh. Nothing. The marks it left greeted me through the bioluminescence of my own skin. Indeed it went through me, like everything else.
Fear my old friend. How I have missed you so. Won't you please stay awhile? You left so quickly the last time.
Something instructed me to cry, the only part left within me that remained a gateway towards my normal life. And so I did. Its wretchedness and anguish flooded in and seeped through the corners of my eyes when I was unable to hold more. They stained the flesh of my checks with their forgotten memories as I emerged from the ground only to dart across the remainder of the street.
I continued to run, passing through anything in my way; a small girl walking her dog, a couple arguing about their future, a group of employers traveling to work in a mindless herd, several joggers, and a group of high school students cutting class to simply be with one another. Each on sneezed as I ran past and each one brought more tears to my eyes. They fell hard and uncontrollable. At one point I wondered if I would be stuck like this, crying as I ran from the hand of fate.
I sat curled upon the corner of some back ally way I had managed to crawl into. Hands securely fastened over my ears, I swayed back and forth all the while screaming out to the night. "Please stop! Please stop!" They fell into a soft murmur that fluctuated into a whimper every now and then.
I can't remember how long I sat there but eventually the tears subsided and the screams became the soft silence that listens to the world turn. As I sat there trying to piece what little life remained back together, I was reminded of the void that burrowed itself deep within. When all is gone it will remain, latched upon my very skin. Such a strange feeling, being empty and worthless. And the worst part? The worst part is that there is no one here to hold my hand. No one's here to tuck the stray strand of hair upon my ear and whisper everything will be alright. No one is here to claim me, to smile down upon me, or to even talk to me. No one is here.
I am alone, and with it brings the feeling of a cold despair. I's touch is enough to freeze the bones.
I hate these white walls we have created. So empty and void of color, void of joy. I don't think we know the word anymore. I wish to break forth and find it, to share it with the others. I want to taste it upon my tongue and feel its euphoria when it is called. I want it more than anything but it is not something received when one is alone.
Hollow and alone, the empty shell I have named for myself. Hollow and alone, that's all I'll ever be. Perhaps it was all that I was meant to be.
Hours must have passed since the next moment I opened my eyes for the light around the city seemed to fade away into darkness. The low hum of street lights were carried from ally to ally by the soft wind. There were no people to crowed the dusted sidewalks or to clamp their heels impatiently upon the manufactured ground in hopes the light will change. They were all asleep now, dreaming up a world of joy. I could have gotten lost in the silence of the city and for a moment I believe I did. That's when he came. I blinked and there he was, someone with a conversation brewing upon the tip of their tongue. I could see the words scratch the lining of his throat as they rose into the heavily polluted air that clouded our busy little ally way.
"Hello. Are you lost?" His voice was heavily laced in a thick southern drawl, one that matched the antebellum side burns that framed his pale face in a shade of chestnut. His head cocked to one side when he asked, forcing a lock of his hair to fall into his dark spun eyes.
Then something strange happened; happiness returned. It pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile that I never thought imaginable upon me. It spread to the very tips of my fingers and down to my toes, relinquishing me of the numbing sensation of despair.
"Can you see me?" My own eagerness twisted itself within the blinding rays of hope, wishing upon all stars he could.
His thick brows raised in such a simultaneous state of perplexity that I wondered if I had lost my chance. When he spoke once more I realized the thin gasp of a line that lay between my shoulders and ears, almost as if they were wishing to fascine themselves as earrings. "Why yes," the twang seemed lost for a moment in his brief state of confusion but quickly regained in his moment of clarity, "can't everyone?"
"No." The truth will always be appropriate in moments such as these. It can never fail . . . hopefully. I have already lost once to the bitter remorse of faith and I wish to lose no more. "So far it's only been you." The words tumbled out as blunt, something he found odd yet enlightening. Wishing to no longer spend wasted time upon the hopeless, I found myself quickly admitting, "And yes, I am lost."
To this day I am still unaware of why he decided to help me. Perhaps he thought I was dead like him, a vampire. Regardless, I decided not to refuse anything in this dealt I was given.
"Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Surly someone must be looking for you. What is your name?"
He asked so quickly I had little time to prepare an answer. I heard my own words hanging upon a string in the air. "Danny Chandra," I had answered yet I am still unable to be sure how. I could have sworn I had not known that information prior to our engagement yet here I am handing it out as if I knew it all along.
A quick node in recognition was given before he addressed himself as Bill. He extended his hand in order to compete his attire of a friendly introduction yet it was never grabbed in correspondence. I merely looked down upon it in a foreboding sense that must have startled him for he quickly relinquished it.
"Tell me something Bill," the words were faint but understood, "do I have a heart beat?"
There was a bitter state of a pause that separated me from the tactfulness of my answers. His gaze fell heavy upon my own and in that instant I knew I should have never asked.
"No," the words lingered upon the tip of his tongue, no longer wishing to press forth. The center of his face clinched in upon itself in a bitter puzzlement of a question that may never be answered. "No you do not."
AN: To answer any confusion, yes Danny is really dead and you all now know that she is in fact a ghost but why? Well I guess you will just have to read the next one to find out then won't you? I'm sorry if not enough happened in this one to tip your fancy but there was some information I needed to put in or else you wouldn't understand anything. In other words, you'll thank me in the long run. And for those obsessive Godric fans; hold on, he's coming.
