They say the all the beauty has left the world. It's a terribly depressing idea, but I'm inclined to believe it. I see no beauty in the streets of today's world, where bums lie openly absorbing in the effects of the latest wonder drug. There is nothing beautiful in the crush-or-be-crushed society that we have created. But the fruits are ours as we have grown and now we must suffer their ill tastes in our wretched mouths.
June 13
The computer shut off with a disgusted sigh. Writing was meant to calm Mason down and set his mind more easy, but all it had done for him lately was anger and upset him. And the hot, sticky air was helping very little. The warm weather from the Gulf of Mexico had drifted in as it always has, but he couldn't remember a summer in Kansas City yet being this deadening.
He had arrived to his hometown earlier that week, after spending several weeks vacationing in New York with a friend that he couldn't say he genuinely liked. Mason was staying in a small duplex, where the rent was affordable but extremely high for a building with no central air. His neighbors were mixed up in a meth-ring and he was certain it was only a matter of days before the KBI burst in on them. He couldn't complain though, it was hard finding a place to live cheaply with enough room to for him to keep his sanity.
The sun was reaching it's noon peak when he decided to go for a walk. There was an all-right diner not so far off, and a park a little ways further. Fresh air might clear his mind. Sliding on a pair of sandals, and pulling on a pair of sunglasses, he grabbed his keys and wallet before locking his home up tight and leaving.
He'd lived in the run-down parts of the Midwestern town all of his life. Back when he'd still had parents even. Of course, he didn't remember anything about those days, he'd taken his fosters parents' word on it. All eight sets. He'd found out quickly that the monthly checks lost their appeal abruptly and soon. And for as long as he'd been in the sprawling city, he'd been alone. By the time he'd headed off to Lawrence, to the University of Kansas where most in his high school had ended up, he'd given up on his fellow man.
He had turned to writing when he had been roughly ten. He'd started scrawling out random blurbs about his foster families that comforted him in harsh times. From then on, he'd filled countless notebooks up with his thoughts, with stories, with poetry…they were currently stored in boxes that lined the floor of his small cellar.
Stuffing his wallet in his back pocket he took off down the sidewalk, his mind set on food and fresh air.
***
Perhaps the neighborhood park had not been the best place to sketch, Parker thought dejectedly. The only subjects he found were fast-paced kids and old people, the first of which would not sit still long enough for him to draw, and the second of which held no interest to him. He was beginning to hate his choice of moving back to Kansas City from California. The weather was dreadful, to say the least, and the population was beginning to dull him.
He had never had any doubts, however, that he would end up back in the city that had been his home for so long. While he was not a native, he'd been born in the state capital of Topeka, he lived there far longer than his four years in his birthplace. He couldn't say that he liked Kansas City, to be sure he found it dirty and mean. And much too large. Though it did not have too impressive of a population size, it sprawled out aimlessly for miles. And navigating was simply horrendous. But Parker had never been one to complain…
He'd moved out to California at age fifteen, when he'd thought he was in love with a girl who had dreams of Hollywood. After two months of living on the streets she'd told him he simply "didn't interest" her anymore and that he ought to leave. He headed to Santa Barbara, where he'd had an aunt at one time. He took up with a ragtag group of kids his age, but after a year, he'd had enough and left them. He got a job as a bus boy, and lived pretty all right, until he was nearing his nineteenth year, when he'd decided he missed home. That had been three months ago.
Now Parker sat alone in a park, with no subject to sketch. Defeated, he stood up and made his was to leave.
That was when he saw him.
***
The diner had been too crowded, so Mason had ducked out nearly as soon as he had gotten there. He wasn't much for crowds anymore. But he didn't feel like returning to his suffocating home yet, so he headed for the park on an empty stomach. Sometimes, he thought better with no food in him. That was rare, though. He kept his eyes on the weather, the air had a weighty feeling about it that usually came with a storm. It was getting late in the season for a good thunderstorm, but the weather had always been schizophrenic.
The park was full of rambunctious kids with no parents in sight and elderly people reading on benches and talking about the good days. Same old, same old. He came to the park nearly every afternoon, at it was the same crowd each time. The kids generally disappeared around three, running home to a late afternoon snack while the old left their benches at four to catch an early supper. No one ever seemed to do things on time anymore.
He took his normal seat beneath a large shade tree and watched the kids play for awhile, wondering what had become of him to cause him to be so bored and depressed at the ripe age of twenty, when a feeling of familiarity and scrutiny swept over him. He glanced around and found someone, around his age, watching him closely. Even from the distance he sat he could tell the eyes were an astonishing gold-green shade. Goldish-brown hair, in bad need of a cut, formed a hectic halo about his head. Whoever he was, he didn't seem to notice he was being watched by the very person he was watching. A sketch book rested in his lap, and in his hand held a pencil, which was flying about professionally on the page. It unnerved Mason.
He stood. Perhaps the boy was merely looking for someone to sketch. Mason had to admit that he was the most likely. But that thought aside, the feelings emanating from the sketch-artist sent apprehension throughout him. Quickly, without notice, he left. As he exited through the park's gate, his eyes met the fabulous gold-green ones for a moment which seemed to stretch out forever, before he broke contact and, with a frown, he hurried home.
***
Parker was concentrating heavily on the piece of paper before him, so heavily he didn't notice his subject leave. He looked up from the sketch to only to have vacancy meet his eyes. Searching, he found the brown-haired young man hurrying out of the park. As he came to the gate, he looked back and met gaze with Parker. From where he sat, some many yards away, Parker fancied the eyes to be of the deepest blue. But the contact was quickly broken, and soon, the stranger was hurrying down the street.
Parker would not sleep well that night.
***
Familiarity; it is a feeling I do not often encounter, but it has hit me with a force equal to that of a freight train. I have no idea who he is. I have never met him before. Why, then, do I feel as if I have shared lifetimes with him? Is it possible to know a face you've never before come across?
June 14
It was late into the night, nearly time for sunrise, but Mason had not even begun to think about going to sleep. The meeting in the park weighed heavily on his mind. He could not say why. A deep sense of foreboding seemed to have settled over him. He could not get the image of the gold-green eyes out of his mind. They were not the eyes of a stranger. They were-
His thoughts were cut off short by raised voices from the next door over. When he had returned home from the park, he had noticed an obscene amount of cars parked in front of the duplex. Since then, occasional bumps and knocks on the walls had been frequent. Hushed voices had been present all night, and not one person had yet to leave. This was the first occurrence of shouting, however. His neighbors and their…guests, usually shied away from as much attention as possible. The only time the couple had spoken to him was to ask him to always shut the gate behind him when he left so their dog couldn't get out on the street.
With a creaking neck, Mason turned away from the computer and rubbed at his burning eyes. He really ought to get some sleep; he was due to meet an old friend, being a very loose term these days, for lunch on the Plaza at noon. For reasons that eluded him, he felt the need to make a good impression. He would have to hurry after lunch to make it to work by three. The bookstore he worked in, which was a rather deceiving name since it specialized in maps, was in Independence, and the traffic on the interstate was unpredictable.
He went to bed, fully dressed, ten minutes later, but he never did get any rest. His dreams were plagued by a haunting stare from a pair of gold-green eyes.
***
His supplies were running low. He would have to run to the store first thing in the morning. Of course, he had work almost before the sun rose, but that mattered little. What mattered was that Parker was nearly out everything. Charcoal, graphite pencils, chalk and oil pastels, acrylics, colored pencils, water colors, children's crayons…
He had been drawing like a fiend since he first encountered the oddly bewitching stranger some hours before. His supplies of blues was nearly exhausted, and all shades of brown, red, and yellows (what color had his hair been?) were following suit. Countless sketches, haphazard paintings, and detailed works littered Parker's counter space, tabletops, and floor. He would have to pick up several boxes of pushpins as well. He needed to get the pieces of paper out of harms way, but within eyesight. He didn't want to forget a single detail.
Every light in his small apartment was going at full blast, counteracting the work of the ancient window unit, which was decrepitly pumping out as much cool air as possible. At times, he thought the scratches of the pencils on the paper were loud enough for his neighbors to hear, but no complaints came. They were only echoing in his mind it seemed. He was losing too many of the details…the look in the eyes was failing in his portrayals. He needed to find the blue-eyed stranger again.
Yet, it didn't seem appropriate to call him a stranger. Hadn't he known this person the moment he had laid eyes on him in the park? Even before then? His encounter with the nameless man seemed to have stirred deep memories of companionship deep within Parker. Feelings stronger than he could ever remember experiencing. And emanating off of the stranger had been something more known to Parker than his name.
Loneliness. Swirling about him had been utter loneliness. There had not been a drop of hope within him. It had filled the air even after he had abruptly left. A faint whisper to the presence of a haunted being. A being so like him…
Just like him.
It was like looking in mirror and
Just like him.
seeing himself, only with a different face.
Green-gold began to brighten to blue.
His thoughts were beginning
Just like him.
to jumble.
His hair had most definitely been of the richest honey-brown possible.
***
The heavy clouds, a foreboding shade of gray, did nothing to help with the heat. The humidity caused the linen shirt Mason wore to stick grotesquely to his back as he left the restaurant and hurried down to the block to his car. The smell of rain was thick in the air, and distantly, the soft rumble of thunder echoed.
He'd ruined the good impression he'd been hoping for. During lunch, he'd been unable to concentrate on what his companion had been saying. Incessant chatter, surely. No one ever had anything worthwhile to say anymore. Conversation these days were very overrated. It seemed as though people spoke without having any need. But that hadn't been the only problem…
A daunting shadow of sorts had hung over him ever since he had gotten out of bed that morning. It had pushed aside even thoughts of the green-eyed stranger from the previous afternoon. Perhaps it hadn't over-powered the thoughts of the boy, though. It almost seemed to have been given birth from the hectic contemplation over him. He'd had dreams…they hadn't made any sense though. The eyes had been there but…the person had been different. Almost seeming to be a young boy, and yet at the same time, grown. And there had been trees…that weren't trees.
It was almost as if he were feverish; at times, it was almost as though he were on fire from the images, while moments later he would feel as though dead and cold from the feelings they surfaced.
Despair.
Irrationality.
Fear.
All of these raged on inside, more violent than even the approaching storm threatened to be. Mason rolled down the passenger window of his car, glaring at the useless air vents. His own driver's side window had long ago broken and threatened to fall out of it's slot every time it was rolled open. When he started up the car, he revved the engine several times before pulling out; it still missed horribly on the drive. The clouds seemed to be descending in the sky. Shudder. Shudder. Shudder. He barely noticed the missing anymore. The clouds were really getting low.
Green had always been his favorite color.
***
The people without faces were swarming about the
a darkened complexion
room; of course they must had had faces at one point, it was silly
or had that been the shade
to think otherwise. Everyone had face. Except now they didn't. The only face
of the tree he had been sitting under
there was anymore was
?
his.
Blue blue blue bl
It didn't matter though, he had his supplies; work would un
ueblueblueblueblueblue
derstand, he couldn't take anymore people without faces
b l u e
.
