There is a castle on a cloud/
I like to go there in my sleep/..
There is a lady all in white/
Holds me and sings a lullaby/
She's nice to see and nice to touch/
She says 'Cosette, I love you very much'
~Castle on a Cloud
Les Miserables
Tyler opened his eyes for a moment; it had felt like there were padded rocks lying on his eyes. All he saw was white. Walls curtains light, white, white, white. He tried to move his right hand but something thick and heavy kept him from doing so. Tyler closed his eyes and let his eyeballs roll up, fall back into their sockets and sink into blackness.
The next time he awoke there was someone else in the room. "Mom?" The woman turned and had not Tyler felt like he was sinking, into the bed, into darkness, he would have felt stupid. This wasn't heaven; his mother wasn't here. No short brown hair, hollow eyes, no small bones collapsing into one another, no oversized sweaters hanging off her frame like rags off a bird pecked and feces splattered scarecrow.
"What honey?"
"Where am I?"
"St. Christopher's Hospital."
"I have to go." Tyler would have put up a better show of attempting to get up had he not felt like he had been embalmed while he had lay unconscious.
"Don't you dare. Your friends already told me to keep an eye on you..." Tyler mumbled something incoherent and fell back into the darkness. He awoke again when he felt someone's hand tracing his face. Involuntarily he shivered- Jack? Dad? Oh god, why did he hurt so badly? Like he had been beaten and rap- no, no he wouldn't think of that, he wouldn't think, he would just ignore the pain. He opened his eyes and met Jesse's.
"Oh God, Ty." Jesse sounded husky, teary. Why would Jesse be crying? He felt Jesse's finger again, calloused, tracing a line on his face. Something felt wrong with his face. It felt stiff, he couldn't.
"What happened?"
"You don't remember Ty? Your dad." Tyler remembered dark. hiding. his
father no Jesse picking him up and then his father had come kicking
and punching and something else.. Cold.. Metal, that was it. Cold
metal against his throat? No. That was where his father's rings had
punched. that's why his voice sounded weird. so he couldn't yell for
help. or call Jesse like he had. he had called Jesse. and he had come.
Cold metal against his ear, he could only hear the sound of the ocean,
coming from the barrel, a gun. It had been a gun. Bleeding, his face
had been bleeding, his mouth had been bleeding; he had been bleeding
in a lot of places.
"I do. Where is my dad?"
"Jail."
"Oh. What do I look like?"
"What?"
"My face. feels funny. What do I look like?"
"Tyler. I don't know. maybe you shouldn't."
"I want to know." Jesse picked up a hand mirror that someone had left
behind after sitting with Tyler as he passed in and out of
consciousness.
Tyler looked at his body first- that seemed safer, covered with a
sheet- only his knee seemed to hurt, pulse slightly. His wrist was in
a cast- he could only just move his fingers. God, his drawing hand.
His father had to have known, he had to have chosen that hand for that
reason. Slowly Tyler moved the mirror up with his left hand- a little
harder to do so because he didn't use his left hand all that much. His
arms were scratched and bruised, had welts on them, cigarette burns.
Tyler tried not to flinch when he looked upon his throat- it was a
massive blue gray bruise tinted purple on the edges; when he swallowed
he watched the bruise move up and down like a parasite feeding off his
flesh. He closed his eyes and moved the mirror up so when he dared to
look he would see his face. He opened his eyes.
They were both black and blue and his nose had a cut on the bridge- it
looked, felt broken. His eyebrow had been split then sewed back
together and he had stitches in his lower lip, holding two pieces of
flesh together with string. His chin had stitches too, an inch of
string creating a diagonal cleft there. His face was cut up, scabbing,
swollen; he had stitches under his eye, along his cheekbone. For a
moment Tyler wondered how that had happened. Then another wave of
pain, of sleep, of unconsciousness, of bliss, of blackness and Tyler
dropped his hand down and fell asleep, not realizing he winced
involuntarily when the mirror hit his ribs or that Jesse continued to
trace the cuts on his face with a finger.
~Castle on a Cloud
Les Miserables
Tyler opened his eyes for a moment; it had felt like there were padded rocks lying on his eyes. All he saw was white. Walls curtains light, white, white, white. He tried to move his right hand but something thick and heavy kept him from doing so. Tyler closed his eyes and let his eyeballs roll up, fall back into their sockets and sink into blackness.
The next time he awoke there was someone else in the room. "Mom?" The woman turned and had not Tyler felt like he was sinking, into the bed, into darkness, he would have felt stupid. This wasn't heaven; his mother wasn't here. No short brown hair, hollow eyes, no small bones collapsing into one another, no oversized sweaters hanging off her frame like rags off a bird pecked and feces splattered scarecrow.
"What honey?"
"Where am I?"
"St. Christopher's Hospital."
"I have to go." Tyler would have put up a better show of attempting to get up had he not felt like he had been embalmed while he had lay unconscious.
"Don't you dare. Your friends already told me to keep an eye on you..." Tyler mumbled something incoherent and fell back into the darkness. He awoke again when he felt someone's hand tracing his face. Involuntarily he shivered- Jack? Dad? Oh god, why did he hurt so badly? Like he had been beaten and rap- no, no he wouldn't think of that, he wouldn't think, he would just ignore the pain. He opened his eyes and met Jesse's.
"Oh God, Ty." Jesse sounded husky, teary. Why would Jesse be crying? He felt Jesse's finger again, calloused, tracing a line on his face. Something felt wrong with his face. It felt stiff, he couldn't.
"What happened?"
"You don't remember Ty? Your dad." Tyler remembered dark. hiding. his
father no Jesse picking him up and then his father had come kicking
and punching and something else.. Cold.. Metal, that was it. Cold
metal against his throat? No. That was where his father's rings had
punched. that's why his voice sounded weird. so he couldn't yell for
help. or call Jesse like he had. he had called Jesse. and he had come.
Cold metal against his ear, he could only hear the sound of the ocean,
coming from the barrel, a gun. It had been a gun. Bleeding, his face
had been bleeding, his mouth had been bleeding; he had been bleeding
in a lot of places.
"I do. Where is my dad?"
"Jail."
"Oh. What do I look like?"
"What?"
"My face. feels funny. What do I look like?"
"Tyler. I don't know. maybe you shouldn't."
"I want to know." Jesse picked up a hand mirror that someone had left
behind after sitting with Tyler as he passed in and out of
consciousness.
Tyler looked at his body first- that seemed safer, covered with a
sheet- only his knee seemed to hurt, pulse slightly. His wrist was in
a cast- he could only just move his fingers. God, his drawing hand.
His father had to have known, he had to have chosen that hand for that
reason. Slowly Tyler moved the mirror up with his left hand- a little
harder to do so because he didn't use his left hand all that much. His
arms were scratched and bruised, had welts on them, cigarette burns.
Tyler tried not to flinch when he looked upon his throat- it was a
massive blue gray bruise tinted purple on the edges; when he swallowed
he watched the bruise move up and down like a parasite feeding off his
flesh. He closed his eyes and moved the mirror up so when he dared to
look he would see his face. He opened his eyes.
They were both black and blue and his nose had a cut on the bridge- it
looked, felt broken. His eyebrow had been split then sewed back
together and he had stitches in his lower lip, holding two pieces of
flesh together with string. His chin had stitches too, an inch of
string creating a diagonal cleft there. His face was cut up, scabbing,
swollen; he had stitches under his eye, along his cheekbone. For a
moment Tyler wondered how that had happened. Then another wave of
pain, of sleep, of unconsciousness, of bliss, of blackness and Tyler
dropped his hand down and fell asleep, not realizing he winced
involuntarily when the mirror hit his ribs or that Jesse continued to
trace the cuts on his face with a finger.