A haze, mix of blurs, emotions, feelings, and a need to noticed, are they sometimes what can be believed as real? As far this writer knows, nothing.
Emotions. They can build us up. They make up who we are. They help us understand ourselves. But they can just as easily destroy us. They can tear us down. Dig deeper, and you realize that sometimes, in this world the only way you can get anywhere, is by faking them. Who needs true emotions when you can be successful? Who needs true emotions when you have wealth that can last you forever? The ones who find no respect or value in their lives and prey upon welfare of others, is the answer.
But what kinds of emotions are there? Anger, hate, happiness, sadness, that's all I know. There are many more.
Anger is an emotion experienced too often. Anger is the fire that consumes everything precious to you. Anger causes you to destroy what can't bring back. Material possessions are testaments to how much you love the world, and value your being more than you value others welfare. Possessions, they come and go, but the friendships you've built up in your life will last forever. You can never replace that. You can never destroy what you know cannot be replaced. And when you've stopped being angry, what do you have to show for it? You find how pointless it was, how irrefutably foolish it was to take your rage and direct it on all that which comforts you. Anger, it is such a terrible torrent of confusion and bitterness. A ravenous inferno that grows and feeds on the loneliness and dark emotions you contrive in your heart.
Happiness is a given that comes only when you truly want it. Happiness, is but what a fleeting dream? A flower that blooms late in the day, only to disappear in the night air; then it comes back by dawn, kisses a fly, narry a care to ponder in the world, sending waves, no, showers of blessings and friendly smiles as a beacon of light in the darkness drear of your world.
Sadness is a wave of despair slowly ebbing away at your broken spirit. Sadness comes as an aftershock of anger. Like the singed bark of trees after a fire; it is regret in its' purest form. It is comes when you realize you have nothing. It comes, only to be replaced with deeper sorrow or anger later. It comes when you know that a situation is hopeless. It comes when you know that… you've lost or forgot something that you can never get back. People hate being sad. But you can't shun away what is inevitable; you can't turn your back on it. For sadness, as well as anger or hate, or happiness, justifies the true feelings you have for what you know, without a shadow of a doubt, what's most important…
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After the rain…
He would always remember yesterday. The way they went, their experience there, and coming back. So maybe Lumpus wouldn't remember their kiss, the way they almost joined as one in beautiful union. Slinkman believed, it was better that way, no questions asked. Maybe it hurt, maybe he felt scarred for the rest of his life, but he knew it in his heart to be true. If only, oh, god, if, if only he wasn't breaking up on the inside because of said scenario. And… it wouldn't have made things any better if he had.
He woke up, taking in the calm, reassuring silence of the morning air. Without a second thought, he set about his early chores and routine preparations for the Scoutmaster's awakening. He was, in an unexplainable way, flustered with the busy schedule he'd spot himself gorging on for the rest of the day; this was because, though the thought struck him as incredulous, he'd have to play the part of Camp Kidney's motor as usual. Lumpus would not, not even for the sake of the Commander (unless his presence was just two inches from him) work unless it was for money, and he rarely received any pay. That, and for many other good reasons too, which accounted for why Slinkman never received his own pay after working his butt off for countless hours around the camp. But right now, he disregarded the facts and notions as nothing as he was dusting off the many possessions and valuables in the Scoutmaster's office.
At the very least, he was able to do his usual manual labor without any trouble. Or, 'without emotionally breaking down', should be the correct phrase.
Dull, as the morning seemed except for the far-off sound of Raj's rendition of playing the morning bugle as the official wake-up call for the entire camp, the rather rushed banana slug was feeling strange, even for someone as dismal and depressing as him. He knew what he was like and what he was around people but never with Lumpus. He didn't understand where he stood on the issue with him, much less, where he fit in that unsolvable equation. Perhaps, he thought as he finished up, that the only reason he battled with everything: he hadn't come to a decision. But his thoughts were immediately interrupted when he heard the eerily quiet footsteps of Lumpus descending downstairs. When he stepped into the room, all borderline mental theories were put on hold.
Still looking as groggily and grumped up as ever, he paid Slinkman no mind as he took his seat and absent-mindedly started fumbling through the papers on his desk. Papers, that Slinkman had meticulously and precariously spent two damn hours trying to organize. Right now, there was a bit of resentment, but with all his mental will he barely averted to openly making it known as he stood to attention. Instead, he made up the lie to himself that perhaps, he deliberately did that just to busy Slinkman even further, acting as if he'd just take it. Unfortunately, he had forced himself to tender to that kind of wronged, mindless job-catering and he chose to 'just take it'. Wasn't the sort to at least try and grow some backbone, was he?
Silence, the sort that happens when you know something that other person, sitting on the opposite side of you doesn't know and continues to wallow in blissful unawareness, pervaded the room in the most stifling manner.
"mm, mm, uh, morning Slinkman," Lumpus started, but didn't meet his eye gaze at the spot he stood. It sounded like he was tired, or maybe he was still trying to shake off the shackles of his recent alcohol-induced rest of yesterday, reluctantly trudging along to get back into the swing of running his position. His wandered to his sore temple and as he gingerly rubbed with confusion, he also tried ascertaining whether or not to turn after a cup of water and pain reliever; either choice befitted him, for as long as he stayed in the office, he didn't have to face the annoying, sickening, gleeful, grinning, slap-happiness of those rotten little mutants called campers, especially the 'genetically altered mutant of the ages', Lazlo.
"Um, uh, morning, sir," was all that the scoutmaster's assistant was able to stammer in the most submissive tone of voice he heard. This came aside from the fact that he couldn't help noticing something odd with Lumpus's behavior. Why in the hell did things have to get so awry in the morning?
He looked; nay, he practically screamed the same exact look that ran across his face yesterday. Bad time to reminisce, Slinkman. That put him on a level of awkwardness he'd never known before in his life. Then came the horrible part: Did Lumpus actually remember what happened on the bus? While he pondered many other terrible things, Lumpus surprised him. If there were others, he'd have surprised them all.
"Hey, you alright? You're look hurt, are you?" Slinkman's eyeballs nearly dropped out of his eyestalks.
"So are you going to answer the question or no, Slinkman?" If there was any advantage to fainting, that was avoiding confrontation with the idiot of the millennium. He would've fainted, but they didn't come to him, no matter how much he mentally willed it to happen. Plus, fainting actually hurt, contrary to popular opinion. Ugly enough for the next guy who was either brave or foolish enough to try and take on something so damn stupid, when it was so damn easy.
"I guess we never finished our drinks," he finished looking like a deflated balloon. But unbeknownst to him, the inside of Slinkman's stomach suddenly felt like had butterflies (empty for short reference). That, or the gut center of his stomach dropped out of place, or he had suddenly crashed back to Earth in an alarmingly fast rate, or any combination of the three. It was beyond being able to be described.
"You know, I can't remember a thing after we went down to the bar yesterday," he continued, though even now, Slinkman hadn't spoken, plus it didn't look like he was planning on speaking still, which made him awestruck in a very thunderstruck way, "I guess I must have fallen asleep. And, this is the weird part, but I dreamt that I was kissing Jane Doe in my dreams."
It felt like gravity took advantage and forced Slinkman to suddenly fall through the center. So sudden, so scary, so unexpected. That was all Slinkman could think. What transpired, what had given him the fleeting body of heavenly joy that flooded his soul, that was only because Lumpus pictured Jane Doe in Slinkman's place!
"Kind of crazy, don't cha think?" he asked him once more. Slinkman perked up to finally understand his attention was focused on him. "Um, uh yeah, I suppose, pretty crazy, sir." When he finished, he found to his surprise that was no rhyme or reason to why he had said what he said. They hung about the air like leaves, awaiting that next, swift gust of wind to carry them. It was painful to think that maybe those leaves would serve no purpose. That, that they had no clear destination.
"Because," Lumpus fed the dwindling flame of short dialogue exchange as a finale, "I didn't-"
Didn't? He didn't? Didn't what? And the long awkward pause that followed had Slinkman on his toes, looking out for it. He was getting so anxious, so terribly, terribly, anxious, he felt he was on the verge of exploding. He contemplated just exploding for no apparent reason, but he had common sense to tether him right at the thin line where his sanity had apparently dwindled.
"Slinkman," he started a new question, damn it all to hell why'd he go and do that? "would you believe me if I told you that I didn't enjoy it as much?"
He didn't know how it happened, how the sudden dam breaking in his head was a catalyst, how it was garland to his soul breaking…
"How I hated it even?"
How it was a garland to his soul breaking…
"Eh, you probably don't get it."
"I…"
"Hmm?"
Somehow, his soul tearing apart was only the kink.
"I… I don't get it either, you're right. I don't."
He solemnly agreed.
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Non-SequiturThe day moved on. Nothing special, to Slinkman, really happened. It went off without a hitch. But what hung in his head all day was the conversation they had that morning. The way Lumpus looked almost worried. Lazlo hadn't caused any trouble the whole day and that was enough of a blessing. It made Slinkman think. But near the end of the day he decided that he wanted by himself, so he stole away to the glorious hill of flowers at sunset.
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… Cold winds, as blue as the sea…
Alone. He was alone again. But being out there, as the sun unwillingly hid itself; he'd remember being alone many a day. Many a day, he had no one to be near. Loneliness was a kin to misery, and his sister, doubt.
He doubted, because part of him deeply, truly believed that maybe he wasn't, that he didn't, that he couldn't belong. (Oh, God, he just felt he didn't belong. That he didn't believe.)
But then, what purpose did he serve here?
He was Slinkman, a Scoutmaster's assistant. Nothing more, nothing less. Right? Perhaps, and further still someone who emphasizes being a neat and tidy know-it-all, the self-proclaimed, voice of logic and reason who runs Camp Kidney with a gentle hand to everything. This doesn't exclude scouts, sports, cafeteria duty, and managing hosting events and contests.
But is it really that simple? That he can sum up himself in a few short words? That's what happened the day when signed up to assist in running Camp Kidney, 7 years ago.
Birds are simple enough. They're small creatures that have wings, and they can fly. Trees are simple enough; they grow, not minding their surroundings, from the Earth. They have leaves, they have branches, and sometimes, they have fruits. Houses are simple enough; they serve the purpose of sheltering anyone it's fold, from the cold harshness of the outside world. Food is a substance that exists to sustain you. Grass is green. It grows only to become a pestilence to gardening enthusiasts, and they are cut down. Flowers make the world pretty. Flowers come in different colors, shapes, and sizes. Flowers make the people you give them to happy. Bikes are used for having fun and exercise; the horn that Raj plays in the morning makes amazing music. Raj was a kid, Edward was a kid, Dave was a kid, Lazlo was a kid, and Skip was a kid himself.
But it wasn't really all that simple. Nothing ever was. No, not everything is as it appears from the first glance.
It didn't always have to be simple. If everything was simple and easy, what was the point of living life if it didn't even provide much of a challenge?
After all, the Jelly Cabin Trio did find out about Slinkman's former past, those glorious days when he was Super Slug. So in the upshot, there was more to Slinkman than he himself realized. But after finally conquering Dead Beans Drop, he resigned his former occupation, leaving behind only memories.
He smiled to himself. It was a soft smile, filled with glowing ambition and promise; he reminisced about those good old days. In those days, Lumpus had an afro and he was slightly younger. Slinkman had hair himself and was slightly younger. In those days, the new mainstream message was to share the peace and to enjoy the tranquility that nature offered. In those days, generally during the summer, Slinkman dared to believe. He wanted to believe he was more than what he was. He dared to believe that he could go further than his miserable existence. That he could be different.
But those were just memories now, and he was still who he was. He was still the same Slinkman, and he'd stay like that always for all he knew. It was almost like marriage; the chains of his job bound him to his obligation and low payment Fridays.
He sighed. Only so much to himself, he drooped his head down and suppressed whims of mirth threatening to burst. It's hard to understand what he was going through now, but to put it in a clearer light; his laughter was melancholy at best. His tears that were falling down his face were those of experiencing the sort of humor that can't be laughed at. In short, he had his fair share of mood swings, so many complicated emotions, so many unexplainable thoughts and random intellectual feelings. But they pointed to one thing: would he be any less of a living being if he wanted to be with Lumpus? Would others still regard him with the same sincerity of respect if that were the case?
Two questions he couldn't answer. He thought; let someone else follow the trail of that journey, and let's see what they come up with. It'd make no difference. What would he do? Would he tell him? When he did, would he recuperate those same feelings? Did he even have feelings to begin with? So many questions, so many what-if's and would've been's, layer upon layer of mixed feelings and doubt alone piled on his skinny shoulders.
No. He wouldn't doubt anymore. But he would not raise his hopes as well. But there was no trace of doubt left of him; not anymore, he had no more disbelief. He chose to not run away, not to hide.
Slinkman unflinchingly stared into the azure sky, and raised his hand. The palm was open, just to feel the night air whisking freely in and out. The winds from the east flew upward with the fast current and the flow sailed away to the withdrawn, fiery, closed fist of the setting sun. One by one, the stars began to appear in the night sky. To Slinkman, it resembled tiny diamonds bedecking the blue folds of fabric blanketing the Earth.
He watched the stars come out of hiding and watched their wonderful dance; he listened to the music. His mind had perfectly composed the notes of the symphony they were playing. Each note was deep, like it had true depth, that it had true meaning. He never heard anything so beautiful, so clear.
He almost grew envious.
When would he get to make his own stars? When would he be able to write his own symphonies?
He'd find out… someday. But when would that 'someday' be? Still far off from knowing the answers, still unable to grasp that thin line in the void. Till then, he'd live; living the way he was. He'd live not knowing these answers. He'd live still striving to find the answers to those questions, and maybe, many more. Let all other things fade into the background. He'll always treasure the friendship he has with Lumpus. Whatever happens, whatever changes may come, whatever challenge awaits them… with him he'll be steadfast, a promise from the stars, till the day he can confess his feelings, and they together will stand…
…for them, to hold dear what they truly believe.