I can hear them still...(part five)
by Flame Shad
“Wake up, lazy ass.” Relisia snipped. D reacted violently to the sudden
verse and recoiled visibly, falling from the couch and his head bouncing off
of the carpeted floor. His jacket had slid up his arms and was bunched
beneath his armpits. He groaned.
‘Fucking craika, Rel.” He rolled over, straightening his jacket. He began
to rub his forehead. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She merely stared at
him, ice in her eyes. She held out her hand, offering him aid.
“C’mon, get up.” She ordered, snapping her fingers lightly. D tried without
her assistance, but it seemed to be in vain. He used his hands as a prop and
attempted to reach his feet, but his legs were heavy and he fell down onto
his knees before he could fully stand. “You’ve been out for a whole day.”
D’s eyes lit up, as the scenes from the past days’ trials ran across his
vision. He looked down at his shirt after recalling the fierce pain a day
prior, then rolling about on the floor. It was crusted over with a ruddy
colored red. He pulled it down over his stomach, flecks of dried blood
cracking off and falling to the floor. He shrugged, rearranging his clothing
slightly. “When were you planning on telling us you’d been shot?” Relisia
demanded. “You could’ve died.” Her face was stoic, uncharacteristic of her
previous emotional outbursts. She’s back to herself, D thought.
“I wasn’t.” He said without humor. Relisia merely turned away from him and
left the room. Before she did so, however, she offered D a glare that stung
him. Without verbalizing, D knew she had accused him of being selfish. She
shut the door quietly behind her as she paced down the short beige hall that
led back to the floor. D could hear her sharp black claws clack against the
concrete stairs, and the sound slowly faded. She’s right... D thought. She’s
right. But is it worth repenting for? Maybe... He slowly went to the door,
and gently turned the knob. He exhaled before away. “Craika it’s hot.” He
realized he’d been wearing the sweat encrusted jacket for nearly two days.
He removed his arms from the sleeves and threw it folded over his shoulder.
Aggravated by his favorite jacket in ruin, he slipped the door open and
walked into the beige hall. The door creaked closed, and the noise caused a
throb to rise up D’s neck and into his cranium. He cursed, rubbing it away,
but the knot that had built up in the muscle felt tight and stubborn. He
craned his head in frustration, silently cursing further. He came down the
steps, and emerged into the dim light of the Moon once again. He noted the
bodies of the dead who had been executed were lined up with napkins on their
chests. Relisia and Zelester were nowhere in sight. He went closer to the
body of Relisia’s adoptive mother. Upon the napkin was written one name, in
somewhat elaborate handwriting. ‘Reoki Zerain’. Beside her lay her husband,
‘Erlen Zerain’.
He remembered meeting them for the first time. It was about two years ago,
when he was fifteen and Relisia was fourteen. It was still somewhat a blur,
as he visited while in a drunken haze. They sat down for dinner, and he
remembered feeling ill and nearly throwing up at the table. He smiled
faintly, ensuring himself he’d made a good impression in a sarcastic
fashion. The other bodies were similarly marked. ‘Mihose Kain’, ‘Kyerlo
Dien’, ‘Slie Heesein’, among others. The bar was quiet, but he could hear
gentle conversation in the distance. He turned his head to the massive iron
door that lead back onto the street. He limped to it, frightened and unsure
of what to expect. He slid it open, and mid day light flooded his vision. He
covered his eyes with the back of his hand. “Craika.” After a moment, he
adjusted and stepped outside. Scratching his scalp, he climbed the concrete
stairs, using the rickety iron handrail that had oxidized several years ago.
It shook and crumbled before D suddenly let go of it in a fit. He reached
the apex of the stairs and stared into the light above. The sun sat low on
the horizon, which indicated that the hekshanian ‘day’ had begun.
“In case you’re wondering, I covered the bodies and left the names. Figured
it’d be wrong not to.” D turned to his right. Zelester was leaning up
against the poster covered brick wall, smoking a cigarette.
“I thought you didn’t smoke.” D said flatly while pointing.
“I didn’t. Until today.” Zelester said puffing. He smiled wryly. “You
understand.” D nodded curtly, understanding all too well the need to escape.
D reached into his pocket and took three pills, each of a sickly white
coloration. He swallowed them effortlessly. That’ll shake the hurt. His mood
lightened and his posture straightened. He refused to acknowledge the harm
he was committing upon his body.
“Where’d Relisia go?” D asked to no one in particular. He looked around.
Across the street, Relisia was putting down more napkins, the bodies less
dense in population on the streets thanks to the decree set forth by the
police. D sighed. This is so surreal. He stared for a moment, Relisia
arching her back and crossing back to the club. She refused to acknowledge D
as she passed down the steps.
“Somethin’ ya said?” Zelester chuckled, while coughing. “Don’t worry. You
know the way she gets.” He smiled full force at D, who took the odd grin
with a grain of salt.
“Yeah.” He decided to leave Relisia to her own devices. “So, what’d I miss?
Seems quiet.” He craned his neck again, trying in vain to loosen the knot.
“The Rulerists stopped shooting yesterday morning.” He puffed once again,
but the awkward and painful cough was gone. “There’ve been a few people on
the street I’ve been able to talk to. They’re saying the Rulerists were
putting down riots, but things got out of hand when some of us started
gunning down their troops. A mistake was made. A big one.” Zelester dropped
the diminishing stick of ash onto the sidewalk and snuffed it with his foot.
He ground slightly more harsh than he needed to, but it didn’t matter.
“They’re arranging a clean up. They’re gonna be nice folks and give us a
hand. Make up for the mistake.” He tilted his head back and stared into the
sky. The stars were starting to appear through the haze of orange and dark
red. “The sky’s always pretty this time of the day. Always.” He seemed to
drift away from reality. “Heh. What do you think about all of this, really?
Doesn’t seem like it’s actually happening. How could it, you know? I thought
we all lived in the better half of the universe, where we had peace, quiet,
and no concern besides the day to day. Where’d it go wrong?” A few moments
passed in silence.
“Complacency.” D said in a dark spark of inspiration. “The moment your
problems become all there is wrong in the universe, your universe is meant
to be shattered.” He just stared into the sky with Zelester, reaching into
his pocket for another round of painkillers. He swallowed them whole without
much thought.
“So you’re sayin’ me and my problems are the reason this is happenin’?”
Zelester replied with a hint of sarcasm. He cast his gaze from the stars and
stared at D, whose expression was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He
couldn’t explain it. Enlightened, he thought.
“All of us.” He continued to stare into the sky. “This is like something I
read about in human history. The christalnacht, which means “the night of
broken glass” in an ancient human language called Hebrew.” His head tilted
to one side. “There was an army called the ‘Nazi’ party, who discriminated
against the people who spoke Hebrew, called Jews. Religion was involved, I
think. Anyways, the Nazis did everything they could to destroy the Jews’ way
of life. They burned their books, enforced curfews, and even killed their
people in concentration camps.” D folded his arms. “However, there was
christalnacht. On that night, the Nazis broke more than just every window in
the Jewish town, if I read it right. They broke something else. The spirit,
the will to go on.”
Zelester stood hypnotized by the speech pouring from the usually quiet and
uninteresting teenager beside him. “Did we deserve this? I don’t think so.
This is our cristalnacht. We’ve had our night of broken glass.” He inhaled
and exhaled calmly, pushing off from the wall behind him. “Maybe it was an
accident, but I have faith in the saying, ‘No crime goes unpunished.’ This
isn’t over yet, I get the feeling.” He turned to walk away. “We’ve got a
long ways ahead of us.” He disappeared down the steps once again. Zelester
lay propped up against the wall, examining his words carefully. Several
minutes passed, and night slowly began to creep over the silent city, pock
marked by loss and embolstered by a sense of hope.
“Nope. It ain’t over yet. Kid’s right. It ain’t over yet.” He took another
cigarette from his black pants pocket and lit it lovingly. “This’s just the
beginnin’.” He disappeared down the steps as the stars in the sky watched
over those below with a sympathy unbeknownst to mortals.
***
The night passed in silence, as the trio sat around the office, in a
desperate bid to find the right words, if only to strike up conversation. I
should apologize, but will she even listen to me? I should... But what more
can I do? D thought with his head buried in his arms. There’ll be a time,
hopefully. He leaned back in the office chair, examining the blood on his
shirt. He peeled it off in flecks, each bit getting clumped underneath his
elongated fingernails. The enormity of what the crimson stood for however,
evaded him, and he contentedly scratched and scratched at the solid grey
fabric.
I wonder what goes through that thick skull of his sometimes, Relisia found
herself thinking. He’s an ass when he wants to be, but... Hell, fuck it.
He’s a lot more like me than I’d care to admit. And the past few days. Who
wouldn’t be sour. She rolled over on the couch, mindful of her tail, which
swung about playfully before settling upon the floor. What the? She felt her
claw catch at the sofa fabric. A gentle tearing sound dominated the confined
room. Shit, gotta clip those bastards. She carefully removed the sharp tip
from the fabric, tearing a small chunk of cotton fabric off before
releasing. She relaxed again. I need a fix... My heads hurts.
I wonder where that came from, Zelester pondered, reviewing D’s speech over
and over. He never says much of anything, but that? Maybe there’s more to
this kid than I thought. Showin’ up drunk and gettin’ sick all over the
table. Way to make an impression. I guess, underneath it all... Nah. He sat
against the wall, reading a book he’d found in the cabinet. It was entitled
“Short Stories on Civil Disobedience.” Inside it were sections on
non-violent protest, great oratories by the times finest speakers, and even
advocation of an anarchistic way of government. While not completely
agreeing with most of the positions put forth, he enjoyed the mosaic of
opinions, and how they clashed ironically within the same book. He folded
the page in to the spine to save his spot and set it down. Books. All our
information written, all our opinions expressed. Where’s it get us? Nowhere.
He tilted his head back against the wall.
“You wanna leave?” Zelester asked, without casting a glance. He seemed
distant, unsure, aloof. But there was a certain determination exuding from
him. Relisia rolled over and sat up, straightening her buttoned shirt. D
went about scraping rusted blood from his chest contentedly.
“Yeah. I’m sick o’ this.” Relisia stated, standing up and stretching her
arms into the air. The fur on her tail stood up as she yawned loudly. “You
comin’?” She turned to D, who slowly drifted to attention. He scratched his
cheek.
“Sure.” Unthreading his tail from the chair, he stood and grabbed his
crusted jacket. “Where we goin’?” he asked, putting forth the obvious
question.
“Around, I guess. S’gotta be better than jus’ waitin’ here. We’ll drop by
your place.” He went for the door, whether the others had planned on
following him or not. “Whatcha waitin’ for?” He disappeared down the steps.
Relisia looked at D.
“Well? Goin’ home?” She asked. D appeared blank and detached, but managed a
slight nod of acknowledgment. The thought of his family, the dream, it still
stuck with him. “Alright, then.” Relisia left, with D still standing like a
statue. Well, it’s time. He inhaled and quickly exited the office. Gotta
face up.
The streets were more active. Instead of the deadly silence that hung
stagnant in the air, it felt more alive, but despondent if nothing else.
Every eye batted met the stare of one who’d lost someone, who’d grieved, and
who knew defeat. It was cold.
“I know how they feel.” D said, passing by a pair of southern hekshanians
who had their heads hung low. “At least there’s more people still alive.”
They continued to advance along the main boulevard, surveying the damage,
which was comparably insignificant cosmetically. The discreet silence was
the most unsettling factor in the larger picture of what was left of Juneux.
Every face they passed by was young. Every face was green with witless charm
and soft like a child hidden from poverty and hardships. But in their eyes,
D saw a new hardness rise. A new toughness, a sense of independence that
accompanied a loneliness. So our views change. It’s gotta be this way.
The soft arches passed overhead, and the plaza was still, apart from a
scant grouping of natives meandering about. The old trees still grew, the
green leaves and brown branches and blue streaked bees still filled the air.
The grass was still cut short and the cobble paths were still lightly dusted
with salt and dirt. The other’s who walked through the park whispered to
themselves if alone. They seemed lost, but oddly focused.
“Looks like it was jus’ the older folks that got it. There’s lots o’ kids
around. Young kids, too.” He nodded his head to a small coven of school age
children being led by a trio of females, two short and skinny, the third
larger and morose. “Guess there’s hope after all.” He smiled as he watched
the children pick and pull at the girls’ clothing, asking questions or
searching for attention. He distinctly saw the third girl smile, and widely,
at that. Yes. There is. He nodded his head in satisfaction. There is. D was
right. We’re just at the beginning. They rounded the plaza, and crossed back
onto the boulevard that led past the third story apartments where D and
Relisia resided. People sat on front steps, often with others, discussing
things to keep their mind away from the distresses at hand.
The trio passed on, before they stood beside the rotating door that led
back into the vacated lobby where D and Relisia had departed from two days
earlier.
“We should just stay here. It’s home, anyways.” Zelester said. D began to
rub his forearm, the memories coming back to him again. He shook, and
Zelester noted it without asking. He merely tried to pretend he hadn’t seen
it at all.
“I... Uhm... They’re. I mean, they’re wrapped up.” D finally sputtered out
awkwardly. “They’re wrapped up. Covered.” Up to this point, neither Relisia
or Zelester had known nor dared to ask the night’s results on his family.
They had presumed, though, and presumed correctly.
“It’s ok. We’ll help you get ‘em later. I’m sure Relisia will be generous
‘nuff to invite you to stay at her place for the night.” Zelester said,
nudging Relisia. “Eh, Rel?” She hesitated, but agreed shortly thereafter.
“Alright. Fine. You can stay. The couch is free, but I warn you, it ain’t
the most comfortable.” D shrugged.
“It’ll do.” Relisia pushed at the revolving door, but D stopped her with a
hand that lay on her shoulder. After a silence, he said, “Thanks.” Relisia
smiled and nodded, validating D’s multi-edged apology and gratitude. “Thanks
for everything.”
There was a smile in the sky, among the stars. A smile of sympathy, of
understanding. A samaritan’s smile. It was the smile that those without hope
for the future looked to and saw, high above. It was that smile that would
warm them in these dark and cold times. Without the guidance of mortals,
significance was in the heavens, held outside the grip of those without
their own destinies. The stars, they smiled. But it wasn’t sympathy in the
stars, not the sympathy one perceived. Beneath the understanding, the facade
of sympathy, was another smile, one that hid a certain sorrow. It was pity.
Pity for Hekshano. Pity for the days to come. The stars would smile with the
mask, concealing the truth, letting the people believe what they wished,
whatever comforted their tortured souls. They smiled for a reason. They
smiled for sadness. They smiled for apathy. They smiled for love.
Most of all. They just smiled.
Shake the hurt...
|
