So without further to do, here's my fan story:
Darkness. Complete, infinite, perfect to the eye darkness, a view no one except those within solitary confinement enjoyed as they were used to.
Peter was qualified as a human to see such a place. Even capable of walking past and behind it as though his eyes were glued shut. But if that was the case, why didn’t it feel like he was asleep or at least lying down? Quite a tough problem figuring out if he really was lying down or someone had excruciatingly ripped his eyes open long ago and it was too late to experience pain now.
“Bad taste in comas” Peter imagined saying to himself.
The whole perspective of darkness everywhere was one Peter hadn’t time for as his anticipation made him stray off. All thanks to the bright view he could see reflect from the edge of his left hand.
“I’d better not be dead…am I?” asked Peter before he revolved to see the glowing source behind him.
Peter saw a mall amidst the abysmal black. Somewhat harder to see than believe when there could be more uncertainty for trusting his eyes anymore. Yet as dead as he assumed he was, shopping malls would have to be the closest deal to divine absolution. Even more the reason was the fact it was the same mall he and his family always visit.
Peter obliged himself to walk thanks to his desire for an explanation.
However, he didn’t want to go too far. Just because he wanted to know the gist of this setting didn’t imply he placed his trust on it. Only stopping a few feet away from the entrance, he looked through the glass to figure out what seemed to be going on.
“Heather!” said Peter, incredulous and relieved, looking at girl which had her back on Peter.
Peter needed to close his eyes half-way for viewing the other figure through a more comforting angle. The figure waved an arm at him before his eyes finally enlarged due to this disbelief and amazement.
“No…It can’t be her…She’s…”
Before Peter could finish his question off with “still here”, a glow having to originate from that same figure exploded into the brightest flash Peter had ever seen. Blocking his entire view, he had no choice but to close his eyes. Soon enough, everything really turned dark in the cataleptic matter.
But for only that moment, in the remainder of his life, did he remember who she was.
A cloudy dusk for all whom just about everyone could identify as infamously lonely covered the city.
Note how most in terms of quantity rather than those hearts that were lost because of lacking what most people had: a companion. Outrageous for anyone with enough sympathy to speak out. Nobody deserved to wander off into loneliness like this.
At least not or especially on Valentine’s Day.
Even if they literally, without pun, without exaggeration or even joking for any matter whatsoever were destined to live like that for the rest of their eternities. A millennium to them was like a minute to us: ineffective when never cherished enough.
The truth could be hidden for some people, though. Those people having to be trapped inside a building like, say, a certain shopping mall, counted without arguing. By usurping the excuse of looking around the stores, it served as a way to make everyone have second thoughts about their emo-like facades.
Too bad for them when it went as far as people so daftly clever like Peter, the kind who made themselves forget about their feelings long enough to really believe they were shopping, nobody had as far as a chance. Then again, Peter had been doing it for so long; anyone who cared enough could call him a pro.
“Cool, Inglorious Basterds! Half price!” Said Peter, as he looked at his newly bought DVD and contemplated the titular actors. Clearly, the idea by which Christopher Waltz wasn’t good enough to be on more than just the front cover distracted Peter enough to bump into someone.
“OOF!” He said, spinning another guy around.
The guy turned out to be a dark skinned man with an afro and two odd features, which were the dark sunglasses and a cane he seemed to wave around.
“Geez man, are you-?” said Peter, biting the last word when he actually brought awareness of those features. It was indeed an embarrassing moment, even more as he saw the guy proceed to wave around.
“Oh, pardon me my good fellow. It’s just that my Seeing Eye dog ran off and I’m stuck looking for the poor old beagle, you see?” the man replied, perfectly courteous.
Abruptly, Peter’s incredulity activated some kind of idea he had. An idea which was both a mixture of déjà vu and dismay all infused in an epiphany. Peter looked at the man closely this time. His glasses had each a lens with a shape as round as a quarter.
“So just so I’m getting this, you’re BLIND?” Peter asks.
“That’s right! Nothing more than ears, smell and tact from here to there” The man replied enthusiastically, surprisingly impervious to Peter’s misgiving.
“Why’d you want to know? This the first time you see a blind person?”
What an exhibition Peter’s angst ridden attempt to remember was getting to him by that moment. The man’s question could easily be answered with a no as he wasn’t lying.
Yet the way he felt sure about the answer provoked him to begin growing a new aberration inside of him. It wasn’t painful in any sort of way, yet had a unique way of bothering him. Consisting of a feeling the closest it was identical with as that of someone in jeopardy who knew the answer a second ago.
Then it abandoned them.
Either this was a new sense about to transform his human persona into something more, or it was just the ghost of something which didn’t want Peter to answer that question. The ghost of a sensation the whole world knew as doubt, never trying hard enough for Peter to feel affected but just aware enough of its presence.
“I guess so” said Peter, not too weak enough to sound sure.
“Oh” replied the blind man, sounding more offended this time.
Maybe that entity of doubt renounced Peter, and decided to root for a new host. Peter could nearly assume how that new host directed his head at him. Almost making him assume his disability was a fraud and he was looking straight at him.
Or was that just the ghost using its own eyes as he possessed the man until his reply?
“Well I’ll see you then”
The man tapped his shoulder as a reverence to Peter’s attempt at certainty, rather than a parting salute. Leaving Peter to wonder what seemed to shorten his jolly meter as he walked slowly to the food court.
Without using the cane or even bumping into people.
“Weird” Said Peter, before walking into GameStop.
“Heavy Rain, huh? I can smell an exposé of uninspired visuals right around the corner.” Said Peter to himself, exiting the store. Black Friday’s persistent grapple had ceased to involve a teenager’s charisma.
The good thing though was its meaning had nothing to do with depression and Peter was still following the rules.
“Next stop: Waldenbooks!”
Peter walked towards the store, stopping for a few free samples throughout the food court. He also went to Starbucks coffee to enjoy one mocha latte. It had been his first since the end of final exams.
He sat next to the bar table in peace.
“Wow, it’s like tasting something for the first time” Peter told himself, experiencing an idyllic taste.
“Knock it off, Wallace, I don’t need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, I’m the one who buys it! When Aaron goes shopping, she buys shit! I’m the one who buys the expensive gourmet kind cause when I drink it, I want to taste it!” replied the cashier.
“Huh? I don’t get… what?” replied Peter, adorned with a puzzled face.
“Ah, I’m sorry, sir.” said the cashier, trying not to turn pale.
“I couldn’t help but seeing you bought “Inglorious Basterds” and assuming you were a Tarantino fan when-”
“No, no, I’m cool with Quentin Tarantino, but which movie was that again? It’s hard to tell if it was Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction. I saw those films quite a while ago” said Peter.
“Pulp Fiction, actually” said the cashier.
“Oh yeah! Pulp Fiction, that’s right! The scene after they accidentally kill the guy!” Peter said enthusiastically.
“Yeah, that scene’s one of my top favorites” Retorted the cashier.
“By the way, my name is Devon. I don’t think I got your name, what’s…”
“My name is Peter, and your ass ain’t talking your way out of this shit!” replied Peter.
The cashier named Devon had the turn of confusion, unaware of what was really insinuated here until later.
“OH! Ha! Good one, one heck of a scene by the way” replied Devon.
“Dang straight and right!” said Peter.
“I was traumatized at first, but impressed beyond belief! Especially when I alone tried to memorize the entire passage Samuel Jackson spat at us. But I managed in the end, want to see?”
“Go for it, how’s it go?” asked Devon.
“Ezekiel 25:17.” Peter began.
“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!!”
And as Peter finished, he made a fake shooting sound.
“WHOA, you really pulled it off!” implied Devon.
“Word! I even got to teach it to my little brother! And now recites it every time he waters the plants with his gay little squirt gun” said Peter.
“You don’t say” replied Devon.
“See, THIS is why Quentin’s awesome! He makes the wildest scripts, all by himself! Most movies, heck stories are too afraid to make dialogue as equally original as the movie itself! Seriously,When someone like Samuel Jackson or the guy who played Marcellus spoke, it was HARD to believe someone like Quentin wrote stuff like that!”
“I know…and even more tosee he could not only write scripts and translate them to four different languages, but have someone like Christopher Waltz REALLY raise the bar on his own works!” said Peter, finishing his latte.
“Brap! Well, I have to go now. Cool meeting you, Devon!”
Peter got up and threw the cup away before walking off.
“Same here! Anytime!” said Devon.
Peter had made it inside Waldenbooks. As usual, he went into the magazine section to see if there were any Penthouse/Playboy magazine’s someone might have ripped the censorious plastic when no one was looking. Peter would’ve found this dismally easier, especially without the security camera.
“Great” he says, about to leave the store. A small boy, say the same age as Jason, came up to him all of a sudden.
“Excuse me; can you help me with a quick errand?” The boy asked.
Peter found no hurry as he replied to the kid.
“What is it?”
“You know the cartoon “Johnny Bravo”?” The boy asked. Although barely, Peter couldn’t say he didn’t. In fact, he dressed as him in fourth grade for Halloween, so it was a fairly proverbial cause.
“Yes, what’s up with him?” Peter asked.
“Do you know anyone who looks like him? Boy or girl?” the kid asked.
That was a funny question. Peter had seen a lot of crazy and yet muscular people in the past. One of them most similar to the cartoon had to be his GYM coach. But the face was far beyond any other characteristic distinguishable in the abstract of impossibility.
“EXACTLY like the guy?” Peter asked.
“Oh no! Just the face” Replied the kid.
Now it was easier. Onyx Black sunglasses and blond hair was common in many people. Perhaps not body-builders, but any guy or girl could’ve been a potential candidate.
Peter wanted to say no, or at least not anyone who he knew. It was just too predictable by now the way he could never get that same sensation of misgiving certainty. The psychologically worrisome fact he had to face could be just how deep this sentiment was starting to get the more he denied it.
But if remembering well didn’t help, it’s not like denying was accomplishing the opposite.
“Then no, not anyone I know at least” Replied Peter.
“Oh, then can you at least tell me a full name which rhymes with his?” asked the kid, as though without a hurry.
This could only make Peter seem to feel even more of those nagging disbeliefs in his head. Figuring perhaps he wasn’t trying hard enough, he got the question through.
“Exactly like Johnny Bravo you say? Two words, two syllables each. The first word ends with “E”, the second one with “O”?” Peter clarified.
“Yes!” said the kid, more eager than he was before.
Peter knew these doubts were nothing more than arbitrarily emotional obstacles trying to isolate him from certainty. If he didn’t believe in Santa Clause, The Loch Ness Monster, or even true Democracy as long as people still assumed a totalitarian regime was necessary in a few countries, he didn’t believe in doubt either.
Even if it was one of those things that wasn’t supposed to be visible to label it real.
“Nope, sorry” replied Peter.
“Aw” said the kid.
“Oh well, thank you anyways! Bye!”
The kid ran back into the manga section, Compelling Peter to finally leave on his own account, even if he didn’t want to stay inside any abode anymore.
He may not have known what was going on with him. But whatever it was, it was making him less comfortable the more he kept it in his mind. I mean, out of all the people to expressively freak him out, why a kid? Was he in some kind of amateur remake of the Omen, children of the corn or Godsend?
All this was really giving him was enough motive to quit before it took over him the same way a face hugger took over someone’s body before they let the Xenomorph rip.
“That’s it! I’m getting out of here!” Said Peter to himself, walking towards the exit.
“What a weird day”
“Mom’s right, she should’ve studied psychology knowing I’d get to travel this far across Angst town USA” said Peter cynically, his length from the door no longer that far. And it became even farther once he distracted himself with a shirt in a Hot Topic store.
“Hello kick-ass Deftones shirt!” said Peter, glancing at a shirt once inside the store.
He looked across the pile next to it to see if there were any ones his size. No dice, so Peter went to the front booth.
“Excuse me” said Peter to a Goth girl working the register.
“You don’t have this in medium, do you?”
The girl looked at the shirt Peter handed her. Afterwards typing a few digits on her keyboard register and looking at the computer screen. She shook her head after a good deal of time.
“ Yeah. Sorry, we’re all out. Come back tomorrow though, there might be a new batch” She replied.
Peter plummet his head down.
“Oh well, no use crying for spilled beans” he said, about to leave.
“Why, were you getting that for someone?” The girl asked.
“Huh? No, why?” Peter replied.
“Oh no, just wondering. See, my boyfriend got me one like that last year on Valentine’s Day. So since then, I’ve decided to work here to feel just how special our bond was.” The girl replied.
“Oh…You don’t say, is he in high school too?” asked Peter, suddenly too intrigued to admit he was absorbed.
“I’d estimate about your age. He’s a Junior, though” The girl began.
“This year, however, he got me two CDs I thought were so different compared to the usual “obscure” relationship we share”
Peter saw the girl’s hand reach into a purse she seemed to have in one of the counters. After taking it out, it held two CD’s. One with the number “666” written on the front in big numbers whilst in small letters read “Aphrodite’s Child”, and the other Peter couldn’t see since the first CD blocked it it.
“Isn’t it cool? I don’t blame you if you’ve never heard them or OF them before” said the girl, holding the first one up.
“No, but they do sound interesting” said Peter.
“The funniest thing is… my boyfriend bought it thinking it was some roughcore “Bullet for my Valentine” doppelganger. It turned out to be this soft-core, Greek-Egyptian psychedelic seventies band bent on romance tunes… which I ended up liking!” the girl continued, obviously without any sarcasm assumable.
“Ha! Yeah, talk about judging a book by its cover…” said Peter. His intention was to make that last sentence sound longer as he was far from finished. Instead, he chose to keep it that way thanks to the distraction of the other disk.
“And what’s the other CD about?” he asked.
The girl gave Peter as smile, the type of making him wait to ask the question if he was really interested in the story at hand. Peter found her really lighthearted for a goth
“Thought you’d never ask.” said the girl.
“After I ended up liking the first CD, I decided to buy one of the lead singer’s solo albums, and what better to get than his greatest hits, right? I mean, my boyfriend’s gift was okay, but the way this guy sings alone makes him a prodigy everyone should have known about in his heydays!”
“Cool, so he was very cult in terms of popularity. What’s his name?” Peter asked.
“The Aphrodite’s Child vocalist?” the girl asked, holding the second CD out, still in its container, for Peter to reach.
“See for yourself”
Grabbing the album, Peter looked at it, noticing the name of the disk was based on one of the guy’s popular songs “Greatest Hits “Forever… and ever””. Plus, it humored Peter for a while to see the guy’s face on the front cover.
“He-hey! It’s my homeroom teacher without his glasses!” Peter told himself.
Peter moved his thumb away from the vocalist’s name, which he read.
Then, without any warning, it happened again.
Before he could even think it out loud, that same strange feeling of déjà vu possessed Peter. As so did a feeling of an odd duress beginning to oblige him to theorize more about the name. And finally, a feeling he never thought he might feel from a simple provisional fixation: dread. However, that last feeling didn’t come to him at random, or because he speculated so much.
It came because he couldn’t find a way to stop speculating, no matter how small of a deal he tried to convince himself it really was.
Peter was becoming his own mental slave, as corny as it might seem.
Peter put the CD down as he tried to regain his conscience into thinking of something else. When he did, all it worked for were two easy seconds as that thought dominated his head. He even went as far as to mistake it for a migraine by placing his hand somewhere in his head.
“Are you okay, dude?” the girl asked.
Apparently, the mental quarrel distracted Peter from parts of the physical world. As he tried to stop his head from shaking, another guy enters the store. With the appearance of an optimist in emo garments, it seemed to be a guy only one person easily visible in the store could’ve recognized.
“Heather, what’s up, sweet?” said the guy.
“Brian!” said the girl at her most keen disposition, walking towards her boyfriend.
Peter’s head still seemed to swallow his chance of comfort, regardless of his tries to make it go away through the view of the two couple. This became his prominent error as he watched what they did next.
After they laid their hands on each other, the guy sealed a kiss with the girl as she returned it with a looser press on his lips, accompanied with indistinguishable groping. Actions which could only add to the familiarity, pressure, and fear he was already giving in to.
From there, Peter quickly became aware of these three feelings even as they evolved on a pain inducing level. Slowly coating Peter’s sanity with confusion that became less and less easier to give in to. Worse was the matter when those same feelings forced Peter to ineffectually resolve them with pressure on his memory. Even if it meant forcing Peter to crouch down and or walk to the other half of the store just to cease watching the couple make out.
Not that the image of their extent affection didn’t work equally, seeing as it lodged itself into Peter’s previously apprehensive head.
Peter was even going as far as to remove his hat while clutching the scalp between his hairs. Maybe this was how a nightmare could be experienced when one was almost conscious enough to wake from it.
“Blind man!…” said Peter, beginning to recapture his past events which seemed to give him this despair jamboree from the get-go out loud. If it helped that is, cause Peter had no idea what else to do.
“First it was him…then the kid… now this??” said Peter, really starting to take this physiological phenomenon as seriously as serious gets. Insecurity really was at its purest for Peter as this one issue isolated his ability to reason with anything else in reality.
“What does this all lead to? Have I forgotten something?”
Peter almost thought he should admit he had a concussion or something in order to get emotional enough for the pain to be expelled, when a familiar face came out of the dressing room.
“Peter, what’s up?” Said Devon, holding a Ziploc bag with something covered in a paper towel inside.
“Devon!” said Peter, standing up so as to make it look like he hadn’t made a scene everyone missed. Peter was glad if also ponderous of his presence.
“What are you doing here? I mean, what happened to Starbucks?”
“Oh yeah! My shift allows me a thirty minute break for my seven days a week vocation. So I chose mine thirty minutes before I left. Pretty smart, huh?” replied Devon as he took the object out of his bag.
Replying, Peter could finally taste relief the same way he had tasted the latte earlier. And man did it taste good, even if this didn’t have his favorite flavor.
“Sweet, that must come with a great salary too, I take it” said Peter, proud to smile no matter how queer it might’ve felt, or looked.
“More or less, but I’ll have to go with more on this one” replied Devon before taking a bite out of what now looked like his sandwich.
Peter wanted to cherish this relief he had so badly, knowing he might not feel it for long. He also knew this comfort of a subject finally put to a definite halt seemed sufficient enough too. Becoming the reason why he thought everything else was nothing more than a mood swing. At least for those first twenty seconds.
Then he heard Devon speak.
“Ick! Yuck! peanut butter!” he said, unaware of Peter’s expression after he uttered the words. An expression of growing anxiety distorting his face the most itcould.
“No…” said Peter silently to himself. Either way, he still tried to pretend as though Devon might have said something else.
He tried, but when Devon actually did, there wasn’t a prospect open anymore.
“Hey Pete, it’s just a PB and J sandwich, I hate them too but do I throw-?” said Devon, interrupted and overwhelmed by Peter’s melting placidity.
“…Are…you okay, dude?”
“No…” repeated but not replied Peter. Tightening his fists before his face twisted into what was now a perfect blend of confusion, anxiety, and a great deal of mortifying dread towards this unsolvable deprivation.
“No” Peter began a lot louder, unable to conceal the tears or hyperventilating any more.
Peter wanted to leave, but even if he did, that wasn’t enough to have even made him more conscious of the world around him rather than inside him. Like a convict running from the FBI, he headed out the store, and soon out of the mall entirely.
He kept running as though any destination would be better than the one he could never escape from: his mind.
After he stopped in the middle of the barren driveway, all the force crashed out of him like a car which went full speed ahead towards a brick wall.
His lungs almost matched the pain.
“The whole family just came by. He fainted, that’s all” said Devon, seconds after entering Hot Topic.
“Oh, thank Lord” Said Heather, hugging her boyfriend in relief.
“I still don’t understand…what happened there?” asked Devon.
“We…well, we don’t really know” said Brian.
“He was jolly as a beaver at first, then…” said Heather, trying to recall.
“I think it all went down a hole when he saw one of my CDs”
Devon was also speculating to himself, which came to an end after he chose to speculate about Heather’s answer instead.
“A CD… A disk” retaliated Devon.
“I think it was this one” replied Heather before reaching into her purse and taking out one of the only disks Peter had seen once more.
“Hey! It’s the one with the same singer as the one I bought you” said Brian, smiling as Heather smiled and nodded back.
Devon looked at the disk for a second. He studied its structure before looking at the words imprinted, or the easiest clue. Waiting for the right thought to hit him. He may not have had a great taste for music, but he was good with anything else.
“I don’t know” said Devon.
“But this guy almost has the same name as a girl I used to know”
Heather’s eyebrows widened.
“Really? Him?” she pointed at the guy’s face.
“You mean “Demis Roussos”??”
“Yup…Except I think her first name went along the lines of “Denise” if I’m not mistaken now.” replied Devon.
“It was in the news a year ago, I think. A teenage couple went for a drive one day, when another car going the wrong way in hurry crashed into them.”
“Gasp!” said Heather.
“Wow! That’s bad!” said Brian.
“I know” Devon proceeded.
“What I heard was the girl didn’t make it while the guy suffered a blow which became part amnesia, part obsessive compulsive disorder… I don’t know!”
Devon took a moment to breathe before he went on.
“All I knew then was that the guy made history for inadvertedly generating the first case of neurotic amnesia, a kind of amnesia which made the victim undergo a painful condition the more their thoughts were isolated from their subconscious to remember them well. Which means it made them suffer the more they tried to remember what their mind could only give them clues to as what it really was”
The three remained silent before it was Brian’s turn.
“So… you’re saying that the guy with the baseball hat… who was here not too long ago… was the guy who you mentioned was on the news?”
Devon shrugged his shoulders accompanying his reply.
“It could’ve been, I’m never sure…Heck, I can’t even remember If it was a condition, or if the guy was haunted or something…or if it had to do with something supernatural…I’m just…never sure!...”
The three continued to stand there. Unable to truly comprehend what had really occurred here tonight. Or the idea of how the mall was half an hour away from closing.
“I have to go now” said Devon, before he turned around and headed out both entrances. Deep down, there was nothing Devon hated more than taking part in everyone’s miseries.
Especially that of people whom he had just met.
“I think maybe I should go too” said Brian, giving his girlfriend one final kiss.
“Wait! Brian!” said Heather, watching Brian turn.
“Don’t leave yet. Stay here until closing time, please?”
Brian looked back at her, immediately feeling the same temptation he was used to.
“I’m sorry, Heather.” he began.
“But it’s late, and we both need to get home. You want me to drive you, though?”
“Figures” Heather thought. Knowing her boyfriend always wanted to be with her alone, she had come to the conclusion right now could have been the best time. Especially considering it was Valentine’s Day. She had planned it all out.
Thanks to the news of some paranoid schizophrenic and a nerd-like gook, the night was ruined for one.
“Nah, my parents agreed to pick me up later” she replied.
“…Good… then, I’ll see you tomorrow then” said Brian, before leaving.
Now it was just Heather.
How it really worked was that she only wanted Brian to leave in his car without seeing her. As of now, Heather wanted to do something alone. She waited for at least four minutes, and then locked store.
It came to no surprise that the mall was completely empty. Supposedly no one who wasn’t Gothic wanted to stay twenty minutes behind on Valentine’s day.
“And here we go-” Said Heather as she took a marker out, and began drawing figures underneath her feet. Once done, Heather was standing on and surrounded by six hexagrams on equal sides of the one she was standing on. Each one within circles that occupied other shapes resembling Japanese calligraphy and Latin words.
“Ordo Ab Chao” Said Heather, when the symbols began to glow. For a short while at least, then it all returned to normal, right to the curve when Heather looked forward.
Someone from a considerable distance crossed her sight.
Only what looked like a woman with round lens sunglasses and blonde hair could be distinguished at that length. It was then when Heather remembered her initial purpose the moment she closed her eyes for a few seconds.
The woman was merely half a yard away from her now that Heather opened them.
“So…” said the woman.
“Did it work?”
Heather shook her head before replying.
“No. I’m afraid Peter didn’t even notice.”
The woman let out a deep sigh.
“I thought it was worth a try” she lied to herself. Cause if she hadn’t, at least her next argument would’ve been.
“Almost thirteen years of lingering as stupid teenagers. All we had to do was snuff at the same time, and then it’d all be normal rather than happily ever after”
“I know.” Heather implied.
“ It’s hard to believe you and Peter were once the same age though”
“… Maybe all this time, I’ve just been wasting it! He can’t even remember me even if it tries to kill him in the most painful way. ” she said, ignoring Heather’s inference.
“What do you expect? THAT and The arbitrary car crash were the only ways for the both of you to make it to the other side together. If he dies any other way without even a hint of your memory, it wouldn’t be YOUR afterlife he’d be going to, now would it?” Heather explained.
“Besides, there was this Devon kid who almost noticed!”
The woman never left the grasp out of her hand.
“I still can’t believe this!”
Heather couldn’t either.
“Still, it’s not your fault. What were the odds that after YOU died and began aging, HE was supposed to survive?” Heather interrogated.
“Don’t you get it?” the woman asked, in a soon-to-be despondent tone.
“It IS my fault! All of it!”
The enigma Heather had was not very lively once the woman began explaining.
“I KNEW out of the many alchemical proportions in the most practical textbooks how to reach a world which gave you a normal life. I had ALL of this in mind!” she said.
“I even knew the risky side effects of anyone who were to survive that type of impact. It’s not like science is smart enough to come up with anything as far as “Neurotic amnesia” without digging in deep enough instead of too deep so as to discombobulate the fucking molecules!”
Heather became aware of the tears sliding down the spherical lenses after the woman finished. Clearly this was no longer a matter of happiness in her life.
“SOB! It was all just up to chance! SNIFF! SOB! fucking chance to maybe…MAYBE!... reunite us! SOB! What was so wrong about that? SOB! What did I go wrong on?! ”
Heather really knew she was having more than just a rough time.
“But SOB! who am I kidding anyway? Even if I HAD SNIFF! killed Peter right now, it’d just be too late! SNIFF! SOB! why would he still want be when I’m a damn woman anyway?!” She cried, and continued as long as nobody would stop her, or at least give her a tissue.
Never the less, all this sadness didn’t prevent Heather from closing in on the lone woman.
“Hey! Don’t hurt yourself” Heather began, hugging her.
“If it means anything, absurd or not, at least you did this out of love”
The woman raised her head as though never hearing her right. Her sadness began to weaken as soon as she knew Heather was still there.
“So what if you put your foot in the accident? You were sixteen! Just like me! When we stay like this, mistakes are our lives now, and there’s no escape in this world.” said Heather.
“Chance’s got nothing to do with it! It’s not always easy when one’s THIS young…”
“…Maybe THAT’s why you chose to save Peter at the last minute before the crash could really impact him. Why? Cause you could tell THAT was a mistake. You don’t think that now cause you’re an adult, but it still works…besides, if you still made mistakes, would you’ve been able to transport yourself back into this world for an easy visit?”
The woman’s tears had stopped to the point she could call herself happy.
“Be glad that growing up has helped you to see the errors in your ways. And that perhaps you’re one of the first alchemists out of the few hundreds of us in both our worlds which can manage this. No matter what you do, you’ll always be perfect as you are!”
This and the embrace were satisfying enough for her to give it in recompense.
“Hmm… I… I think I remember when I was a teenager, and always knew the right things to say” she implied.
“But… thank you, really”
“Your welcome, it’s all good” Heather replied, breaking the embrace.
Anyone at that point could see how arbitrary situations could get through it all. For a split second, the woman moved her head to look forward and behind Heather, anticipating more company.
Either way, it came as a surprise for Heather to see the woman raise her right hand denoting some kind of salute. When he turned her head, it came as even more of a surprise. There was nobody there, the space was empty.
“When I lived here” said the woman, answering Heather’s unasked question.
“The first thing I learned was the lack of need for anyone to see in order to know something…was real”
Her implication was easy to understand, no matter how taken by surprise Heather could have kept it at first.
“And the best part is… I have eyes now!” She said, removing her sunglasses with the other hand out of excitement. Taking little yet real pride in the hazel light her eyes could now reflect before putting the glasses back on.
“As hard as it was to get used to something again, it was just a matter of breaking one habit after another!” the woman finished, still keeping her hand raised for as long as it needed to be.
The two stood there as the night continued to define itself the same way the cloudy day had put everyone through a lot of romantic afternoons. Heather looked at her MCR watch, realizing it was now a matter of time.
She witnessed as the woman began to appear more transparent through ever passing second, and have her body release a glittering substance.
“Looks like I’m done here.” The woman said.
“Really?...So not staying?” Heather retorted.
“Why should I?” she asked.
“I already know this was here to make me understand my place. It’s not what I want, but I guess what Peter needed all along… as much as I hate moral sense…Besides, I think your boyfriend doesn’t deserve to be alone”
“Oh…” said Heather, taking it as a suggestion rather than a joke.
“I guess we should do this right then”
“That’s the ticket!” she said, not only glittering in transparency but shining as well now.
“Goodbye Heather” said the woman.
In which her entire body gave out a brisk yet strong flash of light before disappearing. With only her outline left behind as composed of glittering substances.
“Goodbye…” began Heather, before looking at her CD as a quick reference point.
It was thanks to that last phrase which made the outline give Heather one final salute before disappearing out of any visibility whatsoever.
From there, Heather placed her CD back inside her purse and disappeared from the mall.
“Uh” Peter moaned, finally awake and lying on his bed.
“Peter?” asked Steve.
Peter caressed his own head to ease anything that might come down to him as a migraine. After that, the rest was devoured bread.
“Who…who are you?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know if you’re tipsy man but it’s me, your old pal Steve!” he replied.
“Oh!” began Peter, tired no matter where he was.
“You tell me, dude, they said you suffered a concussion” replied Steve.
“A concussion?” Peter asked, unwary of it all.
“So the mall...the flash…yesterday…it was just a dream?”
“Actually, you were near the parking lot when it happened” said Steve.
“But the flash… No news on that, what about it?”
Following his breakdown, Peter began to remember the dream he seemed to have, and every trait which identified it as its vision could hold.
The bright flash.
But most of all…
The mystery which was…
Peter would have enjoyed to tell Steve about the way he seemed to have an unexpected outburst of pain whenever he thought of something. He knew it was all too interesting.
Sadly, the mere fact he was Peter again made him forget it all, the same way he it happened to him after winning a football game. In truth though, as scarce as he actually knew it, the less he tried to remember, the more it auto-erased itself from his mind. Until it was beyond sure he never even lived it before.
Regardless of all the memories he once carved up with her.
“No… nothing…THAT was probably part of my dream” Peter finally responded with.
“Oh…sounds cool then” said Steve.
The two guys sighed long enough for it to occur something to them
“Hey, have you seen the movie “Inglorious Basterds”?” asked Peter.
Steve turned to his friend’s direction as he answered “no” in speculation, in which Peter reached for the same bag containing his hat.
“Would you LIKE to?” he asked, this time more eager and holding a copy of the movie in his hand.
“Heck so!” replied Steve.
“Here” said Peter, passing the DVD to Steve.
“I’ll meet you downstairs”
“Gotcha!” said Steve, running out of Peter’s room.
Peter waited until his friend had truly departed him. Being alone gave Peter the secure advantage to search around and deep in the pile of clothes stacked inside his closet. Digging deep into the heap and finally finding what looked like a secret compartment, sporting a built-in locker combination.
He quickly unlocked it and stroke even faster with the opening.
Inside was what appeared as a pile of books, same size, same quantity of chapters, and most importantly, same word in different descriptions on the titles:
The highest book from the stack, entitled “Alchemy for the Aspiring” caught Peter’s eye. Once obtaining it, he opened it, flipping the numerous pages until finally reaching the one most desired.
Page 254, where in the middle of it and page 255 lolled a photo of her. He grabbed the photo, inspecting its image of which was long forgotten now.
The longing evidence of an unknown source to him was what comforted him right then. There was no conclusion towards the leftovers of the past he called memory. Those once overpoweringly valued moments were as real now as anyone else within Peter in his room. Or in this case, as real as Santa Clause, The Loch Ness Monster, and true democracy in a planet where people still assumed a totalitarian regime was necessary throughout some particular countries.
“You left behind too much for me” said Peter, placing the photo of Denise and the book back inside the obscurity that was the storage. After what happened there, one fact couldn’t have been anymore clear: love may last forever.
True love, though, didn’t.
“Whoever you were” finished Peter before closing the compartment, establishing the locker’s arrangement again and finally running off to join his friend. None of it mattered anymore.
Cause from that darkness continued to gratuitously wait those best ideas. The ones due to their age may never have the chance to revolutionize anything.
Just as those which entered our minds camouflaged as inspiration.
A quick note: books like the lost symbol, ghostgirl and movies like the ones referenced are proof of what a real source of inspiration is about.