Neighbor Boy (BoyxBoy)

Part 14

I stood in a field of gray, surrounded by gray trees with black leaves that fell to the ground, one by one. I looked up to see some sort of color in the skies, but the clouds were a light gray and the sky was a darker gray, with the sun being a balance of the two grays.

I looked down, frowning with indifference at the colorless land. The clothes that I had worn before, blue jeans and a red shirt were gray as well. The only difference was the shade of gray, whether light or dark or in between. My hands weren’t any specific color, either, nor the rest of my skin. I was all gray.

I should feel mad about this. Or should I feel depressed, sad? I didn’t know. I couldn’t feel anything at all. My emotions had been sucked dry, taken to another place or maybe they just simply didn’t exist anymore. If I knew one thing, it was that I didn’t care at all. Not a single bit.

I did, however, walk around to see if I could find some sort of color. The masses of gray, black, and white became stale to my tastes. For lack of a better word, it was extremely boring. Tasteless. Uninteresting.

So I decided to go and find some color – maybe something to brighten my day if even a little bit, but I couldn’t. I tried to move my legs, but it was like they were stuck to the ground with concrete glue. I couldn’t even bend them. I could only stand and look at what was ahead of me or beside me. I couldn’t even move my arms.

I was about to make another attempt at moving when something began to melt in front of me. A ripple of gray and black disfigured the ground ahead of me so it looked like a miniature whirlpool. I didn’t care, though. It was unsavory to my attention, so I paid it none.

That is until my mother sprung from the whirlpool with tints and shades of black and gray. Black blood dripped from her eyes, her nose, her mouth and ears. Black blood dripped from her fingers and her hair to make a small puddle around her. A puddle of black guilt. And I felt guilt.

My stomach churned with that all too familiar feeling. Perhaps if I had been there with her, I could have averted her death. I could have saved countless amounts of lives if I had caught her murderer. Their murderer. The serial killer or their accomplice, but I wasn’t there. I was playing a stupid game of soccer with Frank and so she died. Guilt.

Then her figure split in two to create a completely jet black figure with gray eyes that illuminated black light. Black light. Black light that bore into my soul and sent it aflame. I knew that feeling, too. Anger. I wanted to roar with anger. That was the murderer who had taken my mother’s life! The wretched, evil, wicked, vile son-of-a-bitch that killed my mother. I wanted to pay them back for their deed with every detail that Andrew had given me.

Just when I felt like I was going to explode with impossible rage, the figure melted into the pool of black blood that my mother’s figure had created, and arose with a new form. It was my mother again, but with slightly lighter shades of gray. She looked... despondent.

“Aaron…” I heard her wail, like a siren of death in the dead of night. “Aaron… why weren’t you there, Aaron? Why didn’t you save me, my baby? Why weren’t you there?!” She knelt down on her hands and knees, black tears streaming down her face. Or maybe it was blood again.

My limbs and heart ached. Another common feeling – sadness. With sadness, my stomach churned again and I felt guilt once more. I felt liquid streaming steadily down my face like tiny rivers of misery. I wanted to wipe away my tears so that I could save myself the shame – another well known feeling – and I couldn’t even move my hands to wipe them away.

“Aaron…” She whimpered one more time before blasting in array of grays and blacks, disappearing without a trace. Not even her pool of black blood and tears was left. I was alone once again. Alone. My heart and soul felt desolate as I stood there, the environment around me closing in ever closer, growing colder and colder and colder still.