The End is Here

The mighty in which we speak.

"When the divine created you, they created something dastardly." I spoke, my voice timid and small, a breath of oxygen that didn't quite reach my lungs. The stage felt bigger than ever, the lights blinded me yet I could feel the judgmental eyes of my peers dig into my performance. I was most afraid of what Jackson would say. He wouldn't speak to me since that Friday evening by the river. "They read scripts and verses from ghosts and pure insanity to create someone so distinct as you."

"Mr. Cobalt, please project your voice more. We can barely hear you." Mr. Turner interjected, though I had no idea where he was sitting due to the white lights that reflected off of my pale, terrified body. I heard stifled laughter and communications of my fellow peers. I sunk deeper into the pit of worthlessness I had felt many times since. 

"Yes, sir. Sorry." I squeaked out a response, and with a deep breath I continued my monologue. "Was it your fault you turned out this way?" I spoke louder, but in turn my voice came out far more robotic. "Was it your fault that they designed you to be cruel and misunderstood? Did they ever love you or were you just a vessel to bear their plans of justice and pain? Do you forgive yourself? Should you forgive yourself?" I quickly bowed, wanting to run off the stage. My classmates clapped for me, but there was no sense of encapsulation that Jackson had accomplished. 

"Good boy. You may sit down now." Mr. Turner instructed me and I turned off the stage---a hatred for that sticky synthetic light. I noticed my teacher scribbling down notes on his clipboard. I knew I had failed. 

"Sit." Jackson grabbed my arm as I walked past him. His expression was stagnant. I stared at him a moment before he yanked me into the row of chairs. "Sit, Laney."

I sat next to him, a bizarre feeling of warmth washed over me. He was talking to me again. "Sorry, I thought - " He held up a hand, indicating I should remain quiet. I sat back in the uncomfortable chair, wanting to sink deep into an abyss of forever abandonment. 

"You fool." He scoffed, and didn't say anything more. Neither did I. 

The class felt like it lasted for an eternity. I watched the rest of the boys speak of love, hatred, pain, and forgiveness... yet none of them stuck out to me. I was preoccupied in a cage of continuous self-loathing and wonderance. Jackson's thoughtful glances sending shivers up my body, like ice stakes guided deep into my heart. He tied strings around my torso and limbs and played his role in the macabre act that he had no need to star in, yet he spoke and sang his parts. 

"You're so pathetic." The clock struck three. He stood up with a suddenness that would've knocked me back if I hadn't been sitting down. Grabbing his books, he waltzed toward the theatre doors. His head was held high, his coat followed behind him like a mighty cape. One could easily mistaken him for a king. I sat still in awe of his dramatic exit. He truly was meant to perform a role in life, one of pure misery and apathetic tranquility. He executed it well. 

The sun set early around half past four. The garden of Eden turning dim and cold, a depressing array of frozen statues and lifeless bodies. In the morning, the sun had made them appear to dance. I watched them from my bedroom window, wondering when I would be as free as their porcelain skin and youthful faces. No lines, yet no sign of life. To be gracefully forced from sin, to be gracefully taken away to the end. I wanted that more than anything. 

"Help me with this would ya? My ma will kill me, man." My roommate Lawrence Greco spoke up, awakening me from my symbolic daydream. I looked to him, my chair creaking under my shifting weight. Our room was dimly lit. A small golden light hung above our heads, swishing back and forth to the air conditioning that flew past it. Books lined my side of the room, while a mess of wadded up papers and music lined Ren's. It was comforting, much more comforting than anywhere else in the world.

"What is it?" I inquired, stretching my neck out to get a closer look.

"Latin, man. I can't do it." He tossed his notebook to me. I stared at the letters---a confusing array of constants floated above the pages intertwining together. It was like a puzzle. I tossed it back to him, shaking my head.

"Everyone fails Latin." I replied to his curly locks because he had his head lowered, reading a textbook about proper grammar.  His dark curls grew sentient and suddenly I saw his face.

"Man, you passed last year." He complained, thinking that would get him an a. 

"That's because I failed chemistry. I spent too much time on that dead language." I responded matter-of-factly, turning back to face the outside. He watched me. 

"I'm failing, Lane. They're gonna kick me out of here." His voice was weak and it remined me of Jackson on stage, speaking of the loss of a loved one. Heartbreaking. "And my ma's gonna kill me, man." His voice returned back to that normal slow, deep tone. "And my dad wants me to be a doctor and I can't be a doctor if I fail!"

"What doctor needs to know Latin?" I asked.

"That's not the point, Lane." He started to get fed up with me, picking him apart inch by inch.

I let out a sigh, feeling sorry for the kid. "You're not gonna get kicked out, and it'd be a miracle if your mother killed you, Ren." I teased, turning my head to look at him. I saw a small smile begin to form on his face. "I would take any chance I could get to leave this place." I almost said to leave Jackson, but everyone knew him and I were inseparable---even his girlfriend was used to it. 

"Yeah, right." He laughed. "Without this place you'd lose your mind and your morals."

"My morals?" I questioned, genuinely curious what he meant by this exchange. 

"Yeah!" He piped up, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, Jackson. He keeps you in check." I thought it was the other way around. "I couldn't imagine you in a real high school. You'd be sitting alone, reading some Shakespearean garbage and doing math for fun."

"What's that have to do with my morals?" I asked. "I would think that would only improve my behavior. "

"You'd go absolutely crazy and I dunno, kill someone?"

"You think I'm capable of murder?" I let out a shocked laugh, one that was a little too loud. 

"No," He paused a moment, a clear expression of contemplation on his face. "Well, aren't we all if we're pushed far enough?" In my head an image of Jackson appeared. He held a gun to my temple, spewing words of hatred in my face and then... pop. Everything went to dark red and black. High echoes of classical strings rang out in a bloody song. 

"God, you're crazy Ren." I sighed again, this it was more of a sign for him to stop talking about death. "Now I'm afraid you're gonna slit my throat in my sleep."

"I would never murder you, swear to God." He held up his right hand, giving me a faithful nod of the head. His curls bounced, and his classic crooked smile expressed itself on his lips. "I need you alive to help me with Latin."

I rolled my eyes, a smile coming back to my face. He always pulled something so dark out of nowhere, while simultaneously reaching into a fountain of glowing gold dust, sprinkling it around the room. "Kill me now." I teased.