Catch Chronos

Untitled Part 3

I hate this powerless feeling. I can feel the frustration run through my arms and legs like a jolt of electricity. It makes me want to throw things. I walk down the ruins of my neighborhood. There are many houses, yet most of them are empty. One is home to an army of cats who patrol the neighborhood, pawing at trash. A few other homes were burned down during the riots. Others are clearly abandoned and wreak of mold. The pale sky beams down, illuminating everything in an awful bright light against the pavement. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was suppose to die in peace and acceptance of my fate. How am I supposed to die in peace not knowing where I came from? I groan and kick a half burned cardboard box laying in the middle of the sidewalk. Why is that such a stupid thing to yearn for at a time like this? Selfish. A sun bleached fluffy bear falls from the box. I pick it up and examine it closely.

"A carebear?" I mutter.

Half of it's face is burned. It's kind of creepy, yet I still draw some comfort from it. I hold it tightly to my chest. Anycomfort is all I need. I wonder what color it was before the sun drained it. I bet it was a happy vibrant teal color, not this dead, washed up corpse color. That's how I was before too. I continue walking until I get to my bench. I sit down and feel everything at once. I hang my head down and begin sobbing quietly into the bear. It feels like I'm mourning, but I don't know what exactly I'm grieving for. My childhood? My parents? This world? Maybe it's all of it. My gas mask fogs up, making my vision blurry until my crying fit is over. A tag hangs from the bear that gets in the way of my cuddling it, so I rip it off. It falls at my feet. I hunch over with my hands on each side of my head to calm down. The tag's colorfulness catches my attention.

I'm Wish Bear. I'm the magic in every wish bone, the twinkle in every wishing star and the keeper of every wishing well, 'cause it's my job to help all your wishes and dreams come true!

I scoff and laugh. If only you could make all problems disappear, little bear.

"Hey, Ly!" A familiar voice calls from one of the rugged houses. It was my best friend Oliver, who I've known pretty much my entire life. In school, we would always sit next to each other and play with one another at recess. We met in kindergarten on the playground. Another kid in our class was bullying me for my vitiligo, calling me "Patches". I didn't realize he was being mean because I had a cat named Patches, who I thought was pretty awesome. Me being a silly kid, I asked him how he knew my cat. His face contorted into a confused look and he pushed me down, calling me a "weird dummy". Oliver quickly rushed to my aid and helped me up. "You're the weird dummy!" Oliver hissed with sass. And thus starting our amazing friendship. He's always been there for me.

"Hey," I call back. I don't turn to face him. I don't want him to see me like this.

"Come here! I made soup!" He grins and bangs a wooden spoon against a pot. I sigh with a smile. The relief that comes after crying is very soothing, but exhausting. Soup sounds perfect right about now.

Oliver's house is by far the best in the neighborhood. Or, the even the world. It's like a sanctuary. I'm certain it's the only thing left that resembles the before. It's a small brick house with an open bay window, where you can see his bookcase and blue vintage armchair. He has a emerald green door with a golden door knocker, a small peep hole sitting above it. On the inside, the walls are painted a happy yellow, Oliver's favorite color. Pictures of his family decorate the walls in beautiful unique pattern frames of gold and silver. A red couch sits in the living room with a brown leather recliner beside it, where his mom sat. Every time I walk into this house I think of all the good memories we had here. The birthday parties, barbecues, play dates. His parents, Edna and Jane. They were a loving family. There's still good memories here that we make together. His ma had a huge collection of DVD movies and a small portable T.V/DVD player. Every week, we watch one movie together. It's always the highlight of my week. He is my breath of fresh air. I take my mask off and sit on the couch. The smell of beef stew drifts through the air.

"You know, I never understood why you started wearing the gas mask. What's the point if you just take it off as soon as you get inside anyway? Airs the same as it is out there," He stands at the stove adding his special twist to the stew. Rosemary and Oregano.

"I guess it's just..a comfort thing," I look down at Wishbear and the mask. "It makes me feel safe."

Olivers face flashes with a look of solemness, then to understanding. He doesn't need to ask why I feel unsafe. He nods.

"So I guess your new toy is a comfort thing too? You're so adorable." He points at the withered carebear. "Looks kinda creepy, though, not gonna lie." He chuckles.

I force myself to laugh along. I don't want to tell him what my mom told me, about the air and her whole mental breakdown fiasco. I want these last moments to be bittersweet for me, and just sweet for him. I think she may be going a little crazy anyway. Oliver brings over two bowls of soup accompanied by two plastic spoons. He grabs one of them and holds it with both hands as if it's a sword.

"Look, Ly, it's the enemy of mankind!" He gazes at the spoon as if he's terrified of it.

"Um-"

He waddles around me like a crab.

"Oh, okay—"

"Fight me if you dare, and perish under the sword of non-biodegradables!" He begins hitting my spoon with his like it's a duel. I feel myself loosen up a little bit. I stand up on the couch and pose dramatically, pointing my spoon back at him. We battle one another, but I have the advantage since I have the higher ground. I push forward, causing him to trip over a forgotten shoe. He falls back between the recliner and coffee table with a shocked look on his face. I jump down and sit beside him on the ground. I just want to let myself be close to him. He's more comforting than any item I have. Every other time I've spent with him, I feel I've taken for granted. What if this is the last time I see him, before all humanity is expunged from the Earth? I think of all the times I've wasted being sad about the broken world around me. But what if I would've made him my world? Regret scorches my stomach.

"You're pretty good at that," Oliver remarks, slightly out of breath.

We pause for a moment. He looks at me in a way I've seen in his eyes many times before, with want. Or, at least I think that's what it is. I always chose to ignore it because I was scared of losing my only friend. I never though of what I would gain though. I feel it. I long for his warmth against my body. I imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Every nerve in my body would light up at the gentle touch of his lips. I intertwine my hand with his. It's so soft and delicate, yet strong. My heart races as he studies my face with soft eyes. My body feels light like a piece of paper. I lean in closer to him. He knows my deepest wants and desires, but did he know I wanted this most of all? I caress his face in my hand and he melts into it as if all his muscles relaxed at once. He closes his eyes and touches my hand on his face. He opens them again and looks at me in awe. Maybe he thought this as a dream. It feels like one. Oliver goes in for the kiss. I can already feel the power behind his lips.

A loud thundering noise echoes from outside. We jump up terrified. A furious bolt of lightening strikes a tree in his front lawn. We quickly jump up away from one another and look out the window.

"What the hell? There's no storm clouds..."