Scratches // DNF

Chapter 4

The apartment was a mess. It was a testament to never buy a place without visiting it first. The photos online had made it seem spacious with enough natural light to not need the aid of bulbs in the daytime. However, when we first stepped inside, it was as though we were mice entering a burrow. Despite it being midday, there was no natural light and our shoulders rubbed against the doorway.

The ceiling light was quickly switched on as the small windows, overlooking the behind of buildings, only created dim squares of light which hardly penetrated into the cramped room. The overhead bulb flickered on, eventually gaining stability and trickling weak light onto the floor. Its rays were not powerful enough to reach the dark corners despite the small size of the room.

Dream glanced at George with a long, exaggerated exhale. George met his gaze with a shrug, although I saw the tension in his shoulders.

They'd flown to New Orleans, this option much cheaper and quicker than driving. Their seats had been opposite sides of the plane. I'd stood by George's side and witnessed his silent panic from his fear of flying. Once the takeoff was successful, he relaxed a little and released his fingernails, which had been digging into his palms, leaving deep red semi-circles to contrast his pale skin. The marks darkened again when landing, the pressing of nails to skin being re-established.

Dream's flight experience on the contrary had been perfectly pleasant. He'd pushed his weight into the backrest and chosen a movie to entertain him. He maintained this relaxed position throughout the entire journey with a satisfied grin.

Finally, my experience on the aeroplane was... unique. It's not an everyday experience to be left wandering around the aisle during takeoff and landing and not be screamed at by the flight attendants. Everything felt strange, but I wouldn't slide to the opposite end when the plane turned vertical as you might think. I floated more than walked and, as I've said, I couldn't touch or feel a thing. With no motion sickness, I was simply standing still in a vehicle tilting in all different directions. I suppose I looked more strange than I felt. But for a flight free of charge and no worry of death, I was being difficult by complaining.

Once they arrived at the destination and witnessed the disappointment of the new flat, there was nothing more to do than unpack. It took a couple of days, in which the rooms slowly began filling and they took breaks to explore the city.

They checked out places to eat, live-music venues, shops, gyms and so forth. Additionally they completed the necessary boring tasks, such as forwarding their mail and making a budget so as to not end up in the same scenario again.

They had no friends in the city, it wasn't so different from Orlando in that sense. None of us had ever reached out much. We had each other and there was never much of a desire to expand our circle more than that. We never saw the benefit of seeking new half-friendships when we each had a bond that we knew would never fade, if all parties had stayed alive that is. In a world of lead, we saw each other as diamonds.

When it came to unpacking my boxes, I was unsure where they would dump my possessions. The flat was cramped and cluttered by this point, despite the old place still feeling airy with all the furniture unpacked.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the both as they didn't even break the seal of my boxes. Any spare storage - wardrobes, cupboards, under tables and desks - they shoved my boxes. The excess large boxes were simply scattered across the apartment, taking up space which they didn't have to spare. I suddenly wished for the shrine they had joked about. Anything would have been better than the nothing I recieved.

Once again, the one object handled carefully was my urn. As respect, they removed the layers of bubble-wrap and placed it on a shelf in the living room. I suppose it was something that I could be seen now, instead of hidden away in a locked room.