deep enclosure - ziam short story

o n e

THIS ONES A CONTRADICTION BECAUSE OF HOW HAPPY IT SOUNDS, BUT THE LYRICS ARE SO DOWN.

- NOT TODAY, TØP

start:

Zayn was 19 when his parents died in a car crash, only five minutes away from his apartment, on their way to visit him. He heard about it only an hour later, picking up the phone as he was sat by the window, watching for their car outside the apartment complex.

Zayn broke down crying, the phone crumbling between his fingers and his world closing in. He did not visit the hospital as they lay in the morgue. He did not contact any family. He didn't even attend the funeral.

Zayn is now 23, and has not stepped outside of his apartment since that day. Of course, he exposes his hands and arms to the outside when his grocer delivers his things, and he often risks grabbing the mail left on his mat, but that was the extent of his efforts.

The outside world was not safe. It was full of death and sadness. At this point, he didn't care if he died within his hallways, alone. It would be a lot safer than the outside.

He does, though, have his grocer pick up pencils and sketchbooks and paints and everything he could possibly need to be the artist he was without leaving. The only downside was that he'd probably drawn and painted every single item within that place, and he was running out of sections of his wall to sketch differently.

He was so lonely, there. Everyone has left. They'd all left because he was weird and sad and scary. He didn't mind, though. Screw them. He had Niall, his grocer, and Harry, his neighbor who helped him with selling his art. How else would he keep living here and paying Niall?

Today, he was painting the actual wall. He was painting out a face, a face he'd seen before, a face he knew well, letting the paint drop across the cheeks. He's sure he'd get yelled at for it, but he was going crazy here, and the room needed something new. He was sucking on an unlit cigarette, putting off opening the windows and lighting it because he was so encased.

There was a thick stroke, and Zayn closed his eyes. He let his hands move, not looking at anything he was doing. He felt it, after a dip and a stroke of dark brown, and opened his eyes.

A girl was staring back at him, holding a smile upon her face. Her cheeks were crinkled with laughter lines and her eyes were a deep shade of blue, almost purple. Zayn stared back, forgetting about opening the windows and lighting his cigarette.

"It's a mountain." he said in a sort of tone that made him sound as if he were chanting. "It's a mountain that holds one person," he took a glass of water he had on his side table and threw it on the painting. "From another person." The painting dripped to the floor, and Zayn was panting, watching it. "Those fucking mountains, keeping happiness away."

Zayn smushed his cigarette into the wall, right were the melting woman's eyelashes caught in her whisks of hair. He nearly fell as he went to sit on the floor, watching the painting, his beautiful mother, fade into death.

"Zayn, charcoal and bananas!" There was a call and a bang from the door, and Zayn managed to mumble loud enough so that the visitor knew to walk right in.

It was Niall, and he dropped the bananas on the counter before moving toward Zayn with the art supplies. He threw the charcoal onto his art table and looked toward Zayn, his mouth falling open.

"That's my mother, close your damn mouth." Zayn mumbled, not even looking toward Niall.

"Zayn, it's amazing. Louis is gonna kill you, but it's amazing." Niall huffed, sitting on his knees next to Zayn.

"I'll get Harry to take care of the bastard, I'm fine." Zayn almost laughed, but realized there was no reason to. Louis was the landlord of the building. He's quite pushy, but sweet. He's good with sports, comes over for beers, and likes to see Harry naked.

Niall nodded and cracked a smile before noticing Zayn's fingers twitching. He stood up, grabbing a 6 point charcoal pencil (Zayns favorite. It was the darkest) and slipped it between those twitching bones.

Zayn sighed, grasping the pencil as Niall sat back down to watch the master. He pulled out a thick piece of white paper and pinned it to his drawing desk, licking the top of his pencil. It was incredible to Niall to watch Zayn. No one else had this privilege. Whenever Harry was over, Zayn had already finished all the art he could healthily produce in a day. Niall was lucky.

About a minute in, Zayn began panting. Niall looked confused, as this hadn't ever happened before, and stood to assist. Zayn was drawing a city skyline, yet his hand was taking over. In the middle, stood two angels and a car up in flames. Zayn had drawn himself in a top floor window, crying. He began to pant harder, taking the pencil to Drawing Zayn's face and scribbling it out.

"Fuck, Zayn, deep breath." Niall breathed, pulling Zayn toward him. Zayn rufused, moving toward the wall and shoving his head into it.

"It's four years, Ni. Four years today."

Niall nodded, and led Zayn out of the art room to the couch. He sat him down, just as Harry came through the door.

"You know, my bedroom is attached to that wall you keep banging a- Zayn?" Harry joined the two on the couch, sitting beside Zayn.

Harry easily caught on. Zayn was having his yearly, half crying, half huffing, episode. Though both of them forgot it was today, they were still prepared.

"What do you think about a dog, Zayn" Harry spoke. It had been an hour now, and they had started watching tv to ease the pain. "I mean, you'd be less lonely, and you could always get a dog walker" he said, hopeful. Zayn seemed interested.

"I guess I could try," Zayn sighed, suddenly deciding it was time for a couch nap.

"I'll look online for you." Harry said, and Niall agreed to pick him up for him. Zayn didn't have a computer, so all the picking and choosing of a dog and its walker came down to the two people who got stuck with him.

"Well, goodnight." Niall laughed, looking toward Zayn and finding him snoring. He grabbed a pillow of a nearby chair and made himself comfortable under a small blanket on the floor. Harry slept on the other end of the couch.

Zayns mind exploded with dreams. New art, new life, his parents. He was stuck in his stuffy apartment all day. He lived for dreaming, and maybe a few paintbrushes.