Silas and Charlie

d a y - t h r e e

THE :

BEGINNING OF

DEFEAT

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"Art isn't meant to be pretty, God forbid - it's supposed to capture your attention, and never let it go." - Silas Blue

"SILAS!" Charlie's eyes are open and bloodshot, tense fingers gripping the fire-proof auditorium curtain so hard they were turning white where the skin met his cuticles. Principle Marks stands beside the both of them, with his beefy hands clasped behind his back, and looking even pudgier (not to mention sweatier) today in his brown pinstripe suit than last week's black one. Charlie shakes his head, strands of loose hair settling haphazardly on his forehead, but he can't calm down - his thoughts are like a train wreck, crashing and colliding until there's nothing left but smoking mess of confusion.

Finally he lets out a growl through clenched teeth, "Silas, you'd better run - because if I catch you, I swear, I will kill you."

For a moment Charlie swears a flash of heart-wrenching panic, true panic flashes across her flaming eyes - but it's gone as soon as it had appeared. She straightens up to her full height, which is a good two inches taller than 5'10 Charlie, instead of slouching, "you don't have the guts," Silas mocks, her lips twisting into a cynical sneer. Something in Charlie deflates, like a balloon run out of air, and he curses himself as his gaze wanders over to her purple tinted wrists, the green flecks in her hair, and even the Canon camera around her neck. That's all it takes, because suddenly his legs buckle in defeat, and he crumples to the ground - making Principle Marks shout in surprise, and then look at Charlie with disgust, before shuffling his massive weight two steps away.

Slowly Charlie pushes himself to his knees, until it almost looks like he's praying, and he wonders about how he could've possibly been brought this low, surely - he thinks, I am heading down a slippery slope. It had all started in the cafeteria, where he'd never expected anything could turn out so wrong. And then completely against his will, he remembers.

-

Theo's arm had been slung over his shoulder when they'd both been walking towards the art display case, and away from their boisterous lunch table. Who, were at the moment engaged in betting on who would hit the most home runs at next Saturday's baseball game. Something Charlie usually would have been into - but today his mind kept wandering to places inside his head that he didn't even know existed.

"C'mon Care Bear, what's bothering you?" Theo asked, tilting his head back in an upwards nod, before staring at Charlie with his oddly bright green eyes.

Charlie's stomach caves into itself as he lets out a sleepy, gentle laugh, and then raising a bemused eyebrow.

"Care Bear?"

Theo does a nonchalant half shrug with his right arm, "I thought it was time for a change - I mean, I've been calling you Tiger for a good month. Far too long."

Charlie rolls his eyes, "whatever." Theo pretends to be hurt and pouts, his lower lip jutting out at a somewhat hilarious angle. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Nothing's wrong," Charlie sighs unconvincingly, glancing at his best friend with a forlorn expression, after detecting the smell on his breath: mint and beer. Charlie's whole face seems to crease with disappointment as he frowns; ever since last year Theo had been living in a state of constant intoxication, and he did everything he could to hide it.

The horrible thing was, Charlie had no idea what had brought it on, and his best friend certainly had no intentions of stopping. Charlie didn't mind him being a little drunk, but these days you never could tell when something was going to set him off in a bout of "comedic genius." A scowl tugs at the corners of Theo's mouth, at not being able to read Charlie's mind, but he doesn't push it.