Blunt

Impermeable Darkness

When the lights went out, no one seemed to care, no one bothered with the eerie silence, no one tried to block the monster's fangs.

When she thought she had lost, no one asked why, no one wanted to know the reason, no one attempted to protect.

The lighthouse crumbled down, a pile of rubbles worth no more than dust, a source of light which had died, ships and coral reefs crashing against chaos, nights in which wary hearts rest not.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Elephants trampled down the weak heart. An earthquake only one can feel, a sole terror clouding the judgements. The Fates, Hecate, Boreas, faces on masks, a poem of laughter.

●●○●●

Gareth wasn't just any boy.

Or a boy, if that matters.

His name is somewhat bizzare. Gareth Enix, acting extraordinaire. The only person whose existency I cannot ignore. He fills in the void, the gaps in me; cold as ice, a dangerous frostbite vibe surrounding him. He was an enix-ma, according to the bad pun which people who had worked with him had made.

I trembled the first time we shook hands. He was cold, and I didn't mean only appearance wise. He was really, really cold. With a body temperature of an almost 28° celcius, he could be easily mistaken as a corpse, without the tinge of blue on his skin.

Personality-wise, he could also be crowned as the ice king. He didn't say a word, didn't utter any diagreement, didn't ask any questions. He would look at the other party with his cold, golden flecked eyes, only letting them know that he is, indeed, listening. His passive expression remains frozen even when he's startled. I could understand his indifference reaction if it was toward a bad joke, but even when one of the assisting crew got hurt, he stood away from the crowd, not bothering to worry.

He keeps his work separate from hiz private life, and I appreciate that. He rarely sacrifices his duty for some unknown rendezvous with some unknown woman. In fact, he has never been seen to be with a woman. Or a guy, in case you question his sexuality.

No. He's only seen on set, or with people who is involved with his work, or with Andrews, his manager. It is not a question of morality, as he's not indulging in a rather dangerous relationship like an affair, but it's simply that he doesn't do well with people.

Apparently, the masses like him more as he is seemed as.

●●○●●

The more I work with him, the more I feel curious about his life. The more I pay attention to his little details and unnecessary habits, things that I notice makes him more human and less cold. The more I learn of him, the more I understand that he doesn't speak with his mouth - he speaks with his eyes, even if his words are just mere sparks, like that of a small firecracker. The more I feel closer to him, the more Gareth Enix becomes fascinating.

He always carries a small slingbag with him, the kind with black smooth leather and silver lock. Inside, he brings with him an agenda, a notebook, one or two pens, a small bottle of cologne which smells like acorn, and some changes. He trusts no one but himself to carry the bag, not even Andrews.

He likes to keep his dark hair neat and tidy without any help of gel or pomade. He prefers coffee over redbull and the likes. He doesn't greet people in the cheery way, but he nods, politely too - even if it's to a janitor, or a garbage man. He likes to dress simple but not in a carefree manner, and never have I seen him wearing a pair of sneakers. Always the same good pair of leather shoes, which I assume he cares for dearly and maintains regularly.

He doesn't eat his lunch with the other actors and actresses, and I often find him scribbling over his notebook. I have tried to take a glimpse at it but he seems to be very protective about the notebook, or about whatever he's written inside it. It gets me curious, and I want to know more, more, more of him.

I think I'm obsessed.

●●○●●

The look of love, a curious mind, here it is again. Can not win, is this what it feels like to suffocate? A pool of despair, he wants to drown.

Deep down, hell bound, he is trying to run through the unknown forest. Birds hisses, fishes chirps, monkeys howled. A human eating plant approaches, the sagged leaves scrunching against dry branches.

He doesn't do his face justice, a coward by nature - he was told to be silent, so he did. The scarcer his voice becomes, the bigger his name inflates. Sun turns upside down and moon doubles, a sky none other ever imagined.

He wants to bid farewell, quietly, but the water rakes with him.

●●○●●

We finished the production today. It is both a relief and a disappointment. I can no longer hang on the set to dig deeper about the enigma of a man himself. I can no longer stare into his animated eyes and guess what he actually thinks. And that makes me a bit lonely.

The director called him over to tell him about the upcoming premiere in two months. I eavesdropped, accidentally listening to their short conversation, and made mental notes to definitely get his phone address. Giddy with excitement I was, as in two months, I must look completely fancy, and in the premiere I'll try to befriend him more.

I pulled him to a secluded corner after he finished talking with the director.

"I noticed that we have never exchanged numbers, and I've exchanged with the others on the first day. Mind if I ask you to exchange your numbers with me?"

He stood still, completely unfazed. I tried reading his eyes, but they were hard and cold, a hint of harshness almost escaped me. This boy is amusing.

He pulled out a small black cellphone, which isn't even a recent type or of a known brand, but a phone regardless. He took my phone and typed in his numbers, and then handed me his phone. Stumbling a bit, it has been so long since I use this kind of keypad. Old school, isn't he?

The moment I finished typing in my numbers, he snatched it back and placed my phone back into my palms, and marched away. It feels wonderful, knowing that I actually have a way to contact him. Just marvelous.

●●○●●

He never comes back.

Gareth Enix disappeared just like that, from both the media and the masses.

No idea why, or how.

He's just gone.