The Line

Screaming, outside

The current had started flickering an hour ago. Ten minutes ago, it had simply petered out--there, then gone.

Sprawled on the odd-smelling couch, Juan listened to a storm roll over the horizon. The bouts of green rain suddenly seemed like minor inconveniences in comparison to the darkening sky: the clouds were compact and opaque and the thunder so strong and loud he felt as if a huge hand shook him from the base to the top with every boom! Outside, the air was musty and charged--and the rain was no longer green but a deep shade of plum, near-solid, painfully clumped.

Juan cowered deeper into the couch, inhaling the sour smell of age. It occurred to him that he may die before he found a way to escape--before he went home to his brother and father. Maybe the storm would topple his building down like a domino, and his body would fly through a wall and ripple puddles on the hard ground--smack. Something about the darkness of the day made death seem more... tangible.

Did anyone back home even know he was gone? They must. It was safe to assume his father would be leading the search, using the considerable resources at his disposal to dismantle the court. Yes. Even if Juan didn't make it out, someone might come to him. Someone might--

Another terrible boom! The nightmare that was his reality was beckoning for attention, reminding him that this fantasy of rescue had been just that: a fantasy.

"Flynn," he called, more to hear the sound of his friend's voice from the other end of the room--to know Flynn was alive, not dead--than anything else.

Flynn's smile was forced, and he spoke with strain, much faster than usual. "Yeah? What is it, Juan? What is it?"

"When is the storm going to break?"

"I can't say. You can't tell those things. Just know we're not even getting the worst of it. The worst is out there, toward the forcefield. That's the worst. The Weather Man made sure to warn everyone, though. Everyone should be safe. Everyone knew better than staying out there." Flynn licked his lips. "Everyone--" Screaming. Screaming, outside. "I have an idea," he said. "We could talk. Pass the time. Play a game. Get to know each other. Anything. Anything!"

"I don't know," was Juan's reply. He was in a kind of daze. Like the storm wasn't only outside, but also inside--in his mind.

Were those truly screams, or just the hiss and howl of the wind?

Was it still day, or was it night?

Would it always be night?

"We're friends now," Flynn insisted--on the verge of panic, it seemed. "That's what friends do. That's friendship, isn't it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, do you have any better ideas? Do you?"

"Not really."

"Well, are you even thinking?"

No. Juan hadn't been thinking.

So he thought now.

The question that came to him should have been asked much sooner, but he hadn't needed to know then. Now that the sky was so dark and his thoughts so clouded, it came out. 

"Why are you here?" Juan asked slowly, quietly.

Flynn frowned. "What? What are you asking me?"

"Why are you here, in the Line? What did you do? What did you try to steal?"

Another crash. Another ambiguous howl. Juan felt himself shudder. If his body were any more rigid, he would snap in half. If his skin were any more sweaty, he would drown.

"It doesn't matter," Flynn answered finally. "It doesn't matter if you know."

Crash, crash.

Would he go smack?

Boom, boom.

"What did you do?"

Crash, boom.

"If I tell you, do you promise never to ask a question I might not want to answer again?" Flynn asked.

"So you'll tell me?"

"I mean it. I want you to promise. Promise you won't ask me anything uncomfortable again. If I don't want to talk about it, and I say I don't want to talk about it, then we don't talk about it. Okay?"

No South Sider took a promise lightly, and no South Sider uttered a lie easily. Juan had lied to Flynn about his intentions, about their friendship, but if he made--and kept--this promise, things might balance themselves out, theoretically. "I promise."

"Answer me something first: Why are you here?"

"There was a girl. In a blue dress." Juan couldn't help the shame and anger from leaking into his voice. "It was one of my father's parties. She was... different. I wanted to impress her. I--"

Flynn's eyes were wide and gleaming; his mouth opened then closed, opened then closed. Fast breaths escaped his trembling lips. The air pulsed with electricity. Thunder shook the ground.

Juan almost shouted, "What is it now?"

"I--What colour was her dress?"

"Blue. The brightest shade of--" Juan's eyes were big. "Flynn, are you crying?"