Mime Spent Apart

Part 5

The leather chaise was extremely comfortable under the mime's frame as he lay back on it. He heard it creak, felt the hide give slightly under his weight and the ever-present cool of the surface break through his clothes to his skin. But only a slight amount, a pleasurable amount. He leaned back, kicked off his mime slippers and swung his feet onto the chaise, enjoying the feel of the air whooshing past them. He had never quite noticed that feeling before. He leaned into the leather further, letting his head sing onto the raised cushioned part at the top and reached over to grab his cocktail ready made on the side table. He took a sip, relished the fruity flavours of it, and put it back then closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids danced the fire of the mime training ground. He could feel the heat radiating off the building, could smell the burning chemicals of his suitcase mixture, could hear the concussive blasts... and see the shadowy figure running away. Surely no-one could escape that blast? No, he shook the memory out of his head. No-one escaped. A trick of the light post-explosion wasn't going to diminish his pleasure.

He closed his eyes again, and this time let the flames dance merrily before his eyes, enjoying the glow. He deliberately let the scene stay out of focus and slowly drifted off to sleep. In sleep, his subconscious turned to memories of a past long ago, but not one forgotten or forgiven.

He was six years old and living in a basement apartment that leaked. He lived with two faceless individuals that were most likely his parents though he could barely remember them. He supposed he should have been remembering "the warmth of his mother's love" or "his father's strong protective hands" but these things did not come to him. Six really wasn't so young to forget such things, was it? Nevertheless, they were strangers to him. His dream child self looked at the faceless figures in bemused studiousness. "Wait," he thought to himself, "I'm dreaming this. How strange. But I remember this happening. Can I change the events of the past?"

Everything went dark. The world seemed to have changed orientation. He could feel heavy blankets on him, smell clean sheets. There was the sound of a table being pushed over in the hallway outside his room. "Guess things stay the same after all..." he thought to himself and the door slammed open and hit the wall. A shadowy figure was framed in the door by the hallway light, it was too bright for the young boy's eyes to adjust quickly enough. He sat up in bed bolt upright and the shadow figure was there at his bedside in what seemed like an infinitesimally small amount of time, with his hands on either side of him and his face right next to his. He hissed into his ear, "No sound. Your parents are dead. You want to live." The strong smell of cinnamon and peppermint blew across the boy's face as the stranger talked. Next they were up and out, one hand holding onto his shoulder tightly and guiding him, the other clamped over his eyes. He was guided down the stairs and towards where he knew the front door would be. He could smell strongly the smell of gasoline. They went out the door and the cold night concrete made the bare skin on the soles of his feet shrink away.

The world smelled the same but different. As if there was an air of menace to the world outside. He remembered the breath of his assailant leading him across the footpath and onto the grassy area before the street. Does he chew two different types of gum? Was it a cake he had eaten? He felt a sharp pain go through his foot and up his leg. "Oww!" he yelled out. The hand came off his shoulder and clamped over his mouth, cutting his complaint short. "Don't forget what we talked about." Came the soft voice above his head and the hand came off his mouth and back onto his shoulder. He was nudged forward by the hand again. He remembered now, he told him his parents were dead. Dead and gone. He wondered how he felt about that as he limped along the grass and then was pushed into what he guessed was a van at the side of the road. His thought was confirmed with the sound of a big heavy door being slid along rails, that was only on a van, right?