Star Crossed Myth: Black Holes

Chapter 12: Changes

I quit my job at the Auditorium. Hiyori had shown up at my house, worried sick. She brought me all the foods she knew I liked, thus probably blowing away three quarters of her salary. She kept asking why I quit. If I was ok. Well, in actuality, I was not all right at all. I had to come face to face with a reality I had spent years trying to conceal and deny, even after finding some sort of solution. I told Hiyori all of this, and I watched as her face curled in confusion. "What do you mean?" I stared at her for a mighty long time, then asked her if she knew my past. I went to a high school in Britain, then college in Italy, which I graduated from after a mere two and a half years. She also understood that I was unusually rowdy, and that I lived life, unusually. Fervently. Like I was living for many people all at once. I ate more than others, I partied harder than others, I studied harder than others.

To this I simply stared at her. She had also noticed. Many people had told me, throughout my life, of the way I lived so quickly, so destructively. Despite my talents, I lived like I was on a crash course. Like I was going to die any moment soon. And that scared a lot of people, even the rowdiest of them all. I smile at her. "So you've been paying attention. Vundabar." I say, taking a sip of the concentrate juice she bought me. She sits on my floor, looking at me. "You didn't put on any makeup like you usually do?" Makeup. A way to change myself and my existence. Another method I used to escape my reality. "Makeup isn't very good for your skin. Maybe I should give it a break." I say, eating the bacon-flavored chips on my plate. She agreed, and spent her whole off day here, talking and watching anime with me.

Now, in the middle of the night, I lay in my covers and sheets. I turned the air con to the lowest it could go without it breaking down on me. I had the stereo on, but instead of my vicious club beats, Chopin dances in the air. I do not sleep. I do not rest. I only watch my dark ceiling, with unfortunate memories on replay in my head. Scorpio's tragic childhood. Kill or be killed. No mercy, no purpose. This room reminds me of the cave. A cave I don't necessarily want to remember. A face. A face that I want to remember, but not with these memories. A language. A language I have no choice but to remember. Faces, one by one, come to my mind. Lots of faces. Lots of faces. Faces I knew, and loved. Wipe them away. So I do. and I turn in my bed, like I have turned from the first nine years of my life.

Flying was not a difficult task any more. I mean, it wasn't really difficult per se, but I digress. I practice by jumping off my balcony in the wee hours of the morning. No one is awake, because I live in an apartment block with people who have work early in the morning. I jump off, then fly back, again and again. I have perfected the art of flying. That is why I have a backpack with me this time, and when I jump off my balcony, this time, I fly higher than ever. I have on a winter coat and goggles, not to mention a mask to keep myself warm because I shall be flying a lot higher.

I had been flying for a little under an hour. A part of me knew that I was meant to be exhilarated to be flying, to taste the wind and see the sights from up above. I knew that's how I should be feeling, but that wasn't how I felt at all. It just felt like another star under my belt. Another accomplishment. Just when I begin to think of how hungry I am, I see the spot I had been looking for. Slowly, I descend, and it gets warmer. It's in the middle of the night on a weekday, so not a lot of people should be out and about right now. In the middle of the night, I stand on the spot that I asked Scorpio to take me, to watch the shooting star. I am only here so that I can prove to myself that I can do without the help of a god.

I take off my winter jacket, and toss it aside. Here, I sit, alone, surrounded by night noises. I fall back on the grass, just like last time, but I do not laugh like I did before. I just lie there, looking at the sky, the stars. They're beautiful. I remember, when I was younger, I would look at the stars and find comfort in the fact that maybe, somewhere in their abundant vastness, there was someone just like me. That there were people, things, aliens, whatever was up there. I hoped and prayed that I was not the only one suffering like this, and I prayed that we were suffering for a reason. I remember, in that cave, kneeling over my friend, as I prayed, covered in blood, that I was not the only one. That I was not suffering for nothing. That I was suffering for something great and big, for something worthy. But I was reminded, at breakfast, that I was relying on something so arbitrary. The will of some higher being.