BEASTLY

xv. death and all of his friends

Mitch Grassi

I wasn't aware that my mouth was dropped and I was obviously staring with complete shock. I had no clue Hoying was a poet, let alone a good one. He looked relatively solemn as he bowed in a super awkward fashion and hopped off the stage, stepping into a dark corner and talking to somebody who was almost as tall as him. The audience continued snapping and acknowledging their appreciation for the poem. I'm only glad that I didn't burst out in clapping, or else I'd be really embarrassed. But I couldn't even clap, let alone snap. I was moved to silence. Who could have been his muse for this beautiful poem? Certainly somebody honorable, for sure. I couldn't help but smile. A sliver of me wished I had been nicer to him. Honestly, I wish I'd been nicer to more people than just Scott, otherwise, I might not be in this situation.

I'd tried to analyze the words that flowed from his tongue as they went by, but every single time I'd think about one line, he'd say another that just blew my mind.

Those chocolate eyes house his soul but from all he's hidden the key.
Locked away for none to enter. No, not even me.

If I closed my eyes and dreamed, I could dream that he'd written those about me. But now my eyes are black, truly housing the piece of shit my soul had been personified on my body. I laughed audibly and quickly clasped my mouth closed, suddenly grateful that no one appeared to hear me, or care.

I kept my eyes on Scott as he walked back into the room, locating a seat to the far side, remotely alone. It make me sad, seeing skeleton boy by himself, especially after pouring out his emotions. I wanted to go talk to him, maybe telling him how good his poetry was, or maybe telling him that his make up looked beat. I just had to gain the courage to get up and talk. It's not like he knows who I am, right?

Before I knew it, my feet were on the move, walking towards the boy. I was grateful that the room was dark, making me feel like I was in stealth mode as I snaked through the crowd, suddenly finding my seat within proximity to the skull facial mask. I wanted to reach out and tap his shoulder.

Clearly my reflexes did, too. Before I could retaliate and consider this a definite bad idea, I stuck my index finger out and gently tapped his shoulder three times.

Within the one second it took him to turn around in his chair my stomach grew weak. What if he saw the markings on my face? What if he saw me and thought I was ugly? He wouldn't be wrong, but I didn't want his first impression of me to be that I was ugly, though he already assumed I was. Mitch isn't an attractive person on the inside, therefore radiates precisely that, though his skin and his body may be perfect. A perfect body doesn't matter if you don't have the insides to match it.

"Hi," he started, tapping gently on the table. Oh god, I could see him peering under my hood to look at my face. "What are you dressed as?"

I hid my face as best as I could and laughed. "Death."

"Cool, we were destined to find each other." Scott laughed and stuck out his hand. "I'm Scott. Are you here for the poetry slam? I mean, obviously, since you're here." He shook his head and I could tell he instantly regret speaking.

I took a moment before answering. I didn't want to tell him my name. I couldn't, actually, because then he'd probably put two and two together and maybe ask where I'd been the past few months. Truth be told, he probably didn't even care about me. So, I panicked and searched my brain for a pseudonym. What could my name possibly be?

I glanced up at the wall behind Scotts's head, seeing a bunch of flyers tacked to a cork board for numerous events happening in the area. One of the names was big and bold, possibly plastered in a vibrant red color (though my newfound color blindness prohibited me from being able to tell - I just had to pretend) and below the name stood a man pulling a rabbit out of a box. There were always stupid magician shows in NYC, people desperately trying to show their talents. The picture looked like a joke, therefore the name plastered possibly in red was a joke as well - much like me.