The Mindless Man's Paradise

Chapter sixty-six

  I woke up to the sound of my brother’s voice, and the touch of his hands shaking me awake.

  Despite what seemed to be a change of heart, I shoved his hands away from me, feeling repulsed.

  When I saw his face, he looked taken aback, as if I had no reason to be angry with him. Then, as if remembering that I did have a reason, his eyes turned to stone.

  “It is time to wake up.” he cooed tauntingly.

  I rolled over, using the momentum of my body to kick him in the stomach.

  “We got it, okay?” I snapped.

  Clutching his gut, trying to find air to breathe, he painstakingly handed us some sort of black cloth. When it was in my hand, I turned it over, and then unfolded it to reveal that it wasn’t any cloth. It was our execution-wear.

  As if I had been smacked upside the head, I remembered that I would be dead within the hour.

  The thought made my head spin, and I had to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye.

  I roused Cyrus awake. “Cyrus, we have to wake up.”

  My words were shaky, because it seemed as if I had just been given something to live for, something to love, something worthwhile, and now it was just being taken away.

  Only a month before, I think I would have let death take me gladly under his cape.

  But now, I knew I was not good-for-nothing. I had a purpose finally, and of course, right when I could do something productive with my life, such as living; loving; being happy; it was taken from me.

  “Could you leave so we can change, at least?” I growled at my brother, trying to let the anger cloud my sorrow.

  Seeming to sense my irascible mood, my brother left without a word, no doubt standing right outside the door, waiting for my cue.

  My hair was still pin straight from the previous day, and I ran my fingers through it unconventionally, as if this would improve the situation.

  Of course, it did nothing, and I instead handed one of the long, flowing cloths to Cyrus. We changed in silence, leaving each other to our thoughts. Once Cyrus had put on his clothes, he looked like death himself. Obviously, that was the point of it. We were supposed to look scary; like “Infractors”. They were trying to make us look like delirious miscreants, weren’t they? It’s as if they were to say; ‘This is what you’ll become if you Infract.’.

  I wiggled my hands in the voluminous space of the sleeves.

  When I looked up, Cyrus was handing me the dagger that I would plunge into my chest within the next half hour.

  I said nothing, and took the knife from him, wedging it safely in the hem of my underwear.

  As if it was planned, Cyrus and I grabbed each other’s hands at the same moment, catching each other’s eyes. I caught a lone tear grazing the side of his face, and with my free hand, I wiped it away. My thumb lingered there, though, tracing circles over his cheek bone, feeling his warm skin under mine. Our eyes met, and our gaze became unwavering, and eventually, the tension became to immense not to break. We kissed slowly; tenderly; carefully; as if we were intent upon memorizing the feeling of the moment, never to forget it. Cyrus’s plush lips were gentle, parting slowly and delicately. When we stopped, we hugged, without words, without emotion, because there wasn’t anything to feel anymore.

  It was the end of the line.

  Our fingers still intertwined, we knocked on the door so that my brother could unlock it for us. He did so quickly, as if with haste.