We All Scream

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A boy with bright blue hair and mocha eyes (and C major lips and blue-sky hands and tiger-growl teeth) stands up.

He walks forward and turns around to face all the people that don't really know the boy in the coffin.

He knows he needs to tell them he's real. So they can feel guilty, maybe. So they can feel some of the blame that is crushing his chest like the smell of popcorn and oranges. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, not even a breath. Just a tear. It drips down his cheek and feels like fire. It feels like a treehouse. A black treehouse. Blacker-than-black.

It also hurts. More than anything. Blacker-than-black hurts more than blue-black. Too much more.

All he needs to do is introduce himself, just say he's Josh. They'll know.

But he can't bring himself to do it. He knows it's his fault and no one else's. He wasn't there when the boy in the coffin needed him. He wasn't there and it's his fault there's no more breath in his lungs.

The boy isn't really in the coffin, just a few ashes and some flowers. The flowers are purple and blue, a bad choice of color. They should have been green. There are no green flowers though. Maybe brown. No one likes brown flowers though. It means they're dead.

Josh closes his eyes, as if that could stop the blacker-than-black treehouse. He takes a few breaths and then opens his eyes again. Then he flies out. The boy isn't in the coffin. He's never going to be in the coffin. He's somewhere else. Josh just has to find where.

Of course he'd be in the forest. It has a light-blue feel, like a clock. Slow. Something else, too. Like light-purple. The boy in the coffin would know what the word was. The boy who's not really in the coffin.

Peaceful. The word comes a few minutes later. There was always the sense of peace in the forest. It's the color of Monday.

Now it's just filled with blue. Dark blue. Like a spilled glass of water. Like Saturday.

He reaches the treehouse. Ashes litter the ground, but the wind has carried a lot of them away. A lot of him is gone now. Everyone knows he's gone.

The treehouse is gone. The tree is empty. A few scraps of wood remain. Josh already looked at them before. When he couldn't find Tyler, and then he found the treehouse. Then Tyler's window was closed and he wouldn't open it. He wasn't in his room. He wasn't anywhere. Then he was in the coffin.

But he's not.

Josh stares at the ground. He sees a piece of color in the dirt and leaves. He crouches down. The plastic on the lighter is slightly melted, but a quick flick of the switch tells him it still works.

A wrecking ball attaches itself to something in him and starts yanking downward.

The lighter flicks on and off. He'd left it here after Tyler ran away. He left it. If he hadn't, the treehouse would still be here.

The blacker-than-black fire returns. It hurts.

Josh presses the flame to his hand. Reflexes jerk it away, but he brings it back. He can feel it. It's just black though. Black is tolerable when the alternative is blacker-than-black.

He knows there's only one place to find Tyler. He has to burn too. He has to be ashes in a coffin with purple and blue flowers too. He has to be gone too.

"That looks like it hurts."

Josh whips his head to the side, temporarily taking his hand from the flame. He doesn't believe what he sees.

"Don't hurt yourself." Tyler looks concerned. His expression is maroon-khaki.

"You're gone," Josh mumbles.

"I'm right here." Tyler takes a step closer, but Josh scrambles to his feet. "What?" Tyler asks.

"You're gone. You're not here. You're in the coffin." Josh grips the lighter tightly.

"Why would I be in a coffin? They're too cramped and... yellow."

"I know you're gone. You're... you're dead," Josh says quietly.

Tyler's expression turns to one of hurt, and Josh regrets his words even though he knows Tyler can't be real. "I'm not dead. I'm right here."

"You're just my mind pretending you're there."

"I don't feel dead. I don't feel alive." He laughs a little. "I just feel normal. Red and orange. And light-blue because you're here."

"You're not real." Josh cringes because those are the very words Tyler told him. He knows how much they hurt. Not quite blacker-than-black.

Tyler recognizes the words. He looks saddened, then holds out his hand. "Take my hand."

"You're not real," Josh groans. He flicks the lighter on and brings it closer to his hand again.

"Take my hand," Tyler repeats. He inches closer and traps Josh's eyes with his brunette eyes.

The lighter flicks off and Josh extends his hand.

Thin air, he thinks. That's all that will be felt.

He grasps hands with something more real than anything else. His face breaks into a smile.

Tyler's face smiles too. His teeth are straight and perfect, if not exactly white. White is bad though. White is empty. "I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you either."

"I guess we're even, then." Tyler gives a sheepish smile.

"I guess." Josh shrugs.

They both smile at each other again.

"I feel all... light-colors. Like pink," Josh says.

"And light-green?" Tyler offers.

"Exactly." Josh nods.

"Happy. Or relieved," Tyler decides. He's always been better with the normal words.

"Both," Josh decides.

They sit on the ground among the ashes of the treehouse and talk, just like they used to. They end up falling asleep, despite the fact that it's the middle of the day. They wake up when the sky turns red-orange-yellow, and when it really should be pink-light-green.

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so... first story first part. comment what you think. and vote. if you want.

thanks i guess for reading this.