Auctorial Abscondences in Opusculum

The Game

"Hey, Rain?"

"Yeah, James, what? I gotta go to gym."

"Do you want to talk about homework this afternoon?"

James swung closed the door, throwing his bag into a corner. The nauseating half-eaten lunch inside slumped over as he fell into his red leather armchair. His phone was already in his hand, and he quickly found something by a jazz composer who lived in an apartment in New York. He picked at the cascade of books in his bag, leaving the rancid lunch inside.

Once he had worked through his playlist and homework, he stopped, listening to the silence which surrounded him. It was cold in his room. He wriggled over on the chair, switching to an upbeat piano piece with an orchestral murmur whispering softly to him as he sat. James let the open book slide off his lap onto the carpet.

NO NEW MESSAGES.

Uncomfortable, James shifted again in the chair, closing Messenger. His finger hovered over to Netflix; someone had recommended him a show and he was almost finished. But his finger pulled away, instead he watched the Messenger icon, waiting for something. 

Perhaps Rain had messaged him as he was closing the app and that was why he hadn't received a notification. Surely he couldn't have...

But he was wrong.

NO NEW MESSAGES.

His throat was dry. His throat was dry, dry at the base of his tongue where he tasted the metallic ache of a million weightless words. Rain hadn't messaged him and his throat was dry.

Then, it had been enough time to finish the show and he was standing in the kitchen, an empty glass in his hand, coated in thick condensation. It blurred a view in. James was still thirsty. He took the last of the milk from the fridge in a bottle. Then he paused. 

He took out his phone, snatching an image with the bottle at his lips and he wrote 'I'm an animal' before uploading and taking a long, cool sip. The milk was delicious.

It was dark outside and in, but the clatter of the blinds against the windows and the glowing screen in front of him kept James awake. This time, a quiet rock ballad played in his ears, and he watched the tiny figures jump up and down in time. Still there was something missing.

James took his headphones into the study, carefully closing the door. He stood for a moment, still. Then he opened the door. The lunch in his bag slipped into the rubbish, and he brushed his teeth clean. He walked down the empty hallway, tapping against the wall. He closed the study door again, plugging in the lead from his headphones into the glittering gold port.

James sat down and bled into his piano; cut out the dried segments of his soul and sold them to the haunting melody which crept under the windows.

He lay in bed awake, fingers curled over the silvery surface of his phone, tracing the back so that it hissed. 

Somehow the two sounds found each other, the scraping and scuttling of his fingernails against the metal pulling open the corners of his eyes as the piano illuminated the ghosts who lived there.

He was at pianoside, and he lay in bed yelling into his own ears in a voice his mouth couldn't make.

The keys played the final few notes by themselves. They were all in the right key.

The room lit up. There it was; a final note played from his phone and echoing in the solace for a few brief moments. There was a rush of something behind his ears.

"Still want to talk about homework?"

If he didn't open the app, then Rain wouldn't know that he had seen it. But he had seen it.

If you do.

If he did, then who was he talking to? Rain, or himself? If he didn't, then who was he fooling?

ONE NEW MESSAGE.

His eyes closed shut.

"If you do, Rain. It is pretty late, and I'm going to bed soon."

"I usually stay up late anyway, and I promise not to keep you up. What are you doing?"

James looked down at the two sets of grey keys.

"For the first time today, I'm playing the piano."

"Would you play me something? I'd rather listen than read."

"Me too."

James let his headphones slide onto the carpet.