A Silent Requiem

Requiem

He sits, legs dangling off the edge of the truck bed, a lit cigarette between his cold fingers.

The autumn this year is harsher than the last. This particular day seems to reflect his inner turmoil, with the grey, gloomy skies and the cold, sharp wind. Wide open scenery lays before him, as his dirty truck is parked upon a grassy cliff overlooking the ocean. The beautiful, glassy water reflects the skies and waves lap at the root of the cliffs. It is so tempting, the waves. Destructively beautiful and able to tear down so quickly, it would be as if you were never there.

And he sits, and he stares. He wants to forget, but he knows that that will probably never happen with all the images still swirling vividly in his fragile mind. So he thinks and reflects and ponders, smoke curling from his mouth, and he lets the thoughts run wild, wreaking havoc inside him. His eyes are normally a blue color, but now, they're greyish, reflecting the never-ending sea. The wind tangles his head of brown curls into a literal mess and at any other given time in the past, he maybe would've actually cared. He maybe would've stressed over his thin frame and how he no longer looked muscular and like his old chiseled self. He would've stressed over his lack of moisturization on his awfully pale face, and fretted over how he seemed to have lost too much weight. He would've been worrying over the most trivial physical traits like any normal teenage boy.

(Normal. What is normal?)

But he's learned from his mistakes in the past. His body has deteriorated, and he likes to think of it as penance for what he has done and been. He still is self-conscious, but he's found it in himself to stop caring because worrying about these things has not changed what everyone else has thought of him. Everyone stills thinks of him as this one particular figure.

Everyone hates him. There, that was a way to put it bluntly and truthfully. He knows this. His mother, his ex-best friends, everyone in this God-forsaken town. He knows that he will never be that perfect man that his mother has always wanted. He'll never be the golden boy that everyone made him out to be, and he will never be what anyone wants. He won't ever rise to be a professional football quarterback, with a cheerleader girlfriend he'll never truly love. And he will never be one to fit into this perfect town, with the good men, women and children, going around and doing good things. He wants to read dramas, write thrillers and one day drive to the edge of the world and back. He wants to love boys, he wants to be himself and he wants to be free. But he'll never have these little things, because boys are supposed to play football, party all night and hook up with random girls. And this boy never will do what a "normal" boy is supposed to do.

Tristan Valor will forever be the lonely boy, forsaken and cast away.

Today, in particular, he thinks about his life. The little bits of a finite lifetime, stacking up inside his head. The cigarette he has been smoking has gone and has been flung over the edge of the truck bed. The cold wind blowing against his loose white tee and tight black jeans raises goosebumps on his skin and he shivers, drawing his arms around him. The memories flowing within him however, spark a warmth in his chest. It's the memories from long ago that temporarily fill the void in his heart. Memories of being happy and carefree in his youth.

A memory of the warm nights around the dining table, filled with hot chocolate and family. Of the laughter circling around the crowded lunch table. Of hands in hands, spirited dances, mothers who smiled, and friends who loved.

And it was so sad to think that all of this could be gone in less than a year. A full year of heartbreak, defeat and loneliness. Screams full of hateful words, thrown carelessly around devour the gold. Expressions of disgust reign in this frigid, unsupportive town. Tristan stares into the expanse of water in front of him, and reflects on himself.