Somewhere I Belong - Bennoda

Epilogue

It was an autumn afternoon. The leaves fell rhythmically, one by one. Delicate shades of orange and red invaded the faded floor, the streets were calm, the air was cold. Religious would say that even the smallest thing like the way the leaves fell on the floor was chosen millimetrically by God. They would also say that God would know exactly how many leaves fell on the ground, and he would also know exactly the color of each leaf, and he would know if the leaf is redder, or if it is greener, without even needing to look at it. Religious would also say that God knew exactly when each leaf would fall and how it would fall. Others would say that God has more to do than care about the fucking leaves and the quantity of them. They would also say that if God can't even give food to hungry children, why would he care about the stupid leaves and choose exactly the stupid tonality of each leaf? But the religious would keep saying that God is omnipresent, and that he knew all about all the damn leaves that fell on the damn ground. And then, when one of those leaves would complete its journey and fall to the ground, a flame crossed it. The leaf was burned and destroyed still in the air, and its ashes flew away; the leaf never reached the ground. The cycle was broken.

Chester, seated beneath a large forest tree, relaxed while occasionally burning any leaf that came merely close to him. For fun? Maybe. Because he was too bored? Certainly.

His eyes stared at the top of the tree, watching as each leaf fell. The man looked at each leaf carefully, taking advantage of every shade of red and orange that each leaf could present. It was his favorite season, the streets were cold and empty, and everything seemed gray. In a distant time, maybe he preferred winter, by the size of accidents that led souls to premature death. Also because the winter reminded his heart in a distant time. Distant time? Who could have warmed the devil's heart? Who could have tamed him?

A smile appeared on the man's lips when, instinctively, his nostrils detected a familiar scent. A scent of someone known. Chester straightened his neck, looking forward, intent. The creature appeared from the middle of the trees wearing white clothes, whiter than the pupils of a frightened child. His hands were behind his back, a smile was on the creature's face and his hair was perfectly done with gel, windproof. Chester got up slowly and walked over to the creature.

The man looked deep into the creature's eyes and brought his hands up to the individual's waist, entwining his hands on the creature's back and pulling it away from the shadows of the tree. The creature then, being revealed by the light of the sun.

- Hey, you. - Michael smiled and lowered his embarrassed gaze as he felt the man's hands on his body. Oh, heavens, it still sent him delicious shivers.

- Hey baby. - Chester laughed fondly and kissed Michael's forehead, leading the boy to walk beside him.

They both started a walk through the forest, reaching the end of it and following the streets of the city, noting how empty the city looked compared to the summer. If you were from a neighborhood with children, you could see parents gathering leaves on beautiful, large pales, and then you would see children running and jumping on these pales of leaves, making the leaves fly all over. The scene was lovely. You probably wouldn't see the kids getting beated afterwards. You wouldn't see their tears.

This, basically, was the vision of both. Like yin and yang. Like water and fire. Michael saw the happy children jumping on the piles of leaves, and Chester would see his parents' anger as the children destroyed the piles of leaves they had gathered all morning. Then Michael would see the children's smiles, and Chester would see their tears fall when their parents beat them.

Who was right? Who was crazy? How could you tell them that either of them was wrong? Happiness is as real as sadness. Then someone would say that it's our choice to decide which part of life we will see. But how would you tell Chester that it was his choice to see the pain? Was it his choice to be what he is? Was it his choice that everything around him had colors of gray?