Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 6

Why did I wait for the last straw?

The hidden photograph reminds you of innocence—because that is what it is. You remember, clear as day, that it was taken in a lazy afternoon one summer. In the picture, Alec is sound asleep on his bed, his right cheek pressed against the pillow and a bare arm draped over it.

And, of course, the photographer was you.

☆☆☆

It was during summer vacation. It was one of those late afternoons when Alec had just finished practising with his friends. Those summer afternoons were precious to you both, because it was only then that you could truly be alone—even if it was only a little while.

That day, Alec had finished a bit earlier than usual, and the both of you walked back to his home, which was essentially right next to yours anyway. As you did, he opened his water bottle to take a drink, lifting his head in the process.

"The sky looks really nice today," he remarked upon noticing the clear blue sky.

It was only at his comment that you looked up at all. The whole reason he commented on it might even have been so that you would notice what he found pleasant too—because you never did have a habit of looking up.

"True," you said, squinting in the sunlight. Then, you took a glance at him, and poked his arm. "Hey, you're actually tanning a bit."

"Oh?" Now, Alec took a look at his own arm. "Damn, that must look weird."

"Since when did you care?" you asked jokingly.

He arched a suggestive eyebrow at you.

"Never mind," you said instead.

At that, he laughed. Alec stopped then, and you stopped with him, turning back to see why he did so. Facing the sun, he tilted his head at you. "Well? Is it weird?"

You took it all in—the sunflower-blond hair that fell just past his chin, the vibrant amber eyes, the trademark lopsided grin...you took it all in. You must have stared for longer than socially acceptable of that situation in particular, for he snapped his fingers right in front of your face after a while.

"Koen?" said Alec.

"Oh. No, not at all," you answered.

"Good."

The two of you reached his home. As per usual, you took a seat at his desk in his room while he took a quick shower. It would take him about five minutes. In the meantime, you found yourself gaping at his bookshelf—again. You rubbed your temples and sighed. Wasn't it only yesterday that you last tried sorting that mess? Maybe it was about time you gave up the attempt...but wait. Upon further inspection, you found that the part you rearranged the day before was still quite organized.

Perhaps it was worth the effort after all.

You spent yesterday's five minutes arranging the top shelf. This day, you spent it arranging the layer right below it. If all went according to plan, the bookshelf would be neat again by the end of this week, and it would fall back into disarray by the beginning of next week—you knew this, yet there was not a single day that you ceased this practice.

Alec stepped into the room again a few minutes later in a tank top and shorts. He plopped himself down on his bed, watching you struggle with his messy shelves. With his hands behind his head on the pillow, he threw you a curious look.

"It will just get back to the usual next week. You know that," he said.

"Yeah," you replied, "I don't know why I still try." Then, you chuckle. Having finished the day's portion, you moved his chair to the side of his bed and sat down again.

"Thanks anyway," said Alec. He reached out with one hand, and you reciprocated by doing the same. As your fingers interlocked, your eyes never left each other. "How's that song you're working on?"

"I have a part of the melody," you answered, "But I haven't figured out how to write the words in yet."

"You will," Alec said, as casually as if he knew you could. After taking a brief pause, he added, "Do you sometimes wish I knew music too?"

Rather than answering, you asked, "Do you sometimes wish I was more athletic?"

He shook his head. "I like you exactly as you are."

You smiled. "It's the same for me."

Later on, as you hummed the melody you had just written the evening before, Alec slowly drifted off to sleep. You stopped then, and gazing at his sleeping face, you made a note to yourself that he looked much...tamer, while asleep. With that thought in mind, you snapped a picture of the sleeping Alec.

☆☆☆

It's so cliched, you find yourself thinking as you stare at the picture, your vision blurring, that it takes his death for me to realize how stable it was.

You pull the picture with Esmae in it out of the frame altogether, leaving only Alec's sleeping silhouette before your eyes. You look upon it until the image burns into the back of your mind—no, it has always been there, you simply stare until events of that day come over you. And you let them come over you, waves of emotion overtaking you one after another, and you don't bother trying to sort them out this time. If the devil means to remind you of those events, he has succeeded. Even then, you continue looking upon the picture until your veil of tears forbid you from seeing it. You let the tears fall, because there is nothing left to do, and no one to act for at the moment.

Alec Warrensword.

Sometimes, you like thinking of his name in full. You like the sound of it. He is, in your opinion, the only one who can wear a name that sounds so unbalanced and half-finished and carry it so well.

Thirty minutes later, you slip the image of Esmae, Alec, and you back into place. You pick up your pen again, having remembered that there is still one thing you should include in your notes.

And you write: Note: survivor's guilt. I wish I were dead instead.