high thoughts

another life? (this is the best one tbh)

to fran, who helped me realize who i am; but most of all, helped me see what i am not

when we were made of stone, mother and i would cook below the sun, just outside the house, in the old black grill that had alway been and would always remain in the same place. i remember the glaring light and dizzying heat that came with the sun rays. mother's ivory apron suited her perfectly; it seems as if it was only yesterday that father's fourth finger cracked while playing with the kitchen tools! i miss those days with all my heart, i even said so to mother once; she slapped me: i wouldn't have expected otherwise, what else was she to do after such disrespect to the gods? we were granted a new exterior and i dared to be ungrateful? it seems a bit extreme, but father had always told me since my earliest days 'son, with your birth, im officially your mother's 12th favorite individual, for you're now the 11th', i asked 'and to whom the higher places belong?', 'to her gods, son' he would reply. as hard as i tried, i never got mother to say 'i love you', that was reserved to the first 3 deities, and to anyone lower than that, the phrase 'you're appreciated' would have to suffice; needless to say, it never did. years later, contra and i would fight for the 11th place while father calmly accepted the unlucky 13th, perhaps prophesying his untimely death, or maybe it just was the first of a bunch of coincidences. uncle koe told father all the time 'you quit those damn things before you start eroding yourself from the inside out', but his brother just wouldn't listen, that's why he was often literally and metaphorically described as hard-headed; for one, because his unbreakable skull had proven to be the county's strongest; as for the other, there was no person known to have changed father's mind: it was said to be as unbendable as the street lights outside of city hall. the ones that were really close to us would get the other meaning behind the joke, only understandable after knowing that the mysterious drunk driver that had demolished one of the sidewalk's light-posts decades ago was none other than mother! she managed to persuade father where no one else succeded. i remember not being able to stop laughing the first time contra asked me to explain the ongoing jest, and so was her anger at the idea of someone mocking father that, to this day, whenever she hears someone mention it, she politely leaves the room to not return until apologies are made.
den never understood the need of going higher in mother's love list, so she never noticed that she was stuck on father's place. that is, of course, the unlucky 13th. 'birth giver' (as contra liked to call mother) wasn't vile as others would have you believe; in fact, she once said a goddess of hers looked just like me, and if that's not a beautiful compliment, i don't know what is! after all these years, i can't believe i need to keep clarifying this: what happened to den was not mother's doing, but don't believe for a second she didn't expect mother to get blamed: it's the exact opposite! my treacherous sister wanted to punish her out of pure jealousy, playing the role of the victim in a game she invented in which contra and i had won, leaving her unloved and alone, too far from our gaze. to no one's surprise, den failed the recognize the utter absurdity of her statement, losing completely out of sight the most compelling fact: the universe aligned itself in order to position her in the 13th place; unlucky, to say the least. once more; destiny's whims or a coincidence? mother never bothered herself with such silly inquiries, but we were never able to deny the strangeness of it all. chloe once told me that father had perished because of the inherent unluckiness of the 13th, and because of that same misfortune, den was forced to keep living. as put in chloe's words: 'each got what they dreaded the most'. uncle koe never visits anymore; the last time i saw him, he told all three of us, his nephews and nieces, that as far as he was concerned we were no blood of his. this hit den specially hard, for we all knew she always had a soft spot for him. Cold; distant; quiet; that's what most people would say about den, the ever-lonely-outsider who for unknown reasons never troubled herself by learning to say please or thank you. only would her mood lighten when uncle koe sat on the garden and accompanied her while she ate cherry tomatoes, her all-time favorite snack. for hours and hours she sat on the grass devouring buckets of the little bright red tomatoes and nothing could stop her; not rain, not father, and obviously not me. she enjoyed her time alone but she felt the happiest when her father's brother kept her company. there were times when the morning came and we looked out our windows to see her sitting under the willow tree, where the birds sang opera in the form of an organized choir, prancing on the branches for her amusement until she decided they were deserving of a price, which was, naturally, a small cherry tomato. fran would often ask me why den never hung out with me as much as contra did, and as thoroughly as i tried to think, i was never able to come up with a valid reason. it still makes me sick to my stomach to ponder the idea of den hating me, for even after all that has happened, she's my sister just as contra is. the first time i met fran, they told me that my smile was by far the worthiest thing i had, so i made an effort to look happy whenever i was around them, even if i felt down. they told me we were able to get along so quickly because we were already friends in another lifetime, and the truth is that since they told me so, i've never doubted it, not for one second. they gifted me the ring with the little blue stone, which i always wear proudly on my index finger. fran wasn't only a friend, they were the closest thing i ever had to a soulmate, and i would never have again. my soul was like a pomegranate, and i took little pieces and gave them all for fran to save, i only kept enough to keep me going. with each day we grew closer and they would shine anytime we visited the zip-line. up in the wooden platform attached to a tree branch we ate and sang and laughed together, carving a line on the floor with each day we came back. if i were to wish something, i wouldn't wish to be cooking under the sun with mother once more, i would rather be sitting with fran, one in front of the other, looking carefully into the other's eyes, while the wind whistles in our ears and the air gets chillier and us closer and the moon begins to shine its blue light onto us. nightfall by their side: thats what i long for. when winter came so did my happiness, i sat on the stairs in the yard while the sky went from blue to violet to black, and the air currents hit my body with all their might yet i didnt move and i stood my ground and remained there until the moths announced me it was their turn to be there. it wasn't long ago, i feel like i saw fran a few weeks ago; they've been gone for longer than i can remember and they're still worthier than me. the clouds were orange and the sky was color red like that of blood, the road seemed safe, it seemed clear. but it wasnt so. i guess by now i should have learned to not blame anyone, and nonetheless i carry the weight on my shoulders everyday and after the night falls it crushes me beneath my sleep; that's why my dreams are always twitchy and overly-crowded with thoughts : they're being trapped under all that guilt. every time i see yellow flowers i'm reminded of fran and the little mustard-colored blooms that grew from their shoulders now and then. they showed them to me after we promised to never let go of each other, and they trusted me to pluck them whenever they started to itch. in spring the flowers bloomed the prettiest and when fran walked they left behind a trail of sweet candy-like smell. they gifted me the first flower they showed me and i pressed it between the pages of my journal where i repeatedly wrote how much i loved fran and the pages got stained with the moist from the petals and the shape resembled a round heart which at the moment i thought symbolized that we would never leave the other, but now i realize it was another prophecy, one that augured that my heart would never be as whole again. the years kept coming and mother's consciousness went along with them, leaving an empty husk behind that lived and breathed piety. contra and i would be obliged to pray next to her, and we did so even as we grew older, but as mother aged she became lighter and lighter and as we were holding her hands, not even the strength of contra and i combined was enough to keep her from going up; towards heaven. mother didn't open her eyes, she left praying, floating steadily through the sky and we watched her from the garden and neither of us cried a tear.
i don't keep contact with anyone from the past: den is unreachable, mother and father are gone, uncle koe has disappeared, contra hates me, fran is also gone. only chloe comes to see me now; when i ignore her calls and she believes i have died. she comes home with a few apples and a vase filled with forget-me-not's, she grows them in the garden and knows they're my favorite. i used to take them from the bushes outside her house and give them to fran so they would know they were always in my mind. maybe some time soon enough i'll face that in this awful life nothing will ever be the same as before, but in the meantime i'll yearn for the past and ignore the world of the present. is it just me or is each day more gray than the last? everything's lost its color. nothing'll ever be the same as before. if one could alter the past, i'd've already changed all for the better, but alas, i don't have such power, so all i can do is linger until something reminds me of the years bygone. my mind was marvelously and miraculously still able to work and think through any problem; not that i had many of them; i left them all behind along with anyone (everyone) who anchored me to the memory of fran; loneliness brought me an unexpected peace i hadn't experienced in a long, long, long time. but on the rare occasions i encountered a problem, my quick thinking and amazingly-accurate deduction method allowed me to solve anything without doing much effort.
i wasn't the crying type; i should have done it anyway. i've kept so many tears inside of me that im now filled with moss, from toes to head. it's already begun to creep into my throat, i feel it stealing my breath for its own growth. i wish i could cry and get rid of all im keeping inside, but my eyes dried a while ago, before i realized i just might be deserving of happiness. whispers of thoughts that are not mine are starting to disrupt the flow of my consciousness, thing i say no longer align to the ones i've said before. i sat on the wooden stairs, halfway between the first and second floor, looking at the houses and trees outside through the circular window. that was my biggest connection to the mysteries of the novelties of the now. father caught up with me there and asked me what was on my mind lately; he said i hadn't been myself these past few days. i said 'father, i'm afraid i'm losing my mind. or what's worse: i fear i've already lost it.' He thought i was ill, his hand reached my forehead to assess my temperature, but as per usual my skin was cold. 'what could you possibly be talking about? what sort of spell has befallen on you? you're speaking nonsense! we take matters such as those very seriously and you know it!' he said, and i replied 'father, this is no joke, each day my mind grows wearier and things are beginning to fall out of place, i strive towards sanity but my wits keep outrunning me.' i get in the red roof-less car and drive down the black road with the desert on my left and right while the sun sets and turns the sky millions and millions shades of orange. but back to father, he got angry at me but it only helped fuel the certainty of having become insane, because i'd never had a discussion with father, and to have gotten into one with him could only mean i was no longer in condition to keep living. never mind about all that, i was talking about the window. it had a dark chestnut wooden frame, where i rested my head while i watched the noon turn to evening and the evening turn to night and when the stars appeared i chose one and fixed my eyes on it until it disappeared in the morning time, and i'd've to go help antagone with the chores. she was evil, evil, evil! i hated her and hated the big violet dress that she always wears in my memories. i never wanted her to be my enemy, at first i tried to be her friend, i really did, but she proved to be impossible to withstand. in the dark room i took a chair in front of the big silver screen and when it turned white i got excited but the letters on the screen let me know things weren't going to be as i had wished. have i strayed too far from the main point? i keep going off subject. so mother asked me to sharpen the knife and i did as i always used to; i walked straight to the sharpening stone and glided the knife front and back until the blade was able to cut my skin with the littlest effort. i then took it to mother and she continued while i sat and waited for further instructions. the memory of mother is forever tainted to me, as if all the good things she did (if there were any) were covered by the darkest of inks, which represents every ill word she ever directed to me. fran, holy, told me many, many, many times to escape together; they said we could go as far as our eyes could see, but i dared not leave contra and den alone to face the wrath of mother. i was always told i was born with the fear of change, whereas everyone else came to the world only fearing heights and loud noises. i remember walking the fields of wheat, everything was as big as me, i felt hidden and thanked that. i ran in all directions with all my speed in that never ending field. my head's killing me, do you hear that as well? maybe it's time to join fran. i saw them yesterday; they were flapping their winds up so high they almost touched the sun and i was reminded of icarus but fran wasn't made of wax, they were gold. i feel rotten inside; my lungs; my brain; my soul (whatever's left of it). but all that matters not! do not allow my words to keep getting off road! i was telling you about the silver screen in the black room. unless my mind's playing tricks on me, there were exactly 42 chairs, and i was seated in the last row on the far right; they dimmed the lights and everyone's voices were reduced to mere whispers. 4. 3. 2. 1. the numbers appeared projected one after the other. oh, how excited i was! but not anymore. murmurs began to spread around the room like waves on the ocean. that day seems ages ago. i've lost everyone and everything. now that i've nothing i'm just floating in emptiness hoping to cling to something or someone that allows me to get out of this void! i'm stuck and see no way out! help! help! help! i'm in the red roof-less car and the road is perfectly straight and aligned with the sun and it seems as if i were driving directly into it. faster, faster, faster. please let me see fran again! the other night i was trying to sleep and father watched me while standing next to the door. 'i'm afraid you're right, son, you've lost your mind. i think fran took it when they left' i stood up and fell on the floor next to him and begged for help but father's face had shifted and mother stood in his place. 'no, beloved. perhaps you are beyond help. maybe you should join fran. they're in heaven, with all of us'. as fast as she came she was gone, just like that, all she left behind was a light mist and a whisper: 'join us'. if den could see me now, she would mock me without end. pathetic; that's what she'd call me. and i am. i am. i am. i am. i don't know when or how but i've fallen and to get up i need the strength i once had but no longer possess because i used it all after i lost fran to try and keep me alive; it only worked halfway. oh, how badly i need contra's words. when we were little we would steal father's chess and make up names for every piece and invent rules as we went, just to win and cheat. contra used to hang and swing from the chandelier in the living room, and as she got older the ceiling began to crack around the base of the chandelier and mother got so upset she spoke nothing to us for a week. i miss contra and her light blue hair and the way she ran everywhere, always in a hurry to experiment the future. 'whaddya think'll happen to us?' funnily enough, i gave the correct answer: 'i reckon a cruel destiny awaits both of us'. and cruel indeed was the fate each of us got. nowadays i look in the mirror and see fran, i'm they and they're me, it's always been so; i look at my hands and they're father's; my freckles are den's; mother's voice comes out of my mouth; my ears are contra's. i'm all of them, but nothing else? what's me? fran's ghost comes at night to haunt me relentlessly; they grip their hands around my throat and stop all air from coming in or going out, and while i struggle to breath their mouth curves upwards to form a smile so small it would only be visible to those who seek for it. is it normal to not move on? is it okay for someone like me to keep going? it's time to rest. i'm not sure about half of the things i see, why should i worry about the other half? in an attempt to match and replicate what i felt for fran i decided to meet other people; sometimes we dined with candles and a tablecloth; others we would head to the library and rest in the utter silence. i've no need to say i never found anyone who made me feel the half of what fran did; i don't even believe i can anymore, my heart and feelings have withered away and all that remains of me is a phantom that's cursed to forever dwell on the past and loathe anything and anyone. what's the point of trying if nothing will ever compare to what's already happened? aren't i just awful? truly; aren't i? the gods demand of me everything i lack. why to be put on this earth if the price was to forever feel like this? what if i were to die soon? no one would notice. No; someone would notice, chloe would. I meant no one would care. where did you say you knew fran from? they never told me about you. maybe they did. yes, they surely did. silly me! i don't know if i've mentioned that my memory sometimes fails! i remember the other day i was seated on the concrete stairs when contra found me while i stargazed and asked me if i was alright; i told her what i feared; the whole thing about my sanity and being afraid it was gone. she dismissed it very quickly, she said not to worry. unbelievable! all the way back then i was already predicting my current state. but yes, fran, i was telling you about fran. they had the most beautiful golden wings i've ever seen, they flew so high they burst in flames and molten gold began to drip onto the ground. they glistened like the sun itself and i watched them mesmerized while they crossed the sky. i often tell myself that was a gift from the gods, a compensation of sorts, if you may, for making me love fran and then taking them away. not a day goes by in which i don't stare at the grass and remember how it used to annoy them and they refused to sit on it unless a blanket laid in between them and the floor. we went to the park and watched the clouds for hours and hours while we talked in each other's ears; just listening to their voice made me sleepy and while i dreamt they guided me through the dreams, and at the end i always woke up to round, beautiful honey-colored irises. fran screamed at the top of their lungs how much they loved life, and for the time we shared together i too began to crave staying alive. there was this clearing, partly covered with wild flowers and big trees that provided all the shade one could wish for, but we never visited it when the sun shined, only when fog covered the air and the sky was grey we would set camp there and enjoy the cold and the sound of nature. i had 2 halves of a face, but curiously i didn't have 1 whole face, just two halves that didn't add up. 'tis the season of broken hearts and lonely nights where each second is lonelier than the last and you get so lonesome you run to your own endless thoughts in an effort to be less alone. perhaps it has been too much suffering already and deep down i know things won't be as i want them to, and if i can't control what's outside i'll make sure to control, at least, my fate. i reckon you see where i'm heading. i'll be gone and there will be no one to tend to my garden so the grass will grow yellow and will soon break away in the wind, i hope also carrying the ashes of me that you will spread in the place i once felt was home. so naive! i was never destined to feel safe, all i've ever been is the gods' amusement. anyways, i'm terribly sorry for wasting your time. you see, all i've said are just memories of another lifetime. i must now get back to the present.