Black, White
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- Parts 3
MatureOngoing<5 mins
Last published Mon, Aug 1, 2016
"This has always been our problem- we have nothing to say to each other."
The first five things I bought immediately after they told me that all I have left is six months before leukemia claim my life were cup of Selecta Rocky Road, a secondhand blue-and-black BMX, a pad of yellow paper and two trustworthy black ballpens. Everything seemed so unreal, so surrealistic. Staring out at the setting sun, my newly acquired bicycle leaning against me, the pad and pens nestled on my lap; I contemplated my life between mouthfuls of heavenly ice cream. So many dreams still left unreached, so many goals left unaccomplished. I wouldn't be having chance to name a son, I would never experience the 20% senior citizen discount. Yet there were no tears. I am still amazed by the strange serenity, the calm which settled upon me. I viewed death objectively, rather than be obsessed with what was coming; I was motivated to use my remaining breaths in smoothing the creases I've done in my life.
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"One body: A death, a suicide, and now a murder. Lunacy is settling over, leaving its fingerprints on them, while breathing down their necks. The warm kiss of air is mistaken for nothing but a midnight breeze, and finger prints not much more than dirt. "Are you worthy enough, huh? Do you think I'm such a fool? You'll die there. Ashton Kahn. Mark my words. You are going to die and your family is going to live a dead life. You know what grief is? Of course, why would YOU know? You haven't been miserable for once in your life, have you? You have always been the super-star, haven't you? Of course you'll die. You deserve nothing but a deadly, rotten grave. You are such a chick, aren't you? Huh. I hate you Ashton Kahn. You are so mean. You think wealth is the world. You think beauty is the world. Don't you find having the best muscles, having the best grades, having the perfect eyes, having the perfect clothes, shoes-" Her words were so powerful, her expression meaner. She meant it. And how right she was. There I was, living a beautiful life. Of course I had no idea what misery is. I'd never been miserable for a second. Hah. She was giving me a lesson. The feeling was so intense, her words ruling my brain, empowering my veins. I was so useless. Have I ever cried? Have I ever thought why people say Life is just a Lie? Did I ever care why was the guy behind the coffee shop shutters crying? Did I ever gave it a second thought what did that guy felt when I called him Bozo? Or what was going on with that girl I heard of whose parents died a day ago? Of course, what was I capable of feeling? And there I had always thought I was the perfect me. The boy who could do anything. The boy who ruled. The boy who lived. Life is just a Lie. And for the first time in ever, I felt it to be so, so real. The reality of this was ever-awakening, it's power would have killed a soul. Life is just a Lie.
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