In Memory

by CJ Lyons

  The more I looked at the guy digging, the more I recognized him. It was that crazy gun-toting guy. The one with bandages on his face, and the psycho disposition. He was wearing a long white coat, with a black suit underneath.

  I stood at the lip of the grave, careful to avoid the flying dirt. “Excuse me.”

  He stopped, and turned around. “What do you want?” His yellow eye glowered up at me. As we were talking, the grave seemed to get deeper of its own accord.

  “I was just wondering… who’s grave is this?”

  “All theirs.” He pointed up at the litter of tombstones. He continued his work, flinging dirt back in its original arc.

  “All at once?”

  He threw the shovel up out of the grave, and hefted himself out. “Yep.” After a pause to wipe his hands on his pants, he retrieved a stack of books from a bag nearby. Several papers were sticking out of them, and there were even a few notebooks amongst the paperback books.

  With a faint smile, he looked over everything in his arms, and then tossed them into the hole. “I killed all of them. Now to bury the evidence.”

  I didn’t even ask what that meant.

  He took up the shovel again, and started scooping dirt over the small pile of papers and books in the grave. I noticed another shovel nearby, and grabbed it, carefully placing my bouquet of white roses on a tombstone.

  Working together, it only took a few minutes to fill up the hole. We sat back after completing the task, and I wiped some sweat off my brow.

  “Thank you.” He smiled, “I appreciate the help.”

  “No problem. What’s your name?”

  At this, his mouth just quirked into a false smile, and he looked away.

  There was a rustle behind us, and he switched to a kneeling position, placing his hands together in prayer. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  Then, a noise like a cannon sounded out, and he fell forward, blood spurting from the back of his head.

  Now, when I was there, I didn’t really react at all. I gathered that he’d just been shot in the head, and was now lying across the grave we just filled, but it didn’t really affect me at all.

  I stood up, not even in control now. It suddenly became one of those puppet dreams, where you just do things without thinking. Mindlessly, I dragged all the tombstones next to him, and piled them around him. Then I dragged him on top of them, so that he faced up. (I don’t know where the strength to do that came from.)

  As I finished my morbid piling job, I looked around, and saw Tobias standing with two other people in the distance.

  Words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them. “Writing is the closest practice to death, and therefore we must be careful what we write, for one day, writing will end up on our tombstone. But the most beautiful writing is found in death, so care must be taken for the one who under the tombstone digs.”

  I remember those words specifically.

  I took one last look at the man lying there in the middle of all those tombstones, and picked up my roses. As an afterthought, I tossed them onto his chest.

  “Goodnight, prophet, sleep well.”

  He stared upward, blood trickling down his face. His mouth was slightly agape, and a few stray drops fell into it.

  And then I woke up.

  What the hell.

  I guess that means he’s a prophet or something? Weird. Maybe that’s what I’ll call him from here on out. This’ll be my third dream involving the Prophet.

  I wonder if he’s really dead.

  I hope not.

  But at least I have a name to associate with him now if I ever do see him again.

  On a completely unrelated note, I think I’m going to the drug store at some point tomorrow to buy that protection we need.

  Hehehe.

  19 Days, 8 February, Sunday

  So…

  The whole ‘buying condoms’ trip did not go as smoothly as I had planned. Somewhere along in the plan, and unexpected component known as ‘teenage girls’ was included.

  I walked into the pharmacy, meandering down aisles surreptitiously to avoid other customers. At last, I came down to the condom section, which, for some reason, is located next to the muscle relaxants and wrist braces. This combination did make me chortle a little bit.

  Then I became aware of the many different types of condoms. How many sensations are necessary??

  And of course, me being indecisive, was stuck there for a while, trying to decide between all the choices.

  This is where the teenage girls came in. There were three of them, and they slowed when they saw me, and then stopped when they saw what I was looking at.

  And proceeded to giggle.

  I could feel my face turning red, and I avoided their giggly faces, pretending to concern myself with the wrist braces.

  “Are you trying to decide what kind to buy?” One of them asked.

  I couldn’t ignore her, being intentionally rude to ladies is not in my nature. I turned round, and smiled weakly. “Er… yeah.”

  “Have you ever bought any before?” The middle one asked. I think I’ll refer to them by their position in their little accosting group.

  “No.” I answered honestly.

  “We can help if you want!” Left said.

  “Yeah, what sort of thing are you looking for?” piped up Right.

  “Uhh?”

  “Alright, what does your girlfriend do?”

  My face got even redder, if that was possible. “I don’t have a girlfriend…”

  “Huh?” Left looked confused, tilting her head to the side. She reminded me of the popular girls in class. “But… I don’t get it.”

  “He’s gay, dummy.” Middle said, frowning slightly at her friend’s stupidity.

  “Oh!” Left chuckled, “Eww.” She made a face at Right, who frowned at her.

  “Right,” said Right, “Now, what does your boyfriend do?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Like, what are his hobbies, and what’s he like? That’ll have some effect on what kind you wanna buy. Not to mention, it’ll have some effect on what sort of things he’s likely to do with you. But of course, you’ll need to make sure that it fits too.”

  Right’s friends were now blushing as much as me.

  She continued straight-facedly, “And always remember to buy water-based…” Right went on and on about the whole thing, shoving two boxes, and a bottle into my arms, and writing down a website for me to do research.

  “Thanks a lot.” I stammered, taken aback by her raft of knowledge on the subject.

  “How did you know all that?” Middle asked, as they walked away.

  “My older brother is gay, I know the whole deal and…”

  I hurried to the till, and quickly paid, not wanting to look at the clerk.

  Then I got the hell out of there.

  But at least I got good information. And I have some research to do. I came home and brushed off the whole trip, disguising it under the pretence of just checking my bank account.

  Noah didn’t question me, which sort of made me guilty. He’s terrible at sensing lies since he doesn’t lie himself.

  18 Days, 9 February, Monday

  These dreams are becoming more frequent.

  Last night, I had another dream of Tobias, except this time, the Prophet was there too. And he was alive and well. Also, we were in some kind of sitting room, decorated exquisitely, with a Victorian air to it. Darkness crept form every corner of the room, making it look as if the room were slowly being eaten away.

  They were talking when I got there, and turned their attention to me as I approached them.

  “Welcome back.” Tobias said, not looking at me.

  I nodded, and joined them where they were sitting.

  The Prophet looked at me seriously, “We were just discussing you, actually. Your timing is good.”

  Tobias chuckled derisively, and the Prophet looked at him.

  “You knew he was co
ming.” Tobias said, frowning.

  “Of course I did. I was trying to be conversational.”

  Tobias huffed out a sigh, looking away.

  “Aerian Summer Guildenstern. Casmaran. Aerie. Whatever name you choose. Are you ready to die?”

  I thought about that, and answered plainly. “No. I need more time. I’ll be ready soon. You just have to be patient.”

  The Prophet nodded, smiling gently.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s comforting to hear that. He deserved that love.”

  “He ‘deserves’ it.” I corrected, knowing he was talking about Noah. “And he’ll get it from me forever.”

  “I know that.”

  Tobias stood up, and strode across the room; there was a door with no knob there. “It is not fair.”

  “Of course it’s not fair.” The Prophet said softly, “That’s the way it’s written.”

  Tobias choked out a sob, slamming his hands against the door. “It is not fair!!” He sunk to the ground, pounding on the door twice more.

  “You could-” I leaned forward, catching the Prophet’s eye. “You could just rewrite things to work out, couldn’t you?”

  “No. I can’t.”

  I bit my lip, glancing over to Tobias, who had dissolved into a shaking heap near the door. As quickly as I could, I rushed over to him, and knelt down beside him. I grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him into a hug. He really felt like Noah. Weird.

  This time, he didn’t resist me, and clung to me tightly, crying into my shoulder.

  “It is n-not f-fair!” he stuttered.

  “I know.” I said softly, stroking his hair, “But it’s what we’ve got. It’s something. It’s something.”

  The Prophet smiled, and then I woke up.

  School today was also kind of weird. Those guys, I guess I can just call them The Bullies, seeing as I don’t know all their names.

  They were especially… fierce-looking today. I guess that’s the best way to describe them; they spent most of French just glowering at us. Julia glowered right back, and stood between us and them at the break. Ariel, of course, stood with her, but seemed unaware of Julia’s protective stance.

  “Make sure you guys don’t split up, okay?” Julia crept up behind us in Art, looking incredibly serious. She was lurking behind our chairs, and kept watching for the teacher.

  “Why, what’s happening?” I asked, half-expecting the answer.

  “I heard them talking just a few minutes ago. You know, the guys that are always glaring at you. They were saying something about ‘getting you alone’, and how that’s the only way it’ll go down right. And they used that F word a lot.”

  I didn’t have to ask which one.

  Julia grabbed my hand, “So be careful.” She touched Noah’s shoulder, “Both of you. Protect each other.”

  We both nodded, and then Julia left. Presumably, she’d snuck out of class to come tell us.

  I’m so grateful to have a friend like her.

  Although… we couldn’t heed her warning.

  Noah got called to the office at the break between the two periods of Art, and I made to go with him, but the teacher held me back.

  “Guildenstern! Where are you going?”

  Noah and I stopped at the door, looking round as the teacher approached. “Er…” I began, “Just to the office.”

  “You weren’t called, and you’re already way behind. Talon’s a big boy, and doesn’t need an escort.”

  “But I-!”

  “Sit!”

  So I sat, and tried to catch Noah’s eye, as a way of apology. He was gone before I could even look at him though. I guess if he hurries, he’ll be back sooner.

  I sat there, tapping my foot on the ground in worried impatience for exactly nine minutes, and then stood up, striding over to the teacher’s desk and requesting a hall pass.

  Somehow, I got one, maybe because she started regretting her earlier judgment.

  I hurried down the hallways, following the familiar route to the office. As I stepped inside, the secretary looked up, smiling.

  “How can I help you, Guildenstern?”

  “I’m looking for Noah, has he been here yet?”

  “No, actually, I have a letter here from his sister. Would you mind giving it to him?”

  “Sure.” I replied hastily, taking the letter.

  “Thanks a lot!” she called, as I departed.

  What happened, where is he? I ran down the hallway, ignoring the faint call of ‘don’t run!’.

  My… emotion intuition pulled me to the right, towards the boy’s bathroom next to the gym. I passed it on my way down to the office; it was odd that it didn’t tweak out before.

  Faulty emotion intuition.

  As I opened the door, I knew immediately he was in there. The second door proved it.

  Noah was standing at the sink, staring into the mirror. As I walked closer, I noticed several small details.

  Firstly, his hair was incredibly messed up, with flyaway strands in every direction. Secondly, he was shaking, and trying to steady himself on the counter. Thirdly, there was a huge crack in the mirror that wasn’t there before, with a little bead of blood in the centre of it.

  Finally, there were buttons all over the floor. I noticed these when I stepped on one and it grated against the tiles.

  Noah didn’t move, still staring at his broken reflection.

  “Noah…” I gently touched his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. He gasped, and pulled his shirt closed, turning his back to me.

  “What happened…? Are you okay?”

  “Nothing… it’s nothing, Aerie. Really. Please don’t worry.” He still wouldn’t turn around.

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not! I don’t…” he sniffed, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m not a liar. I’m not a sinner. I’m not a monster, a freak, a mistake!” His voice became more hysterical, “A queer, a failure, a reject, a faggot!

  “Noah!” I grabbed him more firmly, “Tell me what happened!”

  “I couldn’t stop them.” Slowly, he turned around, still holding his shirt closed. All the buttons except one were missing, and it looked like there were a few marker lines on his sleeves. His face was downcast, and he covered it with his hand.

  “What did they-?” I grasped both sides of his wrecked shirt and pulled it open, as he reluctantly released it.

  I was lost for words when I saw.

  The Bullies had labelled him. All those words he had just yelled were written on his torso in thick black permanent marker. They layered over his scars and bruises, a brand new kind of wound. The smell of the ink still hovered in the air, stinging my nose with its caustic scent.

  “Noah…” I could feel my voice sticking in my throat. “Look at me. Please.”

  “I won’t. Just… just let me clean up, okay?” Noah swivelled around again, tugging his shirt closed. “I don’t want you to see.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “But…” his shoulders shook, as he suppressed a sob. I took that opportunity to dart around him, and take his hands. He looked up in surprise, and then I saw what he was hiding.

  Across his face was written, in thick dark ink, I am a dirty faggot.

  Again, any words I had stopped and died in my throat.

  Noah held my gaze, his eyes burning bright behind the searing blackness. One single tear fell from his right eye, streaking past the D and the F. Blood ran down his forehead and nose, mixing with the reeking ink.

  “This is what I didn’t want you to see. It’s dirty.”

  “I’ll help you.” I croaked, finding my voice again. I wouldn’t allow myself to be weak when he needed me.

  Noah inhaled a deep breath, closing his eyes and freeing me from his piercing gaze. “I know.”

  It took us nearly ten minutes to wash off all the ink from his face, not to mention the blood.

  I gave him my sweater to put on, as we’d have to remove the rest o
f the ink at home. He looked odd in black. It didn’t suit him at all. Then we went back to class.

  When we arrived in the classroom, the teacher followed us back to our desk, and looked him over.

  “See me after class, both of you.”

  Noah put his head on the table, with one arm wrapped around his stomach. I found his other hand underneath the table, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He returned it, but didn’t look up.

  After class, we lingered back as the rest of the students fled the classroom.

  “Now, boys. What happened?” The teacher, Mrs. Barnes, sat on our table, looking critically at us.

  Noah was silent, and didn’t move.

  “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have happened if you would have let me go with him.”

  Mrs. Barnes looked taken aback at that, “Guildenstern-”

  “I’m not blaming you. But you have to know, that we need to be together. It’s not safe for us to be apart.”

  “Well, what happened? Talon-?” Mrs. Barnes touched his head, making him recoil violently. She jumped, and then regained herself. “Talon, what happened?”

  “It’s not important.” Noah said quietly, “It’s already done.” Then he stood up, his face burning red, from the scrubbing or the emotion rolling through him. “But I am not going to forget this.”

  I followed behind him quickly as he left, not daring to leave him alone for another second.

  Noah was silent all the way home too. Didn’t even try to talk to him. Knew that tone of voice, and also knew to just leave him alone until he spoke to me.

  Something like, “When Noah’s upset, don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”

  As we got back into the house, he immediately removed his winter gear and headed to the bathroom. I waited a few minutes, debating on whether or not to go after him.

  A particularly strong surge of sadness crept towards me, pretty much billowing down the hallway like a noxious gas. I forced myself down the hallway, and into the bathroom.

  Noah was standing in front of the mirror, just looking at the horrible words painted over his pale, scarred flesh. The image of his sharp shoulders and thin back peppered with bruises and scrapes sticks vividly in my mind. A few letters of the words crept around his back, an evil verbal embrace.

  Those were the words that people associated him with. Those terrible words. There are much better words for him.