Fall (The Damnation of Heaven and the Salvation of Hell)
The heat advisory was on its sixth day; the heat index was supposedly above one hundred and five degrees, with expectations that tomorrow and the day after would only get worse. Men in business suits struggled across the park, trying to make it to the subway station before sweat made the idea of "formal dress" impossible to uphold. Nobody was swimming in the municipal pool or jogging along one of the park's paths today. It was just too hot.
Sam, however, stood near the duck pond, wearing a long brown trenchcoat, leather gloves on his hands and thick woolen socks on his feat. He was perfectly bald, with ice blue eyes and a rigid chin. He looked into the duck pond and saw his reflection staring back at him, his vapid expression, the glare of the sun against his pale skin. He had never felt so cold and alone in his life.
His mouth fumbled with the words he was trying to let out. He could barely remember his Master's name, much less what had made him have to leave. He knew he had woken up like this, standing near a bench in the park, and had made his way over to this pond. He did not know how long he had been there. The concept of finite time was something new to him.
Ripples in the water spread, making his reflection waver. Sam did not know why at first, but then he noticed that his cheek was wet, and that drops of water were falling from his face to the pond. This, too, was a new sensation, and for a moment he was consumed with curiousity. Then it came to him that it must have a connection with his sorrow, and the drops began to fall again.
He felt a sharp pain somewhere around his left shoulderblade and jerked away. Then he felt someone's hand rest on his shoulder, steady and comforting.
"Sorry, friend. I forgot that you might still be a little tender there."
Sam turned around to see a tall black man, his head bereft of hair, his features appearing as though they had been chisled out of marble. Over all, he was exceedingly handsome, though his dark skin contrasted disturbingly with his eyes. They were ice blue, just the same as Sam's. He was also perfectly bald.
Sam blinked in confusion, trying to place the other man's face. "I'm sorry, but I... I don't think I know you. Do I?"
The other man shook his head. "No, probably not... Not directly, anyway. But I saw you across the way here and I could see that we might have something in common."
Sam didn't say anything, though his eyebrow twitched as he searched his mind for some kind of response. The other man took his hand away and turned himself halfway around, facing away from Sam. He pointed to his own shoulderblades, near where he had touched Sam's back. Sam opened his eyes in understanding and nodded.
"You can call me Mike," said the man. "You seem confused. Did you just arrive?"
"I don't know. I just know that I found myself over by that tree," Sam said with a gesture, "and then I came over to this pond and I don't honestly know how long I've been standing there."
"Mmm. Yes, I did that too, for a while. You'll grow out of it eventually. You have to, or else you'll go insane..." He glanced at the pond himself, though he didn't pay it too much attention, the way Sam did. Mike continued. "I've seen one or two of them, too... Terrible, to see one of us in that condition. Doesn't seem right at all."
Mike looked up, directly into the sun, and he did not wince. "Not that, I suppose, it's too much better for us..."
Sam smiled, hesitantly. "So, uhm... What did you do? To be put here, I mean."
"Does it matter? Said the wrong thing, held the wrong opinion, veered left when the boss man wanted you to jerk right. It's all the same in the end, isn't it? We all try to do the right thing, the thing that's expected of us. Then, next thing you know..." He looked around the park, the faint waves of heat distorting the distance across the pond. "We're here, and half the time, we don't even know why."
"Does... The emptiness. Does that go away, eventually?"
Mike closed his eyes and smiled. "I used to be a big proponent of hope. Not much for it, these days. Nah, that feeling doesn't really go away, kid. Just something you get used to." He opened his eyes. "I hate it up here. I probably always will.
"Anyway. Like I said, name's Mike. I'll be around, if you ever need a hand."
"S-sure."
Mike turned and walked away, his tall form obscured by a black leather coat. It flowed behind him like cape of a decadent king. Sam furrowed his brow as he realized something.
"Wait... You said 'up here,' Mike."
Mike turned around. "Yeah?"
"Just which side were you on?"
Mike turned back around and kept walking. "Does it matter?"
(Title by the not-quite-so-lovely-as-Hunter-yet-perhaps-still-lovely-in-a-baboonish-sort-of-way Keith (axiem).
Sam, however, stood near the duck pond, wearing a long brown trenchcoat, leather gloves on his hands and thick woolen socks on his feat. He was perfectly bald, with ice blue eyes and a rigid chin. He looked into the duck pond and saw his reflection staring back at him, his vapid expression, the glare of the sun against his pale skin. He had never felt so cold and alone in his life.
His mouth fumbled with the words he was trying to let out. He could barely remember his Master's name, much less what had made him have to leave. He knew he had woken up like this, standing near a bench in the park, and had made his way over to this pond. He did not know how long he had been there. The concept of finite time was something new to him.
Ripples in the water spread, making his reflection waver. Sam did not know why at first, but then he noticed that his cheek was wet, and that drops of water were falling from his face to the pond. This, too, was a new sensation, and for a moment he was consumed with curiousity. Then it came to him that it must have a connection with his sorrow, and the drops began to fall again.
He felt a sharp pain somewhere around his left shoulderblade and jerked away. Then he felt someone's hand rest on his shoulder, steady and comforting.
"Sorry, friend. I forgot that you might still be a little tender there."
Sam turned around to see a tall black man, his head bereft of hair, his features appearing as though they had been chisled out of marble. Over all, he was exceedingly handsome, though his dark skin contrasted disturbingly with his eyes. They were ice blue, just the same as Sam's. He was also perfectly bald.
Sam blinked in confusion, trying to place the other man's face. "I'm sorry, but I... I don't think I know you. Do I?"
The other man shook his head. "No, probably not... Not directly, anyway. But I saw you across the way here and I could see that we might have something in common."
Sam didn't say anything, though his eyebrow twitched as he searched his mind for some kind of response. The other man took his hand away and turned himself halfway around, facing away from Sam. He pointed to his own shoulderblades, near where he had touched Sam's back. Sam opened his eyes in understanding and nodded.
"You can call me Mike," said the man. "You seem confused. Did you just arrive?"
"I don't know. I just know that I found myself over by that tree," Sam said with a gesture, "and then I came over to this pond and I don't honestly know how long I've been standing there."
"Mmm. Yes, I did that too, for a while. You'll grow out of it eventually. You have to, or else you'll go insane..." He glanced at the pond himself, though he didn't pay it too much attention, the way Sam did. Mike continued. "I've seen one or two of them, too... Terrible, to see one of us in that condition. Doesn't seem right at all."
Mike looked up, directly into the sun, and he did not wince. "Not that, I suppose, it's too much better for us..."
Sam smiled, hesitantly. "So, uhm... What did you do? To be put here, I mean."
"Does it matter? Said the wrong thing, held the wrong opinion, veered left when the boss man wanted you to jerk right. It's all the same in the end, isn't it? We all try to do the right thing, the thing that's expected of us. Then, next thing you know..." He looked around the park, the faint waves of heat distorting the distance across the pond. "We're here, and half the time, we don't even know why."
"Does... The emptiness. Does that go away, eventually?"
Mike closed his eyes and smiled. "I used to be a big proponent of hope. Not much for it, these days. Nah, that feeling doesn't really go away, kid. Just something you get used to." He opened his eyes. "I hate it up here. I probably always will.
"Anyway. Like I said, name's Mike. I'll be around, if you ever need a hand."
"S-sure."
Mike turned and walked away, his tall form obscured by a black leather coat. It flowed behind him like cape of a decadent king. Sam furrowed his brow as he realized something.
"Wait... You said 'up here,' Mike."
Mike turned around. "Yeah?"
"Just which side were you on?"
Mike turned back around and kept walking. "Does it matter?"
(Title by the not-quite-so-lovely-as-Hunter-yet-perhaps-still-lovely-in-a-baboonish-sort-of-way Keith (axiem).