An Obvious Oblivion
I am dead.
Physically of course, not mentally for if I truly was dead, I would not be able to tell you this. I am aware that you are here. I am aware that you are all here. Even through the darkness I can see the light that cradles all of you. I can hear your voices, more mournful than hopeful. I can feel your body heat as you all swarm around me. I can smell your perfume, anxious perspiration mixed in. I can even taste your dread.
I do not understand why you dread. I am fine. I am alive. I am dead. But time will fix that. I know you have waited long, but just a bit more…please? Little by little my strength returns. I am able to distinguish how many people are in the room now. I can also tell my brother is here. He is the most mournful of all. I already told you my dear brother, do not cry over me. I told you that before I fell into this state.
Yet you still mourn and cry.
It was…sad. It is sad, I know. If I could, I would cry for me too. But I must not. I must be strong so I can soon return to you all and relief myself of this dreadful atmosphere you all have placed upon me. But I am not mad. In fat, joy bites me when you enter this room, despite the heavy mourning you bring. It gives me strength and for that, I thank you all. But please, bother, stop the flow of your tears for they bring the greatest pain of all. I did it for you and instead of hearing, "Thank you," I hear, "I'm sorry." Do not apologize for I will not forgive what needs no forgiveness.
I sense them leave, but you remain, bother. We are alone and yet again it replays. Mentally, we both share our parts and point of vies to complete the story I am no longer afraid of it, but you seem to always cringe.
Why brother? I am fine as are you. This story is just that. A story of the past which we should seal p and forget. But yet here we are again and the story unwraps itself to us, almost as if taunting us. If I could, I would slap you, dear brother, to you senses. But instead, the story engulfs the room.
I can see you, brother, walking besides me. I am alive again. Fully alive. I can talk and laugh, touch and feel. I can…see you. I had almost forgotten about your midnight blue eyes. That's your secret to "getting' the ladies" as you would always say. But I just laugh and reach up to mess up your dark brown, almost black hair. Yes, I know, you are the older one and for that I get a noggie.
We enter a grocery store. I pull out the short grocery list mom sent us with. I take a nearby shopping cart and, as usual, you slam dunk the items into the basket.
A pretty blonde eyes you. You smile and I sigh. Here we go again. You get her number and she compliments your beautiful eyes.
"Maybe they do work after all," I say. Another noogie.
We finally pay for out items and leave the store. As usual, I must carry the bags while you lead the way home. Suddenly, you become tense.
It seems you are not the only one who draws attention. My puberty struck body was something you were always telling me to conceal. "The guys are going to jump on you and you won't just have the bruises to prove it!" you would always say, but we never thought it would actually happen.
The men were older than the "guys" you would talk about, dear brother. I doubt they will leave because of your intimidating height, but maybe those expensive Kendo lessons you always wished to take since you were a child would finally payoff. Unfortunately, they don't work against a bullet.
Our shared vision comes to an end, your overpowering desire to skip the blood and ambulance scene brings it to a close.
No! Cease that! I will not forgive what needs no forgiveness!
You grasp my hand, the motion of your arm only sensed. Again you spend the night. My dear brother, your nightmares are felt.
Again the sensation called sleep visits me. In this realm, I am alive again and I see you. I see you chained to your dark dreams, your will broken but your spirit burning. I run to you, brother, and kneel by you. It is now I who grasps you hands, I who cries, "I am sorry!" like a broken record, I who tries to free you from your unnecessary pain, but you never acknowledge me. My presence goes unnoticed by you and your eyes remain closed to me for another night.
I was unable to help.
I wake up to your voice begging for an empty favor. Those words are only conformation that I indeed failed to free you from your nightmares. You soon leave to eat at the downstairs cafeteria, promising me a speedy return. It is alright, brother, take your time. But my thoughts never reach you.
I am hardly alone, solitude a distant friend. I am constantly surrounded by the tense bodies of my family members, but not as much as your agonizing spirit, dear brother. You would rarely leave. I recall mom scolding you the other day for neglecting your homework, having stayed all day with me.
If I give you a futile forgiveness will you return back to your life?
Finally I am truly alone in the room, but then the room vibrates with the opening and closing of the door, but the air that enters is unfamiliar, the footsteps are heavy with an undistinguishable echo, the body movements unrecognizable. I tense as the figure stalks across the room, soon sitting where you were only a few minutes ago. I could then tell he was male.
The breathing patterns from this individual are unsteady, raw and heavy, they ripple through his throat. He is shaky, anxious, nervous for some reason unknown to me. I do not know what to expect from him and that sensation eats at me as he sits next to me without offering a word or succumbing to a movement.
After several minutes I begin to relax. Somehow, I know that he means no harm. Strange, how I believed at first that he did. I then find myself, for the first time since I entered this state of existence, wishing I could move. The desire, this burning ember, this passion had never hit me with such a force until now.
I want to move! I want to move! God, how I want to move!
I want to move because…I want to smile. I want to smile at him. I wanted to see him. I-
He flinched, drawing my attention away from my fantasies and towards this handsome strange. I knew he was handsome; he was beautiful.
I then feel his arm reach over towards me, his fingers slightly bushing my face, my hair, my lips. He speaks words that emerge as inaudible whispers.
The warm lips that gently pressed against my cracked ones offered me emotions I did not know existed. My head whirled with his sweet scent, his touch as warm as his kiss.
His hand never left my cheek, fingers continuing to sweep over my face. He was talking, whispering, his voice a distant luxury.
Those were the only words I understood before he left. Walking away, he took the comfort he had given me, but something did stay with me.
I sense the door open, his frame standing under the doorway. I could feel his gaze on me. I could feel his sorrow for the first time since he entered the room. That's what it had been…the shift in the room had been his sorrow.
Why is he sad?
The door closed, shutting away his sorrow and his warmth.
Is this…was that…real?
I sense the door open again and immediately sense your presence along with your heavy guilt.
Brother! Did you see him? You must have! Did you see him, brother?
You walk over and grasp my hand. It's not the same like his…He hid his sorrow quite well, refusing forgiveness. Brother, you should learn from him. Are you sure you did not see him?
Your voice is draped with that constant venomous guilt as my desires go unheard yet again.
I was looking through some of my old binders and writings and found this story. So, I typed it up, edited it a bit and posted it up. Hope you all like it and stuff...yup yup.
Thanks for reading and reviewing...don't forget that part...hehe.