In his left hand he held fire, a fire to either cleanse or burn the world. In was not with his eyes he saw this, but with his fingertips. He could see through them, could watch as the fire would dance and play. And yet the flame was not his own. He knew not whose it was, but by birth it was not his to wield. It twirled uncontrollably around in his palm, held loosely by energy without source or tangibility. Destiny was why. It was destiny that had put the fire in his hand, and destiny that rested his shoes on the carpet that day.
And the carpet melted into a deeper shade of blue, and it rearranged itself until it rested into a certain shape: a pair of human eyes. And the blue eyes watched him, waiting. They were traveled, world-weary and lost, glazing over a look that shown knowledge and wonder. There were the eyes of a man who had the world turn against him. They never moved, and only watched with a dull stare. They wanted something, but the fire in his hand blocked his mind from the truth.
It was when the eyes blinked that the fire sparked out, shining into the darkness that surrounded him. Even thought the darkness was illuminated, nothing could be seen. It only stretched out into farther darkness, with a ground of undeterminable color resting beneath his feet as far as the light shone. He understood, even in this state, that where he was wasn't what mattered. It was the eyes. And the fire.
And with that realization, the eyes opened again. They burned him. Their stare was fire, the fire in his hand. And the more the eyes stared, the more the fire grew, until it grew even farther out from his hand, stretching onward. Whatever the fire was, the eyes were, it was getting stronger. He felt pressure grow in his mind, stretching it out, making it feel like it would burst. It got stronger. Finally he could focus no more, and dropped to his knees. The fire shot free, and floated right towards the eyes. Settling in the air in front of them, it seemed to grow even more.
Even as the pressure mounted, the fire expanded. Finally it began a slow creep forward. He could only watch as the fire approached. Every inch closer it got, the more his head would hurt. Finally when the pressure was too much, and the fire was upon him, the eyes shot open fully, joined by another pair.
Mark's eyes opened, and his consciousness returned to the sweat filled bed. His hair was wet, and his face and chest were dripping. There was no light outside his window, and if he had cared enough, a glanced towards his clock would have revealed that the time was only stretching out towards three. The teenager knew himself too well, knew he wasn't going back to sleep, and pulled his sheets off his body. Standing only in his boxers, the night wind from his open window blew across his wet skin, chilling him. The window was shut seconds later.
Mark turned the knob inside his shower, and the water began to leak out, slowly at first. Eventually it gained momentum, and the pounding of the water began steady. Mark stepped under the stream of water, a shade two steps closer to blue than yesterday. The water company must have been having a good day. It was ice cold, but the boy didn't notice. He was used to it.
The water didn't do a whole lot, but it did make him feel better. Showers always made him feel better. Small amounts of grime rolled off his body, and splashed around his feet. It was replaced by the slightly less brown sheen of the water. Still, the water felt better than the dirt. Last, Mark dunked his head under the stream, and ran his fingers through his knotted brown hair. The fingers got caught sometimes, but he pulled through.
Before the water was fully off, Mark was already stepping out of the shower. The boy grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his frame. Tucking one side in, he made his way over to the mirror over his sink. He grabbed his hairbrush the same time as he wiped the fog clean off the glass. The more he ran the brush through his hair, the more the hair fell down to the sides of his face. While doing all this, he watched his twin's eyes in the mirror. They looked nothing like the eyes in the dream, and he could only be thankful for that. Even as empty as they were, they were better than those eyes, the eyes Mark would never let himself get.
It took him another fifteen minutes to take his medicine, eat, feed Zio, get dressed, and jump in the Ixion. It was dark outside, darker than usual, and Mark had a feeling that he didn't have often. He pulled the car out of the garage, shut the door behind him, and drove off.
I know you boy. I'm inside your head. Going there won't help. I promise. Painful memories. Memories of her. Memories of me.
This time, when he drove, sanity kept his foot and hand. He didn't fly off into the distance, running light after light down empty lanes of street. He obeyed the laws, which he rarely ever did, and made his way slowly to the suburbs of Angel City. It was an area loosely populated, filled with empty homes long since looted. Still, he drew even farther onward, farther southeast. There, in front of him, was the hill. He didn't know the name, never bothering to ask, but it rose up decently high into the sky.
Nothing's ever high enough to get away from me. You somehow bring your twisted soul to heaven, and I swear by whatever senile creature runs the place that'll I'll follow.
Mark took the car around every turn, safe and slow. With the darkness and the air, he kept his lights on and was very watchful for any movement. The entire drive was uneventful, with no other cars rearing their heads. At the very end of the road was a turnoff the boy knew well. The darkness made it hard to tell, but he knew what was special about this place. Finally he pulled up in front of the wooden railing, and parked his car. Before turning it off, he looked down at the radio to see it flash 4:58.
Mark waited for almost an hour outside the car. He knew he didn't have to open up the Musk Rat today, and figured he would have the time he needed. It was finally when the sun was rising up, and light was beginning to grow, that another car pulled up beside the Ixion. Mark glanced over.
The car was an Escali, though he couldn't tell what year. It was in great shape, as far as cars around the Angel City area go, so it couldn't have been very old at all. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Mark was sure the car was blue. An Escali was a fast car, and he couldn't wait to see who stepped out of it. Just to be safe, his fingers slipped onto the gun tucked into its holster.
Blonde hair came out of the car first, followed by the figure of a girl. She was around Mark's age, or so she looked, and was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. She shut the door, and began to walk over to very same wooded railing that Mark was resting on. She walked with confidence, and neither looked directly at each other's eyes. His fingers slowly drifted down from the weapon at his hip.
She stopped about ten feet away, and rested herself over the railing. Below it was a sheer drop of over a hundred feet, but never once did she back away or look down. By this time, the sun was in view, along with the very wonder that made the location so attractive. Mark looked away from the girl for a moment. He was mesmerized once again.
Mark remembered that his mother called the place the Blue Zone, and for no strong wonders why. In front of his eyes, Mark saw the blue water of the ocean slowly draw the sun from beneath its waters, the shimmering blue unmatchable to anything a person could find elsewhere. Above it, you could see a blue sky, a rarity anywhere on land. The location was in just the right place. It was color in a grey world.
"This really is the place."
Mark glanced over at the girl, who was still staring out towards the ocean.
"Excuse me?"
Once again, without turning, she answered, "A person told me there was a place on this hill where you can see the ocean and the sky. I've been looking for it for a few days."
Mark turned around, and slid down the wooden post behind him until he was sitting on the floor looking up into the sky. Now he had seen it three times. It was still a wonder.
"Good for you."
Mark would have seen, had he not been so entranced in the blue above him, that the girl finally turned to look at him.
"Not a talker, huh? Not many people are."
Mark laughed lightly, and shook his head, his eyes still locked above him.
"More like I'm not a listener. It just enters and leaves. You're lucky I've paid attention to you this long. Just get me alone, and you can't shut me up."
"Maybe I should keep that in mind. Well then, why are you here?"
The boy wrapped his fingers around the wooden barrier at his back, and quickly pulled himself to his feet. Facing away from the ocean was a haze of rot, blocking all vision past twenty feet. It was a harrowing thought to think how many people actually lived in that. Mark had to even remind himself he lived in it.
"I don't know. Nor would I care to indulge you anyhow. Listen, no offence, but I want some quiet."
He got it. The girl, against everything Mark would have guessed, managed to hold her tongue. For minutes, the two stood on the hill, taking in the blue beyond them. It was exactly what Mark needed. The serenity of the situation was perfect, a firm and desired contrast to his day to day life. Here, he wasn't running around. He wasn't on the job. He didn't have to feel poison leak into his lungs with every breath he took.
"My name's Mark."
If the girl was disturbed by the break of silence, she didn't show it.
"Sorry to snap at you. I'm just having a bad year."
The girl took a step closer. She had a smile on her face glance up, like she just thought of something funny to herself. He knew that face. John gave it a lot before he told a joke. A stupid joke. If people bothered talking anymore, they're almost guaranteed to be the kind of person to tell stupid jokes and play with mind-numbing puns. Mark learned long ago to brace himself. Still, thought the next words were meant as humor, they didn't have the same sting as normal.
"Lucky you. Most everyone else's been having a bad life."
Now even Mark smiled. He respected a person who could make jokes about the times. They were, in his opinion, the kind of people most likely to survive the world's insanity. They would be the ones left walking the street after the fog cleared.
"I like to credit myself with fortune. God knows you can't get this far without a few scrapes, and I've found myself in far worse than that."
The girl's eyes traveled back to the Blue. Her left hand glided over the wooden barricade.
"God…"
Mark laughed, but the girl never heard.
"A blast from the past, I know."
Mark leaned forward against the railing, and just stared as the two were engulfed in silence again. This time, the silence was far from awkward. The two stared into the blue, separate thoughts joined in a moment between them. He closed his eyes as she opened hers, and when hers were ready to close, his would open. They saw the same thing, from the same place, and together formed a whole thought, a full view of all around. She was the ocean, he was the sky. And then Mark awoke from himself.
"Look, if you ever want a free drink or something, you can swing by the Musk Rat over at the corner of Alimony and Creed. I'm there most of the time. If not, tell the bartender John that I sent you."
Mark was already turning the key in his car door when the girl's voice was caught on his ear.
"It's Alyx, by the way."
Mark turned to look at her, but she was still staring into the blue beyond her. Mark smiled, tucked himself into the car, and submerged himself in the hum of the car as it started up. He slowly backed up, and the last thing he saw before leaving was Alyx's blonde hair gliding in the breeze.
()
They always said that women are idealists, looking for the happy side of life. Both of the women in your life were, Marky, and looked what happened to them. A real shame too, they had so much to live for. Wrong place, wrong
Time was his enemy now, just as much as the voice. The drive down was longer than he had expected, and he didn't know exactly why. By the time he pulled up to the Musk Rat, he noticed a surprising amount of cars. The one day he was late, of course everything happened.
You just never are where you're needed, are ya' boy?
He was fast. Before John could even complain, Mark was halfway ready. He leaped out of the back room, and drifted right over to John. They each looked at each other for a moment, and Mark jumped over the bar to get started, the table chart in his hand.
You'd better hurry, Marky, before someone in this broken world decides they've waited just one minute too many, and reach for the nearest sharp object.
As the boy ran back and forth between the tables, somehow keeping a check on all the orders, he began to grow dizzy. All the people were enjoying their meals, yelling for him, having conversations, and doing whatever other hullaballoo they wanted, and Mark could barely keep up. It was in one moment, when it seemed like he couldn't keep it up, that he found a break in the hustle. Everyone had what they needed, at least for the moment. Mark took a break over by John at the bar.
"God, I'm sorry for being late. What happened?"
John laughed in wonder, running his eyes along the entire restaurant.
"I have absolutely no idea. There hasn't been a day like this in years. You picked a horrible day to come in late. What happened, you sleep in?"
"Let's go with that. See, when I'm not here everything falls apart. How do you live without me, John?"
"Marky boy, I have absolutely no idea. Now get running over, table six needs you."
Ding dong. Marky, you gotta just relax. I know it isn't always easy running back and forth. Just lay down somewhere nice and warm, like the middle of the road outside. The fog's pretty thick this morning. They won't even know you're there.
The rest of the day went smooth, and the rush ended with the departure of the crowd. After that, only four more customers came in. The voice was in full effect, but it didn't seem to bother him as much today. He went through waves of it.
Come on, Marky, give me some credit. Maybe I'm just in a good mood, and being nice to ya.
Or maybe the sunlight and ocean view was good for him. Mark couldn't feel the pounding of the voice in his head like he always could. He could hear it, listen, but move on from it. The only thing different was that he had gone to the Blue Zone.
You can dream, Marky. Dream for release all you want, because it won't help. I'm here, always here. Remember that. I never plan on leaving. It's your fault I'm even here. Now feel me, hear me, know me. Drink your blood from your eyes and your ears. Watch it, hear it drip to the floor. It's me inside you, you know. It always will be, until every last drop drips to the ground, and neither of us really wants that do we boy? Neither of us wants that.
But the voice still had push. Mark shivered for a moment. He turned his eyes to watch a woman grab at her purse and stand up. She started to walk away, but then turned at the last moment and put her glass of red wine to her lips drink the blood and finished it off before making her way out the door.
Mark leaned against the bar and sighed. The voice, without the headache, was clearer. Not as painful, but much clearer.
Testing, testing, one two? You reading me? What'd I say about that place Marky? You know, rot can actually do wonders for the brain. Because no matter how much you want to admit it, clarity's a painful thing, isn't it. It's like I'm right here next to you again. You have no idea how cute you were. God, I just wanted to eat you up. Isn't it funny how things work out?
"Shut up!"
Mark quickly closed his lips and looked around. The restaurant was empty of customers. The teen turned his head over to John, who was cleaning dishes in the sink. The bartender reached down and turned off the water.
"You say something, kid?"
Mark was about to shake his head, but then waited a moment.
"What was this place like, you know, before the Apocalypse?"
John took a good hearty laugh, and then set down the glass in his hand. He took a few steps towards Mark, and then leaned across the bar.
"Isn't someone being a bit melodramatic today? Apocalypse? That's a new one."
Mark flipped himself around and walked over to an empty table, grabbing a rag to wipe it down with. John continued, "Firstly, you wouldn't have to clean all these tables yourself. We'd have bussers running the floor after the waiters, and more than one waiter trying to take orders for the entire restaurant. Everything always came together, and we'd have tons of people here at all times of the day. Al back there wouldn't have to be cooking all by himself-"
"-sweet hallelujah!"
A cold and broken hallelujah, ain't that right?
Both Mark and John turned back towards the direction of the kitchen door. Somehow Al had overheard them.
"Shut your pipe, Al. You know you've got horrible people skills. There's a reason I keep you trapped back in that kitchen all day!"
"Whatever!"
Mark chuckled, and finished his rub down of the table, at least as well as he cared to. Mark flung the dirty rag over his shoulder, and then glided past the table over to the woman's booth. He picked up her wine glass drink and placed it on top of her lunch plate, taking both back over to John.
"So why aren't things like that anymore, John?"
John grabbed the plate and glass, and ran the glass under a stream of water. Next was the plate. He cleaned both slowly, as if taking a moment to think. Mark watched quietly. Only when John placed the plate down on the counter, as clean as it was going to be, and turned the water off, did he finally answer.
"Because, Mark, all the hope in this world moved on, and left us to starve."
John gave Mark one last glance, and retreated into the back room, shutting the door behind him. Mark rubbed his hand across the counter.
Don't life just suck, Marky boy. At least you'll always have me.
Mark reached out for a nearby shot glass resting on the bar counter, and chucked it across the room. The glass connected with the distant wall, and shattered into a thousand pieces.