FANDOM - None
AUTHOR - paperbackauthor
PAIRINGS - hinted shounen-ai. Nothing extreme.
RATING - T
NOTES - This is actually a rather old piece I wrote a while back. I read it again while sorting through stuff and decided to post it. I think out of most of the stories I have written over the years, this one was one of my favourites. Lots of philosophical musing.
It was a quiet plea, a question that drifted over my mind when I was sleeping. I rolled over to face him, noticing the constant swirl of blues in his eyes; like the chasm of the ocean. I wonder if one day that chasm would yawn and swallow me up. Perhaps it will someday, but not today.
He was still waiting for an answer. I replied honestly, “I don’t know.”
He nodded and came closer, the white sheets twisting like an octopus’ arms. All encircling, entangling in a vicious grip. He smiled at me and laid his head on the pillow, his soft black hair glistening slightly from sweat, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Why?” I asked, brushing some of my copper bangs away from my face. I couldn’t help but notice how drawn his face was. This issue must have been bothering him for a while. It shows so clearly that it worries me. Does he ever worry that one day I might take all that and shove it in his face? Break that tenacious hold he has on his beliefs and morals?
Would I ever do that?
“Because you wouldn’t have a proper answer,” He stated, his arms under his head as he gazed upwards at a bleached white ceiling. People who feel awkward or uncomfortable stare at the ceiling or floor to avoid eye-contact. But it’s not like that with him. He looks up towards the ceiling as if all the world’s answers are hidden there, waiting to be deciphered.
All he ever saw was the blank ceiling above him.
“That depends,” I murmured, some of my weariness entering my body, “My answer wouldn’t necessarily be the right one or the one you want to hear,” I pointed out. I wanted to get up and get a cigarette. For some reason, my muscles are tensing up and my nerves feel raw. Maybe it’s because of the word in the question. An accursed word, I thought as I slowly got up and fingered for my cigarette packet in the dark. Shafts of light touched the tip of the window, but it wasn’t enough for a fellow human being to rely on. My fingers brushed against a thin cardboard box and I almost crowed in triumph. I pulled it towards me and opened it. Pulling out the white stick and propping it between my lips, I sighed as I hear the crackle of warmth and the stick lights up in the dark, a tiny pinprick of orange in a room of eerie shades of blue.
I heard shifting behind me and I turned to face him. He was sighing, hope dwelling in his eyes like precious tears. I mentally cursed myself for looking back and I gestured for him to sit up.
“Truthfully,” And I hesitated. I wasn’t used to people interested in my opinions, but that hopeful look had increased by the tenfold and I couldn’t retreat, “God is nothing but a word people use.”
“A word?” He blinked quizzically. I sighed and tried to scan my brain for suitable ways for phrasing it. It still disturbs me at times, the way I tried to talk to someone, the way I tried to open up. Feelings so alien to myself, yet so disconcertingly familiar.
“God’s an excuse, a reason for our existence,” I said softly, looking out the window. The light had grown outside and began its excursion into the room, its yellow tendrils touching the carpeted floor, “Because we have no other way of justifying the way we live.”
Love. Hate. War. Peace. Enigma. Lucifer. Swords. Guns. Paper. Money. Warmth. Humanity. Extinction. Broken. Shattered. Blown away. Wind. Earth. Trees. God.
Who needs him?
“I don’t think so,” And the traces of determination were heard in his voice as I had expected them to. He was not one to believe everything that came out of my mouth and when he upheld something, he was not one to be shaken from the boughs, “I think God’s,” He bit his lip and turned away. He always had trouble when it came to talking, so used to conveying emotion through glances and smiles. In that aspect, he’s more beautiful to me because his smiles are something I wish I could do. But smiling and the feelings connected to it seem so distant now that the closest I can come to a smile is a twisted smirk.
“I think God’s there because we are lonely.”
I blinked and stared at him, “…What gave you that idea?”
He looked uncomfortable and his black hair fell from his eyes, covering the tumult of emotions within, “It’s just that…we are such lonely people, you know? And we always spend most of our lives looking for that other person who would tell us that we don’t have to be lonely anymore. And God must have been lonely too because there’s only one of him,” I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. He looked so serious with his hair falling over his eyes and blue eyes filled with such sincerity, “So he made us so that we can tell him that he doesn’t have to be lonely, because he has us.”
That analogy was certainly unexpected, yet it made complete sense to him. Simple ways, simple solutions, have always suited him. I grew up with so many complications that I couldn’t remember a time when life had been this…easy. I suppose that could be listed as a fault of mine.
“That he does,” I said, chuckling quietly, “I think God’s lucky to have someone like you thinking like that.” And he’d better.
“So where do you think he is?” He asked, some of the weariness entering his eyes like it did to me. I recognized the symptoms easily.
“Everywhere,” I said unconsciously, removing the cigarette and dumping the burned stick into the ashtray. It was a pain to keep the apartment clean and prevention works best, “In the Earth, the Sky, the anim—,”
“So God’s in us?” He seemed so interested. It certainly a conversation I wouldn’t have thought about in the middle of the night, but then he was always like this. It made life…unusual and almost enjoyable lately.
I paused and looked at him, “…I suppose he is,” It was an aspect of my Christian upbringing and I had forgotten until now. I was surprised I remembered it at all. I suppose a past can’t be completely buried. There’s bound to be some bones sticking from out of the ground.
He nodded, the sleep lulling him softly. I pushed him back onto the bed, “Go to sleep,” I said softly. He nodded at me again and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed down and I was confident that this whole conversation had left his head already.
I got up quietly and looked out of the window and watched the Sun light up the city. I suppose, I thought to myself, I should be thankful to God. I can’t remember the last time I said a prayer, but when I whisper the words to myself silently, I think it really didn’t matter.
At least, not to him and not to me either.