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For as long as he could remember Joseph had been plagued by dreams of a world he did not know. Most children had nightmares about a monster chasing them. Joseph’s nightmares consisted of becoming a monster and chasing people.When they were little, Claude used to tell him they could be visions. His brother then launched into a 20-minute explanation of how in a book he’d once read, the main character would have precognitive dreams from the villain’s perspective. The dreams always had one specific detail of significance, one thing that the main character had to remember.
At first, he thought it’d be fun if he played along with Claude’s game. So, Joseph stole a journal from his father’s desk and began to wake up and frantically write down his dreams before he could forget them all. He remembered the glint of a sword in his hand. The soft lace sticking to his wrists, damp with sweat and dirty with mud. The sweat dripping down his neck bothered him to no end, and the hair on his head was much longer than he preferred it being, the weight of it holding him down in a strange unfamiliar way. Endless nights of monotony, of staring at a wall with a mind devoid of memories. The flash of a camera, a world in black and white…
He remembered crimson blood, a man in gray falling to his knees, the murky smell of a basement, finally walking into a light as bright as the sun itself-
Claude was ecstatic. He was not.
Joseph felt an unending coiling in his chest whenever he recalled these dreams, like a spring had been twisted too tightly. With every dream, the coil in his soul only got tighter and tighter. He desperately tried to explain to his brother that he did not think that this was the future he was predicting. But Claude was convinced his brother was some kind of prophetic protagonist. He ran to tell their mother, Joseph trailing behind him and complaining the entire time.
Unsurprisingly, their mother was more than slightly concerned when one of her twins told her how the other was having dreams about murdering people with swords.
Joseph’s therapist noted that Joseph was just a restless young boy with an active imagination. He was a bit anxious, but otherwise completely normal.
She recommended signing him up for a sport to help him burn off all that extra energy.
Mrs Desaulniers signed both of the twins up for fencing classes and Joseph never spoke of his nightmares ever again.
Only Claude would see his brother twist and turn in the bunk above him, but Joseph had sworn Claude to secrecy. Claude was young and excitable, but he was loyal to a fault, and he wouldn’t even think of betraying his beloved brother. Joseph wasn’t even sure why he wanted to keep these dreams a secret, but all he knew is that they scared him. He knew this wasn’t his future but only because it felt too familiar, too real. Every fine detail was there, there were scars on his hands and puddles on the ground. The sky was a permanent stagnant grey.
He’d look out the window of their London flat and wonder if he and the monster in his dreams shared the same, dreary sky.
Eventually he became accustomed to these dreams. He did not necessarily enjoy them, but they went on for so long that eventually they simply became a part of his life. The only sign of their hold on him the dark circles permanently set under his eyes.
But still, Claude always asked him what he was dreaming about. Joseph never knew how to answer anymore. He didn’t really know what he was dreaming about either. But he always made sure he hugged his twin a little tighter after a certain one of those dreams kept repeating itself.
Claude was nowhere to be found.
Joseph had been so delirious just a few days ago, fever stricken and covered head to toe in a raging red rash. The nurses thought he couldn’t hear them and had been whispering about how everyone had warned their mother that twins would only bring trouble…
Joseph had recovered if only to spite the nurses whispering about his imminent death and as soon as he was able, he jumped out of bed and stumbled down the halls of their new home, checking every room for a sign of his brother.
But Claude was absent.
The nurses said they had Scarlet Fever. They’d only told him after he showed signs of getting better. They told him he needed to rest and to avoid scratching the fading rashes around his body but where was his brother? Where was Claude? Why weren’t they answering?
He felt something inside of him about to break, it was like he was getting sick all over again. He knew that Claude had it too, he had heard them say that Claude had it too, so why wasn’t Claude still here? Where could he have gone? Had he recovered early and gone to stay with Maman and Papa?
It was a possibility but thinking about it made his chest hurt even worse because he knew Claude would never leave without him. Claude would never leave him.
He felt someone grab him by the shoulder. He turned round expecting his brother. He found a nurse instead.
He listened to her intently. She told him where his brother was in a few simple words and all he could do was stare at her blankly. She said it again and the boy remembered the boat his family had arrived on. He remembered how it lurched and shook with the waves and that in these moments his mind felt like a boat battered by the ocean. He fell to his knees, he struggled to breathe, and just a single thought echoed in his mind, over and over and over again.
He left me behind. He left me behind. He left me behind.
The nose in his painting was too sharp, Claude’s features had always been sharper than his own.
“But were they really? His eyes were lighter than your own weren’t they?” A traitorous voice questioned in the back of his mind.
He stared at the painting and then the mirror just past it.
When he was a child his reflection used to comfort him. But as he grew older and older he grew farther and farther away from the Claude in his mind. He tried to paint him as if he were still alive but he lacked a model. The best he could use was his own image and paint Claude’s face as best he could.
But in the end it was only a self-portrait.
Another fucking self-portrait.
He gripped the painting in anger, he felt the slick oil paint cover his sleeves and his hands and he didn’t care because he needed to get this painting out of his sight. He didn’t even realize he was screaming until hours later his neighbor knocked on the door to ask if he was alright.
Why am I still alive? Why am I still alive? Why am I still alive?
Photographs always preserved things as they were and that’s why he believed he had always been drawn to them. A photo couldn’t lie like a painting could.
Pictures of the most mundane things lined the walls of his flat but only because he’d learned young that nothing in life could be taken for granted.
The largest picture was of his parents. Just like Claude they’d left him behind but it didn’t hurt as much anymore. So many had passed, so many things had changed throughout the course of his life.
If only the world could stay as still as the photographs surrounding him.
And suddenly he was a child again, the sheets were too hot and where was his brother, if only he could find someone, anyone he knew, something familiar he could hold onto. If only the nurses would stop moving and if the wind could stop blowing it needed to stop he needed it all to stop, it was too hot, everything was too hot, he couldn’t speak, his throat was swollen shut, he was trapped in his own mind, violently coughing, throwing up into a bucket over and over again, this endless loop, this cycle of grief, if only it could end if it could stop he needed it to stop, just sto-
The sound of glass shattering yanked Joseph from his dream, his sheets were damp and his brow was slick with sweat.
It was this dream that bothered him the most. The reflection in the mirror looked a little too familiar for his liking and the details were always crisp. He could feel the oil paint coating his hands and the rashes covering his body-
He was pulled out of his memories and into the present by hearing another object smack into what sounded like the door to their apartment.
Concerning.
Joseph swung his legs over the bed and slipped into a pair of slippers haphazardly thrown onto the rug.
He absentmindedly noticed that the bed next to his own was empty, the pale blue sheets matching his own still messy and unmade.
Sharing a room with his brother as an adult wasn’t exactly the most ideal situation, but at the very least it wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. The two had grown up side by side and the one bedroom apartment they were currently living in was the cheapest option they could afford on their own.
Still, the apartment was structurally sound, and it was in a relatively safe part of town. As safe as London could be anyway.
He stepped into their small kitchen where Claude was eating cereal and casually scrolling through his phone. Joseph’s teal mug sat across from him, already filled with coffee.
“Oh hey, you’re finally up,” Claude continued to scroll through his phone and remarked “It’s gonna rain all week, it’s gonna be a shit time to take pictures.”
Joseph couldn’t help but sigh in frustration.
The boys and their family had been born in France and emigrated to England when the twins were 12. The move was necessary but a childhood full of beautiful weather and rolling hills were never truly forgotten.
Both of them had seriously considered moving back to France once they had moved out of their parent’s house but for some reason Joseph himself had decided against it.
Something kept him here.
The sky was so dull, grey and seemingly static. He thought the ever changing sky could be his respite but it seemed like even the clouds stayed the same.
“You comfy standing there mate?”
Claude turned to him with his signature smirk.
He and his brother were identical to most but Joseph knew the small differences between them. Their hair was an identical shade of strawberry blonde and they were both in the process of growing it out. However, Claude’s hair was still an inch or two shorter, just barely hitting the top of his shoulder blades. His eyes were darker than Joseph’s too. Claude’s eyes were a dark grey rather than Joseph’s own bright sky blue. But Claude had played several different sports throughout their childhood while Joseph abandoned fencing after discovering his passion for the arts. Because of this, Claude had a much more athletic build than his brother. Joseph was slimmer, with a thin waist and delicate hands, the hands of a painter.
Claude’s features were just the slightest bit rounder than Joseph’s own and Joseph had a tendency to freckle under the bright sun. His twin had a scar on his arm from a bike accident when they were teens and Joseph had a small birthmark under his ear. Joseph’s french accent was still thicker than his brother’s who spent his childhood in France watching British television.
But only the Desaulniers family themselves had ever bothered to know these small differences.
“Claude, did you hear any banging in the hall?”
Claude gave a muffled response in English but Joseph was already halfway to opening the door. Claude then swallowed his cereal and tried again, stopping Joseph in his tracks.
“Yeah, it’s our new neighbor. Clumsy as fuck apparently.”
Joseph rolled his eyes again.
New neighbors were always a pain. It was usually some college kid who thought they could throw a party in a one bedroom flat and nobody would notice. It seemed whoever their new neighbor was, they were already hell bent on disturbing the brothers’ peaceful lives.
He retreated back towards the kitchen, the frown on his face becoming more pronounced as he looked outside of the small window above their sink.
“It’s raining ropes out there.”
The twin then proceeded to slump into the chair across from his brother, who had since put down the phone but was still slowly chewing on cereal. Joseph looked around the kitchen, seemingly looking for something to eat for breakfast when Claude suddenly cut in “You know that idiom doesn’t translate right?”
Joseph’s nose scrunched up slightly and he scoffed before retorting “Oh yeah? So what is it then?” he leaned back in his chair, haughtily crossing his arms.
Claude’s already present smirk grew a little wider before he replied
“In English you’re supposed to say it’s raining cats and dogs.”
Joseph rolled his eyes into the back of his head while Claude chuckled into his cereal.
“Claude,” Joseph gave his brother a hard look, which was only making his twin brother laugh even harder “you’re joking right?”
Claude shook his head while replying “unfortunately, no.”
Joseph rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that morning.
He’d been awake for five minutes and already he wanted to go back to sleep.
His brother got up to wash his bowl while he shrugged nonchalantly
“You said you wanted to practice mon petite monstre. ”
Joseph had a retort on the tip of his tongue but instead he was interrupted by yet another crash outside. However, this crash was worse than the ones right before it, and judging by how loud the thud was, it seemed their new neighbor had fallen alongside his boxes. A faint voice followed the crash but Joseph couldn’t make out the specific words. All he could discern was the deeper tone and some kind of accent.
He looked down and remembered his brother had made him coffee. He moved to finally take a sip.
“Should we do something about that?”
Joseph closed his eyes and continued to drink his coffee
“Like go help them? We could go help them.”
The coffee rushed down his throat, dark and bitter. Black coffee, just the way he liked it.
“Joe, I’m gonna break the coffee maker if you keep ignoring me”
Joseph gently set his mug back onto the table, turning the handle towards his seat. He replied very simply.
“Call me Joe one more time and I’ll break you.”
Claude gave a gentle chortle and shook his head before going back to washing his dish. Joseph picked up his coffee cup once more and stared at the door.
The apartment was close to their local university and while they’d lived in the dorms for their first four years, they’d recently moved out for grad school. Because of this, it was furnished simply. The brothers had spent the day at IKEA and then subsequently spent 3 weeks building the furniture. Joseph himself had built most of the furniture, Claude’s clumsiness meant he was forced to stand aside and hand Joseph his screwdrivers. The couch, coffee table and TV stand were all mismatched. The brothers prioritized cheap furniture over matching furniture. This apartment was just a pit stop on the way to their futures and neither of them planned on taking the furniture with them on the way to their next destination.
The complex was filled with college students, moving in and out in an ever moving cycle and yet despite the fact they’d only lived there a year Joseph still felt stagnant.
Even the grass stood still. His steps, the only noise. The only blot of color in a colorless world. He was moving- clearly moving- so why did he feel so still, so lifeless?
Another bang.
Joseph slammed the empty coffee mug onto the table and shouted, “God fucking DAMN IT! ” The sudden shout echoed around the tiny apartment and the table nearly tipped over from Joseph’s sudden movement. He huffed loudly and began to stand up. Began to rush towards the door and give this new neighbor a piece of his mind. His Claude reached for him.
“Joseph, no, you’re clearly not feeling well, don’t take that out on some 18 year old.” He grabbed onto his brother’s shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze before quietly adding, “do you want to talk?”
Joseph took a deep breath, he felt his brother’s hand gripping his shoulder, biting into him, grounding him in reality. Claude was here, the dreams were just dreams and he was fine. He wasn’t alone, his brother was here. And he was fine.
“No, I’m okay. Sorry. I’m gonna go see if they need help or something.”
Claude hesitantly let go of him and stepped back silently. He opened his eyes and moved from the spot Claude had held him in. He took a step into the hallway and leaned on his door waiting for their new neighbor to show themselves.
His brother usually dealt with the social aspect of living in a small college apartment complex. Joseph was the one who told the neighbors to shut up at 2 in the morning but Claude was the one who said good morning and made pointless small talk. Whenever he walked around alone, people thought they were the same person and Joseph was usually too busy to correct them. The kid who lived across from them before hadn’t realized two people lived across from her until 2 weeks before she moved out.
Suddenly, subtle tapping filled the hall and a young girl with big glasses walked down the hall with boxes in her arms and a white cane tapping up and down.
Oh god.
He remembered his outburst from earlier and felt sick to his stomach.
She was dressed in a simple blue dress with short curly red hair. He observed how she consistently tapped her cane up and down up and down methodically checking to see if anyone was in her way. As she came closer he noticed her eyes were a normal looking shade of brown, though they darted around rather quickly as if she was merely observing rather than actually looking.
He stayed quiet and just observed until her cane eventually hit his foot and she stopped quickly, nearly falling over.
“Aesop? I thought you were inside,” her face scrunched up in confusion.
Joseph stood up a little straighter. Her voice was soft and light, Claude was right, she couldn’t have been any older than 18
“Uh, no. Hi, I’m your neighbor.”
The girl perked up and her confused expression changed into a bright smile
“Oh! Hello! I’m so sorry! I’d shake your hand but I’m a little occupied right now. I’m Helena though, it’s nice to meet you!”
Her bright smile and cheery disposition reminded Joseph why he usually chose not to interact with people.
“I’m Joseph.” Helena’s expression began to shift slowly as he continued “I heard banging and just wanted to check if you were alright?”
Suddenly the young girl’s demeanor shifted completely, her chipper smile had dropped and she looked ahead with wide unsettled eyes.
A little girl running around his world marveling over the colors she could finally see. She told him she hadn’t seen them in years. It was the first time he felt someone could truly understand the beauty of what he had been trying to create.
“Have we met before?” came out of Joseph’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying. Of course he had never met her before. He would remember if he had met a blind child before this moment and yet...Something struck him as familiar, something in the curve of her smile... the softness of her face, something about her felt like he had seen her a million times before.
Helena stammered and he thought she would answer but eventually she simply fell silent.
He knew she couldn’t see him so why did it feel like she was looking straight into his soul.
“I’m sorry, I clearly offended you, I’m just going-” He began but he trailed off as he watched her slowly lift her hand. Her mouth was just the slightest bit open as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. He began to open the door to go back inside and finally she spoke once more
“Can I touch your face?”
What.
She couldn't see how confused he was but it was clearly palpable in the air as she began to clarify her statement
“You remind me of someone I know! That’s all, and I just wanted to check but uhhh...I just forget that people don’t really do the whole face touching thing anymore but the guy you remind me of, he was a friend of my friend...So Come inside! My friend Aesop is helping me move in! He could just tell me and that way I don’t have to touch you and stuff-”
“I don’t mind.”
Joseph didn’t know why he had said that. He barely even let Claude touch him and yet that strange voice in the back of his head egged him on and told him to let her.
She looked just past him wordlessly but nodded her head in understanding as she slowly lifted her hand upwards and placed it on his cheek. Her soft hand slid up towards his temple.
Nobody had touched him in so long. Her small hands were warmer than he thought they’d be as they gently patted around his face. They rested softly on his cheekbones.
“There.”
She spoke and her voice was light and soft and way too young to be anywhere near this manor.
His eyebrows furrowed and she began to explain
“My teacher taught me how to do this, she said it’d help me learn how to tell people apart. I touch their face and memorize their features...But if I’m being honest it doesn’t ever work like that for me. Most of the time I can only feel the texture of their skin.”
Joseph was bent at the waist leaning down for her to reach him but he noticed how she struggled with reaching the top part of his face. He bent his knees slightly, lowering himself to a place where she would no longer have to reach up.
She smiled at him softly and continued to speak.
“But I figured out my own way. Sometimes people have really defining features. Like their nose or their eyes or something unique in the bones of their face. I just taught myself to look for that special feature that makes them one of a kind!”
One of a kind.
He stepped back in a daze.
One of a kind.
Her little hand fell limply and she staggered forwards, surprised by his sudden movement.
One of a kind.
The photographer swung his sword blindly, without thinking, in a rage. He never apologized, none of them ever did because there was no consequence and nothing mattered.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Joseph pulled back suddenly, he couldn’t look at her anymore. He didn’t know why but he felt nauseous and light headed and his hand quickly twisted the door knob behind him. He could hear her make a faint protest but he could no longer make out the words.
Claude was sitting with his laptop and school book all spread out across the table. He had changed out of his pajamas but he still looked up at his brother with the same amused expression as he sardonically asked his brother,
“Was interacting with our new neighbor that bad?”
Joseph shook his head as he quietly replied in a shaky voice
“Please remind me never to talk to anyone ever again.”