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It was dark. Just a ways out of the city, on a long stretch of highway, was a single bench with a street light beside it. The light occasionally flickered on and off. A long time ago it had probably been a bus stop, but now it was just a bench and a light. Every twenty minutes or so a car would drive down the long, dark highway, away from civilization and into the barren world beyond.
Here, just outside of the city, sitting on the old bench, was a man dressed in black with dark black hair to match. His eyes remained on the newspaper in his hands, face buried in it as he read it, the words illuminated by the dull streetlight. Above him, the faintest glimmer of starlight could be seen, and there was silence all around.
Then, the silence was cut through with the sound of footsteps. Quiet, barely-there footsteps, made audible only because no other sound was there to cover them. The man on the bench did not look up from his paper, but he heard the sound of another person sit beside him on the bench, and listened to the long, quiet sigh that escaped his lips.
“You’re far from home.” said the man reading the paper. He glanced to the stranger only briefly, fast enough that he saw nothing but strawberry gold hair.
“Well, so’re you.” said the stranger evenly, the way his breath hitched a bit as if holding back a sob the only thing that betrayed the calm tone of his voice.
The man with the dark hair gave a nod at that, a smile finding his lips for only a moment. “I s’pose so. I come out here a lot, though. I’ve never seen you out here before.” This stranger’s voice was higher and softer than his, and the dark haired man assumed he was younger than himself, which made his presence even more strange.
The golden stranger nodded. “I just had to leave.”
“Leave where?”
The dark haired man could practically feel the other’s quizzical gaze, so he looked up again, for a moment, to see deep, dark brown eyes. Long, golden lashes gracefully brushed against pale cheeks as he blinked, and the man looked back down at his paper.
“Dunno.” the golden boy finally said. “Heaven? Hell? Something like that.”
The dark haired man chuckled a bit, amused by the words, but noticing still the slight, barely-there tremble in the other’s voice that showed how thinly veiled his anguish was. “How do you figure that?” he asked. “Can’t you tell the difference between Heaven and Hell?”
He could see the golden boy shrug from the corner of his eye. “Not particularly. They’re the same, really, once you think it over. Either way, you’re stuck there forever. You’ve reached the end of the line and now you’re at a stopping point, and nothing ever changes after that. You’re just done.” A very soft breath left him. “You pretend you’re working towards something when you’re alive. You act like you’re preparing, doing good to get to heaven, hoping karma or fate or God or whatever it is that scares you the most doesn’t fuck you over. But then really, how does it matter, whether you’re in Heaven or Hell, by the end? If you live in a perfect world, you’ll never realize it’s perfect, because you’ve nothing to compare it to. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Heaven and Hell, really.”
The man with the dark hair did not say anything. A single car drove past on the long stretch of empty highway. Then the golden stranger let out a very quiet laugh. “Have you ever missed someone so much that you thought you were going mad?”
“Hasn’t everyone?”
“No, not like this.” The golden stranger shook his head. “I mean, really mad. Like your mind is closing in on itself, and you’re just fading away. Like you’re a prisoner of your own body. While it goes about its usual activities, talking and eating and sleeping and what-not, you’re curled up, alone, in the darkest corners of your own brain. Sobbing, trembling, decaying. And every day, you feel hope leave you, you feel the longing you felt at first, when you first started to miss them, start to fade. And it’s replaced with this pit. It leaves a hole in you and it just grows bigger and bigger, until you can’t do anything but hide in that little corner, because one wrong move and you fall in the pit and die.”
The dark haired man was silent again. “I don’t know if I know that feeling,” he finally said softly. “I’m sorry.”
From the corner of his eye the dark haired man could see the golden stranger shake his head again. “It’s alright. Most people probably don’t.” Silence fell for a moment. No cars passed this time. The highway was empty and there was no sound but the gentle breathing of both people, sitting there side by side. Then, very softly, so quietly that even in the silence of the night it could barely be heard, the golden boy mumbled, “His name was Rick.”
The dark haired man turned to the next page of the newspaper. There was an article on how to keep flowers well-watered during the dry season.
“I s’ppose it’s my fault, though. When you give yourself to someone that much… when you can’t survive without them. That’s your own fault, not theirs.” The boy hummed softly. “Do you have a name?”
“Simon. You?”
“Name? Mm, not anymore.”
Simon, the man with the dark hair and newspaper, only glanced up at that because of how very odd those words were. The golden boy’s eyes were on the ground, staring at his own feet and the dirt beneath. Somewhere, far off in the city, the sound of a car screeching and loud, angry honking could be heard, but it was muffled by the distance that it had to travel to reach Simon’s ears, and he did not even flinch as a loud crashing noise followed.
Simon went back to his paper.
The golden, nameless stranger was humming again, a very slow, quiet tune that Simon did not recognize. He wondered vaguely if he had made it up himself. Simon asked awkwardly, “Do you have plans tomorrow? It’s pretty late. Aren’t you still in school?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“I wasn’t.” Simon felt his cheeks redden a bit, worried he had offended the boy. He really was just a boy. He was too young to be out here, late at night, all alone. “I was just curious. It’s late even for someone my age.”
“You’re not that much older than me, Simon.” the boy let out a soft huff, and Simon almost smiled, almost found it amusing, or even endearing. But he knew this wasn’t the time. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, that’s what matters. No one would care if anything happened anyway.”
Simon shook his head at that. He kept his eyes on the paper. A deep sinking feeling, one of great empathy, filled his chest. He knew that feeling. He knew the hopelessness that went with it. And he took in a deep breath before saying, “That isn’t true. I’m sure people would care.”
“Not really.” the boy replied. “They would act like they did. But they wouldn’t really. Because there are, what, seven billion people on this planet now? People like to spew this bullshit about how everyone matters, but that’s a bloody lie. Because the moment you’re dead you’re replaced with ten more people and everyone is telling them that they matter, that they’re important, that people will care when they’re gone. But then, after awhile, they’ll be forgotten too. That’s the way the world is.”
There was another feeling rising in Simon, pushing through the empathy and the guilt and the sadness and forcing its way on top. He clutched the paper tighter in his hands. “How can you say that?” he asked. “And simultaneously say you miss someone? How can you go on about missing someone so much and then say your life doesn’t matter?”
“Well, I said it was my fault, didn’t I?” The boy chuckled bitterly, and Simon glanced to him long enough to see him put his face in his hands and breathe out a long, slow sigh. “Rick’s no different than anyone else. That’s the problem. I can go on about missing him all I want, I can talk about the pain, the madness, but then, I’ll be gone soon, and then… then what? No one will remember him. No one will remember his name. No one will know who he was, all of the things he said to me, all of the things we did together. It will all be lost, and in a few years he’ll have faded out of existence. It’s a flaw in humanity, my missing him like I do. Just because I miss him doesn’t mean he or I or anyone else is important in the grand scheme of things.”
Simon tasted blood and became aware of the fact that he was biting down hard on his own lower lip. He ran his tongue across it gently, wincing a bit. His mind was racing, memories of his own past, of his own emptiness, fresh in his mind. But it did not come together coherently. There were no specific memories that his mind jumped to, but rather his thoughts spun together in a whirl of all of the negativity, all of the fear and loneliness and anger that had been there his whole life.
And he didn’t know anything about this stranger, this young, hurt boy with golden hair and long lashes, but he wanted to protect him. From the world, from his own thoughts, from himself. From everything.
“Go home.”
Simon’s voice came out too loud. The silence around them accentuated his voice, made it louder than it was. Everything went still. The light stopped flickering, and then went out altogether. They were left in darkness now save for the the stars above them, dim and still and lazily, blandly painting the night sky with tiny flecks of white that no one was around to see. Something very, very small, a lizard or a mouse, scurried across the highway, but neither people paid any attention to it.
“What?” the golden boy’s tone was bitter, and it sounded so out of place on such a soft, gentle voice.
“Go home. Go back to wherever you came from and stay there.” Simon’s voice was cold now, and finally, he set his paper down and turned to look directly at the boy.
It was too dark to make out much but a silhouette and the faintest traces of color.
His hair was soft and golden red. His skin was pale and he had huge, dark eyes that gazed, confused, at Simon. His mouth was open just a bit, his eyebrows creased. Simon could swear that there were tears in his eyes, but perhaps his own eyes were just playing tricks on him in the darkness.
Simon drew in a breath that was uneven and shaky. Even in the darkness, those huge eyes were piercing him like a sword, gazing into him as if trying to expose every inch of him. “I mean it. Go home. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Who says I’m going to hurt myself?” the boy responded. Simon guessed he was about eighteen. He was too young to feel like this, Simon thought. He had too many years ahead of him to feel like this.
And in the back of his mind, Simon was reminded of another boy, a long time ago, with dark hair and pale skin, who wanted nothing more than to stop existing. And he let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I know exactly how you feel, but I know I’ve been lost before too. And I can’t let you-”
“Can’t let me? What are you, my mother?” The boy laughed bitterly. “You talk awfully high and mighty for an addict sitting alone in the dark in the middle of the night.” Simon’s brow furrowed at that, and his mouth opened as he began to ask how he knew, before the boy nodded towards his arm. While holding the newspaper a sleeve had fallen, exposing track marks beneath, and there was a cold, knowing look in the golden boy’s huge, dark eyes. Simon was too stunned with shame and surprise to wonder how the boy had noticed in the current darkness, and he wondered only briefly how long the marks had been visible. Perhaps the boy had noticed them before even sitting down beside him.
“You’re preaching about life while you throw your own away,” The boy laughed again, and it was an incredulous, frustrated laugh. “You don’t give a shit about yourself, you know if you keep that up you’ll die, don’t you? So why the hell’re you trying so hard to save some kid you’ve never met on death row?”
A long sigh escaped Simon’s lips. He was trembling just a bit, and there was a heavy, thick cloud of shame that had formed in his chest as if he had just breathed smoke. “You’re not on death row.”
“Aren’t I, though? I’ve sentenced myself to death. A fair punishment for my own inability to handle the world, I think.” The boy stood up. “Fuck yourself up all you want, but don’t act like you have any right preach about how bloody important life is if you don’t give a shit about your own.” Then, his eyebrows rose for a moment, and the sparkle in his eye made Simon realize that he had figured something out. “Oh. You see yourself in me, don’t you?”
“What?”
The boy’s words were softer now, but he had a sort of triumph in his tone as he said, “You think you and I are the same. You don’t want me to die because it would be like seeing yourself die. Is that right?” He snorted. “Don’t project yourself onto people you don’t know anything about. Don’t paint me as some sob story. Or at least, don’t act like my death is the saddest part of my story. My death will be a goddamn relief compared to what I've had to deal with.”
Simon swallowed hard. “Look, I- I wasn’t-” He took in a deep breath. “Please, don’t do anything.” He reached out into the darkness, towards the boy, and his fingers just barely skimmed the soft fabric of his jacket before the golden stranger stepped back, out of reach. In the darkness and with the new distance between them, Simon could not see the boy’s expression. “Just try to-”
“No!” The boy shook his head. “Shut up. Do you not realize my mind is made up? Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m dead, Simon. I’m already as good as fucking dead. All you’re doing is reminding me that no matter what I choose I’m going to make someone feel like shit.” He laughed bitterly. “Alive, I fucked up Rick’s life. Dead, I guess I fuck up yours. At least when I’m dead I’m fucking up a stranger and not the only person I ever cared about.”
The boy turned to walk away when Simon stood up too. He walked forward, and his footsteps sounded embarrassingly loud in the dark, silent night. The boy whipped around to face him. Simon could see his eyes, wide and confused, in the darkness. “What now?”
“Is there… Is there anything I can do?” Simon asked softly.
The boy snorted again. “No, didn’t I-”
Simon shook his head and cut him off with, “I mean it. What can I do for you? I’ll do anything.” He was shorter than him, this golden boy. Shorter and younger and so, so worn down by the world around him. Simon was reminded of sleeping in empty city streets late at night, completely alone, surrounded by nothing but his own thoughts and his own want for death. And he wasn’t sure if where he was now was better. He wasn’t sure if his life now, alive but constantly risking death, truly not caring about whether or not the outcome was life or death every time a needle pricked his skin, was any better. And for a moment he did not blame the stranger for wanting to die, because life suddenly seemed a hundred times worse than the cold certainty of death.
Wherever Simon’s thoughts were heading, they were forgotten as the boy said softly, “There isn’t anything you can do, no. I’m afraid I’m a lost cause. But, mm… take care, alright?” Simon could hear the change of tone from the anger that was there earlier. He sounded almost sympathetic, and it made Simon’s whole body ache with guilt, because he wasn’t the one who deserved sympathy. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening. I’ll be going now, just don’t worry about me, okay? You won’t be hearing from me again, so just… forget I ever existed.”
Once more, the stranger turned to leave. Simon let out a soft gasp, eyes going wide for a moment, and he called out, “Wait!” The boy turned with surprise once more. At that moment, the light flickered back on. For reasons unbeknownst to Simon he instantly closed his eyes before he could get a look at the golden boy’s face. Keeping his eyes shut, he asked, “Can I… Can I at least have your name?”
There was silence. Simon kept his eyes closed. If it had not been quiet enough to hear footsteps, he would have assumed the boy had walked away. But then, so, so softly, the boy chuckled.
“Kieren.”
Then Simon opened his eyes. The boy, Kieren, was walking away, his back turned to him. He was heading towards the city. His footsteps echoed through the silence as he walked slowly down the path beside the empty highway. Simon said nothing, but watched him as he grew smaller and smaller and darker and darker, further away, absorbed into the shadows of the night.
Then he was gone, completely out of sight, blanketed by the thick, silent, empty darkness. A single car drove down the highway, moving too fast, speeding down the blackness like it had somewhere important to be. Simon watched, hoping to see the headlights illuminate a figure up ahead, but he could not see anything but empty road.
Kieren was gone, and Simon was alone.
-end