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Oh how the heart beats.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Jack agreed.
They ran through the flowers. Blue, white, and butter yellow. Simon let out small songs of pure joy, and Jack never heard sweeter music. He was always an angel in the choir, sure he could sing in perfect C-sharp. But Simon could awaken doves with his laughter—genuine and kind. Cathedrals were blessed from his voice, never Jack’s. His eyebrow twitched.
“Can’t believe we’ve managed to find a garden in this heap of garbage.”
“Should we tell the others?” Simon turned to him, the erupt pause in his serenade irritated Jack to no end. Couldn’t he wait until after he was done? Why did he have to say anything. Eager to let it go, he shook his head.
“No.” Jack grunted. “Let it just be us.”
Simon closed his eyes, lashes dark against his freckled pale cheeks. He always let Jack get what he wanted, now was no different. He opened his mouth, lips parted in gentle verse, and Jack shut his eyes. His skinny body sank into the flowers with a light sigh.
I’d wake up when it’s night, he knew.
The sleep he drifted to was his way of saying, that Simon had the most beautiful voice of all.
The others were gone again. How he keeps getting so lucky, only god knows. After, the time, Jack became addicted to his touch, his scent, fresh mint and rain, the white moon shape of his nails. How they scraped face paint on his cheek, he hasn’t washed the piece yet.
Jack kicked up the water, clear and teal. Droplets trickled down Simon’s pink dusted fingertips, the blush in his palms bright. Nails miraculously clean dispute the mud, dirt, and sand in every corner of the universe. Blue eyes flickered down to the bends of his knees, red from constantly fainting.
I wish I could pick you up. Every time.
But Jack couldn’t. What would the choir say? If he was as rushed and sentimental as them? Panicking at Simon’s side, while the boy himself was gone from the world? Frilly, weak Jack, they’d shout. You’re a sap, you’re , you’re…
You’re in love with the fainter.
“Jack?”
A innocent calling for the boy named Jack rang true in the forest. Too quiet to wake the island.
“Jack…” Simon bent down in the sand, shells gathered near his feet, a tiny crab crossed over his feet.
“Leave me alone.” The blonde demanded. A strict reckoning, Simon was supposed to…no…had no choice but to follow. Jack said, and Simon did. That was what they were. Except that was all wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong and it drove Jack to insanity.
Simon sat down. The blond hairs on his calves raised, Jack could hear his heart, deep and shallow in that pearl ribcage. He wanted to tear it open, and squeeze the heart until it bled, then shallow it whole. The waves drew back and kissed the shore, Jack cursed himself for the stupid metaphor.
“What’s bothering you,” Simon rested his chin on his knees. “I know something is.”
“Why do you always have to be so understanding.” He huffed, and crossed his arms in exhausted aroroagnce . “We cannot all be as sweet as you.”
Like nectar.
Simon hummed. It carried down in a cold shiver down Jack’s spine.
“Damn you.” Jack chuckled under his breath.
Simon’s gaze fell upon him, the onyx face paint shielded Jack from the beauty that was his friend. If Simon could break past the walls he put up, then he’d break down and all would see his troubles. His weakness. Pig’s blood stained his face in a monstrous rouge, the makeup stains trailed down to his lips, a constant dark snarl. His entire face was a horrid maroon. Hideous, terrifying. Ugly.
Past that he’s a smooth boy.
“Here,” Simon offered.
It was too late.
Fingers were brushing against the skin that stretched across his face, Jack’s breath hitched in his stomach, his blood pulsed in his ears, drums bulleted in his head. The world began to smell of flowers, stupid flowers. The colors were shifting, makeup was wiped, Simon smiled at his work, that ethereal glint in his eyes brighter than the silver lining in the clouds above. He was being cleansed, from the inside out. Hands spread away the grime that infected the depths of Jacks’s feral soul.
I hate this, Jack repeated in a useless mantra. I hate…
He’d never hate Simon. Even that was past his borders. No one can see this.
“There.” Simon’s glass eyes reflected Jack’s reluctant stare. “Now you are a true worried warrior.”
A glorious chime clinked all around them, his laugh.
Agony rose rapidly at the softness he knew his face melted into.
The diary.
‘Silly Little Boy’ were the words. That sick man implanted hurt into Simon’s frail heart. Bruises upon bruises, chains that cannot be broken. ‘Silly Little Boy,’ who he planted poisonous affection to. Simon was everything but a silly little boy. That damned rat knew it. He forced his Simon into a rusted cage, and still punished him for not singing. Dirty bastard.
Jack fists choked something, hard and brittle, he glances down. A broken shell, and eyestalks that held no life. Whatever.
“Why do you let other people hurt you Simon…you know you don’t deserve it.”
A small breath, a struck of the harp. “I don’t think they mean too. People make mistakes,” he whispered.
“Sure, but if they do it over and over, doesn’t that count?”
Simon stared out to sea, ocean eyes captivated by something that was never there. “You hurt me all the time,” he said, “but you never mean to.”
“You…” The words felt empty, hollow in his throat. He’s a failure. He hurt Simon, he’s disgusting, he deserves nothing. What has he done—he’s a ugly faced monster—frail—dirty, he’s not a warrior.
He’ll never say sorry. So he asks Simon to sing him a song instead, a beautiful song it was indeed. Something his father could never imit
When he’s done. Simon puckers his lips in a straight line. “It’s been so long since I’ve hit a note, so high.” It’s the most words he’s spoken in the past hour.
“For a soprano? Hardly.” Jack scoffed. A bird caws in the distance.
Why is he smiling? He need to know, to lock the key and handle the reasons forever.
“You remember.” Is all he says.
Simon ran. It was not enough.
“Come out you beast! We aren’t afraid of you!”
The wilderness called a name twice, and only one answered. Simon’s cries sounded like heaven on earth, his vocal chords forced out a song of fear. Of hope for survival. For all of them.
The hoard of hunters mashed their teeth, spears high in the air. Who knows what could be struck in this void.
Crickets. A buzzard sniffs the air hungrily. Why is it so quiet.
Simon was dead. That corpse had his face. The flies gathered around the open gash that punctured its meaty head, maggots ate its silent heart, squishy eggs laid in the scoops of his eyelids. It did not sing. This beast did not sing. Sprouts held its body above the dirt, worms, the worms were all that was left. Long, pink, not like the palms of the prey, that was the yellow of cottage cheese. Wrists, slashes revealed blue and red veins, intertwined into broken wire. There were no flowers here.
“Ah.” Jack shoved away the flies, their buzz intoxicated his mind. “You…You…You beast.” He saunters over.
“He…It’s done….” Razor white teeth cracked in a smile, his dimples held up his grin, Jack growled down at the prey. “I did it!” He shouted with victorious glee, “I won!” The chorus of his men cheered and beat their chests, again, and again. Drool pooled on his tongue, voice raw from his screams. “I am a warrior!” Flickers of spit landed on the beast’s gaping maw, a kiss. Jack poured it into his hunger, dug his teeth into the beast's lips. He can’t stop smiling.
He’s not weak.
And beasts do not sing.