A Sign for Suicide
Fear. In itself, a strong emotion, but when driven under the context of a wounded heart, fear, becomes earth shattering. For just as there are those in this world who would wage war for the sake of loving another, there are those who would choose also to die for it.
Light bars strummed a piano so that it might play to tune of a soft harmony, before resonating in an echo through a collection of flashing lights, and images only perceived to the eye of its beholder, all in an attempt to find peace. - He did not. In this unease, harsh fingers drove down the keys and he released a roar of impatience. "Bloody hell! Why can I not relax!? Why do you insist on keeping me the hell awake!?"
The soft meow drew his attention to the corner. A mere kitten, tigered in its color, with yellow eyes peering back, and as he stare its lids seemed to temper as if mocking him. "Oh, shut up." He commanded the cat, and yet, it meow again before stretching out its rear leg, and proceeding to lick itself. So the man took a book from the mantle before him, and threw it down to the floor infront of the cat, with a harsh thud, that caused it to arch its back, and let out a low hiss, before it scurry away. And he watch it off, before digging into his pocket where he had a fresh pack of cigarettes, and a lighter, he tapped the pack against his knee, then twist away the plastic, simply chucking it to the side where it floated down into one of three waste bins, only litered with these plastic wraps. And he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it, allowing the menthol to burn the rear of his tongue before inhailing, but then he was off-set by the sound of a clanged chime from the old clock to his rear, and this, gave him an uneasy feeling he was all to familiar with, though this time its results would be much different.
As he turn his head, and blue embers peered beneath shades of raven black and gray strands of hair, he took in this common distortion. The clock chiming as it melted away, causing the darkness to attack his senses, the hands of the clock as they melt folded into a particularly strange symbolism, this symbol found on scattered pieces of paper throughout the room as it enveloped in darkness, suggested that this was indeed, a deep part to his madness. Where in, normally he would curl himself into a ball, rocking, and try, so very hard to discredit that which he was seeing.
But tonight, his nerves were wracked until one could only imagine them as overdriven fiberwire, where the slightest twinge, would set him on edge, and rather than fearfuly evading this darkness, he sprung toward it, his heels heavy as they beat the floor. And the symbol adjusted in its height until it was at hand level, where he grasped it, and this time twist, and pull violently, hollaring through the shadows of the doorway. "What do you want from me!?" "Ahhh!" A brief glimpse of strands of red hair rushing through the wind was all he managed to see before he could hear a high pitched screaming, and while unknownst to him, embers of orange and blue melted a trail beneath his heels as he stepped forward from behind the black door, to an almost etheric prison of ice, and he stare over the edge, all the while the red haired woman beg he show mercy. "Please, pull me up."
And as he stare beyond the edge of this fresh hell. It seemed as though they were rivaled in height to stars themselves, the moon, never closer, the ground, never further away. "That looks like solid concrete below to me. Not a bad way to commit suicide, but, the few seconds before you hit the ground, would be of great discomfort, girl." He said, before finally grasping her by the collar of her shirt, and yanking with an aggression that flung her back up and to her feet in one steady motion, then she rubbed at the sore tag of raw skin around her neck and cough as she mutter. "Excuse me!?"
"Be you human, fairy, or figment. It does not take a genius to figure out, what a young lady would be doing at the edge of a state of perdition, alone, close enough that a slight spook, might yet toss her over the edge."
"Oh, you think you're so smart!"
"Smart enough, that I not gesture suicides, where in my last thoughts would be, why the hell did I jump!? No. Rather I would bleed out, and lose all sanity of my last moments, should my need arise, thank you."
She had continued in attempt to bicker back, but with his task complete, he believed himself free, and returned to the archway where he could already see the light shifting back to its original state, so he simply passed back through, then, he close his eyes, with some hope that once they open, he would find himself dreaming.
"What are you, huh? Some kind of hero, just show up at the last moment, to let me know that I've made a terrible mistake, and then leave!?" This voice, brought him such a great pain that lingered below his left shoulder in a dull throb. As it was coming from inside his home. His space. "I assure you. I am no hero, from the mouth of a doctor, take my word, that, that which saves you, is but a miracle of trial and error, thus, it is a surprise we all live at all. Now, if you would be so kind, as to leave me the hell alone!"
This woman felt an intense rush from her beating heart in the way his tone had shifted with his parting words, nearly drawing her to tears, but, as she turned she could only see the clock. "Believe me, I would if I could."
A heavy sigh emitted, his head cocked, and he could too see the clock. "I'm losing my damned mind, strolling into insanity, so that I could carry back its fodder, with me." "Hey, you prick, I'm right here!" "I apologize.." He muttered, before he move back to the bench infront of his piano, taking a seat and sighing as he brush his palms against his cheeks, then passed them up through his hair. And when he could feel a soft carress against the skin at the back of his neck, he thought, that he might do what he would always do, if he were to be touched, especially behind, and panic but instead, it strangely brought him a sense of comfort, as it was no doubt intended.
"I really am, right here, I'm not sure what is going on either, doctor. But, my name is Mary Elizabeth Rae, but I prefer just Rae, and you are not crazy." "Tristan.." Uncertain of words to respond with, beyond introduction. Tristan turned his attention fully toward Rae, staring into her hazel eyes, but then, as his gaze widend, he captured the presence of the symbol once adorned the black door, as it hung from a chain, around the womans neck. "What is that?" "Hum?" "Around your neck, Rae, what is that?" "This?" She questioned, pushing it out toward him with his thumb, and watching as he inspected it so wildly, as though it became the only thing in the room for a moment.
And Rae let out a deep sigh. "It is but one instrument of my torture, a symbol skewed throughout a kingdom I never feel a part of, but my mother, she revels in it. If you want it, please, yank the damn thing from around my neck." The very offer, tempted Tristan, and he placed his hand around it, but as his grip tensed, he felt an electrical pulse surge through his finger tips that force him to release it, and she only shook her head.
This time, however, Tristan noticed more the look of disappointment in the girl, than the object around her, and his head tilted from one side, to the other, then he arch to peer into her eyes. "I did not mean, to offend ma'dam. You see." He pointed his finger to the collection of sketches and drawings scattered about the table to their right. "This has been a sort of instrument of my torture aswell." And with this, Tristan went on to explain to Rae about the strange visions, how they cursed him each and every night, for the last three months, at almost the exact same time, and then his brows furled strangely when her only response was to mutter. "Weird."
"Gee, do you think?" "No. I mean, it's weird because every night, for the last three months, since finding out I am to be handed off to one of mothers toys. I've stood over the edge of the palace, at midnight, and contemplated jumping to my death."