The Man of Black and White

He was a perfect pencil sketched entity mindlessly staring at the crashing waves of the coast, and from the light of the plentiful stars and moon his platinum hair gave a dazzling glitter that could easily make the gemstone shine of the night sea envious. The burnish from the moonlit water reflected a jewel like sensation that spread endlessly in every direction, and made the nearby metropolis catch the pleasing virus.

He just stood there alone on the beach seeming as if he was waiting for someone close by, and close by someone was there standing afar on the boulevard near the ocean wishing to disturb him not. The tall man standing on the wide street looked down at his friend and saw what he has only seen in the man for the past years -colorless and insensible.

Black and white is what he could only see in the man, because the amethyst color in the man’s black suit could only be seen from a forward view along with his luscious ruby fabric neck tie. The rest was entirely bland. The black of the suit maintained most of the lack of color. The white came from his oxford he would not dress without and the gray tones from the metallic bracers around his arms that matched immaculately with his fine cut hair; his skin so deathly light that the shirt and his hair drained any lacking flesh color that was in existence.

He was not always so lacking. His character used to be one of highest achievement; one respected and looked upon. Even in his miserable condition some still look upon him as great for a reason that had brought him to the sandy coast. Ever sense when that reason occurred is when he started to alter and change, and appear in the city whenever he was the most in thought. It was not on the shore where the miserable deed happened, but he found that it was close enough to the place where he could easily recall the painful distorted memories.

The man on the boulevard stepped down from his brick paved perch onto the silky shoreline of what seemed like the ruins of his glorious city, even though it was still very prosperous, and with the first touch of the grains of sand his dove white shoes melted and fogged into the same moon-lit crystal mass below his feet. With every cautiously smooth step he let the sound of the shifting sand be the only factor allowing the knowledge of his presence. His footsteps seemed to make a small, pleasing symphony with the curling waves across the seaside until he ventured out onto the beach far enough to where he could root his feet and stand parallel with the man dressed in black, and for the first time in an unbearably long period the aqua tainted eyes of the tall sir once again glanced into the eyes of his companion.

They seemed different and foreign. What was once a brilliant golden color, in all its glory, faded and emaciated into a deathly dry tint of silver. There was no shine, no polish left even in the depths of their core. Even his pupils had no fiery passion, only what was left after a great fire -char and death. This made it difficult to believe that this lifeless beholder was the same joyful and gracious man everyone treasured and loved, and soon after the first seconds of his glance the man fixated his vision towards the sea in the same impassive manner as his silver haired friend.

What seemed like an eternity, the two gentlemen stood stationary like two blind men listening to the restless waves collapse under the star lit sky in perfect peace, until the man clad in the black suit spoke.

“Wallace?” The silver haired man questioned -in a whispering arid voice- the existence of the man accompanying him, still emotionlessly staring out into the deeply darkened water. The man appointed his acknowledgment by twisting his head to face his partner and replied to the shorter man, “Yes, Steven?”

And in a crooked distortion the shorter man gave off a tiny snigger, because he found his stupidity funny, and in a drowning voice said, “I am truly sorry. For a moment I had forgotten or maybe just deceived who you are. It has been so long you see, and my head hasn’t been on straight lately… I have been quit perplexed.”

“How so?” The taller gentleman asked in an interested manner, and again -after he finished speaking- a cocky chuckle came for the remains of the emotionless man. He could only stand there fastened to the spot baffled at his own words; looking for the most candid and blunt explanation possible.

“I guess I have been thinking too much.” The impassive man said in a brittle voice, and to further satisfy his curious friend he prolonged his flow of thoughts after a short pause, “Out of all honesty, Wallace, the truth is… I’m dying.”

In that instant, engulfed in the speaker’s alien thought, even the sea foam hue of the tall sir’s hair became gray in paralysis. His whole being petrified in a state where not even breath came from him; his idle stare gazed heavily upon the fatalistic man, and the reflection was the only achievement to paint a smile on the pallid skin on the death accused man’s face. The satisfaction of finally expressing his words to another human being was found through a blissful smile and expression that restored the wreck in the man and proved that there was still gold in his eyes and red in the core, but not long after, the gratifying smile started to gradually vanish until once again it was nothing; the same hopeless expression that only recently the man adopted.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, and it’s devouring my core. Even the words I speak now make no sense, make me feel like I-” The gray toned man said in horror of himself. Then, in a hiatus he began to thoroughly examine the features of his macabre seeming hands and finished his sentence saying, “have gone mad.”

The sensibility of a small child came upon the cowering frail man as his clutched hands quivered in self terror, and then in a scared panic he outraged into a motley of words that scrambled over the ocean air. Seconds after he spoke one sentence it was already being replaced with new untouched thoughts from the depths of his soul and almost entirely worn-out what was considered to be a restless mind. He was exhausting himself in a self-destructive way, and began to break down toward the end of his monologue.

“I question myself with stupid things, Wallace. Is this all real? Am I real? Am I alive?! Or is it something that my imagination makes to cover up what’s really there... nothing.” The man victim to internal suicide stopped speaking and swiftly grabbed the white and sea foam colored cloth of the shirt closest to his friend’s shoulders. Clenching the fabric with unbearable wrath he irately cried, “I might have breath, but I have been long dead! I want to feel alive, Wallace! I want to feel hurt! I need to bleed!”

The grip fastening himself to his friend’s shirt loosened, but had not entirely let go. Shortly after he started to weep so he covered his pathetic tears by bearing down his head against the chest of the calm gentleman.

“You know I can not harm you, Steven.” The down-to-earth man cooed as he released his companion’s hold of him.

“But, surely, I can try,” The taller sir said softly, and within inches of the other he gently pressed his lips against the other man’s finishing his statement whispering, “in some other way.”

What they both thought dried thin and died years before made an enigma spark inside the once weeping man. He could not grasp the fact he was still deeply loved by the man who was standing at his side on the shoreline sand, though he was very grateful that he could find such a loyal partner, and that made him feel sick and undeserving of the man’s affectionate care. In reaction he retracted away from the static that kept the two men together and began to shudder as if he was ill with the flu. Caring and tenderly, the other man ran his fingers through the flawless metallic strands of hair of his love. When, the tips of his pale fingers touched the back of the man’s head they began to slowly curl like the crashing waves close by, and in a happy unexpected aggressiveness he forcefully yanked the hair of his friend.

A short sharp wail of pain came from the harmed sir’s throat, and this made the aqua toned man withdraw his hand and let go of three strands of hair while genuinely laughing without a care in the world. The changed man was quite angered and bewildered because of his actions and in a cheerfully angered voice said, “Wa-Wallace! What is your explanation?!”

Without one word coming from the other gentleman’s mouth he understood his answer by simply recalling his past feelings.