Freefall
o15.
And so it had been another cold night, and many cold nights after that spent nursing his burnt eyelids. For a period, Ryan didn’t think he’d ever be able to see again. But his eyes did heal, and his heart hardened, and he was not that same little boy that he had once been. That scared little boy still came out to visit some times, but he never stayed for more than a day or so.
Ryan had become funny in that respect. He could be alone, and shaking, and so so afraid, and then… then that little boy would be gone. And in his stead there would be another little boy: one that had seen the world, one that knew what went on and didn’t pretend to not see it. He knew things, saw things that a little boy ought not to see. He knew things that some adults didn’t know. And he wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t shaking. But he would always be alone, even when standing on the busiest of street corners. He didn’t know why it happened, or when it was going to, but he knew it would.
He knew that he was broken, he knew that it was his fault, not hers. It would always be his fault, no matter if all he did was glance at the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was always his fault. He often wondered if there was something more out there. Something that didn’t involve the pain, and the torment, and the chilling feeling that was always present in your mind: that no matter what you do, or where you go, you will never be okay. You will never escape this.
---
He stares at the cement wall, picks out each groove, each bump and indent of its smooth surface, each flaw that sits, marring its beautiful skin. He reaches up, places a cool hand over one eye, remembers the time spend just willing it to open again. It had burned, like no other pain he’d ever felt. And, sitting there, he can’t help but laugh, for he can’t feel anything there anymore. Along with the skin, the coals had taken away the feeling in that region. Whatever pain had been dealt to them, they could suffer no more. They were lucky, he remarks, the words echoing off the emptiness inside his skull. His hand moves from his eye down to his heart, or where he supposed a heart ought to be. He couldn’t feel that either, really. Except for the tell tale beating that inevitably occurred, it was the same as his eyes. They were the lucky ones, the ones that no longer had to worry about feeling.
He shakes his head slowly, trying to loosen the cobwebs that had been built up inside of him over the years. He recalls the girl from the day before, the one who had cared to take notice of him, who had cared to just sit with him, not caring where he’d been, or what he’d done. The world needed more people like her, it occurred to him. Maybe then people wouldn’t be sick. Maybe then the world wouldn’t cry anymore. Yes, the world needed more people like the little girl that he’d encountered the day before, if only to sit with. If only to be near, for the sake of being next to someone.
He wonders what happened to Jesse. She must’ve made it out okay, she seemed smart like that: able to take care of herself. He knew she’d be okay. He just didn’t know if he’d see her again, like he desperately needed to. He needed to be near someone that cared, that didn’t want to pick him apart, didn’t want to prove him sick or not sick. He just needed to be cared for, sincerely cared for, without having to prove himself. He didn’t want to be good enough anymore…
Ryan had become funny in that respect. He could be alone, and shaking, and so so afraid, and then… then that little boy would be gone. And in his stead there would be another little boy: one that had seen the world, one that knew what went on and didn’t pretend to not see it. He knew things, saw things that a little boy ought not to see. He knew things that some adults didn’t know. And he wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t shaking. But he would always be alone, even when standing on the busiest of street corners. He didn’t know why it happened, or when it was going to, but he knew it would.
He knew that he was broken, he knew that it was his fault, not hers. It would always be his fault, no matter if all he did was glance at the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was always his fault. He often wondered if there was something more out there. Something that didn’t involve the pain, and the torment, and the chilling feeling that was always present in your mind: that no matter what you do, or where you go, you will never be okay. You will never escape this.
---
He stares at the cement wall, picks out each groove, each bump and indent of its smooth surface, each flaw that sits, marring its beautiful skin. He reaches up, places a cool hand over one eye, remembers the time spend just willing it to open again. It had burned, like no other pain he’d ever felt. And, sitting there, he can’t help but laugh, for he can’t feel anything there anymore. Along with the skin, the coals had taken away the feeling in that region. Whatever pain had been dealt to them, they could suffer no more. They were lucky, he remarks, the words echoing off the emptiness inside his skull. His hand moves from his eye down to his heart, or where he supposed a heart ought to be. He couldn’t feel that either, really. Except for the tell tale beating that inevitably occurred, it was the same as his eyes. They were the lucky ones, the ones that no longer had to worry about feeling.
He shakes his head slowly, trying to loosen the cobwebs that had been built up inside of him over the years. He recalls the girl from the day before, the one who had cared to take notice of him, who had cared to just sit with him, not caring where he’d been, or what he’d done. The world needed more people like her, it occurred to him. Maybe then people wouldn’t be sick. Maybe then the world wouldn’t cry anymore. Yes, the world needed more people like the little girl that he’d encountered the day before, if only to sit with. If only to be near, for the sake of being next to someone.
He wonders what happened to Jesse. She must’ve made it out okay, she seemed smart like that: able to take care of herself. He knew she’d be okay. He just didn’t know if he’d see her again, like he desperately needed to. He needed to be near someone that cared, that didn’t want to pick him apart, didn’t want to prove him sick or not sick. He just needed to be cared for, sincerely cared for, without having to prove himself. He didn’t want to be good enough anymore…