Dear Daybreak

Quiet elegance tiptoes through the tinted clouds, reflecting a wave of rising sunlight and lacing the air with a promise of warmth. An ashen teenage boy lies pressed against the window, wearing only a pair of plaid green boxers. Warily, he plucks a floating thought from his head and examines it as the memory it holds fills his mind.

Blood echoes in the cavernous spaces between what he can remember, and the boy nearly shudders as he feels the familiar cold metal press against his wrist. Outside the vision, his gaze automatically drifts to his palm, which is pressed to the glass.

"Savoring the final daybreak’s chill before sunshine takes over."

Morning, Addison, he thinks absently, addressing the thoughtful voice that has been conjured up inside his mind.

"A useful distraction, I should hope. Stop reliving those dreams, love. That’s the last thing you need right now."

Perhaps, he replies, now tracing the imprint of his fingers on a frosted windowpane.

Ghostly pale blonde hair creates lines in his vision, dividing the world where sun has intruded from the world where night is being chased. The lines are dirty, greasy. He smiles.

When that face smiles, it is like nothing else. You feel as if the earth has been swept from your feet. You feel as if there are four walls around you and light streaming through.

You are hanging. The walls are closing in. The spotlights are on you.

Trapped. So trapped. Like the soul who smiles, you are trapped. He is empty; you are trapped.

"Come on, now. It’s time for school. Up and at ‘em."

The smile still playing at his lips, he obeys. In the impenetrable, nearly transparent door to the outside chaos, his eyes meet hollow windows, impenetrable doors themselves. As doors, they are opaque, but as windows the light stares easily through to his soul.

They are framed by dark circles and gray skin, but the boy recognizes them for what they are. Portals to his demise. Wretched things that would hurt him if they had the chance. He doesn’t turn away.

Someone is staring through me, Addison.

"You’re staring at yourself, sweetheart. Now I beg of you, get dressed and ready, or your mother will come."

At the mention of his mother, he breaks the stare, turning his head to the floor. There is always something to wear on the floor.

The floor, the floor. Floor, door, impenetrable door, quiet door, invisible door, door satanic. Shore, shore is, is shore not of any illusion every. Intrusion intrusion allusion control intrusion confusion…

No, no confusion. That isn’t right. There is never any confusion. Addison knows everything. There’s no point to confusion.

Illusion, intrusion, conclusion. Better. Illusion, intrusion, conclusion. Illusion, intru-

"Pants."

He makes no indication of having been interrupted, but steps and robotically gathers jeans from the corner.

"Shirt?"

He didn’t forget shirt. He never forgets shirt. He waited for Addison to ask, though, because he loves the sound of his voice.

This voice, anyways. Sometimes Addison speaks in different voices. Sometimes he says things that don’t make sense. Sometimes he even has conversations with himself, using the different voices. How strange of him.

It doesn’t bother the boy. Addison loves the boy. He would never hurt him. Nothing can hurt the boy.

The boy, the boy who loves Addison. The boy loves Addison. The boy would never hurt Addison. Anything can hurt Addison. The boy can’t hurt Addison.

The boy that can’t hurt Addison hums to himself as he slips on the long sleeved gray shirt.

____________________________________________

As his hand reaches out to grab his shoes, Addison stops him.

"You look so nice with just socks on."

The sky is blue today, but he watches the cloudy horizon with a knowing gaze. Autumn is drifting past; the first snow will come today.

He pulls his hand back and stands up.

"If you don’t hurry, you father will notice you."

Again, the threat of his parents is enough to send him flying out the door. Flying with wings. With his beautiful Addison wings. Just the two of them, flying on his wings.

You don’t need shoes to fly. Fly with wings. Wings with fly. Wings fly, fly wings. White fly wings. Angel fly white. Angel Addison love. World hate love break no fly angel Addison love.

The cement is hitting his feet. The boy moves to the grass. Morning dew drenches his socks, but he never notices the growing numb. Nothing can hurt him.

Ahead, a child is crossing the street. The child is not flying. How could she fly? She has no angel. She has no Addison.

Suddenly, a car comes flying out of nowhere. Flying, the car is flying. Flying with no wings.

It lurches forward with the poisonsicknowings and it attacks the girl. It hits her, punches her, shoves her. It sends her flying. Flying with wings. Addison gave her those wings.

Jealousy rips through the boy. Addison is his. Addison is his forever and always. His wings. His Addison. For him. Always for him. Not hers. She can’t have wings.

The cement hits her with a crunch. It takes her wings. She lands, and it takes her wings. Her wings, her Addison gift of wings. Addison gave her those wings.

The cement took her wings. It was the cement. Of course it was the cement. Now she is gone, because the cement took her wings.

The boy falls. He curls on the grass-wet-with-dew, socks drenched and wings gone. Sunlight is streaming down, and he hates this place. So trapped, so trapped. Dark is the home of the free. Night is the house of the dark.

Come home, come home, come home! he screams inside, writhing in agony on the grass-wet-with-dew. No one notices the boy. They are watching the girl whose wings he took, and this is his prison, his punishment.

Then Addison speaks.

A little girl’s voice, one he doesn’t know.

"You’re a killer," he says cheerfully. "You’re a killer and a murderer and a freak. Everyone hates you. You’re invisible. Why should you be here? You took her wings."

He screams again, and despair is tearing down his heart. It’s long since done its job, but it just keeps tearing and scratching, and the boy keeps screaming.

He groans, clawing at his chest in an attempt to send the monster away.

"Sweetheart," says a voice. Addison’s voice. Sweetheart, come here. Stop that. The despair stops tearing. "I love you, I didn’t mean it. It’s alright, it’s all going to be alright. Let’s go to school. It’s going to be alright."

Standing up, slowly, he looks around. The girl is gone. The car is gone. Addison says things are alright now, but his wings are gone too.