Why is the Sky Sad?

In his dreams the world was perfect. The sky was always happy, bright and blue. The sun wouldn’t hide, rather shining in all its glory, whispering good morning. The townsfolk would work at a steady pace, producing crops and mechanics by the pound. And James would have friends.

His friends wouldn’t just be children either; they could be ladies with pretty dresses and thick, ravenous locks. Or big, strong men with hair on their chests and a deep voice in their throat. They would come over every afternoon for tea and afterwards they’d hang out like normal people do. They might go bowling or discuss a great book; they could swim or even watch a movie. James wasn’t picky.

His friends would be nice, not laughing at his stutter or joking at his expensive. They would love him and miss him when they went home every night. With their heads on a pillow, they’d remember how much fun they had. How much fun James was. Then the next day, it’d happen again.

Eventually one of his lady friends would grow found, perhaps too fond. And she’d bat her thick eyelashes and speak in a voice much to high. Her laughter would ring off the walls at his most awful jokes and her makeup would always be perfect. One day James would fall for her tricks and his eyes would linger. His pitch would drop and he’d take to lifting weights.

And finally their lips would collide, sharing their emotions, lustful feelings in the most magical way. She would sink into his arms, now buff and strong, and hold onto him like he was the only thing keeping her upright. She would love him with all her heart and stay with him every second of everyday.

Years later she’d be in a white dress, locking arms with her father on her way down the carpeted aisle. They’d exchange powerful words, place rings on each other’s fingers, then smile, something white and breathless. For a moment the world would stop spinning and time would slow. They were the only two people in the world. A kiss would be shared, as beautiful as their first though much stronger with age.

And the rest would end like the books. Perfect and magical. He’d be happy. They’d both be.

James sighed, breathing in his impossible fantasy. The world wasn’t perfect but sometimes, in his own imaginary fairy tail, James could pretend it was.

***

She was still there; eyes closed, breath constant, a slight smile tugging at her lips. Her voice had stopped, along with the melody that had been singing beside her. Her fingers hovered over the white keys, like they weren’t sure where to fall, which note to play next. Her brain was churning, thinking while she sat on her bench, long legs dangling to the floor.

From the hallway James ached to make his presence known, a small shout, a slight movement. But he didn’t, couldn’t. What if she didn’t remember? Her laughter would replace the silence, mocking and horrible. Her smile would no longer be pure, instead like a monster. Evil and grimy. It’d hold a secret, one that he did not share, and it’d stretch him thin. Her memory burned like a fire in his mind, forever branded on his heart. But who could say it was the same for her?

He watched in wonder as she began to sing again, words flooding from her mouth like a stream. He had never heard something so flawless. Not even the sky’s own tears could match her beauty.

“I remember the first day
It rained so hard
For the month of May
My tongue was in a tie
You were so pretty
And I so shy…”

Closing his eyes, he felt himself hum along, like her song was one he had known his entire life. Her voice took him to another world, his fairy-tail land. He was so lost, caught up in her every perfection and every mistake. It took him a moment to discover the silence that enclosed him. It wasn’t welcoming, so thick and tense it made his skin crawl, his hands begin to sweat. She wasn’t done yet, lyrics still being formed in her mind, her muse still standing before her. It was an outside force that made her stop; she’d heard him.

She looked towards the doorway, the place James had stood mere seconds ago. He was now behind the wall, his breath loud and his heart pounding. Beads of sweat rolled down his moist skin as he tried to calm himself. Surely she’d find him if he was collapsed on the ground, the noise itself luring her to him. And if she were to find him on the ground, what’d she think? Would she cry, laugh? Would she react like the last time he saw her? James didn’t want to find out.

“Hello?” She called, her angelic voice growing closer. It was still beautiful, though James could barely hear it. His fear took a hold of his body, the blood rushing loud in his ears.

“Richey, is that you?” James didn’t stop to think, not noticing the personal nickname she’d given his father. His father: the man whom was known to most as Sir, the man he couldn’t even call dad. Nor did he really care at the moment, concentrating only on her voice and how to get away from it. Fight or flight, to James there wasn’t even a choice. He then ran, legs pumping, arms swinging. He ran past the abstract paintings, the glass door with the gold handle, up the twirling stairs that made his head spin, down the endless hallway and into His Chair. The one place where he felt safe, the one place where he truly belonged. Sure the walls were brown, the outside air fresh but James wasn’t really home until he was cuddled into the blue velvet, the fire pulsing behind him, a red-covered book in his hand.