The Sharpest Lives

Dark clouds could barely be seen in the even darker sky, rain pouring down, slapping on the pavement. A harsh wind blew, slanting the cold raindrops. Terrible weather, it had been that way all week. It was the sort of thing people grew strangely dependent on; the quiet tapping of the rain sounding and echoing off of your roof, the eerie darkness that always hung in the air outside. The smell of mud, the smell of spring. It was something that grew on you, and then it was gone and you were alright with that.

A puff of white smoke left the corner of his mouth, the cigarette dangling between his pink lips. It looked as though he was smirking through the dark, laughing to himself about an inside joke he’d remembered from years before, though in reality, he simply wanted out. Out of the cold, out of the rain, out of the confusion his life held for him. It almost was funny, how things had turned out, but only if you shared the twisted sense of humor he had.

He dropped the cigarette, directly from his lips to the sidewalk, crushed it with his Doc Martens boots. He smiled to himself, looking down at the flattened butt. A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he continued walking, until he found a bus stop. He stepped inside the glass shelter, ruffling his raven black, wet hair. He was alone, it was almost eleven o’clock. The bus would be here at that time; he could go back to his sloppy apartment and watch horror movies until morning. A sigh escaped his lips, he felt around in his pocket for enough change for the bus ride.

Just as he’d collected enough money from his deep pocket, his only means of transportation arrived in front of him, the windshield wipers moving back-and-forth frantically. He stepped out into the rain again and then in through the sliding bus doors. He nodded at the driver, shoved the change into the small machine that collected money or tickets and walked to the very back, plopping down into a seat. Two other people were riding with him; both stared at him with wide eyes. A woman and her daughter probably aged about ten years. The girl looked too young for her age, mentally. She was dressed in mostly pink, aside from her shoes, which were white. They sat directly across from the man, and she stared at him. He looked back at her.

“What’s your name?” She asked sweetly, her voice was childlike.

“Gerard.” He answered quietly, looking her up and down in a curious way.

“I’m Natalie.” She said in turn, smiling. “Are you sad?”

The question stuck him oddly. No, he didn’t think he was sad. But, after all, what did he know, in the end?

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I’m not sad.”

“You look sad.” Natalie replied. “Have you been crying? Your makeup is smudged.”

Gerard ran his index finger under his eye, came away with a dark blotch of eyeliner. He hadn’t been crying. It was the rain.

“It’s raining outside. It smudged it.” He explained uselessly. Why should he have to tell her these pointless things? He would never come across this young girl again, nor would he ever see her mother or her father or her uncles or aunts.

“Well, you still look sad. Like you need a hug.” Natalie said now, shrugging her small shoulders. She looked up at her mother and tried to get her attention. “Mommy, don’t you think Gerard looks sad?”

The girl’s mother looked about thirty. She wore light makeup and her light brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail. She smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, she’s very…friendly.” The woman explained to Gerard, who simply nodded. “No, sweetheart, Gerard doesn’t look sad to me.” She said to the girl, who shrugged again.

The bus stopped and the two exited, Natalie shouting a goodbye to Gerard, who sighed again. He looked sad. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad or if he was even capable of that emotion anymore. Hadn’t they all faded away? Wasn’t he just neutral now? He didn’t know, never really did.

He pulled the cord that signaled the bus driver to halt at the next stop and walked to the front, as to make a quick getaway. He practically ran out the front doors, not bothering to acknowledge the driver as he began his short walk home. It wasn’t a home, really, but it kept him warm and dry. He fished his key out of his pocket and walked inside, kicking off his boots and shrugging his jacket onto the floor. He locked the door behind him and stepped into the living room.

His gazed slowly filtered through the room, his eyes glazed over tiredly. He wasn’t tired though. He sat on the aging couch, which squeaked when the springs were under pressure. He flicked on the television, waited for the black screen to light up with colors. A cartoon was playing, The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show. He grimaced at the memories it held and switched the channel, ended up on a black and white Hitchcock movie. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, his black sock had a hole in it. His toe stuck out of it, he wriggled the member up and down. He chuckled humorlessly to himself.

Biting his thin lip, Gerard watched the movie on television with little interest. A feeling nagged at him to go to sleep, by this point it was close to one o’clock. Would somebody call in the morning, somebody important enough that he should sound well-rested and coherent? He doubted the fact honestly, such things rarely happened. Either way, he stayed half-awake, sitting on the sunken couch until three movies had trickled by and it was four o’clock. He sighed and flicked off the television, throwing the remote control into the couch and trudging to his bedroom. He pulled off his t-shirt, holey socks and sat on his bed. He wore only dark, skinny jeans, which clung tightly to his thin legs.

A sigh escaped his lips as he laid back, his black, messy hair splaying over his pillow. He was cold, suddenly, and goose bumps rose on his pale skin. He lifted himself up, pulled up the blankets and settled himself underneath them. The sheets were cold, it sent a shiver down his spine, and he moved his feet back and forth slowly to create a warm friction. His teeth almost started chattering in the cold, but he closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut in hopes of silence for a moment, and it worked. For a fraction of a second, the world was gone and he felt almost happy.

He reopened his eyes; his gaze met the New Jersey streetlights coming through his window, the blinds half-closed. He yawned quietly, nuzzling his face into his pillow and closed his eyes yet again. He hoped in his mind for sleep to take him soon, if at all.

Eventually, it did.