Unraveled Words

A boy sat, hands clasped over his mouth to hold back his frustrated screams. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, a permanent color it seemed. He removed one hand from his face to reach out to the bed in front of him, fingers clasping on a pale hand wrapped in white. The owner of the hand didn’t respond. Eyes darted back and forth under purple eyelids. The worried boy could only hope they were pleasant dreams.

Ryan woke with a start, but he wasn’t sure what had startled him. His dream was mundane, calm even, yet something about it jolted him into awareness. He was surprised to find himself standing in the middle of a silvery scene beside Brendon who was glowing a dark blue. Brendon didn’t say anything so Ryan took the chance to observe his surroundings. They were standing at the end of the dock, facing what he could only assume was a lake made of something other than water. A few shining swans drifted gracefully across the surface, their necks curled to stare at the water.

“It’s made of wax,” Brendon said, his sudden speech making Ryan jump. The glowing boy was staring at him, his blue eyes reminding Ryan of the oddly mundane dream.

“I had a dream earlier. Of a boy I didn’t know,” he said. Brendon’s eyes flashed white for the briefest second. “It means something.”

“It was only a dream, Ryan. That’s all.”

“You don’t even believe that.”

“It’s not my job to believe in things.”

“You have a job.”

“Yep,” Brendon said, turning away from the wax lake and walking down the dock. Ryan hurried to follow him, practically buzzing with the questions he wanted to ask. “You know, black just doesn’t suit you.”

“But I'm not wearing black.”

“That’s what color you are.”

It didn’t seem possible that black could glow, but then again, nothing in Northern Downpour seemed possible, and Ryan almost wasn’t surprised to see the darkness outlining his skin.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he demanded, catching Brendon’s arm to stop him. Receiving an ice blue look, Ryan felt a chill run down his spine. “I want to know.”

“No,” Brendon replied, laughing harshly, no longer the soft lilac but a cold rose. “You really, really don’t.”

Without warning, Brendon disappeared, leaving Ryan to stand in the middle of the dock that was starting to look more gray than silver. He looked back to the lake, and it was filled with monsters, the swans growing and stretching until they were serpents, dipping into the wax. His feet felt stuck to the ground. When he took a chance and looked down, he saw that the dock was wrapping around his feet.

“You wanted the truth,” a new voice said, icy words surrounding Ryan and making him shiver. Orange sarcasm filled the voice. “Welcome to Northern Downpour.”

There was something almost familiar about the voice, but Ryan couldn’t place it. He couldn’t have heard anything from here anyway; it wasn’t real.

“Oh it’s real,” the same voice interjected. Ryan wanted to jump, but his feet were firmly on the ground. He heard someone walking behind him. As he tried to twist around, he found he was stuck. The owner of the voice stepped in front of him, a blonde man with a silly top hat and painted lips, wearing all gold that had lost its sheen. “Nice to finally meet you, Ryan.”

“I wish I could say the same thing,” Ryan replied, eyebrows pulling together. The gold man smiled, muddy eyes turning orange for the briefest moment.

“I can see why he wants you,” he said. “You’re quick.”

“I guess.”

“I'm That Green Gentleman. But you can call me Patrick.”

“That’s a silly title,” Ryan couldn’t stop himself from saying. He felt like Brendon for the briefest moment, and for a moment that was not so brief, he felt a pang of anxiety. He missed the lilac boy already. “Brendon.”

Patrick frowned, disapproval pouring out of the single act in wisps of pink. “That boy is perfectly fine. Trust me.”

“I'd like to,” Ryan admitted.

“Well good,” Patrick smiled, though his eyes were an odd mix of brown and green. “That’ll make this easier.”

“This?” The question just slipped out, but Patrick didn’t seem to care, not as much as Brendon at least.

“I'm going to take you to your darling, what did you call him? The lilac boy? That sounds too pleasant for Brendon.” His lips formed a sneer at the name, black as coal.

“How did you—”

“Please,” That Green Gentleman said, looking offended, “I may not be a Devil, but I have my ways. So, let’s get going, shall we?”