Saturday, October 25, 2008
Strangers
Finally, a short story update. :D This one's an idea for a short film production I'm a part of, though it may not be used. Regardless, I really enjoyed writing this piece, and hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!
Sidenote: I would really recommend listening to a sad musicbox sort of melody while reading this, because that's the exact kind of music I imagined would fit this story.
The melody I was listening to while writing this is
White Album - Version 2 by InfinityVas on Newgrounds Audio. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to post a direct link, so I won't!
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Bump. Bump. Bump.
How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice? Has it been days? Hours? Or has it only been a few minutes?
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?
Bump. Bump. Bump.
When I first woke up, the first thing I felt was the warmth of your hands, supporting me as I lay on the cold, cold floor. I could barely make out your face in the darkness, but I could feel your care and concern. A short while after that, I realized that I could not remember anything, not my name, how I came to be here, my family, my friends, nothing. What was this room? Why were you sitting there in the dark, watching over me sleep? But even as those questions drifted through my mind, a faint memory nudged me. There had been a terrible, unspeakable disaster – one that had destroyed the world as we knew it, but no further details came to mind. All I knew was that something terrible had happened to the world, but I could not remember exactly what.I got up then, and wanted to leave, to find out what was going on, and also to see if anything could be done about my lost memories. But you reached out, with those warm hands, and pulled me back down.“It’s dangerous out there right now.” You whispered to me as I struggled to break free. “Stay here, at least until the danger’s gone.”“How can you be sure we’ll be safe here?” I demanded. And even though you didn’t say anything, I could somehow sense that you were smiling, and I instantly felt comforted. And that, more than anything else, made me decide to stay.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Time had no meaning, no relevance in that dark, cold room. What the room even was, I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a storeroom. There were boxes of food – canned meat, chocolate bars, sweets, and bottles of water – and you freely offered to share them with me, even though you didn’t know who I was, and I you.As time went on, you would tell me stories of your own life, for I had none of my own to relate. When I mentioned as much, you only laughed, saying that it didn’t matter, that by the time his stories were done, it would be safe for us to leave the room.You told me about how you were a professional basketball player before the disaster – you wouldn’t tell me what exactly it was – and why you loved the sport so much. It was more than just the tension, the excitement in the air, and the cheers of your supporters, you said. It was more than just the teamwork, the patience and guidance of your coach, and the incredible emotions from winning or losing a game.You told of how, when you were a child, your mother had been struck by a fatal ailment that wasted her body. You told of how, as your mother lay on her deathbed, she called for you, and you alone.“My child,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.” And you spoke of how you had been so confused – why was she apologizing to you whilst on the verge of death? “You love basketball, don’t you? Let your passion guide your future. Always aim high and shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll still land amongst the stars. Live life to the fullest – I want nothing more than for you to be doing what you want, and I know you have the courage, the passion, and the drive to be successful in doing what you love.”“How do you know?” You had asked of her. And she had smiled.“Because I am your mother.”And then, from your backpack, you showed me the miniature basketball that you always kept with you – a mini replica of the real thing, a toy that you had played with since you were old enough to do so. It served as a reminder of your mother, and her wish for you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you want to do.And I asked, what happiness could there be now, when the world was gone?And once again, all you did was smile. But that was good enough an answer for me.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Just how much time did we spend in that room? Thinking back now, it felt like an eternity, but your stories helped make it seem so much shorter. But as limitless as time is, our supply of food was not, and we were starting to run out. We spoke of gathering the last of our food and water, and leaving the room, but we could not think of a place to go to, nor did we know what to expect beyond the boundaries of the four walls we had been living in. It was as though our entire world now revolved around the room – we knew nothing of what awaited us outside the door, and as much as I desired to leave, a terrible fear of the unknown had taken root in my heart, bred by the sense of safety and security offered by both the room, and your presence.And as our discussion went on, a horrible, horrible scream suddenly came from the outside. I immediately shrank away from the door, shivering, so terrible and heartrending the scream was. It was almost inhuman, so filled with emotions – anguish, fear, pain, desperation. You immediately ran to door, and jammed a crowbar – one of the items we had managed to find inside the room – between the door handle and floor, effectively locking the door in place. The scream grew more desperate, and the door handle began to shake. I turned away from the door, pressing my face against the wall, willing the scream out of my mind and trying not to let one out myself.Even as I shook, I felt your warm hands wrap themselves around me, comforting and reassuring me. And so we sat there in the darkness, you protecting me, and eventually the screams faded away, even though my fear did not. And at some point, I must have fallen asleep, worn out by fear, for when I awoke, you weren’t there by my side. In my hands I was holding the crowbar, and I guessed that you had placed it there for me to use in self-defence. But the crowbar didn’t offer the same sense of reassurance. I felt naked, alone, weak... and afraid.You came back some time later, and so wound up was I by that time that I very nearly took your head off with the crowbar when you opened the door. Only that familiar aura, that sense of comfort I always felt when you were with me, stopped me from attacking you blindly.
But something about you felt different. I didn’t know what it was, or why, at the time, because it was too dark for me to see much of anything. You opened your backpack, and withdrew more food and water, explaining that you had ventured outside the room to gather more supplies while I had been asleep. You seemed so very tired, your actions were so sluggish. But I thought nothing was wrong, that you were only tired because finding the food had taken a lot of effort. I asked if it was finally safe for us to leave the room, but you said that there was still danger lurking outside, that we would have to wait a little while longer.And I believed in you, as I had come to do in the time we spent together.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Later that day, as I slept, you watching over me as you always seemed to do, I felt your hands lightly touch my face.“I’m sorry.” You whispered. And I didn’t know what you meant at the time, guessing that you were apologizing for leaving me alone in the room.“I was scared, you know.” I said.“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”“... How do you know?”“Because I’m your friend.” And I smiled.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
When I next awoke, you were lying there on the floor next to me. And I found it strange, for you were always awake before I was. I reached over to nudge you awake, but there was no response. I shook you harder, but still you remained silent. And that was when I realized that there was something sticky on my hands. I looked at them closely.It was blood. Your blood.In desperation, I checked for signs of breathing, a pulse, anything, just to make sure you were still alive, but I couldn’t find anything. Your body was still warm to the touch, as warm as I had always remembered, but you wouldn’t reach out with your hands to comfort me, as you always had. You remained lying there, so still, so silent, and with that same, reassuring smile. The same smile that had helped me stay sane in those long, dark hours we spent sitting in the room. I realized then why you seemed so tired when you returned from the outside. It wasn’t because you had expended a lot of energy finding supplies... it was because you had been badly injured by whatever it was that lurked outside. And I also realized then, with a pang, that you probably wouldn’t have been so badly wounded had you taken the crowbar with you, but you left it in my hands to ensure that I had a way to defend myself.“Why?” I asked, knowing that you couldn’t answer. “Why?”I looked at the smile upon your face, that smile you always gave me that gave me assurance even if no words were spoken.And for the first time since I woke up in your arms...I cried.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice?
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?
Bump. Bump.
But does it matter? The sound of your basketball, and the sound of my beating heart... they’re one and the same now. Even now, your words ring strong within my mind.“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”
Bump.
I have all the supplies packed in your backpack now, along with your basketball. And I have the crowbar. There’s no turning back now. I’m leaving this room. I’m no longer afraid of the unknown, for I will have the memory of your smile, always, to reassure and comfort me.
Your mother wanted you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you wanted.
I will live that life for you.
... Why?
“Because I’m your friend.”
Because I’m your friend.
