Fragility Of A Victim

Snow drifted from the heavy, omnipresent clouds that filled the sky above with the ominous presence of bone chilling cold. White flecks of the frozen droplets danced and swirled in the fierce wind that gusted wildly across the large, flat valley, with the strength of an angry hoard. The vast valley was silent, appearing almost dead in the face of such a long, non-ending winter.

 

The snow was so dense, so incredibly all-consuming, that one may miss the small figure that lay huddled into a small ball of desolation. Frail limbs �" pale and sickly �" quaked and trembled from the chill. Ice crusted lashes brushed the hollow skin that was dusted by a pair of matching, half crescent moons that lay heavy and dark under tightly closed eyes.

 

The black ‘Chuck Taylor’s’ that were sodden and dirt stained, hugged the tiny feet �" offering no warmth, nor consolidation. Shaking legs were curled tightly against a chest that just barely moved. Around his wrist was a rainbow rubber band, the only colour to pervade the whitewash world.

 

His pianists hands were clenched into fists of blue; bespeaking their once glowing softness. The small figure sniffled and fidgeted, trying desperately to find warmth that simply did not exist in the frozen place. 

 

He was alien to the cold, never before had his once sun-kissed skin felt the bone deep chill that pervaded the frozen air. The damp curls of ebony hair clung to eyelids that hid the once sparkling obsidian depths of his eyes. A small whimper escaped through the chattering teeth and the lips that had long been blue in pallor. The sound was foreign to this silent space, but there was not a single creature to hear the quiet noise.

 

Always alone, the teenager did not move, did not unfurl from his tightly held position as he clung to a quickly receding heat. Nor did he bother to shy away from the stinging whips of the deceptively bitter snowflakes as they danced with the wind in a furious tango. In this great vastness of white, his small, dark figure was easily lost.

 

In this place of death and life - light and dark �" he clung to memories that held warmth, a place where loving arms cradled a young child. “Shh, my love, shh,” A feather light brush of fingers against flesh, a small warmth in a place sucked dry of heat.

 

The phantom man stroked delicate fingers across hollow cheeks. He had a deep, reassuring voice that whispered along the freezing air and danced playfully in the boys’ ears, offering a brief respite from the chill. 

 

The wind roared with the light voice in a wild and unrelenting cacophony of sounds. The man’s voice did not fit with the wild power of nature, but the frozen boy did not mind.

 

The boy quacked in fear, he knew that something was coming; he knew that this leg of his journey was coming to a swift and eternal end. He held the warm arms around him as a shield against the seemingly, never-ending cold. Eyes tightly squeezed shut; he imagined his soft lips pressed against his brow with a lover’s security.  

 

More whiteness fell eclectically from the sky to drown more of his miniscule figure and another shudder quaked down his coat clad body.

 

 In a bustling city, surrounded by hues of grey and fascinated by flashing neon lights of every colour he had felt safe. But he had left that comforting embrace and those arms that had offered sanctuary against the cruel beauty of nature’s best.   

 

A loud echoing cough that rattled sickly in his labouring lungs was smothered by the tearing and destructive wind that whipped at his ice tipped locks. A small, woollen beanie was torn off his head and sent traipsing wildly across the pure whiteness of the snow covered ground. Although he mourned the loss of the hand-made object, he did not move from his spot upon the frigid earth.

 

Just as his heart lost its sluggish beat and his lungs moved just that little bit slower, there was a break in the clouds. A blaze of light - that was as alien to this place as the boy �" filtered through the small gap to pervade the bright darkness.

 

 This brief flash of sunlight offered the dying teen a slight interval from the darkness that had surrounded him for so many hours; hours filled with uncontrollable shivers that had torn through his body. 

 

The small, golden light kissed his cheek with the warmness of a healing balm and a small smile curved his trembling lips. His eyes of midnight were uncovered fleetingly like brilliantly shining gems as his eyelashes fluttered one last time.  

Far off, in the land of callous comments and crying children, a group of juveniles clad in leather looked out over the snow scape, each looking for the slender figure that they had chased there.  

 

One of the teenagers grimaced, while the rest smiled in sick satisfaction.

 

‘The f*g would be having a cold night.’

 

***

David Everingham held the creased photograph between slender fingers, staring in saddened remembrance at the teen who smiled back at him. He took in the sparkling ebony eyes that were surrounded by clear alabaster skin; he had been the very personification of splendour.

 

It had been five years now.  

 

Five long years of tear soaked pillows and ceaseless pleas to a god he no longer had faith in. He had woken a thousand times upon screams that echoed through his empty apartment, a desperately searching hand combing through the sheets only to come up empty.   

 

Five years that a group of teenagers had gotten away with murder.

 

He finally dragged his gaze away from the photograph to look down at the marble plot he stood before, hot tears trailing down both of his cheeks. He had come by earlier �" to the memorial held in his memory �" only to be shooed away by a disgusted man and his bawling wife.

 

So he had waited, for hours, as he alternated between a raging fury and a debilitating sorrow. They had left in a procession of black and salty tears, leaving him free to visit the man that he had missed for so very long.  

 

  David’s knees throbbed as he fell to the ground, his pale hands clenching around the black marble and his forehead resting against the cool surface, “I love you, Elijah.” His rustic voice was clogged with the heavy weight of his tears as he heaved in a shuddering breath, “but I miss you more.”  

 

There was no answer.  

 

“Every breath I take is just another second that I haven’t held you in my arms.” A broken sob shook his shoulders, “just another moment wasted that I haven’t heard your laughter or soothed your tears.”   

 

He soon lost his ability to speak clearly, the only words leaving his mouth a broken mantra of “I miss you’s” and “I love you’s.”

 

Cries that fell upon ears that had long ago stopped hearing.  

 

The sun had passed behind the overlooking mountains when he finally got to his feet and walked slowly out of that place of death and sorrow; his heavy woolen coat trailing in the dirt as he used his free hand to wipe away the endlessly falling tears.  

 

‘He had fought long enough, now’ he decided with certainty, ‘it was time that he join his lost love amongst the distant stars.’

 

Not three steps out of the cemetery; he collided chest first into a tall figure, both falling to the ground in a confusion of limbs and cuss words. He sat upon the pavement for a moment, looking desperately for the photograph that had been dropped.

 

Panic had his heart hammering in his chest as he looked this way and that, tears again falling from his eyes. ‘He’d lost Elijah!’ Rocks scraped his palms when he pushed up onto his hands and knees to better search for the missing still. He would not have the courage to draw his final breath if Elijah was not held tightly against his heart.  

 

David’s frantic search was brought to a halt when a large hand came into his field of vision to wrap around his wrist. Soft warmth grew where the palm pressed intimately into the flesh of his forearm and he drew in a shocked breath before looking up to meet shining cobalt eyes.

“Hey, man, I apologize; I was too busy staring at you to actually, you know, see you.” The taller man smiled in embarrassment as he helped David off of the floor, “Name’s Christian.”

  

David attempted a smile, failing miserably, pulling his cold arm out of the strangers grip. “Looking for this?” Christian asked softly as he held out the most treasured picture, only to have it snatched out of his grasp as David let out a relieved breath.   

 

So enthralled by the teen’s beauty, David rudely walked away, thoughts of his apartment building’s roof playing in his mind’s eye. His steps were halted when Christian threw out a brave arm, catching the sleeve of his loose button up between his fingers, “won’t you . . . won’t you walk with me for a bit?”    

 

David looked down at the smiling teen in his palm, a frown marring his brow before he tucked the image into his breast pocket, just above his heart.

***

They married the next year.

         Their first child’s name was Elijah. 

Author's Note

I'm sorry if this piece offends any, but in the wake of such hateful times, I feel it necessary to share this story.

Educate against Hate.

Reviews

[NoelHC]

Tash, you seem to have a talent for describing the human condition, and the inner conflicts people face. I certainly see nothing to offend in this one, and found it an interesting read. keep up the good work, and please continue to send me read requests when you post new writing. I do enjoy reading you a great deal.

[A. Amos]

I truly find your work honest and direct...world need more writer like you who can share their view on some serious subjects in this world. Great job!