I am Pyotr Ilyich Dreamville. I'm 19. And I could see how people die.
It was not a metaphor, it was a gift I wished I never had.
Their eyes would tell me a story of their death. The dead-end that people feared the most. The moment of being boxed inside the casket where darkness would govern and silence would prevail. Those hours of long grief and wails- where tears would escape the hold of people's lids and flood their cheeks with the elixir that their eyes could not hold back. Those minutes of missing someone that deserted this world- where sobs would cloud the whole atmosphere and regrets would stab their heart, ripping off the entrance of their own little soulful void of pain. And finally, those seconds of reminiscence- where memories would flash in people's head like a film ready to be watched; nostalgia would kicked in; and lips would curve a smile, not because they were happy but because they were once happy together.
But I no longer minded them at all. I guess I was exhausted for stopping it a million times; shouting to people they were going to die like I was a lunatic man who never visited his psychiatrist.
I whimpered, preparing myself to go out yet still remained sat.
The train had already stopped and people rushed through the exit of this long, crowded public transportation, but I remained sitting on the side waiting for people to empty the place before I went out. But this old man before me seemed to be enjoying seeing these ladies paved their way out, which was on his reach, that was why he intentionally slid his hand to a lady's thigh and ran a touch upon it.
My brows knitted and the demon in me awoke. I grabbed his hand and slapped him, pushed him through the way where people ambled and rushed upon that caused people to halt from exiting the train. He didn't have that strength to maintain his posture, that was why he was lying on the train's cold metal floor. Just a weakling being wicked, trying to disgust people with his fucked up and overly developed lust.
"What the hell!" the old man screamed, but no one paid him a mind and I even averted my gaze away from the pure devil on loose.
As people noticed him hindering their way, he was kicked by someone running errands and a teenage girl in my age even hit him with a hand bag maybe because she was in hurry, too.
"Get lost!" a black woman in her 40s yelled at him.
He groaned, feeling the pain rushing through his veins and kicking inside his system.
That was when the old man gazed over me and stood. The train was almost empty but this man was full of anger. He tried to reach me with his wrinkled hand, but not in the hell was he going to pull me through. He was weak, his winter-white hair told me so. But when he finally reached me and curled his fingers on my leg, I grabbed his wrist and pull him right before me- beheld his black eyeballs and read how he was going to die.
Death, I finally met you again. It was nothing like a fast pace racing, I had missed you already.
The old man froze.
A fire. A rope. A tree in the middle of the lake at most deserted forest in Elizabeth Mountain. A naked man was burnt alive. Lips were sealed like it was knitted just a centimetre far in every loop of the thread. Hands were nailed on the trunk like they were new grown branches of the tree. And his penis bled, sliced into four parts yet still remained hung between his thighs like he was being punished by Aphrodite, the Goddess of Sex. Few women were screaming joy around the old man that was set in fire, almost dead and purely helpless.
He had seen the vision, too. That was what happened on his very last day in this world, the reason of his death. But people whom I had seen their dead-end would forget it the moment we lost our eye contact. Unlike me, it would remain embedded on the bedrock of my thoughts.
He screamed blue murder.
The old man aggressively escaped my hold and walked away backwards with his hands, eyes bulged and mouth agape. He was scared but he didn't know what was the reason of the fear circling over his soul.
I didn't pity him nor even got sad when I saw how he would die. People like him deserved the kiss of death better than anyone else. They were just bunch of disgusting assholes hungry of sexual pleasure, dick heads who worshipped thrusts and bangings that qualified the 7th circle of hell.
I stood.
The train was almost finally empty aside from the guy in dark green hoodie with an aesthetic picture of Billie Eilish imprinted on the middle part of the clothing. It was still seven in the morning but a putrid smell already pervaded the train.
I rushed out before I arrived in the university late again. Our professor didn't really mind my presence, aside from I was just nobody, a weirdo and a loner with no friends at all, she saw me like I was someone nothing to worry about. I didn't mind, getting attention sucked. Solitude was fun than having someone around being just a pure bullshit heading me to friendship I never ever wanted.
I walked up the staircase of the underground train station. Few beggars were waiting for alms to land on their hand so I gave them coins in my pockets and never dared to wait for their words of gratitude to escape their lips. People no longer mouthed that bullshit nor did I. I didn't thank human for help, I never asked for it anyway.
"You're amazing, don't you know that?" The guy in the train showed beside me like a mushroom that randomly popped up anywhere.
I didn't reply to the shit he uttered and just hustled myself. What the fuck did this guy want?
"Oh, not fond of conversation. I see...." He hindered my way and spread his arms, then manly giggled.
I bolted and forced myself out of his presence, but he did the same thing by walking backwards fast. He was right before me, arms were remained spread and smile was remained plastered on his lips. He was carrying a tiny bag on his back, it was also green but darker than his hoodie— completing his whole, flamboyant personality of being a jerk.
"If you are another sexual predator hungry for pussy, then fuck off. I don't have one, dick head!" I exclaimed.
My middle finger was raised too near to his face that I felt the peek of his perfect western nose touched my one-finger salute.
"Whoa! Chill... Chill..." He giggled, raised his hands like he was surrendering after being caught off guard doing illegal stuff. "I'm not interested in pussy, though."
What the actual fuck?
This tall, tanned guy in green was annoying! If I would be late because of his shit, I would terrify this man to death and let him pee on his trousers like any another man I read.
"What the hell do you want!"
"Friendship, I guess?" He paused, but he continued after I didn't reply. "You were amazing back there! That old man in the train was scared for his life!"
He cackled with laughter that eyes of people along our way were sticked on him with brows furrowed in confusion. He halted and walked normally beside me after he let our a short, almost silent giggle. But I scurried, head down cast and hoodie on, to get away from this man.
"Don't go too fast! We're going to the same university! We're even classmates! Don't leave me here!" he cried out, "Oh, my boy, the birthgiver of our two little children, thou art brutish to thy husband!"
I froze, removed my hoodie off my head, and turned myself to him. He was lying on the ground, re-enacting Romeo and Juliet with his own embarrassing version. What the fuck!
People were on their phones, recording the shame that a man I met on the train inflicted to himself and now spreading the embarrassment up to my presence.
"Oh, the boy of my life, prithee pity me..." he hollered.
His hands were reaching the sky, head tilted upward, and a sole tear even slid on the left side of his face. It was like he was begging to the gods and goddesses for me to have mercy on him.
Son of a bitch!
I zoomed to his direction cold handed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him off the crowd where cameras were out. He even chortled like it was a fun game I enjoyed. I didn't. Not a single tooth flashed a joy to him, yet his smile never left his lips like it was forever embedded.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Furious, I bellowed in disbelief.
Thankfully, we were behind the bush of Shoestring Lake and no one was here to record my shits before my fist landed on his goddamn face.
"Told you, I just wanna be friends with you, darling..." He scoffed. "Okay, fine. I'd stop that love-of-my-life acting."
"I'll tell you this, man. One last time. I don't want to be friends with you nor with anyone. So pack your shits up and fuck off!" I screeched, loud enough to shiver his core but it never happened.
He remained his head tilted downward and a smile, I didn't know if it was phony, still carved on his lips. I was shorter, a little shorter than him but his height never intimidated me.
"That's a little bit agressive." He sat on the grass, the lake was bluer than it used to be and geese were wandering around the water form. "Why don't you sit with me?"
He gently patted the grass beside him, urging me to sit next to him and chill like we were even friends. He removed his bag off his back and placed it on his lap.
"I'm leaving!" I squealed.
The sky was serene, no morning clouds zooming, just a sun enjoying to govern the celestial sphere like he owned every inch of it. The surrounding was bright but I'm out of here! This man was nothing like crazy than I used to be when I yawped worried to people who I had seen dying.
I turned myself away and shoved over the bush. But a curl of fingers on my left leg stopped me from going away. It was the guy's.
"This is the second time of this day someone held your leg," he started, "the first one was the man on the train and now me. I wonder how many times did this happen before."
I froze.
I couldn't remember how many times people kneeled before me, helpless and scared after I read them like an open book. Their knees would tremble and their body would collapse to the ground. That's what I did, that's how I survived 17 years long— temporarily crippling people before they could even attack me. But this man was nothing like them, he was a reader but I didn't know what was his cup of tea.
"Man, I have no time for your shits. I don't know you and I don't want to get to know you," I replied.
I kicked his hand but he held my leg tighter than before. My leg was on his grip and I could feel it hurt. This man was just in my age but his strength was undeniably utmost.
"I told you to sit," he spoke in his serious voice too far from the way he spoke a moment ago.
What a creep.
My head burnt in anger and frustration, mixing all together, circling over the cloud of my thoughts and my demon awoke again. I kneeled and pulled his wrist, making his face went near mine that the tip of our noses caressed each other rather gently. I stared at his eyes intently, reading his soul and scaring himself with his own demon he wished he would never see. It took a little while but none of us blinked yet.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
I saw nothing but void, a space where just darkness devoured a single thread of light. It wasn't his death, it wasn't a dead-end of this man—
It was the end of the world getting sucked by a black hole. The final breath of this Earth before its downfall. It wasn't his. Why couldn't I see how he was going to die?
"Who the fuck are you?"