The smell of filth reeked through the entire house. Syris was lying in it completely noise blind to the expired pizzas, tacos, chips, juices, and random green goo on the walls. It was oozing like a freshly popped zit. He stared at the ceiling. Crumbs all over his chest and cheese dust around his mouth turning his pink lips orange. And his fingers. He didn't care. Not much was ever on his mind. He was lost the day he was born. Blank stares, dull expressions, nothing went on behind his eyes. He simply just existed.
The ceiling had water stains. Some stains were big covering most of the session brown, and the other stains were small, hardly noticeable compared to the peeling ones. So much built up water sat on his roof it formed a bubble just ready to pop. He sat directly under it. It was like a little excitement for him. The thought of it popping at random could shock him back to life, it brought a grin onto his face. He usually would stare at the ceiling for hours but today he had some place to be. Someplace important but it hardly registered to him as such. He cared for a select group of things and none of those things were living. He rolled over to his side to face a book laid neatly and nicely. It was the cleanest part of the house. It was where everything he cared for was. Like the magical white dust that made him see the world as a much brighter place. He sniffed in the perfectly aligned crack, swiping his nose til the tip turned red. He sits up and grabs the box of cigarettes pulling one out and placing it in his mouth before he stands. It was his morning routine. The only thing he enjoyed doing repeatedly. He didn't have a choice. Even if he wanted to he couldn't stop himself. He lit the cigarette with an old worn-out silver lighter. Dented from him stepping on it and dropping it, stuck out like a sore thumb and the discoloration of it didn't help,as it began to rust. He takes a puff and blows smoke into the air. His walls had already begun to turn brown. He liked the color. It was better than white, White was too bright.
I don't see why I have to go to the physician
The physician was the only person who would treatā¦monsters. I don't mean bad people that do bad things because he was on that list too but actual creatures. They called themselves monsters because they were different, they had powers. Unique powers, most of them anyway but their kind was running out. It's why they live down in the darkness, why their skin had no color. Pale like a ghost with deep black eye bags to perfect the look. Syris slips his shoes on. He doesn't bother to tie them as he steps on the backs of them instead of fixing his foot correctly. He didn't want to see his parents. His parents have been in comas for the past twelve years and counting. It was hard to see them like that. Unresponsive and hooked to machines and tubes. He blamed himself which made it harder. Almost impossible to see them lying completely still. He stopped visiting five years ago for that very reason. There was nothing he could do.
"Syris it's so good to see you," the doctor says with his mouth full of lunch. He had a ham sandwich and some stale potato chips he stole from upstairs. It was what they called the above where humans stayed. It was hard to find food down in the trenches. They had a delivery man but he was unreliable. He only came when he felt like it. It was an hour past his lunch but he just took his first bite. The place was packed and it was only him, Dr. James, to tend to them all. People sat on the floor, the tables, and wobbling wooden chairs. The smell of the place was horrid. People came in looking however they wanted. An older man was laid out, his arms by his side, and his feet together as he wore his puke, top to bottom. Pink, green, and yellow stained his face and his body, while chucks latched onto his clothes. He wasn't the only one. Many more looked like him or were covered in fecal matter either from themselves or untamed animals that roamed around like any other person. These were the conditions people lived in and no one complained.
"I can't say the same," Syris muttered. He was posted by the door. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were glued to the wobbling wooden table Dr. James leaned on for lunch. From time to time he glanced up at the man. He has known him since birth, he should be some kind of role model for him, but nothing. He felt nothing for him. He blamed him for his parents' condition along with himself. He was supposed to wake them but yet they slept ever so peacefully. "Why am I here," he sighs, "If they are still in a coma, why do I have to see them. There's nothing newā¦" he smacks his lips. His eyes scanned around as others stared at him. "Nothing exciting." He continued, rolling his eyes at the disgust in the room. It almost makes him chuckle to himself. Seeing others in misery was fun for him. He was bitter and sad and needed the world to follow. No one deserved to be happy if he wasn't.
"You're taking that stuff again aren't you," the doctor glares from his glasses. Syris was no stranger to substance abuse and the doctor was no stranger to him. He could see the red tip of his nose and the way his eyes frantly moved around. He didn't mind the cigarette in-between his lips but he drew the line at magical dust. "You're going to die young if you-"
"Good," he cuts him off. His life was far from perfect. There was never a happy moment that he could remember. Nothing worth living for. It was why he stayed in his room. It was why he isolated himself. "Just tell me what I'm here for so I can leave," his eyes franticly fell to the ground as he readjusted his right jacket sleeve. He readjusted it several times in a minute. Fidgeting with it. His heart was racing, preparing him for the worst.
"We've talked about this already. You need to let them go. Let them rest in peace. Don't you think they deserve that?"
"No," he shakes his head. He didn't hesitate at all. He didn't have to. "Do you think I deserve this?" He points to himself. His eyes widened and yet still no life was detected. He was far gone. "They rest peacefully while I- I have to live like this. We live in shit! We live in the darkness! We are forgotten- rotten- useless and you're saying I have to do this alone? It's not fair. They deserve to suffer just like me. They created me! Birthed me! In this place where I'm nothing- you're nothing- everything and anything down here is nothing!"
"You don't truly believe that do you"
"Why wouldn't I? If that's all you called me for I think its best if I leave"
"It's not what I called you over for," he turns toward the table. A piece of coffee-stained paper was ripped from a notebook before he picked up a pen and began to write, scribble. A cafe down the street. It was secluded. Not many people known of its existence. It looked like a regular abandoned building, the walls were caving in, windows busted, and the doors swung off the hinges. It was also submerged in darkness making it harder to find. The darkest section of the underground.
Syris walked into the place. His hopes weren't high. He was told to go to the middle of nowhere. To his knowledge, he knew nothing about the whereabouts of this place. He walks in, the door leaning on the wall. The bartender was cleaning a glass, wiping the insides with a torn rag. A handful of people sat at the tables near the back with the cobwebs and weird smells fuming from the bathrooms. Only one person sat directly at the bar. An old man with a brown cowboy hat and clothes that appeared stainless. He had a gash on his right eye that went down to his cheek and glass to replace the missing organ. Syris sat by him. Laying the note on the table and sliding it next to him without looking. The atmosphere was tense. The chatting in the back of the room grew. Drinks got passed around like a blunt. Many didn't have enough money to pay for a full drink. Syris raises his hand for a shot. Just enough money for one. He pulls a crumbled five dollar bill from his back pocket. It had a piece of dried gum on the side but nonetheless he could afford it.
"Vodka please"
"Straight vodka," Scarface says as he turns his head. His voice was deep, raspy. "You're a pretty strong man," he chuckles throwing back tequila and slamming the glass on the counter. "Never thought I would meet Mr. Grey's son this way but here we are."
"Skip the small talk and tell me about the fire"
"The fire? So Dr.James told you," he lets out a long sigh as he readjusts in his seat.
"Dr. James said you knew something about the fire that happened twelve years ago. I don't have much time so please hurry up." He wasn't one with much patience. His day consisted of nothing more than sleeping in and staring around his room if he wasn't smoking or drinking. It was something entertaining in his daily routine. He thought so at least.
"The fire you think you caused?" Syris eyes shoot open.
"How do you-"
"That fire was planned, boy," he takes a sip out of his cup. Syris leans in, invested. "Everybody has heard the rumors about the government destroying towns, villages, and even cities where tunnels exist. They want us out-"
"That's just a rumor though," Syris rolls his eyes. His hands found their way back into his pockets. He was still listening but with one foot out the door.
"They are not rumors," he slams his glass on the table. " I thought the same as you before I went up stairs the night of the fire. Men in suits and shades that drove fancy cars and wore ear pieces were talking about the bosses orders. The fire. I wasn't there long. I couldn't be seen but I was," his eyes wandered off past Syris's head. "They saw me and I froze. That was the night I lost my eye but also the night blood stained my hands."
"You killed them?" Syris asked and the man nods.
"Not all of them," he responds. "Many got away. And for some reason my powers would not work properly. They had some kind of weapon that made me spam out of control. Lose balance and almost kill myself in the struggle. Now I can barely use my abilities and I can't even go upstairs."
"Okay," he stands up, getting ready to leave. His time has been wasted. "And you're telling me this because?" He didn't care why. He wanted nothing more but to go home and lay in his bed. Anyway from any and everything. The story was nice but there was nothing he could do.
"I called Dr. James to tell you to come and see me. If you're anything like your parents it would be no problem for you to blend in with the humans. I mean you look pretty much human."
"And what would be the point of going up there?"
"To cure your parents."