Heaven
Time slips like sand. Time has always been my biggest enemy. Time is sultry and subtle. Time is priceless and desirable. Time is melancholy and mundane. Time is monochromatic and supple. Time is numbness. Grief never settles with time, it sinks into our pit of stomach. As I am lying in this room, the mattress so soft and pliant, it sinks my body and deepens the curve as if tattooing my shape into it, I keep laying, trying to remember how many days I have been here, in this monotone monochrome world of theirs. The room is filled with gray curtains and, a black oak tree-furnished round bed, the bed is huge and the blankets are of satin, delicate, and graceful. As if made for a queen. The windows are floor to ceiling, I can see the whole soul under my feet—the skyline of Seoul and the star-filled skies. Sometimes I let the time drift me to patterns, shades of orange, yellow, and bright red whenever the sun rises and the sky dims when the sun sets and I close my eyes. Because the sun never dims in my vision and I can't let it happen again as reality. I close my eyes just as the sun is about to sink and drown and the darkness covers the sky like blankets. And then the stars come alone seeing the moon standing alone, the mood holds the stars as they glimmer together. But the night sky never has the sun, does always the sun have to leave? The sky's the canvas of the most melancholic colors, never the passionate wine red, never purple, the color of long-lasting, never the color of the ocean which can drown deeper into thin waves, never the calming green. The sky is everything my heart prickles at, the colors don't reflect in my heart, it just makes me sadder, exhausted, and mundane. Sky's the quiet enemy of Lorde just as the time. The sky holds the freedom in its palm and never unties the palm for others to grab it. Never let anyone taste freedom as it is. I am lying in an unknown bed with an unknown numbness, a nameless sadness, a peculiar heaviness. My heart never is at ease but I feel at ease somehow. After that night. That man didn't return, my breakfast, lunch, and dinner came in a trolley by some masked nurses, never the same pair of eyes I could recognize. The eyes of these nurses are dead, serious, and dark. Robotic almost. As if it is made by artificial intelligence. The very next day I found the cupboard filled with clothes fitting me perfectly, my essentials in the bathroom, and my inner clothes in another cupboard. Brand new pairs of clothes, and the amount is huge, the proportion might be quadruple than my entire cupboard back at home. Home? Was I ever in my home? My home has always been those sun eyes. But I was forced to look at raven satan's eyes. A monster's eyes. Dark and black like an endless pit of grief and nothingness. He looks creepy and vulnerable in every possible way. Can't he look at himself? A face of a terrible fate god has given in my destiny. A face of vengeance but also a weakness. He looks troubled but also lonely.
Here I am lying in bed as I did for the past few days, looking at the sky changing colors and glistening with emotional colors but can never melt Lorde. I look at them with absolutely nothing in my heart. My heart has been forced to blister and rip apart. And now I don't know how to put it back together and I don't wish to either. I had fought back with the nurses the first two times. But on the third day my body gave up, I lost my subconscious, and then exhaustion cut through my skin like a fever. I was burning up and throwing up continuously. I was in a haze, a blur as if my body was drunk in grief and sadness. I heaved my breath. And counted days, hours, minutes, seconds. My brain fogged up for a few days and couldn't recognize the footsteps coming into my room. But a shadow of a tall silhouette was constant. Maybe some male nurse. I found myself sleeping in something hardened at night. I have no idea if the mattress magically turns hard or not. The calloused and hardy mattress was never my thing but this one was warm somehow as if a breathing body. But who will let me nuzzle my face into their chest in this cruel world of theirs? They are living breathing monsters. Those nights when my body was weakened enough to breathe, every inch of my body used to ache and shiver, as if the gut of my body was falling apart, as if my body gave up on me, the exertion and anxiety ceilings didn't help either. The tremors of my rhythms were terrible. Some nights I was shaking in a raw gut-wrenching cold and some nights I was burning as if I was set on fire. My body reacted to the slightest weather, the slightest air change. My body physically acted like a psycho, my fever wasn't decreasing and some days I had to be covered up in thick blankets. But in the haze, I couldn't recognize which nurses came constantly. But one was constant. Peculiarly consistent. Wrapped me in blankets and quilts, until I stopped shivering in the cold but some days in my blurred vision I could feel him making my body wipe with a wet washcloth by some female nurse. Then on those nights, I felt my mattress turn heavy and hard. Like a human chest. I never realized it was breathing, thought it might be my fever hallucinations. Today however my body numbed a little. I haven't caught a fever yet and the silhouette didn't come either. The night sky is gracefully glistening with stars. Stars never twinkle within me. Am I dead?
I see the medicines lying on the trolley beside my bed. The room is a little odd, it's lavish but the room has a different corner which is just supposed to be a wall, but it's a wall mirror, so large, I could see my whole tiny self. I look at myself as I try to stand up after so many days. I look like a skeleton, with body limbs, and pale skin. I look back at the trolley, there are some pill tubes. I gather the tubes in my palm and a sudden urge pulls me in. I could see a blank future, no dreams, and no wishes. No hope. Hopes to kill
I hastily spilled the pills on my palms. Swallowed them in a few gulps, with water. Then again spilled some new pills from different other tubes. And then swallowed them with water, with shaky hands. My breaths came shakily. But the medicines haven't kicked in. I looked at the entrance door, closed and locked from outside. I looked at the side of the balcony, it's a skyscraper building. I can't escape from there, or I can. But my weak limbs can't even move. I can't walk to the bathroom without holding someone. My limbs feel like breaking down, my whole body burning up and aching terribly. I sit holding my chest in my palm. I lay down on the bed, wishing it was my last time on this soft delicate mattress. The bed has given me warmth more than anyone here.
I heard banging sounds coming from the entrance door. But if I am locked then why are they banging, thrashing on my door turns wild and I can't hold the headache it's giving me, the pounding on the door increasing. My body is already slumping into a familiar lul, as if the fever kicked in, my limbs aching so hard, it's ripping my body apart, as if tearing themselves into new flesh. I closed my eyes, and my stomach growled, and started painting. I clutched my stomach. The pounding on my door increased and I realized it wasn't his men. It was someone new. I need to escape, run. But I can't move, my body is still and getting numb. Already tired and the medicines might have kicked in. I feel something churning from inside. I wince.
I heard gunshots. I felt myself flinch when the door broke down and some men entered. Masked men, not the same masks his men wear. They are different. They have red masks on their faces. Red joker masks. How come? It's… I recognize these masks. I saw this type of mask in Travis's university mask that day. No no no…what are they? I felt my insides churning more and more, twisting my veins in a crippling way. I might be dying. But then why this fear of dying? Why this urge to run and escape? Push past these men, why am I feeling these men are evil more than the ones I have been living with? Why do I feel these eyes are wicked, satan's pawns? Why do I feel dread cropping into my skin, fear crawling against my veins? I try to get up and with a death grip on my wrist, I am pulled to a somewhat hardened surface. I have seen those masks, I have seen those masks. Why? Why? How? My brain circulated within minutes. My brain wrecked like a train wheel as I kept repeating my thoughts. I can't think properly because my brain is getting fuzzy because of the medicines. I look upwards and find those eyes, dark and deep. What is his name? Hades something? He kept looking at me as if tracing something. I saw him pulling his revolver and I flinched into his arms and tightly held onto him as he shot each of them right in the forehead. I trembled and jerked badly. I gripped his collars. Red joker masks with blue-lined mouths and a yellow nose. It was rather an ugly mask and I had asked Travis what this mask has to do with him. Why was he carrying it? He didn't react well, his body shivered inward and he looked hesitant and uncomfortable so I changed the subject. Were they Hades's soldiers, but the nurses were masks of gray wolves? My brain feels clogged. I feel my body slowing. I looked at Hades's eyes. Somehow pretty warm to look at. Maybe my brain is making scenarios where his brows are knitted in worry. His palm held my cheek. It's just a dream. Nobody cares for me in this world. In this dream, he carried me and his quick steps ran and ran in long corridors. I felt myself coughing and some warm liquid trickling from my mouth. Maybe I am finally dying. I will be free from all these conspiracies and mysteries. Why is Hades running? I lay on his chest holding his collar with my petite weak fingers. Why is Hades running? My Lord kept ranting and ranting. Maybe my dream is longer. Why do I feel like my mattress turns to Hades's chest at night? Am I getting crazy?
His chest is so warm, that a breathing heartbeat includes a person. A human. He is so warm. I cling to the warmness. I cling to him as if my life depended on him. I let him embrace me just as he puts me in a rather single bed, awfully like a hospital bed. In my dream Hades is cupping my face, calling my name but why can't I reply to him, as if I can't ever open my mouth? Maybe it's a dream. Maybe I am sleepy. Maybe I am dead. But Hades is screaLordg now, loud and obnoxious. But what is he saying? I frown my brows but I can't hear him. I caress his cheek. But I can't hear his words. Am I being deaf? Am I mute? His arms cage me again as I again hear his heartbeats. It's fast. It's fast. It's fast. It's fascinatingly fast. But Hades is trembling. Can monsters tremble? In my dream, Hades is shouting at someone, but the impact is loud but isn't audible to me. Why can't I hear? I cling to Hades because other people are scared of my hazy vision. Everyone is scared. I cling to Hades more. And he calms a little, his calloused hands are shaky intertwining with Lorde. I feel myself puking and I see red. I puke a little more and red everywhere. It's a pain in my chest now. I couldn't hear but the loudest scream was his. Why is Hades acting like this? It's truly my dream. And I feel myself drifting into unconsciousness but no, someone's palms come close to my cheeks and call out for me. How does Hades know my name? Why is Hades acting like this? Is he his twin? His brother is a monster but maybe the younger one is kind enough to give me freedom. I want to leave. Leave for whom? I don't have a home. But looking at those blurry eyes of his, I think maybe jail is the only option for me, but why am I not fearing jail?
"Hades YOU ARE BLEEDING?"
I heard, loud and clear. Maybe some girl is calling him. It's a female voice. But his arms aren't moving from me, his eyes never leaving Lorde. I feel my eyes getting closed. Heaviness sitting inside my body. Everything is a little bit of tarnishing inside. I feel water droplets falling on my face. Water? No water isn't red. I widened my blurry eyes to look at him. His forehead. It's wholly red. I gasped and pushed him away, but he didn't budge. I am scared. I close my eyes tightly. But I felt my body giving up and it did. I couldn't feel anything other than the sudden panic for Hades and then it settled. I felt numb and then fell into a deep slumber. I couldn't hear anything else.
I found myself in a white room, with white ceilings, white curtains, white ceiling fan that was moving too slowly. I was sweating. The bed I was laying on was hard but not like the one on that mattress along those nights. No. This felt like concrete and it pierced my skin a little. It was cold against my skin. I felt my head buzz a little, a shaky heaviness residing there. I fluttered my eyes open with a lot of effort. The tremble in my fingers is disturbingly fast. I felt every muscle of my body aching to the core. I try to look sideways or at someone. I don't know whom my eyes were searching for but my eyes tried to roam around. I found myself drifting back to slumber. My head hurt so much that I felt it would burst. The ache in the chest has lessened. The churning is nowhere. But my brain feels clogged and hazy even now. I don't know how many hours have passed or it might be days. I try to look sideways nonetheless and with difficulty, I find a silhouette, a black shirt worn by a man. His left arm was thick and muscular but dangling through the edge of the bed as if lifeless. Was someone dead? The shirt's sleeves are rolled up, the veins are popped. But the other arm is filled with ink. So many inked marks, and tattoos. There was a snake, a sensual swirl of hibiscus, a pendulum clock, an eye, and a kohl-tinted eye. Then some letters, some lines, must be quoted. But they were in cursive, too difficult for me to differentiate one from another. There was a broken heart too, half a piece of a heart. The hand is filled with stories and all those stories are of someone who got hurt. Who was he? I looked upwards, I widened my eyes. It was Hades. His eyes closed and he was sleeping? Or dead? He looked quite the opposite of a monster now.
Hades looked silent, almost like a ray of calmness. His hair tousled and serenely roughly fell to his forehead. My brain's fogginess was subsiding a little. He looked awfully and oddly soft.
But then a memory flashed against my eyelids. Travis's bloody body, the dreadful tremble of his heart, his scream, a painful cry. I felt my chest hurting again, brutally and almost as if the organ heart might be cut. I remember Travis's woeful laughter, his gleeful laughter. His laughter echoed against my ears. I felt my eyes burning up, I felt uncomfortably warm and irritated. I felt so much pain just by looking at him. He killed the only person I was supposed to survive for. He killed the only reason I died. And he was sleeping peacefully. There was a bandage on his head, wrapped thickly, his wrist was bandaged too. The hospital room was empty, the curtain that was supposed to divide the two beds was tied to the side as if someone had purposefully done it. I tried to get up, but my back hurt and it cracked. But the burn and anger were streaming again in my veins, the fumes and rage building inside me. I felt breathless for a while, I hadn't felt this much anger in a while that my body barely reacted and processed it before I got up. I felt myself wincing greatly as the syringes in my wrist pierced through my skin and blood gushed out. I went closer to his bedside. He was sleeping soundly and maybe even was experiencing a nightmare. I felt my legs move on their own. For a moment I felt like a reckless maniac, who kept slipping into an abyss of hurt and agony. But I need to redeem my vengeance. I was never this careless and wild. But I remember my Travis and this man who took my Travis away from me. For a moment I looked at red and red everywhere, I felt hazy and I was a little blinded by the sweat filling my eyes or was it tears? I don't understand anything. But I need to do something, life is so hopeless that I can barely hold on. For what a person lives? For whom if the only person dies? I went closer and closer. As I chanted Travis, Travis, Travis …I found myself holding a syringe tube, attached to his fingers. There was a beeping machine. I removed the wire and pulled the bottle of saline and blood where the syringe was pierced. I pulled both the bottles, and the blood supply stopped. I found a surgical knife, it was small but very sharp. I pulled his hand and held his wrist, I looked at his face, his brows knitted together and the frown deepened. Was he awake? I scraped the skin of his wrist, but he still pretended to sleep. I felt my hands shaking but I kept cutting. I don't know which vein I need to cut, but I was cutting the wrist here and there. Blood gushing out and oozing at a dangerous speed. I felt dread crawling into my skin. I felt myself getting scared. If he gets up and finds me, he would put me in a cell or might kill me. But am I scared of dying? No.
I cut deep as the blood flow was so fast. The blood oozed out as if water flowed. He must be awake by now but why isn't he taking my hand and pushing me away? I felt myself backing away when a female hand clutched my hair from behind and I felt my cheek experience a hard slap. I felt my entire cheekbone collapse. The slap was so hard, I felt myself falling on the ground. I felt myself getting dizzy. She screamed
"Hades…Hades…WAKE UP…Hades…OH MY GOD" she was crying, screaming, throwing a fit. I started laughing. Maniacally.
"How does it feel? How does it feel to see the one you love die in front of your own eyes? How does it fucking feel"
I looked upwards and saw her eyes rimmed red and big fat tears fell. She cried helplessly. Cupping his cheeks, trying to wake him up. But he wasn't waking up. So he wasn't pretending. She pushed and jerked his body. But no use. Her attempts were going in vain. She tried to bandage his wrists with bandages, but then the doctors came inside rushing. She screamed as if her entire existence halted, she screamed like a maniac. I kept looking at her, I was the one who was crying like her that night. I was the one who screamed with my entire body as if it would combust. She was throwing her arms, slapping his face, shaking his body. But he didn't budge. Her eyes were bloodshot as if her desire to live might be reducing. I understand her, it was the same for me. But I didn't feel any remorse, not a burn. Just a little irritation. Was killing him this easy? Did I kill the monster so easily? She hugged him and tried to find his heartbeat. But he wasn't breathing, so the doctors rushed to stop the blood flow. Maybe I didn't cut the right nerve. Then why he wasn't getting up?
She came to slap me again, I flinched and went back looking down. My body shook when I heard a click. I looked behind. Hades was holding a gun with his bloody wrist. Her eyes widened as she got up, hurryingly trying to hug him but then her eyes widened when she found the pistol plastered against her forehead.
She looked at him in disbelief. I didn't even believe it. I clasped my mouth with my palm and he shot on the ceiling nonstop. The 12 bullets broke through the ceiling tiles. I flinched badly. He looked at me and I felt scared and small all of a sudden. He came close to me. He looks alive and fine then was he not breathing earlier? Was it pretending?
His cold fingers grazed the skin where I was slapped. The skin burnt against his touch. I hissed and he got up. I flinched again. His eyes were….worried. Again?
He looked at every scary doctor here, shivering to the core. He looked at his wrist and I felt I would be punished now. But no. his fingers intertwined with the woman who was looking at him quite with hurt in her eyes. He dragged the women. And something in me wanted to know why. Strange. I tried to get up but I found myself barely standing up. I tried to run but I couldn't even crawl. I found nurses came along and started carrying me to the bed of the hospital. I kept looking at the entrance from where he left with her. What will he do? Then the effect of it all kicked in and I felt myself trembling badly, anxiety hitting me so hard I could barely breathe. The panic rising in me. What was I doing? What was I doing? I tried to kill the monster of the den. The nurses with wolf masks laid me down and wiped my wrist which was bloody too. Then I started applying medicine as if I didn't just try to kill their boss. They should handcuff me and tie me to death but they looked bored and nonchalant. As if nothing happened. Strange. Everything about this place is strange. The prickle in my chest returned but god knows for what reason this time. I looked down and saw Hades's blood dripping on the floor. I kept looking and looking and looking until I felt myself getting sleepy again.