White Flag

White Flag

Status: In Progress

Genre: Action and Adventure

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Action and Adventure

Houses:

Summary

It's been three years. Three long years. Since the tragedy that has kept us wondering. Constantly had us investigating. Always had our insides churning. Until we stopped one night and finally came together to discuss the truth. The truth about one boy. And how he fell apart. And what it took to get him back together, again. Because we waited. We waited. And we waited. So long. To understand the surrender of Eden.
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Summary

It's been three years. Three long years. Since the tragedy that has kept us wondering. Constantly had us investigating. Always had our insides churning. Until we stopped one night and finally came together to discuss the truth. The truth about one boy. And how he fell apart. And what it took to get him back together, again. Because we waited. We waited. And we waited. So long. To understand the surrender of Eden.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Chapter One

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 04, 2017

Reads: 71

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 04, 2017

A A A

A A A

Nobody knows what happened to him. Nobody knows.

But on one brisk, cold evening, as the first of winter covered the leaves decorating every yard and point of grass, something happened to him that not even he had a clue about. And this something is something I cannot even explain. Because it all happened rather quickly. And fierce. And without an announcement.

There wasn't any news broadcast about it like the coming of winter's first storm. 

There wasn't.

It was just a brutal awakening. And it took him. And it did with him as it pleased. That's for sure. 

Because in his tempered eyes, there was a reflection. A reflection of his past. And what had happened to him. This tragedy that violently interrupted his life, - our lives.

And there was longing. Deep longing. And wanting. And needing. But. He couldn't take hold of anything, and what it was he was wanting and needing. He didn't have strength. He was frozen. Stiff. Solid to the ground, like a patch of ice. Someone needed to give him a push. 

Even if it hurt, he needed to fall over.

To realize he was broken. Because I'm pretty damn sure not even he knew that about himself, that he was broken. And that's what hurt us. That's what tore our insides out.

He didn't have strength to confide in anybody. He didn't find anybody's plead for sorrow or sympathy, comforting. He brushed it off. Every single time. He brushed it off like a shiver. A shiver running down his spine. Or goosebumps developing on his arms. 

And it tore us apart even more to know that he didn't care. Not once did he give a shit about what everyone was saying about him. The rumors. The theories to what had happened to him. It just took him and... and... and...

It killed him.

He was dead. He wasn't alive, no more than he could have survived. Though, he did breathe through the majority of the heavy months. The months of glaring white surrounding the neighborhood and covering the rooftops of every building in sight. Because that is all he had left. Was his own stagnant breath in the clouded air.

He just looked miserable. 

And those who wanted to help him, felt he was just pushing them away on purpose. 

But to me, he didn't even know what was going on. So he did what was only right and seemingly fair. Yet, he never even realized the truth behind his motives.

And yes. It almost seems like I know a lot about his story. About what happened. The truth. But this is just some scribbled nonsense that you'd see on the margins of a paper. Like from a long, tiresome, rather boring conversation. Or lecture. It isn't even the finer of details. Not a persistent introduction. There isn't much of a thesis. Because I don't know. I really don't know anything.

But after three years have gone by, you would expect some peace by now. Even from someone whom you'd think has already passed.

For him, it doesn't happen like that. And there is a healing process that takes more time than how long the incident occurred itself. From my own knowledge, though, I didn't really think that one through. I didn't know the truth about what happened because he was always gone. His absence was an invisible problem. Nobody thought much. Nobody at all. To say the least, not one person realized that. But me. 

Knowing him for so long, I should have figured it out. There was something going on. Something bothering him. Keeping him from finding his strength. And as soon as the door opened, blowing a burst of cold air from the first of winter, I was certain that he wasn't alive, anymore. His eyes were glossy. And puffy. Probably from the tears he'd been crying. Red. Almost a crimson color. And oh, so, wounded. Maybe that was why the color had shown red.

The cold burst vanished as he closed the door behind him. His head hung rather low. And his black hood didn't do very well to cover his ears. Because they looked as swollen as did his eyes.

My mother and I stood near the doorway, ready to greet him when he finally arrived. We waited a while. Before hand however, we ate dinner because we knew he wouldn't make it back in time. And then we discussed the cause of his absence. Why he would leave so late in the evening when the daylight was so much more logical. Talking took up plenty of time. As we tried ourselves at our own investigation.

"We were so worried..." My mother offered.

He proceeded to walk by. Passing us like there was nothing of our existence. 

My mother crunched the blanket she was holding for him in her lap and sat down. Her hand covering her head. Hopeless. Nothing she could do. Because he wouldn't even give her a chance to wrap him up and comfort him, like she would do for me.

I decided to follow him, though. Walking behind him, his steps. Where he then slammed the bedroom door behind him, not noticing I was there. I took a step back because of the loud bang of the closing door. And then took a step forward, again. I knocked.

As no answer was given, or nobody replied, I turned the knob and dared myself into the bedroom.

The light was on and the white walls rang loud against his black sweatshirt. Similar to a blank canvas with a smudge in the middle. He stood in the middle of the room, staring out the window. Nothing but the dark sky was shown in the pane, as it caressed the glowing moon.

"Cut the fucking shade, already." I stammered.

I folded my arms against my abdomen. My body in a position of authority.  

Nothing but silence surfaced the small room. And he buried his eyes within his hands. Covering the falling tears. Thinking I couldn't see him and his claim for loneliness. Though, I saw it all through the reflection of the window.

"Eden..."

I tried getting his attention.

He tore his shoulder away as I tried to touch it. To relay some peace and atonement. But he shrug it off. So very easily. And he moved forward. Toward the window, once more. 

Eden pulled his head out of his burrowed moment and began to rub his right wrist. He pressed his fingers against it. Pleading with this movement for some honesty. But honesty in this situation was far from being revealed. And I noticed through the reflection of the window how he pulled his sleeve up to his elbow. Then sought out the script written on his delicate skin. Eden's lips began to purse the words.

I wished he would have said them aloud. Or at least. Whispered them. 

Because to hear Eden speak is worth so much of this confining silence. It would shatter so much of this covered up thought. The depth of this situation that Eden himself has buried him in. And it would simply release him from what he doesn't know has himself locked away.


© Copyright 2017 Jamie Elle Warner. All rights reserved.

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