Also, it is now a one-week break for CNY and UMS-KAL is dead. I mean it, dead. It's so quiet, and lack of people and I'm bored as hell! Luckily the writer's block demon haunting had long gone and I spent my days writing and finishing assignments and memorizing katakana...which is almost perfect in my head by now~
Either way, just like the title of this post clearly says, this is the second part of the story! I had already finished this three-shot and the only thing left is to post it...so expect more update in the near future~ ^^
Comments are love as usual~ ^^
A BUTTERFLY, A LOUVRE, AND (NOT) A FREER
Halo- The calling of yesterday’s memory
From a locked louvre of the heart
From a locked louvre of the heart
We can’t go back that time
Or how we were
They are the best of friends; the three of them are always together, inseparable. It is a fact that even the dumbest person on earth can figure out. He is always Black, and then there are Blue and White. Blue loves questions and always asks, curious with everything in the world, like a wide blue sky looking down, stretching to almost everything, never ending thirst for space. White loves answering Blue’s questions in the most indirect way as possible, humorous and in style, like white clouds forming in between, randomly shape and indefinite, never ending shield of warm. He loves watching the two, never taking sides, for he knows he just simply cannot choose and influence them, so he just stay at bay, remain invisible. He is Black, like dark clouds that angers with rain, engulfing the white ones, or night that coats the world with nothingness, swallow the peaceful blue away. He knows black steals and eats all the other colors effortlessly, and he knows he wants a beautiful sky, so he is content by being the third wheel, expressing his gratitude by sketching them on his canvas or playing melodious piano pieces he picks up here and there somewhere along the way.
He looks at them from behind his canvas, sketching, and the other two just lazily lay down on their backs, side by side, whispering sacred secrets that are loud enough for him to hear.
“How do you know...?”
White will just shrug it off, and gives off a knowing smile. They can tell each other’s feelings just by a mere look on the eye. The puzzled look dispersed into thin air, replaced by a bright smile. It is always like that between the two, and he thought it will never change. Not in a chance.
There is a sound of piano drifting in the air, slow, yet haunting, painful to the ears. He knew the song well. It was the first piece he learned in his life, and that was so long ago.
“Do you remember when this song...?”
White will just smiles a bit, and gives off the apologetic face. It is understandable. He can hardly remember it himself. There is a nod, saying it is ok, yet a bit frown formed on the face. A smack on the arm, a small hug, and the frown dispersed into thin air, replaced by a bright smile. It is always like that between the two, and he thought it will never change. Not in a chance.
It is a happy day. It should be, for it is the start of the new term. But somehow it is raining, so hard he can see nothing but black. The sky disappears, taking Blue and White with it. Gone. Accidents, they say, hit-and-run by a runaway convict on their way to school, hands still linked together.
He did not buy any of it.
He plays the piano piece in silence for the both of them, for the last time, on their funeral. From the corner of his eyes, he can see people crying harder than before he plays. His teacher was confused why he learned such a sad song at the beginning of the piano lesson, long time ago. He never recalls the reason he gave her, but he do remember her telling him the title of it.
“It’s called ‘Requiem for the Sky’.”
He can never agree more.
He closes the piano lid, leaves with it his bag that is full with canvas, sketches of them, and walks off. He wants to leave it all there, his memories, his past, his life with them. And leave it he did. He never looks nor turns back, even as he closes the door of the room. The sound of the door shut echoes along the hallway before it slowly fades away, and become silence once again, like the sound never even existed at the first place. He walks away feeling nothing but numb. Surprisingly, even to him, there is no single tear coming out.
Once he gets home, he locks himself up in his room, and gathers up his belongings into one small backpack, not like he has many things to own to begin with, and walks out slowly when the clock strike past midnight long ago, assuring that everybody is already asleep, not even bother to say goodbye. He is an outcast even among his family, and he never really gets along with his many brothers and sisters, for they often have this kind of disgust in their eyes when they looked at him, though he does not know any reason why. He knew he is an adopted son, he accidentally eavesdropped his parents conversation some time ago, and he take it that his family never really want him at the very first place, like he does not really belong there. He never confronted them about it, and he doubt it if they ever knew that he knew the truth. Still, to him it does not really matter. He already told his mother that he will move out one day, and already took up part-time jobs to support himself. Although he never told her when, she did not really opposed the idea, so he take it as an okay. He leaves a letter along with some money from his salary that he specifically saved to give them, indicating that he is leaving and thanks them profusely for taking care of him. He knows that he is not a really good son and even though he knows that they do not really love him like other parents and family would, he is still well-cared and not bullied like some other Cinderella story, and he is thankful enough for that.
He reaches the front gate when he feels like somebody is staring at him, quick on reflexes he is, he turns around, facing the house, and looks at the windows. He swears there is some kind of a silhouette at the left window upstairs, hiding behind the curtains, not wanting to be seen. He does not really want to know who it is, not like he really cares, so he simply walks out and closes the gate as quiet as he could. The shadow is still there, peeping through the opening of the curtains. He looks up to the house again, walking a few steps backwards, and he does not know whether he will miss this place. He does not really feel melancholy or sad, and he is always dubbed as a robot, due to his lack of expressing emotion to others. He keeps things to himself, and do not open up to people easily. Being secretive makes him feel safe somehow, and he likes himself the way he is, regardless of negative opinions he receives from others because of that cold personality of his.
He takes a deep breath, clutching his backpack tight, and bows to the house, as an express of gratitude for everything. He knows the person at the window will see, and he does not mind at all. He knows that it is rather unlikely for him to return back here, and he also knows that he might not come back at all. To him, this is farewell, for good. He straightens himself up, turns around, and starts walking away. He can feel the stare at his back, but he does not turn around this time. He just focuses to the street in front him, to the places he might be, the possibilities of everything in his new profound life. He does not want to remember anything from before, and he is confident enough that he will be fine, no matter what will happen after this. Thus, he keeps on moving, ignoring any sound that can be heard from behind him. He thinks that he can hear some sort of whisper calling him, and considering the fact that there is no one around, he figures it must be him. Still, he ignores them altogether, and forbidden himself from stop and look back, for he fears he might not be able to move forward again. So he closes his heart, his ears, his mind, and walks off, never looking back.
He never did.
He listens to the class president’s explanation on the school while looking around; making a mental note on the hallway so that he will not find himself lost later. He somehow have a feeling he will like it here, his previous school did not held much memory for him to remember, or rather, did not left much significant meaning to him. It is just his first day here yet he feels quite content with the surroundings. He must say this school is beautiful, the landscape and all is organized in a unique way. Upon reaching the staff’s room, the class president excuses himself to go back to class, now that his job to show him around is done. He nods in acknowledgement and watch the retreating back of the boy. The class president is indeed a responsible person. He can tell by the way the boy walks; he gives off some kind of authority aura with every step he takes, and he makes it a point to remember the boy’s name for future reference, just in case something happens.
He enters the staff’s room and finds his homeroom teacher talking to another teacher at the corner of the room. He walks slowly towards both teachers and he gets himself a smile of acknowledgement from both men as they saw him approaching. He smiles back, politely. His homeroom teacher starts filling him with the school rules, activities, and so much more until the other teacher who had been there the whole time interrupts upon reaching the co-curriculum subjects.
“Say, I’m quite sure the other clubs are full already, but there are still vacancies for these two clubs, I daresay. One is the Arts Club, which I am the advisor, and the other being the Music Club, I heard they are short of people on piano class. You can choose one, it is not necessary for you to actually know how to draw or play the piano, really. They can teach you from the very simple basic, though I have the feeling that you might just not need it.”
The Arts teacher smiles knowingly, his eyes never leaving his.
“Somehow, I can almost see it in you.”
“You have a hand of an artistic person.”
He raises a brow on that remark, the old woman beside him still have her gaze fixed on his hands on his lap, before she take his left hand in hers, admiring his long slender fingers against her rough and wrinkled one. Each line tells a story, he thinks, as he traces them with his eyes, absorbing the little warmth from the stranger he wishes he knows better. They are at the railway station; he waits for the next train to board and leave while she waits for the next train to bring a person back home. She does not say specifically the relation and he does not think it have anything to do with him either so he does not ask.
“I believe you played an instrument, or good in painting, am I right?”
He almost chokes on air and looks up as she smiles at him, her eyes tells him that she knows, and the firm squeeze on the hand assures him that it is useless to try lying. He exhales, thinking of an answer when an announcement fills the air; the train they are waiting is here. Spontaneously, both of them stands up, hands still clasped together. He picks up his backpack and slung it to his right shoulder, still thinking of the right words to say, but disappointedly finds none. He blames it on his poor brain; he is no good with words anyway. Looking into her eyes though, reminds him of them whenever they heard his piano, or steal glances on his canvas, and it hurts, so much, he ends up telling her without thinking.
“I did piano, and draw occasionally, but I’m dropping them now."
People starts to flood around them and she lets go of his hand, not before giving him a hug, and whispers in his ears.
“Don’t do things half-heartedly, or you’ll regret it.”
He shook his head.
“I won’t. I’ll let go, both of them.”
He stays still. It is necessary for a student to participate in extracurricular activities and be a member of one club, meaning he has to choose between the two things he wants to avoid most, for he does not want to remember. He can feel himself torn for him rather not draw and play the piano anymore than to choose just one.
“You don’t have to choose now, you see. I think it is best if you choose the one that will make you enjoy your time and be happy.”
The Arts teacher smiles again and he nods, the teacher is right. He closes his eyes and exhales deep, confirming his decision.
“Why don’t you choose one? It’ll be hard to let go of both things at the same time.”
He remains silent. It is hard, he knows it.
“Choose one. It’ll be a pity if you don’t. You’re too young to give things up.”
The look on her face gives off an indescribable feeling and he somehow has the urge to capture it on his drawing, much to his own amusement. And maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he can still draw.
“Maybe, I’ll draw, only if I have to choose.”
Her smile is calming and bright it almost blinds him.
“That’s good. Don’t give up too much, like me. I have nothing now, nothing to call mine, no one to come back.”
The siren fills up the air, and he feels heavy in the heart. Tears are threatening to come out from her eyes, and he realizes, no matter how much she waits, it will be all in vain.
“They are not going to come back, once you let go.”
It is only until her goodbye wave is no longer visible to him that he realizes that he has been holding back his breath, and tears.
“I’ll join the Arts Club, teacher. Besides, I really like this school’s landscape and garden, I think I can sketch many things here. I’m...not really interested in piano anyway.”
Both teacher smiles now and he knows he does the right thing. He even shocks himself to be able to come up with a decision this quick. The Arts teacher quickly briefs him on the club’s information and he finds himself eager to start sketching. He consciously reminding himself that he will have more fun now as he walks back to the class, and upon passing by the Music Club room, he deliberately closes himself up, his ears, his mind, and his heart, something he gradually becomes good at since the night he left his home, so that he will not hear the sound of piano playing or even see the sight of a piano in the slightly opened door of the room. He figures out that he is getting better in controlling himself and he cannot help but thinking that maybe, just maybe, he is a robot now rather than a human.
He sits down on the bench, opens the lid, and plays piece after piece, until his fingers goes numb, his mind goes blank, and hears nothing but the sound of his heart breaking. He keeps on asking himself, why, why did I fall in love with you? With Blue, with White, with piano, with canvas, sketches, sky. He wants answers to why it has to happen. He always thought, no matter how much time passed, they will always be here. But somehow, they have to choose a different road, and he is left with nothing to call his own.
He never feels confident with himself, and he has close to zero friends save for the two people that is always stuck to him like glue. He takes up piano seriously and take lessons because both Blue and White loves it when he hums make up melodies in his head, going as far as persuading him to think that he have talent in it, which proves to be true, but he never plays for anybody but them. Along the way he starts sketching because that is the only thing he can do better than White who sucks in Arts, and Blue just love the flustered face of others, especially White upon seeing his sketches displayed by the teacher. Now that his sky is no longer clear and will never be the same again, he lost the very reason to smile. He realizes that he depends on the two a bit too much, yet he just cannot help it. Not when there is no else in the world that truly cares about him.
A string of melody escapes his lips just when he is about to stop playing, his fingers hanging mid-air. There is a weird sensation about the sound but he cannot quite put a finger on it. Just like that, the words begin to overflow, so as his tears, as the rhythm fills him up. Mumbles of apologies, what-ifs-and-why-not, all makes its way out of him. When he lost count of what to say, he plays the melody, feeling himself lifted, filled with emotions, and stops with the last drop of tears hitting the key.
The silence hits him back to reality, and for the first time in his life, he feels satisfied, numb. He throws everything out of him, his tears, his regrets, his melodies; he is left with nothing now. Smiling a bit to no one but him, he stands up; closing the lid, thinking this is it, the end. He plays too much now and he thinks that maybe, no, sure now he can stops playing, like a person doing one thing a bit too much he gets bored and leaves it altogether.
He can forget everything, now. He is letting it go.
The moment he picks up his tools later that day; the canvas, pencils, erasers, and all, he feels new again. He starts sketching the fountain at the center of the school’s landscape and much to his own amusement; he does a great job with it. He literally forgotten the piano, and anything, everything associates with it.
There he is, as always, at his spot at the corner of the rooftop, sketching. He has his eyes closed, and the sight makes her confident that he is the one. There is no mistaking it, this guy never really changed after all, just like how she remembered him years ago. She walks slowly, does not want to disturb him.
She hears him humming the tune, and she stops abruptly, stepping on the floor a bit too hard in the process, and shock the hell out of him. His eyes widen in surprise for seeing her there and that is when she realizes that she does not know what to do. She wants to talk to him but she knows he would not open up to her easily just because she knew. They were never close or something at the first place, and she does not want to scare him away. So she does the next best thing, she smiles.
“The tune...is it from a song? It’s...beautiful.”
He eyes her upon hearing that and she mentally kicked herself for asking. She does not sure whether he remembered her or not and apparently he looks troubled by the question, as he darted his eyes back to the canvas, which makes her feeling worse than before. He puts the canvas down beside him and sits down, motioning to her to do the same. As he leans back against the wall, he turns to her, asking.
“Would you mind listen to this?”
She nods and he talks. About the white presence, the tune, the angelic smile, everything. When he finishes it all, she finds herself numb. It might be her luck, for she manages to figure out everything, now that she put two and two together, but still, it hurts.
She smiles and thanks him for telling her the out-of-the-body experience, before runs off towards the door. She might hurt him by doing so, but she cannot help herself, for she does not want him to see her crying. He does not remember her, not that it is important. The problem is he does not remember anything anymore. As if the he that she knew does not even existed, and it hurts her badly. He does not know the tune, does not remember playing it, does not remember creating it, and does not remember that he is the one writing the magical tune before the disaster happen.
She realizes now, that he never even touches a piano, let alone play again ever since.
EDIT: I hate blogspot. It took me damn LONG to edit almost EVERYTHING that I copied from Word (which makes up almost 90% of this post I daresay). At least Livejournal is a tad easier to use and less edit-needed.
I might post my stories on Livejournal ONLY (in huge consideration now) and post the links to it here. Still, it's just a plan of mine. Bear in mind that the possibility is as high as 85% now though.
Music of the Day: 4men- Baby Baby
P/S: This song is damn AWESOME. If you're in for R&B acapella style of song, this is perfect for you! The vocal is extremely good and soothing and it's sad to see that this group is so underrated...they need more exposure! Either way, try listen to this one in my playlist as per usual and judge them yourself! I have a perfect solid 10 for this~ ^^
Oh! This song is Korean btw~
~The Bored Heiji
EDIT: ~The Damn-Frustrated Heiji