aria i

—can i see you again someday?—

There was something strange in the air that day, an unbearable choking sensation that created only tears in its wake. The rain did not pour heavy like it typically would on a late September afternoon. No, there was no rain, only a clear blue sky with clouds of numerous shapes whisked all over the sky as if painted onto a canvas. 

But something that remained through it all was the feeling that something was missing. 

A presence that radiated color into the days where the rain did fall. 

No longer was it next to me, 

Smiling with all might. 

Instead what sat there was a single petal from a small flower. 

Effervescently yellow. 

The wind blew hard on that first day of living with loss, my eyes glazed over from my persistent crying. 

The setting today is no different. The sun parts the sky outside with such ease, as though the clouds and rain never seemed to exist in the first place. But this beauty was not what lay in front of my eyes. 

Stained wood with ornate detail carved into its sides, metal bars adorning the area below, acting as handles. The top lie pried open, a face familiar to everyone in the room lies on a pillow. 

Effervescently yellow flowers popping out from a bouquet firmly in the grasp of her hands. All those familiar with her face embossed in black from head to toe. 

Unlike them, however, her face sat in ease. 

Like weight had been reduced from her shoulders.

What little color the flowers flowed through the room was suffocated by the tears wept by those around me. 

My eyes, too, wept incessantly. 

I wished and prayed throughout it all that it wasn’t true, it was only a bad dream. But alas my wishes were never granted, and my eyes weren’t being deceived.

I all want now is for the color to be reintroduced. 

But the dreams with memories of Orlea and me are far and fleeting. Her face blossoms like such beautiful yellow flowers that she once wore in her hair, that she only told me were her favorites one time. 

In the field of tall stalks and sunflowers is where she spends the most time in my dreams.

But the sun now hits my face and I am awoken to the sound of cicadas humming for the last time before the summer ends. 

Though unlike the days prior, the sky is parted only slightly by the sun, for dark clouds of rain foretell the rest of the week. 

In a few weeks the feeling of freedom granted by summer will end, and all my time will be taken up by working. I have decided to un-enroll from the college Orlea and I had planned on going to. The tears that formed in my mom’s eyes as I told her were more damage induced than the tears at Orlea’s wake. 

Soon enough I will find some way to join her, and that is what I hid from my mom. I can’t bear another second of life without the aquamarine eyes that I used to meet with mine.

The emptiness of my room in the dark casts no further doubt on the state of my brain. Disheveled are the bookcases filled with merchandise from my favorite bands and magazines. My eyes are too well adjusted to this light, so when I open the door the slight change in tones blinds me. I turn and face the end of the hallway, my hand on my bedroom door, closing it behind me. The dim sunlight bleeds through the curtains and onto the floor, wisps of dust frolicking around in the air. 

A faint refraction of light casts an outline of a figure that once stood at the end of this hall. Her dusty ash brown hair cascading down as she stands there bent over, tucking her hair behind her ear, revealing the earrings I gifted her on her birthday last year. The dangling earrings shimmer in the faint light that she once stood in. My dog Silas now pouts on the couch, for even he misses her. 

The landline suddenly rings, and I slowly walk past Silas and into the kitchen. I pick the phone up, and a familiar voice speaks out, 

“Hello?” the voice asks. 

“Hello.” I say quietly.

“Aindreas, are you free today?” the voice asks. 

“…” 

“Aindreas Zohlwyorn Eidt. Answer me.” the voice commands to me. 

“I guess.” I respond by whispering. 

“Good. Meet Dmitri and I at the usual place at 2 PM, and don’t bail on us.” the voice commands again. 

“Sure thing.” I say back. 

“…” 

The other side hangs up, followed by pure silence. 

The clock on the wall reads a quarter til 1. I walk out of the kitchen, and stop to pet Silas as he sits quietly on the couch. I kneel down, wrap my arms around his head, and hug him tightly. The tears follow suit, flowing serenely down my cheeks as Silas quickly licks them off. Eventually things start to feel like they were before, pictures flashing in my mind of Silas and I when I was young, a bag of N&Ns in my hand, arms wrapped around Silas’s neck. Silas starts licking my face, promptly making me laugh. 

“Hey that tickles, old man!” I say through my laughter. 

But Silas doesn’t know what that means, so he keeps on keeping on. 

A reminder that I should do the same. 

I pick myself off the floor, cupping Silas’s head in my hands while scratching his fur. 

“I love you old man.” I let out. 

Silas pants, spreading his legs out to insinuate he wants me to scratch his stomach. 

Of course I give in. 

Before long I walk away, Silas following along. I shower and get dressed. My clothes consist of some random t-shirt I ordered from a magazine and a pair of jeans. I walk out of my room and to the front door. Sitting next to my keys is a note from my mom. 

“Be safe. I’ll be home at my usual time to cook dinner. Love you - Mom”

I grab my car keys and walk out the door, locking it behind me. 

I drive my dad’s ‘73 Mustang, glossy clear coat forest green with the original black front skirt and off white trim stripes. I pull my key out, putting it in the door handle, turning the key. Sitting right on the speedometer is a picture of my dad working on this car, me sitting next to him looking at the car in awe. 

I get in, sitting on the dark navy treated leather seats that I painstakingly renew every month. I was tired of the head unit screwing up my cassettes, so I converted it to the newer standard. Replaced it with some Kenwood I found at the audio store, and the guy gave me a great deal on it. Orlea laughed at first, since it cost me almost my entire check, but after I played her a CD she was starstruck. She started mass buying them, the pile of which now sit in my passenger seat. 

The CD plays the end of “Black” by Pearl Jam. 

Her hair blows in the wind as it winds and waves through the car window, the orange, yellow, red, and pink sunset carousels behind her. Her aquamarine eyes bounce the colors off like reflections on water. She slowly fixes her hair before turning and looking at me, smiling from ear to ear. 

To which I do the same. 

I look forward to the road, my hand sits comfortably under hers. Her lips move to the lyrics as if she wrote the song. 

I can hear her shuffling in the seat, her head sitting on my shoulder as I shift into gear. 

I turn my head to look at her, but no one is there. 

Instead I can hear someone knocking at my window, looking up to see Jason Hoffeman standing there. 

I open my door, unbuckling my seatbelt. 

I get out and look over the roof of my car at him. 

“Still waiting, huh?” he looks at me, his face forming a frown. 

“I don’t think I will ever not be waiting.” I respond. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, man.” He walks around my car, standing in front of me. He reaches out for a hug, which I gladly accept. 

“I promise I won’t.” I say with a smile. 

“Good, now c’mon, let’s go hang on the hill.” He sticks his hand out, clenching his fist. 

I calmly stick my hand out, giving him a fist bump. 

As the crickets croak, the day becomes night. 

Soon the two hours we had planned to sit here and talk about life became five. And I enjoyed it all. But life could not go on this way. 

For I cannot live without Orlea. 

Saying goodbye, I wave my hand at Jason and my other friend Dmitri. 

To which they wave back. 

I start my car again, waiting a few minutes before driving off. 

Though just as before, the cold embrace of the moon shines only on the empty passenger seat that I cannot see without her in it. 

Her head finally falls on my shoulder, her eyes gazing into mine. 

Before I knew it, I was home. 

My mom sat asleep in her bed already. 

Sitting in the dark arms of my room was a locked case. 

Its contents hidden from the plain eye, but as I unlocked it, there sat the very contents that my dad had admired all those years ago. 

There sat two identical Smith & Wesson PCC-9 5906s. Though unlike the characters in films which line the cinema, these two have no name. 

They both have a handle emblazoned in fine red oak, a small symbol sits in the middle of it. 

The metal has not tarnished, gleaming as if purchased today. 

But the thought does not escape as I sit here and admire the beauty of these life taking entities. 

For I wish for them to end another life tonight. 

The first aria of “deafREQUIEM i: fortune Does not Favor,” book 1 of the First Series of Collection 3 of Dei Arcani.

The first night of “castelot i: a fleur de lys,” book 1 of the Second Series of Collection 1 of Dei Arcani.