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Tears were clinging to Ivan's cheeks like miniature diamonds, sharp enough to cut into his skin as he ran through the night.
Tristan's existence felt so dark and hollow and disturbing, and being stuck in an apartment that looked the way Tristan's words felt – weary and cold and hopeless – had pushed Ivan to his limits. He could no longer sit there with pretended equanimity, listening to Tristan talk about things no boy their age should have to worry about.
Ivan just wanted Tristan to smile again, the way he had done when they had first met. His first smile had seemed so innocent, revealing a sharp tooth and sharper mind and engraining itself in Ivan's memory with the ferocity of burning innocence.
Now Ivan had seen past that smile, had caught a glimpse at the underlying darkness and desperation and all he could do was run from it with sharp tears cutting his cheeks.
Ivan felt small, and weak, and lost. And Tristan told him there was no reason to because there was no purpose to miss, no meaning to lose, nothing to gain. Tristan's eyes spoke the stars and his voice calmed Ivan's soul, but his words cut him in places no one should ever feel pain.
Ivan ran and he didn't stop. And when the new day came and left, he didn't return to the old building's abandoned roof.
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YOU ARE READING
The Infinite Nothing
Short StoryTristan talked about Socrates and Plato and about purpose and life after death. Ivan had a hard time remembering his own middle name. When Tristan and Ivan meet at a funeral, Tristan doesn't have to think about the needles in his room for some time...
