Beautiful Tragedies

Six + The Disbelief That Corrupts Sane Thoughts

Six + The Disbelief That Corrupts Sane Thoughts.

      I don't lift my head from my knees or my heart from my throat until I hear the sound of approaching footprints. They're light and delicate sounds, cautious treading.

      My neck strains and cracks as I lift it, it feels tight and throbs. God only knows how long it's been bent with the time I've spent crying into my knees. A lot of time has passed, more than just minutes, hours maybe. I don't know for sure though, I don't know anything for sure.

When I tilt my head and open my red, raw and swollen eyes, the world is significantly brighter. Hours have passed. The sun has risen higher now, a bright globe amongst a cloudless day. It's probably mid morning.

The sound of footsteps continues and draws my conscious away from the estimate of time. My eyes flicker up and my breath hitches in my throat. A young man, my age, strolls down the alleyway towards me. But his direction is off, he's not heading for me because he can't see me.

He can't see me.

Don't walk through me. Please, don't walk through me. Those are the words that chant through my head.

And then I watch stunned as his mouth parts slightly. "Are you okay?" The words are a whisper amongst air, a question that tilts my word and makes my body surge with sudden dizziness. He can see me.

He can see me.

I'm more than surprised. My stomach lurches and my eyes fill with unshed tears. Creases form between my eyebrows and subconsciously I look around for anyone else that he could be asking the question to. I find that the alleyway is empty, void of anyone else. It's just me and the boy, with a worried gaze, who's waiting for an answer.

I have to confirm it.

"Y-you can see me?" The words tumble from my mouth, a choke of disbelief and a sob.

He steps forwards, his lips parted with a sudden intake of air and his eyebrows furrowed. "I, ah-" he clears his throat, obviously stumped, "of course I can."

Oh. Oh god.

I choke again, a frightening noise, and then, I'm sobbing. I instantly clamp a hand over my mouth but it only intensifies and echoes the gasping and choking. I cry and cry. Like, an uncontrollable force that takes over me, tears stream endlessly down my face in cascades, and my lungs scramble for breath.

Oh god, this is too much. It's all too much. I don't understand. I can't understand. Help me understand, please help me.

The boy walks closer, his piercing green eyes a storm of worry and consumed stress. He crouches down beside me and reaches a tentative hand forward. Cautious.

I flinch backwards between a sob. Don't touch me, I want to hiss, you can't touch me. I'm not real. I'm not real. But the boy continues forward and suddenly, gently, our skin collides.

A jolt runs through my body as if I've been electrified, every nerve stands to attention. Once again, more breath is taken away from and a feeling of uneasiness crosses over me. The boy doesn't seem to notice, he stays oblivious. His hand rests gently against my free hand, that one that's not clamped over a mouth and shaking head.

"Oh, love," he whispers. "You're not okay, are you." The wording is not a question it's a statement. An observation is taken from behind those piercing green lenses. He rakes a hand through his black hair, pushing it away from the creases of his forehead.