The Ties

Blue ties, red ties, it doesn't matter, we all wear ties. They can be long black ties you wear at a wedding, or a goofy red and blue tie at a colorful party. It might be a simple brown tie you wear while working your nine to five job at your office space. There is a tie for every occasion. Bow ties, ascote, windsor, hell even a clip on tie can be good enough. Even people who don't wear ties, those who would avoid them, they'll wear ties soon enough. Everyone wears a tie at your funeral, including you. You might even request for no tie at your funeral, you still have ties. Things that tie you to this world, your ties. They are a form of identity, a second hand passport. You think the man wearing a tie wouldn't have an ID?

But even when you're dead, I'll be there, to make sure you have your tie. An everlasting touch so that you may be remembered. No matter how many others may forget who you were, what you looked like, or what you did, don't worry. I will always remember what you did, and to whom. Let us not forget who you were. Because I won't forget, even if I wanted to. No matter how many pills I swallow and drinks I consume there is no forgetting you.

But... I can, of course, remember you once you're dead. The last memories of you are the ones I will cherish, knowing you've gotten your comeuppance. I feel the jitters and harsh whispers of your remnants, but they'll never know your wrath, ever again. And for that, I carry this burden, knowing, no matter what, that I did something good. I did something good for at least one person in the world.

Chapter One

I, Raymond Paige, live in the small town of Jackburg, Virginia, population 50,000. Small town with nothing much, but big enough so not too many people don't notice when someone goes missing or turns up dead. A place rich with civil war history but poor in money and popularity. You'll find at least a 3rd of the roads are made from dirt, and when you drive enough on it, it'll hide any holes you've dug and patched up. My kind of town.

It's the kind of place where everyone knows each other. At least in someone's version of the story. No people, real people, don't know each other. They only know their faces, and the words that come out of their mouths. The indicators of intent, whether they be true or not, is up to the listener, for the speaker has already decided. It's a place where everyone thinks they know everyone. But when's the last time you actually spoke with your neighbor?

It's a Sunday afternoon. The sky gives off that orange tinge of when it's turning from day to night. It reminds me of summer time, coming home as a child. It makes me think of something nostalgic, but in a negative way. I don't know if it's because I want those memories again or perhaps never wanted them at all. I have changed a lot as a person since I was a child. Sometimes, it's as if I was thrust into this change, but I chose this path, no one else made me do these things. While standing there, in a house that's not my own, I get a call, "Raymond." They nearly shout. It's a familiar lady's southern accent, not terribly thick but it stands out from the crowd.

"Yes?" I respond, knowing her, it's probably nothing fun.

"It's me, Carly, hi. Steve, you know, he's called out, again. If you could, can you, uhm. Cover tomorrow, around five to nine?" I don't want to come in, I really don't care that much, but money is money and food is food.

"Sure." I respond in a what she must have felt was a half-assed tone.

"You don't have to if you-."

"No. I can do it." Talking to her was like trying to watch a movie. You don't talk to movies, you just let them play out, and if you don't like the movie, well, you can't turn her off. I hang up the call then look at myself in the mirror.

I'm covered in red paint, I thought. Some might say it's ludicrous to call it paint. But what else would give it meaning? Paint makes a painting and a painting, paints a picture. This picture of who I am. Maybe with enough paint I can collect myself, and find out who I am as a person. But most people just call it blood.