The sun beat against the brown rustic floor. There was no wind to be felt or heard. The hills saw everything, still and silent, with it's watchful eyes. There were no trees around. No sort of shade for a being to relieve themselves from the sun. Now I know your thinking, we're starting off this damn story in the desert. Well, yes I can confirm that we do start off in the desert, but we definitely don't end here. More or less, it depends where your mind takes you. It's all up to you now.
So I'll take you to him first. He's no smarter than your average 24 year old guy. He works at a small Japanese restaurant in the middle of little Tokyo. I'm not going to describe him. I want you to form some special illusion of this man in your head. Don't forget your mind is taking you where ever you want to go. Now back to him. I'm going to let you recognize him as John. Now here we are with John in his small, miniscule, meaningless life. He's one out of a billion. He's not important. But I got you to think he had an impact on our story. He doesn't. He's our background person. The man you see laughing, having a good conversation with a woman. So fake. So unreal. We laugh at those people. We watch the movie countless times and even though we find them ridiculous, we can't keep our eyes off them, we can't stop pointing them out. Why am I talking about him, you ask? Because I feel you need to take on every aspect of this story as much as possible. You need to see what I see, you need to see what he sees. Do you know what he sees? He sees nothing. Because he is blind. Not literally. Oh no, we are not looking for a trajedy. We're looking for a memory. So let's go back into this meaningless person's past and capture a glimpse on how he lost his vital eyesight...
John's laying on his bed. Hair sticking to his neck and forehead. His air conditioning isn't working. Poor John...You poor man, who means nothing to this story. His legs are partially sticking out of his blankets, flailing over his bed side. He can't remember how he got home. He wasn't intoxicated. No, he was drugged. Sitting at the bar looking at the brunette with false eyelashes and false hopes. She saw the desperation in his eyes. She saw the meaninglessness in his life. She fed off of it. You bet she was hungry for a sucker. And you bet he followed her like a sick homeless puppy. One moment there were whispers and the taste of hot breath beating against eachothers necks, and then there he was, falling to his bed with his clothes completly gone. unconcious. Did anything happen? Oh, I know your quietly asking. I know your mind is going to places it shouldnt be. But I'll answer your question anyway. No. Simple as that. He was drugged and that was it. Poor John. You desperate man. Do you see now his significance, do you? Because if you don't, I will have to tell you what happens next. You dont? Alright. I will go on. John lays there, naked. Cuts on his wrists. Cuts on his neck. Bruises on his legs. Would you ever committ suicide John? No, silly. You wouldn't. Your too weak. You over analyze your life like a poem with multiple meanings hidden by metaphorical phrases and symbolism. Your too weak. John gets up, puts on his clothes, finds his glasses, and heads to work. His life is slow but it's all he has. His parents left him when he was three years old and his foster parents disowned him. He used to live off drugs like they were bread and water. It was all he needed. They were all he wanted. His lips were chapped and crusty from dried blood. This was normal. He bit his lips constantly to reassure himself that he still had feeling left in him. He was numb. He could feel, yes. But he was numb. Body, mind, and soul. All numb. He walked like a zombie, night and day, challenging anyone to make him feel something. Anything. Tears roll down his cheek because he knows he is numb, and it burns. It burns what is not there. His boss knows him well at the restaurant. So he never speaks to John. He has grown accustomed to John's far away personality. That's a nicer term for it. But today is not like any other day. Today is the day John notices her. Notices who she is and where she's from. He doesn't know her name. But I do. So I'll tell you. Her name is Estella. She wore jeans, regular tennis shoes, a wife beater, and her hair tied up in a bun. She wears chopsticks in her hair, even though it is held up by a rubberband. He gasps. His heart races, and there and then, he drops the glass plates. Shattered into a million pieces, clean, shiny, almost new. They are what he's been waiting for. His numbness shatters along with the glass. Into a million pieces. Not being able to be brought back together. His hands are shaking. His lips bleeding. His eyesight is back. He holds onto the metal sink's cold hard edges, sparkling underneath the light. The light bulb illuminates the offwhite walls with more than its gleaming light. The energy is telling a story of how the light came to be and how it will come to an end. The smell of the food roams the restaurant, creating a feeling of nostalgia to it's regulars. The loyal customers ofcourse. John crouches to feel the broken pieces of glass on the floor. His hands bleed and he watches the blood flow, slowly down his wrists and onto his apron. Her smile flashes through his head and he winces. John falls to the floor and he lays breathing slowly, watching the light flicker above him. He is no longer laying on the kitchen floor but a place in his head where the sun shines against the brown rustic floor. Where the wind was no where to be seen or felt. Where the hills saw everything with its watchful eyes. And there she was sitting indian style on the floor. Picking up the mud and watching it fall from her hands, creating a sort of dark heavenly mist around her. She's not perfect. She's authentic in her own ways. No serial code or certificate of legitamacy needed. No, nothing at all. Just his hand in hers. Yes, thats it. This is where I begin. Yes, this all begins with John and Estella. Hand in hand. Falling.
Its starting to rain. The cars are honking beneath the loft in the streets below. Creating a music only known to the ears of the people of the city. This is only aquired with sleepless nights, watching the salt and pepper fight on the television. I know nothing about this music. To me it's all noise. But what do you care about my opinion? I am only your narrator, and you are only the reader. The lights flicker in building windows. Oh how the lights look from here. Are you jealous? Dont be. It's only an image. You'll feel and hear this all someday. For now, these are my observations. I hope you will tell me yours soon. She's lying half naked on the floor, waiting for him to pick her up. She can't stand on her own two feet without him. John where in the world are you? So she cries because he has left. He is gone for good. Hours before she kissed his cheek and lay him to rest against a bed of flowers. Their relationship flashing against her eyes like a broken tv that won't stop the channels from changing. Scene to scene. Kiss to kiss. Hug to hug. Smile to smile. One blank face against the tv screen calling for help. A hand grabbing onto something for a sense of feeling. Searching for something to hold onto while she sinks to the bedroom floor of their loft. Her hair falls into her eyes. her cheeks are cold but she still breathes. She flashes back. She watches as they cover him with what made him. When they are done she lays on top of his own special spot in the earth and whispers only words he can hear. Dont be so selfish. It's his moment. I will never know the words and neither will you. She brings her legs to her chest. Holding them. Keeping them from the cold. Shes alone. Laying under a roof that is being hit by tiny droplets of water. Under a sky that rests for noone. She wants out. No more rain. No more music. No more lights. Just night. Just day. Nothing more. So up she gets and shes on her way to write a new chapter. To draw pictures in the margins. To scribble out secrets. To dot her i's and end her sentences. Shes gone forever. The floor is empty. The walls are bare. The streets are wet. The lights are glowing. The music is playing. Her mind is leaving the station of reality. Say goodbye. Take out your tickets. She's gone.
Hot wind wraps itself around her body. Creating a moisture that she finds comfort in. She watches everything pass her by. Dont ask where shes going. Shes as clueless as I am. The car runs out of gas and the journey ends here. Or does it? Dont doubt her. She leaves with one backpack full of things only vital to her survival. Hello nature.
Hello world. Hello sun!!! Her journey begins but we end here. She needs to find herself. her home, her mind. Will we come back? Depends. Im only here to tell you what i see, but what does she see? She sees nothing and again we are left blind.
Well now how do you like it so far? Shapes. Bodies. Tears. Earth. Oh all the possibilites, right here in front of you! I'll never stop! I promise. I'll go as long as you tag along. The garden is gleaming with new life. A new body is now what i see. You decide the rest. I'm not here to make up your mind for you. Let the imagination of a blonde body take over your mind and create a new face. So here is where we start again. She saw her whispering. She felt him smile. She knew he heard the words she spoke. You name her. Alright. I like that name. Sam. You beautiful person, you. She sits in the garden letting a long drag of smoke slowly drift from her mouth. Her eyes closed. Hands gripping the arm rests on her chair. Legs spread out in front of her. Free. Her mind is gone. She cant grasp the fact that hes lying underground with flowers blooming around his head. She fakes love every night. Poor human being. You think your giving her pleasure? Your waisting her time. Sad. Shes better than you, in every way possible. Sam, you liar. It was he who she saw, even in his days of blindness...
part 2 will begin shortly.
