Silver and Gold

Silver and Gold...

United Kingdom, 1999

It’s almost noon. You walk to the steps of the church. Look down. Pray.

Evening. You do the same. But to the steps of your own home. Home? Is it really? Home? These are strong words...you think, involuntarily. Not a place to put your shit. Home? Strong...Words... you ponder, within the depths of your journal, what... words... aren't... strong? 8:37, exactly, no, wait, 8:38. You must be to the second in this world. Not to get left behind.

Night. Behind. Are you left behind? Can't tell? You'd know if you were. Midnight. Eyes open. Candles moving. Waving at you in the dark. You turn in your bed. Scared. Fear in your veins. This again makes you think. You pick up your journal. Jot down a few things... Fear... Chemical reaction... or ... just... emotion. Period. Then, what... do... these... things... mean? End... or... pause? 12:48, no, 12:49.

You get a feeling. Not a precise feeling, but a feeling. A feeling that something happened. Now. Terrible. Teeth of glass. Tearing at your flesh. Showing no mercy. Only pain and maniacal joy.

You wake in a cold sweat, terrified at what happened to you in your dream. 6:59. Exactly. The alarm goes off, 7:00. Shit, You mentally exclaim, again a bad morning.

You hop into a too cold shower and wash your hair. There never seems to be hot water for you. After, you grab your journal. Pessimism... you scribble, still shivering from your shower. You throw a muscle shirt on, not that you're muscled, and shorts. You run for ten miles.

10. The magic number. For running that is.

After your jog you step into the shower again. But this time it's too hot. So hot you scream. You step out without washing your hair, and put some nice clothes on. You have a date today, blind, but a date none the less. Michelle, Michelle... you memorize the name a colleague told you. Michelle. A French name. A name of elegance. Who is like God.

You step out of your house and onto the sidewalk. And pray. Eat, sleep, pray... All is well.

You meet her at a very nice dining hall, "Michelle?" you ask.

"Sara." She corrects politely, Sara... Sara...

"Sorry. Sara, gotcha," you make an apologetic grin, which she responds to with a very silver smile, shimmering. She is not extremely beautiful, it is not all in her eyes, however. She has short black hair, stopping at her jaw line and following it. Her eyes are a purplish color, because of the light. But it makes you want to have dinner at that very spot. You blush and look down after she notices you are studying her features. But she just smiles and turns away, and your heart skips a beat, but she is just going to your table.

Sara... a Hebrew name, princess. You order a chicken cordon bleu, a favorite of your mother. In your head you start hearing a song you heard at the office, and you start to sing along, Stones taught me to fly... you first think you are singing aloud, but that was just a feeling. ...And I don't want to lose; it's not hard to grow. You know that you just don't know.

"So," she starts, "after we eat I know this great karaoke bar..." She hints for you to sing.

"I was just thinking about a song, how'd you know I wanted to sing?" You ask, highly intrigued.

She laughs with a silver smile, "You were humming." You notice that you were, and blush. "No, no. It was good. You carry a tune well."

"Thanks," You say. You scoff at hesitation and lean forward to kiss her. She is doing the same thing as you mesh together in a harmony swirl of love and silver lust.

As you walk with her, slightly drunk, your arms go wherever they want to. You say you love her and she replies with a smile and words that put you down. A tear falls silently down your cheek. You write on your hand because you do not have your journal, silence… is it good… to … have… silence… or is… it… tragedy… She sees what you wrote and sheds a silent tear herself. That tear, falling to the ground, glints the moonlight in Sara’s silver eyes.

You hear a power chord in the dark. Confused, you turn around to meet a fist. Your ten miles in the morning making you tired. Unable to fight back. Sara screams in the panic. On the ground you feel as if you have let her down. Her screams were muffled by a hand as you were carried off…

You were taken to a remote place that you were not going to ever find again. That's what they tell you… you believe it. They strap you down on a formaldehyde smelling table. Pricking… needling your arms with morphine. You see a blurred flash of a scalpel, then something red…

Nothing...