Painted (Short Story from CWW)

The paint on my gray, plastic chair was coming off in fine, flaky bits. As I sat there, waiting for the train to arrive, I picked at it with my head bowed, my elbows resting on my knees. I was alone in the station, and the newspaper boxes were empty, so there wasn’t much else for me to do aside from scratch away the gray and reveal the off-white underneath. The off-white was a better color, anyway, I decided—somehow, it seemed cheerier than the drab pewter painted over it, and I thought that it could maybe bring a little light to the dreary subway tunnel.

I don’t know how long I sat there, picking at the crinkled paint, but by the time the train arrived, I’d revealed a patch of white about the size of my palm. When I heard the phantom rattling of the subway down the long tunnel, I stood and wiped by hands on my jeans, satisfied with my small achievement. A moment later, the metal monstrosity shuddered to a stop in front of me. I slipped my hands into my pockets and waited for the doors to open.

At first, I didn’t see anyone in the flickering, fluorescent interior, but after a long moment of silence—broken only by the hissing and groaning of the train—a boy rounded the corner and caught my eye.

Shit, I thought, He’s only a kid. I wondered what could have possibly driven someone so young over the edge. He had russet hair and eyes the color of dark chocolate, and I guessed that he was somewhere in his mid teens. When he saw me, he froze in the doorway, shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting instant, I was afraid that he wasn’t going to move.

“Hurry,” was the first thing I said to him, “Or the doors will close and you won’t get your second chance.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again without saying a word. Finally, he stepped from the car to the platform, from limbo to the concrete. He was the only one.

I smiled as the car doors slid shut behind him. “What’s your name?” I asked, and then, as an afterthought; “Mine’s David. It’s nice to meet you.” I held out a hand.

The kid just stared at it for a moment, and then turned slightly to watch the train rattle away down the tunnel. I wondered if he was having second thoughts, wondering if he should’ve stayed there, on that train, and let it bear him into eternity. Well, I thought, It’s too late for that now.

He’d made his choice. There was no going back and no moving on.

Finally, after the train was out of sight, he turned back to me and shook his head, faintly. He didn’t take my hand, keeping his own snug in his jacket pockets, and only gave me a long, dull look. Somehow, I got the impression that he wasn’t really seeing me, but was instead looking at something far away—something no one else could see. This was common in new arrivals—it took them a while to get used to the new world around them.

My smile twisted slightly, but I only dropped my hand and shrugged. “Alright,” I said, “You don’t have to tell me. Come on. I’m supposed to get you settled in.”

I turned to go then, walking to the base of the stairs leading up, up away from this suffocating subway tunnel. Halfway to the top, I turned to see if the boy was following. I couldn’t make him follow me—he had to make that choice—but that was what was for the best. He was hesitating at the base of the stairs, one hand light on the railing, but after a second, he started to climb them. Right foot forward, left. Left foot forward, right.

That’s it, I thought, turning back to the sunlight, You have to keep living.

*

The kid refused to talk. In the car, on the way home, I glanced sideways at him, looking for any sign of emotion. He hadn’t spoken or even looked at me for more than fleeting seconds at a time. Now, he was staring out the window with those dull eyes, watching the faded countryside go by. There wasn’t much to see out there—only yellow fields and a few hungry cows—but he seemed to find it more interesting than what lay inside the car; namely, me.

“Hey,” I spoke up again, looking back to the road, “Are you really not going to tell me your name?”

Another glance revealed that the kid hadn’t moved.

“We’re going to be staying together for a while. At least until we find you your own place.”

More silence.

“Hello?” I looked at him, and then reached over to tap him on the shoulder.

This got me a reaction. He shrugged my hand away, glancing at me irritably, pale lips set in a tight frown. The message was clear; Leave me alone.

Oh no, I thought, I’m not going to let it go that easily. “Listen, I said you didn’t have to tell me back at the station, but that was a lie, alright? You actually do. So come on, spit it out.” I was beginning to get perhaps the slightest bit irritated. It wouldn’t kill him to speak, would it?

That’s when it dawned on me. I paused, blinking at the kid, lips parting in a little ah expression. “Wait a minute,” I said, slowly, and the kid glanced at me because of the change in my tone, “Are you mute?”

The moment I said it, I could tell I’d hit the nail on the head. The kid’s eyes narrowed a bit, and he pressed his lips further together, looking away. After a moment, he shrugged, dismissively, as if to say, It doesn’t matter. I’d heard of new arrivals having problems like this—sometimes they couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk, couldn’t see anything except when it was placed right in front of them. It was as if they’d left their senses behind, in the land of the living. The kid went back to staring out the window, but I could see a glimmer of pain in his eyes. My question seemed to have upset him the slightest bit, and I quickly looked away, gaze and demeanor softening. So that’s it, I thought, feeling a bit guilty.

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice quieter than before, “I’m sure it’ll go away eventually. Would you mind writing your name for me when we get home, though?” I glanced at him. “So that I’ll know what to call you.”

For a long moment, the kid didn’t respond, but then I saw him give the smallest of nods out of the corner of my eye. I smiled, faintly.

“Thanks.”

*


The kid’s name was Kai Westerfield. He wrote it for me on an orange pad of paper in my little kitchenette, leaning against the counter and hesitating over his last name. His handwriting was small and sharp. Afterwards, he looked even more uncomfortable than before—all fidgety and tense. I sat him down at my kitchen table went to get him a glass of milk, but when I offered it to him, Kai shook his head. On the pad of paper, which he’d decided to keep with him, he wrote;

I don’t like milk.

I raised an eyebrow. What kind of kid didn’t like milk? “What do you like then?” I asked, wanting to make him as comfortable as possible in this new, unfamiliar place, “Soda? Orange juice?”

Kai thought for a moment, and then; Do you have tea? Hot tea?

I read the offered pad and then smiled, eyes lighting up a bit. “You like hot tea? You’re a weird kid. Yeah, I have some. It’s hard to find here, though, so get used to not having it all the time.” I opened a cabinet in one corner and pulled down a box of English Breakfast, and then went about heating up the water. As it hissed on the stovetop, I leaned against the counter, facing Kai. With the pad of paper, I thought that we would maybe be able to have a decent conversation.

“So where are you from, Kai?” I asked, and then gestured, vaguely, “I mean, where were you from? You won’t be able to find it here—the landscape is different.” There was no going back for him now.

Kai looked at the table, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Come on, I thought, Work with me here… Eventually, though, he clicked the black pen I’d given him and wrote;

Massachusetts.

“Oh? You a Red Sox fan, then?” The water began to scream and I moved to turn off the burner, and then pulled down two chipped coffee mugs. Once I had the tea steeping, I turned back to him and saw the faintest hint of a grin on his face. “Yeah? You play baseball?” I returned the smile, and this one felt more natural than the others I’d given him.

He nodded.

“Cool, me too.” I sat down across for him and pushed his mug across the table. “Careful. It’s hot.”

What position did you play? I blinked as the pad was shoved towards me.

“Pitcher,” I answered, “You?”

Pitcher.

*

I decided to take Kai out for dinner, instead of forcing him to eat my horrible cooking. When I asked him where he wanted to go, he scribbled, Mexican?

I thought for a moment. The only Mexican restaurant in town was a run-down cantina called Armadillo. It wasn’t what I’d call real Mexican food—more like a twisted kind of Tex Mex—but it was the closest thing we had, so that’s where we decided to go.

The restaurant itself wasn’t horribly rundown. Sure, the wood paneling on the outside was warped and rough, but inside, the place had a very warm, homely feel to it. The dim lighting and low music gave it a relaxing air, despite the fact that conversations echoed in the dining room. They bounced between the walls in dull, background whispers. Here, I realized, I would need to talk seriously with Kai—tell him what was going on and what he’d have to do.

I faced him over chips and dip, after we’d ordered our meals. “So Kai,” I started, simply, “You know what’s going on, right?”

He only blinked at me for a moment, and then shrugged; Kind of.

“You realize that you’re dead.”

His hand, which was reaching for a chip, froze. My eyes flickered to it and I caught sight of a thick, pink scar peeking out from his sleeve. Slit wrists, I thought, So that’s how he did it. It wasn’t a bad way to go—I knew from experience.

After a heavy moment, Kai’s hand resumed on its course. He popped the chip in his mouth and bit down with a crunch, then wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled out the pad of paper. So this is the afterlife? he wrote, What a letdown.

I couldn’t help but agree with that. Eating greasy Mexican food wasn’t exactly my idea of Heaven, either. “Yeah, I know it sucks,” I said, “But it’s all we’ve got. This place is only for people like us. People who offed themselves.” I said the last part easily, without glazing over it. It was the truth, and I saw no good in denying it. “It’s my job to pick up new arrivals, like you. Show ‘em the ropes, explain what’s going on.”

Kai didn’t look at me, but wrote, You get a lot of business?

My smile twisted. “More than I’d like, but I’m not the only one with this job. There’re a few others.” But then, it’s not exactly the best job in the world, I thought. I didn’t mind it so much, but most people were too caught up in whining over their own problems to bother helping others. It was one of the things I hated about this place—no one wanted to deal with anything.

So, what do I do now, then? Kai pushed the paper towards me. I came with you because I thought I had nothing to lose. Are you telling me I have to keep living?

An uncomfortable silence fell over us as I read and reread his words. I’m sure it all must’ve seemed very unfair to him—to kill himself only to find out he had to deal with a world that was… well, Earth, but a bit shittier. Eventually, I shrugged, apologetically. “That’s how it is. You can try offing yourself again, but I don’t think it’ll work. We don’t age or get sick here, and the last guy who tried to shoot himself in the head just ended up walking around with a bullet hole in his temple.” I sat back, taking a sip of my drink. “I can help you get a job. You’re kind of young, but there’s something for everyone to do here… And you should be able to get your own apartment. Can’t promise much, but it’ll be better than nothing…”

And my voice?

I frowned at the paper, and then at him. “What about your voice?”

It wasn’t like this before. Will I get it back?

I was silent for a moment, and then looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’ve heard of this happening to new arrivals, but no one’s done any definitive studies. Some people seem to get them back, some people don’t. I’m sure it’ll come to you if you work at it. Have you really tried speaking?” I didn’t mean to sound condescending, but I didn’t see any harm in trying to coax words out of him.

Kai opened his mouth, then, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the table. I held my breath, unable to help but hope for some faint sign of speech, but a moment later, he shut it again, pain flickering across his features. He shook his head. I can’t, he wrote, It just doesn’t come.

“Give it time,” I told him, “Keep trying. Just don’t give up.”

*

Kai only stayed with me for about a week. During that time, he slept on the pull-out sofa in the television room, nestled in off-white sheets and a navy, knitted blanket. He seemed to be the type of kid who went to sleep early and rose before the sun; one night, I went to check on him sometime around nine and found him already curled up, sleeping with soft breaths. When he slept, the dark circles beneath his eyes were more apparent than ever—they looked as if they’d always been there, printed onto his skin.

That night, I sat on the arm of the sofa and gazed at him, wondering, once again, what could have driven a child like him over the edge. Surprisingly, not all of us had had great evils in our lives—I couldn’t even recall exactly what it was that’d made me do it. Rather, I think it’d been many, many miniscule things, piled on top of each other until I couldn’t see what was underneath.

The next morning, I found him already sitting in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of English Breakfast, reading a torn newspaper.

“That’s old,” I told him, hovering in the doorway.

He looked up at me, and then back at the paper. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the corner where the date was printed had been torn off. “Sorry,” I said, “Maybe we can find a new one while we’re out today.”

More house hunting? Kai wrote. It’d been four days, but he still hadn’t spoken, and we also hadn’t been able to find a suitable—and affordable—apartment for him. The lack of housing was normal, but I was beginning to worry about his voice.

“Yeah,” I said, “You want to get Armadillo while we’re out?” I moved to retrieve the orange juice and poured myself a glass, then floated over to the bread, hoping for toast, but it was moldy. As I was pouting over the bad bread, Kai tapped me on the shoulder and shoved the orange pad of paper in my face. I blinked at it, moving back so that I could actually see it;

Can we go play baseball today?

I looked from the paper, to Kai, and then back again. “Baseball?” I echoed, “But we don’t have a team. You want to just toss the ball around?”

He nodded excitedly, much more animated than usual. After a moment, I smiled faintly, resignedly, and shrugged. We’d been looking for houses for days now—it couldn’t hurt to take a day off. If Kai was this enthusiastic about it, I figured I might as well indulge him. It’d be good for him to get out and do something he enjoyed.

“Alright,” I said, “If you really want to.”

At this point, I just wanted him to be happy.

*

There was a field a block away from my apartment complex—a mangy, brownish thing that rarely felt the pounding of cleats. As per Kai’s request, I dug a baseball and two mitts out of my hall closet. They were aged and dusty, but otherwise usable. I handed one mitt to Kai and we set out for the field, side by side on the cracked cement. The sun was low in a cloudless sky.

“So did you play for your school team?” I asked Kai as we walked.

Kai nodded, not looking at me. He’d brought the pad of paper, but he left it tucked in his back pocket. It’d be hard to write while walking anyway, I thought, so yes or no questions it was.

“You guys any good?”

He shrugged noncommittally.

I let out a faint chuckle. “Well, it’s not like it’d matter much here. We don’t have any official sport teams or anything… Everyone’s far too lazy for that.” It was my turn to shrug. “It’s nice to get out every once and a while, if you ask me, but some people seem to think otherwise.” I paused; the field was in view. “We’re here.”

Kai and I stood a good ten meters apart. We were the only people on the grassy field—the only people in sight, for that matter. I slipped my glove on and squinted at Kai in the mid-morning sun. “Ready?” I asked, tossing the ball into the air, experimentally. It felt smooth and cold in my hand, stitches brushing against my fingers, fitting perfectly into my palm. It made me think of my past—of my days among the living.

Now I was dead, but somehow, I felt more alive than ever.

Kai nodded, and I pulled my arm back, winding up with practiced, muscle-memory motions. Then, I let the ball fly.

It flew into the sun, becoming little more than a black speck that I couldn’t look at straight on. Instead, I looked at Kai, watched him as he leaned backwards, off balance, staggering with his mitt raised to catch the awful pitch. Somehow, I knew he’d catch it before it came back down, and counted the seconds until the faint thunk.

Kai’s pitch was more streamlined, his form near perfect. As he launched the baseball in my direction, I realized that he could’ve been playing with his school team only a week ago. The thought made my stomach drop, unexpectedly. Here was this boy, no more than sixteen, and he’d killed himself before he’d really had a chance to start living. I’d been twenty-seven when I’d done it and regretted it every day since.

Why had Kai done such a thing? What could’ve driven this talented boy to off himself? I could picture him now, in front of the bathroom sink, a razorblade pressed to his wrist. When the blood started flowing, did he have second thoughts…?

The baseball fell from the sky, colliding sharply with my temple. I’d completely lost track of it. Back to reality it was.

I glanced up to see Kai grinning where he stood, brow knit incredulously. It was an obvious what the hell expression, and at that moment, he was nothing more than a teenage boy who should’ve had his whole life ahead of him. I blinked at him, and he must’ve seen the look on my face, because his expression faltered to something darker, warier. The ball rolled on the ground at my feet as still silence stretched between us.

We were both dead, and here we were, tossing a ball back and forth in a brown field, under a hot sun, all the while trying to scrape by a miserable existence in a world where no one aged, no one died, and no one had the motivation to do much of anything because there was a prevailing weight on all of our chests. Nothing could have been more depressing—

I swallowed, but forced myself to move, stooping to pick up the weathered ball.

—and yet we both just had to keep living.

*

“Why did you do it?” I asked him later, as we walked back home on the dusty sidewalk. I threw a passing glance in his direction, unable to look at him straight on. He was staring at me with dark, unreadable eyes. I knew that the question had come seemingly from nowhere, and that it was most likely ruining the lighthearted mood of our little baseball outing, but it’d been weighing on me long enough. I needed to know, so I held back the ‘I’m sorry,’ that sprang to my lips.

Please, I thought, There’s nothing left for you to lose.

For a long moment that stretched to minutes, Kai didn’t respond. He rotated the baseball absently in his palm. Then, he handed it to me, along with his glove, and moved to pull out his pad of paper and pen.

We both stopped walking as he scribbled something down.

You tell me why you did it first, he wrote.

My lips twisted into a slight frown when I read the words, but I gave a nodding shrug. “No reason, really,” I muttered, lamely, “I guess I just got tired of the world. All the bullshit, you know?” I looked at the cement and sighed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. But it was a long time ago now… I just try to keep living. Keep moving forwards.” I scuffed the ground with one shoe. What a half-hearted explanation.

Kai seemed about as dissatisfied with it as I was. He frowned deeply, eyes narrowing, and then tore his eyes away from me, clutching the paper and pen until his knuckles went white. At that moment, he opened his mouth, to say something, and my eyes widened inevitably. Perhaps anger would bring his voice back…

But no, a second later, he snapped his jaw shut and shook his head. I won’t tell you.

My face fell. “Please,” I said, “I know it’s probably painful, but it’s better to get these things off your chest. I don’t want to push you, but…” I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering, agonizing. What has the world come to that you would do something like that?

Kai shook his head again, more vehemently. He quickly wrote down the two letters, No!

I could tell I was going too far. “Alright, alright,” I finally conceded, gritting my teeth just a bit, “Forget it. Let’s just get home.” I shoved the ball and glove back in his direction, perhaps with more force than necessary, and then started walking again without looking at him. Some small part of me knew that I was letting my emotions get the better of me. Why was I so mad in the first place? I’d asked such a personal question, no one could blame Kai for not answering, and yet I still felt oddly betrayed.

Forget it, I thought, Just let it go. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

*

Kai was gone the next morning. The bedding for the pullout couch was folded in neat squares and set in one corner, and the image made me wonder if he’d been so deliberate in his suicide. Had he left his room a mess? Or had he cleaned it before hand, made sure everything was in order? For some reason, this was all I could think about when I awoke to silence and found my apartment empty. Instead of anger or despair to find the boy gone, I felt a strange, detached sense of confusion. That was all.

Oh no, I thought, It’s happening to me, too.

I’m forgetting how to care.

There was a note on the counter—several notes, actually. Small, orange sheets of paper, filled with Kai’s sharp handwriting;

David,

First of all, I want to thank you. Thanks for taking me in and trying to make me happy. Even though that’s probably impossible… you tried, and that’s all that really matters.

I have to go now, though. I’ll find an apartment and a job on my own, so don’t worry, and when I’ve figured out what I want to do with myself, I’ll come back and say, ‘Hi’. Until then, I think it’s best if I don’t see you. Sorry to leave so suddenly, but I need to be by myself for a while.

Yesterday, you asked me why I killed myself. I’m sorry that I got so upset. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it then, didn’t want to think about it, but now I think you’re right. I have to get it off my chest. Even if I’m here now, it still happened, and I know I have to acknowledge that, so I’ll tell you…

I was supposed to have a twin brother, but he died weeks before we were born. I think that I killed him, somehow. The doctors told me it wasn’t my fault, but something inside me tells me that it was, and my parents… well, they obviously blamed me for Nicki’s death. My father would beat me for it, and my mother would just sit there and watch. Looking back, maybe I should’ve tried to endure it a little longer. Maybe things would’ve gotten better, but… it’s too late for that now.

So, I’m going to try to move on, like you have. That’s something important I learned from you. I’m going to try and live enough for the both of us, Nicki and I, so thanks for looking out for me, showing me the ropes. If my voice ever comes back, I’ll call you, and if there are no phones here, I’ll come find you. See you then.

Thanks for everything,

Kai

*

Six months later, I saw Kai while I was out searching for apartments for another new arrival. He was waiting to be seated at Armadillo when I walked in, a tall, blonde woman trailing after me. I paused in the doorway as he looked at me—once, distractedly, a second time, his gaze lingering. The woman ran into my back and mumbled a “sorry”, but I ignored her. At that moment, there was only me and Kai under the hazy, cantina lighting.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then a girl shifted behind him, laced her arm around his. She had long black hair pulled into a messy bun, and her fingers and cheeks were stained with paint—purple, orange, gray, pink. My eyes flickered to her, registered the colors, and then went back to Kai.

“Well,” I said, quietly, “Looks like you’re doing more than just living.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. He held my gaze, and I kept waiting, waiting for him to reach into his pocket or bag and pull out a bright orange notepad, but… he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, dark chocolate eyes warming like fire.

“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”

(AN: I'm too lazy to go in and add all of the italics back in. >_> Maybe later...)

I really love this piece. it seems so oddly dull but lively at the same time, and I loved every word. I pretty much just ate your words in delicacy.
So few notes would be when you say you stopped yourself from saying sorry, I'd use the word tongue instead of lips, because it still kinda sounds like he said it already.
I want a little more detail at the end, because it seemed somewhat rushed.