Leave it for dead. Allow nature to smoke its smouldering corpse.
We move, dancing into the night, fuelled by new anticipation. People advance towards us, enjoying their evening in a different manner to ours. People advancing, aging as they approach. I stop. Wipe my eyes with my hands and look again. People advancing, aging as they approach, their delicate features turning leathery with each step. The skin flaking, peeling, features wasting away, ten years to a footstep. As they pass they are nothing but dried out husks. As they pass they look, tilt their heads to their left, this movement in unison with their left arm, which extends out slightly, the withered hand at its end facing palm up, the thumb, index and middle fingers extended, the other two folded neatly against the inside of the hand. They all do it, each wasted creature aging the same, gesturing the same.
I look at Sam. I stop moving. He carries on. He soon stops, turns and walks back towards me, aging as he moves. Ten years to every step. He walks by, no gesture made by his skeletal arms. I spin round to look at him. His features are normal. Fresh. Beautiful. I nod as a sign we should move on. We continue.
People advancing, aging as they approach. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Sam’s skin peel, discolour, age. Yet when I look properly he remains the same. Fresh. Beautiful. His skin glowing with life.
We’re walking by a building with huge mirrored windows, I remember Sam saying once that everyone checks themselves out in front of it. Sam moves towards it. He stands glaring into it intensely. ‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Look at the size of my pupils.’ A giggle erupts from him as he pokes his finger near his eye.
I join him and look at my reflection. Pupils as black as night expelling the colour from the eye.
‘Why do we need them?’ I hear Sam ask.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean if we can see in the dark with our eyes closed then surely we don't need them.’
‘Yeah but you still need them to see beneath the eyelids.’
‘Hmm, maybe. Shall we see what happens?’
‘No!’ A sharp no, it snaps Sam to attention. He nods slowly with the realisation of what his idea would entail. We might not need them now, but once this is over, well, we’d be pretty much fucked without them. He continues to stare at his reflection.
I look back into the mirrored world. A figure, a tall gaunt shape hidden in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating. Darkness oozing from around it, thick trails of smoky waves extending like tendrils at its feet.
‘Let's get moving,’ I hear myself say.
IV
The travel card is sucked out of my hand, pulled through machinery, validating my entrance. The barriers open, I remove the waiting ticket and walk through, granted permission to re-enter the caverns below. Standing at a gateway to a subterranean world. Miles of track, different depths. Travel cut deep into the earth, a network of movement under a giant city. Human mouse holes. Man made. A pride to the city.
We walk. Sam’s walk a happy jaunt. He loves this station, he just told me. Eyes watching. Digital eyes. Cameras following every move, projecting it on to the flickering screens we watch as we go past. People everywhere, the camera’s picking up their essence, a blue glow that trails after them. A scent, a memory of their presence, short lived but there. We all have it, a trail that shows our journey’s path. Millions of memories implanted on our surroundings. Never seen again but forever present.
Foot on the escalator. The steady pace of a city moderated in the majority by machinery. Going down. Deeper, re-entering the Earth, protected from its elements by concrete and steel. Step off at the bottom and move on, breathing in warm stale air.
As we move, posters on the walls come alive. Heads of models lean out and watch us with silent interest, watching our own silent passage through the world. Sam and I don’t say a word. We allow our feet to guide us. Walking a route we’ve walked together many times before, leaving our spectral presence to live alongside our previous memories. Imprints of our life together.
Silence. When you love someone this much you don’t need words, you know. A psychic bond linking two people. Sam looks at me, smiles and then turns away. Always on my mind, forever in my heart.
We arrive at the platform and walk along it, bright yellow lines warning us to stay away from the edge. Walk, stop, sit. Wait for the train. Look at the flickering electronic screen, orange LCD displays showing the movements of the trains, offering numbers as a means to keep people from getting restless through the unknown. Timetabling a timetabled nation. You want. We serve. You wait for as long as we want, whilst we serve you as we see fit. Humans timetabled by governing bodies. Fat cats in offices planning and structuring. A train arrives as scheduled, its doors open as designed. We get on.
It’s quieter than it had been earlier. People still around but so consumed with themselves that they pay scant interest to us. We sit, still in silence. Sam sits opposite me. We stare intensely at each other. My waking thought. Thoughts of you keep me going through the day. When silence falls I think of you. You’re my number one. No one sits higher than you. You. Sam. Mine. A smile. These feelings are forever, I know that. I know this love is real for me.
Sam smiles, his thoughts unknown to me. In my head I dream that they mirror mine. I believe they do. Idiot. He can do so much better than me, but he doesn’t, he wants me. That brings me more happiness than you can imagine. No matter what, I know I’m always going to be there for him. Watching. Protecting. I’d create worlds for you.
Train stops. We rise, get off and walk onto the platform. Euston, our old friend. Another place where our energies have stained the surroundings. People. Loads of them craving to get on or off the train, pressure surrounding us, blocking us in. Sam’s tense beside me. I pull him to a deserted tunnel and we escape the bustle. We can breathe.
‘I need to sit down,’ he says. ‘My legs are sore.’ He sits down heavily. As I sit next to him, he leans against me, rubbing his head against my chest. I put my arm around his shoulders, he presses in deeper. We can have this rest, we deserve it. We’re in no hurry, there’s nothing that needs to be done. We’re not following a timetable. I pull him tighter. A couple walk by, looking at us, huddled together, off our faces and in love. They give us a wide birth as they walk on leaving me protecting the centre of my world. No harm will come to him whilst I’m here. I put my chin against his head, his hair coarse against my skin. I let my eyes close, a moment of peace in a chaotic life.
A bite. Pressure on my finger. I open my eyes. Sam’s mouth is closed around my finger, chewing slightly, the gentle grate of tooth against flesh. Warm, moist, arousing. His body against mine, I feel an erection growing in my jeans. Blood pumping. Tensing. My arm pulls Sam tighter, our bodies rocking gently. I lean in to kiss his forehead. The chewing continues.
‘You alright?’ I ask. No answer. The chewing on my finger continues. ‘Sam?’ I knock his body gently. ‘Sam? You alright?’
The mouth stops grating flesh momentarily. Finger still in its place, Sam speaks. ‘I'm having a fit.’
‘What?’ Concern.
‘I am having a fit.’
All arousal stops, my dick collapsing back to its normal flaccid state. A sinking feeling deep within me. I pull my finger from his mouth. ‘You’re what?’
‘I’m having a fit,’ said in the same deadpan voice.
Fear. Panic. I look around me. No one. Then a couple turn into the tunnel, they look at our forms weirdly but pass without word. My mind’s freaking. Images flashing before my eyes. Sitting here, cradling Sam as convulsions run through his body, unseen to me, my mind visualizing drug induced happiness as the real world takes a voyage into sadness.
Focus. Concentrate. Can I feel any vibrations unnatural to my vision? No. Pull Sam tighter. If he dies, he dies in my arms. No. He won’t die, he’s okay. What to do? Should I scream? Call out for he
lp? I push my finger back into his mouth, the chewing continues. Breathe. Think. Maybe in his induced reality he is fitting. A false vision with intent.
I shake him gently. He chews at the finger. ‘Sam?’
Chew.
‘Sam? You alright?’
Chew.
I jump to my feet sharply. Spinning around I look for people. I start to move. If he’s fitting I need help.
Movement followed by a childlike voice. ‘Where are you going?’
I spin back round and look at Sam. He’s slowly getting up on to his knees. I run at him, collapse to my knees and wrap my arms around him. ‘You’re okay,’ I say, feeling a want to cry. Bite back tears.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ I hold tight, that thin barrier between my world and the real fighting for true emotion. Calm. Breathe. Heart rate slows. A pounding in my ears. Relief.
‘I don’t think we should get anymore,’ he says slowly. ‘Shall we go home? But take the long way. Calm ourselves down.’
‘You sure?’ I feel him nod against me. A quick nod, his usual nod.
We rise to our feet, tiredness sudden in our limbs. Look around, the colours seem to fade around us slightly. A dulling of the senses. We smile. Head for the train that will take us to Angel then walk home. The fresh air should do us some good. Get home and sleep.