A World Beyond Reason. -A Short Story.

Back from lunch, Donovan walks through the halls of his high school. They’re empty, and he’s late. He’s beyond caring about punctuality at this point. He’d spent the last hour and a half beneath the cedar trees behind the school reading Mark Twain and smoking the last of this weeks cigarettes. He’s been waiting almost six months now. Every day he would meet here with Tabby. They would speak of broken lives, and the tragedy of our world and it’s unrealistic expectations. They both saw the world in a way no-one else could. Although he himself was always somewhat of a loner, she still clung to the crowd. As if leaving them entirely would be too much, bringing down the full wrath of the so-called “It” crowd. If she’d run away like they’d said, he’d understand if she did, but he’d like to think she would have at least said goodbye. So every day he would wait, giving her the chance to return.

He enters his class. It’s deserted. He notes the message on the whiteboard. “Assuming you’re late, as usual Donnie. The rest of the school has been called for an emergency assembly.” He makes his way to the theatre on the far side of the school, each step he takes he grows more anxious. Could this be about Tabby?

Upon late entry, of course they always stare. But today is different. He opens the door and everyone is quieter, solemn. Everyone looks oddly pathetic staring down at him. They know something he doesn’t. Pitiful. Like he’s some stranger with cancer, or a homeless man on the street. He eyes Ms Darcy. She walks over to him, and motions him outside.

He’s angry. At everyone really. They all just let it happen, and no-one said anything! She’s been gone for so long. They pretend to care now. It’s sensational. They found human remains. Interest always peaks at the first sign of vulgarity, or criminal behaviour. The rest only seem to care now that something sinister has happened, since after all, nothing interesting ever happens in this town. Surely, they’re getting off on it.

***

 Tabby is a pet name, short for Tabitha. The nick-name is quirky, like her. Not that she would let anyone know it. Better to be accepted. The social world requires a certain level of conformity, and she knows it. Brittany, is having a party tonight, and she’s invited. Her father is an ass, he would never allow her to go. But she’s going anyway. Her father is passed out drunk on the couch, no need to sneak out the window tonight. She grabs her brown leather jacket and winter boots, then swipes a bottle of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinet. She heads straight out the front door and into the cold.

It’s snowing, just a little bit, and it’s dark. The florescent glow of the lamppost in front of the house shines through the soft falling haze of the drifting snow. She tucks her jacket in closer, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It’s colder than expected. But it is, after all, only a few streets from Brittany’s house Best to walk the long way now. There’s a short cut that cuts through the expanse of forest behind the house. She knows better than to let herself get lost in the dark.

She has never been inside Britanny’s house before, but she’s seen it from the outside several times. She used to pass it every day on the way to school. Despite being a few blocks away, she can hear them already. Britanny is by far the most popular girl in school, and her parents are gone for the weekend. The invitation is a godsend. Tabby really needs the social boost. Her overly optimistic attitude to academia hasn’t worked in her favour. She doesn’t particularly like Brittany, but she’s the gateway to all the people she wishes she knew. The older, cooler kids. The “It” crowd. Having brought alcohol, she knows she will be well received.

“Come on Tabby! Take another drink!” She takes yet another swig. Better not to look weak, even if she’s starting to feel a little sick now. “Come on guys! Let’s go for a spa.” They all seem pretty excited at the prospect. Tabby knows this trick. Apparently, it’ll get you drunk faster. But she knows, it doesn’t. Not really. The effects of dehydration caused by the hot water simply amplify the effects of the alcohol.

To get to the hot tub out the back, they have to walk through the snow. They’ve decided to make a game out of it. They’ve all stripped to their underwear. Its a race, a mad dash of drunk stumbling giggling and screaming teenagers in the snow on their way to the enclosed pool area on the other side of the property. Giggling insistently. Tripping, stumbling through the snow, Tabby struggles to keep up. It seems a bit silly to her, but she wants to fit in. She needs to learn how to have a bit of fun. The others all rush through the wooden gate, shutting and locking it behind them. “Is this a joke, come on, seriously!” She bangs on the freezing wood of the gate. She can’t see them, but she can hear them. They’re all whispering, laughing louder now. Did they plan this? She’s fuming.

She turns, her feet beginning to numb. She crosses her arms as tight as they will go in a somewhat pathetic attempt to keep herself warm on the short trek back to the house. The frost, crystalline on the eaves and down the supporting beams of the veranda. The chill of the air bites into her flesh. She continues up the few stairs to the door. She turns the knob, only to find it’s locked. Shit! She reassures herself with the thought of the ranch slider on the other side of the house. But as she goes to open it, she finds that it too, is locked. She’s panicking now. This can’t seriously be happening. As if the humiliation wasn’t already enough.

They’ve turned up the music pretty loud now. The incessant thumping of the bass disheartens her. There’s not much point attempting to go back over to their little spa party now. No-one would hear her, not that they would care to let her in anyway. The only thing on her mind now is home. The quickest way back is through the woods.

She trips over the root of a tree, whacking her head on a nearby rock. She grows a little dizzy. She can’t feel anything, but when she pulls her hand away from her forehead she can see, illuminated by the moonlight sifting through the trees. Slick and wet, black in this light. It must be blood. Her skin a tinge bluer than before, she struggles to get up. Barely on her feet now, she slows to a crawl. She leave behind a trail of blood. She’s not five minutes from home. She knows she can make it. She couldn’t care less what her dad might think if he catches her now. She just wants to get home, and sleep. But she’s growing tired now. Languid, she slows. She needs a break. She can barely feel the cold now, so she lays her face down in the snow. It’s so soft. She feels oddly calm, serene. She breathes in, her lungs filling with cold and ice, and closes her eyes.

***

 Donovan draws the outline of a tree in his notebook. The branches separating indefinitely to the outermost corners of the page. Filling in the remaining outlines, he drowns out the sound of the film they’re studying. As if he were interested. A pretentious cash grab from the upperclass of Hollywood stars who claim depth. The filmmakers romanticise the pain and death of our world, as though there were some deeper meaning to be had. But life is not a story, waiting around doesn’t change anything, nor does deducing meaning from tragedy. All they do is appeal to the masses over the most conventional of apparently controversial issues like racism and the Nazis. How original. Where are the stories to be told of the things we never hear, never see. Everyone in this town is a hypocrite. If only they could admit who they really are. Who we all really are. Denial only makes things worse, allowing us all to justify the things we do. But truth is pain, and no-one, with any choice in the matter, would want to see it.

The bell tolls, signalling the end of class not half an hour before the end of the film. No doubt they’ll be finishing the remainder in the classes next occurrence. But he’s not sure he’ll show. Movies like this are predictable. The protagonist wins. Some lesson about morality, friendship or racial tensions will permeate the remainder of the film. He could always fabricate an ideal exam response based on Wikiquotes and the schools marking criteria. But that would feel too empty. What could he hope to gain other than the approval of those he no longer has reason to care about.

He makes his way to the back of the school again. Overwhelmed by his thoughts again, he tries to tell himself that the others aren’t inherently evil. People don’t work that way. He’d like to think they just didn’t know any better. They had simply succumb to the nature of their conditioned social existence. And with a complete lack of empathy, they did something incredibly stupid. He’d like to think they feel some form of guilt, but he knows better. Most people are more concerned with self preservation than for the suffering of others. They are conditioned by a society that expects so much of them without ever teaching them how to be human.

He wonders if we’re all subject to the psychological processes that govern our minds. Are our perceptions and behaviours determined by our environments? He no doubt, is aware of the plethora of tragic conditioning forced upon his short life and it’s circumstances up until now. Even he, seeming indifferent to the opinions of others, prides himself on his status as an outsider, a nihilist. Or maybe, he lingers, he simply tells himself this as it makes life easier.

***

 The summers almost over now. The first leaves of autumn have started to fall, underfoot they crackle into a pile of sweetly scented dust. Patches of light shine through the red ombre and yellow leaves of the oak above. The bench is deserted, so is the whole back end of the school. It seems a ghost town. But the only ghosts here are the bittersweet recollections of better times spent here with Tabby. He doesn’t want to go home, facing his mother isn’t exactly on his agenda. He’s sure by now she will know. Her prying into his life will only get more intense now that he’s the centre of some scandal. But he does anyway. It’s getting later now, and if he’s going to stay out any later, he’d better get something to eat, and grab his jacket.

He opens the fridge door to retrieve the left over pasta from last night. He doesn’t bother to heat it up. Eating it cold, it tastes of cold, and wet. Slime. His mothers cooking is terrible, but it’s food, and he’s hungry. He’s not interesting in hanging around any later than he has to, but as he goes to grab his jacket, he’s bombarded by his mother. “So, did you hear? Can you believe it?” He sighs, suppressing his anger, he gives her a look of pure death. he moves past her and out the front door. Better to walk away, than to say something he will surely regret. His mother can’t handle the criticism, and he can’t handle the reprisal.

A seemingly ever-present dusk. It’s dark enough for the florescent glow of the lamppost to illuminate the path below, but not dark enough to call night. He looks each way, and decides left. Each path he takes will get him to the beach, but this way allows for more solidarity amongst the trees of the sheltered path. The air is fresh, and cool, but he can still smell the warms of the earth from the days sun.

Out past the deserted surf club, no doubt everyone his age will have left to attend Daniels part tonight. It’s only a few streets away. He can hear the distant calling of teenagers beginning their weekly binge. He turns around the corner and continues along the path that begins as wooden slats before morphing into sand. Avoiding the brush of the overgrown beachgrass from the dunes, he looks up and eyes the mountain of an island that juts out into the centre of the bay. He could climb to the top, but it’s a popular trek, and he’d rather not run into anyone right now. He diverts his path to the rocky edge of the island. Which of course can only ever really be called an island at high tide.

The waves are high, crashing into the rocks beneath him. The salty sea sprays up and around him, accelerated by the wind. He can taste the salt in the air. He continues, even though it’s not safe. If he falls, any one of these monstrous waves would smack him into the rocks, killing him in seconds. He couldn’t care less. It’s thrilling really. No-one knows he’s here, lest his mother, who wouldn’t dare venture out this far. Each step he takes is carefully planned out. He could die any day, but today won’t be it. Slipping on the moss covered rocks would be a pretty pathetic way to die. And he continues. Around the corner there is a ledge. It juts out further into the ocean. He looks back, and its please to find that he can no longer see the shore. He steps down, taking this moment, willing it to last forever. The dark aura of the waves crashing around in is comforting. He’s enveloped by a sense of awe, but still it lingers. That dread of knowing he will have to return to a sick world, without her in it.

The longer he waits, the worse it will get. The tide will come further in urging his return. The longer he waits, the more dangerous it will be to get back. But still, he’s not sure he wants to. Eventually he convinces himself. He takes it slow, but on the way back around he slips. Only an inch away from death, he scares himself. He’s a little shocked at how casually he brought himself to this point. He hugs himself up against the cliff edge, his heart pounding, all the while wondering how much more it would take to just let go. He thinks of Tabby. How much the assholes who did this to her deserve to pay. While he was once motivated by the longing for the chance to reconnect with her kindred spirit, he now finds himself motivated by rage. Rage at not only the people who did this to her, but anyone who let it happen. He forces himself to continue around the remainder of the island.

Climbing down the rocks onto the beach. He jumps down into the wet sand. Nearby there is still a small pool of water trapped by this mornings tide. He walks around it and gazes up towards his small coastal town. Looking to the horizon, it’s even darker now. The lights of the town illuminating the sky. Ironic really, that such a beautiful place can hold so much tragedy and evil. His world truely lacks any deeper sense of meaning or purpose. Everyone in it is just so deranged. While he’d spent most of his life convinced of the fact, recent events only serve to verify this. It’s one thing to think it, but another entirely to live it.

 

-I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Thank you very much for reading it. Yours truely, Catwritespoetry ❤