Cherry Knife

Chapter Zero: The Gifted

He had felt the raindrops on his skin for as long as he remembered. While the entire city moved at an alarming rate, the boy stayed still, silently studying the surrounding noises. The buzzing kept going on and off, with patterns he had trouble following. Voices. Why on such a peaceful day did the people yell so much? That was a question nobody answered him. The clouds changed colors often, from gray to black, to charcoal, and who knows how many variations of the same boring tone, but the rain was worth it. The boy’s skin, overjoyed by the watery grazes, turned red, alongside his clothes. On his mind, a song by his favorite band played on loop. Most people thought that band’s lyrics were far cornier than their contemporaries, yet the boy, as inexpressive as he always was, defended them like his life was on the line. Why did his mind suddenly remember all those dumb arguments? Another question to the list, only this time he knew no answer would come. Music and books were his love, his one and only love. Melodies and words, air and water.

Lights stormed over him. The highway kept busy.

Sobs, whines, and yells. Why did people care so much about it? He never truly knew. As the sirens grew in strength with their sickening melody, his eyes opened once more to look at the waves of rainwater. Sleep. He couldn’t do it; he tried five times, not once did his mind accept slowing down and relaxing.

Two years ago, his pet (cat or dog, he did not remember which) ripped to shreds two of his favorite books. No yelling, no whining, and no sobbing. Then why were the people around so melancholic? Their lives would continue for many moons. A cat. I remember now. What a nice little guy, always asking for more food.

The ambulance arrived at the crash scene. Doing their best, paramedics saved the lives of twenty students. Cuts, bruises, and the occasional broken arm. But the people around did not cheer, for there was a far bloody outcome in front of their eyes. Most eyes understood immediately the inevitable death he had faced. Some puked, some fell to their knees; the boy didn’t react. Out of all the students, he had been the only one to fall from one of the side windows. His chest, impaled on the broken traffic sign, continued to fight an uphill battle as it sank deeper, the flowing blood helping gravity do its job.

This isn’t nice at all. But what can I do about it? Time moves awfully slowly, and the rain is not picking up the pace. Cool wind. The best feeling I have probably felt in my life. Taking in the breeze and letting yourself go into currents of heavenly waves, how nice. Breeze, currents, and waves, not related concepts at all. I think this avalanche of drops is ‘clouding’ me. Nobody laughed. For years people expected him to laugh and enjoy jokes, but no joke ever made him smile. Now everyone cried, all his fault.

This is highly rushed, isn’t it? There’s still books out there for me to read, school’s not done yet, and life always finds its way to keep people busy. The sooner we move on, the better. The whole idea of dying had not crossed his mind, and it wouldn’t. That simply felt too quick.

When everyone present looked away for a second, a blinding ray of sunshine focused on him. Strong but gentle. Powerful and beautiful. The wound stopped bleeding. His eyes regained a spark lost since his birth. A message came along with its warmth:

“Live.”

“Alright.”

Not that there is another choice.