Saturday, September 18, 2010

Forever is a Dream.

Forever is a dream.

            They lay in the field, staring up at the stars, as they did every weekend. Weston and Violet lay on a blanket staring up, as they cuddled close. Today was a special day, a day they wouldn’t forget.
            “Happy one year, Violet.” Weston said, and kissed her forehead. Violet looked back up at Weston, and kissed his lips. She muttered the same thing to him, “Happy one year, Weston.”
            They laid there in silence, both so happy with their lives. The park they sat lay in was closed at night, but they had found an area where people wouldn’t look. Weston and Violet were under an old tree, and they were just around a hill. They were completely invisible to everyone else.
            “Do you fear death, Weston?”
            “Not if I am with you when it happens.”
            “I wish I could live with you forever. I wish we would never age, and we would always remain teenagers.”
            Weston thought about what Violet had just said. “Forever?” He asked. They were both seventeen, and like every other teenager, they used the phrase “I love you” too soon. But they meant it, when they first said it. They had been dating for only three months, and Violet had said it first. She was so scared to say it first, but she was afraid it wasn’t going to be said. Immediately after she had said it, Weston kissed her and said it back.
            “Yes, forever. Don’t you agree?” Violet asked.
            “…If I found a way to become immortal, would you really live with me forever?” Weston asked back.
            “Of course I would.”
            “Then I’ll find a way.”
            Violet tucked her face into Weston’s chest, and they laid there until the sun began to shine over the beautiful mountains. Weston packed up everything, and they went their separate ways, only to fall asleep in their beds because they had stayed up all night.
            This is the way anyone wanted to spend the first night of summer. On this very day, one year ago, Weston had asked Violet to be his at the end of the last school day. It was quite unexpected, too. But that was just how Violet had liked it, completely and without a doubt, spontaneous.

           
            Summer was great, and when Weston woke up, it was only about 8. He had been expecting to sleep in until around noon, but he had a lot on his mind. He woke up and went straight to his computer, without eating breakfast, to research how to become immortal.
            Weston had a little brother, named Tyler. Tyler attended the middle school that Weston used to go to.
            Tyler was stomping up every step headed upstairs, surely waking up their parents.
            “Good morning, big brother!” Tyler yelled at the top of his lungs.
            “Shut the fuck up, Tyler. You’ll wake up Mom and Dad. Go away.” Weston responded. Knowing that Weston would get angry, Tyler yelled, “Mom, Weston told me to ‘shut the fuck up!’”
            A faint voice could be heard from their parent’s room, saying, “Go to your room, Wes.”
            Weston quickly turned back around to the computer to print out the page he was reading, and he punched Tyler as hard as he could in his shoulder. “I hate you, Tyler. I’ve never liked you. Ever since you were born, I was begging Mom and Dad to take you back to the hospital.” Weston said. He grabbed his papers while Tyler just sat there trying to grasp what his older brother had just said to him.
            What Weston had said to Tyler was true; Tyler continued to cry whenever he was brought home. Weston was at the age of three at this point. Tyler cried and cried and cried. Weston walked into his parent’s room at about four in the morning to ask, “Mom, Dad? Can we take Tyler back now?”


            “Hey baby, how’s your day? I had fun last night.” Violet answered.
            “I found out how to become immortal.”
            “Oh, did you?” Violet was laughing at him.
            “I did.” Weston responded, dead serious.
            There was a silence over the line, and Violet giggled. “Well, what did you find?”
            “I can’t talk for too long, because I’m in trouble. But there is a grave in the cemetery way uptown, the name on the grave is ‘Ronald Hubbel.’”
            “Okay…?” Violet was confused.
            “If you kill a loved one or someone dear to you, get some blood, and pour it on the grave, Hubbel will grant you immortality.”
            “That sounds a little crazy, Weston. Listen to yourself.” Violet said. “Plus, who the hell is this Hubbel guy?”
            “I’m going to kill Tyler.”
            “WHAT?! WHY?!”
            “To be with you.” Weston responded.
            “Weston, you can’t.”
            “I’m going to slit his throat. We’ll see if I am immortal the next day, and if it worked, you can do it too.”
            “WESTON. NO. You can’t do this. Can’t you just cut his arm and get some blood?” Violet asked.
            “No, Tyler has to die. The trick will not work unless he is dead. The best way to kill someone, mortal or immortal, is by slitting the throat.” Weston explained.
            “You cannot kill an immortal person by slitting his or her neck.”
            “I know. That much is true. But listen. Love is the only thing that counteracts with immortality.”
            “Weston, this is fucking stupid. So you’re saying that tonight, you’re going to slit your brother’s throat, pour the blood on a grave, and live forever?”
            “Yep. That’s what I’m saying.” Weston said.
            “This is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”
            “I’ll take you with me and we’ll go live somewhere far away from Colorado.”
            “This isn’t going to work, Weston.”
            “I love you, Violet.”
            “I love you too, but don’t do this.”
            Weston hung up.


            Richard Hubbel was a reject. An outcast. As a high school student, Richard was considered one of those kids that just wasn’t all there.
            Richard was a senior in high school when he met Tabatha. She was a girl that wasn’t quite there, either. But when they were together, they were the perfect match, and that was all that mattered.
            The year was 1967. One night during the summer, a neighbor reported screaming to the police from the Hubbel’s house, and the neighbor had also seen Richard running out of his house, with a glass of what seemed to be red wine.
            As Richard ran, he did not pay much attention to traffic. Cars were slamming on their brakes and swerving their paths to let Richard continue running. But a car driving a sixty miles per hour did not pay close enough attention, and slammed right into Richard, when he was just across the street from a cemetery in Colorado.
            The glass that Richard was holding, which had blood instead of wine, flew out of his hand across the street into the cemetery. The blood landed on a walkway, just next to a grave. A man walking by witnessed Tabatha, hopping the fence into the cemetery, to blow on that very concrete walkway. She was trying to blow the blood off of the concrete and onto the grave.
            They had a funeral for Richard. His family showed up, and even Tabatha’s parents arrived. They told Richard’s parents that Tabatha had run away.
            During the funeral, they mourned two deaths. Richard had slit his older sister’s throat, taken the blood and put it into a glass. His Mom had walked in just as he was leaving, and she screamed at the sight of her daughter laying there, dead.
            Richard’s sister was in her coffin; however, they never found Richard. Tabatha never came home.
            Legend has it, they both live somewhere in Minnesota, but Richard’s parents don’t know that. Richard Hubbel’s grave remains in Colorado.


            Weston and Violet were together at the park, but this time, the sun was still up. There were only a couple of clouds. Weston and Violet were sitting at the edge of the park’s playground.
            “Who am I supposed to kill, Weston?”
            “I don’t know, dear. Kill a cousin you don’t really like.”
            “Jesus Christ, Weston. I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”
            Violet began to cry. She was not a big fan of the idea of killing a loved one.
            “Violet, we’ll be teenagers forever. Don’t you want that with me? Don’t you love me?”
            “Of course I love you, Weston.”
            “I’m not asking for sex, Violet. This really isn’t that big of a deal.”
            “No, but you’re asking me to MURDER someone. You want me to END someone’s LIFE.”
            Weston kissed her cheek, and walked home.


            The sun had gone down. Weston remained silent at the dinner table. Tyler blabbered on about how his day was, and how he was going to have a lot of fun tomorrow. Weston snickered.
            Tyler, in no way shape or form, did anything to alter Weston’s decisions for what was to come later that night. Tyler threw broccoli at Weston, and he did not react at all. He did nothing, and as usual, Tyler received no punishment. Weston was always considered the bad child, because he was the older brother. It was never fair. If Weston broke a glass he was grounded for a week. If Tyler broke a priceless vase, he was only scolded. If Weston said anything, he would be in trouble. It caused him to bottle a lot of his emotions inside, because he could never say anything.
            Dinner went by quickly, and Weston got up to push his chair in, and put his plate by the sink as he was supposed to. He silently walked into the living room and began to watch some television, when just five minutes later, Tyler yanked the remote from Weston’s hands to change the channel.
            They sat there watching whatever Tyler wanted to watch, and Weston had no choice at all. Tyler flipped through music videos filled with big beat nonsense, and stupid reality shows like the rest of the population.
            The clock struck ten, and Weston went into bed. Of course, Tyler made a little remark as Weston was walking up the stairs. “Good night, faggot.” Weston continued to walk without paying any attention.
            It didn’t matter; it would all be over soon. He wouldn’t have to deal with Tyler anymore, and he could live with Violet, forever in happiness.
            Weston lay in bed, his arms above the covers, staring up at the ceiling. His phone vibrated, and he had received a text message from Violet. It only said, “I love you.” Of course, Weston sent a message saying the same thing.

            There are four definitions for the word “slit”. The first definition describes a narrow fissure. The second definition states, “A depression scratched or carved into a surface.” Synonyms for this definition are incision, scratch, prick, and dent.
            The third definition of “slit” states an obscene term for female genitalia. Synonyms for this definition are cunt, puss, pussy, snatch, and twat.
            The last definition intertwines with the first two definitions when it comes to what Weston was going to do to Tyler. The fourth definition states a “Long narrow opening”.
           
            Weston wasn’t afraid at all. It was as if he had been ready to do this for a long time. Maybe he had wanted to kill Tyler since he had told his parents to take him back. Maybe he was possessed by the thought of killing that there really wasn’t any turning back, not anymore. Weston’s mind had entered such a dark state that no one could get him out of it, not even the love of his life.
            The clock struck twelve. Weston had thought for two hours how he was planning to get out of the house after he had cut his brother’s throat. Good thing for him, Tyler was a heavy sleeper. Weston heard his front door open and close.
            Weston pulled the blankets off of him, and got up. He was wearing his tight jeans and a heavy coat. How he was able to be that warm under the blanket is beyond thought. He must have had his mind too deep in thought himself.
            Weston took slow, quiet steps down to the kitchen. The moon was full in the clear sky, and all of the blinds in the house were open. The moon shined bright into the house, anyone could have seen what Weston was doing.
            He went down the hallway and took a left into the kitchen. He walked past the right side of the kitchen table; the wood floor was freezing cold. Weston went past the oven, past the cookie jar, past the sink, to the corner of the kitchen. There, was his mother’s cooking knife collection. He went for the biggest one, and took it right off of the wall. Weston also grabbed a cup, for blood.
            He took the same journey back out to the hallway. Past the sink, the cookie jar, the oven, and past the kitchen table. Weston continued to take slow, quiet steps, and went up the stairs. Weston could hear a few movements upstairs, and it made him stop. It just sounded like Tyler was moving around in bed.
            Weston sat outside of Tyler’s room, for fifteen minutes straight. He made sure that there wasn’t any movement, any noise. He stood up, and twisted the doorknob to walk in. The blinds were closed; the room was nearly pitch black.
            Weston tiptoed up to Tyler, and took long deep breaths. If this was going to be executed, it had to be perfect. Weston could see Tyler’s long, greasy brown hair in the dark, covering his face.
            So, Weston put the long knife across Tyler’s neck. Weston smiled to himself and said, “I love you, little brother.” He pulled the knife back quickly, and a long open gash ran across Tyler’s neck. Blood spewed, and Tyler made the choking sound.
            Weston had regained conscious thought, and he had realized what he just did. He started crying, but he got the cup, and filled it up halfway with Tyler’s blood. Weston quickly tiptoed back outside of the room, and closed the door. Weston ran out to the garage and opened it. He grabbed his bike, while carefully holding on to the cup of blood. A few drops had run down the glass and onto his hand. He put a flashlight in his back pocket.
            Weston biked as fast as he could to the destination of his immortality.


            Weston, with the blood in his hand, had reached the cemetery. There was a hole in the fence, and he had crawled through it. The blood still filled the cup nearly halfway.
            The next problem that Weston had was that he did not know where the grave of Richard Hubbel was. He grabbed his flashlight and began running through the cemetery, until he reached the very middle of it.
            There was the grave. The name was right there. Richard S. Hubbel, rest in peace. Weston did not take his time; he immediately poured the blood onto the grave, and waited to see what would happen.
            Weston felt a quick rush crawl up his spine. He wasn’t cold, and it wasn’t a pee shiver, it had started from his feet and travelled all the way to his head. He felt better in a way.
            The impossible happened. Richard Hubbel’s grave immediately spawned a flower. A little dandelion, shot out of the ground and opened up. Weston did not know how to prove he was immortal.
            Weston had a thought run through his mind. He needed to go home and hide Tyler’s body, before it was morning. The moon was going down, and Weston sprinted back to his bike, and headed home.
            And for a second, Weston laughed to himself. No, not because he felt relieved that he had gained physical immortality, but because of the thought of being hit by a car and still being able to survive. Weston was not going to try it, not yet.
            The clock struck two in the morning as he was biking home, and Weston gave Violet a call. She didn’t answer. Weston assumed she was probably sleeping.


            Weston got home, scared of the thought of his parents being awake. He dropped his bike in the driveway, and walked in through the garage. No lights in the house were on. This was a good sign.
            Weston opened the door to the garage, usually the loudest door in the house. He took off his slip-on shoes immediately to lessen the noise. He had to go upstairs, and take care of Tyler’s body. Maybe he did it just to stay there a few more days with his Mom and Dad, without being interrupted or being annoyed. Maybe he did it because he wanted the attention. Maybe he did it so he could live there, forever.
            He tiptoed up the stairs and went into Tyler’s room. The fresh blood from the body was shining in the moonlight that had come from the hallway. Weston walked up to the bed, and ripped off the blanket.
            Tyler’s body was dressed in black completely. Weston grabbed Tyler’s wrist to check for a pulse, and it was smaller than usual. Weston’s heart dropped. For a final test, he reached at Tyler’s chest.
            Weston felt breasts.
            He panicked, and turned on the light.
            Lying there was Violet’s body.
            A note was lying on the bedside table.


            Just a few hours earlier, Violet called Weston’s house. Tyler answered, listening to his hip hop music on the television.
            “Yeah?”
            “Is Weston there? I tried to call his cell phone.”
            “No. He’s in bed. Do you want something?”
            “No, not really. I might come over to check on him.”
            “Well, I’m sleeping downstairs tonight, so be quiet when you come in. I won’t tell my parents.”
            “Hmm… Thanks, Tyler. Bye.”
            “Bye.”
            Tyler grabbed a couple of blankets and some pillows from his bed and ran downstairs. He turned the television off just before he went to sleep. He fell asleep around eleven.
            To make herself more unseen in the dark, Violet dressed herself in black to avoid getting caught. She went through people’s yards and avoided the sidewalk. Violet’s watch beeped, and said 12:00 whenever she got inside.
            Violet knew where Tyler’s room was. She tiptoed upstairs and left her shoes downstairs, hoping Weston wouldn’t see them in the dark. She twisted the doorknob into Tyler’s dark room and got under the blankets.
            Just then, she heard Weston’s door open.


            “Dearest Weston,
            Let me start off by apologizing. I was in love with you, but in the worst way possible, I did use you. Do you remember me ever talking about my first love a few years ago? Well, let me just say, he told me one night that he wished we last forever, as teenagers.
            So, do you know what I did? I went online. I researched how to become immortal, and in this small town of Littleton, there was a page about a man named Richard Hubbel. I looked him up, I studied his history, much like you did. Hubbel found a way to become immortal. When he was struck by a car, the blood of his beloved sister struck the grave of another man that found out how to become immortal.
            Questions still rise. The man that was immortal before Hubbel, was he even in the grave? Is Hubbel in his grave? Legend has it that he and his love, Tabatha, are still alive living somewhere far away.
            I killed my first love, Weston.
            And you were spot on, Weston. The only ways to kill an immortal person is by either slitting the throat (if they are in love with you.) or chopping off their head. And I am in love with you, and I am so sorry that I used you.
            So now, you have the Hubbel Curse. You must find someone to fall in love with you, so far deep in love that they would kill to be with you forever. Make them kill you somehow, so you don’t have to live in eternity alone.
            It’s a never ending curse, Weston. It can be stopped, but the person you love and the person that loves you are never, ever the same person. I didn’t love you as much as you loved me.
            I, again, am sorry. Your family should be up any minute. I suggest you run.
Sincerely,
Violet.”

1 comment:

Lewis said...

love your post bro spp