Promise Me Something

TW: Suicide, mention of blood

Floor 22. Hell. The sound of my feet slapping against the concrete stairs, thousands still in front of me. I am not fast enough. 

December 23, 2004 (Aged 10) 

Little angels gently dusted the wonderland that lay before Caric. Or at least that is what he saw as snow glided down to silently hang onto the rosy faces of ice skaters, onto the starry Christmas tree in the middle of the square, towering to the heavens, even onto the very essence of the night, it seemed.

His hands warmed, with tenderness, by the fresh hot chocolate clasped in his tiny gloves. It’s cinnamon steam clawing at his face, begging for a caress, completely taking focus of his world as he step….step…”EEK!”...that was all he heard before his wide eyes rose to meet that of a person with the most furiously curly hair, like the tempest of storm clouds, and skin like unfired clay. What he should have noticed instead was the hot chocolate that seeped down the front of her sweater, spreading slowly, like fire snuffing out the last touch of light...and that his cup was now empty. 

His chin trembled as he slowly rose and tried not to let the thoughts take over, the ones that were sure to tell him what mom and dad would do if they found out about his mistake. 

“I-I am- am-am so sorry!” his breath hitching with the last word.

“Eh, it was my older sister’s anyway” she shrugged, “ not much to worry about” she emphasised ‘was’, but the words still rolled off her tongue like intoxicating honey. 

This was when he would realize that for however long he knew her, he would never hear enough of her words, not if there may be an eternity for them both. 

“But, I am not letting you off the hook” she huffed, a white puff meeting her breath, and his eyebrows scrunching inwards. “No need to get so frightened, you just owe me one hot chocolate and you must tell me your name, it would be rather odd if I planned to get to know you and didn’t know your name, wouldn’t it?” 

His sigh still came out with a small tremble as he uttered, “Caric...and yours? It-it would be odd if you plan-planned on getting to know me if I d-didn’t know your name.”

With this, the girl’s hazel eyes seem to crackle with electricity, her smirk evoking the same from the curly-haired boy, Caric, who stood across from her, the staggering Christmas tree behind him. 

“Vara. Don’t forget it, but then again I don’t think you will be able to if you tried.” 

Floor 23. I could see the slightly ajar door of floor 27. I could feel the cold hands of death slither down from it, charging rights towards me until I couldn’t rip that burning feeling from my mind. Until I couldn’t pant or scream “VARA!” because it seemed the cold locked my throat. My words.I had no words. The chill locking my bones. Slowing me when it seemed time was already slipping underneath my feet. Four floors. This was the mockery of death. 

March 21, 2008 (Aged 13)

Flowers were dancing in the gentle breeze, delicately floating in a sea of lilacs and periwinkles as the boy and the girl sat under a large weeping willow. The kind of willow that you swore if you listened close enough, you would hear the songs of its last life. The blues and purples of the dawn colored grass licked up their arms, their backs, their necks, as they lay there. And the boy wondered if the girl was thinking of the way the tree's limbs were swaying, he wondered if that image devoured her imagination like it did his. Something must have been rather beautiful during this dawn, for her smile crinkled the edges of her eyes and it seemed her soul was seeping out a beautifully golden soul. It was the kind of smile he seemed to think that let the whole world fade away before it. 

“What do you think?” Vara whispered

“That's rather vague, isn’t it?” Caric teased back.

A snort replied before she lifted a deep oaken colored acorn, or actually, two deep oaken colored acorns. 

“I think” she said pointedly and laughed in his direction, “that in another life, or this one if you would be so daring, I think that maybe you and I would be a little prince and princess living only with the wind, wherever it takes us. Although, I must say, I am rather in favor of this weeping willow.” 

Her hand dropped as she rubbed the acorns against a rough and mossy rock. Tearing down on them until all that was left were two little rings, one of which she slid onto her middle finger, a perfect fit. And the other, taking her her time to reach for Caric’s hand, warm in the coolness of hers, before she called out, “and do you Caric of the willow tree, accept the ascension to the Throne of Acorns, of course in second ruling to the most fabulous Princess Vara?”

He nodded, the early morning light bouncing through his curls and ethereally dusting his warm colored skin. “I accept, but-but only if her highness promises that we may grow old together and she will not find herself stricken by the eyes of a foreign prince.” he laughed out before taking the ring to his own middle finger. 

“I make no promises, but I may be able to manage this one for you” she huffed before her act cracked and a wide grin spread across her face. Then a hysterical laugh shared by the both of them, one that seemed to harmonize with the melodies of the meadowlarks, one that seemed to make the sweet aroma of wildflowers glow around them. And who knows just which birds watched them through the dawn of that morning. Talking, laughing, tickle wars, living solely for the hopes of life to come. 

Floor 24. The putrid clanging of jingle bells and warped Holiday carols clashed through my ears. Hammering my mind. Drowning it. Why couldn’t we be there? Singing off-key with the rest of them? I could no longer feel my breath. Was I breathing? Would I be breathing when I made it to floor 27? Or would the sound have completely drowned me by then? 

June 16, 2010 (Aged 15)

She always wondered what it would be like to have been born in a different reality. Maybe she would find untold adventures, maybe she could breathe without a shuddering weight dropping into her chest every exhale...every inhale. She found this reality all the most beautiful still. She watched as the lake in front of her blazed against the sunset, as it cooled into the twilight, as the moon rose and the sun sank, as the chatter and laughs of passing families slowly faded into the silence of her and the boys' hands drawing paths in the sand. The silence of their feet sifting the water that lapped up to the shore. And she created divine stories for each and every passing moment. What she didn’t know yet is what story she would write for herself.

“You know, my acorn prince, you never did give me a nickname.” 

“I thought I was only to refer to her highness, as Vara, in case assassins from other realms are planning to murder the princess.” Caric whispered the princess part extra quietly, only emphasizing his sarcastic tone.

“Well, if they were half good assassins, they would know my name. And, I most certainly think I am worth a well-trained assassin, don’t you?” 

“Of course, in that case, and if you insist...then I must call you Vacorn! You get...right...Vara and acorn, you-you get Vacorn.” his grin was a little too full.

“Oh, wow, that was horrible. I would rather, much rather have the assassin find me” she laughed before teasingly pushing Caric’s shoulder, “I guess you may call me Vara only when you are the most desperately calling for me, or if you see fit. All other times, I think princess or my princess sounds nice. Don’t you?”

“I guess that fits, my princess.” 

Their hands met only for a moment, as their rings slid over one and other. Maybe the moon was smiling down on them, forcing their eyes to glow. The moon weeping and cheering as their souls waltzed above the mirrored lake, waltzing into the comforting onyx that was the inescapable night...even if the boy and the girl did not know quite yet. The hazy aura of the stars lighting up the array of freckles that were art on the girl’s face. The girl pondered what the sun would think if it was out to watch them this evening. But then again, she had always found the caress of the thick ocean that was the black of the night to be the most...comforting. She knew that her stories must be alive somewhere out there in that expanse of stars. What she did not notice in the moment was how it wasn’t heavy to breathe right then, nor did she notice how the boy looked at her as she was entranced in the unknown universe. 

Floor 25. There was nothing behind me. There was everything before me. Why couldn’t I get to everything? Blood coated the back of my throat from where the cold had cracked my skin and my labored panting brought that blood, sweet and acrid, to the tip of my tongue. It burned there. But, not in the way I like for things to burn. Why wouldn’t my legs move faster? Would I ever get to see her spirit burn again? Faster, goddammit! But my legs did not listen. Still two floors away. 

October 21, 2012 (Aged 17) 

Their feet crunched on the many golds, crimsons, and nectars that swarmed the grounds. Walking step and step through the winding path of the autumn woods and soaking in the sun together in the way it seemed to move differently, lighter, almost foggy here. The girl's eyes were now well acquainted with dark bags, and her smile still followed wherever she went, but it no longer lit lightning to her essence. The boy still tried to make her laugh anyway. But, after some time he realized that maybe she didn’t need to laugh, maybe she needed to feel first. And that was just what he would do. He would help her feel, help her whisper to those thoughts that had been in the girl’s mind for far too long. He must, he felt. But, the girl didn’t feel gravity when she walked with the boy, maybe because she felt the light in herself when his voice was nearby. And she enjoyed watching autumn, knowing that there would always be beauty in death. But he enjoyed autumn because of the way he knew the leaves would return, and how now they were just letting their last and deepest, truest, colors come through. 

Gentle yellows flickered through the trees as Caric dared to break the silence, “Do you ever ponder what will become of our futures?”

Vara replied, “Of course, we will rule as prince and princess, what else would there be to worry about?”

“I know we must be monarchs my princess, but where do you see your story flying to in this reality?”

“I think I would like it on the shores of Scotland, as a poet, my reality, then, would be whatever I dared to write. What about you, my acorn prince?” Vara intoned.

“I think Scotland sounds nice, maybe I will be a veterinarian and I will watch an exquisite poet lost in thought through the dainty windows of my cottage.” Caric staring at her.

They said nothing after, their wide grins cueing enough, but the silent promise was there. Clasped between them in this fiery wood. And the boy would do anything to make sure his resolution was reality. The sun was out to watch them that day and it tried to be brighter, it tried to ignite that fire within the girl. The fire that was just beneath the surface, but not awake anymore. 

Floor 26. It wasn’t spring. It wasn’t summer. It wasn’t autumn. It wasn’t winter. It was nothing because there was still one more floor. I felt, heard, saw, tasted nothing. I was nothing because there was still one more floor. 

November 19, 2012 (Aged 17/18)

The willow tree was different this time, it seemed the girl was singing exactly the faint song the willow tree would sing if you listened close enough. The field of flowers covered in a dedicated veil of frost, their deep purples barely visible beneath the silver of the starry frost. The willow tree, still swaying, under the stars, was silver too. It almost seemed as though a vision from the boy’s dreams, although it would more likely be from the girl's dreams because they were ever more vivid. Maybe the moon didn’t just watch tonight as the boy and the girl found their crook beneath the willow. Maybe the moon was there with them, covering their eyes with a thin layer of gossamer silver, turning their visions into an exquisite view. The boy and the girl held together, their acorn rings now on their pinkies because their hands had grown with time. And the boy thought of how their hands may grow together in fifty years. And the girl thought of how the boy’s eyes carried the promises that maybe they were still under that willow, when they were twelve. Just a prince and a princess watching the buttery and rosy fingers of dawn graze over the heavenly melodies of the morning, of the blooming worlds the flowers would give, even if it was winter, even if it was night, even if they were seventeen now. She thought of how her spirit may always carry the joy of twelve because of him. But her eyes were heavy with every second these days, and sometimes she couldn’t even tell if they were open or not, if she was breathing or not. But tonight she laughed, deep and full. Reverberating to the heavens, and the boy laughed with her. Teasing, promising, whispering till the lazy noir and azures, shifted into a golden haze sunrise. It seemed then that the frost was firey, blazing dreams.

“Promise me something” Vara spoke.

“Anything” Caric’s voice, sincere.

“When we get to Scotland, I want my desk to face the ocean”

“Anything for you, my princess, Vara”

He squeezed her hand, she squeezed his back. 

Floor 27. The door was ajar. Then it was wide open as my body slammed against it. There she was. Tears pouring down her sunken face, the same tearing down mine. There she was. Vara’s eyes locking with me, telling me her promises may find me in my dreams. And her foot had already left the edge, and she only had time to croak “my prince” before she plummeted from the building. And I raced, hoping I could catch her as she fell. But I was not fast enough and I did not get to touch her again, I could not hold her. I could not say goodbye as she left. I could not keep my resolution to help her heal. As the New Years' canons went off, I heard nothing. My soul locked to her as she fell, and I knew that I had seen her and I do not think she would have been afraid of herself all these years if she had been looking through my eyes. - New years December 31, 2012)

December 2020 (Aged 26)

Scotland was nice. And the boy wore two rings now. Both the hollows of acorns on his pinky. And there was a desk that looked out to the sea. And he looked in often, through the dainty window, from the field of animals. Hoping that someday he would catch sight of a curly-haired girl, with electric eyes, and skin like unfired clay. But she wasn’t there. Eventually, the boy would find her. Maybe they would meet by the willow some years from now when the boy grew old. And that thought was enough to keep the boy smiling, hoping, and living.

I have not written in the longest time and would love to grow as an author, so please leave critiques!!!!