Ten Seconds of Kaleidoscopes

The moon peeked through a haze of purplish clouds suspended in the night sky of the city. The round, pearl-like orb smiled at me, but, at the moment, I didn't want to be smiled at. I wanted to be glared at. To be shown no mercy. To be given the repercussions for my transgressions. To be asked, "Why? Why did you do it, you filthy, selfish, mongrel?"

"I don't know," I choked out quietly, but my voice barely made it past my throat.

Laying on my back in the dark alley, the world swirled around me, and everything looked like a kaleidoscope. Not that I minded. I liked kaleidoscopes. They had the ability to turn the normal, basic, and boring into something otherworldly and beautiful. They reminded me of Noah.

Come to think of it, I had always told Noah that he was my kaleidoscope. Ever since he snuck me away at recess in first grade to tell me he liked me but didn't want Mrs. Markley to know, he's made even the most basic parts of life something special, and ,honestly, nothing has changed since then. Honestly, we both act like six years old most of the time.

I suppose that being as childish as we are is what got us into this in the first place. Just like children, we only looked out for ourselves- both of us too wrapped up in our own needs and desires to think about what the other was really wanting.

Or maybe it was that we had become so accustomed to the way that things used to be that everything else was swept under the rug of blissful ignorance that we had created. Every petty little argument that had gone unchecked. Every act of passive aggression making little nicks like the bite of a razor blade- so small and imperceptible as to not be felt, but leaving a gash that bleeds for hours and takes weeks to heal.

I reached out across the grimy asphalt. There were empty food containers and used plates littering the area next to the dumpster. Being in the alley behind the campus cafeteria, it was no surprise that those things were there, but that was most definitely not what I had been hoping to touch. I continued groping until my hand found its way to the black pair of Nikes with the neon green laces.

With dwindling strength, I tugged at them.

"Please," I begged, coughing up crimson as I did.

It dribbled down my cheek in a way that made me shiver. The cold air had been biting at my skin to begin with, but this was a different kind of shiver. It was the feeling of life slowly shriveling up and shaking my body to tell it to try to save itself, but why would it? Was there really anything left to come back to if I managed to make it out alive?

I knew there wasn't. Not after what I had done today. Not after that poor girl's blood was on my hands.

Like I had said. I was stupid. The rage had carried me away.

Honestly, I don't even remember doing it. The only recollection of it that I still have is the moment after my blood had stopped boiling. The moment her body was lying limp on the floor. I had wanted to run my fingers through her gorgeous brown hair. I couldn't help but think, 'How could I ask him to resist her? She's an absolute goddess.'

Then again, wasn't he the one who had always told me that I was irreplaceable, even by the goddess of love and beauty herself? It was one of his cute little poetic sayings that only ever got whispered to me, as if it were a little secret that only the two of us could share. Unless, of course, he had shared it with her.

Instantly, he hit his knees. He was right next to me, close enough that I could feel his body heat. Smell his cologne- the one that came in the black spray bottle and sat on his dresser, sitting beside the green vase. It's funny how I remember that, but after knowing Noah for the entirety of his life, it was nearly impossible to forget even the most forgettable things about him- including the organization of his dorm, which was normally nonexistent, considering how little he liked to clean.

Or like how now, without even having to look at him, I know he's doing that thing with his hands. The thing where he taps each finger to his thumbs, individually counting them until he calms down. He always does it when he feels stressed, and boy, is he stressed now. I hate to laugh at this situation, but the irony is almost unbearable. Although it's not really like I can laugh. I'd choke again.

I feel his hand gently slipping into mine. He traces circles around the back of it. I try to squeeze to show that I'm still alive, but my muscles refuse to cooperate. Unless maybe they've just gone numb.

The kaleidoscope of sight around me continues to darken as the little circles on my hand began to become less and less perceptible. The moon no longer looks like a perfect little circle floating above Noah's mess of black curls. Instead, it looks more like an orb of light being sucked into the maw of a dark blurred entity.

The mass of color that must be my beloved leans over me, trying to speak, but it just sounds like the mumbling of a madman. Or the static coming from an old television set. Or both.

In that moment, the only thing to be felt was the want, the need, the dying wish, to hear his voice one last time. Taking one final gasp, I tried to suck in enough air for one moment- just long enough to catch a look into his beautiful eyes, like the moon themselves, as clear and purely almond colored as they were.

Everything clearing for that one, final breath, the only thing I wanted to hear came to my ear. Whether or not it was just a crazed delusion or not, I'm not sure, but it gave me the satisfaction I needed.

"Zara Ellis... I love you," his voice rang.

And with that, the world faded into a memory that no longer belonged to me.

And Noah was left there, in the alley, holding her, wishing that she had given him the time to explain. To explain that there was no 'other girlfriend'. There was no 'murder'. That Zara was innocent.

He had wanted to tell her that the hallucinations were back, terrorizing her now just like they had when they were young. He had wanted to explain that she was his Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, keeper of his heart, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her- hence the velveteen box in his pocket. But no, life had other plans in mind.

Instead, she had attacked him, thinking he was a monster of some sort, and ,in defense, he had grabbed the nearest object and thrown it at her. The end result was her drowning in her own blood in a deserted alley, having only ten seconds of life before it was all swept away. In his poeticism, Noah could only think of one way this story could end, for what is a Romeo without his Juliet?