atlas

cw: implied death

"The sky is green!" José said, looking up to me. My imagination, however, fails to adhere to the gleam of his eyes, but a mere distortion of his youthful figure. Perhaps he's sitting right there, outside the room I'm currently in. Waiting for me, as he always has. The room beseeched around me is engulfed in ivory, excluding the standard balsa furnishes and the black screen staring right at me. It- doesn't look too black, however. But then again, when has my eyesight ever been that good? I don't know, frankly. But that's not my job to monitor; it's those white coats and white-coated people I mean very literally.  

A vaguely familiar intrusiveness arises from me when I hear those white coats ramble along, something about the prefrontal cortex or whatnot. That's the last thing I remember them saying, whatever that means. I can't figure out their continuous, contemptuous mockery, standing here, talking about me in front of me as if I'm some deplorable cheese giving off a stench. And yet, I don't have the energy to confront them as such... perhaps I'm just not in the mood to get eyerolls and more pitying glances. I've probably gotten far too much over yesterday and its continuation to about now.  

José wouldn't like my references to them though. He's a bit too much of a goody-two-shoes, and something about that bothers me. Mr. Perfect can spare some of his goodness for this shit pile; I just don't seem to be getting his way. And he's literally seven. God, I've been cursed. What was he telling me in the car...? Wouldn't want to disappoint him by forgetting... he wouldn't understand if I told him my head just hurts. Maybe he'd come back at me and say that I'm making excuses, like always. I really try not to when it comes to him, but sometimes it just slips, y'know?  

The sky is green- green... but skies aren't usually green... are they green? Green is quite a peculiar color, unfitting for the sky- what was José saying? We were in the car, the very not-so-green car... oh, but where were we even going? We were snacking on some chips-- there was a lot of stuff now that I mention it... did Dad take those suitcases? I think he did. Suitcases mean travel and by car means... road trip. But why green? I swear this kid is making me run around in circles. Well, once I get out of this place, I'm determined to let him know that I heard his school stories... school story? Was this a school story?  

The ride was nice though. I think I didn't zone out as much; José sure did keep me entertained... if I wasn't sleeping. And that was, now that I think about it, not for a lot of time. Five minutes, roughly. Away from the Georgian suburbs all the way to the core of Washington? All of which, I was dozing away if not for the occasional, insistent taps on the shoulder I'd get from him. He’s just like that. Mom and Dad would keep up their occupying business chatter, like always. Don't know why we were going on a road trip, of all methods of transportation... like, a plane for example. But no, insufferable trips like these are a mandate in an effort to save the big bucks. What was that statistic... "flights are safer than driving cars?" To the irony, I stand now. Not that I can stand anyway- I mean, I bet I could, if not for those white coats still in the room. Then again, all these attachments bound to me like foreign creatures... I might just hold back. 

Oh, how I'll be smirking at José when I see him again. He'll look back up at me and scrunch up his face like he always does, despite Mom telling him time and time again that 'it'll ruin his composed complexion, to not do that in front of the masses.' Not that any of that stuff matters, even if it feels like it does. We're not models and were never built for any of that stuff. José and I... free-spirited. I wonder what he's thinking right now. 

Back to the task at hand, I tell myself. We're on a road trip, far away from the demising clutches of school and the people they bring. They seem very faint and far away, but I have a familiar distaste. Why are we on this road trip? Oh-- that kid. I hate that kid. Well, now he can be a jerk to me no more; I'm stuck here for the time being. Maybe, just maybe, it's all his fault. Don't care what those counselors yap about; he's to blame. If he hadn't hauled all my stuff and sprawled it out everywhere to tease me for being dumber than most (a dunce, he called me) I wouldn't have lashed out at him. There wouldn't have been both of us escorted after a millennium of bystanders watching us chant some shitty stuff like, 'Fight!' as though some modernized gladiator match. If they wanted to use that analogy, I, of course, was the lion. And despite that, both me and the gladiator are bound against those rich folks- or in this case, the school system. And me, now deemed as too hazardous and to be disposed of. We wouldn't be heading this route with an incessant amount of luggage that we'd taken with us... to move. Away from that riddance place. To move in with... 

The ride doesn’t seem all that nice anymore. Did José know about it, or is he too young to get infoliated by such dimwits who think themselves higher? I pray that he never experiences that. I swear, if that happened, I wouldn’t spare anyone who thought themselves that superior and high-headed. They’d have what was coming; I’d make sure of it. Ugh! I keep getting off-topic. I just hate that fear of mine. I hate that smirk that kid gave me, before his inevitable doom. And yet, his doom always prevails over mine. He doesn’t have to move out of the state; for all I care, he can continue to be the shittiest person around. With all the rest of them, I presume. It’s not like he deserves to be thought about anyway, though. Waste of time. I don’t have time.  

I’m trying to remember Mom and Dad, though their faces seem very unfamiliar. I think the white coats will eventually allow them to visit me, but right now they’re not here. I think they’ll come back soon, but I’m glad they’re gone. They prevent me from focusing. It’s so hard to focus. Maybe it had something to do with the... the bang. The jolt? I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t even recall seeing anything- just being knocked out, unconscious. From the side of our five-year-old Honda Civic. Smashing into its film, into one of its back windows, I suppose. Crushing its metal exterior, damaging its inside. Hurting those inside. 

I... don’t know what to make of it now. Perhaps it was me who led us here. The cause of this disastrous mess. I’ll apologize to Mom, Dad, José-- all of them, once they come back. I want to see them now more than ever... but also don’t. How do I confront them? Maybe I won’t have to. Maybe they’ll be so concerned for me that they’ll forget how much of a pain I’ve been. But then again, I can’t discount the expenses staying in this ivory room will cost us. With all these creature-like attachments... I know it won’t be any easy payment, even with insurance. All for giving us ‘reassurance’... ha, sounds more like the reassurance of a flawed medical plot, destined to trap those who fall in it. Why I feel the need to divert the fault, I don’t know. It’s a constant habit I have. I just need to stop thinking about this; there’s no point trying to spend energy here when I don’t have much left.  

Green skies, road trips, school stories. They’re all somehow linked together, and I can’t figure out how. What do José’s school stories even revolve around? Him, of course, with his friends. Last I heard, they made some cult between themselves. Cult isn’t the word... some group supposedly. Oh, how I remember Jose’s constant mentioning of this spy agency he’d create with his friends. How he wanted us, (not sure if he was referring to me) to be the operators, and how we would all rally along and solve local crime mysteries of the neighborhood. Then we’d expand, slowly but steadily, making our expeditions worldwide... something like that. Jose, this kid; he has a big imagination. I feel guilty though; he’s not with his friends anymore. He’s practically stripped away from them, all because of a stupid, impulsive act I made. I mean... when I saw him, snuggled next to me in his booster seat, he seemed fine. Good, even- and I know José. I know when he tends to hide his anger... it clouds his face like a volcano, desperately wanting to erupt. His rapid bounces from passive to aggressive comes from our mother, that’s for sure. I... only seem to have inherited the aggression.  

Back to the skies, once again. Those white coats will come any time now, that I’m sure of. All that comes to mind is Atlas, that titan whom I admire for some reason. Having been burdened with the skies, he must know of these ‘green skies.’ By now, he must’ve memorized their every movement; he would know if and when the skies turn green. The skies turn many shades, that I know of... but green?  

If they turned green, however, they would do so in the most marvelous of ways. The sky isn’t anything short of beautiful; José knows that. And despite everything, it’s quite easy to imagine the sky. Maybe in the night, devoid of blue, in distinct darkness. With the stars, oh those glamorous stars. All those spread across lights, illuminating the sky, arousing it of life- doing so even light years away. And maybe, just maybe, I know what José was talking about. The bedtime stories Dad would narrate to him when he goes to sleep. José’s a bit of a visualizer, and that’s what worked best for him... but nonetheless calming for me as well. Dad would mention something about being at the right place at the right time, underneath the Auroras of the sky... where, if you do so happen to see such ever-changing beauties, you make a wish. And that wish would be fulfilled.  

It’s only then the white coats come in, synchronized with my triumph. It seems soon that they will discharge me (perhaps in a day or two) and I will be off to go alongside Mom and Dad. I see both their faces in the door, seemingly uninjured for the most part. Oh, how I’ve already started to feel Atlas’s burden. It’s still hard to remember Jose’s face, having not seen him in some time. It seems to me that they’re telling me to stop trying. They tell me I will not see him anymore.