Fiction Friction

Truth has the habit of falling out of your mouth.

He grabbed her waist gently. Too gently, like a child. She hated that. He pulled her in close and whispered:

“You could sink the Titanic with that icy glare of yours Jules…” “I don’t know what you are talking about.” His eyes squinted. The slow flashing strobe light on the DJ's table made it impossible to see cohesively. But even when they stood in the darkness, she could feel his blue eyes focused on her. The music shuddered against the walls, vibrating into their pulses, syncing their heartbeats and stiffening their spines. “Can we get out of here?” “Do I even need to say yes?” He smiled. He took his last swig of his drink and fell into the shadows as she grabbed her purse and faux fur coat. They slid through the back door, leaving just another smoky apartment party without saying goodbye.

They ran down the florescent-lit path towards the stair well. Running down the hall way, passing the apartment equally spaced black and blue doors. They ran faster and faster--soon the doors became blurs.

Black and Blue. Black and Blue. Blackandblue. Blacknblue. blackblueblackblue.

They ran faster so the blurs never had a chance to become doors.

The people that lived in this apartment complex, similar to people that lived anywhere, never opened up their doors. They locked them. Their isolation suffocated their relations. The closed doors had a way of ensnaring people in their own lives, like a spider caught in his own web. Each being his or her own antagonist; consumed by their own disease, their own death. Tormented by the clocks that hung on their empty white walls, haunted by their ticking authority. Loneliness tossed them to and fro, to and fro; until, their souls became as black and blue as the black and blue doors that trapped them.

Everyone was black and blue. Being black and blue was normal now. But no one admitted it. No one was brave enough to admit it. No one wanted to be weak enough to admit it.

Julie and Elliot stumbled through the stair well. Their feet carried their bodies down faster than their hearts could beat. Hypoxemia. It hurt. But ever since September, Julie refused to take the elevator. She refused to step into a building over 40 stories tall. She refused to fly. Elliot understood. He didn’t prod her. He was there that day, he saw the same things. They continued farther and farther and farther down. They flew, breathless and panting. They didn’t stop, they couldn’t. They would go until the stairs stopped.

And they wished they never stopped.

They wished to run deeper and deeper into the earth. They wished for an infinite staircase. And if the stairs ever stopped they wished for a latter.

Farther down the latter they would go. Not even stopping to look up to see the last glimpse of florescent lighting that once lit up their world.

They descended deeper and deeper into the core of creation, not even waiting for God to catch up. Climbing downwards, passing fossils of hominoids and rats, then dinosaurs and strange winged reptiles and after that just darkness. The darkness would consume them. Their eyes would be useless. And the heat would light their clothes on fire, but they would keep going. No sight and no clothes. It didn't matter, those things are useless anyways. Pain wouldn't be felt this deep, nothing would be felt, they had escaped all of the laws in World. When the latter ended and all there was was dirt. They would dig. They would dig until they could only claw with their finger nails. Clawing at Earth’s heartstrings, begging to sync beats with them.

The illusion stopped as they hit ground level. Floor zero.

And out they flew out the exit, just as they flew down the stairs, into the congested streets. Their lungs too depleted to run any further so they sat down on the curb, holding each other. Staring at the yellow sea of taxis. Feeling each others heart, no longer synced by the music but synced by their fleeing descent.