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‘The Creation Clause’
Talon just didn’t care to find out for himself. He was all too aware that he would find an answer to even want to try and move forward down a path whose bridge he’d already thrown countless matches onto, not really caring whether or not it burned or resisted. Too distracted by his hardships to come up with another means of destruction, too destroyed to mind the destruction very much at all, his life persisted.
His hand brushed passed his photo album as he scrambled through the closet he had never really seen as being his, his main objective to simply grab everything up at once. Talon was determined to leave before his father returned from work – and yet the lure of those memory laden images still managed to pull him in. Sorrowful sapphire eyes swirled from face to face trying to drink them all in at once, determined to remember all he could. Still, he knew it was fruitless, knowing that years from now all he knew would be gone, lain to waste, all flames extinguished – and yet, even if it was just for now, he strove to remember.
Still, the bruise on his already battered heart reminded him of his purpose. There was no going back allowed, no staying in the moment lest he repeat his mistake and say what he knew his father so wanted to hear, that Talon was willing to give him another chance at the family he saw them being in his head. They’d never been a perfect family by any means. And yet the pictures of his dearest friends made him wonder if he was prepared to leave everything behind him, if anyone would care about his disappearance. Almost against his will his hand turned the pages, eyes alighting on scene after remembered scene from his life and memories.
There was Ana, her bright bubblegum pink hair twisted up into complicated knots on top of her head as always as she posed for the camera, but it was the homemade t-shirt she was wearing that spoke to him most in that moment. It read simply ‘Make Your Own Happiness.’ Maybe that was his problem; he couldn’t help but think that, perhaps, he interpreted his happiness in a different way than everyone else did theirs.
The next photograph showed Talon and his best friend Carlen arm and arm, smiling broadly at one another, both covered from head to toe in paint splatters. They’d always been two art geeks struggling against a wave of preps and jocks who could never understand their passion. Carlen’s words still rang in his ears, his theory about art resonating in the teenager’s very being: ‘It spills over onto our notebooks, onto out backpacks in bright markers, onto our desks and blackboards, into our other daily confinements. Art simply can’t be contained. My notebooks spout my words, my sketchbooks filled with pictures created solely by my hand alone, and I feel free. It’s only then, when I’m creating, that I feel like myself.’
How, Talon writhed in silent agony, could he leave them behind without a single goodbye or parting remark after all they’d done for him? And yet, though he loved them, somewhere in his mind he acknowledged the half buried thought that maybe they would be better off without him complicating their lives any longer.
He’d already proved he was self destructive.
The scars on his wrists were proof enough of that.
Angry lines of red and blood had been the reason his mother had pawned him off onto his father, the man he’d lived across town from all his life but had never really known. When Talon had shown up on his doorstep with a note from his mother explaining the situation, along with the fact that she was going off to live elsewhere and never planned on returning for her son, what might have been a happy reunion never had a chance to be born – the look of rebellion and abandonment in the son’s eyes had quelled any inclination of a warm greeting. He had always been the poster problem child exemplified, the thing that had tormented his mother to tears. Yet, somehow, his father had still managed to smile as he made room for the child he barely knew, still tried to make up for lost time by molding the pair of them into the perfect family regardless of how makeshift it may have been.
It wasn’t his fault he’d failed so miserably. Talon had never wanted his father to succeed, had blocked him at every corner. His son, so resolute in his distrust, had never dropped the barriers that separated his heart from the only parent he now had the option of turning to.
Regardless, Talon can’t be blamed for any of the hardships he and all those he touched endured because of his twisted existence.
After all, it’s just the way he was written.
 YukiRiiku18 · Sat Jun 27, 2009 @ 05:18pm · 0 Comments |
