Psyche logo

The Closing Wind

A short story centered around a struggling teen trying to escape his own head...

By Karol A KubickiPublished 2 years ago 10 min read
1

Lying up, staring at the ceiling, thinking, longing. Surrounding him only darkness with the small light that shone from his phone’s screen. Calm music filled the room and surrounded what appeared to be, at first glance, a statue. Motionless, expressionless. Looking closer and closer, two spheres appeared to shine like two moons in the glow from his phone. His eyelids, flickering shut from time to time, only to be reopened every so often with a stream running through and from them. Going deeper we see a dark figure, towering over him, consuming him, becoming him. He gathers enough energy to start to rise from his bed, the figure still looming over him, surrounding him. He goes downstairs, puts on a coat, and leaves. That evening 3 moons could be seen, the one in the sky, and the two eyes, sparkling in the moonlight.

No destination, no stops, no aim, simply travelling for the sake of being out of the state he found himself in scarcely 5 minutes before. Hanging over him this dark figure, always following, searching, like a balloon lost in the wind. In this walk he hoped to get this figure out of his way, yet it dawned on him that this would never go away. This figure was permanently tied to him and to him only. There was no relief, constant despair, anxiety, pain over when this figure would leave him be. He shouted, in vain. No one ever heard, no one ever helped. Looking down into the dark pool below his feet, that reflection. A sorry twist of what he became staring back at him, longing for the days where he felt no pain, no sorrow, no despair. The dark figure, slouching around him, moving with the wind, pushing, edging, hoping.

The two shutters of his eyes closed. Darkness. In the distance, he saw a light getting closer and closer to him revealing nothing till the last moment. Images before him, circling with such vividness of colour turning to the black and white emptiness that his heart now had. Swaying in the wind, the figure started to surround him more and more, pressing, pressuring, haunting. Whispering, trying to convince him, pushing him, swaying him. He just stood there, waiting for any semblance of normality to return, for those images to be injected with colour. Only darkness remained and stuck.

- - - - - - - - - -

6 am, wakeup. Rubs his eyes, rolls over, the dark figure rolling over with him. First steps around his room, the dark figure follows, making a carbon copy of his movements. Gets changed and leaves, the dark figure goes with him. Walking towards school, the dark figure follows in step. Arriving at school, he packs the dark figure away, in his mind, hidden away behind a smile.

School’s over, the dark figure expands out of his mind, ripping the smile away, returning to the haunting.

- - - - - - - - - -

Watching him walk in is a bizarre experience. Face seemingly lacking the ability to produce a smile and yet it appears the moment he notices eyes facing in his direction. Clearly his mind isn’t in the right place but where it’s going or what’s happening, I couldn’t know. With my eyes I see colour, I can only imagine the black and white world he’s facing, the only colour being the sky blue colour of his tears emerging from his eyes.

He sits down next to me and the conversation begins. Calm, composed, nothing to show any weakness, however you can see his face is like a cracking dam, waiting to burst. His eyes flooding behind his cold, masked appearance and his lips stitched together to stop any cries for help from leaving. He takes out his papers, shuffles them around, doing everything he can to take the thoughts off what he’s going through.

- - - - - - - - - -

Step after step, walking with seemingly no real dedication. Moving, simply because he had to. He couldn’t help himself, and he thought no one could either. Fighting a duality in his mind, truth versus what he wanted to appear as. He gazed out onto the world, everyone ‘normal’ yet he felt different, knew he was different. Walking down streets, watching films, listening to music, all pointing him towards the ‘normal’ way of being. He knew that wasn’t him though. A weird creature? Someone different, not normal? That duality, feeling part normal yet part removed from normality pressed on his thoughts every waking minute. Masquerading the truth of who he was over those fears of feeling different, being different, loving someone different.

- - - - - - - - -

Half falling asleep, he rises slowly from his bed and positions himself at his desk. Many days have passed and by this point it almost feels like a ritual. Xavier knew he had to do something and this was the best thing he could come up with. He logs on to his computer, loading up his music playlist and placing the volume just high enough for his thoughts to be able to consume the music that he hears and distract from everything else.

“Hey”

Receiving this message placed a drop of colour over his black and white world. It was a message he always expected and yet it always brought him so much joy when receiving it, joy he never experienced before. The conversation always went ahead, developing more and more day by day, feelings developing that were never felt before and feelings he never thought would end.

Every conversation with this special guy brought him to a place of happiness, bringing him some joy to an otherwise bleak existence. His memories were able to float around in his mind, filling the space around him, gaining more and more colour day by day.

Until one day all colour vanished. His already fragile heart broken clean into two pieces.

His head drooping downwards, drops of shimmering blue water dripping from his eyes, the dark figure returning to tower over him. Welcome old friend.

- - - - - - - - - -

I never thought that I’d hear that from anyone. No one. Yet, when he told me, it seemed such a small matter, so trivial yet so simple. I didn’t imagine that it was causing that dilemma, I couldn’t see it. When he told me those words “I am bisexual,” I never imagined that I would be in that position, repeating that phrase over and over in my mind. Did I miss something? Could I have done anything more? Can I start to do anything now?

Seemingly questions with many responses and yet only one response mattered. The one response I never got. I was too nervous, too embarrassed, too something. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Day by day, I saw it peeling from him. That mask he always carefully placed every day in front of everyone, slowly peeling away. Revealing the person behind it. The person no one truly knew or understood. I always felt the desire to ask, to intervene, to act. I never found the courage.

- - - - - - - - - -

I never found the courage. I never did find the courage, and I never thought I would. Hiding away every day from who I truly was, what I was going through, what and how I felt, who I loved. Every waking moment I spent hiding, almost becoming one with the shadows I was using to mask the truth. Sometimes I forced open cracks, cracks in this mask so that the closest to me could see that small part behind the mask. See the truth.

Or at least part of it.

Xavier is a complicated guy. I am. Different layers, visible to different people at different times with the one true layer only visible to me. A mask holding back the many different people hiding within, wanting to get out, wanting to leave, wanting to vanish. Leaving behind that one true person was a deep down desire.

When I tried to be my true self, I failed. Love. A difficult concept for anyone to both understand and be good at. For me, I always failed, to the point I was losing hope. Every time I had some colour appearing on my greyscale canvas of life, soon after it would be bleached out, left for me to only put out blue from the tears I always released after holding back. There was no room for faith or hope. No chance of success in the future, no possibility.

If I couldn’t take that mask off for everyone, I was ready for no one.

- - - - - - - - - -

Tiptoeing around what he said was never a strong suit of his. He always came across as direct and honest and yet in some conversations you could just see the discomfort brewing in every glance, facial expression, and movement.

You couldn’t ask him, he’d close off even more, leave the room and not return until much later. It was always a struggle, you could see. That feeling of seeing yet not being able to act was always a heart wrenching experience. I just had to sit back and watch, watch the pain and anger building up, powerless for any change, powerless for providing help.

- - - - - - - - - -

Darkness filled the area around him once again. Could have been expected, happens every day. Through his mind different things flowing. Thoughts over rivers of crimson or rivers of cyan, flowing through his mind with those being the only colours he could now imagine.

He put his pen down and headed downstairs. Shoes on, coat on, hat on, keys in hand.

“Bye, love you”

Stepping outside he felt the cold breeze against the patches of skin that were still exposed to the elements. He could now barely see through the dark figure that almost had him fully consumed. He arrived at the pool he stood at these months ago, memories flashing back at him, the dark figure still tied to him. No longer was he leading the figure, the figure was leading him.

He stood there, calmly, silently. Listening to the wind blowing through the trees and buildings around him. He took his hat off, allowing the wind to flow through his hair, caressing each individual hair, twisting and turning around it.

He dropped his hat on the floor next to him and etched ever closer to the pool. He looked down at the sorry figure reflecting back at him, the moon visible just behind him.

He looked at the dark figure surrounding all of him.

“Goodbye old friend.”

He swayed backwards, forwards, and the figure was no more.

The moon shining down on the pool that now took another person with it.

Drops of shimmering water now flowing from other eyes.

- - - - - - - - - -

To everyone,

Goodnight.

Love, Xavier.

stigma
1

About the Creator

Karol A Kubicki

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.