The 'He'

By Panda All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Fantasy


He was completely and utterly oblivious to us. He was ordinary yet, unconditionally not. The 'He' I called him. An unnamed creature that, without comprehension was effectively controlling us. This boy. This man. This male was so overtaken by the simple idea of remaining forgotten, that he hadn't realized or even remembered to look up. In his world, everything was black. A pure, comforting black which had driven him insane and uncontrollably, perfectly, and indescribably okay. The 'He' I called him. A creature, which had no purpose in life, other than to protect me. A girl. A woman. A female, that was too lost in her own planet and too much for her own good, that instead of remaining innocent, was struck with the only weapon in her which could have driven her insanely mad. But it hadn't driven her crazy. No. Not at all. She didn't dance, or sing nor did she paint, but she did love. She treasured and adored the only being on Earth which could fully appreciate her as, her. The 'He' I called him.


“Good Afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to inform you that the plane is ready for departure. Remain seated as we prepare you for the flight,”

I rolled my eyes at the pilot and sighed in frustration.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” a woman stood before my eyes, a wide grin forming on her thin yet, red lips. I nodded. A look of fatigue wavered through me. Her understanding eyes pierced into my thoughts, opening them and observing every detail of my crumbled face. My head was banging with troubled doubts, and she could see it.

I gave her a minuscule smile, and she returned it before disappearing into a sea of agitated people. My head was spinning. I was sprawled between amazement and sadness. It was as if I was deciding whether or not I was thankful for leaving, or if I needed to leave. Maybe I was relieved. Angry? I didn’t even know. I felt like sinking into the blue seat and melting into an invisible hole.

My mother, beautiful and humble, would have told me to pull it together. Sweetly of course. And I admired that about her. She was tough yet, gentle. Her laughter was so contagious and loving, that it could make a room full of saddened people lighten up. The woman was a simple beauty. And I remembered her hair. How stunning and attractive it was. Straight, but not too straight. Natural and sophisticated. Almost like the one of a queen. My mother was meant to be a woman of royalty. She would have loved that. She talked about fancy ball gowns and expensive wines, and the most exquisite treats. She spoke of long corridors filled with paintings and dust, and the most fascinating gardens one could ever see. There was always a hint of lust. Like she was waiting for the moment her dream would come true. I never understood that. It was as if she knew it would happen. It made me feel furious and motivated. Furious because I thought she wasn’t happy and motivated because, at some point, I started to believe in all that nonsense.

Everday, I would wake up, and simply watch the spiraling ceiling. Silence would envelop me with utter magnificence, and I would wonder, how it was that a human could survive loneliness. But that was something, which I never completely figured out. Even though, I was the one who was living it.

After she passed, I felt like a ghost. My cold body would travel the great building, with no direction, no purpose. I had no one. Not a maid to look after me, not a dog to spend time with, not a friend to talk to. The house was empty, and it just made my soul crumble, second after second. But as time developed, that desire died. And so, literature began to fill my daily life.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be leaving shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts. We will be facing a storm today,” I directed my vision to the girl next to me. Her hands trembled softly. She was young. Her blond hair gushed down her back, as she turned to look at her magazine. The girl was impeccably picturesque. No one could deny that, and although I envied her miraculous looks, I knew I’d prefer the similarity my complexion contained to my mother’s.

My eyes began to look out the windows. Small shadows appeared on the foots of the airplane. The sky was covered by grey, soggy clouds, which nearly melted as they stared off into the distance. It was about rain. The wind swirled around the flawless houses like deathly howls during an eerie night. But it felt strange. Like something was about to happen. I just didn’t know what. And for some reason, I loved it.

The plane started to move, and I let my head fall into the uncomfortable seat. The thumping of my heart rapidly increased. The machine leveled up as I forcefully closed my eyes shut. I breathed in and out like a maniac. It trembled, once, twice, and then it stopped. We were flying. I smiled in adoration.

Opening my eyes, I noticed the normality of it all. Everyone seemed unfazed by the adventure. They rested on their seats, looking at the screen before them. Their frowns mirrored each other and I pondered. Would life turn out this way? Predictable and entirely mundane? I let the coward thought devour my attention. But soon, I felt the room closing in. I felt pale and unnaturally still. Dreams captured me, consuming everything. But the memories stayed. Playing like heart-breaking nightmares and I was stuck. Broken. I couldn’t wake up. They wouldn’t let me.

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