I didn’t think twice when I headed back home that day, just as the dusk approach, realizing that yet again, after months of planning, I hadn’t closed my eyes for a final time. It started to rain just as I crossed the intersection; the rain was so strong that it soaked the back of my coveralls completely; I was shivering a little when I reached our floor, the padding sound of my feet and water dripping down the walls resonating in the silent atmosphere inside. My mother, as she always would had passed out on the sofa when I finally entered out apartment. She hadn’t even changed out of her ruined attire, ripped and stained, her dark hair cascaded across the old material of the sofa’s armrest. She looked peaceful in her sleep, to be honest. It was only then that I’d come to think that she was my mother. After a heavy sigh, I cleaned up the dishes, cups and cigarette butts on the coffee table, covered my mother with a blanket and cleaned up what’s thrown about on the carpet. Busying myself with mundane errands was my way of venting out my stress after a fight (and also after I had cornered myself, planning my death) and this happened almost every day. I was reaching out for a discarded wrapping from several days ago when I noticed something that I had never expected in my life.

There were faint but fresh traces of tears down her cheeks from her eyes.

My mother had cried.

With all the bizarre happenings botching up my mind, I couldn’t blink an eye that night. I stayed up, listening to the comfortable crackle of the fan in my room, staring up at the concrete roof above which had an ugly stain of cracked, drenched paint, the fresh wind from outside kissing my exposed skin. I contemplated the entire night on so many things. I thought of my mother, I wondered why she cried. I wondered whoever my father was, where he could be by now, and whether he was still alive. I wondered if he were as handsome as I was. I wondered why my mother didn’t get rid of me before I was born, like every other person of her league would do. I thought of my life, how it had come so far, and then I thought of the strange man from the roof top; I thought of what he said; and that one determination of finding myself answers was what which put me to a briefest of a nap; I woke up the next morning, my eyes bloated and heavy; I felt as though I was beaten up by thousand men.

Even during work, my mind was all over the place. My mother had already gone by that morn, and I hadn’t much to worry about. That urge to end my life had magically vanished; what replaced it was the vision of that man; I realized, pone moment, I was intrigued by how he dressed, his nonchalance, his voice and the vagueness of his remarks. It was strange, honestly. I was intrigued by a strange man. It didn’t even make sense to me. As the day ended at work, I wondered if he was still alive.

Thus, after work, still in my coveralls, anticipation ravaging within my systems, I made it up the stairs of the abandoned building, took the stairs at ease and finally approached the rooftop; my eyes searching sans cease.

His blazing red hair was hardly to go unnoticed.

In slow steps, I made my way towards him, only to find him yet again, engrossed in his paperback. He looked different from the other day though. His hair wasn’t neatly shaped but tousled at the top, his T-shirt creased and his jeans had a coffee stain on the thigh. His spectacles were still there, sliding down the bridge of his nose, and when I leaned against the wall next to him, he looked up and smiled. “Hello there!”

I didn’t smile back since I wasn’t used to, and gave him a nod. “You’re still alive”

“Didn’t die, fortunately” He said, eyes focused on his book. “But why are you here again?”

“I needed clarification” I said, and perched myself on the floor next to him. He was warm, and it suddenly made me feel more self-conscious in a strange way; and he smelled of spring and lime.

“On what?”

“On your rumor” I said, surveying him. He chuckled in return, his shoulders moving as he did so, and turned a page. “It’s a rumor, not my rumor and a rumor is a rumor, there’s no clarification-,”

“Does it happen like a cycle?” I cut in, making him immediately stop in mid chuckle and he turned to me.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I just do” I told him. “Say, you saved me, and then you are going to die and I save you, and I’m going to die, it goes on…”

He stared at me for a split of a second, bemused, his eyes saying something along the line of I being an utter lunatic, and spoke in the end, amusement underlying his voice. “Who-who said the second person will also die here?”

I was taken aback. Of course. “He doesn’t…”

“There’s no cycle” He said, returning to his book, his voice was somewhat similar to someone who’s discussing types of cigars. “Nobody kill themselves here…they be stopped. Even if there was…you see, one of them would die first anyway. If the second person dies, well, it would be a mere coincident, but if the one who tried to kill himself on that round, dies, it makes no sense…”

I nodded, suddenly feeling lost and confused. I wasn’t certain why we even started this conversation on the first place.

“Anyway, I think you’re thinking too much. It’s just a rumor”

I didn’t respond. I felt a tad bit disoriented, and embarrassed, thus instead of answering, I pulled out a cigarette, located my lighter and began to lighten it when his long, slender fingers reached out, grabbed the cigarette and threw it down the building. “That is not an easy way to die”

“I wasn’t-,” I tried to argue, but before I could say anything, he reached into his pocket and produced a candy on a stick before handing it over to me. “Here. Its sweeter and it doesn’t kill”

I had never been controlled this way ever in my life; yet, I was following him and I couldn’t believe myself to be doing that. Without another word, I undid the wrapper, it making a comforting crackle and held it between my teeth. It tasted of pineapples, and it was nice, honestly. It seemed to hea the soreness in my mouth; the result of smoking, and I found myself getting accustomed to it.

“This is pretty good” I commented, pulling it out of my mouth.

“Hmm” He replied.

“Thank you anyway”

“Mmhm…”

I gave him a look, and he was deeply engrossed in his book. “You’re pretty strange you know…and this is even stranger. Here I am, sitting with a person called nobody, eating lollipops and discussing nonexistent rumors…”

He sighed then, and snapped his book shut before turning to me. “Do you want to know about me?”

I surveyed his face for a bit, and found a hint of a smile.  “Yes. Very”

“I’m me” He said, as if it made perfect sense. “I like what I like, I do what I do, I live where I live, and that’s about it”

Despite his very vague explanation about himself, strangely, I found myself drawn into him. I found myself searching for him, anticipating him, coming for him to the rooftop every single evening, and I grew accustomed to it, as though it was a part of my everyday life. I began to admire how he spoke, the vagueness which he would always give, I admired how he dressed and how his hair glimmered in the sunlight; I admired the smoothness of his skin, I admired the deepness of his eyes. I admired the tune of his voice too, and wondered if he could sing well; I enjoyed the time spent with him, sharing nonsensical conversations and relishing candies of all flavors. I had no space to smoke, and he would always give me speeches about nicotine and lungs and all that long, boring explanations which I didn’t understand; all I knew all through that was I was intrigued by him, that I liked him, him being him.

However though, three weeks later, he was still the mystery I wished to uncover.

Three weeks went by, and on one Saturday evening when I took a day off to settle something spontaneous that my mother got involved in, he came to the rooftop, dressed in a way that I had never seen him in before. It was rather…attractive, to be honest, beautiful, and I felt a little disoriented just looking at him. I always thought he had an attractive physique, but how he looked on that particular day made me question, strangely, of my own preferences.

He was sitting on his usual spot, reading a classic when I approached and stood still as would a hovering ghost. The jeans he wore were dark but ripped on here and there, revealing a little of his smooth skin, hugging his long limbs perfectly well; his t-shirt was white and flimsy, topped with a leather coat with iron tousles which made a tiny tinkle when he moved. His hair turned into a darker shade, a different stud latched on his ear, and he wore dark liner around his eyes, the shine in the irises so prominent. Lips were flushed of pastel pink, and skin shined under the eveningsun. He was beautiful.

“Hello” He greeted me, setting his book aside, and all I could do was stare without a word. Who was he? My mind began to question. What was he?

“I’m going back to work starting today” he said sounding nonchalant and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we can’t hang out much”

“What work?” I asked, surveying his attire. “What kind?”

“Work” he said firmly, looking into my eyes. “That’s about it…”

“But I want to know” I said, before even I could stop myself, and for a moment, he seemed to contemplate upon my request, and nodded in the end. “Sure…come along then…but-,”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be surprised?”

I regarded his expression and shrugged. “When I am, I’ll let you know…”

We climbed down the stairs together, crossed the intersection and walked down the dirt-covered pavement, him talking about councils not taking good care of the surrounding; just when I expected him to explain his work to me a little more. I wasn’t paying attention to him the whole time, my mind wondering about to all sorts of possibilities. I was a little excited, and a tad bit tensed; the tumult my mother caused was all forgotten; I wondered if he were a singer, a dancer or if he were popular but discarded that thought when we took the local bus as for transportation. All sorts of strange assumptions flooded my mind, I couldn’t find answers until the point where we finally got down.

When we did, I was confused. We were in that part of the city that my mother would constantly visit and I have never been to, my entire life. I looked around, surprised and confused why he would even bring me here. The street was brightly lit, the neon colors of led put-ups were almost blinding me, and it was bustling with crowd, we could barely move in a humane pace. Who crowded the street most, I realized were women, the kind of women I quite despised. Not that I thought of them in a bad way; I couldn’t help it but pity all the poor children born from fathers god-knew-whom and suffered throughout their petty lives.

I was still wondering what we were doing there until I concluded that he was probably just a singer at a bar or a club; which wasn’t anything to be tensed about.

After much a walk, we came to quite a further area from the red lights, where only many men seemed to walk around. The lights were dimmer but reeked even worse, despite all that, I felt better that there weren’t any women trying to latch onto me, although there were strange men eyeing me head to toe. Eventually we arrived at what seemed to be a club, a bar of some sort; and after he had spoken to the bouncer outside, we were granted in.

As soon as we were inside, I was told to sit and wait in one of the bar stools; which I did, and soon he was out of my sight. I let out a sigh, realizing that my assumptions were true. He was a singer at a club.

While waiting, I surveyed the surrounding. The male crowd inside was higher than female, and every one of them seemed to watch what seemed the stage, full of anticipation. It was dark inside, a single neon light up on the stage with clouds of unnatural smoke; and in no time, I too waited in anticipation.

Another few minutes, he was up on stage.

He was more beautiful then, standing up there, an ear piece with a mike attached; there were two other men dressed similarly beside him, and as soon as the lights dimmed, the music started; the three began to sing and dance; their limbs and bodies moving in an unnatural synchronization; it was quite surprising indeed. I watched them with surprise; him, particularly. He was beautiful of a dancer, beautiful of a singer, and I began to feel a strange pain in my heart. This attraction seemed to do no good to me.

After a while though, most unexpected began to happen, and I felt my blood drain from my brain, everything began to tremble inside me, an inexplicable anger raised within; running through every inch of me.

Standing up there, between the other two men and through the vigorous cheers of the audience; his clothes began to come off, one after the other.