001. “Descent of Winter”

            I was born…weird, for the lack of a better word. Not physically but just enough to hear people’s whispering voices directed to me at times when I pass them by. I was a wallflower; the one who never bothered to stand out, the one nobody even bothered to talk with. I knew it was partly my problem that I lack social skills or even the interest in whatever people aside from my own deals with, but I was just too busy comforting myself with dreams of a better future, a future away from this hellhole to actually spare some care.

            People have their own ways of subtly making me feel that I wasn’t a part of life’s cycle or its grandiose plan for them wonderful beings, but I survived by thinking I didn’t care where I was situated in the social strata. It was enough for me to watch in the sidelines as everything unfolds; it was safer, easier but nonetheless sadder, that way. I entered school, consoling myself that I wasn’t the most pathetic human being in that big and wallowing campus, and I was right; we are many. But knowing the fact did not make living any better.

            I just wanted to fit in, like many of us do; fit in and be accepted without losing who I really am in the process.

            I rushed inside cramped rooms, buried my head in books, kept quiet when the glassy and petrifying stares of instructors linger in my direction, and consumed greasy and unhealthy foods from fast-food chains and school canteens.

            I exist, but am not living. Since stepping out of the orphanage I grew up in, I seemed not to grasp the real meaning of living itself; how it felt to actually live and get up every day in the pursuit of something.

            I lack the knowledge about that, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to have that meaning in life I’ve read in the crisp paperbacks.

            Stories that end unexpectedly always amused me, and it made me long for some unexpected twist in the mundane plot of my life too.

            People said orphans felt strong surges of solitary, the feeling of incompleteness every now and then. I knew I did, but at the same time, I felt a connection with something—or rather someone—I couldn’t place a finger into.

            I even talk to myself sometimes, a myth about an only child. I deeply consider myself an only child; since I grew up clueless about my origins, I resigned to the fact that I was. But I survived by being passive to anything; pathetically drowning myself in self sympathy will never get me anywhere anyway. I consoled myself with calm and serene thoughts and even coached myself to get up and face this damned world during the days. Was I living up to people’s image of me or am I doing that of pure boredom? I don’t know. But I know one thing for sure, talking to myself did lessen the feeling of being a pathetic and neglected orphan; dreadfully alone and cold even during the hottest seasons.

            I talked to myself more when I left the orphanage, lacing the threads of my mind with comforting promises and words of nothingness I deliberately made up, offering myself with short lived promises of better days. I barely survived, but I lived with my thoughts alone.

            Until he came.

            I remembered that first night dearly, even if it happened several years ago, all the little details and even the freshness of the feelings present were still etched in my mind as clearly as it had been back then. I guess it wasn’t something you’d forget no matter how much you wanted to. It happened one winter night, when people from my class took bullying to another level, and I unfortunately became the innocent victim available when they were looking for one. A black bandana covered my eyes as I was ushering my way to the lone corridor, it was impossible to ascertain the culprits’ numbers, but I remembered being assaulted from the back, the first jab hitting me on my nape. Voices chuckled darkly, it released the fear and dread I have concealed inside.

Make him suffer…

Show us exactly why you should be a part of us…

He is nothing more than a hopeless toy…

Crush him.

            The first three phrases I remembered mocked me, the tone in its courier’s voice still teased and nudged the neophytes, but the last two words was stated with unwavering clarity, and I knew before I got the last blow, that last phrase will seal the deal.

I limped home from school that night, tidbits of their conversations lingering in the abyss of my exhausted mind as I felt the blood in my veins froze. The snow pelted mercilessly on my fragile body, its coldness nudged me to hurry home amidst the state I was in.

            I remembered trying to console myself with some words, but it formed incoherently in my head. The occurrences from few hours ago vividly blinded me from thinking straight; all the belligerent jabs and s I received from the group pinned me to the cold pavement, but I got up with some renowned strength of determination and pushed myself to trudge the little distance to my home.

My whole body ached, but it flinched uncontrollably as I nervously rummage around my back pocket for the house keys. I can only take so much, and I felt the sudden surge of curt relief embraced me as I fell to the cold tile floor of my home, welcoming the cold winter breeze inside it. I was so cold I even felt the blood running from my nose froze in a dry trail just above my gashed mouth.

            Refocusing my gaze on my apartment, I started thinking about any good memories I can carry with me to either heaven or hell, but I smiled in meek surrender when I came up with nothing except the nights spent alone and the 16 years of emotional pain.

            I limped closer to the drawer, rummaging the little box for something that may put an end to the blinding pain. I felt the bottle of prescribed drug under my hand, and for a moment I thought about getting it instead, but my numb fingers hovered over something different; something thin…something deadly.

            Something that may put an end to the blinding pain—to everything.

            I started to stand, but my knees buckled just as I gained control of my hands, the same pang of pain pinned me on the smooth and cold tile once more. I pushed more, and on my last frail attempt, I finally erected myself. A reflection of my face assaulted me as I stood in front of the windows. Cold mists blurred my image and I rubbed it off to examine my features. I looked like a mess; messier than the old books stacked inside our school’s battered library.

            Life is the greatest battle, and I’m sure as hell I took my last fight that winter night.

            My stomach’s churned in pain with every breath I still dared to take. They said you’d see a flashback of the highlights of your life before you die, and flashbacks did fly as by as I almost slid into nothingness.

            I wanted to cry, but even that wasn’t an option anymore. I felt the weight of everything crushed on me when images of my nights spent alone, birthdays in darkness, tears on the pure snow, and even the mornings of deafening and saddening silence played before my eyes. Tears finally managed to find its way out, and I sobbed as hard as my broken lungs can allow me, gurgling in pain and surrender.

            I looked at myself and tried to look for explanations about everything.

           The words still hung in my mind, but only the ‘why’ and ‘me’ seemed willing to offer my sought after comfort, and I finally gave up. I focused my eyes on the glinting object by my cold hand, stealing glances on the serene scene of steady snow outside.

            I felt defeated as I finally embraced the twisted idea of a peaceful death.

            Determination settled, but just as I was about to ram the blade into my skin, his words floated with a promise of salvation; the one I badly needed during the moment.

Close your eyes…

I’m coming.

            The same words that saved me from myself that night.

            The same ones that later killed my soul.