Chapter I: Coup D'état

"To kill a king and conquer the queen, you need but be a jack with the courage of a joker."

I apologize. I just wrote and made you read the most pointless and senseless prologue imaginable. How could I possibly begin a story with writing a prologue? It’s the last thing one should do. It’s a short intro that gives insight to what the book will offer and I honestly don’t even know what it will have to offer. I don’t t know what I will be writing next. It is just going to be a collection of blurted out thoughts and descriptions of unfamiliar, yet repetitive feelings. All I’m saying is that after a perhaps somewhat random prologue, it’s time for me to give you a concrete story. My name is Jason Miles and I’m 17 years old. It isn’t really my name though, if you are looking for the actual one, it’s on the side of this book. I suppose I’d find it awkward having to write my very own name over and over again. Not that I’ll have to, since I’ll most likely be speaking about me. Me as in “I”, but let’s just pretend that it is Jason nevertheless. Ah yes, I was going to tell you something about love, even though I hardly know what love is. I have no experience with it whatsoever, but I suppose I have a slight idea of what it’s supposed to be? I suppose it goes a little like this, though I might just be overly romanticizing it:

I'm overwhelmed by this feeling that is unbound to change, even by the sands of time, to be forever affirmed and confined within the chambers of my heart, that I, from this day on, till the last of my days and even beyond the fragile existence that is human life, I will forever be irrevocably in love with her - my rose of unmatched beauty, my goddess of endless wonder, my sole purpose for living.

There is no point in disguising it; I am love-struck by the fiercest kind. I'm drunk on desire and diagnosed with heart racing, blood pumping and adrenaline rushing anxiety. I won't nor can deny that she became the center point of my spinning head, the dizziness in front my lovesick eyes, the twists in my butterfly-inhabited stomach. No longer need I listen to music orchestrated with sad, heartbreaking notes or read poems written with ink made of tears, because I found my muse in the form of a human. An answer to all my questions, a girl that numbs my fears and hushes my worries, like a siren singing an entrancing, but soothing song. She's perfection taken shape and divination wearing a face. The elixir that would keep me forever young and lively if I were allowed to consume it. The first born apple hanging down a battered tree, granting immortality to whoever eats it. Gracious as silk, she can weave an unforgettable future with me that will stand the test of time. But I speak of a blossoming flower, when there is but an unsure seed. I speak of skyscrapers, when there is but the foundation. I speak of undivided, long-lasting love, when there is but sparks of possibility.

Every time I spoke, I caught myself staring in the most irrelevant directions, avoiding eye contact with her for a reason I am, even now, still unable to explain. It's not that I felt afraid or uneasy. Not at all. In fact I never felt this happy and full of joy in my life. Being around her makes everything feel worthwhile. When I'm around her there's nothing to question, nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. I'm just caught up in a moment so beautiful, that it seemed unattainable, as if I was awake in a dream, but alive and simply sleeping in a sad and painful reality; a reality without her. Unbelievable as the moment seemed, it was all real though. Real like the chilly wind that came through the glass door as two people left the bar. The cold breeze stroked past our cheeks, making us smile shyly at each other. Another mental photograph stored forever in my slideshow of memories. Another interaction etched on my skin that gradually grows older with every second that passes. Another grain of sand, seeping through the continuously flowing hourglass of life. Every second, tormenting, agonizing, meaningless if not spend with our bodies intertwined and our hearts tied together.

This time she spoke and like every other time, I found myself only hearing fragments of the sweet words formed by her angelic voice. I felt paralyzed watching her soft lips shaping the story she told, I felt more in love with her every time she made another heart-warming smile in between her delightful chatter, but most of all, I was disconnected from the world around me and forever lost in her alluring, timeless eyes that seemed to show a reflection of my life if it were complete, fulfilled and most importantly, eternal.

You might have noticed the abundant use of "seemed", but it's the only word fitting the situation. I don't know what she's thinking, I don't know what's on her mind and in some way it's absolutely terrifying. If she doesn't like me, then everything I tell her, every attempt at a joke I make, every compliment I give her and every look in her eyes will only bring me closer to my downfall. What's the point of it all, if she sees nothing in me? And what can I possibly do to change that? I can hate myself for it, weep over how tragic it is, try laughing it away with false insincerity, but I can't change it. Her emotions for me, if there are any that is, are her own. All I can do now is show perseverance and desperately cling to hope, keep telling myself not to give up and just let this bond take shape in the sea of time that's ahead of us. I said girls are like flowers, well, the same goes for love. I've now planted the seed, wishing for it to grow the brightest flower.

Was that any good? I suppose I can call it love, can’t I? If a person makes you feel comfortable and when there is that desire to hug her, maybe even kiss her? I really enjoyed myself that night, it was amazing. If it wasn’t for my friend, I would have never ended up spending this marvelous night out with her. I might have to add, that she’s my friend’s sister, HER sister. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it really annoying that there is no difference between a male and female friend in English?  I could say she’s my girlfriend, but then it would mean something completely different. It doesn’t even matter. All that matters is that I love her sister, though I’m not entirely sure about it yet. It all seemed perfect, until we had to say goodbye. I wish we could just have seen another movie and then have another drink in the bar and repeat that over and over again. Then I could also see her all cuddled up in her chair again, shoes out, holding her legs tightly against her chest. Never in my life had I seen somebody sit so adorable and embraceable in a cinema chair as she did then. It was perfect, absolutely perfect, but it had to end eventually.

We looked, we smiled, and we announced the merciless goodbye that shattered me inside. One word that crushed my bones as if they were made of glass. One word that crumbled the pillars upon which my world rested. One word that broke my mask through which everything seemed perfect. Farewell, my heart. Goodbye, my wings. Au revoir, mon coup d'état. It took but an insignificant second for me to start missing her. I watched her walk away from me and I felt as if all the love in the world was slipping from rough hands. I couldn't stop myself from thinking: when will I see her again? Did I leave a good impression? All I desired now was to run after her and just hold her. Wrap my arms around her waist, kiss her neck and rest my head upon her shoulder. It hurts knowing that it was naïve and foolish to think about it. I just stood there, motionless under a with stars covered sky, surrounded by a nocturnal atmosphere, like painted upon a midnight fresco stroked by cinema light hues and drowning in sentiments of melancholy. I felt reality seep back into me and with it came the familiar feeling of loneliness. Once again, I felt nothing but emptiness.

The next school day was nothing but the confirmation of that feeling. With eyes barely open, caused not so much by sleeplessness, but by disinterest, I listened to lectures of the most shallow, uninspiring kind. If I were to describe how dreadfully monotonous school really is then it would be a drag for both you and me. I assume we have all been there, so I'll leave it to you to refresh upon those tedious, perhaps vague, recollections. Why am I even here? Because I enjoy the constant confrontation with people, most of which I can't stand, having moments of utmost hilarity that randomly ensue and are there only to taunt me with frustration? How often I have ended up silently chuckling at a fragment of a joke that I heard a couple of desks away and how often it faded away after realizing that you are in no way part of it, that it is in no way aimed at you and that you just sit there, silent and alone, pathetically eavesdropping on others to make up the conversation that you aren't having. I hate school and everything similar to it. Not because I have the impression that I'm wasting my life away in textbooks that tell nothing worthwhile of remembering and in paperwork that holds no emotional value other than empathy for the felled trees it claimed for its production, but because there are people and because all of them seem to follow a life that is countless times more interesting and recklessly obscene than mine.

Even worse than frowning time away, while others are jumping from excitement, is when you stumble upon a conversation you rather not hear, but can't stop listening to either. I can take the fact that not everyone is gloomy and morbid like me, but I never asked for a full-length, precisely detailed summary as to why they are better than me. Word by word, I get an entire presentation of some audacious night out that turned even the most introverted, and tongue-tied types into wild, ferocious animals. A few alcoholic beverages and they were snogging and dry-humping each other like it was the most socially acceptable thing. Why is it that every party shows more resemblance to a completely out of control orgy than to a simple, but thrilling way to end the night. It's not that I'm looking to be part of the next bacchanal or to drink till I'm wasted and I end up puking half my stomach empty, but it's just that it stings when people seem to be having the time of their lives and I end up spending another night behind a flickering computer screen, half asleep and close to brain-dead.

I know what you’re thinking. I'm a twat and if I'm really that desperate to join in, I should just leave my front door. I know! I know and yet, for some reason that proves to be a very difficult thing. Maybe since my friends, few and questionable as they are, don't care about it and I don't feel like doing some independent, night-time adventuring? Maybe cause I'm convinced that people aren't too anxious to see me at a party and that I'll be more misfit in the scene than a cat wearing a classy top hat and a golden monocle whilst sipping from a wineglass nearly overflowing with sweet milk? Maybe there's that lacking invitation that shows the opposite of that or the annoyance of having to ask my parents for permission, which makes me feel too obedient in a way that it actually bothers me. I'm not sure what turns something so plain and easy into an objective which is near impossible. Believe me when I say that I've cursed myself for it innumerable times and that every time I do, it makes me feel a little worse inside.

As faith would have it, it seems I'll happen to participate in these teenage festivities a couple of days from now. Whether it's going to be a casual, overall uninteresting night or a rampant, completely out of control one, is yet to be revealed. In all honestly, I'm hoping for it to be of the "exceeding all bounds" kind, simply because it'll be more amusing for me to write and more compelling for you to read. Considering how rare it is for me to leave the four white walls of my natural habitat, it better be something to remember. What I'm trying to say is that, I'm really thrilled and can't wait for it to happen. It's disappointing though, that feelings of joy and excitement often perish in the few hours of a good night's sleep. I absolutely love to wrap myself inside the soft, warm interior of my sheets and cuddle them as if it was her lying in my arms, but I fear that doing so would make me fall asleep. I don't want to close my eyes and give in to my sleepiness, just to awake the next morning, emptier than ever before. Every morning you become aware that you woke up with less than you went to sleep with. As if all your imaginative ideas and impulsive, kind-hearted feelings just flew away to a different world whilst you were sleeping or as if they spirited away to an alternate reality during your unconscious slumber. All that motivation, all those lively sentiments seem bound to one, single day and yet, all the suffering and agony you know, seems to be marked upon your skin like scars that are past mending or it seems to be carved in the stones of eternity. If you think about it like this, wouldn't love be the single most frightening thing in the universe? We all long to be loved, but what if it loses all its value and meaning, everything it stands for, in the shadow of an intangible and blurry dream. Knowing this, wouldn't it be better to hold on the desire of loving someone, instead of holding the incomprehensible wonder within the palm of your hands and see it drift away like sand carried away by a sweet summer wind, till nothing remains but the rough touch of its bygone beauty.

I can't help but wonder, isn't love, in a way, comparable to seeing a rainbow for the first time or eating ice cream when you've never tasted it before. It’s wonderful, fascinating, sensational and sadly it's also short lasting. We no longer feel giddy seeing colors in the sky or moan at the icy deliciousness melting inside or mouth. All of that mystery disappears upon discovering it and it degrades to dull knowledge. We now know its savor, smell, sound, shape, sight and so all our senses pierced through its secrets. Maybe children are always happy, because they get confronted with something new every day and maybe that's why every teenager start experimenting with the things that remain unknown. Quite often are those things the most vile and sinful. They go through all that trouble, simply to try and reawaken the child that's still holding on inside them.  Once the child inside has vanished and it is nowhere to be found, then we realize, rather quickly, that rainbows and ice cream are of little importance. We forget to bother about it; we forget to bother about any detail. They are no longer that which makes the world spin around. It are worldwide businesses and global problems that ask for our attention. Things that are too big and too time-consuming for us to worry about. What if love suffers the same fate? What if it decays in the same way as so many things do? The reason why it's so distressing is because, unlike rainbows and ice cream, love is one of the engines driving this planet. We crave it equally, we need it in order to feel human and it gives meaning to our lives. Love is all about the little details and if it were to diminish because we no longer bother with them, then this world wouldn't be worth living in.

I still don't feel like sleeping. I have thought about this before, about taking my coat, leaving the front door and making a midnight stroll through abandoned streets, under sinister streetlights and amidst houses bound to live longer than I. All that whilst smoking a cigarette that's desperately fighting against the cold air. Downside is that I don't smoke and though that's hardly reason enough for me to stay inside; I remain in my bed anyway. Instead I'll make an imaginary one through my head. Just a couple of footsteps down the road and I fall asleep nonetheless.