part one | theory one

the flightless lark and the arcane clown | jack and jill

part one | the flightless lark and the arcane clown
theory one | jack and jill

When she opened her eyes, she could see nothing but a stretch of white. The ringing in her ears ceased as the steady ticking of the wall clock sharply sliced the thin piece of silence lingering in the antiseptic soaked room. It kept repeating its circular path as she stared blankly at the ceiling as if trying to remind her over and over that time was still moving, time was still there and she was still alive.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as if she was crying all night in her sleep and when she slowly put her pale hands back under the white sheets of cloth, her eyes lingered left to right to see only blank walls staring back at her. The clock ticked once more, louder than earlier and somehow a little bit slower, like a second had turned into a minute.

Alouette Strauss slowly lifted herself up, sitting down on the bed as her hand landed on the metal railings burned into the bed rack. Repeatedly moving her head from left to right and up to down, her search for the slow ticking clock were in vain. There were nothing but white painted walls around her. She sighed, it was no surprise.

Her fingers started touching the surface of a stray sketchbook on top of an oak drawer, its cover having a hot air balloon on it with a pencil texture. After five seconds of feeling the glossy sheet, Alouette decided to bring the sketchbook to her face, flipping the pages of the drawing book until she realized that the drawings were hers because of the crooked scribbles of single-winged butterflies and stick drawings of people.

Turning to a blank page, she grabbed the charcoal pencil lying on the drawer and sighed in relief, thanking the empty space that her right hand wasn't the one feeling the pain of the IV needle digging into her skin. Getting the pencil in position between her fingers, she started curving lines on the rough surface of paper until a circle had formed and a while later, formed an antique clock with its springs showing and its pendulum broken.

Alouette closed her eyes once again as she brought the glossy cover of the sketchbook back on top and returning it once more to the oak drawer beside her bed. She lied down, lettting her head sink back on the fluffy pillows and pretended to drift into sleep. This time, she was fully aware that sound of shuffling slippers down the hall wasn't one of her psychotic imaginings of broken clocks and weird voices. The rubbing force of slippers and the floor had echoed louder and louder and a sudden creak invaded her ears as the door swung open slowly.

She knew who it was. Ever since the bus she rode had turned sideways in the streets of London and she got stuck in a room dipped in antiseptic and white, he had always dropped by to visit, saying that he was too lonely in his spacious room with no one to talk to.

"Are you awake, Alouette?" His voice broke through the air, making Alouette half-open her grey eyes automatically. She hid a frown as she went back to her sleeping act. It has been a week, a week since his routine of visiting her in her hospital room with no apparent reason had started. Eventhough seven days had passed with the same incidents, Alouette found it hard to get used to the boy's way of existing in her life. She was bothered by him, that was the truth but somehow she couldn't shoo him away since he wasn't really doing any pestering. The boy would just occasionally enter her room, pacing through the floor to the blank walls and then to the glass window and ask some questions to her every now and then--in which she never really replied-- but other than that, he did nothing wrong.

The boy's name was Claude Redmond as far as she could recall. The boy who was awarded with a lot of medals for science-y things and mini grade school fake Nobel Prizes in his school as said by the rumors coming out of the mouths of young nurses. He was boy who always smiled honestly, Alouette could say that he looked pretty stupid when he does since he's wrapped up in bandages with his hand on a cast--- broken after the bus chairs landed on him. He was supposed to be confined in a room at the other side of the hall and as soon as he heard someone his age had been confined in a one hundred mile distance, he couldn't wait and rushed to Alouette's room with bed hair.

Alouette could never understand why he needed to drop by and ask nonsense questions to her every time until the nurse came. He could have at least noticed that she wasn't an interesting person to be with. He would often say out of the blue that he was alone and lonely in his room but being with Alouette was almost the same as being alone. She hardly spoke and her twisting and turning on her bed wouldn't make a sound, even her constant sketching wouldn't make at least a single note of sound that could be heard by human ears.

All Alouette knew was that Claude was weird, nevertheless it's ironic for her to even think of that for she herself has been labelled as one of the weird when you think about her hallucinations. So instead of thinking of Claude as someone who was created of weirdness, she often thought of him as someone carved and raised inside a womb of joy and energy instead. It was as if his body was made up of it; its light radiating inside elastic skin. She thought that if Claude had never been hospitalized, he wouldn't bother speaking to a girl like Alouette. Yes, he did smiled whimsically on open space like a fool but Claude was born in this world for the sole purpose of living itself and inside nine-year-old Alouette's mind, there's a small space that thinks that Claude would be one of the people who could do at least anything if he was interested. He could become president or a dark overlord like Darth Vader if he puts his mind into it.

Alouette rolled to her right, turning her back to the window as well as Claude who was exerting a lot of effort sliding the glass window open with one hand.

"Alouette, I know you're awake so I'll say good morning now." He said after finally opening the windows, letting the white curtains flow into mid air as the wind whispered to her cheeks. "Good morning." He said with a smile, even bigger than the one he usually does. (She never really saw it but after seven days of repeating such a routine? Alouette could bet that he DID really do such a thing)

Alouette nodded, giving him a signal that she heard him.

"Say, Alouette" Claude started after a few seconds. "I've been dropping by for the past seven days and never even heard you speak." Oh you noticed she thought. "Are you mute?"

She almost choked in air when the words came fluttering into her ears.

Just because person doesn't speak, doesn't mean that the person is mute. She added inside her head as she furrowed her brows, shaking her head back and forth.

Alouette rolled to her left side and looked at Claude. His brown hair was still a mess and of course a smile was etched onto his face. His heterochromic eyes of brown and green seemed to gleam with inspiration every time she saw him.

"Then why won't you speak?" The nine-year-old brunette asked, titlting his head. "Do you not like me?"

Alouette licked her lips and sat up once again, not even bothering on how her wavy black hair looked like at the moment. Her eyes locked on Claude, still waiting for her answer, she then lowered her head and stared at the way her pale hands crumpled the ivory sheets beneath her.

"I'm not worthy to be spoken to." She spoke in a rasp voice---probably because it has been a long time ever since she spoke--- almost inaudible but by the silence and the sound of the breeze being the only sounds available, it was made possible for Claude to hear.

"Why is that?" Claude asked, puzzled.

"You won't understand." Alouette shook her head.

Claude chewed the inside of his cheek as he lifted an eyebrow, slowly taking small steps to where Aloutte was. He put his free hand on top of Alouette's head and patted it gently. He brought his face in front of the girl.

"I know you don't mean that." He whispered, smiling pleasantly this time. "I can tell from your eyes that you still want someone to talk to you despite that reason that you don't want to tell me." Alouette swore that she imagined Claude as an ESPER for a second after his sentence ended. "None of us want to be alone after all."

All of a sudden, Alouette's lips shook. She stared blankly at Claude's unbalanced eyes as he backed away and his cheek muscles reaching his eyes.

"...How can you be so happy?" Alouette asked quietly, startling Claude

"Wow, that's a first. Alouette asked a question after two histories of London." The brunette chuckled, bringing his fingers onto his chin. "Am I not allowed to be happy?" He replied with another question, staring at Alouette's blank face. Within a few seconds, he found himself skimming the walls in the room. "Ah I get it. Is it because we're in 'this' place instead of being with our families?"

Alouette went back into her memories. Her Japanese mother, who she was living with in Nagoya, married an English man but unfortunately had a divorce with him after a few years of each others' company and Alouette was left with her mother back in Japan but of course, the father who loved his daughter still went on his visits. The cycle was indeed a little weird and... expensive but everything was going fine until Alouette's mother had passed on.

Legally receiving custody of well, Alouette's life, her father requested Alouette for her to go to London. She never knew if God had made her grab all the bad luck He showered upon the world because ever since her mother's death, Alouette had developed a mental illness called schizophrenia. She would ask her aunt on why her mother still told her stories at night when her mother was already sleeping in a coffin, or how could her mother's voice would calmly comfort her when she made bad test results in school when in fact she was already buried six feet below the ground.

Alouette took hold on her imaginings until it became normal seeing her mother still beside her when she sketches, believing that her mother was still alive for a few years until a psychiatrist and of course, her aunt forced the poor girl to believe that her dear mother's dead.

Alouette couldn't really break down the pieces, she still couldn't separate what's real or not but she was absolutely sure that sketching her hallucinations made the psychosis go away for a short amount of time. Before she knew it, she was lying on a bed, imagining broken medieval clocks, wrapped in bandages amd somewhat traumatized of London buses and broken glass. It was as if she was destined to live with bad luck for the rest of her life.

"No. I'm not close with my dad." Alouette replied, brushing the bangs sticking to her forehead. Remembering on how her father used to do it on his frequent visits. "But I don't want to be here, either." She fidgeted with her cold fingers as the imaginary clock began to tick inside her head once more.

Claude bit his lip, leaning on the glass window as his fingers went to his brown threads of hair. "I don't get you, really. You keep insisting that you hate this place yet you don't want to go back home." He raised a brow.

Alouette frowned. She did want to go home. She wanted to enter the doors and laugh until she gets to her mother's arms and talk endlessly about pointless happenings about school or some peculiar stories about how her classmate got out of a locked room or how her thirty year old teacher talked about him being part of the first World War which was impossible. She wants to taste the delicious cakes her mother made, she wants to see the whole house filled with lights.

Alouette indeed wants to go home, but not like this. Not with only her father welcoming her home and no one else. Home wasn't in London. Home was in Nagoya, Japan, where her mother was.

As Alouette lifted her head, she felt the tears well up in her eyes and she found it hard for her lungs to take in oxygen. She looked at Claude, his smile gone, still visible in her blurry eyes as his own structure became swirled, broken down and somewhat distorted bit by bit.

"Let's go home, Alouette..."

The voice she heard earlier seemed different and as her tears threatened to fall, she quickly covered her ears to shut the clock in her head, as well as the haunting voice of her memories but somehow, she couldn't.

"I'm right here for you, you know? Tell me why you're crying."

The voice echoed inside her ears and before she knew it, the salty tears fell, racing down to her cheeks. She closed her ash eyes tightly, ripping strands of black hair from her head as she pleaded for the stinging pain in her head to stop. She hated this. She hated her mind being tortured by such unrealistic things and as she begged for the voices and echoes to stop, only one word was coming out of her mouth, chanting it like it was a nursery rhyme.

"Mother, mother, mother" She said choking in her tears, repeatedly calling her out as her mother's smile and gentle actions burst out from her memories into reality. "Please don't make me hate my mother..." She begged upon thin air.

Alouette felt something cold touch her cheeks. Her eyes flickered open, widening at the sight of her mother staring back at her with empty eyes, calling out her name. It was the same spitting image of the person who was by her side ever since she was sent to this world. It was the same, her face, her voice, even the scent of her mother's perfume completely erased the smell of the room's antiseptic. It was nostalgic, somehwhat comforting...

Yet it was nauseating.

"Don't cry, don't cry. I'm right here." Her mother cooed, brushing the tears out of her eyes by the pad of her thumb.

Alouette stared at her deceased mother talking in front of her. Her words almost unheard and was substituted by a ringing noise as her mother smiled. Alouette shook her head uncontrollably. This was insanity, HER insanity and some days, she couldn't even fight it but this time, she really wanted to. With her eyes shut, she chanted endlessly inside her head as the images of rain, black clothes and a burried coffin was forced to reside in her brain.

'Mother's dead, I saw her die, Mother's dead, I saw her die' Alouette repeated over and over again.

"But you're not here..." She cried, yet her words inaudible. "You're not here. You're dead, Mother." Alouette pulled out a broken smile, trying to pull herself back to sanity. She forced the cold hands of her imaginary mother away from her cheeks as she stared at her, her hair melting into dark dust as the fading sound of the clock slowly ceased.

"Alouette!" Claude appeared in front of her, his face painted in worry. The girl felt the boy's hand on her shoulder, he must have been shaking her. "A-Are you okay?" He asked, stuttering. Alouette nodded, wiping stray tears and Claude sighed in relief. "You almost gave me a heart attack..." He heard Claude saying under his breath.

She reached out for the sketchbook again, drawing the image of her mom that she saw melting into ashes.

Her hands shook all of a sudden and she couldn't bring herself to look at Claude's unbalanced eyes as he took his steps back and went back to sightseeing near the the window. Another line was created by pulverized charcoal, tainting the white canvas of paper. She bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The silence was like that of a resting petal on the ground, unmoving until the wind blew, and so Alouette took a deep breath and spoke:

"I'm insane. I have schizo-what's-it-called." Alouette confessed, noticing that her episode had bothered Claude. "I'm different from people."

Claude looked at her as she avoided his eyes, gripping the sides of the sketchbook as the lines got smudged by the sweat dripping from her hands. He looked back at the scene outside of the window, noticing how people walked and looked like ants from above. They were all different. They wore different types of clothing and had different jobs, they all had different lives. But he knew what Alouette meant, the difference of not being something normal like average people do is something more different than being the normal kind of different.

Oh, how he wished to be at least like them for even one percent.

Claude frowned unexpectedly.

He then turned back to Alouette and without thinking, he chuckled brokenly and smiled like he was being stabbed at the back. "You make schizophrenia sound like a person's last name." He said.

"I don't have the same situation as you, but the same goes for me." The brunette continued.

For once, in five seconds, Alouette saw another side of Claude that she wouldn't have seen if it weren't for her tantrum. The glassy unbalanced eyes, the shaking hands, it was as if he was scared of something. He was scared of being different? She didn't know but somehow she knew that Claude wasn't talking about his heterochromia, nor his broken arm, the thing bothering him was something much deeper and it was something Alouette didn't want to know. But instead, she smiled to herself and contrasted the atmosphere lurking above their heads.

"Well, aren't we hopeless?" Alouette replied after moments of silence, staring at the portrait of her mother looking back deeply into her eyes.

"I wouldn't call it hopeless. And once you hear yourself describing that you are hopeless, doesn't it make it sound...ugly?" Claude smiled, crossing his legs as he sat on the floor beside Alouette's bed. "I don't think we would be called like that either."

"You said being 'hopeless' is ugly... Then how would you call it?" Alouette asked, tilting her head.

"Mmm..." His head lifted, his eyes narrowing, Claude looked like he was coming up with a new thesis for college. "It wouldn't be called 'hope' or 'hopelessness.' maybe something in between?" He chuckled, "We're in a void where both despair and hope reside."

How old was he? He was talking like a philosopher and Alouette had to remind herself that the boy was nine but she shouldn't be surprised, both of them were different from the rest of society.

Alouette bit her lip. Was there even something between?

Without even replying back to him, Claude filled in the silence with his voice.

"Call it a guess or theory of mine but there's something in the middle, Alouette. We don't know it yet but there's something." Claude stared at her. "I'm going to find it."

"I doubt it." Alouette whispered. She was nine. Nine. She has been bombarded by such ugly thoughts ever since her mom let go of her hand, how could Claude not consider this as hoplessness?

"No, Alouette." He poked her forehead covered in black strands of bangs. "You shouldn't be thinking of that. After all, we're still living, and that's what matters most."

The shuffling sounds of slippers came into her ears again. It seems that the nurses have arrived, searching for a certain broken-armed-heterochormic-brunette boy who escaped from the confinement of his white walls.

"If you're living, then you'll definitely find the things that you're looking for." Claude smiled as he went closer to the door and landed his hand on the doorknob. "It's been nice talking to you, Alouette."

The door closed shut and she was left alone. The unspoken words echoed throughout the room.

"What matters is that we're living... Huh?" She repeated his words slowly, emphasizing each syllable.

Alouette lied down on bed once more and smiled and for once, her mind was blank---empty like drowning in everlasting bliss away from her thoughts.

"I still have yet to live though." Alouette whispered to herself.

Author's Note

Yes, they're nine; those children who play as the new Plato and Aristotle thing-a-majing but no, I did not make them like that because I wanted to. The explanation on why they speak smarter than me, I  mean smarter than their age will be on a later chapter (chapter three so yeah)

小鳥遊 • リマ | takanashi rima