Chapter Four

Michael finds himself in a peculiar place. Emily is becoming less and less of a memory as he meets a character who wont' let him forget

 

 

            Cascades of sterilized white and blue cover Michael’s room—sanitary, germ-free, and all the whileuncomfortable. The pretentious doctor and handful of nurses’ stand stiffly around his bed; the last people Michael wants to be surrounded by. He closes his sunken eyes and sees a brilliant blue sky, stretching endlessly. A cooling summer breeze whips through his hair and waters his eyes. He looks down to find his feet immersed in a thick field of baby’s breath and lavender. Their scent drifts into his nostrils and fills his psyche with the sweet smell of his long lost Emily. At first he is taken aback at the licentious flash of her face in his mind. However, the surrounding aroma allows the image to consume him. He remembers what she was wearing; a flowing white dress that hugged every curve with perfect bare feet sticking out from under its hem. Clever green eyes, deep with all the love and knowledge in the world, stare through him. Below falls her freckle laced nose, kissed gently by the sun. He studies the curves of her cheekbones and fullness of her pink lips. He smiles and falls onto the mattress of flowers at his feet. Picking a handful of baby’s breath, he brings it to his nose and inhales her scent. It swirls around his face, dancing in front of his eyes and playing with his wind whipped hair. Baby’s breath had always been her favorite flower and with a lingering fragrance still tingling inside his nose he realizes that he has never been so connected with her since that fateful day.

             He feels cold fingers interlock his. He turns, hoping desperately to see the face of his Emily, but is instantaneously blinded by the suns rays. He shields his eyes only to find himself back in the hospital. No longer is he sitting in a field of flowers but beneath impersonal woolen blankets. The nurse to his right is grasping his hand and he sees the doctor reaching for the plug. He looks to the ceiling and searches for her face in the tile above. He sees nothing and dives back into his mind to find her. He catches sight of her slim and frail silhouette against a lustrous white light. With his ears still tuned to reality, he hears the eternal symbol of a dying heart. He starts to writhe and his face contorts in pain. He stretches his right arm into the air, desperately wanting the sun to beat its rays upon him again. However, the only rays that dance across his face are those of the above fluorescent lighting, which gets brighter by each breath. He shuts his eyes tightly to block out the ever growing and glowing lights. Unconsciously, he lets out a scream of pain.

            Suddenly, a flash of light bounces off the surrounding sterilized walls. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hinder out the unwanted illumination. The rays burn his retinas and he bares his teeth in aggravation. When he realizes the light has died, he opens his eyes once more. The doctor and nurses have disappeared and in their place he sees a barren dirt road.

“Where am I?” he whispers under his breath, the unsettling dusty air from his breath lightly brushes his lips. He looks around. The sky is layered in thick clouds all composed of different hues of grey. It almost distracts him from the tall abandoned buildings surrounding the road to the left and right. Their windows are either broken or cracked and stray shards of glass lay dangerous and glistening on the ground. Disoriented rays from an evanescent sun strike the slivers and project faint iridescent beams of light onto the homely buildings. From what he sees there are no other souls wandering this void street. He begins walking down the unfamiliar road.

“IS ANYBODY HERE?!” His words simply echo through the bereft buildings, unaccompanied by even the hope of another voice. He continues walking when suddenly he hears a low and rhythmic beat. Boom…boom…boom. The pulsation grows louder and stronger with each step. Michael stops, every muscle in his body contracting and tightening in anticipation for the unknown. The road ahead of him is still empty when he begins hearing the accompanying music. It snakes between the throbbing drums beats and provides a pure and nameless feeling to Michael. It is as if the music is mixing with all the hidden love, admiration, and joy he’s ever possessed and swirling above his head. Beneath the burdened beats he hears delicate call chimes; their melody drifting aimlessly towards the heavens. Undecipherable lyrics fill the air and buzz in his head. He looks down the dirt road to see shapes emerging from the horizon. Although taken aback, he finds himself at a strange relaxation and doesn’t flee from the approaching shapes. Soon enough they begin to take form, blurry at first, and then into people and instruments. He sees giant bass drums on the shoulders of men dressed in antediluvian marching band suits. With every other step they smash timpani mallets into the stretched drum heads, producing waves of vibration and a grave chorus of sound. They march surrounding a large parade float decked from top to base in black and grey streamers, confetti, and banners. A solitary figure cloaked in a black shroud stands atop of the float, head down and hands folded delicately behind its back.

Michael is hypnotized in both shock and awe by the sight in front of him and the music that clouds his perception. The cloaked figure gives a slight nod and the entire parade stops just shortly before colliding with the suspended Michael. He glances down the road and sees an endless line of people; some carrying instruments and others as if they were just following along. His mouth drops just after his eyes come to rest on the nearest flag girl. She is clothed in an old-fashioned lace hoop skirt, in which rusty wiring is still visible beneath, and her blond straw-like hair hangs in a frizzy mess around her face. However, he can’t steal a proper look at her face because it’s encased in a faded green gas mask. In her hands sits a black flag with white lettering that proceeds to read: The Black Parade.

“The Black Parade?” he whispers in disbelief.

“Yes Michael.” He turns his head back towards the parade and searches the crowd for the unrecognizable voice. Millions of deadened eyes stare through his, each one resembling people he’s come into contact with over the years. Out of his peripheral vision he sees the cloaked figure raise his once bowed head. Instantly he realizes that this is the stranger that carries the beautiful yet menacing voice he hears. Michael glances over and sees nothing but blackness beneath the figure’s hood and skeletal fingers wrapping around the railing in front. He is almost too taken aback to reply, but within a few seemingly long moments he gathers his breath and speaks.

“What the hell is this? Who are you and how do you know my name?”

“I take it you haven’t heard the news yet,” replies the shrouded creature, a subtle chuckle wrapping around his words. Michael can only describe it as a creature. No human being could proclaim such a godly voice; a voice not only tinged with the lord’s strength but also the devil’s nefarious growl. It speaks again.

“You’re dead!”

“I’m…dead?” whispers Michael beneath baited breath. The cloaked creature reaches out a long bony hand. Michael, although a bit hesitant, grabs hold of it and is hoisted upon the float mere seconds before the parade begins its march.

“Who are you and where am I? I demand an answer!” shouts Michael. He means for his voice to be strong—brimming with courage and testosterone—but it’s difficult to protest against such an accursed and angelic creation.

“I am Death. And we are in the City of the Dead…welcome.”

Bewildered but curious enough to speak, Michael replies earnestly, “But why am I not in hell?”

“You do not deserve to go there.”

“Are you joking?! As Death, you should know of the atrocities I’ve committed—the people I’ve killed and the debts I owe.”

Death finally faces Michael head on and says, “Sometimes, that’s not enough to earn you eternal damnation. What some don’t know is that a deal with the devil is completely meaningless.” Michael’s quizzical look leads Death to continue, “You will soon understand. Come now, you need to look ahead, that is our first stop.”

“What do you mean first stop?”

Death turns forward again. “Tell me about Emily…”

Michael’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of her name. He casts his eye downward as salty tears begin collecting in his lids. Emily—her name serves as a lovely poison—a poison which Michael desperately longs to drink and absorb into his bloodstream.

“Why?” he shakily replies.

“She was the cause of all this, wasn’t she?” There are no secrets safe from Death. Michael knows he will have to speak of her; to dive into the murky depths of his mind to search for her lovely and dangerous face. He searches his brain for a way to avoid the memories, “She wasn’t the cause of anything; I was. Death, why didn’t I die with her?” Just as the words left his lips, he began feeling tightening grip around his throat and limbs.   A cold sweat collects on his forehead and upper lip as salty droplets of perspiration slide down his face, slipping between chapped lips. Guttural growls of the gravel beneath the parade float pick up in intensity and volume. The racket is overwhelming and panic, like the sweat on his forehead, begins setting in. His heart flutters and thumps underneath a heaving rib cage. Breathing becomes difficult and he struggles to catch each breath which dries his hot and burning throat. The crude snarls reverberate through his ears; ever growing in magnitude. He can’t hear his own thoughts and his anxiety reaches a new high, clouding around the edges of his vision; blocking all sorts of rational thinking. He hears Death speaking to him in a menacing tone beneath the gravel’s guttural growls. Before his world goes black he barely makes out Death’s words, “all will be explained in time. Right now, we’re going back to the day it all began.”

Author's Note

Any corrections of any kind are welcome..