TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of blood, strong language, cigarettes, alcohol.

1. Doubt.

Do you remember your freshman year?

Late winter, 2014. Freshman year is metal on his tongue. Eliseo is sitting against the oak tree at River Oaks Park in some boring town in rural North Carolina. Eliseo scoffs. He thinks it is important to mention that it is the oak tree, not an oak tree. ‘An’ would imply choice, and Eliseo has never really believed in choice.

“Why the hell call it River Oaks when there’s only one tree?” Eliseo asks the air. Mason doesn’t answer — Mason never answers, but Eliseo keeps talking. “Maybe that’s the joke. Maybe the whole town knew, and they laughed, and the tree laughed too. Everyone laughing except us.”

He bites at the scab on his lip, tastes iron. The tree has been here for centuries. Eliseo won’t last half that long. Who gets the better deal?

“.. and Mason, dude, is there even a lake around here? What the fuck! Was the entire town dropped on their heads in unison as babies? Why would it have been so wrong..”

He continues.

Mason is on his knees. The boy has had his back turned to Eliseo, picking at the ground and fumbling with his hands.  It’s been too long since Mason looked at him, Eliseo notices, and breaks his rambling. “Hey Mace, what’s up?” Mason peers over his shoulder, almost smiling. Upon further investigation, there are tangled white clovers in his hand? 

Eliseo puts his half smoked Marlboro black out with his finger tips; the cigarette dies faster than Eliseo does, though sometimes he wonders which flame burns realer: the one at the tip, or the one that eats his years away. He lurches forwards, not with urgency, but with a curious adrenaline. He’s crouching beside Mason now, admiring his handiwork. 

Mason positions the crown of weeds on Eliseo’s head. “Where did you learn this Mace? Shit is so dope. All I need now is some red lipstick, a filter and one of those Tumblr girls to reblog me to the voids of the internet, then you’d have a proper business.” Mason flashes his teeth in a smile, they’re mostly straight, somewhat yellowed, but still very healthy for someone who hasn’t seen a dentist in eight years. You’d think he hasn’t seen a spec of sunlight in eight years either, thinks Eliseo, admiring how Mason has the skin of a sickly sparkling vampire. They are always outside. The somewhat floral scent of fresh red boxed hair dye radiated off of him, mixing with the stale smell of cigarettes. Mason refreshes the red every few weeks, and Eliseo admires the dedication, but has learned not to question it. 

Why did your friend dye his hair? Has he always dyed his hair red? 

Mason has been dying his hair red since middle school. Eliseo never understood, he didn’t understand a lot about Mason, and that’s why they were friends. He likes to think Mason secretly knows every secret about the universe and the details about Eliseo’s human consciousness and even more than that, he just wouldn’t say it. Everything about Mason was always red. Every three weeks he painted his hair crimson, and every night he stained his knuckles crimson.

Mason is wrapping his hand in a damp black-and-white bandana. Eliseo watches the cloth darken, unsure if it’s from blood, sweat, or just the air itself pressing dampness into fabric. The piercing of a midnight winter wind leaves needles in Eliseo’s skin. Lurking in the shadows are two boys fiending for a sweet hit of serotonin, looming darker over them is an abandoned community hospital. The outer panels have begun to peel away from the structure: the elements had their hand in scaling the fish. Decay doesn’t mean collapse. He wonders if he’s more like the hospital than he’d care to admit. “Mason, you ready man? Stop staring at me dude. My dad had too much to drink tonight and I need you to just fucking do it!” Eliseo’s dad had too much to drink. So had the boys.

Mason always stands a little taller after his fist makes contact, first hits his fist to the glass, then through it, then into the stagnant hospital air, then he flinches, then he can finally cry. Eliseo teases him when he cries, but that’s why they are there. Every morning they die, and every night together they are reborn again. 

Why was your friend crying?

Eliseo does not remember.

Authors note: AHHHH IDK LET ME KNOW IF ITS DECENT ;(