DEFEAT. 040 – Hours Before a Public Suicide
[DEFEAT. is a science fiction/coming-of-death/war epic novella, released in weekly episodes. at this point, you’ve either read every installment (unlikely) or you’re waiting for the movie (also unlikely). if nothing else, follow the link and check out Brian Galiano’s amazing art. blahblahblah!]
“Margie, wake up!”
The rotund younger sister ignored the request, turning over and darting her head under a pillow. She saw that the sun was far from rising and knew the schoolbell wouldn’t be ringing for hours. Her older sister probably just wanted to get something off her chest.
“C’mon, I want to talk to you.” This time, Vanessa coupled her appeal with a gentle swinging of a pillow. She had succeeded.
“Great, now you’ve done it! I’m officially awake!” Margie feigned supreme aggravation, shaking a fist in her older sister’s face and putting on her best scowl. But her natural joviality didn’t allow for such impressions to persist and she ended up chuckling, amused by her own antics.
“Seriously though,” Margie began after looking at the clock, “it’s just after three in the morning — what do you want?”
Vanessa plopped onto the bed. “I’m in love.”
“Oh, spare me!”
“I am.”
“With that Daryl boy?”
“He’s no boy.”
Margie halted her intended conversation. “Wait — what does that mean?”
The elder, more beautiful sister did her best to prevent the blood from flowing into her face. She failed. Blushing, she offered her explanation, “Well let’s just say he’s no boy and I’m no longer just a girl with monthly Womanly Responsibilities. I’m a full-fledged woman.”
Margie’s jaw nearly hit her potbelly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You…you let that dude bone you?”
“When you put it that way…”
“This is bananas! My older sister’s a slut!” Margie giggled, doing her best not to be too loud. “You boned that guy on your first date! What were you thinking?”
Knowing that no judgment was being passed, Vanessa felt free to confide. “Margie, there’s something special about Daryl Millar. When I’m with him, I feel like I am actually living. It’s as though I’ve been sleepwalking through my whole life. But now I’m awake and can actually see what I’m doing. Something has been unlocked within me.”
“That’s called your hymen.”
“Wise-ass.” The sisters laughed. “Alright, Margie, it’s three-eleven, we can talk about this more tomorrow. I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”
The older sister backed away and headed for the door, flicking off the light in the process. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait…Was it good?”
“Better than anything I’ve ever experienced.”
+++
8-Bit peeled himself off the couch, grabbed his crutches, and hobbled over to the Nintendo Entertainment System. He was surprised, given the fact that it had been on for over twenty-four hours straight, that the machine hadn’t overheated and died. After an unprecedented immersion in pixilated paradise, 8-Bit pressed his thumb into the power button and put an end to the fantasy.
He looked at the digital clock. “Fuck.” 3:11 AM. If the teen was going to go to school, he wouldn’t even be able to find four hours of sleep. He was sore. He was more than tired — physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted. Rest was calling his name.
But he couldn’t…he couldn’t shake off the promise Daryl had made to him. I’m going to make a believer of you yet…of yourself. Ever since that first fateful encounter at the movie theater, his friend had always been a source of inspiration.
And yet, the spark in Daryl’s eyes when he had taken an oath contained more energy than anything 8-Bit had ever encountered in their time together. Something was happening. Hell, if he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn that there was an actual phosphorescence, a sort of cobalt aura that had spilled into the air when Daryl spoke.
Even if there wasn’t, if the truth was that 8-Bit was just going insane because something had come unattached near the base of his spine, he still had to be there for Daryl. For if the roles were reversed, he knew that his friend could be counted on.
“No way I’ll wake up in time if I fall asleep.” 8-Bit crutched his way up the stairs, into the kitchen, and to the coffee maker. He’d be at that pep rally. Even if it meant staying up for seven more hours.
+++
He tossed and turned, as he had for hours. His comforter wasn’t too heavy. Longer strands of hair weren’t creeping into his mouth, as they sometimes did. The television in the room below wasn’t too loud.
Nevertheless, Riff couldn’t sleep. All he could do was spin around under the sheets and recall the sagacious words of Daryl Millar. Riff had received the worst beating of his life, far worse than anything his father had ever delivered. Perhaps the worst part was the understanding that nobody cared enough to find his assailant.
Well, nobody that could actually deliver retribution. Or so it seemed.
Even still, he couldn’t help but feel as though he might be worth something. And if he wasn’t of any value as of yet, he could be. Someday. With time and work and all that other shit that separates success stories from sob stories.
And in a way, Riff resented Daryl Millar for trying to convince him that he wasn’t worthless. It would be so much easier accept a hollow existence and proceed as necessary.
Which, in truth, means a whole of not proceeding at all.
God damn, it was already 3:11 AM. Riff wanted to forget about everything Daryl had said. He wanted to forget about the fists and feet of Brady Moore and his accomplices. He wanted to forget about his shitty father. He wanted to forget everything except for his desire to sleep until noon.
But he just kept remembering the optimism he had been loaned the previous afternoon. It wasn’t much, but it might just be enough to get him to the pep rally. He closed his eyes and could hear his friend speaking to him.
Well, why don’t you restring it?
Riff leaned over the railing of his bed, grabbed his guitar and pulled it to him. He lay back with the instrument, allowing his fingers to slowly dance over the naked frets. He then looked at his equipment bag, conjuring up images of the strings within. He jammed his head into his pillow and finally let his eyes close.
Well, why don’t you restring it?
“I’m not sure if it’s worth it. Please, make it worth it.”
+++
Daryl Millar slept like a goddamn baby.
