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| "Soul Love" |
Her brother was six feet under.
Myrna-Jean knew that the world had gone to shit since the End of the World was proclaimed, and they didn't really have long anyways, but his death still seemed cruel and unfair. Especially because he had given his life for one of the many movements and protests for a better world (or at least a better end of it all) that seemed to triple in number every day. Movements with slogans that proclaimed hundreds of conflicting messages offering truth and salvation such as 'Wish You Could Hear', 'Love Is All We Need', 'Kick Out The Jams', 'Kick Out Your Mother', 'Cut Up Your Friend', 'Screw Up Your Brother or He'll Get You In the End'. And where had all her brother's ideas and politics gotten him? Screwed up, screwed over, and a hole in the cold, unfeeling earth.
'It was just another reflection of how the universe really worked', she thought bitterly, as she watched her mother kneel somberly before his grave. On his headstone, the inscription simply read: LOVE IS ALL WE NEED. He was willing to die for his blasted cause, so it made sense that he wanted the slogan to be the only thing to remember him by. But that's all it was. A slogan. Cheap words that didn't restore his beating heart or give any of its other followers something close to resembling life. They didn't change the fact that so-called "love machines" meant to keep order and restore peace for causes like his would still lumber down through desolate rows, ploughing down any man or woman in its path, listening to its commands but not hearing the shrieks of those it knocked down. She had vowed long ago to never be like that - to give herself over to some abstract cause filled with passion and violence. She much preferred her well-constructed defence of cynical apathy.
In the distance, Myrna-Jean could just make out a tatty banner across the graveyard. It seemed to be proudly proclaiming, despite all odds of its nearly disintegrated condition: "NEW LOVE -" she couldn't make out the rest. What intrigued her most, however, was a figure she could just make out that was standing underneath it. He seemed to be studying the banner and was dressed in a futuristic looking green and white jumpsuit with tall white lace-up boots. It was the most ridiculous get-up she had ever seen. Immediately, she wanted to know more, and there was clearly nothing left for her here.
Without saying goodbye to her mother, she had hated the woman for years, Myrna-Jena left without looking back. As far as she was concerned, she had had plenty of a world full of pain and suffering - a string of broken relationships, expulsion from university, no real family to speak of - enough was enough. She had only attended the ceremony out of a desire to end her boredom rather than any sort of true familial compassion. Now all she wanted to do was see what kind of distraction the young man in the spacesuit could offer.
"What's with the spacesuit?" Myrna-Jean asked as she approached. She was blunt and didn't care much for introductions.
He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. It was obvious that he had been lost in his own mind, but Myrna-Jean didn't mind. A lot of people were these days. It was nicer than anything reality had to offer, and she wouldn't begrudge them that.
"Pardon me?" he asked, turning around to face her.
"I said, what's with the spacesuit?" Myrna-Jean repeated, pointedly eyeing his odd attire. Moving her gaze upwards, she took her first good look at him. He had a slight build, barely taller than her and much skinnier, with sharp, pale cheekbones and the oddest blue eyes. But the thing that struck her the most was an indefinable aura that clung to him like a second skin. There was something about him that drew her in and made her want to believe in - well, she didn't know what, but whatever it was, she had a feeling that it would end her endless boredom, the endless monotony her life had become and all she had had to look forward to.
"It's comfortable," he shrugged, leaning against the precariously perched banner pole, "Why do you care?"
She mirrored his gesture, leaning against the graveyard's fence before crossing her arms, "What are you doing out here anyway?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he smirked. His gaze dropped as he took his own obvious assessment of herself, "Interrogating innocent unfortunates, such as myself?"
She frowned slightly, annoyed that he seemed to only answer her questions with his own, "If you must know, I just finished putting my brother into the ground."
His eyes widened slightly and a fleeting look of guilt ran across his face, "Christ. I'm sorry."
Myrna-Jean just shrugged in response, "Since we're all gonna die, I suppose it doesn't matter that he decided to hurry up and do it four years earlier."
Her cavalier attitude towards the future and death seemed to surprise him, but he didn't comment on it, "I was actually out here looking for a quiet place to stay for a bit. I was kicked out of my accommodations a few weeks ago, and I need somewhere to crash. I was trying to determine which cause might be most suited to help my own."
He gestured towards the pile of broken and discarded banners and slogans he was standing by. The "NEW LOVE -" one sign was the last one standing, but Myrna-Jean saw plenty of others around his feet. How odd that this strange young man would try and figure out where to stay solely from words written on long-forgotten cloth. He was clearly an enigma. Completely ordinary looking except for his outlandish clothes and extraordinary aura. Immediately she knew that she couldn't let him go. He was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in her entire life, certainly since they had announced that earth was dying. In fact, he didn't even seem like he was from earth - perhaps he was a super man with an undeniable pull that made everyone he met instantly attracted to him. She had to find out more about him and now she had the perfect excuse.
"You say you're looking for a roof over your head? I might be able to help you out," she said nonchalantly.
Instantly his peculiar eyes lit up, hearing her offer for what it was, "Really, now. What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," she smirked.
"And how can I ever repay you for your generous offer, my mysterious, inquisitive, nameless saviour?" he questioned, laughing at her implied challenge.
He moved towards her with a glint in his eye as his gaze once again roved down her body. She had a slightly sallow face, and mousy hair, but she knew she wasn't completely unattractive. Her hazel brown eyes had been on the receiving end of more than a few compliments, and her body had accepted its fair share of admirers.
Myrna-Jean simply grinned at him, "I'm sure you'll figure something out."
"My name's James, by the way," he offered, before swooping down to capture her lips with his own, a fine down payment for his new lodgings.
It wasn't until hours later, as she gazed at him lying in her bed after a long night of getting to know one another, that she was overcome with a feeling of love so strong that it tore at her heart to sleep through the fleeting hours of morning. She knew that James was special, and she didn't want to waste a single moment of their time together. It was the first time she had felt anything real in a long time.
A man with a gaunt face and dark eyes spied a young couple from the steps of the church just a few meters away. He couldn't discern much other than the fact that they were a man and woman happily preoccupied underneath a banner which proudly proclaimed: "NEW LOVE -". He bitterly envied their passionate embrace, their freedom to be so open in their affections, the companionship they offered one another.
He had just finished attending the service, one of many since the end of the world had been proclaimed. It seemed as if selling messages of salvation and peace was the only thing people wanted to spend their money on these days. Not that he was a stranger to the church.
Valentine Newton had been raised in a perfectly ordinary household. His family were regular churchgoers, supported the Nation's Cause when War had broken out, and had never been involved in any of the town's scandals. His mother volunteered for lots of organizations in their neighbourhood and his father had a steady job as a banker. His younger brother had been accepted to study law at Oxford and was well-liked at university. They had lived in a small brick house, owned a car, took out the good china when guests arrived, and overall were the perfect nuclear family. Except for him.
Valentine had known from a young age he was 'different'. He didn't quite fit in with his family or his peers. He had a difficult time making friends and had never gone out with a single girl. But he didn't know the reason why until he was around eighteen.
He and his only friend, George, had been off their arses drunk the night of graduation. It was late and they had been talking about where they were headed after the summer. George had gotten into York, but Valentine had not. It had eaten away at him every night, the thought of being separated from his companion. For some reason, George had been the only one he ever felt like he could be himself around.
With that thought in mind, Valentine had looked at his friend with new, drunken eyes. He only felt like he truly belonged wherever and whenever he was with George - and had his friend always been extremely good looking? He had noticed George's flaming red hair, deep blue eyes, and slim, muscular body before, but realising that his beautiful man would be out of his reach forever made Valentine bold with whisky and desperation. He had leaned in and pressed his lips to George's.
With that single action, Valentine's head had cleared. This felt right. This felt like he belonged. He knew it was an idiot love, but he didn't care. For a moment in time, Valentine had found the closest thing to acceptance he had ever experienced. A cure for his ever-present loneliness. He was defenceless against these new feelings racing through his veins.
His memories usually ended there. He didn't want to think about what happened next. The part where George had been disgusted and appalled and had broken his heart. Where, for the next few years, Valentine had tried to hide everything, even from himself. He had tried going steady with a nice girl, attending church more often, getting a decent job as a grocer, but it was all for nothing. He knew that single kiss had marked him as an outsider forever. Love was careless in its choosing, and it had chosen him to be marked apart from acceptable society.
It was late one night when he had been caught by his parents coming back from the White Horse down in SoHo. They were outraged. There was no question as to what this meant and he had been kicked out on the spot. He had been alone ever since, alienated from everyone except for an occasional lover, but they never seemed to last.
Now it had been ten years since he had seen his family. They didn't even bother to contact him after the announcement. As far as they were concerned, he had died before the end of the world. But that didn't stop him from keeping the strict practices he had been brought up in. Valentine still went to church every Sunday and prayed every night, hoping to find the forgiveness and acceptance he had been told all his life that God would provide.
And this Sunday had been no different. The man had been a good priest, for whatever that was worth. He had spoken of the Word and how God on high is all love. He had told of how God as love was able to reach up through humanity's loneliness and hate to transform the world into a loving community. Pretty words that he so desperately wanted to believe, but he had been alone for too long to really put any faith in them. And now here he was, bitterly alone, a silent voyeur to the new love that was blossoming in front of him while all he had was his love of love. And love was not loving.
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