Chapter 6: The Futility of Love

The green was blinding. James' eyes took a while to focus. The metal staircase sprawled below him, and he walked down. As he turned a corner, he saw Kate walk up, "James!" "Oh, Kate. I did tell you it would be soon." "Soon enough, thankfully, I guess. How's the writing going?" "Uhm, good enough. Michael has me writing a 'reputable' story, to beat some guy named Edmund." "Edward Sherman! His works are quite good. I think so at least. Nothing compared to yours, though." James felt the praise a bit forced, but was red with both love and embarrassment, and thanked Kate as such, "Thank you for not giving that bastard my pedestal, at least in you mind. The world, unlike you, is quite enamoured with this guy." "Oh, don't be so damn dramatic. You will be well liked once you release a new story, before three months are over." "I never told you how long Mike gave me." "Oh, forgot to tell you. I'm working at his publishers now." "Oh..... that's great. I'll be well waiting for our confrontation at work. If this was dramatic, then that will be a whole damn drama." "Are you intimidated?" "Oh please, with Edward at my heels, I have better things to be 'intimidated' from, other than you. No offense." "None taken, if none meant," Kate replied. Despite being somewhat intimidated by her, James did not think it a perfect time to reveal any other emotions and predispositions he might have for Kate. And Kate seemed quite adamant in not noticing, "Well, I aren't coming for your throne, thankfully. I'll just be Michael's new assistant." "What happened to Martha?" "Didn't you hear? She left him for Star Publishing and Co. He was quite broken up about it. Edward has also signed on with them, to Mike's utter dismay." "That's unfortunate. Anyway, a goodbye. Meet you soon." "You too, James." As she walked up the stairs, her hair almost whipped James in his face, and she gave him a final blushing peek, before turning to the next flight of stairs. Her final smile brought a wide smile to James' face, who felt a warm feeling in his chest, which was thankfully not acid making it's way up James' gullet, liked his dreams were so visually repeating. As much as his dreams deterred him from his path of life, these, these fleeting moments of pure ecstasy brought James to take another step. And he stepped another rung down the metal staircase.

The colour of the world seemed to seep away at the seams. Away from the grass below his feet, James found everything to be another shade of grey. Everything seemed the same, a monochrome nightmare, not as gory and bloody as his actual nightmares, but to James' own perspective on the matter, he would rather be seeing the dark, vibrant red of blood, other than the tens of thousands of greys that the real world had to offer him. At least here, people didn't want to eat him, literally speaking. Figuratively, he was sure the vultures in the papers would be quite happy to gorge on a fallen star's bloated carcass. As a matter of fact, the offices of the magazine which was so joyous to release a expose on James, was right in front of him. If he hadn't anything better to do, and had no reputation to keep squeaky clean for the kids reading his masterpieces, he would have barged into their dirty doors and bludgeoned the guy in charge to quick death. Vultures deserved nothing better, and maybe the bastard's carrion would feed the next generation of aspiring carrion crows. But James was wont to keep his public identity cleaner than that of a murderer, and bare spite was hardly a reason to change that. Let the crows ravage the next prodigal in James' business, and if they were worth the sh*t they peddle, they'll tear into Edward. But vultures were never so considerate.

James walked through the street, seeing the grey at his feet, in front of his eyes, at the tips of his fingers. As James walked, he felt his mind think of the ultimatum set for him. What use was it, really. He didn't need Mike, nor did he need a publisher. The grey world housing him should be grateful that they were blessed by such written artworks. Yet these ungrateful arseholes were spending their useless time and energy to judge their gods. The unremarkable ant did not score on the talent of giants, as much as they mess up. It was not their nature, to banish their betters to the fires of hell, when they were as guilty as their victims, just more useless. And they blame the giants when they step on the small, when they themselves step on ants and don't notice their victims. And of course, a felled giant is a feast to the vultures.

As James walked, he saw the ants around him, men, women and children. Useless beasts he knew, yet he had come to love a few of them. Kate was his current, but his heart had followed many a unpleasant wenches. And the worst of these was his last girlfriend. He had met her after he had turned famous, and looking back, he was ashamed that he had not immediately deduced that she was there for his reputation. She was wont to call him a great man, but he was sure, she would be hard-pressed to recount even a single of the countless virtues James possessed. Kate was his rebound, he thought. He needed someone, someone who would love him for himself. Yet, in his dreams, he was quite constantly doubting if he even had a 'himself'. In a more nuanced perspective, and more dosed up one, he wondered if he had anything that made him even remotely interesting, and healthy, to be dating material. But bugger that, Laura was a unpleasant harridan to spurn him when he had failed in making the paladin.

The sun set, and James could not find it in himself to go home. His entire day was a painful day of introspection, but he felt he had learnt nothing of not. He already knew the press was a bastard, the public was a bastard, and Laura was a bastard. So, all he really learnt was that Kate had found herself working for James, by all accounts. Information, but hardly enough to warrant to leave his 'man-cave'. So, to retrieve some usefulness from this darn day, James decided that he would find something resembling a story, or at least the barebones of one. He walked to the Christmas tree, or at least the one that would find itself decorated with holiday cheer during December, where many broken souls would find themselves in the black of cold, unforgiving, introspecting nights. Stories were the crop of this farm, for every one of the sad, lonely beings that had the lack of dignity to find themselves sitting around the huge fir, had a story, some interesting, some cocky, some bland, and some pathetic. And that's where the useless author found themselves, piecing together something resembling a story from the countless the crowd had to give.

The giant fir entered James' view, its needles glimmering green in the grey moonlight, owls and bats littered the sky, black against the black heavens, all illuminated slightly by the grey shade of the moon. The thousands of the needles seemed almost sharp in the dim light. If there was a hell, then James prayed it wasn't so boringly monochrome. The red of fire would be respite against the grey, bland black. Countless lost souls littered the benches around the giant plant, black shades illuminated by dim lights, hardly brighter than moonlight, but a deal less grey, for which James was grateful. Many crowded at the three fountains, two small and one comparatively bigger one. Some were clothed in their work garb, while others were dressed in countless hues, an already bland rainbow which was dimly lit. Some trembled with the shedding of tears, others were motionless, emotionless. Some seemed like the world was paused for them, and were just reminiscing in memories. These memories were what James needed.

As James inquired a few choice men and women of these memories, he learnt their secrets. One man told James how they had been shocked of his boss laying him off, another man spoke how his mother had died, a woman recounted how she had learned of her ex-husband's demise, while a boy spoke about how he had failed his tests, and was deathly afraid of going back home to his hopeful parents. A man was hysterical about how his girlfriend had dumped, another was scared to go back home to his girlfriend. A woman was reminiscing how she met her husband, while another asked around if anyone had seen her son. After telling the latter where he had seen the boy, James came upon a woman, who seemed happy, in a sea of unhappy children. She was evidently in denial, as her boss had fired her, and she had hardly an idea what to do next. So, to summarise, James had helped a woman find her failing son, and nothing much else. He had nothing, nothing but a surmounting fear of the dim light of the streetlights and moonlights. So, James forgot it, he had to sleep, at the end of it. He left the area, left the dim light, and the dim individuals behind him. His eyes wavered, and he was quite sleepy.

The dim moonlight was unsettling, and the fir was glamouring green. But it seemed tiny, and as James looked around, he saw the streetlights and fountains, which seemed unseemly tiny to James. In front of him was Kate, surprisingly at James' level, towering over the peasants. She came close to him, lips puckered, ready for a kiss. James, even when he protested, walked backwards, cringing away from Kate's embrace. He walked backward, even though this was what he wanted, even thouh he desired it, even though he needed it. As he walked back, he felt a tiny prick on the small of his back. The prick, which seemed like a needle in the beginning, felt like a stick, and then a sword, tearing through James' flesh. When he looked back, he saw the fir, and when he turned to Kate and looked at his belly, he found the faintest sign of the fir's needles, emerging out of his bloody flesh. As he saw this, the world seemed to oscillate, colourless one second, colourful another. Soon it stagnated on a grey, but then James and Kate began to oscillate. When James turned colourless, the blood streaming out of his gut turned a grey, and the vivid red was snuffed out every other second. Kate, on the other hand. completely changed. When the grey took over her, her dimly lit face created a certain resemblance to Laura. As James bled out, and his past love, and past betrayer, looked upon his twitching body, he learned his fate. Love, like himself, was destined to disappoint.