When Evening Falls So Hard [OPEN]
Characters: Odd Thomas, OPEN.
Content: Odd goes looking for a James Sunderland, but after awhile realizes that it is in fruitless effort. (I was just wondering if you’d come along, to hold up my head when my head won’t hold on.)
Location: Anywhere in Manhattan.
Time of day: Afternoon.
Warnings: Mental breakdown.
Heraclitus once said, “The only constant is change.” A passage that couldn’t be any more the truth, and just like the saying goes: One thing after another. God, they certainly weren’t skimping out when they say that, did they?
Odd didn’t need to heed Lilia’s concerns to know something was wrong. Manhattan impeded on a lot of things, but intuition was still a strong factor in his instincts. It was a part of who and what he was and that, for all he knew, was the one thing the Powers That Be couldn’t take away, simply because it was Odd’s drive. His being. The one thing that kept him going.
Intuition told him that morning that something had been terribly wrong. Like the air had grown colder, while the spring’s season was drawing nearer. Still, nothing. Nothing at all. No Mary, no Sunderland. Just a dead silence that carried and made itself known down the cathedral halls. An icy knife stabbed him deep in the chest and Odd woke up.
Except that it wasn’t a dream at all.
He would have been a fool to think that things were always going to be the same way forever. To think that he could actually keep people from disappearing, keep them safe. What a delusion. Odd couldn’t even save the girl he loved, let alone rescue the ones he cared about here. True, he had played his part in this little game, this charade of a puppeteer’s drama. There had been tragedies and comedies, but most of all there had been memories.
Now, it seemed as if all of that had become nothing more than a mere dream. This road, the winding one leading down from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The place that had, ever since the day he had come here, been considered his home. And Sunderland being one of the first few people he had met in this forsaken city. In a place where it was hard to get friends, Odd had found them. Right here. Right in the very heart of this place. And it was his, too.
His feet were exhausted. The snow was thinner than before, no reminders of a storm in any way, but still made a crunch crunch when he walked upon it. Odd remained bundled. Coat, hat, gloves, snow shoes... everything. He was warm, but he had never felt colder. He had been so ill that he vomited his stomach dry, and yet he had never felt sicker. Face paler than pale, and a pain that sunk in his chest. His heart. Something was crushed and that was it.
Was he just being foolish all this time? To think that things were going to be the same forever? That they would always be there, one big happy Cathedral family, living together until the end of days? The evenings spent up on the cathedral rooftop, fixing and cleaning the place up while listening to the music as the hours went by?
These people weren’t his family. Odd was starting to understand that now, and suddenly he felt weak in his knees. He stopped. Suddenly, he just couldn’t walk any more. After searching the entire damn city, everywhere he could possibly think of (and every prison he had in mind), there was still nothing. Odd had even spent last night in Harlem in hopes that Sunderland would show up.
He didn’t.
Stupid. Odd had never felt any more stupid. He had just wanted things to last forever. That was all.
Weary from days of walking, he found a park bench and sat down. He warmed himself up by rubbing his hands together, putting them to his face and blowing into his palms. For awhile, he zoned out. Far, far away from this place, where it was warmer, where they were inside.
Meals together. All around the dinner table. Laughing, talking, exchanging stories and teases. All around. Christmas. So much to be thankful for. These people. They weren’t family. But by God, Odd couldn’t ignore the love he felt for them. Because in spite of all the shit they put each other through, it hurt enough to be love.
The realization didn’t occur to him right away, but this was that bench. The same bench that Odd had seated himself upon.
The ice, thin as it was, broke.
Odd leaned. He buried his face in his gloves. Fingers curled over his eyes as he shook. Nothing came out yet. Oh Jesus, it ached too much to think of summoning the tears to do so much as grieve.
He lost himself. For a good, long while, as he sat there, he had lost himself.
Finally, Odd Thomas wept.
It was shameless. He had though that he was through with tears, and here he was again. A grown man like him, losing himself like this out in the open for anyone passing by to see, maybe remark. People had considered Odd the Anchor, the Stone. It was chafed now, rusted and falling apart after everything. After dying, after coming back, after nearly losing one friend and actually losing another... He didn’t want to think of it as abandonment or betrayal, but it hurt. He ignored his intuition and because of that, it only wound up hurting more, and it was destroying him inside. Putting on this guise, this mask. Odd Thomas-while not carrying the weight of the world, always felt that it should. And now that the weight finally took its toll on him, Odd wasn’t sure if he could handle it anymore.
Oh God, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t breathe or move. All he could hear was his own self. The pathetic sounds. Tears finally seeping through the gloves, between his fingers, dampening the fabric. He had tried so hard to put everyone back together, that Odd had forgotten how to put himself together when he shattered. Just like this. Just like this...
People could see him, out here like this. If they did, let them watch. Words couldn’t express it. This feeling. Like losing your best friend. Because he was gone. James was gone. And the worst part about it? The part that killed Odd most inside? He was glad.
Content: Odd goes looking for a James Sunderland, but after awhile realizes that it is in fruitless effort. (I was just wondering if you’d come along, to hold up my head when my head won’t hold on.)
Location: Anywhere in Manhattan.
Time of day: Afternoon.
Warnings: Mental breakdown.
Heraclitus once said, “The only constant is change.” A passage that couldn’t be any more the truth, and just like the saying goes: One thing after another. God, they certainly weren’t skimping out when they say that, did they?
Odd didn’t need to heed Lilia’s concerns to know something was wrong. Manhattan impeded on a lot of things, but intuition was still a strong factor in his instincts. It was a part of who and what he was and that, for all he knew, was the one thing the Powers That Be couldn’t take away, simply because it was Odd’s drive. His being. The one thing that kept him going.
Intuition told him that morning that something had been terribly wrong. Like the air had grown colder, while the spring’s season was drawing nearer. Still, nothing. Nothing at all. No Mary, no Sunderland. Just a dead silence that carried and made itself known down the cathedral halls. An icy knife stabbed him deep in the chest and Odd woke up.
Except that it wasn’t a dream at all.
He would have been a fool to think that things were always going to be the same way forever. To think that he could actually keep people from disappearing, keep them safe. What a delusion. Odd couldn’t even save the girl he loved, let alone rescue the ones he cared about here. True, he had played his part in this little game, this charade of a puppeteer’s drama. There had been tragedies and comedies, but most of all there had been memories.
Now, it seemed as if all of that had become nothing more than a mere dream. This road, the winding one leading down from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The place that had, ever since the day he had come here, been considered his home. And Sunderland being one of the first few people he had met in this forsaken city. In a place where it was hard to get friends, Odd had found them. Right here. Right in the very heart of this place. And it was his, too.
His feet were exhausted. The snow was thinner than before, no reminders of a storm in any way, but still made a crunch crunch when he walked upon it. Odd remained bundled. Coat, hat, gloves, snow shoes... everything. He was warm, but he had never felt colder. He had been so ill that he vomited his stomach dry, and yet he had never felt sicker. Face paler than pale, and a pain that sunk in his chest. His heart. Something was crushed and that was it.
Was he just being foolish all this time? To think that things were going to be the same forever? That they would always be there, one big happy Cathedral family, living together until the end of days? The evenings spent up on the cathedral rooftop, fixing and cleaning the place up while listening to the music as the hours went by?
These people weren’t his family. Odd was starting to understand that now, and suddenly he felt weak in his knees. He stopped. Suddenly, he just couldn’t walk any more. After searching the entire damn city, everywhere he could possibly think of (and every prison he had in mind), there was still nothing. Odd had even spent last night in Harlem in hopes that Sunderland would show up.
He didn’t.
Stupid. Odd had never felt any more stupid. He had just wanted things to last forever. That was all.
Weary from days of walking, he found a park bench and sat down. He warmed himself up by rubbing his hands together, putting them to his face and blowing into his palms. For awhile, he zoned out. Far, far away from this place, where it was warmer, where they were inside.
Meals together. All around the dinner table. Laughing, talking, exchanging stories and teases. All around. Christmas. So much to be thankful for. These people. They weren’t family. But by God, Odd couldn’t ignore the love he felt for them. Because in spite of all the shit they put each other through, it hurt enough to be love.
The realization didn’t occur to him right away, but this was that bench. The same bench that Odd had seated himself upon.
The ice, thin as it was, broke.
Odd leaned. He buried his face in his gloves. Fingers curled over his eyes as he shook. Nothing came out yet. Oh Jesus, it ached too much to think of summoning the tears to do so much as grieve.
He lost himself. For a good, long while, as he sat there, he had lost himself.
Finally, Odd Thomas wept.
It was shameless. He had though that he was through with tears, and here he was again. A grown man like him, losing himself like this out in the open for anyone passing by to see, maybe remark. People had considered Odd the Anchor, the Stone. It was chafed now, rusted and falling apart after everything. After dying, after coming back, after nearly losing one friend and actually losing another... He didn’t want to think of it as abandonment or betrayal, but it hurt. He ignored his intuition and because of that, it only wound up hurting more, and it was destroying him inside. Putting on this guise, this mask. Odd Thomas-while not carrying the weight of the world, always felt that it should. And now that the weight finally took its toll on him, Odd wasn’t sure if he could handle it anymore.
Oh God, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t breathe or move. All he could hear was his own self. The pathetic sounds. Tears finally seeping through the gloves, between his fingers, dampening the fabric. He had tried so hard to put everyone back together, that Odd had forgotten how to put himself together when he shattered. Just like this. Just like this...
People could see him, out here like this. If they did, let them watch. Words couldn’t express it. This feeling. Like losing your best friend. Because he was gone. James was gone. And the worst part about it? The part that killed Odd most inside? He was glad.