The North PacificBoard

The heavenly breeze blasts through the cold, dark, ominous sky. Around a hundred feet above the rocky water below, the mighty stood proud over their accomplishments, while others looked in awe and even horror. The dead air wrapped around the physical and metaphysical parts of each bystander, strangling his muscles and tightening his world view. The complex metal bridge peering over the shallow stream tries to reach for the sky. On top of this structure is another man-made creation, a creation forged by loss, resentment, and grandiosity. Holding an emptied bottle, the man lazily throws it over the bridge's rail; the glass container hurls down with rapidity until it shatters on a formation of rocks. Witnessing, Thomas closes his eyes as the bottle smashes across the river; tears cover his eyes and run endlessly down his unshaven cheeks. Out of desperation, he yells aimlessly and unarticulated, sounding like another creature entirely. At this point, he does not care to wipe his tears from his face, accepting them as his last moments of freedom. He then grabs onto the frigid metal rail and struggles to climb over to the unguarded ledge. Once he's able to, he stands as tall as a drunken man can. Thomas welcomes the embrace of the wind through his overgrown, wavy, black hair while standing above his tomb. Now crying unstoppably, he rubs his dirtied nose and looks behind. Hoping to see any semblance of care from the outside world, Thomas sniffles when he sees no one attempt to stop him. This gives him the final push to do it. The final push to give in to the pressure felt by his actions in the past years. The final push to find some, if any, relief in this relentless world. Taking one step into the air, a smile grows on his face...

Hours Beforehand

Walking through his apartment's decaying and dim hallway, Thomas looks up at the lights. Some are giving into their death and flickering at slow rates, while others attempt to cling onto their remaining power. Yet, both end up the same and shine poorly on a dying corridor. Not even a building helps Thomas look at the world in a more positive way. Yet, entering the next room, the lobby, it brings an all new kind of light. Stepping into it, the concierge immediately greets the beaten man without hesitation. Yelling across the room, the woman announces, "Mr. Ladde, how was your night?" A maroon red dress wraps over her toned body while thick framed glasses cover her crystal blue eyes; Thomas swears that her eyes pierce the souls of any man fortunate enough to glimpse at her. In contrast, Thomas is wearing a white tank top with stains of all colors imprisoned in the fabric. Baggy sweat pants barely hang onto his legs. Giving a slight smile, he responds, "I'm well, Cynthia. And you?". She jumps on his question and answers, "I'm great! Nothing much to complain about". A pause overtakes the room, causing Thomas to look awkwardly at the brown carpet. Cynthia then adds, "Any plans for the day? Not much goes on behind my desk, so I love to know what the residents do in their spare time". Thomas looks up and says, "Nothing" with a cold stare. Cynthia chuckles and gestures and replies, "A man of your caliber must be off doing something. I mean, you were the President of Atheenos for goodness sakes!" He scoffs, "I guess I can't outrun or hide from history. But no, I don't. I'm sorry that my life isn't so exciting anymore. Plus, most of those stories of vampires, romances, and secret missions aren't even true". The lady gives a reaction of slight disappointment. However, she smiles again and says, "Well, I'd be honored to spice it up a bit. Would you like to hang out tonight? We could go to the nearby bar". Thomas prepares to talk, but his memories flood his brain. Images of flags and loneliness and resentment burrow into his mind and refuse to let go. Looking back at Cynthia, he sees a glimpse of Julianna, his previous love. Her braided hair and warm smirk invade his thoughts, making Thomas shake his head in disbelief. Seeing the actual woman once more, he replies, "I-I'd like to. I can't go to that bar, though. How about a restaurant? We could meet each other there if you'd like". Her eyes ignite as his acceptance echoes through her ears. She agrees to his plans and the two continue to chat for the next hour.

. . .

Gazing at his deprived closet, Thomas sifts through his aged clothes for anything more presentable. Moving his hand in between the plethora of white t-shirts, he finally pulls out a formal button-down and some kaki pants. Brushing them off, he wonders if they will still fit. He then moves to his bathroom, holding the clothes in his forearm. As he looks in the dirtied mirror with disgust, Thomas reminisces over his past. For the first time in years, he succumbs to memories. He believes that he will find happiness tonight, so he decides to face his demons. Buttoning up the shirt from top to bottom, he remembers his times at international meetings, the boring and intense. He excitedly remembers the times where he was the man of the hour; he was quite the popular man with many stories to share with many fascinating people. Then, right before he can embrace these thoughts, Julianna returns. That night where his life came crashing down and where he lost his charm, trust, and friendship. He promised to never revisit that dreadful night with Julianna and the villainous Mercuttio. This strange Cynthia not only reopened this wound, but also forced him to overcome a fear he was not prepared to fight. It is all her fault. How could he go out with someone so despicable? Realizing this mistake, he slams his fist into the brick wall and screeches in agony. He stops getting dressed and runs to his bed, where he lays face down on a pillow. He mutters, "Cynthia, why would you hurt me like this? Julianna is a memory and you dared bring her back to life. Why?". Sighing, he calms down before throwing another depraved tantrum. He slowly stands back up and presses his hand over his forehead. He adds, "What have I become?" under his breath. Thomas stumbles into the bathroom once more and finishes his dressing. No longer excited for his next opportunity, he stares in contempt and frustration.

. . .

Opening the door into the restaurant, a calming aura fills Thomas' senses. The warm environment welcomes him into the building. This is unlike the horrid apartment complex. He feels home, but he understands that home is no longer a concept he can grasp onto. These islands were meant to be his home, yet Atheenos creeped its way into his life. Sitting at a booth, Cynthia notices Thomas and waves aggressively to grab his attention. A massive smile forms on her face at the sight of her date. Thomas waves less frantically. Making his way to the seat, the two embrace. Thomas feels nothing. After the formalities, they sit down and begin to converse. They ask each other the standard questions, such as back ground information and their favorite activities; despite seeing each other for years, they knew very little about one another.

Even with Cynthia and the room's warmth, Thomas was clearly distant. After a lull in the conversation and after ordering their meals, she asks, "Ladde, what's wrong? You've been quiet most of the night". Thomas states, "It's nothing, okay. I'm sorry that I've given that impression". He tries to take a sip of his drink as Cynthia moves her hand across the table. Placing it on Thomas', she inquires, "Something's clearly wrong. Did I say something?" Thomas sighs and looks at her with every emotion but fervor. "Fine, I have to say this. Cynthia, I can't have this relationship with you. I made a mistake in convincing you that we were in love; I fell for my own false pride".

"What? Excuse me?"

"Cynthia, you remind me of Julianna. You remind me of the only person who actually understood my complexities. You remind me of the woman who crushed the remaining parts of Thomas that made him human"

"So, you're dumping me like that? You barely even know me!"

"I know, but I can't live around someone like you. You're an imposter in my eyes"

"Get out. Get out! I hope to never see you again with your carefree attitude and garbage personality"

"It was nice knowing you, Cynth"

"Don't you dare call me that"

Thomas jerks out of the cushion and exits silently. Hearing of Cynthia's weeping reminds him of Julianna's, making him more hollow than ever. He thought that disconnecting from Cynthia would detach his past from his present, but it only amplified it even further. Thomas' world is caving on him and the pressure cannot stop. Any attempt at peace ends in conflict and turmoil for him. Outside in the cool air, he shouts, "You win! I give in..." He bends down on his knees and cries for forgiveness or repentance.

Now truly alone with no one to guide him in the right direction, he feels real isolation. No man, woman, or child will come to his aid ever again. Until it's all taken away, he could not fathom such a harsh reality; nobody could. There is no way from suffering and Thomas cannot spend another second bathing in this depressive and faltering state. He is done with the cruelty transposed onto a man who only sought approval from a judgmental jury of Strangereal.

Present

With one foot over, Thomas feels the force of gravity try to push him down. He wants to join this presence and embrace its influence, but his body adamantly holds back. Frustrated, he exclaims, "Let me go! Please just let me find some happiness!" His face is completely covered in tears, which stick to his beard and stubble. Trying to claim freedom, he ultimately fails in doing so. Tired, he steps away and climbs back over. Once again on the street, he lays on the hard surface. Before gaining the energy to try again, he feels a buzz in his pocket. At first reluctant, he takes his phone out and looks at the burning screen. On it, a single notification appears:

"From: Julianna Collins
We need you, Ladde. I need you. Call me when available"

Oskarheim