Yellow

Inspired by "Yellow" by Coldplay

"Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones.

Turn it into something beautiful.

Do you know for you I bleed myself dry?

For you I bleed myself dry."

They say 150,000 people die everyday around the world. Some of them peacefully in their sleep surrounded by love, and flowers, and fat, happy grandchildren. Some of them in accidents that will be categorized as "tragic". A few by their own hand. And still others brutally murdered by the monsters of this Earth.

I used to wonder where they went after they died. There's a moment just before they're gone when their eyes are open, seeming to stare into something beyond that no one else can see. Something past all the pain and fear. Something serene. Tranquil. And then in the next second, they're just gone. The body remains, but whatever it is that made them who they were is just… not in existence anymore. Maybe it never was. Hard to say really until you're one of them. I can remember thinking as soon as my knees hit the cold cement floor that I wouldn't have to wonder about such things too much longer.

I was a monster once. Well, a lot more than once really. On some level I understand completely why it is that I have to die, and even welcome it to an extent. After all the things I've done I might even deserve this. I just wish that it didn't have to be him that finally gets me. An almost identical monster wearing another costume. They'll call him a hero for this. It's kind of ironic really.

Bennet doesn't miss a beat as he yanks my head back by the hair, jerking it by the roots until my chin juts upward just the way he wants it. He's been waiting for this a long time. The day he could catch the tiger by the toe and make him holler. Or at least a watchmaker from Queens, New York, helpless to stop him. And he has no intention of ever letting me go.

Does he remember that he was the one to make me this way? Does he think about it everyday the way I do that if he had just let me stop when I wanted to that none of this would have had to happen? Probably not. He never was very big on the whole picture. But then again, if they hadn't come barging into my life that day I never would have met her.

I think I can hear that smug grin spread across his face as my executioner presses the tip of an old rusting box cutter to my throat. The man's hands grip like a bear and I know it's pointless to struggle. As long as I'm alive he'll never stop. At least Elle got away. At least when I'm gone she'll have a chance at that "normal" life. At least I won't have to worry about tetanus. I'd laugh if I could. Noah won this battle, but even in death I'm still winning the war.

The blade is dull and it hurts a hell of a lot more than I thought it would when the metal tears a gaping hole across the cartilage protecting my esophagus, effectively severing my trachea in the process. I'm not just going to bleed out. I'm going to slowly suffocate to death while blood pours into my lungs. Vindictive jackass.

Over the course of the last two years or so I've been in a lot of pain. I've been shot at. I've been punched frequently. Been dragged off the top of a building for a friendly meeting with the sidewalk. Hit over the head with a parking meter. I've been poisoned, stabbed, sliced, burnt, broken, and probed. And then brought back again to live it over and over. Hell, I've even been run through with a samurai sword. That was a doozy. At least I was unconscious for most of that particular experience.

But this, falling face forward into the rough grain of the cement to drown in a pool of my own blood. This hurts more than all of that. I was supposed to live forever so death by box cutter wasn't exactly on the list of things to be expected. Even in that moment when we discovered that we were free from our abilities; free to start over and live our lives as we wanted to instead of how the Company had driven us, how our families and the world around us had shuffled us along, it wasn't supposed to end like this.

All I want to do is swallow. Swallow and breathe. Two conflicting bodily functions that repeat in futility and I can't make it stop. Shock has set in so the pain has subsided somewhat, but I can still hear the slushy gurgling as my lungs continue to attempt expanding in vain, and I know it won't be much longer. Bennet's gone. His shoes are shuffling off into the distance while grit sinks into the beds of my fingernails that are scratching at the floor outside of my control. It's sort of rude that he didn't stay to watch the fruits of his labor or wonder where I'm going. At least I had that much respect the people I killed.

"Gabriel?"

Elle?

"Oh my God, Gabriel…"

No. No, don't watch this.

I can almost feel her hands. They're running through my hair and trying to turn the body over, getting sticky with blood that doesn't belong to her. "No, Gabriel, hang on. Please hang on. Don't go."

Don't cry.

Her tears and fingers are falling down the sides of my face like ghosts. It's so cold. Not even like mid-winter in New York cold, but something more penetrating than bone deep.

Her hair is spiraling down around her face the way it did when she spent the better part of a day attempting to electrocute me. It's getting tangled and dirty, tinged with pink from the blood the strands have gathered brushing over me. And it's beautiful. The florescent lights overhead are harsh to look at, but the glow they're casting around the crown of her head is like a halo. Oddly fitting since the first time I saw her she was like an angel. Forget swallowing. Forget breathing. All I want to do is wipe the tears away so that I can see those big blue… storming oceans she has for eyes one last time. Touch her one last time.

And then the exhausting burn of oxygen deprived lung tissues fades away. The lights have gone out. She wasn't supposed to be here to see Elvis leave the building. "Gabriel… Gabriel? Gabriel!"

I just need to close my eyes for a second. Just for a second. So tired.

Her voice is drifting. She's hitting me with everything she's got. Pulling me into her. Probably wishing she could shock the hell out of me as she does it. Not that I could feel it anymore. It's strange, and a little disorienting becoming so disconnected to the body that doesn't quite feel like mine anymore. Letting go.

Maybe that's the key. Letting go. Finality. Knowing that the fighting and running are done. Knowing that Bennet can't follow me anymore. Knowing that the Company can't hurt me anymore. Knowing that the hunger is dying with me. No more faces to haunt me, reminding me of everything I've done wrong. No more manipulations. No more lies. No more pain. No fear. Done. I'm free.

For as long as I can remember I've heard about the light at the end of the tunnel. I know that it's really just the mix of hormones being released in conjunction with the firing of neurons in the brain making their last stand. I know it's just the endorphins bringing on this strange sense of… peace. There's something beautiful about the mechanics of finality. But as much as I know there's just as much unexpected.

"No! No, Gabriel, don't leave me."

It's okay. I'm ready to go. You're safe now. Everything is going to be just fine…

And then it's all spiraling away into the light and the warmth of the sunshine pouring down on my face. Leaning back in the swing, feeling the clink of chains in my fists as my legs kick as high as they can go, and she's pushing me up, upward into that clear blue sky. It's safe here where my mother is laughing. Her long dark hair curls over her shoulders in the breeze framing a wide smile and deep brown eyes. The whole world laughs with her in the flowers.

"I love you, Gabriel."

I love you too, Mommy.

"Anthropomorphic." A sea of faces are looking on. Watching. Waiting. Expecting. My heart is set to beat free from my chest under the bright stage lights, but this is one time I know that I've got it in the bag. I close my eyes, suck in that sweet auditorium air of victory to savor the taste. "A-N-T-H-R-O-P-O-M-O-R-P-H-I-C. Anthropomorphic." They're clapping. Clapping and cheering. For me.

"I knew you could do it, Gabriel," she gushes, wrapping me up in her arms with a brand new trophy that even has my name engraved on it. I had never seen Virginia so proud of me. If just for that one night it was enough. "You're my special boy."

I know.

This piece goes here. That connects to that, and now the hose has to wrap around there. Maybe the other guys in high school don't get me. Or the girls in all their short skirted glory for that matter. But machines… Parts and interlocking mechanisms. Engines. They get me. And I understand them. There's no telling how many nights I had spent cramped beneath a shoddy flood light dangling from a clothes hanger elbows deep in the brain of the car. That first spine-tingling turn of the key that brought it roaring to life though, that made it worth every summer job dime and crack on the head I took from the falling hood. A backfiring rust bucket had been magically transformed into a rumbling speed machine of greatness, and it was all by my hands. There's a level of satisfaction in that knowledge that can never be found with a dollar. Careening down the open highway, all fresh air and freedom, to a place where no one knows your name… That might be a different matter. Especially when it eventually leads you to parking on a moonlit bluff with a girl that understands every word of your dissertation.

She was the only one that didn't laugh when I walked straight into that opening door. And tripped over the gluttonous feet of some football scholarship-bound tool. And stuttered my way through undergrad lectures. She did smile though. Always. I'd look up with nerves in my throat and she'd be waiting with that little reassurance that to at least one person on the planet I wasn't the biggest dork to have ever walked. To her I was cool. I mattered.

"You're kind of brilliant, you know?" she says like it should be well established fact. I forgot what it was that I had been saying when she leans in, the pale ambience of the night sky seductively playing across her features. She has no idea how much it means to me when she slides her fingers through my hair and presses her lips to mine that first time.

Thank you.

Thirty-one years worth of experience and the things I choose to remember…

Childhood trauma, emotional and social neglect, playground bullies, abusive mothers, intricately crafted watches, genetic scientists and the abilities that they search for, blood, murder, mayhem, fate, time, disease, lies, failures, and the hunt, they stop mattering the day that Elle walks into my life. An impossibly wild beauty with a carefully guarded softness that I'm lucky enough to be allowed to see. A force of nature with love in her heart that could overflow and envelope if given half a chance. The rest of my life be damned because there is only her face to see. She's all that matters in the end.

Elle saving me, not just from myself, but from a hopeless existence with a few kind words. Giving me a sense of purpose that I could be "special" to another person. That I was enough. The intent setting of her mouth as she listened to whatever I had to say with rapt attention regardless of subject. The way she would reach over and touch my hand if the words caught in my throat. She smiles and she laughs. Never at me, but with me. For every shy glance and nerve botched joke, she's there, with that shining smile that lights up the air around her like the sun and that laugh that I know will eventually turn into the most adorable of embarrassing snorts.

She understands what it's like to bare the burden of power that is just as much in control of us as we are of it. One, singular, cruel thought, just a flash of ill intent is all it takes to ruin a life. It's a heavy weight to carry on your shoulders, but the restraint it takes to override it is greater.

Elle can be cruel. She doesn't try to hide it. Doesn't feign or try to be more than the human she is. But however her motivations lead her, she's never cruel with me. Not really. Just a sympathetic soul looking for the acceptance that I, myself have craved since times forgotten.

There's the feeling of her fragile fingers twining within my own. The touch of silky soft skin. The light that reflects off the flesh of her body, shining. The gentle heat that rolls out from that internal glow, and a scent like fresh air after a summer storm. That priceless gasp that slips unbidden from luscious lips as our bodies meet for the first time.

She moves like water. Slow. Soft. Loving in her caresses. Never in my life has a hardwood floor been so damn enjoyable.

I love you.

Life spirals out again into the gentle heat of coastal sunlight. The lawn is lush and green, smooth like carpet beneath my feet and tickling the spaces between my toes as I stand at the grill. Steaks are sizzling over the coals and high-pitched giggles of glee sound. Elle holds her hand over her eyes to protect them from the light as she pushes the grinning toddler in his swing. A bouncing boy with eyes like melted chocolate and his mother's beaming smile.

Noah, I shake my head and chuckle to myself for the irony of the name as I lay my son down for the night. But if it wasn't for the infamous Company man I wouldn't be here, pulling the blankets up to his chin and drinking in the smells of tear-free bubble bath. Elle comes up to my side to say goodnight, but by the firm touch she places on my chest I know that isn't the only reason she's there. Noah's bedtime story may have to be a short one.

Her laughter fills the halls of our Costa Verde home as I chase her towards our bedroom. Usually it's not a thought that we like to dwell on since settling down, but the occasional game of hunter and hunted doesn't hurt the spark in our marriage.

Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering how we got here. What did we do to deserve this life? My fingers draw aimless designs in the milk of her skin, illuminated by the moonlight filtering into the bedroom. She rolls over with a smile, much more awake than I thought. My angel with the endless ocean depths for eyes, and the most sensual of arches to the curvature of her back.

Is this heaven?

We watch our son grow into a man of his own. He flashes a familiar smirk when I toss him the keys to the car for the first time - only after Elle gives him the lecture about treating his date for the evening with respect of course. He grins like that again when I hand him the tickets to a wonderfully remote island resort for his honeymoon. On the dance floor of the reception area she's never looked more beautiful. She has a few more strands of gray than there used to be; something she never ceases to tease me about. But the electric blue hue of her dress ignites her ever sharp eyes, even with the delicate crinkling in the skin around them.

I can't help but chuckle at the scowl she gives me when she catches me sneaking sweets into the grocery cart. Apparently she's developed a problem with the thought of me having health issues. One measly heart attack and she'll never let me forget it. Elle's been pushing green leafy things,, and all manner of soy at me ever since. I barely get to reach for the bag of cheese puffs before I hear her, "Don't even think about it." It's not easy for a man that used to have near demi-god like power to submit to the superiority of the mighty cholesterol.

Presents overflow the girth of even our bountiful Christmas tree. I'm fairly sure that we had agreed to some kind of dollar amount limit, but once Elle runs away with my wallet and our brood of grandchildren in mind, there's no stopping her. Laughter rings throughout the house amidst the cacophony of celebrating voices. Delicious food scents waft from the kitchen where Elle and the daughter-in-laws have collaborated to create a feast worth the envy of every neighbor we have. She doesn't even slap my hand away when I know she sees me smuggling ham and cookies onto my plate. A little holiday treat won't hurt. Not that she could resist my debonair charms for long. Or at least the influence of the guilty pout.

This is all that matters.

The eclipse taking place overhead subsides and all that had been, all that could have been is stolen away by the undeniable will of a regeneration that knows no end. Heaven casts me out with first breath of lungs reborn. All that keeps me from crying out with the pain of it is the expectant pair of storming blue eyes awaiting me on the other side.

They say that 150,000 people die everyday around the world. But I'm not one of them. Not today.

The end.