Young Writers Society

It’s a beautiful day today. Maybe not everyone has the same opinion as me but I find beauty in it, so that’s what matters most. The sky isn’t sunny at all, quite the opposite, it’s raining today and I can hear all the little drops falling outside, the water on the windows distorting the view of the outside. Everything is just a little out of focus, but I like to consider this to just be an alternative view… looking out a window on a sunny and a rainy day are both different, context wise at least, but the beauty in it is the same, I hope you can understand that much at least.

Still, I’ve got more things to do than just stare out into the world, I look in the mirror, a normal reflection of a twisted self, a body with a mind not belonging. Friendly yet handsome, as always. Being handsome isn’t beautiful, even if most find it aesthetically pleasing, what’s in the mind is what matters most to me and in that sense I’m probably putrid. Still, nothing to worry about, an inner ugliness still has a deeper beauty if you look into it. But maybe that beauty yet reveals more ugliness, not that it matters.

I get dressed, with a set of clothes that I had bought using cash years ago. This is my first time wearing any of these. While putting on my black coat I thought about the irony of the situation, both the man who made this and the store I bought it from are dead. I had it specially made for myself, every person aware of this coat’s origins are dead, apart from me of course. And the same applies for everything I’m wearing right now. If someone were to ask me where they could get clothes like mine there would be no answer to give, there is no trace of an origin, no source, only me. Tragic really, but that’s the beauty in it. Its origins have already passed and yet just now have I started using them for the first time, and for the last time too really.

Black coat, black pants, black shirt, black hat, black shoes, black socks, black glasses, black gloves. It’s like I’m dressed for the funeral of their maker, which seems apt for today. I grab a suitcase, black of course, that I prepared last night. It has the same origin and usage as the rest of my outfit.

I leave my home, I consider driving but I decide to walk instead, the rain is comforting to me and getting stuck in traffic just isn’t for me. The streets are mostly empty, people like to get into cover when it rains, the city filled with an overabundance of cars, on my way I manage to pass by a car accident, or just the result of one, I wondered for a bit if the person survived… if he lived or died, both of them have a beauty to it in possibility. The effect of facing your own death like that and surviving can be an unforgettable experience, a kiss with death… but death itself can prove different, perhaps the hardships faced by their loved ones will be worth it? Likely not, but the same underlying message of perseverance gives beauty to it nevertheless.

The city is the same as always, loud and buzzing with lights, usually I’d hear the chatter of people too but I’m content with the sound of cars. Some people find the constant noise horrible but there’s something to it… but I assume my thoughts on automobiles aren’t entertaining enough to focus on right now, so I just carry on with my walk, getting closer to my destination already.

I see a little boy and a little girl playing, guess the rain doesn’t bother them either. Are they siblings, cousins, friends? Who knows, all that matters is the sight, an interpretation of childish joy in the rain, it makes me smile really, it’s something about humanity in this situation. Of course you could wonder certain things like where their parents are, I don’t see anyone supervising, the kids are playing awfully close to the road, all that needs to happen is a couple mistakes for this joy to turn to tragedy. Not my problem I suppose, I walk by them without saying a word.

Finally I arrive at my destination, a regular apartment building, nothing too impressive, but what matters is who lives here. I already memorized the password to enter the building, 140695, the 14th of june 1995, the date likely has some hidden symbolism for whoever put the password. I would wish to know that meaning one day but I likely never will, best to leave it for the imagination. This building isn’t perfect, it’s old, and far past its prime. But there’s a beautiful charm to that, the decay has such a history. This building tends to get complaints of having faulty tech working on it, just last week it was found out that the cameras don’t function at all when it’s raining, something about a leak.

I make my way up the stairs, I don’t particularly trust the elevator here, and some exercise is never bad for you so why not. I consider the reality of myself as I go up, step by step, the building feels empty, not many people live here, but there’s still just one that matters, he isn’t here yet, he should be in college at the moment, so I will be waiting for him a while. Winton Rayne is his name, an absolute saint of a person from the little I’ve interacted with him. Everyone likes the guy, he’s perfect as can be.

I’m here, 6th floor, to my right is his door, locked of course, right next to the door is a potted plant, I can tell it’s well taken care of, I suppose Rayne must have an interest in plants, good for him. I pick up the pot with the plant and fish my hand below it. I believe there should be a spare key taped there. It takes me a second or two but yes, it’s there. I grab it and quickly unlock the door, tape the key right back to where it was, and leave the pot as it was. Quite a neat spot for a key, most people wouldn’t bother checking that.

I open the door and come in, locking it behind me. Despite the building itself being terribly maintained, the apartments do seem to look fine. Or at least Rayne manages to make it look good. Everything is nice and tidy, the walls are painted with a comforting cream. If I had to describe the apartment with one word, that’d be it, comforting. Or maybe comfortable, or homely? Any of them work. Furniture all looks excellent, if not somewhat cheap, and my hunch about him liking plants seemed to be true, there’s quite a variety of them laid about, but not enough to be intrusive. The plants seem to have little name tags attached to them too, a particularly pretty one, with purple flowers all around seems to be called Sorru. Not exactly a typical name for a plant but what is? All these plants are so beautiful but they’re not what I’m here for.

I’m here out of a principle of curiosity, I am not allowed to be here but yet I am. I hold not a bit of ill will towards the man, quite the opposite in fact. We had a single conversation around a month ago which was the highlight of my day. He spoke with an earnest glee and he listened with such attentiveness when I spoke. I was unhappy that day, but he managed to cheer me up, he never met me before we talked at that bar. He could tell I was alone and left his group of friends to chat with me, for a whole hour he stuck around, chatting and laughing with me. He convinced me to stop drinking for the night and to go home, he offered a ride to my home but I refused. That was it, that was the one moment we had together. There's beauty in the little things like that, it was just an hour of his time which impacted me so severely, that led me to be happier, which improved me, which led me here now. The side effects of kindness spread far and that’s beautiful, though I suppose this is more of a consequence.

I decide to stop my thought process and just go to his room. There’s not much to discuss seeing it however. He has a small bed, another arrangement of plants and flowers, a desk with a computer on it that seems to be half a decade old, a bookshelf, and a couple nightstands. It’s a neat room I suppose, there’s no natural source of light entering it so I wonder how the plants manage, they still look beautiful however.

I really wish to understand him better, what makes Rayne tick, what is it that motivates him to act as he does, and is he as perfect as he truly seems. A good way to figure this out would be to see what types of books he reads. He has quite the collection and thankfully they’re all neatly organized. First section all seem to be books on botany, which is at the very least consistent. Second section is more special however, mental health books, anxiety, therapy, self help, handling grief… the self help books seem to have the most wear.

Third section seems to be sci-fi stories, there’s not much of a meaning I can make about these, the mundanity of their existence contrasts against the sadness of the second section. Maybe there’s a case to be made for escapism as a theme. Fourth and final section, nearing the end already, this one seems far less focused, just a collection of different books with no real connection to one another. African history, a history on taxation, ethics and morality, a couple queer romance books, etcetera.

Maybe if I were to read all these books I’d understand his mindset better but I simply don’t have the time. I do feel closer to him though. On that note, it's to my understanding that he should now be heading home from college though as it’s a rainy day it’ll be a while.

I should keep looking while I have the time here. The nightstand has some drawers on it so of course I just have to look in them. The first drawer has nothing in it, it’s completely empty. Though not dusty, he seems to clean it at least. The second just has… unmentionables, nothing to comment on there. The second nightstand has two more drawers. First one is interesting, a gun. I waste no time grabbing the gun for myself, the first thing I notice is that it’s unusually dusty, guess he doesn’t maintain it. I’ve used this gun before, a glock 19. It’s a functional enough weapon, my assumption with him is that he bought it for self defense, just in case anyone breaks into his home late at night, still uncharacteristic of him not to clean it, or perhaps it's just right in character that it’s not. Maybe he hates the sight of the weapon so much he prefers not to look at it unless absolutely necessary, though he still bought it didn’t he?

I’m experienced enough to tell that the gun is fully loaded via the weight… I’m starting to get an idea of what I really want here. I carefully let out all the bullets into my hands, they too look dusty and old. Not much to comment on here, I put the gun back into the drawer and close it. As if nothing had been moved.

One last drawer to look through now and this one is at least interesting. A couple school related things, notes from school staff, one of those graduation books which has little tidbits about the whole class. I open it and search in alphabetical order until I find Rayne. He looks much the same as he does now, though maybe a little more awkward. Most likely to become president, valedictorian, kindest man award… I don't think that’s a real award but maybe he deserved it. A couple written notes from classmates and staff which all seem to be in high praise, both of his academic prowess and overall good as a person. I’m satisfied with what I’ve learned here already. I leave the book behind and close the drawer before heading back out. At this point I don’t have much to do but wait for him to come, maybe I can wonder and reach another “beautiful” realization as I always do but I’m sure you’re tired of that word already.

I stop by his kitchen and look at all the utensils. There’s not too many here, it seems to be that he doesn’t have guests often. Anything over a group of five people and there’s not enough forks around. I think he manages well enough as it is. Rethinking it all I think that while he greatly enjoys helping people out he also seeks to be alone sometimes, I can understand the sentiment. In that sense this home is a safe haven for him, for his eyes only. That’s why everything is so comforting here, endless kindness must be exhausting. I think that’s the final touch, I think I finally figured it out, I understand him now, and what it took for me was to look at a couple forks, the beauty of the mundane really is something indescribable. I feel a connection between me and him, one sided of course, he likely has forgotten me already. In my mind, he is complete now.

I leave the kitchen, everything is as it should be, and head to the last notable section of the apartment, on the opposite end of Rayne’s room is another room. I assume this was supposed to be a guest room but it’s notably dull. It’s still clean however, which is a meaningful detail, even a completely unused room is handled with care here. So here I am, lying down on a bed that likely was never slept on wearing clothes never worn before today. Both the first and last use of two vastly different things. I’m sure there’s a symbolism somewhere there and I think that’s beautiful. A resonance with death is it not?

The bed isn’t anything special, it’s cheaply made but it’s comfortable enough for that not to matter. All just perfect. I start to think about Rayne more, how much of an effect has he had on the world around him. I’m sure everyone around the few surrounding blocks know him, were I to ask those two children I saw playing earlier I’d likely get a good response. He always tells you his name and even if your interactions with him are brief, he was just so memorable that you’d likely never forget him. An act of kindness goes a long way does it not? I wonder just how many people he’s helped out there, I wonder if he knows just how much he helps, I wonder.

He’ll be here soon, very soon, I can feel it. And so I open up my suitcase, I’ve got to get ready for him after all. I think to myself however, I could leave couldn’t I? Skip any wrongful interactions, I could move on with my day having learned all I needed to. Perhaps I could move on from Rayne forever, or talk with him in a more regular arrangement, we could be friends, we could be more. But no, I already know what I’m here to do, everything has been planned out. I hear the elevator ding, I take a deep breath, I get up from the bed, I grab my dagger.