"What could be worse than not seeing you smile again."
"Frank," I called elongating the end.
I heard him rustle slightly in his bed, frustratingly he ceased. Before long his answer came; vexed as I predicted.
"I'm not lying to you, I wouldn't you know that..."
"Gerard," He took a long sighing breath, "I know, it's just-"
"You don't know what's going on with me, well," I stopped, taking my own stretched breath, "I don't know myself to be honest, I can't explain it."
"I trust you'll make sense of it."
"Yeah, I do to."
Rolling over I closed my eyes for sleep. Frank wished me a goodnight and I returned the phrase. I nestled deeply into my pillow; soon the room stood quiet and still.
My eyes shot open; lifting my head I looked to Frank. Nothing. He had uttered nothing; he slept, still and motionless. The whispering had returned, slightly louder then the last encounter I had made with it the previous night. There were faint words I only guessed to the pronunciation but alas my ears failed me. I tried to stay stiff; stifling myself of air I attempted to heighten my sense of sound. It worked variedly; making out only the words just and / go/. I left my bed and took to the outside; grabbing my sketch pad and smokes. Once out on a balcony I pulled a cigarette from my digressing pack and lit up. Taking a long heeded drag my body relaxed; feeling the nicotine pour over me moving throughout my bloodstream. Once my hands ceased to tremble I looked skywards and spotted a brightly lit moon casting dusk like shadows upon my body. Reaching hastily for my drawings I flipped to a new sheet and began to sketch. Coarsely a figure appeared through my work, he lay tall on my canvas with pale skin; no eyes graced his face. I wondered about this man I created, he interested me so. A window opened behind me, I heard my brothers footsteps.
"Gerard?" He croaked.
I looked up to him, he had enter my hideaway through an adjacent window from the loft door. Mikey stood in loose shirt and tight boxers; half asleep rubbing at his eyes.
"I couldn't sleep," I said into my drawing as I returned to it.
Mikey took a seat next to my side; he leaned into me laying his head upon my shoulder. I heard him audibly yawn. I sighed and reached for another smoke.
"Can you wait till I'm gone," He murmured staring absently through closed eyes.
"Sure," I replied placing my pack at my right knee.
I went back to my drawing.
"Where are his eyes?" My brother questioned.
Looking to him I saw his eyes trace the dark face, he searched for the body part intricately.
"He doesn't have any."
I looked out into the skyline, slowly I turned my face back to my paper.
"Because," I began, "because, he's asleep."