FicWad

Night had fallen once more in the house. I had been laying in my bed watching light cast into westward skies. My room sat still, dark and cool. Frank entered stolidly, settling into the couch he was asleep without any acknowledgment of myself.

"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.

"Yes?"

"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."

"Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"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.

"J-just go."

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."

"Why?"

I looked out into the skyline, slowly I turned my face back to my paper.

"Because," I began, "because, he's asleep."