Synchronized clocks tick off the seconds harmoniously. One on each end of the wall. A calming metronome to the young man lying on top of the stairs, limbs sprawled out. Heaven is the weightlessness he feels, Hell is solid ground that beckons to him a promise of fulfillment, only to grant him a sharp fist.
Lies. His eyelids snap closed as he savors the silence, the empty energy that consumes him. The nothingness, the faces and places, the laughter, and words. Everything and nothing. He wishes to wilt into the wood, to fade beautifully away into the abyss, and find his light in that pitch blackness.
Alone and wracked with complete helplessness, Andrew at last let the dam break down behind his eyes, a fire igniting inside of his chest so besieging that it nearly killed him on the spot. He'd always assumed it was where he would perish, as this place held up more than just the walls with their ageless clocks and antiques. In every crack in the tile, every layer of dust that coated his bookshelves held the remnants of what was once a boy he thought he knew.
A disposition that everyone around him envied. It all was still there and would always be even after he met his fate. Pages of his life, albeit out of order, would be found by a curious stranger, looking them over in confusion. He’d always thought that no one was really ever completely gone and that no matter who they were, there was some trace of them left behind.