Fourth Night

Jet stood in front of the mirror, his hair still wet, shiny like lacquered mahogany. Razor in hand he contemplated the fastest way to end it. The steam was warm, he read that it hurt less if it was warm, almost like slicing through a delicate veil. Holding the blade to his wrist, he pressed lightly. It was a good blade, happy and sharp, it knew what Jet wanted to do. It anticipated its fine quick dance across the peach skin of its holder and it would sing a happy song of red.

Jet held the blade tight and looked at himself in the mirror. Longing honey black eyes, sad eyes his friends called them, stared back at him. He wondered if those eyes were really his. Was the man in the mirror the same man holding the razor?

He sighed, and in a split second, he let the razor swim on his skin. His enjoyment in pain lasted in a small second that seemed to melt into a slow beautiful forever. But even that momentary joy ended like so many things in his life and Jet pulled the sharpness away from him.

The man in the mirror, boy more like it, laughed at him. He made no sound, but he could feel it. It was not him in the mirror, it was something else, something deeper that hid itself in the darkness of his mind. A deep despair that nestled itself into Jet, that was who was looking back at him.

A knock on the bathroom door, rushing him to finish up. Jet was going to be late. He turned on the blow dryer and all he heard was the roaring of the fan.

It was going to be another painful day. He didn't know when the pain would end.

And for a split second, he enjoyed the pain.

Third Night

Aidan slept on his large bed, looking to the side where his love once slept. His bed that he and — he couldn't even think of his name, afraid that he'd end up crying asleep again— had chosen now seemed too big just for one person. Or maybe he wasn't just used to sleeping alone.

It was the small insignificant moments he missed. The soft breathing of him next to Aidan, the funny occasional roll over onto his chest, the cuddling, and most of all the warmth he gave Aidan. They always told you to appreciate the small things in your life and Aidan treasured it all. It just turns out that his ex had found someone else. Aidan turned to the side and sighed, what else did he want? What more could've he given him? He paid for almost everything and never did he ever thank him. Ungrateful.

But there was a part of him that still loved him. Against all logic and reason, he still felt a slight tinge in his heart.

He turned on his lamp and opened a small drawer next to his bed. After pulling out some irrelevant papers from school, he found a wooden box with a beautiful ornamental latch on it. Stroking it affectionately, he remembered when this gift was given.

A gift, given in the cold of December, in front of his friends at a Christmas party. Open the box, the real present is inside, he said with an almost hungry echo in his voice.

And he did, that night and this night, he opened the brass latch that looked as though a master carpenter had labored over it for hours. A small plastic bag with fuzzy green herb, an ornate lighter, and a glass pipe sat in the box, waiting for Aidan to pick them up. They spoke to him in silent vibrations, luring him in to touch them, to love them, to kiss and breathe them in.

That night in the mirth of the holidays, Aidan remembered the hungry look in his eyes. It was his gift, but it looked as though his ex bought it for himself. And being considerate, Aidan gave his ex the first puff.

This night, he sat in his bed, with the company of his blankets, a lamp, the mess on the floor, and the gentle moonlight, and took a deep breath in. The heady smoke filled the air and his lungs.

Hold it in...

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

He could count to thirty if he tried.

He only made it to ten. Noticing the rivulets that flowed down his cheek, he coughed out the smoke. Aidan looked at the ghostly smoke of his gift and swore that it looked like his ex, his sweet face with his cold eyes and deceiving smile. And as Aidan reached out to touch this apparition, it vanished into the moonlight that danced into room.

He took another puff, looking for that same ghost.

Second Night

           He dreamt in shades of gray. Like a grainy black and white film, the pictures moved silently. He knew what they were saying, like a script. A happy story.

           But every dream has to end and this one did too. Dreams are cruel, he thought as he sat up in his bed, alone for the first time in two years.

           Jet remembered the dream so well. It felt more like real life that reality did. Picturesque and sweet. He dreamt of himself sleeping softly in the gentle light of the morning sun. His lover at his side, beckoning Jet to rise with the sun. He warned Jet that he would be late, nudging him ever so slightly. His touch was like a warm fire against Jet's cold skin, a fire that would melt his soul ever so sweetly, like ice cream left in the sunlight too long. And like ice cream, Jet would melt at his touch. His lover straddled onto of him playfully and told him to get up, but not before kissing him. Ask Jet what the perfect morning tastes like and he would say his love's honey lips.

           And that's when he awoke from his dream. Nightmare more like it. Looking to his side, where his love should be sleeping was now empty save for the blankets that wandered over there. Jet sighed and slipped some pillows underneath the blankets. It wasn't much of a body, but it would comfort him for the rest of the night. Jet cried as he held onto the pillows, craving for love, craving that he had someone to tell him “I love you,” desperately clawing at one another in the dark embrace of the blankets just to feel, feel each other, feel not alone.

           But he was alone.

First Night

           “I don't think its going to work out,” he said. Aidan couldn't hear anything else after that. His lips moving, flapping and flopping like fish in air, was all Aidan could see. Words uttered like “it was a good run” and something that resembled a “I love you” made him shiver. He felt sick.

           Aidan ran into the restroom and felt his dinner leave him. Was it the news or that weird chicken curry he had at that Indian restaurant?

           He stumbled out into the hall of his apartment. Who was this man who was talking to him? When did this man become so refined, eloquent, so different? His boyfriend— no wait, his ex— was an immature man, one who wouldn't act thankful for the gifts he received and wouldn't think twice before saying anything.

The man who was once a lover he knew stood up and made his way to the door. Aidan ran to him and held onto his arm. “But I still love you...” In this whole ordeal, this was the first time he cried. Trickles at first, they became hot salty rivers that flowed freely now. His chest ached, a slow bruising pain that transformed into a knife that ran into heart. Was it a heart attack, he thought to himself.

           “But I don't.”

There was the man he was in love with. Aidan gave his love to him, but Aidan saw it in his eyes. Those dead eyes, they said, I have found another, I never expected this to last this long, and thank you for wasting your time and money on me. He shook Aidan's hand off and turned. The door closed behind him and walked out of his life.

           There was the man he once loved. Ungrateful.

Intro: Zero Night

And in the fragile midnight, he looks at the night sky and hopes that someone else is looking with him... and looking for him.

If you've stumbled onto here for one reason or another, welcome.  Let's just say that Fragile Midnights is a compilation of my creative works.

Pretty easy to follow - the "Night" series are sequential.
It follows the life of two or three main people as well as touching into the lives of people.
As they say, "no man is an island."
The "Night" pieces play with this idea that people are islands to an extent, but connected on some deep level.  Similar feelings, regrets, nostalgia, the longing to belong, the longing to not be alone, people feels the same.
Despite following certain characters, each character leave ripples on those they pass and readers gain a deeper perspective on their thoughts, even if the main characters don't.
"Nights" is one of those, "I wonder what he/she/it is really thinking," moments.
Blah Blah Blah, enjoy.