HUMAN SPIRIT

HUMAN SPIRIT; Ch. 1

Julius' nose started bleeding.

"Ugh," he said, noticing the blood. With a clatter he dropped the paint brush to the floor, the remnants of black acrylic splattering on hardwood, and he rushed out of the room for something to stopper the bleeding. Through the hall, down the stairs. He quickly made his way into the kitchen all while deliberately ignoring whatever it was he just experienced, ripped off a piece of paper towel from the roll. He dabbed at his nostril and pulled it away to see a deep red clinging to the white cloth, and there lied the proof that this assault was real, that it wasn't a hallucination or a dream. He could still feel the echo of that all-over sensation, like dropping a hundred meters into water, like getting the wind knocked out of him. He leaned against the kitchen's island and put the paper towel down, shut his eyes. The tile was cool and, if only for a moment, distracting.

He tried not to think about it, but already he was already optioning theory after his theory in his head like a madman. It was evident in his pulsing skull, his fast-beating heart: this was no minor error of conscience. This was the world's singular, momentary cry, and he was privy to it. There was no explanation for why it happened, except perhaps he was losing his mind, or lost it long ago. He leaned over the counter so far that his heart should've poured out of his chest.

As if on cue, his home phone started ringing. First from the nearest telephone installed right there on the wall, a plain landline in teal. Then the living room phone started going off, and the upstairs phone as well. Usually Julius was the type to answer immediately, concerned that the insistent ring would wake up the entire forest crowding his home, but today was not that day. It felt good, to hear something tangibly next to him, and the longer it rang the more grounded he felt in his own skin. When it went so long that he nearly forgot someone was hoping he'd answer, it went to voicemail, a long beep echoed from room to room. Voicemail.

"Hey. Julius. It's me, Mari," it started, and Julius immediately perked up. Mari, or Mariana, was his older sister, and a middle child, too. He hadn't heard from her in so long. He felt himself move to pick up the phone, but there was an anxiety there, in responding. He didn't know what he'd say, or how he'd feel. For all he knew, he might spill about his brush of omnipotence to her, and that would sound like insanity. He couldn't trust himself to be casual. Instead, he relished in the affection and uncertain pauses his sister took to form her thoughts. "I... uh, I hope you're doing alright. You know I'm not good with calling, so maybe text me or message me when you have the chance. I just figured since we haven't spoken in a while we could catch up. It'd be nice to hear your voice, you know. But... um, talk to you later., I guess. Love you."

Julius and his siblings were complicated. He and Mariana were always in a mad rush to prove themselves, off in separate corners of the world learning their trades, and it was only once in a blue moon that they ever had their long late-night calls. This could've been one of those moments, and in a panic to appear sane, he regrettably let it go. It would've been a much easier decision if it were his brother, Claudius, who tried to contact him. Julius had a plan for that - answer the call and hang up immediately, or something more passive, like simply refusing to hear anything he had to say. Life was better without Claudius because all of their conversations ended with brotherly condescension and disappointment. Join dad's business, he'd insist. People need paper, not art, he'd drone on. Claudius would reliably badger Julius with the same exact speech of just how rewarding a lower-tier managerial position could be, and it never worked. In a way, Julius wished it was him who'd been ringing.

The world considerably settled down after his sister ended the message, but the following quiet felt disconcerting, unwelcome. Like the house were too large and everything between the floor and the rafters stood watching him, judging him. He left the kitchen and loitered in the bare living room, saw that this once-familiar place of comforting solitude now radiated something worse: loneliness. It was just him and the future, and for many of miles, nothing but trees. It was a shocking and inexplicable difference in tone that left him standing there in silence. He could linger for hours if the world left him uninterrupted.