JACK FROST HITS HIM WITH a minus-degree slap on the face, congealing his eyelashes and his already crusty lips in an instant but Julius puffs a visible heatwave on his face -- not that he's uncomfortable with the cold but he's still in love with the torridness of his room -- and takes a step out of his compound and unto the pavement for the first time in a very long while.
The Christmas cheer in the air is just as thick as the horrible smog creeping into suburbia. All neighbouring houses have some colorful lights or the other on trees giving this street a semblance of the circus. Humans and their beliefs, mistletoes and love. Both organic and inorganic of those tufty twines adorn every picket fence which is rather ironic to be on his house where love doesn't exist. Must be Blinky's handiwork.
Finally picking what side to wander off, a snicker slips out of Julius. It's funny and kind of weird -- but everyone knows the Sullivan household is the origin of weirdness. His brother has a shopping list for the ingredients to cook up his boyfriend. His father, too. Un-fortunately, Abigail is inedible due to her morbus blood.
His home is full of demons. Ghosts that do not exist in his life, that's why he feels like Kevin in Home Alone on this Christmas night fated with dread. His irises switch color into a sad sanguine that x-rays into a blue bungalow across the street. It's bouncing up-and-down with sugary noise and all he sees is a redhead simulation of the Weasleys jollying all over a messed red velvet cake.
Oh how Julius loves red velvet.
And their sweetness is bothering him. Eating into him like a thorn of saccharine. He snaps his fingers and their Christmas tree -- stocked with stocked stockings -- lights up in crimson flames.
Much better. Their petrified screams; music to his ears.
Julius stuffs his hands into his pocket, pulls his head low and drags himself across the street. Everything just seem to tick him off. His nerve strings are so horny he might skin this innocent wiener dog licking his shoes.
A charcoal Chevrolet convertible cramped with some wild emos drunk off their black asses like skunks zoom past Julius, the back tires consequently drifting snow on his laps. His left eye twitches in annoyance, his irises reddens too, throwing that tire off its screws and the car crashes into a fire hydrant.
All calls, texts and visits from his friends have been ignored so far. Pharaoh and Gigi's numbers have been blacklisted that very day they called to ask about Ray's whereabouts -- the very fucking person who gave them his number will rot in Tartarus -- and even Jericho and the gang found a way to contact him. Julius just isn't in the mood to speak, meet or worstle, see anybody for like, forever.
No word from Ezra either.
Julius knows Ray paid him a visit. Stupid, naiive Ray. The nerve. Julius sighs, palming his temple. Too lazy, too miserable to think or ponder anything, he has had a leash on his mind for a long time now but he releases to find traces of none other than Abigail lurking within corners of his subconscious.
Julius still doesn't get this. Abigail actually betrayed her brother? Like, she found out that poinard all this while and kept quiet about it. She even had the guts to confront someone like Ian Sullivan and strike a deal with him. She loathed Ray all this while, and first the feeling was mutual -- with Julius that is.
Julius had despised Ray Ramirez. He might be caring and softhearted but beneath is a shadow of his superstratum. This shadow is pastel white with selfishness and avarice, impulsiveness and temerity. It's hard not to hate such a being. But now, now Julius is nothing but a model of obfuscation.
Now he wonders how Ray will taste. Will it be like the same as the damned rest or different on his tongue?
"Hark! The herald-angels sing,"
"Glory to the new born King,"
Julius's frozen brows furrow at the sonority of these lyrics and suddenly, he feels drawn to it. His feet pick up their pace on their own towards the source of the sound and seconds later, he's standing before an enormous Victorian building with a bell tower erect by its right side and a giant clock -- that says 9:25 am -- etched onto it.
"Late in time behold Him come,"
St. Andrews Catholic Church -- from the small billboard in front -- has streaks of electronic lights running throughout the scenery. Which is the only thing ramifying jocundity despite yuletide. Some children wearing masks and flashy electronic accessories of the season run past his startled figure.
"Offspring of a virgin's womb."
Mesmerized by the mise en scène and hypnotized by a strange sense of solace radiating from within the building, he trots mindlessly into it.
"Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;"
"Hail the incarnate Deity!"
It's bright. Very bright. More mistletoes and vines coupled with a peppermint theme is a sharp contrast to the old-maidishly Victorian style. Mosaics exhibiting some woman carrying a baby with a sun crown, twelve men and another bleeding man donning a crown of thorns on a cross are imbedded on ancient rust walls that polygonizes the perimeter into a latitudinous space. Pewing two-thirds of the area is rather impressive timberwork.
"Pleas'd as Man with man to dwell,"
Julius further into its odd warmness, chewing the insides of his mouth. His hands run across the pew beside him, feeling its summery smoothness. His ears finally nab the song filling the church and he traces it to a tall grey-haired lady making swing gestures with a stick, effectively managing the a capella sung by a group of children.
"Jesus, our Immanuel."
Julius thinks their singing is nice. He takes a seat four pews behind a bald, black woman scolding some emo guy -- judging from his skinned head in a bandana studded with shiny thorns -- who seems like he was tolled by a crane to be present in this church.
Julius scoffs and when he's sure nobody is looking, he conjures a fat tobacco stick out of thin air. Nothing like a beautiful cock of snuff to chill out this thick lump of anxiety blocking his nostrils. Somehow, he knows he doesn't belong here. But of course he can take a smoke here -- where-the-fuck-ever he likes -- and aren't Christians supposed to be accepting?
He is still twirling the stick in his fingers when he catches the disgusted gaze of the mocha-skinned lady. Julius sits back in amusement, assessing the manner in which she strangled her scalp with a yellow scarf. Her flabby lips look permanently worn into the fleshy frown she's sporting now.
Black people are so judgemental, thinks Julius while he levels her gaze with unyielding eyes and he almost doesn't notice the guy beside her.
"Hey!"
Julius chirps, waving his hand and consequently the cigarette in the air. The last time -- and only time -- he's met him was that wild visit to Diggs Digits where Rarity flipped the salon upside down like an angsty Tasmanian devil.
The guy blinks a several times before his dark eyes light up in realization but dims again in surprise. "Yo!"
"You know him?" The woman hisses, throwing Julius a distateful glare. "What have I told you to never mix with people like, like. . ."
"Uh?"
"Evil communication corrupts good manners." She pinches his earlobe and drags him out of the seat. "We're going home right now, Bartholomew."
"I've told many times Mom, it's Othello!"
Julius raises a brow, peeping giggles at the name. Othello shrugs apologetically. The woman curves her beeline upon nearing Julius's pew like he is infected with an airborne AIDS.
"Freaks," Julius mutters, lighting the cigarette head with his flaming fingertip. Sucking its narcotic vapor swarms his interiors with that soothing warmth that sinks him into his seat, his lids heavy watching the kids running between the pews.
Julius wonders, Can I ever be a kid again? Not having a care in the world. No bills to clear, no boos to pool, no blood to drench. That clean, innocent brain filled with superheroes, action figures, cereal gifts and cartoons, bedtime stories -- of course he never got the chance to experience those.
All centuries of his childhood was spent understanding that the basis of his essence and existence is death. Nothing more, just death. On his first 'birthday' celebrating 100 years was the first time he did worse than the mature scenes human parents prevent even their sixteen year olds from seeing.
A fit of sobs interrupt his thoughts and he notices an old redhead lady wailing out of this dark cubicle standing eerily at the right side of the church. Julius's curiosity heats up and soon does he find himself inches before the netted vinyl booth.
Taking one last deep puff of his cigarette, he makes it vanish and steps through the same opening the redhead came out from. This chamber is warmer than the rest of the church. A faint scent of polished wood and even a fainter one of incense linger.
"Welcome to His presence."
"Um okay?" What should he say? What is he doing? "Thank you, I guess." He assumes he should take the seat.
The gruff but strangely calming British accent says, "In the blessed book of the Romans chapter 3 verse 23, 'For all have sinned and come short the glory of the Lord'. What do you want to lay unto the feet of the throne of the Almighty?"
"Excuse me?" Julius deadpans with a questioning brow raised though he knows the man talking can't see him through the holed barrier separating them.
"What do you want to confess?"
"Oh. What I want to confess..." Julius opens his palms wide, his eyes thoughtfully tracing the lines brazen with impurity. "How do I confess? What do I confess about?"
"Yahweh forgives."
Somehow, Julius's countenance relaxes and tenses at the same time, then it is one of those moments when he feels his mind is a sponge with its pores dilating to let out stuff that he never thought would ever be possible to even speak. And even the priest fades away from his radar.
Just him, him alone. In his tiny world drenched in blood.
"I met this boy. Well this boy met me. Times that I probably can't even count. He's been a background undertone to me but me, I've been the eye of his heart. I never noticed him but deep down, I know I was something to him. Yes I probably would've cared less about his existence but somehow, he got me. Trapped in a snare even the heavens cannot manumit. I know you can't understand what I'm saying but the feeling is mutual. That's how he is. He leaves my soul tongue-tied.
"He ruined my relationship and the love of my life for like two hundred years now abandoned me. It's not his fault but it's still his fault. He withdrew my venom from unlatching. He bastardized my best friend and continually humiliates them. He got between me and them! Then he destroyed me. Once again, his folly reminds me of the monster I was destined to be. I will never be normal. All my utterly naive ambitions of being a Doctor Holly -- gosh I feel so stupid.
"Yet he sacrificed all his all. Everything he had just for me. He wouldn't let anybody touch me. No harm came to me on his watch and when I'm not even with him, he made sure of it. No stake did he not pin on his heart for my sake. To the extent where he confronted his greatest fears. He presented himself as the hare for the leopard. What makes me so special, I will never know. There are many a lot boys outside but he chose me, his greatest poison."
Julius's face is soaked in more bitter than salty tears that precipitate every second.
"You see, whenever I look deep in his eyes, I can always tell this is greater than obsession. Okay this is going to be where I switch to poetry to explain my deepest emotions but those eyes, his eyes are stygian oblivions that can never be more empty. Like a lost lamb in the wilderness, I was his pillar of fire. I was his purpose, his beacon to sanity. He needed me. He looks at me like the last atom of oxygen on Earth. He looks at me the way lion cub look at their mother. He looks at me like the only star in his sky.
"And I think I needed him too. He was the the highlighter that magnified my purpose. Throughout the short time we've spent together, I've noticed how much he has changed my life. I'm now a better person, only more miserable. Too miserable to handle this truth that I've been wining and dining with holograms all my life. I might not be in love with him but I'm indebted. Apart from his seed breathing in my womb, I now owe my existence to him, basically.
"But because of these hands, because I couldn't control myself and my desires, because of my destiny, he's dead!"
Julius drops to the floor and cries out so loud the vinyl floor cracks beneath his knees. His shoulders resonate with every anguished sob and his irises flickers from a violent vermilion to a blue blue feverishly as memories of Ray Ramirez flash across his conscience. He hugs his knees while chattering his teeth like being frostbitten. Suddenly does he feel claustrophobic. Time and space shrink him into his own skin. He feels like a blue whale in a sardine can. Rocking himself back and forth, he repeats like a mantra to pacify his sanity to stay.
"I killed him I killed him I killed him. . ."
After what feels like hours, "Father Lord, we thank you for your son's life. Thank you for putting it in his heart to cleanse himself in your own precious blood you shed on the cross of Calvary. . ."
"I killed him I killed him I killed him I'm going I'm going to I'm going to I'm going to kill him. . .
I'm going to kill Ian."
Julius vanishes with so much force, a crack splits and the confession box ignites in crimson flames.
Eyes blazing with bloodlust, he appears on his house's porch. He doesn't even bother to open the door but walks right through it, reducing it to dust. The windows clash and the doors wriggle out of their hinges. The weed tree outside, leafless from the harsh breath of winter, rattles and wind picks up outside; a blizzard about to be birthed.
Julius walks across the staircase, mind set stiff on carnage and when he reaches the upper end, Elijah appears below.
That nanosecond when Julius raises his hand, the wooden staircase ruptures into hundreds of embered shards and stakes that torpedoes towards his twin brother. But they don't touch him, but just form a kind of round cloak or cage, restricting even the slightest movements.
"Julius, don't do this please," Elijah pleads, his face rawed out in emotions. A tip nicks at his temple, blood seeps. "You've struggled and sacrificed so much to hide the thing inside."
"You know I keep asking you this. What do you know?" Julius challenges, now hovering while the gravity in the house is nullified. One flick of his wrist and off comes Elijah's head. And he's really losing his patience. "You've been the perfect son all your life. You excel at everything but you're still a pathetic piece of shit because if you carried the burdens that I do... Why did it have to be me, why?!"
Elijah gulps. "Anytime a mental spell -- the Hocus Lovus for example -- is casted, the victim's shadow is erected obliquely from its normal position. Like opposite the direction of the light source."
Julius growls, blinding power dripping off his essence and his own heart crashing against self-consciousness. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Julius!"
"This is a joke."
"The caster is still alive!"
True enough, his shadow is inclined wrong.
Julius gasps. "That means--"
"Ray is!!"
I'm serious, PLEASE do!! I need to hear your says.
And YES Julius is very much pregnant for ole boy Ramirez. Yeehaw!!
[EDITED..prepare your farewells]