by Noah Harris
All until one moment when he found himself in an apple orchard that sprung from his mind. Varying shades of green ran from his view and down to the horizon, all met with tall sturdy trunks of brown and glistening red apples, glinting in the sun. The crisp air met his nostrils as he examined his work, pleased at the pure realism of it all. He complimented himself on his hard work, looking at the flawless orchard that lay around him. If he hadn’t conjured it up himself, he would’ve believed it to be real.
He plucked one of the low-hanging fruits from the branch, holding it in his hand while he examined it. How it shone perfectly in the summer sun. He brought it to his lips, ready to sink his jagged teeth into the flesh, when he stopped. No matter how much it weighed in his hands, or how tantalizing its aroma was as it wafted into his nostrils, he realized: this isn’t really an apple, it’s not really here.
He dropped the apple as he waved the orchard out of his sight, bringing back the gloomy apartment and without a second thought, he stormed out the front door.
The Florida sun shone down on him as he strutted outside for the first time in what must have been a month. The azure sky hung above his head, spreading all the way to the horizon, and the air was filled only with the sounds of fellow beings meandering through the streets. His body basked in the warmth as he strolled down the road with a new sense of liberation. The world around him seemed positively endless and the grin on his face showed he was more than happy with that idea. He had no clue which way he wanted to go, or even what he wanted to see, but that didn’t concern him. Each step forward felt like the right one.
He had forgotten how exhilarating it was to walk among other people and examine their ways. They all dressed so differently from one another! He still found himself so tickled that they all came in different shades of skin color, too.
One thought he relished was that he was a bit of a sight himself! He towered over all of the people who passed by him and they had to tilt their heads all the way up to get a full view of him. His strut was in full swing. His toned muscular arms pumped in time with his long strides. His smooth, dark skin absorbed the sun’s warmth. His shirt stretched over his large chest as it gave way to the detail of his pecs.
Each pair of eyes on him heightened and lifted his mood until he felt it was impossible to go any higher. Xanathen was tempted to stretch out his wings and launch himself into the sky just to be able to physically match how great he felt. If he could feel so exhilarated just by being outside on the ground, who knew what else could be in store? For now, his feet would just walk on the concrete like everyone else.
The golden beach sprawled as far as Xanathen’s eyes could see. He felt a manic jolt of energy pulse through his veins as he felt compelled to thrust forward with his muscles and just run across the sandy shore. He let the cold water of the ocean splash against his ankles with each pounding footstep and gave the world permission to see his muscular chest as he tossed his shirt carelessly aside for anyone to claim. He might as well have been running on pure sunlight for how rejuvenating the solar rays felt on his body. People’s eyes stuck to him as he tore down the beach at an impressive speed. Some were in awe of his speed, while those who could see his form as he flashed past were more focused on his captivating physique.
His jogging took him all over the place on that bright day, and it was already quite exciting. He learned that people selling shaved ice required money before actually giving anyone any, but sometimes strangers were nice enough to just buy it for others if they seem perplexed enough. He found out that people, both men and women, apparently adored giving others compliments and he didn’t grow tired of that. He felt that he was, little by little, learning more about the human experience just by sticking his head in and interacting. All the little things had coalesced into one great moment of independence for him.
Mid-afternoon, Xanathen strolled through the dimmer part of the day, until he came to a slow stop as his eyes froze on a familiar shape on the ground. Several people stood on top of the diamond in the grassy field, surrounded by metal framing. They swung highly polished sticks aimlessly, standing on the white lines as they laughed.
Mesmerized, Xanathen made his way closer and gripped the chain link fence while pressing his nose into it, to take it all in. He looked at the shape on the ground and examined it with a sense of familiarity. The shape, the balls, the running; it all jogged something in him.
They’re playing baseball! he thought excitedly as he jiggled the fence between his thick fingers.
Without another moment of hesitation he ran onto the field, right in the middle of a pitch. The pitcher threw the ball and immediately shrieked as it made a beeline right for the anonymous stranger’s back. The rest of the players made a unanimous gasp. Xanathen paid no attention to it as he ran, flailing his arms to get their attention, when the ball hit his back and bounced off.
“You’re playing baseball!” Xanathen announced with an air of pride. Barry said I couldn’t find it on my own, he thought. Ha!
The ragtag players all hushed as they stared at the newcomer and the ball lying behind him. There wasn’t even so much as a welt on his back, not that the girl pitching could see much as she investigated. There was an awkward silence.
“You’re playing baseball.” Xanathen repeated.
“Uh…Yeah, kinda.” one of the players replied.
“Holy shit, are you okay?” another player called out.
“I want to play too.” he said.
“Y-yeah. Sure.” the pitcher nodded slowly as she crept to get the ball.
Xanathen clapped his hands in approval, letting his wide toothy grin gleam in the afternoon light. The young players all carried on with their unofficial game.
Everyone went back to their places. Xanathen radiated the most enthusiasm no matter where they put him. Xanathen would hear the group giggle as he bounded wildly after every ball that went flying out. He couldn’t figure out what was funny and instead chose to laugh with them. To him that was the sound of people having fun, and this was more entertainment than they had planned for that day.
He ran after every hit and would give an inhumanly strong pitch back to anyone who could catch it. Any ball that came out flying was just another opportunity to show off his physical prowess. Each toss he made was just another person staring back in awe. Xanathen felt increasingly motivated by the players stares and used their gawking as a reason to continue to play harder.
The moment of truth came as Xanathen made his way to the plate, plucking a bat from the batter that was supposed to go next. The bat’s owner quickly protested, but it fell on deaf ears as the rest of the players watched. They’d seen him run around the field and claim every ball as his; and actually catch them! Now was the time to see how he fared on the offense.
He held the bat up to his broad shoulders with a determined look in his glittering golden eyes. His fingers gripped the bat tightly, letting his knuckles turn white as he squeezed hard and focused on the incoming ball. A sliver of a smile crept its way up his face as he waited for the ball to fly his way.
The pitcher gulped nervously as she clutched the ball. She felt he was staring a scorching hole right through her stomach and that if he wasn’t going to leave a hole with his intense stare he would almost certainly leave one with his hit. She pitched the ball.
Xanathen’s eyes locked onto the incoming ball and began to swing. As his body twisted to hit the ball, letting the bat launch out towards it, there was a distinct crackling of red light forming around Xanathen’s arms, that flared like a raging inferno. The group’s eyes all watched in shock as Xanathen’s swing sparked a quick flame as his arms swung like a machine, launching out to the ball with a thunder that resonated through the entire field. The field grew silent as the red embers slowly fell from around his body with an intense glow. He pitched the blackened remains of the bat to the ground behind him as he sprung across the bases like a gazelle. The rest of the players did nothing but watch, unable to decide just what
they should keep their eyes on: the charred stick that was once a bat, the pile of dust they assumed was a ball, or the mohawked man as big as a house sprinting across the bases.
Xanathen felt unyielding joy course through his body as he made his way through the bases, real bases this time! At last he was finally playing the real game. It was as much fun as he thought it would be; it was more complex with more people playing than when it was just him and Barry. Still, even with the new gameplay he couldn’t help but feel a pinch of disappointment as he rounded his way to home plate. Off on the sidelines were many people who were staring in shock and awe, but Barry’s cheering face wasn’t among them. The one that mattered most wasn’t there anymore.
His loss, he thought as he slammed into a slide, just for good measure. He’s the one who said no.
Xanathen emerged from the dirty ground at home base with the widest grin anyone had ever seen. The dust mixed with the blackened remains of the bat and ball. The field was hushed, all except for whispers among the players as they stared on in disbelief.
“That was my stuff!” one player shouted, face reddened with sweat and frustration, as he began to storm towards Xanathen. “You better pay me back for that stuff.”
One of the other players held him back. His eyes looked at the smoldering bat then back to Xanathen, who by then had started his own showboating, flexing his shapely muscles for everyone to see. The player smiled as he approached Xanathen instead and gave him a gentle poke on the shoulder.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
“Xanathen.” Xanathen replied, flexing dramatically.
“Nice t’meetcha, Xanathen.” he replied, brushing the brown hair out of his face and shaking hands with Xanathen. “I’m Deryl.”
Deryl pulled his phone from his pocket as he looked up at the tall athletic man.“Say. D’ya think you could do that again?”
Chapter Four
Soaring through the skies, Barry felt himself surrender to the freedom of flight. The heavy burdens of everyday life had been left squarely on the ground, where they belonged; it was near impossible to focus on flying when he was dwelling on all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ that burrowed into his head. He might as well have been weightless in the helicopter with how he felt on every test run. He concentrated on the task at hand with the laser-focused vision that was asked of him. Each time he was asked to turn the blinders on, he happily complied. It seemed to get easier with each go.
Barry described the feeling of it all as ‘controlled chaos’. It was an old, familiar feeling that made him both comfortable and confident at the same time, a bit like wearing a lucky t-shirt. Whenever he was questioned about this controlled chaos, the best way he could put it was like having a rampaging storm trapped in the claustrophobic confines of a mason jar. He could see everything that was going on in the jar, from what was being destroyed, to where it was all going. The storm would ravage whatever got in its way and Barry could be just far away enough not to be personally affected by it.
It gave him a rush. More importantly, it gave him purpose. The worst the storm could do was kill him and if that was all that was at stake, he felt more inclined to go up against it. His control of the situation gave him a sense of security. He could do no wrong if he knew what the storm would do and how to handle it. There was always just enough drive to be constantly moving and thinking, never having to stop, but he still had back-ups if things went wrong. It was the sweetest rush that would send him pounding through the days. The fast-paced job, followed by the sweet breather of silence, was what he hoped for on a weekly basis.
He was not much of a movie buff, let alone a critic, or even someone who analyzed those sorts of things, but he remembered hearing about the structure of stories. How they start calm, followed by high action, then a moment of levity or peace to give the viewer a moment to breathe. Sometimes those calm moments really let those intense moments stand out and stay fresh in the viewer’s mind. While he couldn’t explain whether the length of a scene was too long, or even care if it was, something about that fact made sense to him.
At first it was just that: high-action followed by light scenes of levity. He would work for a couple days at the base and test the helicopters, train his body, study the wind currents, then follow it with the sweet calm of being at home. The two different worlds balanced each other out, even made him look forward to switching from one to the other. Then, in the past month, it all shifted. After the incident with his parents, the control of the situation was ripped from his hands. His stomach felt queasy when he felt the tension rise at home and the knots in his stomach had only grown tighter ever since. All of a sudden, the high action scenes were at home where the serene peace of his loving relationship should have been.
He admitted to himself that not much happened at home nowadays. It was nearly identical to what it had been before. Just walking through that front door and seeing Xanathen’s face sent his heart pounding frantically, and sent a feeling of anxiety rushing through him. A simple dinner felt like the choppy winds, constantly changing direction and swallowing any words that were spoken, making them sound like a muddled droning noise. The very second Xanathen opened his mouth Barry felt his energy draining away and he just wanted to sleep until his next shift.
At work, his face would glow when he thought about his special dragon. Just picturing him, his sturdy shoulders, sculpted chest, and of course those twinkling gold eyes, made Barry smile and long to go home to him. He would think back to the excursions around town they had, how much he would laugh at the innocent mistakes Xanathen made, or the intense passionate embraces he’d find himself in the moment they got back home. He held all those little things close to his heart and looked back on them fondly. They were too important to toss out. He sighed as he thought about it. Those feelings crashed hard as soon as he got home and he’d be back to being exhausted.
He felt things would get better. They had to. In the grand scheme of things, this was small and nothing to worry about. If there was anything he had gained from being the designated single guy for so long, it was that these things had a way of clearing themselves up eventually and that having time alone was the key. He just needed that time to clear his head, that was all. Xanathen would understand.
So he confined himself to the base for even longer, volunteering to work more hours and train even harder. He forced his nose against the grindstone for longer not to get ahead in the field, or even to show his fellow pilots how it was done, but to immerse himself in that peaceful interlude after the seemingly hectic action of home. For the time being, he considered the base his home where there was sound logic to what people did. The apartment was some dreary cave filled with jaw-dropping levels of confusion that would cause all who entered to spiral into a never-ending cacophony of madness.
Barry walked into the pilot’s lounge, where he was greeted with the sound of guffaws and gasps. At one of the tables were Roger and Mike, two fellow pilots, with their eyes glued to the screen of a phone and hands clamping over their mouths in shock.
“Holy shit, that’s awesome!” Roger said.
“I know, right? It looks so real.” Mike said.
“It’s gotta be. Look at that! It doesn’t look edited.”
“Pyrotechnics maybe. Maybe they’re one of those special effects artists?”
“Damn, that’s cool. I wish I could do that, even if it is edited.”
“Hey, whatcha watching?” Barry asked as he entered the break room.
Two of his fellow pilots looked up from the small smartphone directly at him, faces lit up with an almost childlike wonder.
“Dude, Zombie, have you seen this guy?” one of them asked.
Barry cringed a little at the nickname “Zombie.” Coming back from MIA was something of a legend around the base. As much as he hated the nickname, protesting the stupid thing would make it stick even harder.
He sauntered over to their table with barely an ounce of curiosity. He was familiar
with the videos they’d share with him. It was almost a routine at this point. They’d find something “amazing” or “hilarious” on the internet, giggle about it in the breakroom, insist Barry should see it and would roar like idiots at the poorly timed nut-shot or some reference to some joke Barry wasn’t clued in on. They’d cackle for a good five minutes and Barry died a little inside every time.
He rolled his eyes and looked over their shoulders down at the screen in Roger’s hands as he held a finger over the “replay” button. “Probably not.” Barry said. “You know I don’t rummage through trash like you guys.”
“Seriously, this is awesome.” Roger insisted, barely containing his excitement.
In the video there was some kid, probably younger than him. Apparently looking up people’s noses was the new viral trend. Barry could barely pay attention to whatever the hell the kid was even saying.
But his eyes widened as the camera pulled away and focused on the dark figure in the center of the screen. He leaned in closer and he had to blink to clear his eyes.
On some dusty baseball field stood Xanathen, proudly displaying his abs and with his wide white grin gleaming from cheek to cheek.
Xanathen held a baseball bat tightly in his hands as he looked towards the camera with a smirk, then looked towards the pitcher. A baseball came flying towards him and he wound up his sturdy arms to swing at the ball. The bat tore through the air and a line of fire ignited and spread from the handle to the tip. Both the ball and bat were incinerated on contact, followed by a loud chorus of “whoas” in the background. Xanathen nodded towards the camera and flashed another grin while the camera turned back to the original person, all with exclaims of “Holy shit, did you see that?." Barry’s heart pounded as the video went into a slow motion replay of the flaming bat hitting the ball, showing in precise detail the ball bursting into white flame, a spray of black ashes flying in all directions and the blackened bat crumbling on impact.
