Atlantis ~ The Memento Mei Series

7• Mason Jars Under a Blue Sky

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The click of a lighter shatters the still silence of the apartment as we both sit on the floor under his living room window. I tuck my hair behind my ear as I lean in, unlit cigarette dangling between my lips as Mason holds the flame steady. My eyes peer up under my lashes at him, smirk tugging at my lips at the dumbfounded look on his face.

He shakes himself from his stupor as I fall back against the wall, head tilting as I let the smoke billowing up to join the atmosphere. He's much more efficient lighting his cigarette, mimicking my fall against the wall behind. Both of us take a few hits, studying each other, taking in the moment.

Moments are all I have after all and this one is particularly interesting.
"So what's your story, Skyelle?" He husks out.

He's got warm blue eyes, a little too much wisdom clouding them, a little to wise to the world. They watch carefully, taking in everything as a patient bystander instead of an active member of society. I pull another drag off the cigarette and shoot back lowly, "You first."

He scoffs with a smirk, leaning forward over his crisscrossed legs to hang his forearms off the knees. That half smoked cigarette of his dangling in his fingers, forgotten. Mason smooths his fingers over the top of his bed head, probably remembering the state he's in now that his spontaneous invitation has lost its initial shine.

He starts with a heavy sigh, gazing back into his living room that we've left dark, and keeps staring off like that the entire time he speaks. He doesn't pause, doesn't leave an opening for questions.
"I'm a twenty-two year old fuck up that can't write a song that sells, can't find a dollar that pays, and can't find a job that works. Family's shit, friend's are shit, life's shit. Just trying to make it on a dream and a prayer in a city full of people just like me."

He looks at me once he's done, eyes expectant and almost accusing. I take a drag and tell him mine in the same way he told me, " I'm a few months from eighteen, born with a gift I can't use because of a shit disorder I was also born with. I can't remember a damn thing before my last birthday and I was told yesterday that I'm reaching my expiration date."

He doesn't do the typical sad eyes paired with a slew of words that won't change a damn thing. I get why people do it, but it gets exhausting after a while having to think of something polite to say. It's why I usually keep it to myself even if it's inevitable that my secret will come to light the longer I hang around someone. Mason just feels different though.

"Whatcha got? Cancer or something?"

I look down and bite my inner lip hard enough to swell. Sometimes I wish I did have cancer. Cancer sucks, but it's an enemy I can fight, that the doctors know what to do with. No one knows what the hell is wrong with me or how to treat it. Dying from my unknown disorder will suck just as much if not more depending on a few factors. I get to choke on air I can't get until I pass out. Science on this part varies. Some say it's peaceful after that. Some say the person's aware until they're actually gone. Marc says I'm irrational for thinking this, that I shouldn't wish for stuff like that, but it's how I feel nonetheless. I'm dying and I'm allowed to feel however the hell I want. Even that stupid therapist agrees.