The Details In The Devil

[Latin For Dragula]

((Blaise And Carl D'Aramitz Continued From Stop Crying Your Heart Out))

It was an obvious fact that anyone who cared to pay attention that Western society values the idea of civilized savagery. Primal forces brought to heel on display just so, so tantalizingly close to being truly dangerous, truly wild, truly challenging, truly capable of delivering the comeuppance deserved by generations upon generations of industrial bondage, but never far enough to cross the line. A fireplace served as evidence, certainly, of these most elemental forces made captive for little more than ambience now that their usefulness as a tool had long since passed. A zoo perhaps where predators rendered metaphorically toothless as improvement over the unethical practice of leaving them literally so preened their way into decline for anything from reasonable prices to no charge at all. These of course came with obvious cages of their own sort, safety tools, dismissed responsibility, the like. To truly immerse one in the excess of neutered natural splendor there was no substitute for a park.

What the word even meant varied on context; foliage surrounding gymnasium and patio, natural landmarks tended to by agents somehow too incompetent to be entrusted with territory more populated than a picnic table, it could even be argued that the wild life preserves of distant savannah’s qualified to some degree of Jumpin’ Jiminy Christ. relevance by occupation alone but they all served the same desire to live comfortably in a world with the appearance of risk while having its entire structure with which to harm you brought to heel Who’s this for? outside of gross personal or professional incompetence. At which point The heck do you get out of it? it could equally be argued that you have come to reap what your poor decisions have sewn. Not that they could comment on such a process from within How’s this relevant to a gosh darn thing? but outside speculation led to wondering how anyone but the one who chose to venture into such a place could be blamed when the risk no matter how unlikely or imperceptible was part of the package deal; one did not anticipate a bear would pluck a toddler from the swings and scar them for what remained of their short life, but if there was no option to bust no one would gamble, yes?What happened all back there?

Blaise sat with their legs crossed in a grove that was...what purpose was there in describing it? It was trees. They were like many others. Dirt. It stained the same. Leaves, twigs, tracks, a wrapper here or there perhaps, bullet casings, who could say without taking a look far closer than they were inclined? Like most places it meant little to them without context.

Do you remember her?

Who?

The girl she stole from us. You asked what happened. I assume you are interested in the reason.

Fill me in.

Her name was Karrie. Tall for her age of fourteen, to Blaise she had always towered but in truth she was likely more along the lines of five five, five four, five more than they ever estimated at the time due to their diminutive comparison. Dark brown curly hair a shade darker than her skin tone. Hazel eyes. Athletic. Dimples when she smiled. A nervous habit of tugging her ear when she was flustered that gave her away easier than any blush they had beheld before or since. Little details like that they recalled in memory but had escaped them in the awkward whirlwind of late middle school romance.

She had loved the parks. Any they could reach, though the trails up into the mountains had always been her favorite. Blaise did not care so much for the scenery as long as she was content. Nature was not in their nature. One view over the valley was as good as any other and all the trees looked the same save one. Just one that they committed to memory. To turn east off her favorite trail into the deeper unmarked woods inevitably brought them to an oak tree that loomed even over the lofty vision of Karrie in their mind’s eye. A sturdy thing that stretched higher than any in the vicinity full of branches that demanded to be climbed, at least by Karrie’s instincts, and once conquered yielded a view that seemed to stretch well beyond any the mountains could offer. Blaise knew that view was warped by nostalgia and preference. It was not so grand an experience in objectivity. It had been theirs, though. Something to share. They had had precious few shared moments, shared spaces. Of course they followed cliche and carved initials at the highest point they could safely reach, and of course once they were back on the ground they enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company more times than Blaise could be expected to recount.

Amusing in a sense that a figure so incomparable could be divided to zero by one. Math was not their gift but at their understanding that was a pair of seemingly impossible acts. Yet it only took one to turn infinity to nothing. A single glimpse of perfect blonde hair and blue eyes and ruby red lips hiding straight shining teeth shown only in that slim smile of repose parted from lips they thought were theirs. Then it was as if it all never happened.

It was an obvious fact that anyone who cared to pay attention that Western society values the idea of civilized savagery.

There was no substitute for a park.

It would have been safer, so much safer, to use either of their homes. Blaise could dismiss that notion. Who was to say what parents, siblings, neighbors, classmates, etc. might think? So it would have been safer, so much safer, to choose any number of deserted locations elsewhere. Any trail. Any grove. Any tree but this one. They could only imagine at the time that perhaps that was a degree of the thrill. To be in a place so permeated by their presence that it was like violating their trust in front of them without any real risk of observation. Blaise could not say whose idea it was or how much Stephanie had known. They did not confront them. They left the woods they’d entered seeking that precious emotional afterimage of what they thought was love and never spoke to either girl again in more than numb pleasantry.

Jesus.

You understand?

’spose I do.

You remember her?

Reckon so.

Then you understand nothing.

Come again?

You understand nothing. Perhaps more accurately you understand what I want you to understand. Your perspective, memory, all of it. It is still mine. I find that reassuring.

I don’t think either of us is near drunk enough for this.

You do not understand, because it amuses me in this moment for you to not understand.

And there he was in the clearing, standing over them with confusion all over his face.

And there she was in the clearing, looming over them with guilt etched in every line.

And there their tree was in the clearing, stretching over them into the horizon with initials B+K carved into a heart too clean for childish hands to craft.

And there they were until they were not, until Blaise willed them to be again.

And there they sat alone in silence with no voice in their head for a length of time that did not matter.

.Because none of it matters. Do you understand?

They spoke with knowledge they would not will him to respond.

She is not real.

Karrie was a phantom. The details were hasty, cobbled together as facsimile of something that perhaps sounded plausible without further examination but with scrutiny? Had such a girl existed anywhere in their school? Had Stephanie been present in their life at all before middle school? What separates an oak from any other kind of tree that exists, do they grow along those trails, do their properties match what Blaise had described? It was all immaterial. They spun a lie on instinct in detail that was no longer even so relevant to the initial attempt to twist Daria’s feelings, an attempt whose meaning had already drifted away in time and absence. It did not matter. It had no purpose outside the moment of its existence. They had always loved the sound of any voice they could call their own most of all. So the stories they told themself became more important than truth or fiction.

Every memory. Every anecdote. Every bit of motivation. Every observation of the world around them. It was all fundamentally untrustworthy to any outside perspective.

And if you do not recognize that already.

Then you’re hangin’ out in the wrong head.

They opened their eyes alone once more. The trees all looked the same. That pleased them.

You do not deserve to understand why.

((Blaise And Carl D'Aramitz Continued In And Now Those Days Are Over and We Are All Ghosts))