Chapter Text
Life and Death is a dance as opposed to opposition,
A push and pull made by humanity’s partition.
When Life believes he’s on the brink of immortality,
Death inserts his knife for the final incision.
🪷
Despite his upbringing, Niran has never had an issue living less than lavishly. Being on the run made him feel like prey of sorts; and Vishkar salivated greedily as it loomed over him. The nomadic lifestyle has taken some getting used to after a handful of years. Still, it gave him the peace of mind to become one with the nature around him. And for that he was grateful.
This new, isolated feeling brought him back to the little boy he was when Vishkar first took interest in him. He was “too bright”, “too creative”, as his father would always say backhandedly. Even when the scenery changed as he was shipped away to Vishkar’s secondary school, he still found solace in the nature around him. And those around him appreciated it to the same extent. Long nights were extended even longer as he stayed up, wide awake, roaming the beautiful gardens maintained by Vishkar’s sponsors. The marigolds and rose bushes and forget-me-nots danced around him, singing to him with their colors. Some of his friends would even joke that he was made of chloroplasts. In his mind, there was no state of existence better than that.
But all the while, Vishkar’s watchful eye stripped Niran of the freedom he craved, chaining him away from his true purpose of healing the illness and pain in the world. While he saw the potential to use the abundance of plants around him as a way to improve the life of humanity, Vishkar was shortsighted and pompous. Even with the resources they consistently made available to Niran, they pigeon holed him into a sense of “order” that completely went against what nature wants. All they cared about was gentrification, power, and control. And Niran escaped that prison as soon as he could.
For the past couple of months, his sprint away from Vishkar had slowed down to a light jog. He found a humble cottage hidden in the outskirts of Manchester, England, and felt it to be a nice place to rest for the time being. Rent was nothing to complain about, and the aroma of fresh jasmines in his neighborhood reminded him of the best parts of home.
Sunlight slicing through the gray clouds in the sky woke Niran up at his usual time. He sleepily blinked away crust from his eyes and pushed his silver locks out of his face with a moan. Unfortunately, he had slept like a rock. The usual whimsy of his dreamscape had vanished, and Niran was someone who could always count on his dreams to be a merry escape . He couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was, but the newfound comfort of his new home was failing to translate to a goodnight’s rest. Niran felt on edge as soon as he closed his eyes last night. Did I lock the front door? Did I leave the kitchen window open? Paranoid questions danced around in his head as he hopelessly tried to fall asleep. It was true that Vishkar may have leads on his new location. But, this strange exposed feeling was different from being under that company’s constant surveillance. It felt even more dangerous. As a procaution, he kept his important supply of Biolight, along with its blueprints, locked up tight in the basement below.
Despite all of this, Niran Prukasamanee was the last person to let himself be overtaken by fear.
He still wasn’t at the point where he could fully unpack this feeling; and at the end of the day, maybe the recent gloomy weather was just getting to him.
He brushed away the negativity and started his day bright and early. After a light breakfast, he decided it was the perfect day to escape the confines of his new house. Throwing on a loose tank top and compression pants, and stepping into some new running shoes, he felt that it was an adequate day to jog around the community. It was as good a time as ever to start getting a feel for this brand new city.
The acoustic strumming of “Face in the Moon” by Eartheater graced his eardrums as he stepped outside. The English wind of the Manchester suburbs woke up his skin with its chill. Earbuds in place and weather bottle in hand, he made his way east towards the sunrise. The cobblestone streets were mostly empty, and the air was brisk. Niran was alone as he jogged except for a handful of others walking to school or work. There was something so reaffirming seeing life breathed back into the world every early morning.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss that unmatched luster of Chiang Mai, his hometown. As he traversed along the craggly sidewalks, his soles kicking up pebbles with each step, he felt engulfed by gray. The sky, the morning mist. Even the 6:00 AM sunrise was drowning in the overcast. They were only contrasted by the maroon of the endless rows of terraces. Niran had grown up and lived through colors, the warmer the better. While he knew he had to grow at least somewhat used to this new environment, part of him felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.
Niran was roughly a half mile from his home. The man had found himself in a slightly more populated area, with various shops lazily waking up to begin another day of business. Across the street was a gaggle of others heading east. Looking around, he seemed to be the only one on his side of the road. He slowed down, paused his music, and rested his lean body against a not-yet-opened liquor store. He gently brushed off a soft coating of dirt decorating his knees and toned calves, and took a deep breath to recalibrate. A slight sheen of sweat coated his exposed arms, and he took a sip from his pink water bottle. Instantly refreshed, the crisp icy water flowed throughout his body like a river delta.
Wooden stairs and foggy windows of the aforementioned liquor store stood plainly on his left. Niran, a strand of silver locks falling over his face as he scrolled through his playlist, noticed that his right side was exposed. He craned his neck in curiosity. A rather thin alleyway sat next to him that seemed to go along forever, littered with some trash, including fallen posters and water bottles. A soothing morning wind whistled through the alley walls, kicking around the trash haphazardly.
“Oh, dear,” Niran grimaced under his breath. While it wasn’t anything extraordinary, any bit of stray trash on the ground pulled his heart in only the worst ways. How dare citizens let their environment get tainted like this?
He spotted a recycling bin around halfway through the alleyway. The man made his way to pick up some of the garbage, with a familiar fusion of eagerness and disappointment in his step. The litter fortunately wasn’t too plentiful, but it blemished what could be a beautiful (albeit a bit bland) community. Niran started by collecting some crushed water bottles laying pitifully against the wall, along with some scraps of paper that seemed to have been ripped off from the side of the buildings forming the alleyway.
A handful of litter in his hand, Niran started his short trek towards the recycling bin when…
CRASH!
The man flinched at the sound, and his eyes darted to the noise. Something on the far end of the alley had fallen, appearing to be a large 2x4 in a pile of wood. He nearly dropped one of the bottles as he quickly regained his composure. He investigated from afar, but decided to think nothing of it. It probably was just a rodent.
It only took a minute or so to dispose of all the trash. See how even a simple alley can look more beautiful when cleaned up? Niran smirked with a tinge of satisfaction, crossing his arms as he took another glance at the area. A job well done, it feels even more like home.
He was just about to turn back to leave, finding it a good time to continue his jog. As his sneaker took its first step to the left, pebbles crackling underneath, another sound subtly filled the other end of the alleyway. The man turned again behind him, his neck craning to investigate.
It wasn’t a crash this time, but more like a wind. Or an odd breeze. His eyes peeled as he looked back at the pile of 2x4s. An extremely faint trail of black seemed to swim through the air, just barely catching Niran’s view. Black like ink. Almost like a splash of midnight in the otherwise pale early morning. His eyebrow raised, and he felt a shiver rush through his skin. Before he could comprehend what passed through his sight, it was gone. What was that?
Niran’s eyes furrowed as he felt the fine hairs on his exposed arms tingle. A drop of sweat sparkled on his bicep. His self-appointed job was done. While he stood alone, he didn’t feel like it.
With his earbuds back in place, he started his trek back home.
He was home before he knew it. It was still relatively early, especially for a night owl such as Niran. He decided it would be nice to unwind by tending to his new garden, then taking a quick shower. The man threw on a slightly dinghy gardening apron, and pulled his hair until a loose ponytail. Making his way out the backdoor, the whitewashed backyard gate opened with a creak, finally inviting him into his own little paradise.
A smile graced his handsome face. Niran knelt down near a raised garden bed full of chrysanthemums and azaleas, the warm violet tones brightening up the otherwise dull atmosphere outside. “Ha, you’re all growing beautifully, aren’t you?” Niran teased as he slowly bathed the soil with his watering can. He made sure to take his time, distributing the water evenly among the sea of blooming foliage. The simplest things like this brought him the most joy in life. Nobody could ever take that away from him.
Niran hummed rhymically as he perused through the rest of the garden. He tended to the bushy set of dahlias. The asters, the golden bed of sunflowers, the delicate pansies, they all seemed to be blooming marvelously. A sense of pride filled the man each moment he gazed down at them.
The man brushed down his pink apron as his eyes scanned through the array of foliage,
Until a stark streak of black caught his eye, nearly making his heart skip a beat.
Niran glanced over to the top left corner of the garden, dropping his watering can in the grass out of shock. In the place of fresh rose sproutlets were dead, darkened petals, and stems that drooped down to the ground as if they had given up against gravity. Niran gasped to himself, and jogged over to the garden bed cradling those pitiful flowers.
The man’s face frowned up as he analyzed the sad sight before him, a face that quickly melted into concern. Niran had seen many dead plants in his day, but something was off here. He lightly pinched one of the dead roses with his fingers. Gently rubbing the blackened petals, they seemed to disintegrate to the touch; dark, brittle particles blowing away into the wind like ash. He squinted his eyes for a closer look. The sepals of the plants glowed with an eerie red outline, standing out from the otherwise pitch black tone of the petals and stems. The lines of crimson almost seemed to pulsate. Like a strange heartbeat.
While caressing the flower, Niran very gently grazed one of the rose’s thorns with his non-bionic hand. He recoiled back out of both shock and pain. The thorn was not only sharp, but the man felt an oddly intense burning sensation on his finger, despite the fact that he was wearing a glove. “Confusion” was not enough to describe what he felt at that moment. “What on earth?” he whispered to himself. He threw off his gardening glove. The brown skin tone of his fingertip was blemished by a bright red mark, it almost seemed to glow like a smoldering piece of coal. He sucked his teeth in discomfort. The feeling was indescribable, he needed to take care of it immediately.
The blood dripped from it like a leaky faucet. Steadily and consistently. He always found the color of blood to be so violent, unless it was seen on the colors of the beautiful roses he had just lost. It was hard to believe his life as a human being ran on this liquid. Coursing through his blood, and now escaping through his wound.
Niran rinsed his finger with cool water to soothe the pain. Persisting for a few moments, the physical burn started to fade, although it seemed to still leave a visible red bump.
While he would normally resort to deadheading when it came to dead flowers, Niran had no choice but to dispose of these completely. He could only hope that the nearby foliage would continue to grow.
Niran’s relationship with death was hard to describe. There was a heartbreak and numbness about it that he never could shake off. And it stuck to him like glue. As a child, he would sob when he had discovered he accidentally killed an insect. His tiny hands would throw together makeshift funerals for them, and he would profusely extend his apologies. Just the fact that they were living creatures existing in the same world created an unbreakable bond for Niran. And death always persisted to break it.
Yes, it was the natural order of things, but it seemed that the man was always trying to prevent the inevitable. The fact that beings that bloomed so beautifully just the day prior had been reduced to this completely shattered his heart. If only he could have granted them immortality.
Scooping them up with a shovel by the roots, he put them in a heavy duty bag along with the damp soil from the garden bed, and threw them away in the garbage. Out of sight, out of mind, Niran liked to convince himself.
There was a quaint little garden center down the street where he could fortunately pick up some more rose seeds. Mixing together some star anise, cardamom pods, cloves, and a generous amount of sugar, Niran decided to make some tea to calm his nerves before he headed out. He sat at his modest dinner table situated right next to the window overlooking the backyard. Allowing the sweetness of the tea to overtake his bewilderment, he gazed at the rows of flowers outside. Even while back in his own home, that strange, exposed feeling that he felt recently had only grown tenfold.