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many-melancholies · 6 months

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If Love is the Answer - SoapGhost

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part: 4/5 [part one] [part two] [part three] [part five]

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“The stars looked so bright tonight,” commented Soap, stretching his legs at the comfort of the sofa, finally free from the pain of sitting on the floor. “And the marble cake was amazing,” he said while patting his stomach, full.

Simon agreed. The dark night sky accompanied by the half-moon was indeed a treasure, and the marmorkuchen he had bought for the two of them was great.

The two of them, Simon thought. It wasn’t just himself anymore, like all those decades ago. He needed time to get used to that.

Although the starry night was comforting, it didn’t stop Simon from worrying if anyone had seen the hologram. He had let potential risks today, and he’d make sure to keep Soap safe from any more trouble. Especially when he had lost Johnny already once.

Simon let his tiredness get the better of him and rolled to the left side of the bed, away from the right which was the new spot the inventor insisted the hologram slept on.

It was graduation day. Simon and John were one step away from earning a job. Crowds of parents watched their sons and daughters dressed in graduation togas receive their medals and honours, dabbing their wet eyes of proud tears.

Well, except for Simon’s dad. His father’s company experienced a sudden decrease in sales, so apparently for the man, business was more important than family.

“Naturally,” Herr Riley said once. Before, Simon had looked up to the man. Looking back, now he just scoffed at it. Arrogance was not a desirable trait, and he knew that now.

Like always, Simon and John headed to their shared dorm-room, exhausted from keeping up conversations with other students.

And then terror struck.

An ear-splitting earthquake reigned on them, the ground quaking and breaking. They didn’t have time to go under the tables; the two were paralysed with fright.

Crumbling pieces of cement fell on the ground, books, pencils, and papers were scattered everywhere, and the soft rumbling of the ground shaking didn’t fade out.

But even the academic genius couldn’t bring himself to move. So John pushed him under a table, his encouraging and scared yelling was enough to let Simon snap out of it. Both boys made their way to any desk or table, and the inventor was secure under the table.

He remembered those unforgettable eyes.

They were mostly ocean blue, but now they were tinged with darker green in some areas, greyer blue in others, dots of brown, and spots of bright gold flecked throughout. The irises seemed to have changed every time he looked at them, like something in a dream that can’t be held by memory; something fluid and shifting. It was frustrating. They were kaleidoscopic. Flawed and beautiful.

And they were crying.

Then he looked back with a sharp inhale.

That was when John had first called him his partner.

There he was, frozen in place again, unable to move.

Not when his friend, his enemy, his rival, his equal…, and his so-called partner was a bloodied mess and without a pulse, laying on his lap.

Dead.

It was the first time he cried in sixteen years.

Simon awoke from his dream with a choke. He was used to the 24/7 nightmares enough to not make him jolt up, but no matter how many times it was replayed, he would never stop being so terrified of the dream.

Slowly but surely, a soft embrace enveloped the young man. He tiredly checked what it was and saw the gloved hologram with a small smile.

“Simon,” the hologram said drowsily, using his first name. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m always here for you and always will be, even at your worst,” he hummed, eyes still closed. Normal Johnny would be embarrassed by his posture, but at times like this Simon didn’t mind. “That’s my purpose. If you’re having nightmares about the late MacTavish, then talk to me about it.”

“But all I ask you,” Soap said, wrapping his hands around him more tightly. “Is to remember I’m not him. I’m not human.”

Soap pouted as he went back to recharge. “I just cause problems for you…”

Simon sighed at the hologram’s overdramatic response.

Do you think I’d let a problem hug me like this?

The inventor didn’t voice his thoughts out, but he was sure to very clearly, very mockingly tell Soap about his demeanour when sleepy tomorrow. Simon could even remember the very first nightmare he encountered in regards to Johnny…

* * *

Of all the items in the world that Roba Riley loathed the most, it was bottles. Bottles containing alcohol-inducing beverages, specifically. It made one lousy and vulnerable, and it usually did more harm than good.

The CEO’s son couldn’t agree more. As a Riley, Simon had to set an example of an independent, wealthy and successful man. If friendships were useless to Mr. Riley’s sight, then his look to a glass of liquor would be a sight to behold from any rival company.

So when a five-year-old Simon solemnly swore he wouldn’t intake any drinks that could cause heart diseases, he would be depended on to be a boy of his word.

But he broke his promise not to take pleasure in human relationships more than necessary. There was a high chance that he’d disobey his father too.

It had all started when Simon was sitting on a cushy, velvet couch with his therapist. He couldn’t cope with his closest friend’s death alone, and his parents were busy like always. A flinch in the mention of said friend’s name here, a quick seeth of breath there, and the occasional eyes that held such painful shards of a broken boy bleeding behind the curtain of ocean blue.

Wooden tables. Passing test papers. Studying in the library.

“Simon Riley?”

Suits and ties. Gracious movements. Beating hearts.

“Riley?”

All of these words stuck in his brain like a mantra.

“Simon.”

“O-oh,” Simon finally replied to his therapist, getting impatient by the second. “Deepest apologies on the silence,” he gave a slight bow. “My mind palace was slightly in array.”

“Mind palace?” the therapist inquired. “Never mind. Back to my question at hand,” she concluded. “You were severely affected by the death of your dear friend, John MacTavish. He had shown you the life and road of happiness, and that ‘not everything that glitters is gold’ to put it simply. You became a better person in the definition of kindness, although worse in the understanding of your father.”

“Do you feel guilty?” she asked.

“What?”

“Do you feel guilty,” was repeated.

Guilty

Guilt

Bump

Ba-bump

Cl-ba-bump

Click

As if on cue, darkness shrouded Simon’s sight, and every word ever spoken to him was on repeat.

His mind palace, as he called it, was a dainty mansion. Beige walls filled with gold-framed portraits of world-famous inventions and Germany's presidents, empty hallways with shelves neatly stacked with sights and scents and smells from the people he assumed irreplaceable, rooms dedicated for purposes such as academics, physicals, and statuses were the ‘palace’s’ appearance. Stairs led up and up in an endless journey, letting Simon travel through different events stored in his memory.

But there was one, large basement underneath the regal royalty of it all. It was dim, dark, and bolted shut. A door made of tungsten metal made sure none of whatever horror was inside was kept. Absolutely no one was allowed in such a place, even the beholder himself. It was chained for a reason, after all.

And then there was John MacTavish. When Simon meant that Johnny broke his airs and walls of pride, it meant the slow cracking of the only thing preventing his confusing feelings like joy, love, and friendship to spill; the steel door. It was dangerous keeping the boy close to him, and just his tears might bring him to a downfall when empathy enters the rest of his mind palace, and yet despite knowing it he still stayed as his friend.

But John is dead. And when Simon closed his emerald eyes and went back to his mind-palace, it was ruined. Everything tumbled to discord. The unstable emotions literally flooded his mental paradise, resulting in the chaotic mess it was.

Simon sat cross-legged on top of a bookcase in the library of his mind palace. He looked down dismally at the water flowing past the top shelf. The books in his library that contained information on Science were mostly waterproof; they had experienced ‘feelings flooding’ before, but never to this extent. He didn't know there wouldn’t be any lasting damage.

He raked his hand through his hair. What went wrong? What could I have done to stop it? A million “what if’s” circulated in his mind. What could I have done to save him?

Suddenly, the therapist spoke, voice echoing in the flooded halls of the library. “Do you feel guilty?”

There was the question again.

“What’s quite common in your situation is for the patient to feel some kind of…guilt,” the therapist explained. It wasn’t the same voice he heard outside his mind-palace. It was almost distorted in some way, glitching and broken.

“What situation?” Simon responded blank-faced. His game of pretending was highly above average, considering his way of respect to those of authority while giving his classmates the cold shoulder at the same time before he met John. Unfortunately for him, his act wouldn’t last forever.

“The accident.”

The mind-palace instantly teleported Simon to a secluded place of emptiness. The only thing he could see was bright, flashing, red and blue lights, remains of earthquake debris, crumbling pieces of cement, and MacTavish.

Dead.

The voice continued. “It’s very usual for people to invent blame or create a causality when in reality-”

“It was completely out of your control,” the therapist said in a comforting voice. Simon’s consciousness was back in real life. He noticed it started to rain a bit, droplets falling from the rain clouds of the evening.

“Now, I believe our time has ended,” the woman checked her watch with a huff while standing up. “Wait outside and I’ll prepare your assignment for you to give me at our next meeting, okay?”

Simon nodded silently, gathered his composure, and left the room with his trademark cold-stare.

It was approximately thirteen years, seven months, two days, and one hour since his swear that he’d never take even a sip of one alcoholic beverage. Some of his past acquaintances he was only forced to ‘play buddies’ with by his teachers had told him it was okay for just a little when they grow into legal adults. Even his mum said it was alright.

So when he stepped into a restaurant recommended by his mum, he did not expect to consume the bubbly taste of sparkling water. Instantly, he exited the place while slamming a few euros on the counter.

After the bus ride home, he fiddled with his keys in hopes of just laying down in his bed. A lot of people thought Simon would have a low alcohol tolerance, and when they thought it was low, they were right. He only took one sip of sparkling water, not even beer or wine, and he already started to feel dizzy.

The nostalgic feeling of his flat didn’t help either. He could remember the moments he shared with John. Sitting down on the couch while studying, cooking up John’s favourite potato pancakes, playing the violin, or just binge-watching random documentaries — these were all memories he shared with John.

John, John, John.

And it didn’t help either, that when Simon spent multiple seconds pacing through the room so much the friction would start a fire, he saw someone that turned his skin into a ghostly pale white.

He’d expect it to be John, or his father, or some spirit of the past. But he didn’t expect to see himself. It wasn’t an exact reflection. However, the other him looked different. Among other things, the Other Him’s hair was longer, looked more mature and taller, and his viridescent eyes shone brightly as if John didn’t bloody die. The Other Him smirked as if he knew his interaction with the real, present Simon would happen.

Simon blinked, and his surroundings turned pitch black.

“Simon Riley,” the Other Him said with a snide smile. “I suppose my entrance to your subconscious in this,” he shook his hand while checking his surroundings, “lovely, plain black space of nothingness means your mind-palace has erupted in a flood.”

“Wh-Who are you?” Simon stuttered, taken aback by the Other Him’s amount of knowledge on the new graduate.

The Other Him only tried — and failed — to stifle a giggle. After a bit of heavy wheezing, he looked at Simon’s confused and concerned eyes. “I’m you,” he pointed with a grin. “But in a few years from now. A lot of things will happen, among those are psychopathic men and talking holograms, but that’s for you to discover. You could say I’m your soul perhaps.”

A wing-wang sound began from the left side of the void. The Other Him and Simon gave a glare at the noise. No surprise was found on the boys’ faces for it was the same old scene; earthquake, ambulance, dead friend, flatline.

“‘Talking holograms,’ huh?” Simon tried to avoid the topic on hand. “How did that happen?”

The Other Him didn’t look at him. “Because of this,” he stared at John’s lifeless body. “I’m not real, you know. Only here to help you cope.”

The student laughed humorlessly. “So I’m so lonely that the only one who could comfort me is myself? Sod off.”

“Don’t talk like that,” the Other Him said, hands in his pockets. “You know your dear friend wouldn’t like your behaviour. After all, you don’t know what it means to be human yet, don’t you?”

Simon’s head shot up like a cannonball. “How did you figure it out?”

The engineer didn’t say anything, looking away from the younger boy’s Pricee. It only increased Simon’s fury. “I said, how did you figure it out, huh?” he spit, slowly walking towards the man’s direction. “Did I grow up to be such a brat who became some high-functioning sociopath that isn’t affected by someone’s death? Did I not mourn the anniversary of one of the few people who I considered important to me — the few people I treasured in my heart?”

The Other Him didn’t reply again, so Simon continued, voice beginning to shake and crack. His tears were going to soon burst like a dam being cracked open; a door being broken. “Did I not pray every night for the comfort and warmth of the Holy Family? Did I not look at Tangerine’s room and think, what else could I have done to change how this came to be? Did I not try to find an opportunity to somehow not wait, but make a miracle come true?”

Simon pushed the Other Him to see the expression on his face. “Did I not think if I wasn’t such a selfish, egotistic machine that Johnny would…w-would…” he trailed off as he met the Other Him’s eyes.

The Other Him looked as broken as he was. Several tears split from his eyes, his hands shuddered, and his brows furrowed in an attempt to stop crying.

“Of course,” the Other Him said, at last, calming himself as Simon could not. “Of course I did. We were his best friends, weren’t we? I created something in huge amounts of time and effort just to pretend that everything was alright and it was a normal day with him. But instead, the thing I’ve created taught me we shouldn’t dwell on these things irreversible.”

“You will do so much as I did to bring him back somehow, but all our trials will be fruitless. We will only inflict more danger to ourselves by longing for such impossible things to come true. The only thing I want you to keep on doing is to maintain the lessons you’ve learned about family, friendship, and love when you were with MacTavish, okay?” he asked. “A few rivalries fade away. Some friendships are mended. But in the end, all hearts are broken. So promise me you’ll never love someone as much as MacTavish loved you and me.”

Simon removed the engineer’s hand from his shoulder. “What do you mean?” Unhurriedly and steadily, the Other Him disappeared on sight. “Wait, don’t leave! Answer me!”

What replaced him was a bloodstained John MacTavish.

“He left because it hurt him to know you would never look at me the same way I looked at you,” he explained ever so softly with a beaming and knowing smile, but unlike the gentle tone of his voice, his words told a melancholic, crestfallen ballad.

Simon had so many things to say to John, even if he was aware it was all just a dream. But before he woke up and forgot it even happened, he decided to say the things he wanted to say the most.

“I was so alone,” he admitted, tears spreading like waterfalls. “And I owe you so much. You were the most human being I’ve ever known. One more miracle, John, just for me,” he said, wanting to get the most of his time with him. “What does it mean to be human?”

But John refused to answer.

“Sometimes the words left unsaid are the words that could’ve meant the most,” Simon’s deceased friend said to himself, before vanishing.

Simon Riley swore he’d seen a bluish, glitchy version of John smiling fondly at him before leaving…

“Soap?”

But that wasn’t the first time he’d seen that figure. That oddly familiar object, however not the “we’ve met before” kind of familiar. It was like “I’ll see you in the future.”

This sparkling water incident wasn’t the first time he was in close proximity with alcohol. It was after the school finals with a very much alive John MacTavish.

Alone with a very much alive John MacTavish.

Bars were a very weird place for a guy like Simon. Sometimes they were noisy, chattering and wild with a bunch of drunk people who cussed too much. Other times, they were quiet, with sober citizens who wanted to drink away their worries in silence. The one that Simon and MacTavish entered wasn’t loud nor hushed; it was completely soundless.

The two students sat at the oak-wood chairs of The Silver Hours Bar. It wasn’t buzzing with talk as usual, with customers sipping their drinks. The bar was so quiet the sound of a pin falling could be heard. The only thing that made any noise was the soft clanking of the glasses being cleaned by the bartender. It was one of the rare places where the drinks were good and the price didn’t equal Mount Everest.

The boys talked calmly, and only advanced their volume when Simon got annoyed or John laughed gleefully. The kinder man had already drunk several mugs of beer, evidenced by the considerable number of empty glasses set on the table before him. Simon, however, didn’t even touch a glass. All went well, until some lady the same age as them walked in the bar with questionably flirty eyes set on her next prey; Simon.

“Hi, the name’s Philipa,” the stranger said with a smile, taking the seat next to Simon at the bar. John leaned and took a peek at the woman; blonde, sharply-cut hair, fine skin, and hungry blue-grey American eyes. Johnny looked at her with a try-hard polite expression, while Simon was the exact latter; impertinent.

“Lovely name, I’m Johnny!” he greeted. When Philipa didn’t say anything back, busy batting her eyes at Simon, he sighed and knew it was his cue to engage in social interaction.

“That's nice,” Simon said without moving his Pricee from the entrance door. He felt his entire body tense up and received the nerve to just tell the bloody woman to piss off, but John is here and John wouldn’t want that, the selfless git.

“You have really nice hair,” Philipa continued, ghosting her fingers over Simon’s long, straight hair in a way that made him entirely uncomfortable, “and you smell like heaven.”

‘Thank you’ would probably be the appropriate response, but he didn't care for the way this woman kept touching him and smiling at him, as if she knew Simon and had any right to be in his personal space. Only a select few were allowed this close to him and this Philipa character was certainly not one of them. So with a dark look, he pointedly scooted away and retorted, “You, on the other hand, smell like discount cologne and beer.”

Philipa raised her eyebrows in surprise but was not deterred. “Feisty, huh? I like that. So can I get a name?”

“I was under the impression that you already had one, Philipa.”

“Clever,” she grinned, “but I actually meant yours.”

It was more of a reflex than anything, but he replied, “Simon Riley.”

“That's a lovely name,” Philipa purred, “would you-”

“Not interested,” Simon interrupted. The angle of the woman's hips and the darkness of her pupils clearly indicated that she had the intention of propositioning Simon, and that was something the boy had absolutely no interest in.

“Right, sorry,” the woman apologised, ducking her head. “You're gay aren't you?” Then, more to herself, she mumbled, “The good ones always are.”

Although Simon was well aware that the woman's question doesn't truly require an articulate, well thought out answer, he mulled over the inquiry anyway. He'd never identified as any particular sexuality since he didn't care for either gender. People in general were tedious, time-consuming leeches whose complex social rituals were far beyond his realm of understanding. It never seemed worthwhile to pursue anyone.

Johnny's entrance into his life had been an awakening of sorts, but not in a romantic sense. He could think all the funny novel phrases like the light of my life, or the sun to the moon, and it would all be true; just not in the way society would always think it was. John had changed him for the better, as a partner and a rivarish friend, but in no way as a lover.

It had only been a few seconds of silence but Simon recognized that social norms required far shorter pauses in conversation. “I am aromantic and I am also not interested,” Simon said firmly. “Kindly leave me alone. That man in the corner looks willing enough, I suggest you go chat him up instead.”

Philipa exhaled and got off her stool while taking a drink she previously ordered when Simon went on thinking like that, leaving the bar, apparently uninterested with the bloke in the corner.

It took a few moments before anyone spoke again, and when Simon started to wonder why in the world John isn’t bombarding him with musings, twelve empty shots were there on the table and Simon didn’t notice.

“Jeez, MacTavish!” Simon snapped. “Can’t you be at least more responsible? I’m going to have to be your cane the rest of our way to our flat!”

John only sloppily traced the rim of his drink with a drunken giggle. “I never told ya that you’d have to help me, ye know!” he said. He wasn’t wrong. Simon sighed.

“That’s it, I’m footing the bill and we’re leaving.” Even though he never actually touched his glass, Simon stood up and started to walk to the counter.

“No, hold it,” John said abruptly, pausing in his tracks.

Simon sat back down and folded his arms. “What is it?”

“Just a personal experiment,” he started to ramble. “It wouldn’t take too long. Science, you know? I was just wondering if I would be able to keep someone awake at night simply by saying three statements.”

“Oh?” Simon shut his eyes while tapping his fingers impatiently. He didn’t like backing down from challenges. “I accept, let’s hear it. What’s the first line?”

“The first sentence is that I'd like to emphasise the second line is entirely false.”

“Hm, alright. And the second?” asked Simon, almost curious, eyes still closed. He’d wish he’d opened them, for he couldn’t see what was coming next. Without warning, John had whispered his next line right next to his ear.

“I’ve always liked you more than a friend.”

Johnny’s warm breath tickled lightly against his eardrums when he spoke the words, and Simon felt his hairs on the back of his neck stand up as if he was electrocuted.

Keep a straight face, Simon. Remember, it’s entirely false. He said it was.

Noting a lack of response, Johnny continued speaking, normally once more, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. “And the third is I retract my first line, and whatever I may have just told you on the second may be true, may it not.”

Simon stood up once more and opened his eyes. “You’re drunk,” he asserted. “Stay where you are and wait for me. I’ll go pay. Everything you’re going to say is untrue.”

Johnny grabbed the lapel of Simon’s coat, standing up while pulling him close. “And if I kissed you right now?” he said, appearing unflinchingly and unfailingly true to his words. “How ‘untrue’ would that be?”

Simon found the strength to pull away his friend’s stare, taking his wallet out and putting a number of euros on the table. He supported John’s weight out of the bar without another word, unable to react to John’s words.

“Maybe in the future, you’d see how I feel,” John said when they were back in their flat. “Maybe you could return my feelings, even if I know you never will.”

And his last words before he went into a seemingly eternal slumber.

“Maybe then you’d understand what I mean when I say I can’t help falling in love with you.”

* * *

The sun was so bright and hot that even Soap decided not to use the gloves to avoid sweltering in the heat. And anyways, Soap was hot enough from Simon’s humiliating teasing earlier.

“We need to take shade,” Simon mournfully said, sweating as if he was wet. “I can’t bear to be under the sun any longer.”

After a trip to an ice cream parlour to cool off and Soap’s regret on not bringing the gloves, they rested under the shade of an abandoned building.

Simon had finished his chocolate gelato and they sat on the ground in silence. The sun’s heat shifted into the cool air, and before they knew it, it was drizzling.

Good thing I made Soap’s orb waterproof, Simon thought. Otherwise, he’d break down and his emotions would go unstable.

“We should get going,” Simon said, just in time when he heard thunder strike. “Or maybe not.” He checked his phone to thankfully see that school had been temporarily cancelled because of the sudden thunderstorm.

He eyed the hologram. Soap hummed a tune of a song he wasn’t familiar with, gleefully taking in the drops of rain as melody.

“What are you singing?” Simon asked, genuinely curious. Soap bit his upper lip.

“Weeell,” Soap started, rubbing the back of his head. “Remember the gift I was too late to give? It was supposed to be a song and I only thought of its music and lyrics last night...”

“Can I hear it?”

“You want to?”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t?”

“Good point,” the hologram laughed. “My singing ability isn’t the best, so take care of your eardrums if it’s bad, I guess.”

“Gladly,” the human said ironically. Soap kept his eyes shut and opened his mouth to sing.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Soap got the strong impression that everything he would do for the rest of his life will be coloured with Simon’s emerald green eyes and caramel brown hair. Every action will carry some discreet, subtle stride towards Simon. His every word, a hidden love ballad. A secret message. A slow note of longing.

“What’s that piece called?” Simon asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” the hologram said. He quietly relished the soft, sleepy smile on Simon’s face.

“It’s beautiful,” the brunet admitted. “It sounds like…”

“A lullaby?” he guessed.

“No,” Simon replied, voice like a plucked string. “Judging from its rhythm and its lyrics, it sounds like a love song. It’s obvious, isn't it?”

“I suppose so,” Soap laughed heartily.

“But why does it sound so sad? If it’s a love song, why does it sound so terribly broken?” Simon asked as if it was the most important question in the entirety of the universe.

Perhaps it is.

Before the hologram could respond, Soap’s voice trailed off as the two boys heard a thud, thud, thud.

Loud footsteps echoed in the empty building. Simon covered Soap’s mouth to avoid his rambling - despite his hand going through the hologram - and they scurried to a piece of furniture that they could hide to. They quietly closed the doors of a closet of poor condition after Simon wiped off its fingerprints with his napkin and the inventor peeked at the approaching people.

“I swear, boss, I saw them here!” a timid man said, looking so panicked he looked like he peed on his pants. Simon knew who the voice belonged to, however. He knew someday he would come to hunt him. If Informant Horangi is here…

“I am finished here,” Mr. Riley said. “Scout the area. I will leave at once.”

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Finally, after several gruelling minutes of back pain and stiffness, Simon, Soap, and his orb landed out of the closet as they heard the footsteps fade away.

“Who were those?!” Soap mumbled, brows furrowed. “They interrupted my song!” he said, clearly unaware of the bigger threats that came in their way.

“My father and his little minions,” Simon gritted his teeth while brushing the dust off his shirt. “He wants to take you. I just know it. We shouldn’t have gone out today.” Soap gave him a stare that said ‘obviously.’

They proceeded to the building’s exit with caution, opening it only to find two armed men with their handguns aimed at them.

“Tch, you think we would let you out that easily?” said the younger man with a Spanish accent, clucking his pistol.

“We saw a light coming from the closet,” the older one revealed, tapping his night goggles. “It wasn’t so bright, but enough to confirm our suspicions. I have to admit, it took us a long time to find you, even with our fingerprint scanner,” he said, holding the scanner in his other hand. “Come quietly and we’ll hold fire.”

Soap stood in front of Simon. “Hey! Put your weapons down! That’s so disrespectful!”

The two men were confused with the hologram’s ‘naivety.’ Even Simon raised one of his eyebrows.

“If you wanna ask someone to come with them, you gotta have some respect,” the invention tutted. “There’s this thing called magic words you know, like ‘please!’”

“Sure thing we don’t,” the younger man said, more irritated than ever with Soap’s banter. “That’s why we’re working for Herr Riley. Now hands where I can see them and kneel!”

Simon started making ‘tsk’ noises, a smirk emerging from his lips. Soap’s lament proved useful as he had the time to remove something extra from his pocket.

“Sirs, are you not aware that I know you will not pull fire on me? Or the hologram, too. I’m your boss’ son, he said so. Any physical damage wouldn’t be done at me that could cause severe injuries; even my father wouldn’t go so low. As for the hologram, how would you copy its model if its orb is shot down?” Simon explained cunningly. “Not only that, aren’t you afraid that you may have a witness? I could’ve created several holograms, all spewed across this place, witnesses to your crime. They could alert the law, if anything. You’d be going down with Mr. Riley. Father would be arrested even if he had his best lawyer to defend him because I’d have solid proof. CER Model, pal.”

“You’re lying,” the older man – Alejandro, if Simon can remember the name of his previous staff – tried to convince himself.

“Am I? Or am I not?” The engineer bluffed.

Out of nowhere, a little cube dropped to the floor. Soap saw it once; in Simon’s basement.

It was a flash-bomb.

Simon smirked. “You decide.”

Suddenly, a red smoke arose from the cube, and the sight of the two men started to get blurry and slow. Simon had put on his goggles to be unaffected by this state, as he tried to get away from the assassins.

The men started shooting in random directions.

“Soap!” Simon shouted as he and the hologram ran to the door’s exit and beyond. “Hold my hand!”

Soap obeyed, panting and forgetting he didn’t have his gloves on, but to his shock, he felt Simon. Without his gloves. Like a human.

“Simon, I-”

“No time to talk!” the inventor yelled as they ran on the open road, heatwaves getting to him as the rain left only a drizzle. He could still hear the gunshots on the linoleum floor back in the abandoned building, but he was sure the effects of the gas wore off.

Slowly but surely, the four males were caught up in a chase.

Soap and Simon made brisk and sharp turns around the neighbourhood, and the two men followed them. They were soon on a two-way path, and the hologram and inventor stopped in their tracks.

“Let’s split up,” Simon said, huffing. The assassins were catching up, looking deadly.

“According to my Maps, the next road leads to a dead-end! No matter where we’ll go we'll get stuck!”

“Trust me.”

And that’s exactly what Soap did, even if they found themselves in a dead-end, just like what the hologram predicted. Simon speedily pulled up his jumpsuit’s cuffs and showed an odd, periwinkle coloured long piece of cloth wrapped on his leg. He removed it and put it over himself and Simon, and suddenly the cloth went invisible, together with the duo. Soap still went through the cloth, so Simon held it up for him.

The two men appeared on the ends of the road, guns fully loaded. They were enraged, face burning red from the heat. But even as they scanned the entire area with cusses and curses, they couldn’t find Simon and Soap.

Resigning, Rodolfo called Mr. Riley with his phone. “We lost them,” he said disappointingly as he and Alejandro left.

Simon and Soap removed the cloth on them while they laughed, imagining the heaps of name-calling Simon’s father would do, especially his signature ‘fool.’

They walked home tired.

Hands still intertwined.

* * *

Gloved Soap and Simon stretched on the sofa, in relief that they (or at least just Simon) could finally relax from the run.

Soap looked at his gloves peculiarly. “Riley…”

“How was I able to touch you?”

Simon shrugged. He honestly didn’t know either. He had forgotten the hologram didn’t have gloves when he grabbed his hand. “I don’t know. I didn’t program anything to make you like that.”

He removed Soap’s gloves then tried to touch him, but went through. Simon put the gloves on the hologram again.

“Perhaps it depends on the emotional situation and circumstances,” Simon thought out loud. “However, back to more imperative talking, we need to cancel our walks. As much as you and I enjoy them, it’d be safer for the both of us if you don’t appear in public.”

Soap nodded in understanding, frowning a bit in dismay.

“Make sure to not leave open windows unattended and always keep the door locked, okay?”

“Yes, Simon,” he replied nonchalantly.

He’s like a schoolboy, Simon thought, sighing. He put both of his hands on the hologram’s shoulders.

“You’re more important to me than my career or work, got it? May you like it or not, your safety is always my top priority. So keep that in check, okay?” the inventor confessed. Soap removed Simon’s hands.

“I’m not a human,” the hologram pointed out. “Do not risk your life for mine. I am not ‘him.’”

Soap didn’t even need to mention who ‘him’ was.

* * *

Despite the awkward conversation, it didn’t give a pause to their strange friendship. They still talked like normal, Soap didn’t stop sharing his thoughts with plants, and every holiday was made special.

For Good Friday and Easter Sunday, Simon made a nice meat-free meal after watching online Mass so the hologram could accompany him. Ostermontag or Easter Sunday wasn’t spent with his family like German traditions, but at least Simon could have a karaoke night with his friend who’d stayed.

Mother’s Day came along and Soap helped Simon decorate pink cards for his mother. Simon had made a very long speech in his letter with a swirly handwriting and sent it along with a bouquet of daisies and gardenias.

Oktoberfest that took place in September was one of the only exceptions that Simon let Soap out. They spent time on carnivals, most especially the carousel where the hologram awed at the beautiful pink-red-orange sunset while chomping on candy apples.

All Saints’ Day went on and Simon stood on the grave of the real Johnny. He left a single yellow rose on the foot of the grave to symbolise their undying friendship. (Simon was always such an inner poetic romantic.)

Finally, Weihnachtstag came with Soap’s birthday on the 25th of December. Except for the two of them, Simon had invited a school acquaintance to dine with on roasted goose and duck. It was no surprise that the man – John Price, was positively screeching when he saw a real-life hologram, but he and Soap had formed a good sturdy bond. Soap did not miss Simon’s obvious signs of jealousy at Price, however.

And then New Year’s came. A special day to celebrate the coming of a fresh new start. It would be Soap’s second new year and Simon’s twenty-fourth.

Simon had played the violin, using its bow on its strings, accompanied with Soap’s singing and lyrics for his small audience; Price and Simon’s mother.

“Like a river flows,” the hologram sang. He found himself unable to sing a Christmas carol and so he made a continuation to the love song he sang to Simon before on the abandoned building. It was corny to Simon’s ears, but sob-worthy to everyone else’s. “Surely to the sea, darling, so it goes. Some things aren’t meant to be.”

A hearty amount of applause erupted from the listeners. At least how much you could get from one student and a mom.

“That was beautiful, Soap, Simon!” Price said, sneezing on a tissue. He had related a deep level of it with his fiance. The woman checked Soap’s music sheet. She saw that the hologram didn’t sing the whole song, and Simon didn’t know there was more to it.

“Soap, dearie,” Simon’s mother said. “Who’s the special someone this song is dedicated to?” Soap flushed a shade of dark blue, insisting it was just some song he made up one night. He wanted to say something. That wrote this for Simon, that he wrote everything for him. Simon alone had a thousand symphonies pounding through his veins; his every heartbeat provided the first note to a hundred ballads; the light in his eyes was enough to inspire sonnets and serenades and beautiful concertos to last a lifetime. But all these words had to be unspoken. Soon, the hologram would know that the words unsaid could’ve been the ones that meant the most.

After the song, they had indulged in a dainty feast consisting of lavish German food Simon had cooked. They soon bid their goodbyes and left the house, leaving Simon and Soap alone.

Ding! A text message popped up from Simon’s phone. He checked it.

From Roba Riley huh, Simon thought. Is Father finally going to greet me with a Happy New Year for once?

Mr. Riley continued to follow and stalk Simon when he left his flat, but the boy knew that reporting it to authorities wasn’t the right move. Especially if the people were under the command of the wealthy CEO.

He checked the man’s message.

I promise, I will burn the heart out of you.

Was it a threat? Simon wasn’t sure. It couldn’t be an error on his father’s part since Mr. Riley never texted Simon often, so he wouldn’t mistake his contact for someone else.

Instead of wondering what it meant, Simon replied like what a true Riley would do in his father’s definition.

I was often told by my peers that I don’t have one.

He paused, then opted to text another message when Mr. Riley didn’t reply.

The only one who could represent such a thing died long ago.

A speech bubble appeared. Simon started to smell something odd; something burning. Smoke. It wasn’t the fireworks, no. It was almost like…

We both know that’s not so true.

Another message.

Not anymore.

Simon was well aware of that glow – of that smell and wreck.

It was fire.

#cod mwii #cod mwiii #drabble #fanfic #fic #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod modern warfare #soapghost angst #angst

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logi1974 · 5 months

Text

Namibia 2023/24 - Tag 20

Happy New Year!!!

Ein Frohes Neues Jahr!!!

Herrschaften und Oukies!!!

Heute Morgen verließen wir um 9.30 Uhr das Desert Camp.

Zuerst ging es die paar Kilometer gemächlich bis nach Solitaire. Die zunächst geteerte Straße wurde bald wieder zu Gravel. Hier waren doch deutlich mehr Fahrzeuge unterwegs als bisher.

Bis hierher war es eine schöne Fahrt entlang der Naukluftberge. Solitaire ist hier so etwas wie ein Hauptknotenpunkt, da muss quasi jeder vorbei, der von Nord nach Süd oder umgekehrt will.

Solitaire, auf der Landkarte ein kleiner Fleck, liegt in einem sehr dünn besiedelten Gebiet am Rande des Namib-Naukluftparkes an der Kreuzung zweier wichtiger Fernstraßen: der C 14 von Walfish Bay nach Bethanien und der C 24 von Rehoboth nach Sesriem.

Über die Herkunft des Namens Solitaire gibt es geteilte Meinungen. Einige vertreten die Ansicht, das es sich bei der Gründung des Ortes 1884 nur um ein einziges Haus gehandelt haben soll.

Dies soll aber falsch sein, weil es sich immer um mehr als ein Gebäude gehandelt hat. Wahrscheinlicher ist die Namensableitung von solitude, was soviel wie Einsamkeit, Abgeschiedenheit heißt – und genau dieser Name wird dem Ehepaar van Coller auch zugeschrieben, die hier in den 1950er Jahren ihre Farm betrieben.

Verrostete, uralte Oldtimer säumen den Eingang zu diesem beliebten Zwischenstopp. Sie sind, zum Teil halb eingesunken in Sand, stille Zeugen einer anderen Zeit.

Hier und da wächst ein Kaktus aus einem Auto, eine alte Zapfsäule steht verlassen und umrahmt von Kakteen irgendwo zwischen den Oldtimern und fast könnte man denken, man wäre nicht in Namibia sondern in Texas während der 50er Jahre.

Die Bäckerei mit angegliedertem Cafe steht in jedem Reiseführer. Dieses wurde berühmt durch seinen Apfelkuchen. Diese Berühmtheit hatte Solitaire dem „Schotten“ Percy „Moose“ McGregor zu verdanken.

In Sambia von einer deutschen Mutter aus Pforzheim und einem schottischen Vater großgezogen, verschlug es ihn 1992 schließlich nach Solitaire zu seiner Schwester Helen und ihrem Mann.

Dort begannen sie mit dem Backen der später so berühmten Apfelkuchen und -strudel nach den alten, überlieferten Rezepten ihrer deutschen Mutter. Diese wurden hungrigen Touristen und Farmern angeboten, die in Solitaire ihre Fahrzeuge betankten bzw. für einen Zwischenstopp hielten.

Helen und ihr Mann verkauften später Solitaire, Moose jedoch entschloss sich zu bleiben und zusammen mit dem neuen Eigentümer wurde eine Bäckerei gebaut: Die Moose McGregor’s Desert Bakery entstand.

In seinem kleinen Gasofen konnte er lediglich zwei Bleche dieses Obstkuchens und anderes Gebäck auf einmal herstellen. Sie reichten im Schnitt für mehr oder weniger ein bis zwei Tage.

Im Laufe der Jahre stieg nicht nur die Zahl der Touristen in Solitaire, sondern auch der Bedarf an dem Apfelkuchen von Moose. An besonders geschäftigen Tagen wurden zwischen 150 bis 200 Kilogramm Äpfel dafür verarbeitet. Neben dem Apfelkuchen waren auch seine Brownies, Marmorkuchen und vor allem sein Farmbrot begehrte Verkaufsschlager.

Mit nur 57 Jahren verstarb Moose plötzlich und unerwartet am 18. Januar 2014. Er wurde in unmittelbarer Nähe der Bäckerei beigesetzt und selbst im fernen Windhoek wurde ihm zu Ehren ein zusätzlicher Gedenkgottesdienst abgehalten.

Nach wie vor tragen sich die Besucher in das Gästebuch ein und besuchen sein Grab. Viele kannten ihn persönlich und bezeugen mit ihren Einträgen und Anekdoten die Sympathie, die sie empfanden. Zahlreiche Erinnerungsstücke an Moose stehen und hängen in seinem Laden. Die meisten wissen aber gar nicht, welche "Berühmtheit" dort liegt.

Auch nach dem plötzlichen Tod ist die „Moose McGregor’s Desert Bakery“ bei Solitaire weiterhin eine beliebte Anlaufstelle für hungrige Reisende – davon zeugen die zahlreichen Fahrzeuge, die quasi jeden Quadratmeter zuparken.

Mit den Jahren wurde ein richtiger Rummelplatz aus dem einst idyllischen Fleckchen Erde. Der neueste Zuwachs ist einer dieser Food-Trucks, die neuerdings überall aus dem Boden schießen wie Pilze.

Und als wir noch den Rotel-Tours Bus sahen, dessen Insassen überall wild herumsprangen und Selfies machten, entschieden wir uns spontan: hier bleiben wir nicht! Nix wie weg.

Bei der Ausfahrt fällt uns eine Bewegung bei den Bauten, der hier eigentlich ansässigen Erdhörnchen, auf. Normalerweise buddeln diese putzigen Gesellen hier überall herum und sind auch gar nicht scheu.

Bei näherer Betrachtung sahen die "Erdhörnchen" allerdings doch etwas seltsam aus. Sind es womöglich Erdmännchen? Nein, es sind Fuchsmangusten, die die Erdbauten okkupiert haben.

Wie entschieden uns die Mittagspause im recht neuen Rooi Dak Padstal zu verbringen. Der Padstal liegt kurz vor der Barkhan Dune Lodge.

Also bogen wir auf die D 1275 ab und folgten dieser für rund 15 Kilometer.

Die Inhaber dekorierten diesen Padstal (oder auch Farmstall) ebenfalls äußerst originell.

Leider war hier heute geschlossen. Offenbar sind hier zur Zeit Betriebsferien, wie so oft in den abgelegen ländlichen Gebieten.

So drehten wir um und fuhren zurück auf die C 14 und bogen dort ab, in Richtung Walvis Bay.

Ab Solitaire wird die Landschaft von Kilometer zu Kilometer eintöniger. Die Sandwüste verwandelt sich hier in eine Kieswüste.

Kurz nach der Einfahrt von Rostock Ritz erreichen wir den Tropic of Capricorn (den südlichen Wendekreis), dessen Schild über und über mit Aufklebern von Reisenden beklebt ist.

Für alle Orte auf 23,5 Grad südlicher Breite wandert die Sonne am 22. Dezember zum Sommeranfang durch den Zenit, weshalb dieser Breitengrad "Wendekreis des Steinbocks" genannt wird.

Am 21. Dezember ist auf der südlichen Halbkugel der längste Tag und die kürzeste Nacht des Jahres. Es ist Sommersonnenwende und gleichzeitig beginnt der astronomische Winter auf der Nordhalbkugel.

Es ging für uns weiter durch den Ghaub-Pass und durch den Ghaub Canyon. Ca. 30 km weiter passieren wir den Kuiseb Pass und den Kuiseb Canyon.

Spektakulär! Kein Wunder, dass sich die beiden Geologen, Henno Martin und Hermann Korn, damals dort verschanzt haben. Nachzulesen in dem Buch Wenn es Krieg gibt, gehen wir in die Wüste.

1935 kehrten die beiden Nachwuchswissenschaftler Henno Martin und Hermann Korn dem NS-Regime in Deutschland mit Verachtung den Rücken und reisen zu Forschungsarbeiten ins selbst gewählte südwestafrikanische Exil. Die beiden Geologen forschen einige Jahre in dem Land und lernen durch ihre Arbeit auch die entlegensten Winkel kennen.

Mit dem Ausbruch des 2. Weltkriegs im September 1939 in Europa klassifizierte die britisch-orientierte Mandatsmacht des damaligen Südwestafrika, Südafrika, die deutschsprachige Minderheit pauschal als "Feinde" (enemy aliens).

Selbst jene Deutschen, die sich nach dem Londoner Abkommen von 1923 auch für die südafrikanisch-britische Staatsangehörigkeit hatten umschreiben lassen und damit Doppelstaatler (deutsch-englisch) geworden waren. Es wurden sogar Deutschsprachige abgeführt, die keine Doppelstaatler, sondern "reine" britische Untertanen waren.

Bis zum 30. November 1940 waren 1083 Südwester Deutsche interniert und nach Südafrika, hauptsächlich ins Lager Andalusia, abtransportiert worden.

Aber auch im folgenden Jahr ging die Internierung bis auf 1200 Mann weiter. Lange nach Auflösung der Internierungslager durfte die Mehrzahl der Männer nicht aus Südafrika nach Südwestafrika (später Namibia) zurückkehren.

Henno Martin und Hermann Korn entzogen sich nach dem Kriegsausbruch der drohenden Verhaftung und Internierung durch die britisch-südafrikanischen Alliierten durch den Rückzug in die von ihnen so geliebte Wüstenlandschaft.

Sie machten sich mit einem Pick-Up, einem PKW, dem Hund Otto, einem Radio und allerhand Proviant davon.

Unweit der heutigen Brücke am Kuiseb-Canyon errichteten die deutschstämmigen Geologen 1940 ihren ersten Unterschlupf.

Sie sicherten eine natürliche Höhle unter einem Felsvorsprung durch Felsbrocken zur Schlucht hin ab und waren, wie alle mehr oder weniger freiwilligen Siedler entlang des Kuiseb, dem Warten auf den ersehnten Regen ausgeliefert.

Doch der Regen ließ lange auf sich warten, und so unternahmen sie auf der Suche nach Wasser, Wild und Salz zwischendurch lange Exkursionen ins Landesinnere.

Sie verließen den Kuiseb und errichten ihre zweite "Wohnung" in einem unzugänglichen Winkel auf dem Gelände der Farm Niedersachsen - mit dem Eigentümer waren sie schon zuvor befreundet gewesen.

Aus herumliegenden Steinen haben die beiden Männer Mauern hochgezogen und sich richtige Zimmer gebaut. Die beiden bauten auch ein Bassin, um nicht ständig den mühseligen Weg zum Wasser hinunterklettern zu müssen - und mit dem Wasservorrat wieder hinauf.

Noch einmal wechseln sie ihren Unterschlupf. 1942 müssen sie wegen einer Skorbut Erkrankung Hermann Korns ihr Versteck aufgeben. Sie werden verhaftet und angeklagt. Die Anklagen lauteten auf die versäumte Zahlung der Hundesteuer und der Autolizenzen sowie den Besitz eines Radios während des Krieges.

Die folgenden 80 km durch die Wüste sind von Monotonie geprägt. Sand und helles Geröll so weit das Auge blickt (und noch viel weiter). Die Pad nach Walvis Bay ist in fürchterlichem Zustand – wellig und durchsetzt mit Schlaglöchern, so dass wir für 100 Kilometer ganze drei Stunden (ohne Pausen) benötigen.

Ödes, plattes, steiniges Land mit wenig Leben (denken wir) nur ein paar Strauße und Springböcke waren in der Ferne zu erkennen. Sonst nichts. Das ist eigentlich schon wieder faszinierend.

Wir fuhren weiter auf der C14 und schlugen den Weg Richtung Küste ein. In der Ferne sahen wir schon den Nebel der Küste und so langsam konnten wir auch das Meer riechen.

Wir erreichen Walvis Bay. Tanken an der neuen Tankstelle, die gegenüber dem Bird Sanctuary bzw. dessen benachbarter Shopping Mall liegt, auf. Lassen den Luftdruckt der Reifen wieder auf 2,3 Bar auffüllen und die Scheiben putzen. Die Jungs legen sich mächtig ins Zeug.

Entlang der rauen Atlantikküste geht es weiter nach Swakopmund, das nur 30 km nördlich von Walvis Bay liegt. Bei der Einfahrt in den Ort überqueren wir den ausgetrockneten Swakop-Fluß auf der längsten Brücke Namibias (688 m).

Es ist 16 Uhr als wir in Swakopmund eintreffen, alles wirkt so vertraut für uns. Als wir das erste Mal hier waren, gab es viele der Häuser am Langstrand noch nicht – und es wird überall noch weiter gebaut.

Für den Abend hatten wir wieder im altehrwürdigen Hansa Hotel reserviert. Wir lieben das gediegene Restaurant des ältesten noch existierenden Hotels in Swakopmund ganz besonders.

Und wie immer, wenn wir dort speisen, gibt es für uns den guten, alten Colonial Coffee - der dort mit viel Tradition zelebriert wird. Besonders stolz ist der Oberkellner auf den Eierlikör aus Deutschland, der da unter anderem mit rein kommt.

Lekker Slaap!

Angie, Micha, Mama und der Hasenbär

#Sesriem #Desert Camp #Solitaire #Swakopmund #namibia #afrika #africa

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