The Famed Adventures of Faeroh In Space

Chapter One - The Box

Gravity pulled water from the faucet – making it fall upon the porcelain sink below. Two cupped hands, brown on the underside and a translucent pinkish-tan on the top, move toward the descending group of droplets. The fingers were nearly the same size as the palms. The hands were neither overtly large nor uniquely small. They did, however, possess white residue upon the crevices of the fingers and the valleys of the palm – signs of dryness and negligence. The thirsty appendages intercepted the tower of water.

A pool formed in the curved palms as water filled the flesh bowl – washing away the white layer from the palms. With one swift motion, the hands shot up, launching the water on the face of a young brown-skinned man. Water dripped down and through his kinky hair. Rolling through each curl, like a toy car on a makeshift track, the water raced through the tight maze. Continuing to overtake the body, the water rolled down the side and back of his head that seemed to follow a fading gradient. Moving lower on the side, the hair not only continued to get shorter but also changed color. The hair went from a dark, full black, about one inch in length, at the height of the sides and back. In the middle, the hair transitioned into lighter black – a shallow black that has hints of skin in between follicles. At the bottom, was nothing but skin. The water did not stop there. Another droplet rolled off of a curl; down the crisp, straight hairline that had each follicle chopped to precision; and down his forehead.

It was a forehead that could hold his pointer finger, index finger, middle finger, and pinky finger, when placed upon from brow to hairline. Each eyebrow was full and black like the color of his hair. Toward the center of his face, the brows were tall. They tapered in size as they traveled toward the sides of his face.

Another splash of water hit him. The water droplets continued down the thinly rounded bridge of his nose. At the bottom of the bridge sat globular mass with two semicircles protruding from it's sides, like parachute pants. His nostrils had a slight tilt up.

Another pile of water hit the young man. Two more droplets fell. This time, they carved out his eyes. Worn with exhaustion. His long lashes kept other droplets from falling into his haunted eyes. The milky outer spaces were invaded by dark circles red cracks and dark circles. From a proper distance, his pupils looked black. At close proximity, they were not black. Instead, they held a dark brown hue.

A final wall of water hit him. Water continued to fall on the thin face that featured noticeable cheekbones, but none that would win a beauty contest. Lips that were recognizable, but not big enough to be the focal point. His top lip was a slightly darker hue of brown than the skin around it. His bottom lip was a bright reddish-pink that was different than any other body.

The water stopped, briefly, at his chin. Neither completely round nor completely pointed, his chin was more of an amalgam of the two. It brought his face to a conclusion without drawing too much attention.

As the water completed the journey on his face, it continued relentlessly down his body. A body that was bare to the elements. His pectoral muscles were underdeveloped – the left side was completely disregardable and the right showed signs of potential. His stomach had no definition. He had a single tattoo under his left collar bone that was supposed to read "Chosen Creature of God" in Hebrew. The artist made a mistake and now the only correct word was "God", which sat in the very center of the botched tattoo.

Wet from the continuous, aquatic onslaught: the young man looked into the glass in front of him. There was a faint knock at the door. Not hearing it, he continued to stare. He was not alone in his stare. Opposite of him was an identical copy of himself, who stared right back. Both wore exhaustion, disappointment, and depression. There was another, slightly louder, knock at the door. The staring contest seemed to distract him from the noise. It seemed to last an eternity. What was he thinking about? The longer he stared, the further into thought he fell. Nearly fully in the darkness, the knocking was no more. Now, it was banging. The ferocity of the impact, the deafening volume, and the lack of gaps between the bangs, snapped the young man out of the trance that the reflective prison held him in.

The young man breathed angrily. Irritated that he had been interrupted, he looked at the door. His once-exhausted eyes were now filled with frustration. Taking a glance back at the mirror, he saw his rage. He did not like what he saw. So, he closed his eyes. He breathed in, then out. IN. THEN OUT.

Opening his eyes, the young man wiped his face dry and let out the remaining uneasiness with a large sigh. With one final glance at his other self, he pulled a round silver ball attached to the wall on his left. A slab of wood that camouflaged into the wall, swung ajar. This opening led to a hallway. There was no one there. Who was knocking? Confused, the young man wanted a better look. Who was knocking? He lifted his right foot to exit, when suddenly his big toe struck something hard. "Oooooooow Fu--!"

Pain. That's what he felt. He tripped, fell, and stumbled into the hallway wall. His fist was centimeters away from the wall. He was reunited with his rage. He breathed hard as he stared at the wall with menacing eyes of hate. he breathes hard. In. And out. In. and OUT! With each breath, he slowed his heart rate and calmed himself. He never completely eased his spirit. But now that he was calmer, he turned around to see what had tripped him.

On the ground, laid a perfectly proportioned black box – point one seven seven eight meters by point one seven seven eight meters. Each side having a glossy finish.

The young man picked it up. At first glance, it could be assumed that the box was made of glass. To his surprise, it was rough to the touch and did not feel fragile like glass. The texture that caressed his hands contradicted the coating that his eyes perceived. The box also did not reflect anything – no color, no light nor anything from the surrounding environment. As he held it in his hand, the box felt otherworldly. It was as light as a feather. It was as alluring as a black hole. The more he stared at it, the more the box drew him in. A ringing developed in his ears. The hallway seemed to vanish around him. The cube whispered: "Faeroh...Faeroh...Faeroh…."

"Faeroh! You home?" a voice yelled from downstairs. Hypnotized, the young man did not respond to the call.

Faeroh! You home?" The voice called out once more. Captivated, the young man, again, did not respond to the call. He was so enthralled with the box.

With more vehemence, the voice inquired: Faeroh? ARE YOU HOME!?" Suddenly, he dropped the box as the voice's new force pulled him from the enchantment; but, he did not immediately respond. Like waking up from a dream, he had no recollection of where he was. So, he stood there perplexed.

With even more volume and even more power, the voice, now screaming, projected: "FAEROH!? ARE. YOU. HOME!?" The distant voice seemingly brought him back to reality. Realizing where he was and, at last, acknowledging the call, he yelled back: "Yeah I'm here!"

Suspecting how and why the box was placed in such a dangerous location, Faeroh picked it back up and rushed down the stairs. As soon as his eyes caught the slightest glimpse of the culprits calling out for him, Faeroh attacked with: "Yo which one of y'all put this by the bathroom door? I tripped and nearly busted my head open."

A sea of crackling came from the floor. The man, taller than the woman by about point one five six four meters, was a darker brown than Faeroh. His hair was intertwined within itself. Each length of hair overlapped by another in a succeeding fashion. Like hills of corn, his hair repeated this pattern with six rows going from the front of his hairline to the back-bottom of his head. Upon his face was a full chin of hair. Unlike Faeroh, whose chin was skin clean, this man had hair that covered his chin, jaw, and the area between his lip and nose. His face had signs of more years and experience than Faeroh's. His body was stronger. More sturdy. His arm muscles were defined from one another. His chest development could be seen through his shirt as his pectorals lifted the top of his green shirt like a badge of strength. Unhappy with the greeting, the man reacted, "Woah woah woah, Mr. Delinquent. I think should rephrase that question because it sounds more like an accusation rather than an inquiry!" The man retorted back.

Trying to calm the brewing storm before it began, the woman – shorter than both men – interjects, "Come on Roi." She had slightly lighter hue of brown upon her body. Her body was also defined. Whereas the man's body was built for strength, the woman's body seemed better suited for speed and agility. Her hair was large, curly, and chaotic. It reached out to all corners of the room. As crazy as her hair seemed to be, her personality was the inverse. Calm, directive, poise.

Responding to the name and the woman's plea, the man, Roi, rebutted: "Come on Roi? Naw K, he the one that came down, already on one. I'm just sending that energy right back -- like a boomerang" "What about being the bigger person?", the woman responded. Then lowered her voice to whisper, "Plus with everything that he just went through, he's not doing so hot. Look at him. He looks like depression right now."

Faeroh retorted with a verbal jab, interjecting the secret conversation: "He stopped being the bigger person my junior year of high school when I hit my growth spurt"

Roial mocked Faeroh with a sarcastic chuckle, "Ha. Ha. Ha. You obviously not depressed enough to crack jokes! How about you find a job at a comedy club then?"

An awkward emptiness filled the air. Faeroh smiled, closed his eyes and breathed in and out. The air filled the space. It flowed from outside to inside, due to the opening behind K. A slab of wood, that acted as the barrier, was attached to this opening as well.

Roial held a smug smirk as he conceitedly awaited Faeroh's answer.

The air continued to flow. To K's left, there was a large L made of manufactured cow skin called "lethur". The lethur had small cracks in it and holes near the corners of the cushions. Across from the black L was a monitor. That monitor was attached to a metal arm that was embedded into the wall. Under the wall monitor was a gold box that had glass on the top, middle, and bottom rows. This glass was not the same that, once, held Faeroh in hypnosis. This glass was thicker and transparent. The gold that accompanied the space between each glass was not brand new. It showed signs of wear, tear, peeling, and discoloration. In between the cow-wrapped L and the monitor on the wall, there was a large, two point seven four three two meters by two point one three three six meters, rugged rectangle on the floor. Upon the fabric rectangle, there was a miniature table. The table had a glass top that was identical to the box that the wall monitored hovered above and gold legs that matched the gold on the box that it shared the space with.

His eyes remained closed, Faeroh breathed in and out. Kween wore an annoyed expression as she, too, awaited what came next.

Across from the area that was weirdly called the 'living room', there was a different area that had one large island in the middle of it. Unlike typical islands on the planet, this island was not made of earth and life. On the top was a cold, multicolored stone. The base was made of a dark brown wood that nearly resembled the hue of Roial's skin. The stone island was surrounded by identical stone masses that were attached to the walls of the building. In the middle of the stone connected to the walls was a silver-colored, metal dip. This sunk-in area of silver has water spots littered all over it. Sprouting from the side, closest to the wall, was an identical colored spout and handles. To the left of this, was a rack of mixed tools – wood, glass, metal. All resting harmoniously in this black rack.

The discomfort of the situation continued to grow, air continued to flow.

At the very end of the extended stone offerings was a large white box that humans called a "frij". It hummed a constant tune. A song with no deviation or lyrics or drums. Just one cord, ringing throughout the space and throughout time. On the front of the box were two compartments. The compartment on the top was smaller than that on the bottom. Each featured handles that were proportionate to the size of the compartment that they accompanied. The box was not a clean white, though. It held a yellowish tint. It had seen better years.

The only thing that united the spaces was the floor. Made of ceramic tile, the floor held on to every bit of cold the environment could spare. The tile was not one uniform color. It was an array of dark gray with white lines keeping each square from interacting with each other. On the floor was a school of plastic bags with various Earthly items spread among them.

Faeroh took one last deep inhale. As he exhaled, he opened his eyes. His head panned to the left, he looked at Roial. His head panned to the right, He looked at Kween. Finally, he broke the silence: "You know what big bro. You're right my question could have been asked better. So…lemme re-word it." Faeroh took a slight pause, to change gears. This time with more fire behind each letter, he continued: "Which. Wonna y'all. Put this DAMN BOX. BY THE BAFROOM DOE!?"

Not liking the new tone and volume of Faeroh's 'rephrasing', his older brother, Roi, reacted with even more force: "I KNOW DAMN WELL YOU NOT YELLING ME!"

"I COULD BE TALKING TO KWEEN!

("you not talking to me like that")

BUT SINCE YOU RESPONDED, THE SHOE MUST FIT BRUH!"

"I'm not ya bruh. I'm your brother.

("that's the same thing")

"Ya older brother at that. One who didn't put that DUMB ASS BOX BY THE DOOR! I ON'T E-EN KNOW WHAT THAT STUPID THING IS!"

("you didn't have to add all that extra though")

SO MAYBE ASK NEXT TIME! BECAUSE NOW YOU LOOK STUPID!"

"OH I LOOK STUPID?"

"Yeah."

"OH I LOOK STUPID!?"

"YEAH!"

"Well, it makes sense! You know what that looks like since you see it every day IN THE MIRROR!"

"YOU KNOW WHAT? Remember that shoe was you was talkin' about? You about to find out how well it fits up yo-"

A sudden disturbance overwhelmed their shouting match. A unique musical number that immediately stopped the brothers in their tracks. Faeroh and Roi, frightened by the random ruckus, turn to the kitchen to see K smacking a beat-up brown skillet and heavily used saucepan together — like a pair of cymbals. As soon as the ringing of the pans stopped, Kween immediately filled the negative space with her voice, as she took charge of the situation: "Okay, how about we take a beat? Huh? Faeroh, neither of us put that box there.

("Then how did it--")

We don't know. We were out getting groceries. See?"

Faeroh was no longer blinded by emotion. His sister's rational authority had soothed his spirit. Now having renewed sight and a clearer mind, he saw bags of items that he did not notice before. They were littered on the ground. She continued, "So, how about you put down the box and we'll discuss it later. For now, can you help us with the rest of the groceries? They are outside in my car." Faeroh shook his head in agreeance. He put the black cube on the small glass and gold table. Then, he walked outside. "Thank you", she projected with genuine gratitude. Faeroh disappeared outside. Kween continued to talk, but this time her words were directed at Roial, "You know what he has been through in the past 24 hours. Why are you being so mean to him?"

"Because I know what he has been through in the last 24 hours. And I don't want it to happen again. He has had too much leniency and it has led to this."

"Is it too much leniency that has led to the poor control of his emotions and dependency on substances? OR is it because two siblings shouldn't be raising their younger brother and we screwed up somewhere along the way?"

"He's 22! We can no longer blame who we are now, on our parents. Yes, it wasn't perfect, but it was better than some people had it."

"True. But just because it was better does not mean it was good. We've dealt with our emotional and mental trauma from that tumultuous time. I think we need to help him do the same."

Before Roial could give an affirmative or a refusal, Faeroh rushed back in. In each hand, he held three bags. Upon his right arm, two bags hung from his forearm. On his left forearm, laid three more bags. "One Trip Trevor baby! One trip or your money back guaranteed!" Faeroh had no strength left. He used nearly all he had going from the car to the house. But, he was determined to finish what he started. He still had a few feet left. The bags banged against his legs as his arms drooped from exhaustion. Each step was harder than the last. He stumbled to the stone island. Watching his little brother struggle to maintain his impromptu one-trip motto, Roial's hard exterior broke and a smile emerged. He stepped forward to help, adding in a little humor of his own, "Alright alright alright, lemme help you man before you break all the eggs."

"Naw naw I got it"

"Let him help you"

"Aight aight, but just know I was almost there. So no money back"

"That's okay! I'll just charge it to your sister's bill."

"You not gone charge it to me. Faeroh gone have to eat that cost."

"Guess it's on me then"

Faeroh closed the wood slab which blocked nature and sunlight from coming into the home like once before. The space that was, once, filled with hostility was, now, filled with laughter as the siblings put away all of the groceries. The black box laid on the glass. Still as calm oceans and vacant skies. A faint whisper escaped it. "Faeroh...Faeroh...Faeroh…."

End of Chapter1