The BlackBird Sings

An allegory

Candide pointed his finger shaped gun forward un-focusing out of life and fired into nothing. Dropping it weakly he turned his head with a sigh, his dark brown eyes lightly shinning, reflecting off a black hole.

        That was the day Candide attempted suicide, to some sick humor of a God suicide rarely works out. When asked by the attending psychologist why he, young, handsome, with good family would want to kill him self he said;

        “Because, the blackbird wants to sing too.”

 

        There are many theories in our neighborhood as to why Candide would attempt suicide but they were vague due to the fact that very few could even imagine committing suicide themselves. Boredom, anger, a love no one knew about, frustration, or just plain depression were theories. But none of those fit into the already set corner pieces of the puzzle of Candide. 

        The popular theory from the house wives, bound by their devotion to their children that sat eating sand wile they gossiped at the park was that it was TV, so much sex and violence one could get frustrated that life was not like that.

        “I know I want some of it.” Mrs. Vantain said, to the awkward shiver of those around her, “it is simple didn’t you go insane when that boy would not look at you?” She would ask her fellow soccer bound mothers, who would nod while their minds were lost in some past world.

        But that theory was shot down by those that saw Candide jog by their house keeping up his lusted over body. Everyone lusted over his body, even the fathers would talk about it and how it was the body they had always wished for, fit by not freakishly muscular. On a bright sunny day he would lay on the lawn, when parents weren’t around, naked except for a towel covering his crouch warming the air with sexuality. Aviators would sit lazy over his eyes as he blew smoke rings from the cigarettes he inhaled. The entire hormone raged teenage girls and Larry, the one gay on the street, would stand across the street watching clenching their lips at the site of a would have been Greek hailed body. After his dive in the sunlight Candide would stand up, barely covering himself while tiny beads of sweat meagerly dripped down his body, and when he would turn to face the crowed, he would take off his sunglasses and wink at them, before turning around showing them his sculpted butt and all the girls, and Larry, would just about die.

        “It might sound insensitive, but truly all I cared about was his body, just looking at it was like sex.” One girl said

        “Tell me about it…” Larry commented. “Come to think of it actually, I never heard him say anything, I bet he had a great voice, to match that body.”

        “Yeah.” The Girls answered, almost in unison.

        “I wish I was his girlfriend, he only had two, so far as I know.” One said.

        The two she talked about was Mary and Lux. Mary was during Candide’s Christian phase with the silver fish on his car and all, to the disappoint of Larry and all the girls on the block. They met at the nearby church and instantly hit it off with their unison belief in God and that the present culture had been infected by sinfulness. They would hold hands to church, but once they crossed that holly door they dropped their hands as if it was wrong to love anyone else besides Jesus in church. The relationship ended with, to the girls and Larry’s joy by the same thing they were united against, sin, when Candide found he liked alcohol and the taste of cigarettes along with kissing not only girls, but boys. After that night Candide went out side in the night and scraped off the fish from his car leaving behind a promise of happiness for one where you have to make your own, and which is more rewarding the finding your own happiness or having it handed to you? It was in this transition that Candide found Lux, the girl all the mothers feared due to her slim and enticing body supported by her strong sense of individualism. The immense gap in personalities of his two girlfriends left many scratching their heads, especially since no one knew his friends.

        “Wait” said Larry, “he was friends with that one kid, the emo.”

        Scope was the emo of the neighborhood and Candies one true friend, but like most, he was not a cutter or depressed, if any thing he was candid, but his choice of cloths, the tight jeans and all, plus him just being different led to that label. And like his hospitalized friend, barely anyone really knew Scope. When we asked him why he thought Candide tried to killed himself, he looked around the culpa-sack like he was trying to find the answer in the houses, and he turned and said,

        “Wouldn’t you?” And just walked away, fading in the marriage of a summer day.

 

        Whom ever you asked every one always commented on how when you talked to him he smiled brightly as he stared strongly into your eyes, it almost made even the well aged grandparents look down from the intensity of life that flowed threw those eyes that reminded many of a thick tree. But when you asked those simple questions like, what was his favorite color? No one had an answer, and slowly each one would turn away at the realization that though he had friends, no one was close besides Scope, whom no one knew. But that seemed impossible. Anyone who talked to him got the aurora of his refined character and crafted words. That was it though, that was why he connected with everyone, because he only fully connect with just one. Every one hates someone, but no one could list one for Candide, he was just too damn happy. He was just too damn himself.

        If one looked at the floor in his room one would see the past skins worn during the week. The one book self would be overflowed with books that no one knew and one movie would sit by the TV that seemed alien. Walking through that room was like traveling to mars.

        And if one looked at the past they would remember how Candide laid in the lawn, the grass softly forming around his body while he would stare at the leaves that would glow in the radiating love of the sun. And when one would zoom out they would see that these leaves came from the only tree on the block that was engulfed in the painted cardboard boxes of the city. And then you would look for some form of life not floating between each box willingly you would see Candide gently blowing a smoke ring while everyone else watched him like mute white-birds watch a singing blackbird.