Broham

:: Koval, three blocks east of the Strip. The Desert Rose Motel is dead quiet except for the VACANCY sign over the office. It buzzes, pops, buzzes again. Pink light spills across the cracked asphalt every three seconds like a heartbeat.

JohnZo Scary comes up the exterior stairwell slow, hood up, hands in his pockets. A small black duffel hangs from his left shoulder. He doesn't look at the Strip glowing behind him. He doesn't look at the camera he set on the second-floor landing.

He steps over the chain blocking the roof access and walks to the edge where the old pool equipment sits. The pool below is drained. The bottom is stained in pale green rings. He sets the duffel down and unzips it with his teeth.

Inside: a cheap plastic flashlight, four quarters, a handful of white lotus petals from the 7-Eleven down the street, and a dead moth. He lays them out on the concrete in a straight line, left to right, spacing them with his thumb like he's measuring.::

J z S — "He speaks about the light, doesn't he? He thinks he's the one holding the torch. 'How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning.' You really fancy yourself the Light Bearer, don't you, TJ? You think you're descending from the clouds to illuminate the shadows."

::He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.::

J z S — "It's May 8th. Lotus day. They tell the children the flower opens clean because it rose out of the mud. They never put the mud on the calendar. They never tell them how long it has to sit in the dark water first, holding its breath, waiting. You like the flower part, TJ. You always skip the mud part."

:: He goes for the flashlight first.

The click is too loud for 4 AM. The beam that comes out is thin and yellow, already tired. He locks his elbow and paints a circle on the cinderblock wall and just holds it there. He watches the edges brown, then dim, then sink in on themselves. He doesn't shake it. He doesn't tap it. He lets it die in his hand. When it's gone he clicks it off and sets it back down in the exact pale outline it left in the dust.::

J z S — "But you aren't 'exposing' shit Broham. You aren't some celestial event. You're just a boy with a flashlight, whistling in the dark because you're terrified of what happens when the batteries die."

:: He pulls four quarters from his pocket and stands each one on its edge, spacing them with the tip of his thumbnail. One. Two. Three. Four. A crooked little honor guard. He flicks the first with his index finger. It spins hard, wobbles, then gives up and falls flat with a soft tick against the concrete. The other three he leaves standing. He doesn't touch them.::

J z S — "I've seen kids do that. They point it at the closet - the hallway.

They point it at the space under the bed.

They think the little circle of light keeps the dark away.

It doesn't. It just shows the dark exactly how small their hands are.

That's what you're doing in the ward, TJ. You're trying to brighten up the ward, trying to make the fans 'Say Your Name' — but all you're doing is making yourself a clearer target.

You're painting a circle on the wall and standing right in the middle of it."

:: He scoops the lotus petals into his palm. ::

J z S — "You want people to shout your name, TJ? You think there's power in that noise?"

::He leans forward, voice dropping.::

J z S — "Fine. I'll say your name, 'champ.'

Almost Alexander. The man who is always a 'nearly,' never a 'now.'"

Almost. After the second. Almost. After the third. Almost. After the fourth.

You stopped correcting people after the fourth, didn't you? That's how you know a name fits. It stops feeling like an insult and starts feeling like a mirror.

But I get it... you don't seem to like that one anymore, do you? It hits too close to the truth. It reminds you of the ceiling. That little space between your fingertips and the thing you keep reaching for."

::Scary laughs again, that same dry, hollow sound. It hangs for a second too long.::

J z S — "So let's try a new one. Let's call you what you really are when the light is on and the batteries are still fresh. Let's call you Totally-Jealous TJ."

:: hey are warm and already wilting from his pocket. He moves to the lip of the drained pool and tips his hand. He lets them fall one at a time. Each petal catches the pink wash from the VACANCY sign on the way down, flares for half a second, then disappears into the dark bowl below without a sound.::

J z S — "No longer Almost- You're jealous of the control. You're jealous of the silence I carry with me. You hear it, don't you? That quiet that follows me into the ring. You don't have that. You have to fill every second with noise. You're trying to make the fans 'Say Your Name' — begging for a validation I don't even need — because without it, that hallway you filmed in feels very, very long."

:: The transformer on the motel roof hums and pops. A sharp smell of ozone cuts through the chlorine and old cigarette smoke. Scary lifts his chin into it and breathes in slow through his nose.

He sits down cross-legged next to his little line of objects, back straight, hands resting on his knees.::

J z S — "You said evolve. You said faster than lightning. You said last time. Those are big words for a boy with a flashlight.

Lightning doesn't hurry, TJ.

Lightning just knows where the ground is. The ground remembers you.

It always has."

:: He stares at the phone lens without blinking for a full twenty seconds while the sign buzzes. Pink. Dark. Pink. Dark.

A bus hisses past on Koval below.::

J z S — "Say it while you can, bruv. Say it loud in the hallway. Say it for the cameras. Say it for the children in the front row who don't know better yet."

::He pauses. The transformer on the roof pops. Ozone.::

J z S — "Because on Monday, when that little flashlight starts to flicker — and it always flickers, right around the time the batteries get tired — the room won't get loud. It will get quiet. Not silent. Quiet."

:: Scary reaches out, not to the quarters, but to the dead moth. He picks it up by one wing, holds it up to the lens, turns it once, then places it gently in the center of the flashlight's dead circle of light on the concrete.::

J z S — "And the only thing they'll be whispering in that quiet... won't be your name at all. It'll be goodbye."

::He stays there, perfectly still, while the Strip keeps breathing behind him.::