Meltonium.com

Working Title: The Pact

Written by and © of: Melissa and Seth Melton

All rights reserved or whatever.

Chapter 1: The Pact

Mostly, I was angry. Angry at the weather. Nothing else — not life, not fate, not even my painful lack of ex-girlfriends — had ever made me feel this way before. Now, as we stand dangerously close to the edge of the rooftop, the sun glitters off the perfectly blue, cloudless sky and this fact alone is the most unforgivable thing in the world. My fury momentarily pushes out all capacity for other, more rational emotions; otherwise I could maybe even feel relief as I peer down from the ledge through 440 feet of gravity and open air floating between me and the ground.

"So I heard the average human being reaches terminal velocity after 200 meters. Did you know that, Nick?" Josh yells with an eager grin. Great. I'm no good at math, but I know enough to calculate that we won't make it.

The J.P. Capital building is the highest, fanciest skyscraper in town, its black cylindrical top a landmark in the skyline for miles. Looking down…not what you're typically supposed to do in this kind of situation, right? Although I suppose committing suicide as part of a pact with your best friend on your 23rd birthday also seems like it could also fall near the top of that list.

Glancing over at Josh in his untucked white dress shirt with a t-shirt over it—what he calls his "fancy" outfit—I fight the urge to vomit. We both dressed up for today, for the occasion. Seemed fitting. I'm wearing one of my ties, the dark red one. Also seemed fitting. Not as funny as it was when I first put it on. Josh jokes that the only reason I wear ties at all is because a girl taking tickets at the movie theater complimented me one night back when we were in high school. Whatever. Josh forgot to tuck his shirt tails in again, as always. His resolve appears staggeringly intact.

"Hey Nick. The people look like ants from here. WHOOO!" He's yelling and smiling like we're just two guys hanging out every other normal day and not teetering perilously close to our messy demise atop a 44-story building. "Did you see how close that bird got to us just now?"

Yep, definitely intact. Insanely so. Josh's maniacal grin appears drug-induced at this point.

Does he even realize that we're both about to die? I almost want to slam my palm into my forehead at the irony. Of all the places in the entire world we could be, and here we are.

Josh has been my best friend since, well, since we were in the wombs. We were born on the same day, lived on the same block, went to the same schools. Sounds made up, but it's not. We even spent summers together at the same camp, Lake Wikashaw, where he first kissed Gwynn Malone behind the girls' cabin in sixth grade. We've never been apart for longer than a few days that I can remember. When we applied for college, we only applied to one university, the same one of course. As long as we could keep hanging out and doing our thing, college would be awesome no matter where it was. Best buds, Josh and me. Best buds 'til the end.

College was awesome…for awhile, I guess. It wasn't until this year that I started to feel, well, old. We made it to junior status and neither of us had yet to declare a major—me because I still didn't know what I wanted to do and Josh because he didn't want to do anything period. Somehow we'd been students so long that I guess we forgot the point of going to college is to actually graduate and get real jobs in the real world. Someday we were going to have to commute and go to office meetings and drink coffee and talk shit at the water cooler about the new receptionist's breasts and be required to get up before noon and be productive.

That and I still hadn't found a girlfriend. Hell, I'd barely even found a girl.

Josh had. Josh, with what he christened his "award-winning smile," always seemed to score. (What award? I still don't know. I'm pretty sure he doesn't either.) He had that baby-faced, tall, blonde, sporty thing going on — nothing like my plain brown hair, lanky, pale white nerdboy thing (if you could even call that a "thing"). Meanwhile, Josh could be a model in one of those extreme sports commercials selling alcohol or aftershave. Anyone who gave us even a quick side-by-side comparison could instantly tell which one of us cornered the dashing good looks market.

Josh brought a new girl back to our place an average of three times a week. And I have no doubt that he was in love with every single one. I, however, spent the past year infatuated with the girl who shelved books at the university library — a girl who probably still didn't even know my name.

On the nights Josh returned with his true loves, he'd tie a gym sock to the doorknob so I knew our apartment was off limits. Thus, I spent an inordinate amount of time at the library, pretending to thumb through random books that might gain me even an ounce of female attention — medical books for a soon-to-be-rich pre-med student with the good breeding, Shakespeare's plays for an emotionally deep lit major, etc. etc. I learned a lot about the importance of the hepatic flexure and unrequited love, but that's about it. When it came to books, the real me mostly just paid attention to the snazzy cover art of fiction novels. I guess I've never been much of a reader, though.

Her name was Matilda, and she was (and is) the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She wears cat-eye glasses, and somehow she always has a piece of her long black bangs drooping across her big blue eyes. So many times I could have approached her. I could have said, "Hi" or asked "Hey, have any good reading suggestions?" or confessed "I'm madly in love with you, will you please give me the time of day?" But I never got up the courage to say anything to her, not a word, not once. Matilda probably thought I was some kind of psychotic stalker…if she had ever even processed a single thought about me at all.

At least Josh was making progress, right? Wrong. Josh lost interest faster than I lost my nerve. (Wait, I had nerve? What?) If my relationships were nonexistent, then Josh had full-blown relationship ADD.

One Friday night I returned home from another mind-numbingly uneventful library trip surprised to find the doorknob sock-free. How does this tie into us being about to die? I'm getting there.

I walk in to find Josh in the fetal position on our couch, crying. Yes, literally — tears streaming down his face, shoulders heaving, audible sobs — the whole bit.

"Wha — what's up man?" I'd maybe seen Josh cry a grand total of two whole times in our entire lives, and one of those times was when a 300-pound girl in our ninth grade gym class had kicked him square in the balls. Just reared back her chunky ham hock and drove her cankle-attached foot straight into his groin with every intended force possible. And that cry was more a reaction of doom than anything else, so it doesn't really count.

"I'm going to be alone forever," he choked out after a minute, sniffling loudly. He said it so matter of fact, like "the sky is blue, the grass is green, and I, Josh, will never ever find anyone to be with ever for the rest of my pathetic life."

Okay then.

"What? You kidding me, dude? You're the ladies' lover man! You're the charismatic college-town Casanova! You —"

"Stop trying to cheer me up with alliteration, Nick. I. Mean. It." And I knew by the way he annunciated his words, choosing them carefully and saying them under his breath one at a time for emphasis that he did mean it.

I got mad then.

"Well, look at me! I've been in love with the same girl all year and apparently all I can do about it is pretend to read books fifteen feet away from her for three hours a day. That's hot, right? Yeah, every girl wants a piece of that! And do you think she looks over at me, and oh, I don't know, maybe acknowledges my very existence on this planet even once? Ask me. Ask me if she looks over at me."

"Don't try to change the subject," Josh shot back ruefully.

"No, ask me, dammit," I demanded, not willing to let the pity party end so soon.

"Fine. How many times has she —"

"ONCE! Maybe one whole time! And I don't even know if it actually happened or if I was just imagining it, like I had fallen asleep and dreamed it after waiting for it for so long. Of course, had it actually been real, then I would've have been too mortified to return her glance, so it must've been a dream. Yeah. I'm quite the winner over here. Life is a fat piece of ice cream cake!" My voice rose as I hand gestured a little too emphatically, but I didn't care. "So tie that to your sockless doorknob!"

Josh sniffled again in response, wiping at his puffy eyelids. After a moment, he let his hand drop like it was attached to a doll, defeated as he stared through me. We sat there in silence for a few more minutes, until finally Josh met my eyes.

"What happened to us, man?" he croaked, a near whisper.

I was about to yell something else about him being ahead of me in this department, but the plaintive emotion in his question caught me completely off guard. What had happened to us? I had to actually think about that for a moment.

I didn't want to admit that Josh was right. Things weren't supposed to turn out this way.

We were supposed to find a pair of Swedish bikini models (though any girl who was a girl would have also worked) to marry and live next door to each other in cookie cutter houses and grow fat and middle-aged and spend Sunday afternoons high-fiving and watching the game (not that we were ever really into sports, so I don't really know what game that would have been exactly, but whatever) while our kids played outside together and formed their own lifelong bonds in our conjoined front yards.

Josh sniffled again, quieter this time, while I studied my empty hands in my lap.

"I don't know…" I finally answered him, sighing, feeling even more defeated which apparently was possible. I really didn't. I was a twenty-two-year-old who had never even had his first kiss. That, and I was intimidated by a girl named Matilda. Matilda.

Yeah…

And so it was — the beginning of the end. Two cases of cheap beer and large, unabashed quantities of pathetic regret later, all the details had been unceremoniously worked out. We would meet at J.P. Capital building an hour before sunset on our 23rd birthday. Then we'd jump to our deaths together.

At least death would be a sure thing. At least we wouldn't go out alone.

Time passed awkwardly but quickly after that. At first, I tried to convince myself that somehow I had imagined the whole conversation. We never brought it up again, but every time our eyes met, there it was like a steel cage around us, trapping us both.

The pact.

So now here we stand, forty-four stories between us and the end we've so cleverly designed for ourselves. And it is too damn warm and sunny and cheery to be the day for a twenty-two, now twenty-three-year-old virgin to go out without a bang. (See what I did there?)

Yeah. Even my final thoughts before killing myself are lame.

I glance back over at Josh. The gleam in his eye and the smile on his face make him look like he is about to board a Disneyland ride. Freak.

"So, we doing this or what, bro?" Josh giggles. My stomach starts to hurt. Bad.

"Yeah. I mean, I guess. How do we…uh…should we count to three, or…?" What the hell? Why am I embarrassed about the fact that I don't know the proper procedure for jumping to my death?

"Count to three, sure."

Sure? How can he be this sure? The cool self-assurance Josh is oozing in spades is positively mind-boggling at this point. I peer over the edge again. It seems so much farther down from this angle than it ever appeared looking up at it from the ground. If Josh hadn't been a casual acquaintance of the building's day janitor, we never would have gotten past security and through the roof access door in the first place.

On that note, how is it no one has noticed us standing up here yet? Like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper is just something people do casually. For fun. Not a lot of ways to be inconspicuous about it, either.

Luckily there aren't many people on the sidewalk below right now to notice.

"We should wait to make sure no one's down there before we…" I trail off. Now I can't even say it. We're about to die. Game over. The end. Josh puts his pointer finger to his chin, glancing up, thoughtful.

"Yeah, you're right," he concurs. We're the pathetic losers; no point in taking any innocent bystanders with us. I guess we have a few more minutes, then. Got to find something to occupy my mind because I'm afraid of heights…and death.

Mostly death.

I called my mom this afternoon. Of all the people left in my wake, it seemed like I owed it to her more than anyone else. She gave me this life, after all. It's not her fault I didn't live it. At least now she wouldn't have to worry about me getting my act together, or inquire in her excited obligatory mom voice every holiday about whether I would be bringing somebody home with me this time.

I suddenly realize, like it should even be a surprise, that I would never bring anybody home with me for the holidays. I wouldn't be coming home anymore, period. Except in a box.

The last person milling around in front of the building finally wanders off to the parking lot. The sidewalk below becomes clear.

"This is it, bro!" Josh says, the smile on his big, dopey face never wavering even for one instant. What are we, fucking bungee jumping? He brushes his hand back through his trademark James Dean wannabe hair and takes a deep breath. "Start the countdown."

Why couldn't some of his confidence rub off on me? Even just this once?

"Fine," I choke out, crossing my arms, hugging myself.

"Don't forget…" he glances over and meets my eyes, holding them for a second. "On three."

"One…"

I suddenly wonder what Matilda is doing at that exact moment. A lone bird cries in the distance and large goose bumps prick the skin on my arms at the crack of sudden sound through the wind.

"Two…"

Think this will be on the news?

"Three!"

Think Matilda will recognize me on the news? You know, like "Hey, there's that psycho guy who pretends to read at the library. I always knew that guy was mentally unbalanced…"

"Four…"

Wait, what? Four?! I watch in full-on disbelief as Josh's feet leave the ledge.

"Fi-five…"

Why in the hell are you still counting?! Josh's body twirls once in mid air, gracefully believe it or not, his mouth forming a soundless O of terror.

"Six…"

JUMP, DAMN YOU!!!

"Seven…"

Trembling so hard my teeth are chattering, I take a step back from the edge even as I try unsuccessfully to will my feet to jump off it.

"Eight…"

Turn around! Go back!!

Now I'm charging back through the roof access door.

"Nine…Ten… Eleve—"

I wonder if Matilda will tell people I used to creep her out watching her put books back at the library when she sees me being dragged away from my apartment in handcuffs on the news, accused of murdering my best friend.

I might as well be a murderer. Josh is street pizza and I'm still breathing. Great. Another thing I couldn't do right…

I run down all forty-four flights of stairs and out the back door without any further hesitation. Somewhere in the distance, a lone siren sounds…ambulance I think.

I'm sorry, Josh.

Edmund was not like the other boys in my school. I was the new girl and far too shy to ever get his attention. Not that I was worthy of his attention. I was just some plain girl that other girls could relate to or live vicariously through. Yet somehow every other guy in school wanted to date me. Weird.

I sat directly behind Edmund in my 11th grade algebra class, always shy, always frightened at the possibility the perfect boy would somehow notice me. I preferred blending into the background like a ninja chameleon. It was easier for me this way.

Without warning, Mr. Carter the algebra teacher dropped a bomb that would change my entire life.

"Class I want you to work with a partner for your next assignment," he croaked.

Edmund spun around awkwardly from his face forward position. There was nothing fluid or graceful about his movement as he jerked like a white guy trying to do the robot. His chiseled picture perfect face glowed in a passing sun beam. He spasmed to a halt right in front of my face.

"...part...ner?" he murmered.

I stared deeply into his opal eye sockets, trying not to get lost in the abyss. I felt my heart flutter. His eye sockets smoldered a lot. It was impossible to not to gaze at this marvel of perfection, his cold skin like marble, seemingly statuesque. Bruises dotted his skin like freckles. My eyes wandered his skin as it turned from purple to brown to grey. Pieces of his gorgeous body began falling off with soft pitter patters. I couldn't help but continue tracing his body with my eyes. A body that would make a Greek god jealous. A Greek god with less than one arm and one leg at least.

"S-sure," I stammered, diverting my sheepish expression directly towards my desk.

His jaw slowly lowered as he parted his full quivering lips. "Uwaaaaaa..." he murmured.

My senses filled with the burning aroma that escaped his mouth. He sounded like a drowning rat and reeked of old-spice and year old feces. I couldn't help but face him again. His crusty eye sockets literally smoldered. There must have been a piece of him that burned behind that perfect face. I'd have to find a fire extinguisher. His cold marble body still twitching in the sunlight like some kind of statuesque Greek god that twitches. His hair was patchy, like a Greek god with flecks of marble. Edmund was like a statuesque marble Greek god. This was way better than that time I flunked English for writing a short story where cold Greek gods were like marble that played Greek marbles with the Greek gods. This was the moment. I knew it in my soul. I loved Edmund. Forever. He was my Romeo. His face penetrated mine as if he could read my every thought.

"What...if...not... What...if...eat...braaaaiiinnsssss..." he murmured with intense coal black sockets. They smoldered.

It was going to be a long semester.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

The Pact: Chapter One (Our Paranormal Dark Comedy Bromance Novel)

Monday, May 16, 2011

Commissions Time!!

Meltonium.com is now taking commissions! $6 for a pencil sketch, $12 for digital line art, $18 for basic color, $25 for color and a basic background! (per character) We also design logos, album covers, T-Shirts and more! Please message saikyoseth@gmail.com or meltonium@gmail.com with any inquiries!

Thursday, May 5, 2011

GW Basketball All-Stars Illustrations

Monday, May 2, 2011

Big Sale on our Etsy store!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Sunset by S.M. (Seth Melton)

A Fun Writing Excercise

Monday, April 25, 2011

Who is Meltonium.com?