His

Ch. 1: TO LOVE, TO CHEAT, TO LEAVE, TO HEAL * Iterum(avb.)— again; anew, afresh; Bring him iterum... * It was a truth universally acknowledged: a single man in power and wealth must marry a wife for the sake of influence and power; similar in fashion with a woman, to marry into strength and prosperity. For a marriage such as that, money and might was a must. In a world, where the Herculean ravaged the Lacrimosa(weak), one misstep could cost one’s whole life and generation. Even the most greatest existence could see their world zap from their eyes. So it was stressed with great importance that high-being men and women should marry into other high-being women and men, for it not people shall mourn their flair in snide. And nobody wanted to be the weak. Nothing could shake this, not even love. Nonetheless, the fact was men and women joined together could give birth to strong, willful offstring. To create generations of healthy, prospering, powerful leaders, presidents, CEOs, monarchs; something that man with man or women with women couples’ children could never be deemed as strong, especially so by the strong. They were weak, ill in constitution. Herculean families were stiff on staunch, mighty children, same-sex babies were out-of-the-question. These types of couples were judged as weak, such as the case with love-based lovers. Not that they were shunned, they could happen, Herculeans never care for that—they would even have ex-lovers on the same-sex. But to the Herculean, only the weak married for love, than power. Herculean wedded for potential. And love the bane of any strong, high-being, especially for the generations to come. Couples based on love were weak. It was the only thing Herculean thought. Lacrimosas were the weak, low-being; Herculean were the strong, high-being. So a man or woman in power and opulence must wed to strengthen their might and families, birthing superior, Herculean children. It was a simple enough proposition to explain the existence and nature of the political marriages between Herculean families. Yet it tafficed complication, for the sole wealthy and powerful Herculean, who sought a relationship with a male Lacrimosas. This also explained the complicated existence of a simple Lacrimosa man, who, by no means, was powerful or wealthy, yet heart was stolen by a mighty Herculean. That simplistic man wanted that mighty man, and the mighty man wanted the simplistic man. But it was not meant to be. For the simple was Lacrimosa while the mighty was Herculean. They were never meant to be deemed by the Herculean; for if men were not able to find their wives, they would be scorned by everyone, the aging and static elders to the impressionable and influenced younglings. And Herculeans wanted power and reputation. What chance did this man have when the one he loved pushed him away for power? Power that brought him sadness and disgust. But what was he to say when money was involved. This simple man was Lacrimosa—a weak, low-being with barely enough money to buy his wants. He was nothing compared to what his lover wanted. Money. And was that the man he loved? A two-faced gold-digger who would shove him away for money, yet also cry to him at night about how much he loved him and hated his marriage. It was a whirlwind of back and forth, the simple man could not fight with. His feelings were on the line; his mind was on the line; his heart trembled for his ex, but that was on the line too. Does the man forgive his ex-lover for his betrayal, for his heartbreak? Does he walk back into his ex’s arms; letting him get swooped into the sweet sticky of love. Bad, rotten love. Could Shiloh do that? Was his love so shallow for that? Or was Shiloh too afraid to walk out, and scream, “I’m single!” Become single, defendless to everyones’ shit. Scary, tasteless… He should not be as such, but he was. Scared, not ready to be in a new relationship. Not ready to leave his first love. Not accepting the fact that his love, who should stick with him forever, would throw him away like trash, thinking that he would be there whenever. He was conflicted… Shiloh had no courage. He was Lacrimosa—But as much as he was Lacrimosa, he had the mental capacity to know he wanted to live and not suffer in silence. He would act more like an Herculean. Attend that damned wedding in spite, so that the so-called lover would see him one more time before leaving… leaving. Shiloh was going to leave—leave for good. * The feeling swelled inside of him. It churned before attacking his heart in marring swipes. His heart was scarred, healing, scabbing, but the wounds were still visible to the eye. To his watery eyes, and to the others would eventually come in and out of his life. Tears dripped as his eyes roamed over his ex, stunning in his black suit, stunning with the woman in white. They dropped as Shiloh felt bad for his ex—for his future, the thought that his ex would forever be in the gilded cage. Shiloh knew the man he loved was gone, dwindling in the pressure of his status. He would be stranded on the desert he created; sad at the fate he could not stand up for. His first love would see clearer than before; make it out of the hell he fashioned himself to. But never would Shiloh stay here. Before all, he held pride as a human more than Lacrimosa. Not with the pain stabbing him everytime he looked around him. He would leave soon after this blimp in life. Go and hope to heal and mend his pain and woes. Then there was his ex’s soon-to-be wife. The woman was stunning in her smooth white dress, delicate, charming with a gentle smile on her cheeks. She would be so distraught to know her husband would never be in love with her. Yet not because he loved men, no, because she loved him, and his love would always be on the other men in their life. She would be similar to him: wanting the unachievable, the unrequited love, the depression. They had so much in common, yet they were so different. Lacrimosa and Herculean loved the man, only to know it was far-fetched. The weak and strong on the same path of pain.

Would she move on? He prayed so. This man hoped that all parties would get their happy ending. He surely wanted his. * Life moved on. Shiloh watched the wedding, stunning and all, come and go. He watched as all the main characters moved on from his sight. He watched as his heart broke every time he thought of them. Seeing them for the last time brought pain, knowing that soon in the future more reckoning would come. The wedding seemed to end well. His lover was happy with his life—his wife, the one he had married in desperation, and not love. Yet Shiloh was still here. Waiting and watching, becoming complicit in his neverily ever after. Did he not deserve happiness? Had he not been cheated on and used? Had he not lost his chance at being loved because of this man? Had he lost his will to leave; his only semblance of courage to heal? His clothes were closing on him, enrapturing him in heat, sweat, and while, himself. He could not help but pull at the tight-fitting shirt and shaggy pants around his wide hips. It swaddled him, reminding him that he was still here. His locs(hair) resembled him: down, messy, and haywire. He was an utter mess. Shiloh grimaced in the mirror, staring at his puffy eye. He looked disgusting, ratty. Cotton candy eyes bloomed in darkish-pink as he rubbed harshly over his eyes. Everyone could see the dried, crusty tear trails on his umber skin. Pulling at his cheek, Shiloh hissed as he took out his contacts, blinking as his eyesight turned into shit. Soon his vision was returned with large octagon glasses. He rubbed his face to clean it as best as he could, not wanting to move from the foyer’s walk-in—not wanting to go back on his word. “You're really doing this?” Shiloh jumped; it was out-of-nowhere, but Shiloh knew that voice. The tears rippled as they filled the ocean on those who walked before him— and he just “cleaned” his streaky face. The nod said everything for him. His voice was shot, rapture in pain. “Will this make you better? Complete?” The ghastly woman, his sister, spoke. Hoping that this could resolve her in letting her older brother go. Again with the nod, Shiloh swallowed, “Do not worry, I will take care of myself, ‘big’ sis.” The joke landed half-hearted. They felt it brush over and land weak, but it was the thought that counted, right? “Whatever, Big Shiloh. Just don’t kill yourselve out there. We would not be able to pay for the funeral.” The woman huffed, light-heartedly, though it was true. Shiloh jerked his eyes weary before leaning into a hug with his sister, Abelle. “Goodbye, love you.” Hsi kissed her on the check before turning to his next obstacle. Eyes tearing up, he looked at the door to the outside. He did not want to cry and break down again. It hurt too much to lose someone he cared for, and he was doing so for multiple people. Instead of crying, he took out some of his prepared valuables, pulling his suitcase towards the door. He reached the door with his family, grandpa, grandfather, and sister, waiting solemnly. With a bitten lip, he handed these things to his grandpa. His grandpa wrinkled his nose in dismay, wanting to give it back. Yet: “It is for you. To Survive without the extra income coming in. It’ll help and I don’t need it. All expenses paid remember bearer pa.” The endearment slipped out with grandpa welling up with tears. His big Shiloh was no longer small. He was grown with his own baggage and woes. Grandpa could remember dearly when he was pregnant with Shiloh and Abelle’s father. The aging, but handsome man sighed, shaking his head before yanking Shiloh down to give him a big kiss on the cheek. “Don’t make me regret letting you leave, Big Shiloh.” Then Shiloh was let go, and he faced the great unknown. Shiloh opened the door, the fresh outdoors could not limit the gray view he saw. The neighborhood he grew up in, found love in and would start a new journey; it was nothing special to the Herculean, or even Lacrimosa, but it was his home, and he was leaving it. No family, no friends to lean on. He had nothing save for essentials, no money, just change, his train ticket, and one-track mind to heal. “Come along, son.” His grandfather spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts. He gave his grandson a tight squeeze before patting his head. “Have a safe journey.” Shiloh cracked a smile. “You as well, grandfather. This is new for all of us, right.” He replied as he took a step towards the door. It was now or never. Nothing could stop him as he walked to the car. The sun shone brightly on him, blinding him for a second. And that one second, there was peace and resolution of what he was doing. Even if just slightly, and for a fleeting moment he forgot all the pain and loneliness that was threatened to eat him alive. He packed his stuff into the truck, while Abelle followed into the driver seat. He was so close to leaving until he heard her voice: “So this is the goodbye I get!” The feminine aged voice yelled. Shiloh paused, turning to the middle-aged woman on the sidewalk. Dress to kill, she stalked up to Shiloh. His heart beat while she grabbed the thinning cheeks of Shiloh, spitting: “Leaving without a goodbye, Typical of the Jerimoa family.” The woman voiced as his grandpa and grandfather walked out to defend their family name and grandson. But as quick as they were on the woman, Shiloh shook his head. “Mother, please… I was going to tell you.” Shiloh was meek but confident in telling his mother. His mother sneered, head held high as she spewed poison, “Please, son, don’t patronize me with the bull. I knew what you were doing ‘cause I did it before. Running away.” The tall dark woman spoke. “You ain’t no different from me, saying this but do that. You are—’ “Ma!! Please, You’re not helping!” Abelle moved towards her mom, away from the car onto the sidewalk. She was more courageous than him, speaking up to their mother. “Shut up, girl!” His mother snapped. “You have no right—you have no experience of what I am talking about!” She smoldered, speaking to everyone around her, grandpa, grandfather, Abelle, Shiloh. Then her attention turned on the person of her rage, Shiloh, “You think I don’t know what heartbreak. You’re leaving your family because a little dick man decided he was too limp dick to man up and marry you. You think that’s the last of your woes. My child, you have no idea of pain. Now get your shit and get into the house, we have to pick up the mess you made.” She was finished, waiting for Shiloh to move. Shiloh did not move. He was static, reeling. He was upset, outraged, and sad. “Wait, ma, what are you talking about? This shit is about me not trying to break down, and, and—” he could not say it too real. “You think I can stay here after all this shit? You think this is all about him!! It’s not, it's more than that. It’s you! It’s the world! It’s me! I need help. I need time. I need to heal. I know what I am doing. And just because you were too much of a bitch to take time and heal, does not mean I cannot!!” Shiloh took a breath, calming down, feeling the wetness of his face. “Ma, I need this, or I’ll cease to live. I’ll leave either way, ma” his voice was soft, tired, like he ran a marathon, only to find out he was running for the wrong team. It was disheartening, tiring. They were all looking at him with some semblance of understanding. But nonetheless, it was all outsiders looking in at his pain, for it was different to all, to even him. He could not stay,not here. He needed to be somewhere else. Where he could take time and heal.

“Let him go, Mik.” It was the deep voice of his grandfather that broke the silence. “You see him. Open your eyes to the truth.” Mik, his mother, scoffed, eyeing her son. Her weary, tired, depressed son with his gray clothing, pale umber skin, and droopy dead eyes. Her baby, who wanted to leave the wire, while she tried to chain him to her family, herself. Her sleepy baby that talked non-stop about his man with the happiest grin was now standing there in the grim of sun where his pore, tears, and woes were there to show. Shiloh saw his mother turn away from him before walking to the house. She whirled to him once more, “Don’t be like me… I’m scared…I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Then she disappeared. “Oh, Shiloh, don’t worry about her, just go. I’ll talk to her.” Grandpa said, turning to meet with his mother. Grandfather spoke one more time: “Goodbye, Abelle. Goodbye, Shiloh.” Shiloh: “Goodbye.” “That was something. Come on, Shiloh.” Abelle said, getting to the driver’s seat. Shiloh nodding, taking one more look at his life he was about to leave. Precious moments dished into small tasteful bites filled his heart with love. He was ready. “Goodbye.”

With that, Shiloh.