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grim-faux · 3 years

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2 _ 22 _ A Flawless Order

First

The factory was alive. Parts and sections once cold and silent, now howled with the intent of struggling through a monotonous existence in a world that would forsaken it. After however many years it lulled since the contraption ground into inactivity, it is remarkable that the place still mostly worked. From within the bowls of the construction arose indignant grinding and screeching, the whole of the operation not entirely seamless. It might yet come undone at the seams and rip itself apart.

For the time, he supposed, the child was on some sort of mission. Or something. It was too much to hope that the boy was not in the heart of a prelude to a disaster.

Hunched awkwardly in the doorway to the office, the Thin Man scrutinized the reverberating clashing and mincing with a raised brow. He wondered what the factory produced… or what it once created. Certainly not televisions. The Signal Tower provided those. He did feel an inkling of sympathy for the lost children.

The pummeling din dampened a great deal when he shut the door. It was far too much activity, energy, such a… racket. He would wait for now, let the child fulfill his compulsion for exploration. When the kid was ready, he would resurface. That’s how this usually worked.

Beside the little package of food tossed onto the desk, an intercom receiver and control pad lay embedded in the dusty surface. It didn’t matter if the device forgot its purpose, could no longer carry the current and fulfill its role. For so long the device has been inert, lonely and neglected.

He swept his hand over the tarnished panel, the lights beside the scribbled slots blinked. The static thrummed, physically manifesting in vibrating particles.

“M͘҉͟o̡͡no͞,” he projected, through the receiver. From beyond the thick cinderblock wall, his projected call reverberated with a metallic echo. The Thin Man sat at the desk and bent forward, as if he needed to speek directly into the contraption. “P̧a̶gi̢͢n̷̡͞g̡̕͠ ̛M̴o͘͡n̸͝o͢.̵ ̵̨̕W͏̢͝o͢u͠l͟d҉͡ ͜Yo̢͜u̡ Has͠t̸̵̸e̶̸n̢ ̶̕Y͞o͝u͞͏r̴̶͟ ̶C͏u̷̶r̸r͟e̡nt͟ Ą͡cti̢v̴͝i̴̕͝t̴͞ies̴͏,̴͢ A̧n҉d̸ R͟e͟p͢o̴͡r̢̧t͘͜ To҉ ̸̷T̸҉h̢e͏̨ ͠Ma̸͢͞n͜a͏̢ger̶̨’̵s͜ ͠O̢̡ff͠i̸c҉҉ę.̷”

Perhaps the child would get a kick out of that. Or not. It might remind the boy that he was still waiting. Alas, some things never changed.

On the other side of the factory, or more to the middle, or off center of the near center.

The strange flower growing from the cement pillar garbled some speek. Mono paused on the catwalk and gave it his attention, but hesitantly. Only because the flower was unusual and sounded like the Thin Man, but he wasn’t certain what it was saying. It was distorted. Also, why was the flower speek? Trick? Did flower catch the Thin Man?

For a while he stared down from his perch with his hands on his knees, tilting his head. It couldn’t get him from up here, he thinks. The flower didn’t say anything else, but maybe he wasn’t moving. Some nasties only reacted to movement. It didn’t know where he was.

He pushed up into standing and hurried away, checking along the metal grate for something he could lift. Some pieces of metal, a little bit of pipe (too small), this ratty old glove. He spied a canister a little ahead, and rushed to snag that. Racing back over to the flower, he chucked the canister off the platform and managed to knock the whole funnel off the wall. Direct hit!

On a path below choked by vapor, emerged the mechanic, glaring down at the shattered flower spread across the ground.

Yeek!

Mono ducked back a step, but it was meaningless. The Mechanic turned its glare upward, and if he could easily see the creature below through the grate, then there was a good chance it saw him as well. This suspicion was confirmed when the heavy clatter of boots began pounding below, a snort trumpeted out. A ladder was somewhere down there, but he didn’t remember specifics. He took off on the walkway in the direction he had initially been going, gaze sifting for a way down or cover. The catwalk was tol, and ahead the rail bent aside.

An earthquake shook the surface beneath his feet and he nearly lost his balance; walking on the uneven and porous surface was challenging, now he was at a full dash with a boulder rebounding across the floor. If that wasn’t enough, a bleating crack tore out and a large metal tool smashed against the rail. Right above his head!

Mono stumbled and grabbed for his hat. Though the metal piece was quite large and very solid, it’s impact would easily scatter him to the furthest corners of the city. Fortunately, it ricocheted over the handrail and zipped out of sight. Far off into the factory.

Plenty more where that came from.

Mono grabbed the support bar at the bend of the walkway, striving not to lose speed as he whipped around onto the new path. He leapt a sequence of steps and roughly hit the bottom rung, but with a little grumble recovered and stole back his pace.

Steam gushed and the machinery squealed, heaving pistons thrummed around him; it was hard to breath with how thick the air was. He wasn’t used to being so heated through, and the sauna seeped into his lungs, choking out his ragged breaths.

Nonetheless, his pace never faltered. Not even when a fuse clattered against the floor, too near and much too loud. The crash splint his hearing, and suddenly the rumbling groan of the factory became distant. The vibrations through the platform rattled up his thin legs, threatening to splinter his bones right inside his body. If… he had bones, like Her, that is. That was still a mystery....

The Mechanic is catching up. It’s catching up, it’s pace quickened as it closed on its quarry. A bellowing cough tore through the space between them, the force of it blunted by Mono’s impaired hearing. But he can feel it; the rocketing footfalls thrashing his swift but shorter strides. The creature has something in its clutch, he’s certain. He can’t see, won’t look – Flee! It’s right on top of him, but hasn’t decided if it should kill outright or maim him beyond recovery.

Off the side from the platform, a section of moving parts of the machine lumber methodically through their mindless operation. Mono doesn’t second guess the leap and dives off the side, aimed for one of the gears a little below. As he falls and his coat swooped around him, the dilemma of his timing surged through his mind.

Was too soon? Too late? Low. But is far!

Nonetheless, he braced his body for the impact trusting he had momentum. He dropped short, his fingertips barely catching grip of the eroded tooth of a gear. It swings upward in its clockwise motion, carrying its feathery cargo. Mono heaved up, trying to fit himself into the dip before the other tooth of the reversed gear can clench—

The tool swatted against the gear, an inch beneath Mono’s toes. His fingers popped loose, and he fell, first smacking his shoulder against a bolt in the center of the gear, then spiraling three or five full turns in his terrible descent. Somewhere in the vortex of his plunge he smashed into a corroded slate, with wires strapped across the length. In a panic he grappled for a hold, but the steam and grease wouldn’t permit anchorage. He skid backwards reaching still, and suddenly nothings beneath him….

Falling!

He crashed to the floor at last, landing somewhere beneath a canopy of winding pipes. Without allowing a brief to recover, no he shoved himself upright and scrambled for better protection among the sprawling networks. In some patches the pipes have a base extended to the cement, massive bolts skewer a plate in place. These clusters Mono shuffled around or beneath when he could, some expelled waves of heat. Other pipe bundles have a lattice frame built around them, while others have caved over time. Patches of light from the factory ceiling gleamed down, he can see enough to get around without several concussions.

Little by little, his hearing began recovering from the calamity it endured. The wheezing of machine guts and rattle of something within the pipes, pilfered through his muddled senses. It wasn’t totally restored, everything was more off and he couldn’t recall how booming the place was before the short reprieve.

His musing is abruptly shattered when a ragged gloved-hand stuffed down into a space of the pipes, not far from where he was hunched low. For a moment he stalled and held his breath, holding perfectly still. Through the clog of machinery, he couldn’t figure where the Mechanic was now. The thick, cracked fingers clawed at the gravely floor, stretching and poking to their extent. Blindly.

If move, see? Did see but didn’t grab? Miss?

Mono wasn’t sure, but if he stayed put for much longer, an eye might peer into the opening. The blackened fingers still grappled at the vacant space, sensitive to movement, maybe even smell?

Right when the hand began shuffling away, he made his move. Easing in closer to the pattern pressed into the dirty floor where the hand had clawed… he zipped by and kept going! Faster and picking up as much speed as he could, while in his half-blind-folded stance. Above somewhere a breathy snort carried over the racket of hissing pumps, the hammering boots trailed his swift trajectory somewhere to the side. The pockets of scarce radiance flickered against the swift dash of the Mechanic, bearing down on the knotted canopy but barred from an opening.

Mono didn’t chance a glance, all his focus maxed in diving in among the pipelines and anchors punched into the cement. He dropped and skid on his knees, upon reaching a barricade loaded with debris. He scrambled over himself, backtracking a few feet and took an opening in the mesh of a grate. The hole wasn’t large enough for him to push through, he barreled into the rusted metal and kept going when it vaporized with minimal resistance.

A screech shot forth overhead, too close! The pipes arched above him caged him from the Mechanic and a clear reach – maybe-MAYBE it could squeeze its hand into a gap – but not quick enough to grab for the flighty Mono. He barely glimpsed up, only to check once where he was headed in relation to his cover.

It was a little too late for him to register that the next opening he squeeze through led onto the open floor. Not even a pathway, but a break between one collision of mechanical limbs chugging away, and another Tetris of gears and hydraulics hammering away. All at once he was free of the overbearing heat, the steam evaporated and the confining embrace of the pipes shrugged away from his coat.

Mono spun around, his dry coattail swept across his knees. Go! GoGoGo!

He darted to the other side of the metal amalgamate, charging at an open portion beyond a narrow trench. A gasp of steam chuffed a meter or more off, but what caught his attention was the heap of melted skin and chains creeping through. When Mono locked view with it, the Mechanic dove toward him.

With every ounce of his dash power, Mono peeled towards what he hoped was a narrow opening beneath the grate. He stuffed his shoulders through the fence by the path and tumbled, barely making it back to his feet as he galloped awkwardly toward the crevice. The fence slowed the Mechanic but a moment, he simply hopped it and was once more clomping towards his target, gasping on the acrid fumes.

The opening was narrow and too small for the Mechanic to reach within. However, it was also very not long. It was a trap he would be cornered within, and Mono didn’t even hesitate to take in what was beyond the little tiny haven before he was hurtling out once more.

For a second, the Mechanic was stumped. It grumbled to itself, voice becoming distant and distorted by the howling conveyor belt shrieking nearby. Mono was still in the open, but he had the chance to take in the area. Get out of sight for a wink. Enough to lose the grotesque focus of the creature.

Thick cables rose high in his path, the eventual end fading from view high above. He stuffed himself between the narrow space, nearly swimming as he heaved through among available spaces. The narrow passage at least too miniscule for the Mechanics reach, quite possibly, beyond its vision. From elsewhere, a gruff bark announced its agitation. That still sounded too close.

The floor gave out suddenly, and Mono lost his grip. He toppled down a steep incline into a lower basin beneath the chugging machinery. With haste he rolled over into a crouch and gave the area a sweep with his eyes, searching for movement through the veil of fumes and ripples of heat. The edge of his hat was saturated with sweat and his scalp drenched, be blinked at the salty sting in his eyes while he struggled to peer through the blur. He thought the Mechanic was nearby again, but it hadn’t made a sound yet. It could be prowling….

Or could be sneaking up behind him!

Nothing was near which should warrant any panic. Mono kept skimming his gaze around the thick pillars, swinging machinery, all-in-all, whatever was moving. Before rising to move, he pulled back his coat from his leg and checked his knee.

A red blotch stained the pants. It didn’t hurt, or he couldn’t feel it. The cut might’ve reopened, but he did fall pretty hard. For now, he left it alone and made note on it. Worse would happen if he didn’t keep his wits, got distracted with pointless distractions.

He weaved through a pillar thicket, following beside the steep slope he skid down. At times he climbed over a broken gear or other castoff equipment, such as pipes or a random tool – usually rusted and coated in thick grease that had a foul odor. Even the twisted body of a Viewer found its way down here, but likely toppled in from the ceiling. By now, the factory was so thick with fog he couldn’t see hardly anything beyond the spires of cranking metal limbs.

Movement to the left, behind a stairway and a mesh of fortified scaffolding, spooked Mono into diving low. Even if he’s too far away and likely obscured by steam, he takes no chances and tracked the malicious shadowy patterns drifting beyond the barrier. He’s certain it is the Mechanic by instinct (and how his luck has been today), and abruptly began sifting among the pipes and dips in the floor. He detached from following the side of the slope and opted to cut directly through the corroded jungle, to the best of his ability. Down here there lay no landmarks, everything was the repeated meshing of mechanical portions gushing steam, twittering, or bellowing heat.

It takes a while of his dodging and cautious navigation – every time a pipe hissed he tucked down and hid, even if he knew it wasn’t the Mechanic - but finally, he reached the other side of the dip and another ramp. With no indication of the Mechanic, and going a while without catching that horrible thunder of boots, he’s feeling much safer. Make no mistake, Mono knows he will never be safe – him or the Thin Man – with the creature sneaking around. It lost his trail, but that wouldn’t last.

He had a hard time trying to scale up the slope, to the regular floor. It’s not that steep, but the surface has a fine swill of grease and dirt, and his feet are sort of wet too. The drama is actually tiring him out, and he relented for a while to pick his way further along and find a space that wasn’t so icky.

The floor proves to be as much of a hinderance as the Mechanic. He probably doesn’t skid around on the flat surface, on account of the layer of dirt. He can’t climb up the slant by conventional means, but it’s okay. He climbed the side of a section of scaffolding near the slope, and from there gained enough height to leap off and nearly reach the edge. When he hit the peak of the incline, he flailed his arms but managed to flop forward. With a tremendous heave, he vaulted over the slant and stands on flat ground. At last!

Where is he? This place is different, but it’s all the same factory. Vibrating wheels, tugging long conveyor belts above the floor – sometimes higher. Pipes with the little round things sprouting like weeds. He hiked along, crossing through an open path and went to the fence on the other side. So far no sign of the Mechanic; that is not good. He’s happy to not do the flee, but now where is it? Somewhere, watching?

Mono turned his gaze up, and spun around as he moved among long metal vents stretched across the floor. One of the elevated pipes forced him to crouch down very low, the surface and air about it heated, and broiled his skin through his ever faithful coat. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this dry, he felt like a crispy leaf discarded from a tree.

The boundary of the drumming machinery ebbed little by little, and he reached another fence. Nothing on the other side appeared out of place, aside from it looking much more open than a pathway. First confirming no movement among the fringe of heated vapor, he squeezed through the bars and examined the floor. A path was still open, but it was much wider and littered with ruble; from the ceiling, he thought. Through the haze above, something hovered, like a walkway, but higher. He followed a clear path towards a sequence of steps, which rose to a platform upon a cement block.

From this new vantage point, he gave the portions of the surrounding factory a hurried scan. With his scout satisfied, he checked on the tall stand fitted to the platform. It was almost too high to reach, if not for the chair anchored beside it. He hoisted himself onto the ratty seat and from there leapt to the slanted surface.

The corroded panel carried colored buttons, like a television remote. But many-many more. He accidentally knelt on one, and a rackety clunk rebounded from the fog above.

Mono nearly jumped out of his skin when a chain thudded to the cement floor, generating a head-splintering crack, as well as forming a shallow crater in the path he had been on.

LOUD!

He fumbled on the controls, something he hit or knocked made the chain recoil by an inch or more off the floor. Not so loud, but still! Flee!

Carefully he let himself down from the stand and took off, sliding beneath the rail and dropped to the gritty floor. He made it to the nearest fence and zipped through the bars, exactly when a racket of boots bombarded the scene. A little more cautious and not as panicked, Mono maneuvered low among the pipes and coils of wiring stretched beneath a layer of rotten, black texture.

Out there and above, the boots descended into view from a ladder he previously overlooked. It was directly behind the podium he was clambering all over!

In the dark he crouched, watching as the Mechanic plopped heavily to the floor and orbited the platform. Snuffling, grumbling to itself. It rubbed at the knob of its head beneath the cap. He hoped this time he didn’t drop anything, but he didn’t linger around to find out. He crammed himself between a narrow space among the wiring and kept going. Ever and always mindful when large pipes broiled, or a random space gushed a thin thread of steam.

For a very long while, Mono lost track of the Mechanic. A feat which never ceased to make him nervous, but he kept silent and more astute of whatever he was handling, if he had to leap onto something else. It was mostly navigate the floor beneath the machine, and one other time he climbed a chain to reach the height of the catwalk which stretched above the factories convoluted shape. Somehow in all this exploration, he didn’t hear or see trace of the creature.

He did find a doorway! More like a large bay entrance, it is something he recognized from a book. A supply entrance, for stuff to make goop! Or to send colorful boxes away. Whatever it opened up for, it was a way out to somewhere else. He found it by following a big path, which was a kind of a small road. But not like the chewed up roads that lay among the cities crumbling buildings.

A lever to the side wall should open it, he thinks. The stretched cords go to the doors at the top. Unfortunately, when he dangled from the lever, nothing happened. It drooped under his weight, but… it needed a fuse.

He let go and inspected the current fuse in the slot. It had nothing in it, he could tell by just the feel of it. Mono had hoped he was wrong, but no. Another fuse had to be around, a good one. Maybe he could take the one that awoke the factory.

But how far away was that? And dragging it, among the ruble and collapse? With the Mechanic lurking? That would be hard, if not disastrous. He’d keep the option open and try to find his way back, but the course encircling the factory was not without hazards. The whereabouts of this door remained a mystery, but if he followed the wall as closely as he could, he might manage to make it back to the other fuse.

In places, a portion of the wall caved in. Didn’t collapse entirely, but it was a wall within a wall, and not a way out. Some paths lay bloated with ruble, or parts from the machines interwoven pieces. With all the swirling fumes, he couldn’t see far, and didn’t know exactly… where he was, at any time. It was impossible to maintain a sense of direction, but a strong unknown power might be at work.

When he emerged from a division among the pipes and twisting vents, he found an area of the wall intact. Which left his route open for exploration. What caught his interest immediately was an open door and what looked like a window, but the glass was dark. And there was no rain of boards on it. Some sort of clothing or uniforms, like what the Mechanic wore, lay draped on the floor and across a bench by the wall. Belts too, with a few tools. The Mechanic did have a fuse at one point, maybe he’d find one here!

However, approaching the open doorway did spook him a bit. It reminded him… of the Hospital, for some reason. Maybe being alone, and it was dark inside. Did the lights not work? The fuse woke up the factory, but didn’t make the bay door work. The office light came on, because of the Thin Man.

Mono blinked at the ceiling. Slowly he raised his hand toward one of the lamps dangling by a cord and tried to focus, on ‘asking’ the light to come on. Asking may not be right. The Thin Man didn’t do anything, he just stood there. How did—

The first two bulbs burst in a firework of sparks, and Mono catapulted backwards. He scooted back on his butt scrambling to get up, but a sound – a not too scary noise �� ensnared his attention. Poised by the bench, he looked around. It was very faint, beneath the howl of the gnashing and hiss of the factory itself. Sounded like metal-on-metal clink. He looked up.

It was easy climbing up onto the bench, and there he found a box. A shut up box with two clasps on one side, and hinges, with a little strap atop. He leaned against the side and tapped.

Nothing. Hmm. He shuffled and scooted the box, trying to get an easy reach at the clasps.

Something inside moved! He heard it!

Mono bounced back and crouched at the bench edge, glaring at the box. Something was inside that. Something alive. Maybe an animal. He kind of knew it wasn’t any sort of animal. But… it could be just an animal. It could.

Inching over to the box once more, he shifted it around until he could view one of the clasps. Whatever was inside thumped around, the random settling of weight there or here made it difficult to really move the clunky thing. At last, he could fix a firm grip on one clasp and tugged it. This or that way, the thing was latched hard. Like glued to the container.

With a sigh he stood back, and gave his area a good search over. He needed to stay focused, getting caught wouldn’t help anyone. He could always come back. If he got the— no, that was a dumb idea. Even without the Mechanic getting up to no good, it wouldn’t work. The worst could happen, and he didn’t want to think about that danger.

Electing no grace, Mono just rammed his shoulder to the container and let it plunge to the floor. It wasn’t a far fall, but unexpected it would be. The clasps still faced him, and now faced skyward. He plopped down onto the front and pried at the sturdy latches. With every ounce of his mightiness, he braced his feet and knee to the surface and heaved! Shoved!

Clack!

One undone. He paused to catch himself and rally up for round two! Good thing he ate before leaving. With a firm struggle, grinding his teeth, nearly losing his grip twice, the second clasp sprang free. He toppled over the lock, a little winded and sore, but completely fine. He just needed to gather his wits.

The lid was open, but he didn’t hear anything inside. He shuffled over to the opening and pried at the now visible crease, forcing it wider by a foot.

“Hey,” he whispered. Maybe it was just an animal. Whatever, he wasn’t about to climb down in there. “Psst?” he hissed. “Hai?”

At last, the whites of something eyes peered back up at him. Mono gazed in, and the contents of the box glared back. He shifted on the top of the box, forcing the lip up a bit more. The face was dirty and cheeks gaunt, he couldn’t make out the clothing. Rags, it seemed. The eyes felt so barren and accusatory, as if he invaded. Was it just the one kid?

Must’ve been, because they shot out through the side of the container, away from Mono, and hit the floor running. As he recoiled backwards, he watched them veer off to the fence and the machinery beyond, until the figure faded in the choking haze.

That wasn’t weird or anything, he reflected. Briefly, he checked around and within the container – only a peek – in case there were other kids. That… he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. He settled on not thinking about it.

At least he didn’t have the awkward dealing with a kid that wanted to pack. Not that he didn’t want to pack, it was confusing right now. It would’ve been nice to have someone to help, and keep an eye out. For a little while, at least. Until they didn’t want too anymore, or something like that. He would understand this time. Sure.

Mono slipped off the container and ventured in the direction the other kid went. They likely found the space he came out of, but he needed to find another passage through the machinery. He would try and reach the office, and check if he missed any fuses.

First however, he slipped between thick cement pillars and scooted into a substantially cluttered space, overburdened with pipes and thick vents. Sleep was impossible with the sweltering fumes and the churning machinery, but he needed to stop moving for a bit. Curl up by a pipe and rest his eyes, but no sleep. Not even half sleep.

The kid bailing didn’t bother him. He understood. Getting locked up like that. Caught. Doomed. Kids helping other kids out of traps and cages wasn’t a thing. Risky business, and why bother? The kid got trapped, they were pretty bad at the one rule. Caught, you’re as good as dead. Some didn’t get as far as caged.

He shuddered.

All in the past. Focus here and now. He can’t let his guard down. He nestled down in his coat and pried one eye open, again searching the fog swirling among the cables. Clear. No movement. Alone. No one to watch. No second set of ears. No one to catch him if he fell. Just him.

Mono.

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #thin dad #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #i did like building the factory environment #its kind of Maw reminiscent

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 4 years

Text

Their Hero Academia: Once Upon a Time

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

Once upon a time, in a far off land, there lived a boy named Isamu. He was tall and he was kind and he was known for being extraordinarily fleet of foot. It was said that he had a kind word for everyone, though he was possessed of a nervous disposition, given to jumping at the slightest surprise. But in spite of that, he was quick to speak up for those in need and quick to rush to the aid of others.

In other times, he might have been a knight, a protector of the realm, so great was his desire for to help others. But that was an impossible thing, because he was a commoner. He had no noble lineage and parents were ordinary people. It had been said in times past that the common folk could earn knighthood by special deed, but in his small town, it seemed as though that would never happen. Isamu fully expected to live out a normal, happy life, free from the troubles and adventures that had once plagued the land.

But fate often has a way of proving such beliefs wrong, as Isamu would find out one summer day.

***

His parents had sent him to the neighboring larger city to sell some of their wares and it had been a good day. Isamu was ready to return home and his pack was lighter by far but his coin purse heavier. Just as he finished tying together the bundle of his pack, an ugly voice split the air.

“Give us your purse and we won’t hurt you. Much.”

His eyes instantly went to the source of the voice. Two big men, both of rough and dangerous, had cornered a girl about his age and had her blocked against a wall. She wore a hooded cloak, despite the summer heat, but from what he could see, she was pale and very slight. There would be very little that she could do to defend herself.

He looked around. No one was paying them any attention. It was just one more facet of life in a bigger city, he guessed. People said it happened all the time. People said things like “somebody ought to do something about it.” But right now, there weren’t even any members of the city watch around.

He should have just kept walking. It was none of his business. This was just the way of the world sometimes. No one would have blamed him. Both of the men had muscles he could only dream about and both were armed, carrying knives that looked like they had not been cleaned in some time. He was just a gangly young man and no one would have ever expected that he act.

And yet, his body moved on its own.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was running forward, swinging his pack through the air in big circles. He let out a sound that was half battle cry and half terrified scream before releasing it. The pack sailed through the air and hit the nearest of the two with a heavy impact, knocking him senseless. The sound of shattering pottery told him that he would be having a very difficult discussion with his parents when he returned home, assuming he survived the next several minutes.

“What the hell?” the one who was still standing asked, turning to face him. He swung his knife wildly, slicing through the air. “That was a mistake, boy! You’re going to pay for that!” He took a menacing step forward, the girl seemingly forgotten for a moment.

It was starting to look even less likely that he was going to survive the next few minutes. Which was, in truth, a relief, because it meant he would not have to explain anything else. He could only hope that the girl would run while the man took his anger out on him.

But just as suddenly, the man paused, stopping dead in his tracks. Fear flashed over his face and the knife fell to the ground, his fingers suddenly gone boneless from terror. “I… we weren’t meaning no harm, see?” the man babbled. “I’ll just… be going now…”

Isamu did not know what caused the man to turn tail and run, but he was grateful for whatever it was. The girl, who had not fled as he had hoped, stepped over the unconscious form of her other attacker and smiled at him. Up close, he could see that she was very beautiful and had kind eyes. Her smile made him feel as though all was right with the world.

“Thank you,” she said, and her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, like someone unaccustomed to speaking loudly. “You were very brave. But there was no need to endanger yourself. I would have been all right. And even if I was not, my friends would have taken care of them.”

Her friends?

A grunt behind him made him turn. Behind him was a young man about his age, with a shock of green hair, dressed in well-worn, but clearly high class clothes, a scabbard on his back and a sword in his hands. Next to him was the most terrifying girl he had ever seen, short, but with thick muscles and red eyes that seemed to glow. She had to be from the barbarian outlands, for she was dressed in furs and skins, her arms and stomach exposed to the elements. An axe that looked far too heavy to hold was in her hands and her face was twisted up in rage.

The boy relaxed when he saw that things seemed to be all right. “Thank you,” he said to Isamu, replacing his sword in its scabbard. “We could have handled them, but I’m glad we didn’t have to.”

The scary girl on the other hand, pushed past him and approached the girl, putting her hands on her upper arms with a tenderness that surprised him. “Are you all right, Izumi?” she asked.

“I am fine,” the other girl said. “You worry too much, Katsumi.”

“I worry exactly the right amount,” the scary girl—Katsumi—said. “It’s not safe for you here. We need to…”

A stiff breeze chose that moment to pick up, and it flung the pale girl’s hood back, fully revealing her pale face and soft features. Hair that was white, but became red, cascaded from her head.

Isamu sucked in a breath in surprise. Even being from a small village, he recognized the princess of the realm.

***

“You’re the… you’re… you’re…” Isamu stammered, arms flailing through the air wildly. Some powerful instinct dropped him to his knees and he averted his eyes. Of all the people in all the land, he never would have expected in a thousand years to see the princess! What was she doing here? Why wasn’t she at the castle? And why was she in the company of a barbarian?

“Please,” Princess Izumi said, “rise. There is no need for ceremony here.” She carefully pulled her hood back up, hiding her hair once again.

“And you’re going to blow our cover, you fool!” the barbarian woman snarled, clenching a fist.

It was the green haired boy who helped him back to his feet, offering him a hand up. Isamu took it gladly. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Katsumi can be a little scary, but she is right. We can’t afford to draw any attention to ourselves. There’s people chasing us who would do anything to catch us.”

“Tell the whole flaming world, why don’t you, Toshi?” the barbarian girl, Katsumi, snapped.

“I should at least like to compensate you for your troubles,” Princess Izumi said, reaching into the pouch on her belt. “We do not have much, but you risked much for us and…”

Isamu shook his head. The click of coins sounded like silver or maybe gold, money that would have more than paid for what he lost in merchandise throwing his pack. “I don’t need a reward. It was the right thing to do, even if it cost me.”

“Great,” Katsumi said, pacing impatiently. “He’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Can we go now? We need to get to Naruhata by nightfall.”

“As soon as we figure out where it is,” Toshi said.

The barbarian girl gave him a menacing look, though Toshi did not flinch from it. In fact, he seemed far too used to it. “Which would be a lot easier if you hadn’t the lost the maps.”

“I apologized for that already! And I didn’t lose them! They set them on fire!”

“Naruhata?” Isamu asked. He didn’t want to think about who they were. “I’m from there. I can take you.”

In the back of his mind, he wondered if whoever they were, they would follow. Was he bringing danger home?

But this was the princess. The boy seemed important too. He didn’t know about the barbarian; she was too scary to focus on for long anyway. He would swear that her eyes seemed to glow when she got mad(der), and that he could see little puffs of smoke on her breath.

The barbarian girl looked at him with her wild eyes. “Well, guess who just got himself elected guide.”

Princess Izumi laid a hand on the barbarian’s shoulder. “There is no need for that, Katsumi. You’re frightening him.”

Katsumi seethed for a moment, but calmed under the princess’s touch. “Hmph.”

The princess turned to him. “I am afraid we must ask for your help again. It may be dangerous. But the safety of the kingdom, the safety of our parents, the safety of everything depends on our mission.”

That was scary news indeed. But what could Isamu do? His father had always said that if you were able to help someone, you should. Small acts of kindness had the power to move mountains.

“I’ll take you,” he said.

***

The light of day was beginning to fade as they walked the road from the city to Naruhata. It wasn’t far, only a couple of hours walk, but there were some parts that were tricky if you didn’t know the way, where the road ended. Without a map, Toshi, Katsumi, and Princess Izumi probably wouldn’t have found it.

What a strange trio they made! Despite being no older than him and all of them being shorter than he was, they all seemed to carry themselves with so much more confidence than he had ever had. The barbarian girl Katsumi in particular seemed to walk through the world as though it had personally offended her and was moments away from feeling her wrath. And yet, whenever Princess Izumi was involved, she seemed to soften for just a moment. Already, he had seen her listen to the princess many times.

The green haired boy, Toshi, carried himself like a knight, taking the lead, and scanning ahead for trouble. The sword on his back had to be heavy, but he carried it was though it was nothing, and though he seemed concerned about something (probably whatever they were running from), he also seemed to clearly believe that whatever happened, it would work out. He seemed neither quite as high class as the princess, nor as rough as Katsumi. His clothes were well-worn, but high-class, a contradiction if ever there was one. It was rare to find a noble who understood the plight of the common folk, and yet Isamu was certain that he did.

Even the princess was surprising. She was easily one of the most beautiful girls Isamu had ever seen. Her reputation as the fairest in all the land was well earned. But so to was her reputation for kindness. She spoke to him as those he were an equal, even though he had to fight every instinct to avert his eyes rather than look upon her. And yet there was something about her, a steel hidden within her silk, that told him she truly could have protected herself if it had come to it. But what was she doing here? The palace was many leagues away, in the center of the land. Surely King Shoto and Queen Momo would not have allowed their daughter to travel so far, especially in such strange company.

“You must have questions,” Princess Izumi asked, walking beside him. Toshi and Katsumi were in front, though Katsumi continued to look back to check on her and to glare at him.

“I, ah, yes,” Isamu said. “None of you seem like the kind of people you would find around here. And I didn’t think people did quests anymore…”

“Would that it were so,” the princess said, with a slight bow of her head. “But there is always darkness in the land. And right now, there is far more of it than there has been in many years.”

Isamu felt a cold chill go up his spine at her words.

“You know that my parents are the king and queen,” she said. “Toshi’s father is my father’s most trusted friend and knight and his mother a mage of the court. And Katsumi is the daughter of the chieftain of the barbarians who roam the kingdom’s outlands, through a mutual arrangement between their chieftain and my father.”

So he was indeed traveling with very important people, a commoner among nobles. Of course, the tales said that the king’s most trusted knight had once been a commoner himself, raised to his current station by the sponsorship of a golden champion and by his own heroic deeds, but no one knew if those tales were true.

“Many years ago,” the princess continued, “our parents banded together with several others and drove back the greatest threat our land had ever seen. A dark wizard had left behind a disciple called Shigarki. It took all of them and many more besides to defeat him. It brought about a new age of peace.

“But Shigarki left behind many tools and weapons of his war on peace. We had thought them all destroyed, but someone has found what was left, foul monsters called the Nomu, and used them to wage war on peace all over again. Already, the outlands have fallen, and many more lands besides.

“Before they took our kingdom, Toshi’s and my parents were able to spirit us out of the castle, with maps and the names of towns where it was said we might find weapons and allies to stop the threat. We already found Toshi’s sword and Katsumi’s axe, but on our way, we were attacked, and lost the next maps we were to use.”

“That… that’s bad,” he said, feeling dumb that he had no better words.

“It is,” she agreed. “But I have faith that we will succeed.” She grew quiet. “We must.”

Before them, Katsumi suddenly stopped and held up a hand. Around them, it had grown darker. Ahead of them, the path wound through dark woods, much more frightening now, somehow, than they had been when he had first walked this way. She sniffed the air deeply, then reached for her axe. “Damnation,” she growled. “They’ve found us. Get ready for a fight.”

Toshi drew his sword. “Isamu, we’ll hold them off as best we can. But if it starts looking dangerous, I want you to take Izumi and run.”

He gulped. “I… I can do that.”

“I will not flee,” Izumi said, producing a pair of small daggers from her belt. She handed one to him, which he took with shaking hands. He had never wielded a weapon before.

He heard it before he saw it. The sound of something heavy coming from the woods, steps that made the ground shake. And they were upon them, monstrous, twisted creatures, with dead skin, beaks, and their skulls open, exposing the brains within.

One of them let out a monstrous roar that he would remember for all of his days.

***

Without any fanfare, the creatures attacked. Toshi met them first, swinging his sword in a wide arc, leaving a great gash in the skin of the nearest monster. There was no blood and it did little to stop the creature, so he struck again and again, his sword flashing like lightning.

“DIE!” Katsumi yelled, adding her axe to Toshi’s sword strikes. With a single blow, she beheaded the monster. Oily black fluid went flying from the stump and the head landed several feet away, but the body continued to move and fight.

There were four of the monsters all together and the one Toshi and Katsumi were fighting was by far the biggest. Two smaller ones broke past them to attack Isamu and the princess, while the last circled around to try and get at Katsumi and Toshi from behind.

It let out a growl and struck out. In a panic, Isamu stabbed forth with his borrowed dagger. It left a scratch along the creature’s skin, which then immediately burst into flames along the scratch. Had he done that? It must have been the power of the dagger.

Princess Izumi dodged out of the way of the other’s strike, stabbing her own dagger into its hand. From the point where she had stabbed it, ice spread out, freezing the creature’s hand solid, so that when she wrenched her dagger free, it shattered. It let out a monstrous howl, but struck again, forcing her to take steps back.

His own foe seemed no worse for wear for the flames that appeared every time he struck it with his dagger. All he could do, it seemed, was hold it at bay. Thankfully, he was fleet of foot and able to dodge its blows, but he knew he could not do it forever. Unless something changed, he would likely tire long before the monster did.

“Oooh!” Princess Izumi let out a cry as the creature struck out with its remaining hand, tearing through her cloak and knocking her to the ground.

“Princess!” he shouted, throwing himself in front of her. He struck out, stabbing the creature in the eye. As he pulled the dagger back, the creature’s head burst into flames. It let out a great roar and when he looked upon its burning face, he saw not bone and muscle under its skin, but clockworks!

“How?” he asked. “It’s… not alive?”

Princess Izumi got her feet, standing beside him. “Yes and also no, I think. The clockworks augment something that was never natural to begin with. Foul magics indeed.”

The other one had regained its senses, even as it burned. It struck out again and this time both of them stabbed it at once. Their daggers struck home, and flames and ice both spread along its body. The intense heat and cold must have proved too much for it or its clockworks, because it jerked to a stop, twitching as it collapsed.

“Are you all right?” the princess asked. Worry marred her delicate features.

“I, ah, I, I guess?” he said. “I never really did anything like that before. Ever.”

“Battle is never easy,” she told him. “Even less so your first time. But you did well. I am just sorry I did not have time to tell you about my daggers, and even more sorry to have dragged you into this.”

“I volunteered to help,” he said. “And it’s definitely not your fault those things are after you all…”

Speaking of…

It looked like Toshi and Katsumi had finally subdued the one she had beheaded, chopping enough of its body to keep it from moving. The other one was bigger and slower, but it wasn’t going down from any of their strikes. Instead, it struck out again, knocking Toshi away and sending his sword clattering from his hands. Its follow-up blow hit Katsumi hard and it pinned her to the ground. She tried to reach out and grab her axe, but it was just too far away.

“Katsumi!” the princess screamed. Isamu had to restrain her to keep her from rushing forward and attacking that monster. “Let me go! She needs help!”

��That thing will kill you!” Isamu said. They had been lucky with the others. That one had beaten Toshi and Katsumi…

“Don’t worry, Izumi,” the barbarian girl said, laughing in spite of the danger she was in. “I got this.”

And then she began to change.

***

He couldn’t see it clearly, because the monster’s bulk was in the way, but Katsumi’s skin began to ripple and her features began to stretch and distort, as crimson scales spread across her body. Hands and feet became claws, tearing through her furred boots. She was growing too, becoming larger and larger, the force her of growth enough to throw the monster off her. Leathery wings sprouted from her back and her face began to elongate.

In mere moments, there was no more Katsumi, barbarian girl.

There was, instead, a crimson dragon, big enough that a man might ride it, dwarfing the monster. But the eyes of the dragon still seemed very human and very intelligent. The monster roared a challenge and the dragon roared one right back. Neither seemed cowed by the other.

But the dragon kept roaring and unleashed a powerful blast of flame. It engulfed the monster, setting it on fire. The heat was so intense it took the beast’s flesh off, exposing the iron and other clockworks underneath. The dragon kept the attack up, even as the clockwork monstrosity struggled to step forward, until the heat melted it into a messy puddle.

By now, Toshi had recovered. “Katsumi!” he shouted. “I think it’s dead!”

One of the dragon’s eyes looked upon him, then back the mess that had once been the monster. It stopped its fiery assault and Isamu would swear it was smirking. Then, just as suddenly as it had happened before, the dragon began to change.

“You may wish to avert your eyes,” the princess told him.

It took him a moment’s thought to realize what she meant, but as he saw scales become skin, he hastily found somewhere else to look.

“In your pack, Toshi?” Princess Izumi asked.

“Ah, yes,” Toshi replied. “Over there… somewhere. I can’t look right now.”

“Allow me, then,” Princess Izumi said, walking past Isamu.

There were the sounds of hushed conversations for a moment, before the princess spoke again. “You may turn around, gentlemen. Thank you for your patience.”

When Isamu turned around, Katsumi seemed dressed the same as she had been, though her boots were new. He must not have been able to keep the curiosity off of his face.

“Did you think you were missing seeing me naked?” Katsumi asked, sneering. She laughed. “You wish. Most people just don’t like seeing me turn back. I’m told it isn’t pretty. Murder on my boots though.” She retrieved her axe and gave it a few experimental swings, which seemed to satisfy her.

His mind reeled. How had she done that? It was rumored that one of the last dragons served the barbarian chieftain, but how would she have inherited such power? He had already thought her to be dangerous, but now she seemed so much more so.

“Those monsters…” Isamu began.

“The Nomu I spoke of,” the princess said. “And where those travel, I fear there may be more.”

More? But if they were already this close, then could they have made it…

Isamu ran.

***

Isamu did not know how long he ran for. At a walk, they had still been two hours out from his village. At a run, for someone was fleet of foot as he was, it took considerably less time. His thoughts drifted to his traveling companions, to brave Toshi, frightening Katsumi, and Princess Izumi, who had surprised him with how well she had fought and taken care of herself. He had not meant to leave them behind like that and he hoped that they had been able to follow.

But when he came upon his village of Narahuta, his heart sank and at last his knees gave out, dropping him to the ground. The village was aflame, many of the structures already collapsed or charred nearly beyond recognition. The baker’s shop. The town hall. The church. The… the houses…

There were three of those monstrous Nomu tearing through what few structures remained, one long-limbed and more animal-like, prowling about on all fours, one large and muscular, like one of the creatures he and his companions had fought already, and one pale and winged, with flames dancing all along its body. He quickly ducked out of sight, behind one of the buildings still standing, one of the storehouses, and hoped that they could not see him, or worse, smell him.

It was only then, with the sounds of flames and monsters and his own breath ringing through his ears that he realized what he was not hearing. People. There were no sounds of people, none at all. No cries or screams or pain or fear, not one trying to mount some kind of defense, nothing.

The people of his village were farmers and merchants and craftsmen. There were few, if any, weapons in the village. They would have been helpless when these monsters attacked…

But he had seen no bodies either. No corpses sliced to ribbons, no charred skeletons, nothing. Whatever had happened, it was as though no one had ever lived her at all.

He ran again, this time towards his home, not caring if the monsters saw him or not. When he arrived, his hopes were quickly dashed. Where once there had been his home, there was only ash and scorched earth. Of his parents, there was no sign.

But there, in the middle what remained of the floor of what had once been his home, was what was clearly a trapdoor. Strange. He didn’t remember seeing that before. But hadn’t there always been a rug there? Had his parents been hiding something? He wouldn’t have thought it possible. He thought of his dad as one of the most honest people in the whole world.

Carefully, he crept forward and opened the trapdoor, the wood not even singed and the metal cool. He could tell now that was closer that a protective sigil, a closed fist with a knuckleduster, had been drawn on it. That must have been expensive. Wandering wizards were few and far between and quite costly. What could his parents have possibly had that was worth protecting like that?

Inside, he found a pair of gauntlets, shining and metallic, while looking remarkably flexible. There was something about them that instantly told him they were magical. It just raised more and more questions. His eyes fell on a roll of parchment, perfectly preserved, and nestled between them. Carefully, he grabbed the parchment and unrolled it.

Son,

If you’re seeing this, then something bad’s happened. I’d hoped to never have to show you these. I’d hoped that, at least, I’d have been able to give you these myself. But sometimes, what we hope for isn’t what happens.

What I never told you was, once upon a time, I was known as the Crawler of the Woods. I was never a knight or a squire or a rogue or anything like that, but I did a little bit of good and I helped people. It was thanks to these gauntlets that I was able to do it. They’ll give you the power to fight whatever evil is out there again. They won’t be as good as some of the magical stuff they give people up at the castle or in other reaches of the kingdom, but they did some good once. And they can again.

No matter what happens, know that I love you and I know you’ll make me proud.

Dad

There was no time for tears now. It was too much to think about. He would probably have a good cry later, when there weren’t monsters about. Carefully, once again, he reached out and grabbed the gauntlets. They slipped onto his hands easily, not even needing any adjustment. The fingers were surprisingly flexible and he could swear he could see a faint blue-white glow between the joints.

“Look out, you idiot!” A harsh voice—he realized quickly it was Katsumi’s—split the air and he looked over his shoulder just in time to see one of the Nomu coming for him.

***

Isamu rolled just in time to see the Nomu swing its massive arm and hit the ground with a ferocious impact. It was the big one he’d seen earlier. Reflexively, he brought up a hand to try and shield his face should its attention turn on him again. From the palm of the gauntlet, a beam of blue-white light shot out and struck the Nomu, burning a hole right through its skin. He could see the gears underneath and saw that some had melted and ground to a stop.

It was not nearly enough to stop it.

But it was enough to get its attention. The Nomu pivoted and raised its arms to strike again, letting out that terrible roar that he could feel in his bones. Isamu saw his life flash before his eyes.

No! He couldn’t die here! He had to find out what had happened to his parents and the people of his village! He had to find out why his father and now he had these gauntlets. He had to live!

“C’mon,” he hissed. “Do it again…” He pointed both his hands and wished with all his might that they would fire again. Once more, blue-white beams of light lanced out and pieced the Nomu’s body, knocking it back for a moment. He realized that he’d maybe bought himself moments at best.

SCHLICK!

There was a sickening sound, as an axe blade split the Nomu clean in half. As the pieces fell to either side, he saw Katsumi standing behind it. She had a feral grin on her face and, in his opinion, it took a far too long moment for the battle lust to leave her eyes.

“I guess I should thank you for distracting it,” she said. “Where’d you get the new toys?”

“I... I found them,” he said. “They were buried under my house.”

“Your house?” she snapped. And then she looked around, as though seeing the damage for the first time. Her expression softened by several degrees and he remembered that something had happened to the barbarian outlands. Were her parents…? “I’m sorry.”

She shouldered her axe and offered him a hand up. He took it and she hauled him to his feet roughly. “Word of advice?” she said. She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Any fight you don’t end up dead from is a good one.” She gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him over.

“C’mon,” she added. “Toshi and Izumi were going after the other ones.”

“And you came to save me?” he asked.

“Figured there’d be a fight,” she said. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The sounds of battle filled the air. Sword against flesh, the war cries of the Nomu…

Katsumi took off towards the sounds of the fight without even looking back.

***

They arrived just in time to see Toshi’s sword fell one of the Nomu, the one that had been like a giant dog. There were burn marks and signs of freezing, where Princess Izumi’s daggers must have struck home. Toshi held his sword tightly, eyes darting around for signs of any further danger. Relaxing only slightly when he was Katsumi and Isamu arrive.

“You’re all right!” he called out. “Thank goodness! When you took off… and then when we saw the village…” His voice trailed off, uncertainly.

“We feared the worst,” Princess Izumi finished. She held a dagger in each hand, looking ready to use them again if the need arose. Where had a princess learned to fight like that?

“Sorry about that,” Isamu said, feeling guilty for having left them behind. Fear had overtaken his heart and now that shamed him.

“I can’t blame you,” Toshi said. “I’d probably have done the same.”

“Is your family..?” the princess began. “We haven’t seen anyone other than you.”

He shook his head sadly. “Gone. My home was burned to the ground. And there were no people, anywhere.” He held up his hands, showing off the gauntlets. “But I did find these.”

“They’ve got some punch,” Katsumi replied. “Probably enchanted.”

Princess Izumi and Toshi exchanged glances. “Do you think…?” the princess asked.

“I do,” Toshi agreed with a nod. “Isamu… I think those were what we were meant to find. The maps said we might find a weapon and an ally here.”

Had it meant his father? Was he known to heroes of the realm? “I think you’re right,” he said. “And you’re right… you did find an ally.”

He looked around. “There’s nothing for me here now. “

“Place is just like everywhere else,” Katsumi said, bitterly. “When those damn things came to the outlands, there wasn’t anything left.”

“Father believed the people were not killed, but taken,” the princess said, kindly, and he realized those words were both for him and for Katsumi. “He thought there a very good chance they are still alive.”

“If not,” Katsumi growled, “then I’m not just going to kill whoever’s behind this. I’m going to kill them double dead!”

Isamu took a slight step further away from the scary barbarian girl. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “But whatever happens, I need to see this through to the end. That is, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” Toshi said. “It’s said these weapons we find can only be used by the worthy. Those gauntlets must have chosen you. And I can tell already, you’ve got the heart of a hero.”

“I knew it from the moment you were able to unleash the power of my Dagger of Flame,” the princess said. “The road before us is hard, but it will be better traveled in the company of friends.”

Isamu nodded, the future stretching out before him uncertainly. He knew not what it held, just that it would hold challenges aplenty. But something worried him in the back of his mind…

“Wait,” he said, “there was another Nomu, with wings. Where did it…?”

As one, the four of them looked up. In the sky, heading towards the far distant mountains, was the last Nomu. Even assuming Katsumi could turn into a dragon again, there was no way they could catch it.

“It would be safe to say it’s returning to its foul master,” the princess said. “Whoever they may be… they will know what transpired here today.”

That was not an encouraging thought. But from the way his new companions had spoken earlier, it seemed there was little encouraging these days.

“Let them,” Katsumi said. “Let them know we’re coming for them all.”

There was great evil out there. But perhaps, in finding his father’s gauntlets, there was some measure of hope as well.

As for whether or not hope could turn back darkness… That was a story for another day.

#their hero academia #my hero academia #fantasy au #isamu haimawari #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #izumi todoroki #toshi midoriya #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

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ficclique · 4 years

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Fic Clique hosts choices for our top fics of the decade - as featured in our Minisode from Jan 3rd.

Brenna’s choices:

Honorable Mentions:

Worldwide Lonesome by loindexter (BTS)

2018, 39k, Yoongi/Jin

The biggest gut-punch I’ve ever felt from a character confession. The Jin of this fic has stuck with me every day since reading it. This fic examines sexuality in a way that made me feel seen & I love that.

Timeshare by Astolat (HP)

2016, 14k, Draco/Harry

This is sort of a stand-in for all of astolat’s drarry fic, which as a bundle are one of my top fics for the decade. They are fics that feel like instant-classics and the variety of characterizations, stories and tropes helped establish astolat as perhaps my all time favorite fic author. Timeshare won out above the others because it’s one of the fics that helped us decide to do this podcast! Thank you Timeshare!

Top 5 picks:

The Student Prince, by Fayjay (Merlin)

2010, 145k, Merlin/Arthur

A fic that has defined fanfiction for me. Perhaps the fic that first convinced me to love fanfiction. Something I keep coming back to and have reread numerous times. Funny, heartfelt, just different enough from the canon versions of characters. Perhaps the only University AU I will ever fully love.

The Love Song of the North American Douchebag, by Gyzym (Star Trek RPF)

2013, 25k, Chris/Zach

If you want to hear me (and my lovely co-hosts) discuss this fic in depth, then I recommend listening to Episode 6! However, one of our listeners also submitted this as a top fic of the decade, so I’m going to add what the lovely Scout said:

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I HOPE I CAN SWEAR. I'm not even in this fandom. The world building is just THAT good. It's one of my highlights *because* of its power to draw me in as a standalone. So much fucking talent in the transformative work community. The banter, characterization, sardonic-ness of this – international impact baby!”

Not Easily Conquered (series), by dropdeaddream & whatarefears (MCU)

2015, 117k, Steve/Bucky

An incredibly, precise, gut-wrenching trilogy. Each part is astounding both together and apart. A devastating exploration of love and dedication. One of those fics that created a Fandom Moment. I sobbed through the entirety of part 2 when I first read it. Womb to tomb, sweetheart.

Azoth by zeitgeistic (HP)

2013, 88k, Draco/Harry

A stunning exploration of magic beyond JKR’s universe. A timeless coming together of two characters. A frankly genius use of a plot device (and something as simple as a school project) to foster an incredibly touching and meaningful relationship, one in which they are not able to find what they need to complete their task until they find what they need in each other. ALCHEMY BABY!

Honeysuckle Arch by junkshopdisco (1d)

2015, 46k, Niall/Harry

Perhaps the most I’ve ever related to a character in fic. The Niall of this fic lives in my heart, and I feel like reading him helps me understand myself, and everytime I come back to it I understand him better too. It’s a touching portrayal of a character coming to terms with their sexuality in a way that feels completely grounded and who is surrounded by characters who love them, even if they don’t always know how to show it.

Nicole’s choices:

Honorable Mentions:

Protostellar by ninamondays

bts, 64k, pub 2019, Namjoon/Jungkook & Taehyung/Jimin

Space, cryogenics, fate, reincarnation, class struggles, revolution, climate change, character death. Having hope is punk rock. Processing grief is a slow and ugly process. [deep breath] Have I ever felt so profoundly touched by a fic while I was reading it?

the other thing by cornfields

hockey rpf, 16k, pub 2015, Jamie/Tyler

An absolutely unflinching look at personal accountability and internalized homophobia. What happens when your self-hatred has collateral damage? It’s about healing but it’ll fucking hurt first. Bleached out vibes. Makes texas feel very big, and the world feel very, very small. A story I’d only trust a fic author to tell.

Top 5 picks:

Murmuration by fringecity (indiachick)

bts, 167k, pub 2018, Yoongi/Jimin/Taehyung

Film noir/murder mystery meets gritty sci fi and superpowers. Everyone is morally gray. You Will sob about Kim Taehyung. A masterclass in plot. Felt like a trilogy all wrapped tightly into one fic. A kaleidoscope. An unfurling. This fic mesmerizes.

The River and the Deep Green Bend by liquidmeasure

1d, 70k, pub 2016, Harry/Niall

Dark tower au, but only technically. Makes me want to believe in the multiverse. An arid western, a sideways coming of age story, an elegy. The first time I’ve ever cried because an ending was perfect.

the undiscovered country by indigostohelit

hamlet, 56k, pub 2014, Hamlet/Horatio

What else can I say about this fic. What else can I Fucking say.

(note: we discuss this fic at length during episode 5)

All Things Shining by Askance and standbyme

spn, 142k, pub 2013, Dean/Castiel & Sam/ofc

A story about miracles. Literary as hell, with long luxuriant scenes that never drag. Masterful characterization. The thing I wanted from spn fic—connection, plot, and a fic that not only can handle the lore of the show, but is willing to expand upon it.

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark

1d, 95k, pub 2013, Louis/Harry

Hunger games crossover. Doesn’t just use the other fandom for setting, but entirely inhabits it. I had to stop partway through my reread because I knew I’d have nightmares, but this fic never stops hoping. Trauma is not an ending. This fic is certain of that the whole way through.

Reid’s Choices:

Honorable Mentions:

songs from the ash, by explosivesky, 2017

Critical Role, Percy/Vex, Keyleth/Vax, 54k, WIP (sort of)

rockstar/movie star AU

A fantastic example of how fic can just standalone as really good original fiction. A lovingly rendered, devastating and beautifully crafted portrait of four broken people doing their best to navigate through their lives and around one another.

delta, by sharpa, 2019

BTS, rapline ot3, 60k

What happens when you’re a public figure who gets unwillingly outed, and two people you used to love reach out to offer you sanctuary? You make Reid cry, that’s what.

Top 5 picks:

Salt on the Western Wind by Saras_Girl, 2013

Harry Potter, drarry, 60k

Immediately post war, bond

It represents a lot of what I was looking for when I started really getting into Drarry fic, which was an exploration of what canon wouldn’t give me. My favorite Drarry fics have always been the ones that let them dig into their shared trauma, and while this fic isn’t the heaviest one I’ve read, I think the fact that it’s set literally hours after the Battle of Hogwarts ends lends itself well to that concept. I couldn’t have a list of the decade without a Drarry fic, tbh.

The Great Sealand Takeover, by whalehuntingboyfriends, 2015

Roosterteeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, ot6 (gavin, michael, ray, geoff, ryan, jack), 365k

FAHC

When I think about fics that set the standard for a fandom, this is one of the first ones that comes to mind. This fic means a lot to me because it was my introduction to RPF, and in addition to its intricate plot and fandom-constructed lore, also was a take on poly relationships and found families in a way I had never experienced before, with themes of belonging and a love that transcends typical convention.

The Twice-Told Tale by arysteia, 2012

Marvel, steve/tony, 15k

This fic hits a sweet spot for me where it does have some of that 2012 tower-fic nostalgia, but I also think it holds up well in terms of what I (and fandom) find so fascinating about Tony, which is all this grief and trauma that he struggles so hard to process, and the way puts himself at the center of attention to obfuscate the fact that he keeps everyone at a long arm’s length.

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, by Shoshanah-ben-hohim, 2015

Hockey, Sid/Geno, Canon Divergent, 77k

& the whole series, including There is a Field, I’ll Meet You There, Alex Galchenyuk/Olli Maata, 131k

When I think about this fic I want to scream from every rooftop I’ve ever been on “please read this fic”. The way it weaves together details to provide a level of grounding and realism in what sounds like the most absurd concept for a fic just floors me. The empathy and compassion and fear in this fic just gets at the most tender parts of my heart, and the fact that it’s ostensibly a ship fic, and yet Sid and Geno spend nearly the entire fic with no communication, but instead are just holding on to the innate truth that they know about one another to get them through this crazy endeavour they’re on elevates the entire fic for me.

what comes after, by poppyseedheart, 2018

Roosterteeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, mavinseg (gavin, meg, michael, lindsay), 36k

Dystopia/Spy AU

When I first read this fic, I finished it and I put it down and then I spent a few days feeling like I was just sort of wandering around in a haze because every single thought was consumed by this fic. In addition to its impeccable worldbuilding and the tone work that it does with its setting, I don’t know that I had ever resonated so deeply with fic characters before. Reading this felt like someone had pried my ribcage open one by one and revealed the softest, most tender parts of me and then went “I’m going to write something that targets this.” This fic is an ode to loss and love, to mourning something that you once had and then hesitantly and clumsily opening yourself up to building something new, and recognizing that, impossibly, that new thing you built can somehow be better than what you had before.

And I felt all of these things, I felt like my world had just been shattered by this new author I discovered… and then, somehow, I became her friend. Then through Nic I met Brenna, and now when I think about this fic I not only love it for being a work of art, but also for being representative of the thing that brought me to two of the most important people in my life, and that to me will always make it my favorite fic I’ve ever read.

#fic clique #fic recs #multifandom #minisode #fics of the decade

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keaalu · 6 years

Text

Remember Me, Chapter 6

Skywarp comes up with a plan to rescue the kids. It’s a terrible plan, but it’s better than no plan at all – right, Screamer?

He probably ought to have run it past his bros before swinging straight into carrying it out, though.

----------

Slipstream had already lost track of the number of times he’d been sent sprawling, when his captors finally hustled him into a cell and kicked his feet out from under him again. He wasn’t completely sure what they had planned for him, but was fairly confident it wasn’t going to be comfortable… and when Ramjet vanished with Skydash, he was certain it wasn’t going to be. He made a spirited effort to follow them, fear of what they might do to his cousin lending him a strength he didn’t normally have, but was ultimately no match for the two large, well-armed Decepticons.

Dirge backed him into a corner. The jet wore the kind of smile that anyone with a half-developed sense of self-preservation would have run away from – if they’d been able to. He’d still made no effort to clean Longbeam’s bright yellow finger-gouges off his cheek. “So, superstar. Look at you. All grown up,” he purred. “Almost a miracle. I wouldn’t have put money on it – not with parents like yours. I guess there’s just something in the family code that makes you slaggers hard to convince to die, huh?”

Slipstream somehow managed to keep the static out of his voice. “What do you want.”

Dirge paced back and forth in the space between his prisoner and the door, casually. “Who said I should need a reason to come see my favourite person?” His smile broadened. “You’re in my territory now, Slippy. And I have a little old score to settle. Remember that time in the desert, where you helped sneak TC out from under my watch, and made me look like an incompetent idiot?”

Slipstream felt his pumps stutter, uncomfortably. He tried offlining them, but it didn’t feel like it helped much. “…yes.”

“Yeah! I sure remember it. That’s what makes it such a shame, you know? This whole thing.” The blue conehead examined his fingers, artfully, and shook his helm, casting a sly glance sidelong to check for Slipstream’s reaction. “I mean, price of scrap metal has really taken a nosedive lately. We coulda got a much better price off the squishies if we’d took the chance to smelt you down a vorn or two earlier.” Seeing the smaller mech visibly cringe, his lips spread wider in a smirk. “What, did you think I was gonna say it was a shame you didn’t join up when you had the chance? Like we’d need a depressive little nonentity like you in the ranks.”

Thrust snickered. “Yeah, Dirge here has that market cornered already. He doesn’t need the competition when it comes to depressive nonentities.”

Dirge glared and gave him a swift kick in the back of one thruster; the red jet gave a startled yelp of pain, and hastily shoved back, embarrassed by the over-reaction.

He was sure he probably wasn’t supposed to have heard, but Slipstream picked up Dirge’s frustrated growl of stick to the plan, will you? And Thrust’s immediate return hiss of WHAT plan, you always friggin’ wing it and blame me when you screw up. For an instant, it looked like they were more interested in coming to blows with each other, right up in each other’s faces.

Slipstream almost dared to hope that they’d get too invested in their own quarrel, and forget about him… but hadn’t counted on the strength of feeling that would have brewed behind forty vorns of simmering resentment.

After a brief session of shoving and posturing, the two coneheads managed to get back on track.

“So, where were we, Slips?” Dirge moved to close the gap between himself and his prisoner. “Reminiscing about the good old days, right? Can’t deny that I’ve been looking forwards to the time we got to meet again. Especially after that big white blob kept me from shooting the two of you after you snuck out.” He pressed his fist into his palm. “That woulda spoiled the party today though, right? Now come on. Get up. On your feet.”

“I’d rather stay down here, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, did I sound like I was giving you a choice? Get up. Or do I have to get Thrust to help you?” Dirge flicked a hand at Thrust, who rolled his optics a little but obediently moved in closer.

Slipstream hastily scrambled to his feet. Often, having a wall at his back reassured him, but now it just emphasised the fact there was nowhere to go. He tugged uselessly at his wrists, wishing he could get the cuffs off – not that having his hands free would actually help that much against two fully-armed warmechs, but it might have made him feel a little better. Like he at least had the option of trying to defend himself.

Even if that might have only involved covering his face.

“So.” Dirge leaned down very close to their prisoner, and was gratified to see the younger mech flinch and turn his face away. “I guess now is a good time to educate you on a few things, yeah? Like how when you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you. That you were too young to understand what we were fighting for, and maybe, if we treated you nicely, let you figure out for yourself that we were legitimate, maybe you’d grow up as one of us.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Well, guess what? You’re all grown up, now.” He smirked. “And you invited us into your life by choosing to become our enemy.” He tapped a finger against the little Autobot insignia etched into Slipstream’s chassis.

Slipstream hunched his shoulders and leaned back, just a little, just out of immediate reach. “You can blame the Triplechangers for that.”

“Yeah – blame, or thank, one of the two. I mean, it’s a lot less politically-incorrect to beat your enemy to a pulp than it is to squish some dithery little neutral, right?” Dirge’s lips pulled thin, showing his denta. “Who am I kidding. Like I’d not take the chance to bludgeon you over the head just because you weren’t an Autobot. This just makes it easier to justify…”

The first blow wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it still caught Slipstream off-guard – a solid punch in the side of his helm, crashing him backwards into the wall. Pain rang like a thunderclap through him; he couldn’t be completely sure, not with all his senses destabilised, but it felt like the crystal of his sidelight had shattered. There was certainly something leaking – stinking sharp and volatile where it ran down into his collar armour.

He tried to be brave – to do his family proud, to hold up his strong Autobot heritage, and not be defeated by a bunch of Decepticon thugs… but it hurt too much to do anything except curl as best he could into a self-protective bundle, trying to shield sensitive components from the beating.

Ultimately, even Dirge finally got bored. After activating the forcefield that closed the cell, he headed off in a very jovial mood with Thrust, apparently going to find some high-grade to celebrate their successful mission.

Slipstream wallowed in self-pity for a little while, curled up in his corner, trying to ignore the bright pink smears on the walls, the floor, his own armour… trying to concentrate on slowly disconnecting or rerouting systems away from all the spots that hurt.

Hard to think what they might be doing to Skydash, while he wasn’t there and couldn’t protect her. Although ‘protect’ was a bit of a stretch. More like, keep their attention away from her by offering himself as a better target.

Concentrating on fixing up what he could helped keep him at least slightly grounded. Energon crystallised off, obediently, plugging up the damaged, leaky vessels. Coolant vapours made the air stink; he deactivated a handful of pumps and let the broken pipes run dry. He’d have to rely on his fans until he could get repairs, but that would probably be all right. He’d maybe be a bit sluggish but at least he’d be functioning. Right?

Because he was going to get out of here, somehow.

Repairs weren’t just a daydream.

Primus. What were they doing to Dash?

When you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you, Dirge reminded him, out of the recent past. Slipstream latched onto the memory, hoping that perhaps Skydash would likewise be “too small and stupid” for them to want to harm. The idea they’d want to turn her against her parents for no reason other than to punish her family seemed altogether too plausible. Maybe they’d never bring her back-

The clump of heavy footsteps drew his attention; Motormaster appeared in the doorway, and deactivated the forcefield. Slipstream automatically cringed away.

The big mech wasn’t interested in doling out violence, however. “Here. Catch.”

Before Slipstream could gather his wits, Motormaster flicked his wrist and sent a small bundle flying through the air.

A small Skydash-coloured bundle.

Alarm shot through him. Slipstream hurled himself forwards, and just managed to get underneath her, rolling with her to the ground to try and absorb a little of the impact. She still tumbled off him and hit the deck, but it was with only a little clunk, not a horrible wet broken crash. He curled over her, automatically, as if he could somehow protect her.

The stunticon outside the cell gave a dismissive snort, and – miraculously – turned away.

Slipstream waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before finally straightening up and checking Skydash over. He almost cried to see she was completely totally uninjured and perfect. She was scared, and crackling with static, and wanted her mama, but that was all. And Primus did he ever sympathise. He’d not wanted his parents like this quite so badly for a long time. All he wanted was to curl up next to his dam’s spark and let the rest of the world go dim around him.

“Hey, Dash. Come on, bit. Talk to me?” He leaned down and bumped her with his cheek. “It’s just me here now. You’re here with me and it’s all right.”

It took a good portion of a breem for Skydash to respond, during which time he gently shuffled her into his corner, where he could con himself into thinking he could perhaps protect her. She finally uncurled from her ball, looking fearfully around the small cell, still vibrating softly in distress but growing braver now she was satisfied they were genuinely the only two present. She climbed into her cousin’s lap, then wriggled her way up his chest, thrusting her small head up under his chin.

“Hey Dashie.” Slipstream tucked up his knees and rested his cheek against the top of her head, gently. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you at all?”

“Not hurt,” she confirmed, quietly. “Want Ama.” Most of the static had faded from her voice, but she still crackled every now and then.

“Yeah. I know. Me too.” He sighed, softly. “Just… have to be patient, all right? Do you think you can do that? They won’t hurt us while they still need us.”

Skydash stared up into his face. “Unnol hurt,” she challenged, reaching out a small hand to touch the glitter of crystallised energon on his cheek, and watched him flinch – only a tiny bit, but enough to make her snatch her hand back. “Make lies.”

He found a smile, and bumped cheeks with her. “Aw, I’m all right. I can get bashed around without hurting too badly. I had good teachers; you remember the Twins, right?”

She gave his features a brief but intense scrutiny – the dim, broken optic, the dried energon still crusting the damaged aerials, the new little dents and paint transfers – apparently trying to decide if she believed him. Even Sunny and Sides hadn’t put him through the mill quite this badly, even when he was at his most argumentative and asking-for-it. He kept up his smile for a little longer, and eventually she decided she didn’t want to challenge the lie, jamming herself back into the top curve of his chassis, the top of her head coming up under his chin. “…see Ama soon?”

“Yeah. I hope so. Soon.”

~~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Thundercracker had been prone to headaches – although they were usually caused by his beloved wingmates. And never this bad.

It was only after the Triplechangers caught them so catastrophically off-guard, many vorns ago, that the headaches turned into incapacitating migraines. Stress usually set them off, spiking the pressure in coolant lines around his helm and destabilising his optics badly enough that they’d cut out altogether.

When his vision started to bleed into false-colours and static, he knew he was in for a bad one. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d got home, when even barely moving still managed to upset the precarious stability of his cortical pressure.

Right now, he cut a spectacularly unwarriorlike figure, sitting in the atrium with a foil around his shoulders and a coolant pack weighing his helm down, wishing he’d gone and done something about it last time. It wasn’t even as if this was the first time he’d regretted not going to a doctor and getting it fixed! But every time he considered it, there seemed to be something more immediate and important that needed his attention. (Usually, that thing was what triggered the migraine in the first place.) He’d put it off, and put it off, and eventually it’d fade off his radar… until the next one rolled around.

Knowing he was a walking liability was making his migraine worse. It kinda hurt to know you actually were the burden you thought everyone was talking about behind your wings.

Starscream had fussed noisily until a long-suffering Forceps had found a patch to force a temporary pressure bleed, but Thundercracker knew it’d take a while to kick in, and that didn’t guarantee he’d get his vision back any time soon.

As a much younger mech, new to the Decepticon cause and unsure how much of his weight he wanted to throw behind it, he’d been accused of being a ditherer – irresolute, couldn’t make a decision, always left everything too late.

Now, when he absolutely knew with a hundred percent conviction what he wanted – needed – to do? To go straight out to the spacebridge, fly direct to Earth, storm Nemesis, scoop his family to safety?

Didn’t matter what he wanted, any more, did it? Might as well put a little gift ribbon around his neck and go hand himself over.

At least he wasn’t the only one stuck for a response. Celerity still sat on the floor next to his feet, one arm stretched lightly round behind his thrusters, her head resting against his knees, purring quietly for him. She’d pitched it so that the subtle near-infrasound harmonised with his electric field, supportive and soothing – something she usually did for their sparkling when Skydash was having a tantrum. Figured.

Her field felt a fraction less strangled than it previously had, but now worry and exhaustion bled across their bond, in spite of her best efforts not to let it.

=you don’t have to be strong for everyone all the time= he reminded her.

She… acknowledged it, sort of, but not with anything verbal.

He shuffled awkwardly off the seat and down to the floor, to sit beside her. =Be all right. Just have to wait for Star to come up with a masterplan= he consoled, although it felt a little flat to him, too.

If only Starscream would make an effort to at least try and find his volume control…!

Wanting more information, the red jet had contacted Vantage, their reluctant silver spacebridge monitor. Finding out the mech had actually gone and let the Coneheads through with no questions and no notification? Had triggered another outburst of bad temper. He wasn’t quite as glass-etchingly strident as he had the capacity to be, but he was being unnecessarily loud, and to Thundercracker it felt like the words were echoing inside his head.

On the Earth end of the connection, Vantage looked like he'd have appreciated it if the ground would open and swallow him. “I-I thought they were coming for the whole New Vos thing.”

Starscream threw both arms up. “You didn't think to challenge it?!”

“No? They’re Seekers. I thought it was a Seeker thing? Why would I have challenged it?”

“Well I don’t know, perhaps the fact that they’re still fully-paid-up members of the Decepticon regime?! How did they even know about it?”

Vantage visibly cringed. “…I mighta asked them if it was why they wanted to come through.”

“Well thank you very much for making my job infinitely harder. Did you remember to invite Megatron while you were at it?!”

In the corner of the room, Skywarp put up his hands, and disappeared silently upstairs. He was apparently as tired of the noise as everyone else.

Pulsar watched him go into their shared room. She knew he tended to overthink, particularly when he was anxious, coming up with outlandish ideas that often made any bad situation worse. Quietly she slipped away from the atrium, and followed him up to the top floor.

She found Skywarp standing at the big terminal built into the wall, fiddling with his shield emitters, running diagnostics. The faint purple nimbus of active riot screens glowed around him. He didn’t look particularly anxious; his lips were compressed into a determined line and a small, serious frown furrowed his brow.

He startled at hearing her footsteps, but quickly relaxed upon seeing who it was. “Oh, it’s only you.”

“Thanks. Nice to know you’re glad to see me.” Pulsar gestured at the atrium with a sweep of one arm. “What are you even doing? Don’t you want to be with the rest of us, helping out?”

“To do what, exactly? Aren’t there enough folk down there already, getting in the way?”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “You’d rather be up here instead, faffing about with unimportant things?”

“If you’re gonna get on my case, at least keep your voice down about it.” He pursed his lips, and slotted his fingers into a dedicated grip in the terminal, turning it through ninety degrees; the light of a green scanning laser swept once up and down his armour, checking for weak spots. “Or are you trying to tell the whole world what I’m doing?”

Pulsar obediently lowered her voice. “What are you doing?”

At last, Skywarp looked satisfied, straightening up. The subtle glow of his shielding finally winked out. “I’m going to fetch the wee sparks back.”

Pulsar just stared at him for a full few seconds, mouth open. “What, on your own?”

“Of course on my own. Why do you think I’m trying to sneak out?”

“But you can’t just-… that’ll be suicide!”

He set his hands on his hips and cocked his head, expectantly. “So, you got a better plan, have you?”

“Yes, I have an amazing plan. It’s called ‘let’s actually wait for Starscream to think of something practical and not take on Megatron singlehandedly’?”

He gave her a weird sort of patient glare and flapped a hand. “I can’t be sitting around waiting for Screamer to scheme his way to something that might work if he manages not to get distracted by gloating about how much better he is as leader. Besides, all of us going together is exactly what old Buckethead wants. Why should I make it easy for him to kill the three of us?”

“Remind me how this makes your plan a good one.”

“Well, he’s not gonna kill me if I go on my own, right?” Skywarp grinned, although he couldn’t quite hide the tension that tightened around his optics. “He wants to force us to watch each other dying. It’ll ruin everything if I go and grey out before Screamer can see it.”

“Unless he decides to record it, and sends it to him as a gift.” Pulsar stepped closer and caught his hand, and folding it into both of hers. “Please. At least discuss it with everyone before you launch into the unknown.”

Skywarp could feel her trembling, slightly, genuinely alarmed by his impetuous plan. He almost felt guilty for suggesting it. “So Screamer can put a total nix on it? Great idea.”

She looked away. “That might have been why I suggested you do it.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Eh, it’ll be fine. I… kinda know what I’m doing?” He lowered his voice. “Megatron thinks he knows me, right? I was a ‘Con most of my life and there’s not much about me that’s ever been subtle. By which token,” his expression brightened, optimistically, “maybe he’ll underestimate me.”

“There’s way too many maybe-s in this plan. What if this is exactly what he knew you’d do?”

“If Megs just wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have given us any warning. He’d have come here and done it. Let’s face it, Ramjet’s trine proved we let our attention drift way too far away from where it shoulda been, it woulda been easy to knock at least one of us off if they’d tried hard enough and weren’t a bunch of idiots. But?” He shrugged, gesturing with his free hand, palm out. “Megatron’s… basically told us what he’s planning? I guess it’s because he knows all Screamer’s triggers, and he’s baiting him in? He knows our wingleader’s just as stupid as me, at times, and if he can get him worked up, he’s easier to deal with.”

Pulsar leaned back a little, as though somehow capable of anchoring him, keeping her grip on his hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“In an ideal world where he gives Screamer a chance to scheme up something decent? Sure, maybe. But this isn’t that world, and if we don’t do something soon, he’s gonna get bored and encourage us to fly blind by posting bits of them back to us.” Skywarp pursed his lips. “I played the ‘Pulsar scavenger hunt’ once before, and it sucked. I don’t wanna play it again.”

She winced and looked away.

He peered out into the street, and checked the weather conditions. “So you’re gonna cover for me, right?”

“Cov-… no. What? No!” She recoiled subtly in alarm, letting go of his hand and putting both of hers up in a stop gesture. “I can’t cover for you, what are you even talking about. I’m not getting involved in this stupid plan of yours-!”

He gave her a vaguely smug look, brows arched. “I hate to break it to you, but you already are. Ever since you snuck after me to make sure I wasn’t getting up to no good.”

“I was worried about you-! Not that you’d understand the concept.” She covered her face with both hands, briefly. “I could yell for help. Stop you going.”

“But you won’t, because you know I’m right. And you want our family back together just as much as I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy to let you sacrifice yourself in the process-!”

“Well, you can’t stop me, so you might as well help out. I just need you to run interference until I can get through the bridge, all right?”

“Warp-… how?” She spread her hands. “My inability to lie convincingly is a running joke. Starscream will see through me the instant I engage my vocaliser.”

“I didn’t say you had to make up an excuse.” He gave her a sneaky smile and strummed a finger across her antennae. “I know one thing you could do that would be guaranteed to keep them from coming up to investigate.”

She just… stared at him, for several seconds, before finally locating her voice. “Did you miss the gravity of the situation, or was it just too entertaining for you to suggest I try and fake an overload to distract the guys downstairs?”

His expression broadened into a pleased grin.

She folded her arms across her chassis, stubbornly. “They’d never believe it anyway. Even you’re not that insensitive.”

“Look, even if you just buy me a breem or two, that’ll give me a head start. They’re gonna notice I’m gone the second my signal falls off the registry so it’s not like you have to do it for long.”

“Ugh. All right.” She covered her antennae with both hands. “I’ll think of something.”

“Thanks, Squeaks. I owe you one.” He plopped a kiss onto the top of her smooth helm, and disappeared in a flutter of collapsing air.

#skywarp #slipstream #blue au #pulsar #remember me #transformers #skydash #dirge #thundercracker

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docleech · 5 years

Text

Lonely Nights

I may have written a short porn story between Alex and Charles. Mostly, Alex fantasizing about Charles. Because they will be a very, very slow burn with lots of pining but that doesn’t stop moments like this.

ANYWAY. Alex is mine and Charles belongs to a friend who I don’t know if they have a tumblr or not. Soooo enjoy.

Snow was starting to dust the tops of the nearby Elk Mountain range, which meant if they gave it a month - perhaps less - then a thick blanket of white fluffy cold hell would be descending upon the sawmill.

Alex hated snow.

The cold snap had already sunk it’s vicious, unforgiving claws into the mill and surrounding forest. The early mornings always greeted the mercenaries with frost on the ground that was usually gone before 9 AM but the temperatures never got high enough to be comfortable for some. Most of the team wasn’t bothered by it in the slightest, especially folks like Match who was always bundled up in his fire retardant suit and flinging literal flames at people. Remmy wasn’t bothered either but she had already whipped out the house coat and she got to stay in her hunting blind all day, sipping hot tea and popping heads as she saw fit. Alex, on the other hand, felt personally attacked by the change in seasons.

When the cold settled, he could feel it in his bones. An unshakable ache deep in his joints past the muscle that no amount of hot soaks could ease. The cold was a thief that took the breath from his lungs and forced them to burn more as he worked twice as hard just to do the minimal amount for his job. The cold was also a snitch that gave away his position in wispy puffs, even through the cloak, and the past week had seen him run ragged with death after death after death… But it wasn’t always the colds fault that he died, because he had been particularly distracted as of late too.

That rested entirely on the BLU Sniper’s shoulders.

Development with the man was painfully slow, in more than one sense. It had taken far too many close calls with that damnable kukri of his before he stopped lunging at Alex every time the Spy managed to sneak into the hide. He could count the times on one hand that he had sat there with him, at a healthy distance of course, much the same he would with Remmy. The BLU never really had to talk because Alex was more than happy and willing to fill the silence himself with neutral, non-invasive topics. He would hum softly as he adjusted his cloaking device or clean his revolver, listening to the shots from the nearby rifle. He thought it was a gift when the Sniper did want to speak and always listened with his full attention. On the other side of the coin, he couldn’t count the number of times he had shoved himself away into a corner under the blessed covered of his cloak to sit there and observe the man in silence.

He was a curious creature by nature and the Sniper was his newest… obsession.

Alex was so preoccupied with painting a mental picture of who the man was, like a puzzle with a thousand little pieces for him to discover and fit together, that he had been painfully suffering for it. So perhaps it was for the best he couldn’t sneak out right now to go pester him further. It was a night after a long Saturday but also one of the few days that after ceasefire had been called the two travel buses had been waiting for their respective teams to shuttle them down to the nameless, uncanny valley town for their Sunday off. Normally Alex would have jumped at the chance to get out of the base and go be the social butterfly he was but he was stuck in the medbay. To say he did not feel his best was a terrible understatement and all the Medics had left making sure that he was prepared to take care of himself. He was fairly certain he was the only one in RED base this time but he wasn’t complaining.

What he would complain about was being disgustingly hot.

Alex was well aware it was likely a fever by the way he had been ripped from his medicine induced sleep in the middle of the night. The sheets were tangled around his legs and it took more brain effort than he would like to admit to free himself, kicking them away with an irritated huff. Still too hot! So he heaved himself up to sit and peeled out of the sweat drenched cotton t-shirt, flung that to the floor, and then let himself flop back onto the bed hard enough it shifted. That was better. Never mind that the bed was soaked with sweat and it made the thin sheets stick to his skin like the hair that clung to the back of his neck. The cool air against his body was starting to help but now that he was moderately awake he knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep any time soon.

So there he lay, awake and staring up at the ceiling where he could barely make out the overhead lights in the darkness and around him in the room was the low hum of various machines. It was a slightly off putting white noise, as he would prefer the silence to his room, but it was best he stay in the medbay in case he needed quick access to any medical supplies. A long, slow sigh left the Spy before he laid an arm across his eyes, shifting to get comfortable as his other hand splayed across his stomach and he tried to will himself to think about being any other place. It was difficult, the haze of fever and congestion he felt in his entire head was like trying to force his thoughts to swim through slime. Just think about anything, Alex, come on.

The sensation of his own fingers against his stomach was something to focus on. They shifted, moving to press against a particularly gnarly scar of an Eyelander that hadn’t quite hit it’s mark. He was sure the intention had been to cleave him in half at the waist but instead had only hit about a fourth of his body. It had resulted in more gut spillage than he liked to suffer but thankfully the Demoman had doubled back to finish him off. Almost every scar he had, no matter how old and faded, he could remember the incident where he had gotten it. They weren’t nice things to think about but it was where his exhausted brain decided to focus and at this point he wasn’t about to try and change that. He liked the way the smooth, raised skin felt under his fingertips and was content to just lazily trace it back and forth before eventually drifting his fingers to another.

When his fingers graced a new scar on his hip he was surprised by how the electric shock up his spine caught him off guard, a sharp intake hissing through his teeth. It was the aftermath of a sniper round that had probably been meant as more of a body shot but ended up missing that by a good few inches. He remembered he was in tow with Matchsticks, providing him some backup while their Soldier was getting back on his feet, before the literal hip bone shattering impact dropped him on the spot. It was the first time he had ever screamed himself hoarse like that and had been enough of a surprise to both teams it seemed like the fighting stopped for a split second. Match had taken it upon himself to put Alex out of his misery right there, before turning the entire force of his ire on Charles for the rest of the day. What wonderful destruction a fire axe could do to a hatch door to a Sniper blind.

But that was neither here nor there. Alex blinked almost stupidly behind his arm as he tried to slog through what had just happened. He remembered the day after walking had hurt like a bitch and there had been a slight concern he’d limp for the rest of his life, but he managed to shake it off. That… Had not been pain. Actually, that had been the opposite of pain entirely. There was a moment to consider before Alex pressed his thumb more firmly against the scar and was entirely unable to stop the short moan that ripped from him as his heels dug into the bed. Electric pleasure wormed its way up his spine and he shuddered, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. It wasn’t the scar itself but more likely the nerves beneath, trapped between scarred tissue and his hip bone - it was like a hot wire straight to pleasure central.

The best way to break a fever was to get hotter, right?

Throwing any non-fevered sense right out the window Alex huffed as he pressed his head more firmly into the cool, wet pillow and pulled his arm away from his face. It wasn’t like anyone else was around, in his defense. Who would find out his shame? With that in mind he set his free hand to cup himself through overly warm sweatpants and started to trace the scar. Light touches were wonderful but it was those deep presses he could feel to the bone that really started to pick his heart rate up. At first the Spy just focused on the physical pleasure between the sensation of the scar and palming himself through his pants, before wandering fingers finally slipped beneath the waistband to grip himself properly. A shuddery breath left him when he rolled his thumb across the head before starting to stroke, turning his head to press his burning cheek against the pillow. Alex started to wonder…

Wonder if the Sniper had callous built up on his fingers and how it would feel for him to grab his hips.

He pressed the scar and set his jaw at the moan that bubbled up from his throat, feeling a single rivulet of warm liquid dribbling over his fingers. Fuck. That was all it took for his brain to put far more gusto in drawing up more images. Ghosts of sensation, echoed sounds pulled from his encounters with the Sniper… Eyes pinched shut as his hand kept up a steady pace and his fingers alternated their work between feather light tickles and harder pushes.

How warm would the space between them be if the Sniper pinned him down? Would the man grab him by the wrist or by the hair? Would he bite - oh Alex hoped he would. He had seen those teeth from the snarls and sneers, they would feel amazing in the crook of his neck where it met the shoulder. Would he trace the faint scar of the beheading with his tongue? How would the rough stubble of his face feel scratching against paler skin? Alex’s breath hitched and his shoulders jumped at the thought, mouth falling open to help him breathe easier in labored huffs. He lifted his hips enough to shove his pants and boxers down so the waistband could catch beneath his ass, freeing his aching, dripping cock to the slightly cooler air of the room. Hazy, half hooded eyes couldn’t even focus on it completely before he was pressing his head back into the pillow, gasping out a moan -

Would the Sniper growl in his ears? Of course he would, lean close and snarl promises of bodily harm. He had already made good on a few of those during the fire fights, quick and violent but always with an underhanded tone of mercy. But he wanted to hear threats of a fuck so hard he wouldn’t be able to feel his legs. “Nnngh.” the movements of his hand became so much easier with the added slickness from near constant dripping pre. The growing ache of pleasure twisted tight in his stomach but only grew tighter and hotter with each passing second, threatening to tip him over the edge he was teetering closer to. What was it that made his mind imagine how those teeth and lips would feel over every inch of his skin? Bruising pale flesh with subtle marks of “Mine” - was that what Alex really wanted? Or perhaps he would prefer the dig of blunt nails in his skin to be dragged closer to hips he didn’t want to get away from. That press and burn of being stretched; “Fuck.” the whispered word led into a string of hard French curses, each word picking up a pitch as his hand frantically jerked his cock.

The hand that had been teasing the scar fell away to grip at the sheet beneath him and his toes curled to catch the cloth too. He swore he could hear the sound of skin against skin in a frantic rut, hear the growls and moans, smell sweat and hot flesh that was so close he could sink his teeth into. His throat itched with the gasps and whines, shoulders bunching up closer to his ears until all at once, finally, that sweet release came. And it came hard. It was a loud cry first before his hips jerked upwards, all of the already tense muscles along his back locking up to keep him there as he came. Thick ropes of sticky white splashed across his stomach and Alex saw stars behind his eyelids as the feeling took hold, squeezed him tight, and washed out of him like the withdrawing tide. There was a different kind of hurt in his body when he was finally able to collapse back to the bed, chest heaving with each dry breath he took. It was the kind of ache you only got from those nice, powerful orgasms. It took several minutes for the room to stop spinning and Alex blinked away some sweat that had dripped into his eyes. Already he could feel cooling cum on his stomach and it made his nose scrunch, though thankfully there was a box of tissues not far away. Originally meant for the sniffles it made clean up a breeze and he dropped the used tissue on the floor, before he laid on his bed staring at nothing in particular with boneless legs.

Had he really just… to the thought of… Oh boy.

Whatever shame his mind was wanting to put him through would wait as he shoved those thoughts to the back of his brain. The Spy still felt a little bit better. His clean hand was dragged down his face, thumb and finger rubbing gently at the soft skin beneath his eyes as he inwardly groaned. That nagging thought was going to tear him up when it got the chance, he knew it. This whole thing would come back to haunt him any night it wanted and he was just going to be ashamed of himself each time…

Somehow that didn’t stop him from adding two more tissues to the pile through the night. And to say the least, Alex had relatively peaceful sleep well into the following afternoon because of that.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #OCSpy #OCSniper #OC drabble #more like team porntress 2 amirite #sorry i will fuck right off for that one

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shipsbcshesdiabetic · 5 years

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Chapter 28

Tuesday, June First, Thirty Thousand Seventeen, 9pm- Space, I Guess

Our bright, blue home planet melts into obscurity as The Commander and I venture out into the endless horizon of the universe. It’s silent, save for the clicking and whistling of the buttons plastered on the interior walls. There’s nothing to do out here except observe the beautiful star-laden cosmos, each electrified dot gleaming brightly and brilliantly. The ship propels us farther and farther from our base and our people with each passing second, thereby inflating the painful loneliness shared by us two space cadets. We’re smaller than ever before, a mere quark in the presence of all that exists. We are alone, but there is glory in insignificance. We are in control of nothing and are nothing, yet we are the sole masters of time and space.

Adventure is laced in our gasoline, propelling us through the airless blackness. The fundamental laws of physics that rule over Earth no longer rule over us. The concept of time stretches into an ever-thinning straight line, the passage of each moment no longer having to find its way through the bend of gravity. Entire lifetimes on Earth pass in the time it takes to blink my eyes. Everyone I love is dead. And I don’t care. Their bodies and memories will all fade out into nothingness and revert back to stardust, but we’ll still be here, dying on our own time.

It’s hard to believe that death will ever come for a person living in a science-fiction thriller. I feel immortal, like a character in a story. Space never ends; it goes on forever. I’ll never run out of stars, even as the particle accelerator kicks into full gear and propels the rocket forward as the g-force turns my flesh into a blanket of lead and my organs into stone. I unzip my space suit and float out to the back window. The solar system is nothing but a speck, the planets moving around the sun like electrons revolving around the nucleus of Bohr’s model of the atom.

Back home, everything revolves around something else due to gravity, or perhaps due to stubbornness. The moon orbits the earth. The Earth orbits the Sun. The Sun orbits the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. The Milky Way orbits the Local Group. The Local Group orbits the Virgo Supercluster. The Virgo Supercluster is a thought swirling within the Mind of God. The adults revolve around stress, the sad revolve around sadness, the depressed revolve around their vices, and the idiots revolve around the more powerful idiots. Girls revolve around girls, boys revolve around boys, boys and girls revolve around each other, and it’s all very stupid and very lame.

A field of stars dies before our very eyes, exploding into bundles of color and energy. The supernovas let out sprouts of light that form bouquets of flowers laid out in an endless grave. Vermillion poppies and purple painted daisies bloom and explode within and around the bright streaks of the goldenrods. Cherry-red hydrangeas adorn the space below the fiery, burnt orange chrysanthemums and the pastel pink carnations. The colors of the orchids’ petals ebb and flow from the inside out, melting the milk chocolate and the honey and the bubblegum flavors into one candied bundle. The irises expand and contract with the light in the midst of the blush-colored pansies and the hot pink lipstick of the tulips. Soon, our ship makes it through the field, and we coast along another patch of nothing.

Specks of colored pollen drift out from the blasts and watercolor the blank starry sky. The electric neon nebulas hold in glittering pennies and smoke and seafoam. The dust blows into nothingness as The Commander presses the accelerator.

The cartoon rocket’s autopilot jolts us forward at a million miles a minute into a crazy collage of constellations. The Big Dipper points us to where we want to go, allowing us to navigate through the celestial soup. We dive deeper into the sea of the sky, exploring the world beyond our own world. We take a left at Polaris, then a right at Ursa Major. The bear’s claws scrape the window as we escape its sudden wrath. Canis Major barks loudly and kicks around our spaceship with its paws. We fly out and land in the circuit of Orion’s belt, spinning around in it twice before escaping once again.

The territory of the zodiacs comes into view next. The stars seem to have fallen out of line. A disrupting energy has been cast over their dominion, preventing them from properly ruling over the hearts of humankind. Where there should be love and peace, there is conflict and discord. The crab and the scorpion antagonize the twins until they have no choice but to climb into the cradle of the scale’s cups. As the lion nips at the archer’s heels, he fires arrows at the bull and the ram just when the two of them interlock horns in a battle. The maiden and the water-bearer mercilessly take away the life-giving fluid, letting the fish and the sea-goat flop around and choke.

We nosedive to avoid Halley’s Comet, the force lifting me out of my seat a little. Unfortunately, we zoom straight toward the asteroid belt. An assault of flying boulders heads right for us. Miraculously, the first ten or twenty rocks miss us by a hair. But when the first one hits the underside of our ship, my throat tightens. The Commander overrides the autopilot and takes control over our direction, but it’s still not enough to save us. For a while she manages to weave in and out the path of impact, until a large one takes her by surprise and shatters the front windshield.

Everything immediately goes into slow motion as we prepare to die. In the midst of my shock, I lose the ability to hear. The blunt force of the impact rattles my insides, giving wake to a sudden wave of humility and listlessness. We are not in control. We are at the mercy of fate. The factor separating our life from our death is completely out of our hands. The universe will decide the outcome of our trial as everything implodes at a snail’s pace. White shards of glass lick our exposed skin, slowly falling into our laps like fresh snow. I try to shut my eyes, but all the glass is gone by the time I manage it. I hold my breath to conserve oxygen as the frigid cold crystalizes under my skin. My fingers are turning blue. A plume of flame explodes to my side. The raging fire quickly consumes the rest of the shoddily-drawn up ship around us, eventually reaching the fuel tank.

The rubble spits me out, sending me spinning in every direction at once. In an instant, my lungs go flat and I grow even colder. I desperately flail my arms around, grabbing for support that doesn’t exist. The momentum eventually begins to lessen as I continue to slowly roll through space head first, my headache near unbearable. When I come to a complete stop, my vision clouds, and there’s nothing left to do except suffocate in the stillness. The stars turn into streaks of muted light in the distortion of my tears.

My last heartbeat reverberates into itself, my blood painfully searching for any remaining oxygen, but to no avail. Little red dots evaporate out of my skin, leaving behind a pale corpse-like figure. A quick hotness stamps itself onto my stomach, and I look down to find a pancake of liquid silver slowly spreading from that point. The strange fluid runs over my clothes and my skin, eating away through both and replacing them with itself. The last little bit flows down over my fingers, completing the transformation. Tendrils of air reach my lungs and knock the life back into my body. My mechanical eyes click themselves open. I breathe in easily, the manufactured life turning the cogs in my new system.

The scope of the darkness expanding in every direction for an infinite number of miles hurts my head. It’s all so intensely blue it’s back and so intensely black it’s blue. I swim up, kicking my legs and moving my arms for a while, forever. There’s no way to know how far I’ve traveled, because there are no landmarks, and I have no clear destination. And in the vastness of the universe, what is the significance of the distance I have gone? I may as well be travelling by treadmill.

I stop and stand where I am, surprised to find that the bottoms of my feet touch a made-up surface, as if someone laid out an invisible floor for me. The corner of my eye catches a spot of gray in the distance. It looks different from the all the stars freckled across space. A feeling catching in my throat, I start to run as fast as I can toward it. The thundering sound of metal clanking against metal pushes silence out of the way. After cresting a hill, I happen upon my old home: the solar system. The unfiltered, blinding sunlight hits my glittering silver skin.

I immediately see her a short ways away. The Commander. Relief sends an electric shock through my programming. I’m not alone anymore. I am a part of something other than myself once again. I sit down and let myself revolve around the sun, like I’m on a carousel. The planets, once too large to comprehend, seem to be small enough to hold in my hand.

Just when I begin to relax, a golf ball-sized object hits the back of my head. I quickly get up and turn around to find The Commander looking at me with a smug look on her face. I lean over and pick up Pluto, the closest one to me, squeezing the foam ball in my hand before launching it at my opponent. I miss and hit the sun. A brown plume of dust bursts out from where it entered.

A war of planets sends dodgeballs flying through the field one after another. I run for it and catch Mars in my hand, steadying myself so I don’t fall. Some of the blood red dust rains into the void of space before I toss it back. She ducks behind the sun, letting the planet roll out into obscurity. The Commander then, with great effort, manages to throw Jupiter back to me, the side of it grazing my leg. I fall to the ground, laughing due to the sudden, fresh adrenaline.

I chase after her, and she retreats into the distance. We speed away from home again, likely moving at a pace of a thousand miles per step, reality trailing along behind us. Giant plumes of new nebulas of every shape and shade appear to either side of our path as we skate across the universe. The variety and kind of the vibrant colors surpasses the magnificence of every work of art I’ve ever seen before, putting even the Renaissance to shame. Out of energy, The Commander stops and turns around, and I do the same once I catch up.

We humbly lay our eyes on the disks of white and gold littering the dark with hurricanes of stars. I open my mouth a little without meaning to, allowing a breath that doesn’t exist to escape. Our own Milky Way Galaxy blends right in with the rest of them, a small pool of pure milk amongst others just like it. It’s weird how the universe wouldn’t notice or care if our galaxy disappeared, but we sure would. It’s everything to the insignificant nothings, and nothing to the significant everything.

The Commander carefully steps onto the Andromeda Galaxy, letting it hold her weight. She leaps for the Triangulum Galaxy next, careful to land where she wants, and not into the nothingness. Farther into the beyond, ten or so white whirlpools ahead, I spot a fissure in the fabric of space glimmering like a fresh gash. I tag along now, using the stepping stones as a makeshift path to another plane of existence, a portal to anywhere, a guide to new realms of existence.

The wormhole sucks us into its woven tapestry of pastels and neon lights, gently and swiftly passing us from one end to the other like we’re liquid in a straw. The plasma surrounding and enveloping my metal casing grows hot, smelting me into a single bullet-shaped capsule. Time doesn’t exist anymore. Numerically calculable movement has ceased. Instead, everything occurs in a singularity of motion, a mere blast of Now. The Big Bang happens as man lands on the moon as dinosaurs rule the Earth as I walk into Alcorn High School for the first time as hot liquid rock spins out and forms spheres of baby planets as the Civil Rights Movement begins as the Civil War ends as Beatrice kisses me as everything and everyone dies. A wrenching headache pulls my mind out of the present just when the forces in charge flatten my being until I’m only one atom thick. We’re flat paper planes fluttering by on flimsy paper wings. As we finally near the exit, we’re compressed once again, this time into a single, so-small-it’s-imaginary dot. This is the epitome of not mattering.

I wake up in a small room with harsh lighting. I’m back in my pink dress and boxers. Despite how hollowed and atrophied my body feels, the weightlessness allows me the strength to fly to the door and open the latch. I drift from room to room in the International Space Station, being careful to not disturb the white wires and machines on all sides of me. I reach the airlock room and open the door without thinking over it.

I slide out of the hatch and swim into the open nothingness directly above the vast Earth. I look at the space station one last time, and I spot an astronaut working on the exterior wiring. He looks back at me and releases his grip on his wrench. It stays afloat right next to him. I stare at my reflection in his helmet as I finally allow Earth’s gravity to take hold of me.

I’m falling. The moon shrinks like a white balloon that someone let the air out of. Everything becomes smaller and smaller with each microsecond, but I feel as though I am still in space. Everything that exists is space. I spread out my limbs, but the added wind resistance does little to stop me. I involuntarily flip over stomach-first, looking down on North and South America. I fall through the clouds, and I’m able to see a residential area with big houses and gardens. I can feel the clocks in every one of those buildings ticking faster and faster as I return to the surface of the earth. I hit the hard dirt next to the road at the same time that a black truck speeds past on it.

I wake up to the sound of a struggling motor and Kirsten yammering on about something. It’s completely dark outside now. I yawn. Still too exhausted to think or move, I watch the yellow lines flow into and out of the glint of the vehicle’s old headlights. A cloud of unsuspecting gnats hits my half of the window, a few of them sticking to the stains of random crud. I feel heavy. And exhausted.

“Lily,” Kirsten says, snapping her fingers. “Lily!”

“Huh?”

“We’re at Jacob’s house now.” She swerves into his driveway. The bright lights from the massive house’s windows shine on the freshly power-washed brick driveway.

I’m not going to ask her why we’re visiting him. I’m too tired and heartbroken to talk about anything at this point. Besides, I daresay I’ll find out what kind of fucked-up adventure we’re on now sooner than I’d want to anyway.

I prepare to unbuckle my seatbelt. Just two seconds before the wheels stop rolling, the truck jolts upwards as a terrible, animalistic sound twists around in my ears. My throat goes dry and I stop breathing. For a moment, neither of us wants to move. Still shaking, I open my door cautiously. Then Kirsten does the same.

She extracts her phone from her jacket pocket and turns on the flashlight, pointing the beam at the front tire. My breathing stops again. I hear hers hitch too. The exposed mass of orange fur slowly soaks up the blood running out of the crushed veins of the animal. All four paws look unharmed, which only makes it all worse somehow. Two white triangles, which I suppose are the ears, peek out from the front of the tire. It’s an awful sight.

“How are we going to tell Jacob that we ran over his cat?” I blurt out.

“We don’t.”

“But… isn’t he going to wonder what happened to it?”

“That’s not our issue. We’re not telling him.”

“Well, Kirsten…” I begin, breathless still. “He’s going to find out. It’s bleeding out in the middle of his front driveway, for fuck’s sake. How did you not see it? You had your headlights on, right? And…”

“Shut up,” she says curtly. “What’s done is done. You have to clean this up so he never finds it. We need to forget it ever happened. Otherwise… we’re just done. We’d be so screwed. I have a plastic bag in the back that you can use to pick the thing up.”

“Me?” I respond angrily. “Why should it be me? You’re the one that ran the damned thing over!”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that I’ve moved enough dead bodies to last me a lifetime. I just need a break from cleaning up bodily fluids, you know?”

I think it’s shitty of her to use her sister’s suicide as a way to guilt-trip me, but if I call her out for it, I’ll definitely be the one in the wrong.

“…well, I still think you should clean it up,” I insist, though I’m less sure of it.

“You’re doing this, or I’m going to call your parents and tell them to pick you up, and you can explain everything to them and drown in your own self-loathing on the long car ride home. Then you can spend the entire summer with no friends and nothing to do, so all you do is cry and think about why Beatrice left you as your parents try to distance themselves from you. So unless you’d like for that to happen, I’ll drive the truck back a few feet so you can clean it up.”

“You’re a complete piece of shit, Kirsten. You know that, right?” I seethe, talking through my teeth.

Kirsten smiles sarcastically. She throws a box of tissues and a plastic bag at me and shuts the passenger side door. “Have fun,” she deadpans as she walks away.

I pull out a generous amount of tissues from the box and divide them up into both of my hands. The lighting from the front windows of the house provides just enough light for me to get this done without casting too much detail onto the corpse. I put my nose in the crook of my arm for a moment to filter out the sickening smell of fresh blood. Cursing all the choices that brought me to this point, I bend down and get to work.

Chunks of cat debris fall out of my tissue-hands as I scoop the bloodied fur pile into the bag. A few handfuls later, I reach the bowels. I spring backwards immediately at the smell, retching. I throw my fluid-soaked tissues onto the ground so I can reach around and unzip my dress a bit. Quickly, I pull the loosened fabric in the front up and over my nose and mouth. My nose doesn’t want to smell. My eyes do not want to see. My brain does not want to think. Losing my mind, I rip a bunch of tissues out and then pace around quickly, trying to keep it together. My consciousness cuts in and out as I force myself through the grueling process. I don’t feel like I’m crying, but tears are relentlessly streaming down my face as evidence that I am.

Jacob’s recliner is really soft. I slowly sip the iced tea that Jacob’s mom gave me. He and Kirsten are here with me in the living room, sitting on the couch in front of me, playing a video game together. Kirsten legitimately seems to be largely unbothered with the events that just transpired. There are times when I think that she doesn’t actually care about anyone or anything but herself unless it’s convenient for her to do so. It’s like she has the demo version of empathy. Jacob’s mom looks up from her computer and notices me staring down the back of Kirsten’s head. I give her a quick, nervous smile to make myself seem less on-edge. She says something that I don’t focus on, and I give an automatic response. She shuts her computer and goes into the other room.

Jacob keeps looking at me about every ten seconds, and I don’t know what that means. Sometimes I think he’s creepy on purpose just to make people uncomfortable. But at the moment, all I can think about is how his acne seems to have gotten a whole lot worse. The large red circles in combination with his greasy skin give him the exact appearance of a fresh pepperoni pizza. His skin even has a sickly tinge of yellow, just like the melted cheese. He never goes outside, so his only light comes from the glow of his TV when he plays video games or when he watches, I’m assuming, tentacle porn.

“Why the hell are we here, anyway?” I ask Kirsten as Jacob turns around for the tenth time. I get up and stand between them and the TV.

“Oh, right.” She puts down the controller for a moment. “Jacob, I’m going to have to borrow a lot of money,” she says bluntly.

He doesn’t even question it. “How much do you need?”

“I don’t know. As much as you can give me, I guess. I’m willing to do something to earn it, if you have any suggestions.”

He looks at me as if he wants me to disappear, then whispers something into her ear. I find this strange, since Jacob’s generally an open book with everyone about everything. I analyze Kirsten’s face to try to make a guess at what he’s saying to her, but she’s not reacting in any way.

“No thanks. As much as I love dick in my mouth, I’ve had more than enough of it in one 24-hour period.” I squint at her. Kirsten seriously concerns me sometimes. “On a related note, do you have any mouthwash?”

“Alright, well…” I begin, uncomfortable. “I’ll be… in another room.”

“Did you not hear what I said? I’m not sucking his dick.”

“Yeah, I know.” I feel their eyes on me. I quickly dab. Kirsten grabs her forehead in disgust.

Whenever something awkward happens, I usually dab to try to make it go away. My philosophy is, the best way to make someone forget something cringey and stupid you did is to do something even cringier and stupider. It usually stuns everyone around me enough to where it actually works.

I leave anyway, because I have to use the bathroom. For some reason saying that in front of Jacob would make me feel unsettled in a deeply unexplainable way.

Somehow, I forget to pee and end up standing at the sink for ten minutes, staring into the middle distance as water rushes down the drain. I wish I could flush myself down the toilet and escape into the ocean. I start to half-heartedly tear up. I’m too tired to even cry properly. It’s the kind of pitiful, lazy cry that comes from simply forgetting to blink out the warm water. I would just hang out in Jacob’s bedroom instead of in here, but I’m really afraid of what I might find in there. You only make a mistake like that once.

Jacob has an unhealthy obsession with Hitler and all things Hitler related. I really don’t think that he’s a neo-Nazi, or even agrees with anything that Hitler stands for, especially since he and his family are incredibly Jewish. But for whatever reason, he’s completely, undeniably in love with his image. His room is covered top to bottom in various articles of Hitler paraphernalia. His white carpeting has hundreds of tiny Hitler pictures on it. I have no idea where he bought something like that, or any of it, for that matter. Like, where the fuck do you get Hitler pillows? Or a Hitler bedspread? Or a life-sized Hitler doll?

It doesn’t stop there. Every single day at lunch, he watches a Hitler-centric Taiwanese amine series that loosely translates into “Hitler My Love”. The language is in Portuguese, and the subtitles are in Spanish. Don’t ask me how that makes any sense. Based on what he’s forced me to watch of it, it seems to be centered on a crack ship pairing of Hitler and the Buddha. And honestly, it’s not that bad.

Jacob also likes painting, even though he isn’t that good at it. He has about a thousand pieces of his work in this bathroom. It’s mostly random landscapes, different animals, or, of course, Hitler. However, a single painting of a yellow car on the wall catches my eye as I sit on the toilet. A twinge of pain hits me in the chest. A flash of headlights breezes through my mind’s eye, and an imaginary gust of wind moves past my face. And then, all at once, I’m gone.

------------------------------------

FOUR MONTHS AGO- 1am

The rapping at my window makes me drop my phone onto my face. My stomach drops and I stop breathing until I realize what’s really happening. My hands scramble to pick the glowing phone back up as I look at the window. Beatrice smiles at me and waves. I glance down at the time on my phone. A little mad, I unlatch the window and open it so I can talk to her.

“What are you doing here? It’s past 1.”

“I texted you ten minutes ago, saying that I wanted to hang out, and you said sure.”

“Yeah, but I thought you meant, like, tomorrow.”

“I even told you I was on my way.”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“I wasn’t. But that isn’t the point. Are you going to come with me or not?”

I shift my weight onto my other foot. I don’t know what to do. “Uh… I don’t know. I want to hang out with you and everything, but… it’s really late at night, and… I’m tired, and…”

“Come on. I have something I want to show you. I think you’re going to have a good time tonight, Lily. Just go with me.”

“I really want to get some sleep…” I begin.

“Oh, come on. Please?” she begs, folding her hands and batting her eyes.

I force myself to not smile in awe of her. She doesn’t need to know how cute she’s being, because she’d have complete control over me if she only knew her effect on me. “Okay, I’ll go with you,” I finally say, unable to resist it.

I put on a jacket over my pajamas and slip on my sneakers. I grip my forehead as my vision clouds. My body isn’t used to moving this late at night. Regardless, I’m glad that this is happening. If I’m being honest, I’d probably spend another ninety minutes or more on my phone if Beatrice wasn’t dragging me out of here. I turn around to see if she’s still watching me. She is. I hurry up and exit my room, go down the hall, and leave my house, careful to slowly rotate the knob so it doesn’t click too loudly. If my parents heard me, that would be the end of me and Beatrice, and, by extension, the end of the most interesting period of my life.

Classic rock softly sounds from the speakers in her car. The second thing I notice is that it smells a lot different in here. I sniff the air and look around to see what’s changed. Beatrice eyes me weirdly. “What is it?” she asks.

“Nothing. It just smells like…”

“Flowers?” She glances sideways at me as I nod. “Yeah. It’s a rose-scented air freshener that I bought recently. It masks the weed smell.” She turns off the internal lights and starts the engine.

“Oh. Cool.”

“I bet you’ve never snuck out of your house before.”

“Nope... I’m not really that kind of person.”

“I don’t think I could ever live like you do. All you do is go to school, eat, and take naps. You literally never do anything. I love you, but you’re really boring sometimes, and that annoys me.”

“Gee, thanks.” My brain fogs up with regret as I realize that she’s right. “You know… my life really is kind of… flat. I’m fully aware of that, and I’ve always been. I don’t do much of anything. It sucks.”

“I mean, of course it does. You never take any risks, ever. You’re glued to one spot. I think if you did something out of your comfort zone for once, you’d be a lot happier. That’s why I’m taking you out here tonight. For a little while, I’ve had to listen to you complain about how boring your life is, and how much you hate it. About how you do the same boring shit every day, and that you want to break out of it. Here’s your chance.”

“I never said that I hate my life. Just that it’s dull.”

“Still, you need to take a risk sometime. Just do something without thinking twice. I do whatever I want in the moment without thinking about it much. It makes living a lot more interesting. There’s so much more to life than taking naps and playing it safe all the time, you know.”

“Maybe, but I honestly think that if I had your lifestyle, I’d be dead by the end of the week,” I say, thinking about all the stories she’s told me.

“I don’t do things that are unsafe. I’m not an idiot. I just say yes to mostly everything, and do mostly everything I want to do. Any time I make a decision, I ask myself if it will almost certainly kill myself or others, and if it won’t, I do it. I don’t think about it. I do it.”

“You see, I prefer listening to your stories rather than living them out myself. It doesn’t take much for me to not be bored, but you risk everything you have every time you go out to do something fun. That sounds like a terrifying way to live.

“It isn’t, once you get over yourself and think about what really matters. I don’t think many people at all think that way. It’s not like people can punish you for being direct, or for doing things that are out of the ordinary. I just say whatever I think, and it’s not a big deal to me how they respond to it. And almost always, the things I do go well. You’d be surprised by how many people will give you what you want if you just ask for it.”

“I still don’t get how you are the way that you are. I couldn’t imagine just letting it all hang out. I think I’m content with being boring, because I don’t think I could handle the alternative.”

“Do you want to know how I had sex with a girl for the first time?”

“Uh…”

“I was in a park, and I saw a girl, and then I went up to her and said, ‘Hey, do you want to have sex with me?’ and she said yes.”

“…Is it really that easy?”

“Everything is that easy.”

She can’t see the color of my face in the dark, but I look out the window anyway. A slow coolness radiates off the glass and into my skin, my forehead barely a hair away from it. She gets everything she wants from people because she asks for it, and she lives like she doesn’t know she can bleed. It’s so wildly different than how I live.

“Hey,” I say subconsciously, catching myself off-guard. “Where are you taking me, anyway? I just realized that you never told me, and it seems like important information.”

“I’m taking you out to an abandoned warehouse so I can murder you and leave you there without a trace. You’re the first on the list of many killings I will carry out tonight.”

“Ha-ha. You think you’re clever,” I say, even though I half-believe it. We’ve only been dating for a week. I don’t really know her well at all.

I barely make out the basic shape of her facial expression. By the look of it, she knows I got a little scared. “Of course I’m not killing you, you idiot. I’ll tell you that, at least.”

After a good bit of driving, Beatrice goes off the road and into a seemingly random field of overgrown grass. It’s the kind of place that you would never think about or recognize, even if you went past it every day of your life. For a couple of minutes, she doesn’t get out. She sits there, her eyes closed, motionless. She’d never admit it, but she’s just as exhausted as I am.

The night sky here is endless. There’s no major source of light pollution around for miles. The black is solid black, and the white is solid white. No barrier lies between us and outer space. The natural light of the cosmos throws a faint, blueish pallor onto the dead stalks of grass. It’s simply perfect out here. I want to say something to her about how pretty the stars are tonight, but that seems like it would be stupid somehow.

My eyes lazily open as I hear her door pop open and slam shut. She opens my door, allowing the slightly chilly air into the car. I stretch my limbs and get out.

“Okay. Don’t turn around just yet.” She puts her hands over my eyes. “Okay, turn around 180 degrees and walk forward a little.” It’s a bit awkward to walk like this, but we make it work somehow. “Behold,” she shouts enthusiastically. She quickly removes her hands from my face. The lights at the top edge of the billboard faintly illuminate the message below.

Marriage =

1 man + 1 woman

Sponsored by the Fordville Baptist Church

“I like my dad, and I usually like what he preaches, but this was stupid of him. I’ll make him pay for this eventually, somehow. ”

It’s too dark to make out what face she’s making. “How so?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I want it to be something big, something that will make him reconsider what kinds of messages he decides to put on display. And unless he wakes up one morning with an insatiable urge for dick, it doesn’t seem like he’ll come to that sort of conclusion on his own.”

“Does this sudden thirst for revenge have anything to do with the church dance class he made you sign up for recently?”

A look of mild terror washes over her face. “That dance group is so fucking gay. It makes me want to backflip into a pool of acid.” She sighs. “If a genie gave me three wishes, all three of them would be used to take my face off of that ‘Dabbing for Jesus’ album we made.”

I laugh. “This is the first time you’ve told me about that. You need to show it to me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you still like me somehow, and I don’t want you to stop,” she jokes.

“Well… I won’t.”

The moon and the halo of stars above her head cast a bright, heavenly glow on her face, allowing me to see a smile creep onto it. The night sky is on full-blast at this dark, quiet hour, but my eyes have completely adjusted to it in this moment. I stare at her; the darkened, blue figure that I suppose is Beatrice. She stares back with the same amount of intensity.

“You’re so cute,” she says, getting a little closer to me. Before I can even process her statement, she walks past me and heads for the billboard.

“Where are you going?” I choke out, flustered.

She turns around and gives me a mischievous sort of grin. “We’re going to the top,” she says matter-of-factly.

---------------------------------

The bathroom lights are off. The world is gone. All that exists is the feeling of my pulsing fingertips on my burning face. Every cell of my head is on fire, and the smoke is choking me, and I can’t breathe anymore. I reach up to flick on the switch, done remembering. I messily unravel a wad of toilet paper and wipe my tears and blow my nose in it. I open my legs and drop it into the toilet.

When I’ve least expected it, memories of her have been coming back for the past two hours. Smatterings of details rush in and knock the wind out of me, like someone ripped a carpet out from under my feet, and then kicked me straight in the teeth. Usually, it’s simply a brief glimpse- a single muted Polaroid clipping depicting her touch, her smile, the corner of her face, or simply the emotion of those things. And in the rest of the image, she is lost in abstraction. A swirl of muted color surrounds the most striking details of her essence.

But, on rare occasions such as these, the memories are as strong and life-like as the experience itself. The faded clippings are taped together and digitally enhanced against my will. They all run through a system that orders them, and they’re printed and taped together seamlessly. And then, frame by frame, photo by photo, the memory reel rolls through my mind’s eye, producing a stunning HD motion picture that’s as good as any cringey romantic comedy out there.

The result is a strong memory unlike any regular memory. Normal memories are made and forgotten. This memory of her transcends flimsy synapses between neurons. The actor in my head that plays Beatrice speaks each act, scene, and line with cruel accuracy. Each element of the story is personified and exaggerated like it would be in big-budget movie. Her Hollywood charm pushes through the human weakness of forgetfulness and allows the film to replay with stark clarity. Every feeling is a knife flying and gleaming in the harsh stage lights. The roses are elegantly sad pools of freshly bled love.

There are so many details about her that I wish I could forget. Her pink lipstick. The smell of her perfume. Her smooth voice. How her face would light up whenever she saw me. The way the endless sparks dancing in her eyes looked exactly like the stars in the sky. The way she does anything. Her soft hugs. Her intoxicating kisses. Her lightning bolt earrings. Her yellow VW bug. Her blonde hair and blue eyes- just like what Hitler would have wanted.

I go back into the living room, trusting that nothing mentally scarring is going on in there. The flat screen TV in the living room displays the results of a video game they just finished playing. I breathe out a sigh of relief and walk in. Jacob has a smug look on his face, signaling that he was the winner. I look at Kirsten’s half of the screen, then at her.

YOU LOST

GAME OVER

Kirsten’s hands are still going strong, quickly flicking and clicking at all the buttons, her mouth half-open as she stares blankly into the screen buzzing with static. She looks dead. The sight of her makes me feel deeply unsettled. It’s like watching someone trying to walk through a wall over and over again.

“Stop it, will you?” I say, trying to yank the controller out of her death-grip. Arms aching, I lift her up out of her seat for a second before she falls back down. It’s like there’s not even a person in there.

“Hey,” Jacob begins, “After this game, I have to let the cats inside,” Jacob mentions, staring intently at the screen, poised and ready for Kirsten’s video game persona to show up.

I watch the remaining broken flicker of light die in Kirsten’s eyes. Her right one twitches. She puts her controller down and covers her mouth with one hand. Jacob swoops in quickly, gunning her character down. Kirsten looks at me with a panicked expression.

“We have to go now,” I say, speaking for her. “It’s getting really late.”

“Oh,” Jacob responds, disappointed. He sets his controller down. Discomfort hits me. I know he wanted us to stay, because he never gets any visitors. He hardly has any friends at all, besides us, maybe Jordan, and his cat.

The start of the car ride is silent. I know for a fact that Kirsten is thinking about the sack of cat purée sitting in the back as much as I am.

“How much money did you get?” I ask.

“Enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“Something like… nine hundred or a thousand or something.”

I choke on my spit. “That’s… that’s a lot of money. Think of what we could do with that. We could go anywhere we wanted. This could actually be good. Great, even,” I suggest, desperate to believe that all of this can be good for me.

Kirsten says nothing. I look over at her. Her lips are pursed tightly, and her eyes look even more dead than usual. She stiffly reaches for a button on the CD system. The sound of a blender being grinded up in another blender penetrates my eardrums.

“Is… is that, uh… an Anal Cunt album?”

“Yeah,” she says, turning it up. She accelerates, staying unnaturally still as she does so. Even over the tortured screaming, I can make out her sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“That’s a stupid question.”

“…sorry.”

Admittedly, Anal Cunt is really good at cutting out invasive thoughts. If I listened to this all the time, I’d be having a better time at blocking things out. As the “music” keeps playing, I really get into it and let the screaming take over my head. However, the brief seconds of bliss are kicked out from under me when Kirsten decides to turn down the volume to finally express her feelings.

“The Earth is still spinning. Society is still functioning. And the world isn’t on fire and burning to the ground. That’s what’s wrong.”

“…oh.”

“It’s weird to see how the rest of the planet goes on just fine without her. Her death didn’t leave so much as a scorch mark. Nothing fundamental about anything is different, as if she never even existed. It’s strange how insignificant we are, in the scheme of things.” She pauses. “Also, you really suck at talking to people. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“Another thing. Other than the smoothie I just had and half a sandwich, I haven’t eaten in three days. I’ve barely even slept in three days…” she mentions.

“Oh. That’s… not good.”

“I want to eat somewhere. Chin But would be the only place in this area open past 9. Does that sound good to you?” she asks hollowly.

“Yes,” I agree, only because I’m afraid that she’d run over me and put me in a plastic bag too if I said no to anything.

Chin But is a Chinese buffet that honestly sucks actual shit. It’s like school cafeteria food that was left in the back of a freezer and became too old and disgusting to feed to students. The congealed mix of pig assholes and duck tongues they call their “mystery meat special” isn’t even the best part about this place. Parts of the sign shorted out at some point, leaving the sign with the letters “Chin--- Bu--et”. Later on, someone decided that it would be funny if the sign read “Chin But”, so they knocked the “e” off by throwing a bottle at it, as made evident by the broken glass littering the space under it. It’s a really classy place.

The original Chinese buffet that was in this building turned out to be a front for money laundering, so it was shut down. Later, it turned into a Walgreens, but its profit margin wasn’t high enough to justify its location, so it moved to the city. Now it’s a Chinese restaurant again.

The exterior of the restaurant isn’t super inviting. It’s been repainted over and over again by the staff in a feeble attempt to cover up the graffiti, but it hasn’t worked out for them yet. New vulgar messages spring up on occasion from people who feel the need to confess that they banged my mom. The thick, red paint peels off a lot, especially at the bottom where kids can pick at it. Homeless men scream at sometimes as customers enter the door, sometimes for a reason, and sometimes for no reason. The inside smells like dead fish and undercooked horse meat, and the lights flicker every five minutes.

“Mac n’ cheese, my favorite,” I say in a monotone, too tired for vocal inflections. I take the cheese-crusted ladle’s handle in my hand and scoop out the sludge, plopping it liberally onto my plate.

Spaghetti is actually my favorite food. Macaroni and cheese is more like my side hoe.

Kirsten’s already sitting at our table with a plate full of food. Even with the array of pungent foods violating my nose, I can still detect her BO from here. It’s revolting. I aimlessly walk around, looking for something that looks edible, but I’m not in the mood to eat at all, and the crawfish and questionable-looking oysters aren’t doing much to bring my appetite back. However, if we weren’t in this shitty Chinese restaurant right now, I’d be at home, all alone, crying myself to sleep. I guess the fact that I’m not a hysterical mess right now is my one small victory for the day.

I sit in a seat in front of Kirsten, noticing that the table is oddly sticky. I cringe. I lift my spoon and dig in.

“You’re not sitting with me,” Kirsten says as I take a mouthful, as if she’s some popular girl in a bad teen movie. “I want to eat alone.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Her eyes slowly move to the left, then to the right, and then back onto me. “No.”

“Well, fine,” I say, getting a little angry. “I’ll sit over there then.” I point to the table across from the original one.

She doesn’t even care enough to respond. In a huff, I sit off by myself like I was told. The strip of yellow florescent lighting above me begins to short out. The little taste the mac n’ cheese did have is gone now. I set my plate to the side and go over to get a new plate, dragging my feet.

I listlessly mix my bowl of egg drop soup around with my spoon as I try to psyche myself up to eat it. I don’t want to do anything. I just want to go to sleep so I can forget about how much I suck. This has been the longest day of my life.

I jump a little when a homeless man sits down in front of me. A few seconds later, I notice a blow-up doll with yellow hair and large blue eyes stuffed into the space beside him. It slides into the ground and grazes my leg. Stiff and uncomfortable, I wait for him to look up and say something to me, or acknowledge my presence in some small way. When he doesn’t, I get really confused until I eventually realize that he doesn’t even know I’m sitting in here. He must be so far gone that he can’t detect when another human being is in his presence. If no one gave me the time of day for long enough, that’s what would happen to me. He starts to shovel his plate of rice into his mouth with his fingers, spilling it all over the table and his lap. I don’t mind it too much. He seems interesting.

I’m wondering how long he’s been like this. Judging by his smell and the layer of dirt covering him, probably a while. All homeless people seem to have the same tired face and matted hair, no matter their age. He really could be anywhere from thirty to sixty. From what I can see of his eyes as he’s hunched over like that, they seem to be hollow and vacant. His black leather jacket, riddled with holes and unidentifiable stains, is sliding off his thin, gaunt shoulders. It’s awkward how much he looks like Kirsten.

My stomach drops to floor. The question of whether or not I’ll end up just like him screams in my head. My breathing slows down as I try to remain calm and gather my thoughts. I slowly take a sip from my cold soup, gagging immediately as my brain registers the new taste as an old person’s ass, and then letting the vile liquid run out of my mouth and back into the bowl. I sit there for a couple of minutes, not moving. I look around at the near-empty restaurant, as if it could distract me from my future image.

This man has fallen out of the social web as I have, and as Kirsten has. This man’s story will forever be a mystery to me. Maybe he’s out here because the ones he used to be close to dropped him, or maybe he’s here because he dropped them. As for me, I know which one I am, and I feel like a shit-rag for it. I can sit and look down at him and feel sorry for him now, but I could very well end up being just as unkempt and pathetic as the meth-scabbed homeless man in front of me.

The weight of what I’ve done hits me fully. It’s evil, sinful. I’ve cut myself off from the entire world. I don’t matter anymore. It’s a selfish thing Kirsten and I have done, to run away from ourselves. I’m now a stain of darkness on the lives of those who know me, now that I’m gone. I’ve ruined the people who love me. The people who sat with me at lunch every day. The people I would have met and affected throughout my life in Fordville had I stayed. My classmates. My parents. My teachers. My friends Trinity and Tyra. And Jacob and Molly and Jordan. I have left my world. I’m not in a web of people anymore; I’m a meaningless dot in the sky. I’m untethered to anything; there is no gravity to save me.

I would be willing to return if Beatrice wanted me, loved me. But she doesn’t, and I’m going to have to learn to live with that. I have to keep on going out into the dark unknown and leave everything behind if I am ever to find myself again. Everyone else can go fuck themselves. Maybe that decision makes me crazy, or even unusual, but I don’t care. It might be fucked up, but I don’t care. I simply can’t be bothered to think about anything but myself today, and I hate myself for that. I feel so guilty about this, but not guilty enough to change anything about how this night is going.

The homeless man glances up at me. A look of vague disgust washes over his face as he finally realizes that I’m there. Grunting, he hobbles away, carrying the sex doll under his arm. I look to my right at Kirsten. She’s smirking at me. I put down my fork and look up at the ceiling. I’m about to file a complaint with God.

“I’m sitting with you, and there isn’t anything you can do about it,” I say, trying to hide the tone of desperation in my voice.

“Okay. I couldn’t give less of a shit, so…”

“I’m going to go ahead and leave the check with you,” the waitress says, setting down our cups of water and then the piece of paper. “We’re closing up soon.”

“You too,” Kirsten says. I raise an eyebrow at her, but then I decide not to question it.

She still doesn’t look at me. Taking the cup in both hands, she takes huge gulps of the water, not stopping until half of it is gone. She slams it down on the table and wipes her mouth.

“Do you even breathe?”

She belches. “I wish I didn’t.”

There are many paths I can choose from where I am right now in this place in time. All of them are bad. Half of them will get me killed. The other half will also get me killed. I’ve got crosshairs on my neck no matter what. Tears start to well up in my eyes, because I never know what the right thing is. It would be crazy of me to return.

The tension inside me builds up as I fight with myself over whether to go home or to go with Kirsten. The closing restaurant’s silence is getting to me. Any remaining sounds are drowned out by the buzzing of the confusion.

“I’m scared that I’m doing the wrong thing here,” I begin, unable to contain it. “My parents are probably so worried. And yet, if I contact them in any way, they’d be so mad. I can’t call them. I can’t go home either… I’d rather die. I’ve badly messed up and I don’t know what to do.”

“Whatever you decide to do is whatever you decide to do. It doesn’t even matter, in the vast scheme of things,” she replies unhelpfully, passively picking a hair out of her noodles with her fork.

“It’s just that I don’t want to disappoint them, you know? They’ve come to expect more than this from me, and-”

“I don’t think you understand how much I don’t care about your problems.”

“- it would hurt if I saw a world where they didn’t think so highly of me. I don’t want to crush them. I can’t stand people being disappointed in me. Maybe it’s dumb, but I’d rather never come home than face that. And besides, after the whole Beatrice situation I mentioned earlier, I don’t have anything to stay for.”

“You can fix what happened between you and your stupid girlfriend. You have no right to feel like this is it. She’s still alive, isn’t she?” she says as if she’s genuinely asking.

“Yeah?”

“Well, then. There you go. Everything can be fixed, and everything can be mended until someone involved in the shit-fest dies. All it would take to fix your problems would be a conversation. As for me, I need a time machine.”

“Still, I just can’t go through with it. I’m not strong enough to crawl to her and beg her to hang out with me, and I’m definitely not strong enough to talk to my parents ever again.”

Kirsten takes out her phone, seemingly in order to actively block me out. She touches the screen a few times, and then quickly looks at me. “I’m calling your parents.”

My insides fill up with knives. “No. You can’t. I swear, Kirsten, if you do that…”

“Then you’ll… what?” We both look at the screen as she flashes it toward me. “It’s ringing.” She gives me a smug look as I try to grab for it. “Do you want to do this, or do you want me to do it? Because it has to happen, one way or another.”

“Give it,” I spit, desperate to end it. “You promised that you wouldn’t call them.”

She places a hand gently over the screen. “This isn’t the end of the world. It doesn’t matter if I tell them everything. It doesn’t matter if I don’t. One day, we’re all going to be dead anyway, and our useless monkey skeletons will evaporate as the sun swallows the earth whole. If you look at the small shit, it just seems so pointless to believe that anything we do matters. So, stop panicking, because it’s really annoying. The universe isn’t going to disappear over this.”

“But…”

Kirsten shushes me and puts the phone to her ear. “Hello, is this Mrs. Sandoval? Yeah. Hi. This is Kirsten Bloom – you might remember me from the book club- and… uh… your daughter’s with me. I just thought you should know that she’s safe, since it’s so late and everything,” she says with an unusual level of calmness. It’s really weird hearing Kirsten speak in a polite tone to someone. It sounds so artificial.

I fold my arms and put my head down, desperate to block it out. My conscious digs itself deeper into the table as I do everything in my power to pretend that this isn’t happening. My fingers somehow find my ears, and I plug them. Nonetheless, pieces of the conversation somehow reach me from miles away, entering me about once every seven seconds. They build up and bounce around in my head, unnerving me with each syllable.

…asked her to be the one to talk to you, but she didn’t want to. I think she’s…

…found her at the gas station, and…

…but she really wants to stay with me. I’m going to keep her with me for…

…I swear I’m not her girlfriend. I swear I’m not. I barely want to be her friend. Goodbye.

She taps me on the shoulder. My sense of sound slowly comes back. The chatter of the employees closing up the place fills my head.

“Is it all over?” I ask, peeking out from over my arms.

“No, the universe is still here, unfortunately. I checked a few seconds ago.”

“Fuck off. You knew what I meant.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

She slaps a handful of 1s on the table and stands up. “I’m going out to smoke. Meet me by the truck when you’re done.”

I grab several cookies from the desert bar and rush out the door a few minutes later. The homeless man is sitting outside on the sidewalk, setting up his camp for the night. Kirsten’s over in the far side of the parking lot. A large plume of smoke billows up every so often, each particle lighting up in the neon Chin But sign. I look up. The sky is a lot darker now, but not dark enough for the stars to show up yet. As I eat the last cookie, I circle around to the back where we parked. I try the passenger’s side door, but it doesn’t open.

Kirsten comes back five minutes later, looking more disheveled than ever before. However, the first thing that catches my eye is the sex doll she’s dragging over here by the ankle. My eyebrows come together as she unlocks the door and throws it into my seat.

“Did you seriously steal that from the homeless dude?”

“Yeah,” she says, like it’s the most obvious and sane thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucking tired, Lily, and I need some fucking sleep. And I didn’t bring a pillow or anything with me. This will have to do. And you’re going to have to hold onto it while we’re driving, because she’ll fly away if we put her in the back.”

I give her a quick nod and get in, forced to let the doll stay in my lap because there’s no room elsewhere. I don’t have the energy to pursue any kind of argument with her. If anything, I just want this day to be over. But above all else, I just want to leave her and go off on my own.

There’s something deeply absurd about running away from the person you’re running away with, but it’s definitely something I should consider. Kirsten is completely unstable, more so than usual. She keeps getting us into horribly complicating situations, and since she’s grieving her sister’s suicide so heavily, there’s a very probable chance that she’s going to end up getting pissed enough to murder me if I don’t get away soon. However, I have a sick feeling that I wouldn’t get too far.

Runaway Teenager Found In Ditch Clutching Heavily-Used Sex Doll

I blink back that image as I buckle myself in.

The sex doll’s plastic beach-ball-like material is sticking to my legs from all my nervous sweating. I wrap my arms around her waist because I don’t have another decent place to put my hands. I rest my head on her back and breathe in and out, trying to fall asleep again. A disturbing thought shocks me back to life. My eyes snap open. For a while, this is probably the closest I’ll ever get to the loving caress of a woman.

“This is my new girlfriend,” I say.

Kirsten laughs hollowly. “We should name her,” she says flatly. “How about Lexi?”

“Lexi? You mean, like that girl in our second period?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never met a girl named Lexi that isn’t a total whore. It just seems to fit.”

I go into a haze as Kirsten begins to accelerate at an unsafe speed. It’s not making much of an impression on me. No adrenaline comes. I may as well be watching Wheel of Fortune at my grandfather’s house. In this moment, I’m speeding on the highway in the middle of the night. I have a sex doll named Lexi sitting in my lap. I should feel like I’m on the top of the world, but I’ve never felt more constrained. I’m past caring. I’m past thinking. I’m so tired that I’ve floated off to the world of dreams without my mind. My brain keeps tuning in and out, but each muscle fiber in my body is painfully tense and very much awake.

The engine shouts out an incessant roar as Kirsten continues to press her foot firmly on the gas. She moves up the gear shift until it won’t go any farther. The windows on either side depict an image of only dark brown. My consciousness is ripped from my body as we reach ninety-five miles per hour.

-------------------------------------------------

Highway 16 is quiet. There is nothing but chirping bugs and tall, rustling grass for a hundred yards around. The world is so still that one could hear the energy from the stars buzz. Everything is deathly peaceful.

A disturbance comes in from the distance, a little ways away down the road, the vibrations finding their way into the high-tech microphones near the edge. The low rumble of an overworked engine grows from a whisper to a scream as the seconds pass. Headlights blind the darkness as the engine cuts through the silence. From light-years away, beacons of starlight slowly penetrate the hazy gray-blue night sky. Earth and space melt into one once again.

Tires screech as the driver makes a sudden turn to the left. The camera catches the blur of the worn tires as they zip past, disturbing the sleeping flowers and grasses. The camera then pans over to the front window of the truck. The mics pick up remnants of the sound waves from the Anal Cunt song blaring from the speakers. Through the foggy, messy window, two girls are detected, and the lenses quickly focus on them. Both of them look tense, yet blank, with their mouths slightly agape. The shorter one is holding Lexi’s hand. The taller one is smoking a cigarette. And all three of them have the same facial expression.

The film crew can’t keep up. The director wipes his forehead and ushers everyone to pack up the equipment. The drone comes back and flies into its compartment. They drive back into the city as the truck continues to speed on to nothing and nowhere.

-------------------------------------------

I grab Lexi’s plastic tits so I can move her out of my line of vision. I squint at the road, making sure that I’m really seeing the two yellow lines to my right, and the single white line to my left.

“Oh my God… You’re driving on the wrong side of the road.”

She’s not listening. I shove Lexi’s flaccid body down into the floorboard and lean forward. I passively watch for oncoming traffic with a glazed-over feeling in my eyes. I’m still not fully absorbing the weight of the situation.

A pang of fear does whisper in my chest when I see the faint glint of lights of the 18-wheeler headed right for us, at about two football-field lengths ahead. I quickly look at the driver. She isn’t changing her speed or her direction. If anything, she’s going even faster than ever before.

I mindlessly grab the steering wheel and jerk it to the side. My neck nearly separates itself from my head as the vehicle spins out of control. Kirsten takes her foot off the accelerator, but the momentum still has us going. The front tire hits a rock, deflecting the vehicle, making us spin around a few times. The tires eventually stop running away from our control. Kirsten gets out immediately, completely unfazed.

It takes me a few more seconds to recover. I sit there stiffly, staring at nothing but the fuzz in my tired eyes, my back as straight as a perfect line. I get out, dizzy, but I walk it off and pretend that none of that even happened.

I help Kirsten fix our bed in the back of the truck, which is basically just carelessly shoving boxes and trash onto the ground and putting layers of blankets on top of the rest of the mess. Kirsten gets Lexi out of the front and tosses her where our heads are going to go. I climb in, my bones filling with lead. A crippling wave of exhaustion overtakes my body as I touch the soft blankets draped in the back of the pickup. It bowls me over, and I have to fight to not collapse and die from how badly I suddenly need sleep. It’s like not knowing you’re hungry until you smell food.

There are still random articles of clothes and garbage surrounding me where I lie, but I’m in no place to complain. My breath stops when I see The Bag. It’s still here. Neither Kirsten nor I ever got rid of it. I pluck it from beside me and set it back down again immediately. I can’t do it.

“Kirsten… can you dispose of the cat, please? I don’t want to stand.”

She sighs. “Sure.”

She stands and takes the tied ears of the bag and grips it firmly in her hand. She carelessly swings it until it gains momentum, allowing it to make three full rounds before she lets it go. I lift my head to watch. The carcass lands a good distance away from us, making a sickening rustling sound as it hits the ground.

“Christ…” I mutter.

I slowly flip myself over and lie down. My body joins with the softness underneath me, and my heat begins to recycle itself in the best way. I lie there motionless for a moment, taking in the feeling, and looking at the empty land around me. I glance in the direction of the road.

My throat constricts, and I gasp for air. My heart starts to pump too quickly, thumping and thrashing and trying to get out. I shut my eyes and try to get the pictures to stop swirling, but they don’t. Of all the vast, empty fields we could have crash-landed on, why did it have to be the one with our billboard? My eyes widen, and the memories swarm them, sending me to the past.

---------------------------------------------------

“C’mon,” Beatrice says gently, slowly letting go of my arm. Sparks fly out from the trail of her fingertips. She smiles at me.

“Okay,” I say without thinking twice.

I awkwardly trail along behind her, trying to tread and move through the tall grass. I can’t help but feel like I’m catching a bunch of gnats and crickets in my clothes. My skin grows hotter as I keep running after her, my lungs getting tighter and tighter with each pathetic gasp.

We finally get to the circle directly under the billboard that has been recently mowed. Without saying anything to me, or even looking at me, Beatrice starts to effortlessly, thoughtlessly scale the weak-looking ladder, like it’s nothing. I swear exasperatedly under my breath. My vision clouds with fear, and I consider yelling up at her that I’ll be waiting in the car. I grab a bar with one hand, and it is frozen cold to the touch. Looking up, I realize that the ladder is straight up, with no incline whatsoever. There’s no way my clumsy ass could get up there without falling and breaking my back.

I do it anyway. I force myself to breathe out and climb the ladder without thinking. My eyes are closed, but my head is still spinning anyway. Some deep part of me knows that I’m doing this, no matter how much I try to not care about it. I decide to open my eyes despite the wind-chill. My hands are sweating, but my death grip is more than enough to keep me anchored as I keep going. The nerves in my hands are jumping around, waiting for me to let go and fall backwards in a moment of carelessness. Every time I lose my grip and my hand slips even a tiny fraction of an inch, avalanches of nerves rumble and cascade through every spot of skin on me, supplying me with bursts of adrenaline and power. I’m not afraid of falling anymore; I could swear I could fly.

I crest the top and climb onto the wooden platform, breathing heavily as my muscles buzz and ache. I feel alive, crazily alive, and more awake than I’ve ever been in my life. Weakly, I stand, and look down at the ground. Fighting off the weirdly instinctual urge to jump off, I back away slowly from the edge. I walk toward Beatrice, and I sit down next to her, both our legs dangling off the edge. We silently look at the vast swath of land below, knowing that nothing down there matters at all. This is purely exhilarating, and nothing less.

“You know…” I begin, reluctant to break the perfect silence. “Before tonight, I was scared of heights.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Well, you’re different. You’re not actually scared of anything, and then you do things like this, and drag normal people like me along. And to be honest, that alone about you is slightly terrifying.”

“You should take notes from me. Life is better when you live recklessly.” She looks up at the stars. I do the same. They’re a little more prominent, now that we’re so high up in the air. It’s a black ceiling covered in Christmas lights, and we could touch the wires and tear it all down, if only we jumped just high enough.

“Do you ever wonder what’s out there?” I ask.

“You mean, in space?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I guess so. You know, I’ve always kind of wanted to be an astronaut. I think I’d like to experience what it’s like to be completely weightless.” She looks out into the world. “I’d like to be the first person ever to do something uniquely groundbreaking, like figure out once and for all what dark matter is made of, make contact with intelligent aliens, or visit an alternate universe. The last thing is especially interesting to me. The idea that everything and every situation that can exist does exist somewhere, out there, is just… neat.”

“That is cool, actually. Like, in one alternate universe, everything is the same as it is in this universe, except I’m wearing blue pajamas instead of green ones.”

“In another alternate universe, you don’t exist at all, and neither do I.”

“And in another alternate universe, we exist, but we exist at different time periods. And we are, like, immortal and famous. Imagine getting to meet every single president ever. Imagine all the things we could change about the world. That would be cool.”

“And in another, I’m fucking your mom.”

“She’s straight.”

“Not in that dimension, she isn’t.” She pauses. “And in another dimension, at this very moment, I’m getting gangbanged by all the presidents at once. That’d be great.”

I laugh, because it’s just so ridiculous. “So, you want to go to space just so you can fuck every single president?”

“Don’t judge my fetishes. It’s rude,” she says, pretending to be deeply offended.

I squint. “What even made you come to that idea randomly? That’s so weird. And, like…”

She smiles shyly and plugs her ears. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of Abraham Lincoln’s balls slapping against my ass.”

We wildly laugh again because there’s no one around to judge us for our sheer cringey stupidity.

“I just realized something,” I say.

“And what would that be?” she asks.

“Nothing is awkward with you. Well, okay. That was a lie. I still feel awkward around you. But I don’t feel as high-strung around you as I do with other people. I feel comfortable talking to you about things I’d never talk about with anyone else.”

“I’m glad.” She pauses. “In an alternate universe, everything is the same, except you’re cool and not awkward,” she says just to tease me.

“In an alternate universe, you’re normal.”

“That’s fair.”

As the night turns, we connect and flow together as we enjoy the high of being young and dumb. It’s a calmness that reaches the sub-atomic level. Each beyond-microscopic string of particles and waves in our beings are vibrating at just the right frequency as we delve into the throes of cosmic love. This newfound power allows us to defy the known laws of quantum mechanics and to defy time itself. She is the only place where hours feel like seconds and seconds feel like hours.

Time is my enemy, and I must defeat it somehow. If I don’t, I will have to return to my regular life and leave this feeling. If I can stop the rotation and revolution of the Earth, I might have a chance. Perhaps if someone, anyone, stopped the moon’s gravity from pulling the tides of the ocean, time itself will stop. If the wind stopped blowing through the tall, blond grass, if our blood stopped pumping heat into our connected hands, if the conductor of movement stopped waving his baton, then this might last forever. If my breath and blood in my body halted for only a moment, perhaps I could catch and savor a new high vertex of the happiness in me, hold onto that single photograph and in some small way, become timeless. But even if all these things could be achieved, there is still the wind blowing cool, soft air into our faces. It is relentless. The wind carries feelings, and the wind carries time.

“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to come back down to Earth, ever. But morning will come eventually and ruin this perfect night. I like hanging out with you, and I wish this could last longer,” I say quickly, interrupting her and the natural flow of our conversation.

“Maybe it can,” she says slowly, looking down at her swinging feet.

“And how would that work?”

“We could just run away. We could just get in my car and leave this shithole town.” She looks at me. “I’ve always kind of wanted to go off on some kind of adventure with someone.”

“I can’t,” I say, my voice cracking a little. “I can’t just uproot my life and everything. I’m sorry. I think I’d like that too, but I just can’t,” I ramble, trying to explain myself.

“No- you don’t have to say anything else. I get it,” she says quickly, looking down again. “I’m sorry for asking. It’s just been at the back of my mind for a while. Let’s talk about something else now.”

----------------------------------------------

The sound of the wind blowing atop the world ceases abruptly. Literal crickets fill the silence. Fireflies dance around in the blackness, blurring the barrier between the sky and the ground. Everything is serene, and so still that it seems as though I’d break the landscape like glass if I so much as breathed too heavily or thought a single negative thought. It is too sacred a place, with the chirping of the crickets and the twinkling of the bugs and the stars, to ruin it with anything other than exhaustion.

My throat suddenly becomes raw with a fresh wave of regret. I look around and find a can of whipped cream near my head. I’m not hungry or anything, but I figure that maybe the sound of whipped cream jizzing out of the can will drown out the sound of my imminent ugly-crying.

“I wouldn’t eat that. It’s been sitting out for nearly a week,” Kirsten says.

I let it roll out of my hand and clink against the bed of the truck. “Oh.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the grocery store and get some more food. And then we’ll get out of here.”

There’s some kind of itch deep inside myself that I can’t scratch. Looking up at the stars isn’t cute or whatever when you’re in a terrible mood. It blinds you from the fun version of thinking about space, which involves wondering what’s out there, and having the desire to wander through its eternalness in order to find out. The depressing version of space is the one I can’t get out of my head now. In the vastness of the universe, why do I, a particle, matter in it? When I think about the stars, this reinforces this view. They’re the only break in between the dark nothingness expanding in every direction for an infinite number of miles. Each one is pure and beautiful. It’s strange how I wouldn’t notice one star missing, but I would definitely notice if every star was missing. Everything is insignificant, especially when you’re alone. I’m swirling in the toilet of Not Mattering, staying awake instead of going to sleep.

Honestly, if there are any aliens out there who are willing to abduct me, I’d be open to it.

“Lily, I need you to promise me something.”

“I’m scared, but continue.”

“Don’t ever die.”

“…okay.”

“I mean it. You have to be immortal.”

“Okay.”

This insanely impossible promise is the only thing that is making me hold on.

This universe alone is bigger than the human mind can comprehend. To think that everything that exists is so big that it goes beyond the infiniteness of our own home is mind-boggling. Our world is just one bit of water in an infinite hall of glowing raindrops. Every situation conceivable is playing out somewhere, no matter how impossible it would seem to us. For example, somewhere, out there, there’s an alternate universe where Beatrice gives a shit about something.

She was the only thing that made the usual melancholic, mundane life I live worth it. Everything was inherently interesting. The mere act of waking up became an event. I’d wake up every morning, thrilled to go to school just so I could talk to her in class. Even on stretches of days where I couldn’t see her or talk to her, every color was a more vibrant shade. Every second, no matter what I was doing, no matter what was happening, I was happy. I was on a constant, delirious high, whether I was doing my homework or climbing to the top of a billboard.

Today, I went to space. I helped my friend steal from a homeless man. I hid in a gas station trashcan, naked. I’ve almost been shot. Twice. I nearly died in a head-on collision at a hundred miles an hour. I scraped a dead cat off a Jewish Neo-Nazi’s driveway. I ran away from my home and the only life I’ve ever known.

And it all felt like nothing.

A low hiss screams out from our makeshift pillow. I guess she couldn’t hold our weight anymore. Kirsten and I glance at each other, neither of us knowing what to do. Wordlessly, we let our heads slowly lower themselves as the sex doll beneath us farts out its hobo breath.

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kirsten.”

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