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[ofheresy-blog]

the sovereign.

Tinsley had found a way to justify every single step that lead her here. If she was caught cutting through the O’Rourke’s hydrangea bush it was because she had sworn Minnie, her Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix, had dropped a beloved chew toy on their walk earlier. If she drew attention spending too much time looking at the map outside the gas station she was simply passing time before her bestie to showed up (they were planning on getting a nostalgic Choco Taco to try to get their minds off of everything). 

But now that she was finally crouching in the woods behind the Myers’ home, listening to the approaching footsteps, and an explanation actually mattered - she was equipped with nothing a smile. In the mirror, she’d grown to hate that second-nature smirk but in this moment she was thankful she’d spent all these years plastering it on. After she turned to deliver the smile and register the fact that the person was not an immediate threat her eyes scanned back to Abigail’s bedroom window.

“Great minds think alike, I suppose.” Tinsley internally winced at the cliche. Besides the fact that it was hardly appropriate for a time like this, it did nothing to explain why the ‘queen’ of Blackpine was crouched in the woods, studying the tableau of Abigail Myers’ back porch. “I know the cops have been back here a thousand times. I just figured…” Her voice trailed off as Tinsley mentally clawed her way towards any half-ass justification good enough to give her the confidence she was without for the first time she could remember.

much like there was holy ground, there was cursed one. the church, as it always had been, was listed under the former. the myers’ home, in light of recent events, seemed to fall under the latter. 

  for joan, it was almost impossible to sort this location into either category.

  she could feel her stomach turning as she headed in its direction. the turns and crosswalks were familiar, and yet joan found herself struggling. her steps felt heavy, and that sensation of being watched lingered like a bitter aftertaste. it felt vile to show her face there. as good as her intentions were, to drop by so shortly after the incident was akin to pouring salt in an open wound. 

  in all honesty, joan didn’t know why she was going to the myers’ until she began allowing her legs to carry her over, a flower arrangement in hand. she feared being swallowed whole by the place’s familiarity, to be spat at by the memories of her and abigail it housed. no, seeing that house without abigail in it felt wrong in all senses. but then again, what part of this whole ordeal didn’t?

  enthralled into her subconscious’ snarls -- ‘clueless little joan, getting herself into affairs that don’t concern her for a reason. stubborn, nosey joan’ --, she let out a gasp when spotting tinsley. no smiles tugged at her lips, her face in fact remaining emotionless as she looked at the other. her eyes then darted away, towards the house, towards its welcoming framed turned crooked and devoid of warmth. 

  no, she wouldn’t buy into the other’s words. but it seemed like morbidity was eating this town alive. it didn’t surprise her to see someone else there. that didn’t mean she wasn’t overcome by a rush of discomfort and annoyance; at least joan had a good reason to be here. 

 “what?” she asked, not as abruptly as she had thought.  “you figured what?”

[ofheresy-blog]

the mystic.

Studying Joan closely she could see a range of emotions cross the young woman’s face. She’d always been adept at picking up changes in people’s behaviour and the slight tells that people find it difficult to hide, as a result she had also become very skilled at hiding her own. Only letting people see what she wanted them to, one could liken it to a self defence tactic, she didn’t let people in easily. But there were those that were open minded and gave her less reason to hide her true self, when people were nice, curious and genuine around her, she saw no reason to hide. She felt that she was almost at that point with Joan, but there was something still making her keep just out of arm’s reach, not physically, but emotionally. No, spiritually. 

“Well that is why I split off from the rest. Or most of the reason. Perhaps that is what drove you to wander off? Or perhaps that crowd was too suffocating for you.” Sierra could have used a better phrasing, what with the potential loss of life on their hands, but it was meant more suffocating of self, of the individual, one’s own mind. 

A small quirk of her head at Joan’s jumpiness. A curious thing suspicion, even the smallest of mundane actions cause neighbour to turn on neighbour, what would people think of her, she was constantly suspected of things because she was so different. It used to bother her but she had become numb to it, but being accused of murder would be a whole different thing. “No harm done Miss Joan, I’m just glad you aren’t someone bad.” Seeing Joan relaxing, or easing around her made her own comfort slip back into place. A small smile tugged at the edge of her lips in a pitiful excuse for a smile. But alas, it lasted only for a moment before faltering, “Nothing new yet. Perhaps two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

joan fell quiet. perhaps uncharacteristically so. she was always the kind to say too much or to say something when something else (or nothing) was to be said. now, joan couldn’t take in the silence. it always seemed to trick her into thinking the worst. when rooms fell quiet, joan pictured herself going down the stairs, suddenly missing one of the steps and falling. it was that uncertainty, that struggle to fill the air with something meaningful that she wasn’t particularly fond of. now the silence felt aggressive, it felt odd and tense. it had turned into an omen of sorts. she was scared of hearing something frightful far off in the distance, or to be left alone with her thoughts to the point of breaking. no, she’d rather listen to others, to let the muffled symphony of their voices play in the back like static. it brought her comfort. 

  but now, joan couldn’t think of the right words to say. touché, maybe her bluff had been called. “would it be bad if i say it did?” would it be wrong to feel that the community she’d been raised by, the family she loved, was suffocating her? would it be ungrateful? “it’s so strange. it’s like they’ve changed over-night -- well, like everything did. and now, even when i’m surrounded by familiar faces, i can’t stand any of them.” maybe the only person she would be able to stand was abigail. funny how she was longing to be with that one person at the time where they were away. maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder. “do you think that’s a rude thing of me to say?”

  joan smiled, flattered and moved. word after word, her father’s attitude toward sierra was being torn to shreds. she had no reason to hate the woman, but it didn’t quit puzzling her to think why it was everyone still did. “i’m glad you aren’t someone bad either,” she offered. 

  “that’s smart. i can look into that patch a couple meters ahead. i’m sure it won’t hurt, will it? well, as long as we don’t venture too far out, right?”

[ofheresy-blog]

the vagrant.

                             ‘YOU CAN’T RUN AWAY FROM YOURSELF, GRAZER.’                                 

               He had written his eulogy before he had turned sixteen. A boy once soft, whose smile was taken. He had watched his trauma turn into something grotesque, a dead weight that had been laced around his neck. He had dreamed of contorting his body into something else, bones crunching - skin shedding until he was turned into someone whose kind eyes had not been plucked. 

                 Abigail’s hues burn in the back of his mind. Fiercely, they had looked into his soul. Found hope amongst the debris - a home for when the night would settle on his shift. They spoke of meaningless things, perhaps even the things they had not spoken of to other’s. A sense of renewing the past. FORGIVING the parts of themselves that had been taken. 

                    He soaks her up. Of a woman had had seen from afar, of someone who had been adorned in anecdotes. It was almost funny, if he had only heard the stories perhaps she would’ve been painted differently. Though, that was hardly fair. Calloused hands reaching forward, he takes in his flesh decorated with an assortment of bruises; fingertips plucking the cigarette from the packet. “Thanks.” He manages through pursed lips, a free hand cupping round the end as he too - sets a light the only thing doesn’t cause the air to feel heavy.

                        “Indeed. Charlie Grazer.” He feels the need to clarify, but cringes as his last name passes chipped lips. It feels hot, sticky, - sweat threatening to array features. “You sing..” His throat clears, “I’ve heard you. You’re good, it’s nice.”

under the shadows cast by the webs of branches and leaves, joan williams blushed. a smile creeping onto her face, the darkness surrounding them retreated ever so lightly. for a moment. she shook her head, bashful.

     “i--” she stammered. thank you, her heart said. it hadn’t been easy to become distracted, to get her mind off of it. she felt like, if she closed her eyes, on the back of her eyelids she would see the soil sprout hands, and that these would pull her feet and sink her down down down. down to a dark place, a cursed place. but now, with that simple comment, joan’s worries fell silent for a moment. but that was enough -- more than enough, even. “you have? really?” she grinned widely, cheerful disbelief flooding her. the appreciation shining through her face. even when something told her it was wrong to become vain, to become proud. “i wasn’t expecting anyone to remember. but thanks. really.” joan chuckled, and her laugh was devoid of any grief and anger and suffering. it was sweet and light, like cotton candy, like warmth.

   charlie grazer, the words echoed, as if she were rereading the first sentence in a paragraph. “well, i can’t say i’ve heard you sing, but and i’ve seen you. i remember a couple weeks ago. do you ever feel restless for no reason? i did. i thought walking it out would be the best. and it was so late, so late that no lights were on -- when i was a couple of meters away from the k-mart, the light was even blinding. and i thought there was no way there could be another soul around. but then i saw you through the glass door and over the snack aisles.” she rose the cigarette to her lips and took a drag, exhaling before looking at him and smiling, while simultaneously shrugging a little. “i don’t know. i guess it felt nice spotting a familiar face in the middle of all the darkness.”

[ofheresy-blog]

the insurgent‌.

Her name seemed endlessly called into the setting night. Leaves and twigs cracking under each bystanders footsteps, and Raph could only hear the crack of bones where there were none. Her pounding footsteps that night. Running. Escaping. Echoed in all those who trampled through the forrest. Longing to find a girl long lost to the world.

For that was just her nature, was it not? No matter how close one would seem to the girl, she’d dissipate through their fingers the moment she was in reach.

Oh how she’d adore this. Mystery shrouding every corner while her pristine image slowly tainted at each spoken word of those who’d surround her.

Perhaps it was what she was after all long. Why else would one sneak into Raphael Rown’s life if it wasn’t to get caught?

“They’re welcome to come watch,” It would be the first smile that would rise from the boy all night. A smile that would always be too sharp on his once soft features. Wide eyed and golden, tainted with sin and venom from the world he was born in. Beckoned to become a monster. He’d still tell himself that’s what he was.

But then joking would halt still in the air, and the words would shatter through the settling chill. His name a threat itself perhaps. Fear. Just as he’d felt rising in the pit of his stomach. Raph’s smile would dissipate, and he’d flick his cigarette to the ground. His words soft, full of hesitation. Perhaps if he spoke them too loud they’d ring true. Or perhaps fear that Joan could see straight through them. “I don’t rekon there’s any use searchin’ for her.”

the young woman let out a chuckle, softly nudging his side. sure, she had found his humor entertaining (she often did, for it was so refreshing and so unlike her). joan had at that point left the groups of searchers behind, and had mirrored them at scouting the trees. unluckily for her, she was jumpier than usual, every creak of the wood or rustling of the leaves shoving a gasp out of her. but she was thankful toward them, to a degree. joan knew full-well she would lose sleep over not having even tried searching for her. still, as brazen as she liked to come off, she was scared. terrified, really. she had used the search party as a half-excuse to do some digging herself, knowing she would not go back to those woods on her own. 

    because the woods never housed anything good.

a smile lingered on her face, and her thoughts became more tangled and disarrayed the more she thought about the whole ordeal. it was easy to take the wrong step and fall deep deep down the rabbit hole. but it was comical -- in a depressing, unfair manner -- how unlikely this sounded. local girl missing in the wood after car crash -- it struck joan how similar that felt to the description of some old horror film’s scene. 

   and she didn’t want it to be true. she didn’t wan raph to be right. 

why was he here? the curiosity nibbled at her. did he think it was pointless or was it to avoid seeing something he didn’t want to see? both made sense, in their own, twisted way. 

  “so now what? i don’t reckon either of us feels like going back. what should we do?” she didn’t think it wrong to ask, she was just looking to get the damn image of abigail out of her head before it hurt. even the in the slightest. before joan, with the bad hand dealt to her and her rotten luck, fucked it all up by jinxing it. 

[ofheresy-blog]

the allegiant.

Joan was right. There were those cliche’s people often said. ‘Things like this didn’t happen in this town’. But when they did happen … that had to mean that the town changed. Someone disappeared. Someone got hurt. Someone got killed. The place must change after that. It was a frightening thought for someone like Tommy who liked how things were currently. Or how they had been, how it looked like they were going to go… How was this going to change things? How was this going to change him?

Speaking to Joan about all of this was at least a bit of a comfort. It was good to know that he wasn’t the only one thinking about these things, that he wasn’t the only one afraid of what had happened. What was going to happen. Just as he found comfort in sharing some things with Abigail.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he spoke, “if she wanted to leave than I hope that is what she managed to do…”

That part was something he didn’t exactly see eye to eye with Joan, or Abigail about, that the town was bad. That sticking around Black Pine was some horrible fate. But he wanted Abigail to be happy, and if she was going to be happy leaving town he really hoped she did.

Tommy looked around at the groups of people as they passed and thought about the question. “I don’t know,” he said glancing over at Joan with a frown. “I know … what I hope happened. I hope she … ended up getting a cab to take her where ever she wanted to go, and in a few weeks we’ll get post cards from her saying how great whatever city she decided to go to is. And then maybe we’ll all plan a trip to visit her, and have a good laugh about this whole situation.” He gave a half hearted smile, that didn’t reach his eyes.

He didn’t believe that was what actually happened. What was the saying? Prepare for the worst, but plan for the best? “Maybe she’s just lost in the woods somewhere, confused, and alone. But alive. That would honestly be enough for me…”

“yeah, i hope so too.” it didn’t burden her to admit to her feelings. not around him. as appealing it was to turn stoic and hide her feelings like she hid old memories, there was a solace to be found in owning up to the grief. but still, it brought forth a sense of fear -- fear over having their expectations and scenarios ruined. the last thing joan wanted was abigail’s body to be found in the woods, but to imagine her having made it out of town to enjoy herself scared her. what would happen to her, to them, if that didn’t turn out to be true? 

    but as people often did (especially young people living in a place where these things didn’t happen), she was curious. joan was convinced she wouldn’t be the only one wondering. the fact that answers were so outside her and others’ reach made her angry, almost childishly so. but wasn’t this justified? what else was she supposed to do in the face of such strange an event?

   joan heard tommy speak, and her features irrevocably broke into a melancholic grin. she looked down at the ground, almost able to picture the picture his words had painted. greetings from pontiac! aloha from honolulu! excited messages lovingly engraved on the back of vibrant-colored pictures. ‘a good laugh about this whole situation’. that sounded sweet, hypnotic even. she nodded at him as if to thank him for the image, as if she were trying to buy into it.

   and then, a sliver of hope crossed her. 

    “maybe she is. isn’t this what the search party’s for?” she tried to encourage him. joan was a child -- rebellious and full of wants, but hopeful as well. and she understood it now more than ever, that many didn’t have hope themselves. luckily, she was happy to share. “what do you say we go and find her?” 

[ofheresy-blog]

the allegiant.

Tommy took a deep breath and sighed as he moved to walk along side Joan, listening to her speak. Listening to her question as they walked along the sidewalk, as the businesses closed down early for the night one by one. Usually no, if he was being honest. Tommy liked to believe himself more grounded in reality than that. He liked to believe himself the sort who had his feet firmly placed on the earth for now. It was … the one thing he didn’t get from the Church, but something he got from home. His parents struggled, and worked hard every day to be able to even have a meal on the table for him. He’d taken up some of the work for them at a young age so life wasn’t as difficult. Three people could earn more money than two.

He was constantly told by the church that he was a miracle, that his family must have been truly blessed by God. He loved and appreciated them, but that sounded a bit sensationalist. Tommy liked to think he was always a bit more humble, and grounded in reality.

But right now?

“You don’t sound mad at all,” Tommy said, turning to look over at Joan with a frown. “This feels like a dream. It feels like soon I’ll wake up, get ready for work, and Abigail will be there to share a shake with during our break.” His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked down at the ground, watching their feet march along the sidewalk towards whatever they were going to find in the woods. Something, or nothing. Both options were bad.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, lifting his head up once again. “If something really happened to her … Or … if she’s just gone for good …” Tommy lowered his voice as their footsteps brought them closer to the people of the town congregating, and starting their search for Abigail. He didn’t want to disrupt anybody, and he preferred his conversation with Joan to stay just a conversation with Joan right now. “How does something like this just happen?”

joan was unable, really, to keep herself from sighing. it sent a rush of relief through her to be blessed with reassurance from him. because it was him. because it was tommy. and tommy kept himself grounded. tommy was an anchor, a voice of reason, he had the same effect prophets had on believers and followers: he brought peace and ease through his words. and joan was thankful, thankful to an extent impossible to put into words.

  it was cruel, selfish too, to find herself relief at the thought that, if she was to go mad, then she’d bring tommy along the ride. a large part of the town already made her feel uneasy. maybe, as crazy as they were, they were still saner than the next neighbor. 

  “like you’ll snap out of it. yeah,” she added, nodding. was it childish wanting this to be over? was it careless, cold even? would abigail mind?

  “it’s all so weird. like the town yesterday and the town today are two completely different settings.” the world had seemingly shifted overnight, and not for the better. joan hoped none of this would spiral, but by the looks of it, this felt like a never-ending nightmare. the more she longed to wake up the farther away this seemed. 

   “i’m scared too. terrified, actually.” all the possibilities sounded dreadful, each more so than the previous. but as cynical as she’d turned, joan clung onto the possibility of abigail having made it out of town. maybe she’d left her car behind and had chosen to walk. maybe she was having breakfast at some diner and would hitchhike somewhere nice and sunny. maybe she would become a movie star, and joan would only see her again on a tv screen. dreaming was sweeter. in all reality, joan was only waiting for the bad news to land. it was not going to make it any easier, but in all fairness, nothing about a missing girl in the woods said “simple”. 

  “i don’t think there’s anything worse than staying around. wherever she is, she’s better off than we are,” god, the words felt stiff to the tongue and devoid of all truth, but they sparked hope within joan the same way she hoped they would in tommy. “but i hope she is safe. that’s what i wish for, above all else.”

  as they neared the crowds of people, joan imitated tommy, lowering her voice and her head in the process. 

  “i... i don’t know. i don’t know.” he had a point. things like these did not happen. “what do you think happened?”

[ofheresy-blog]

the mystic.

She was accustomed to peculiar looks and snide remarks, occasionally people would give up with it, but those of strong religious persuasions often gave her the worst of it. But it didn’t give her cause to hate them, or judge, each person was entitled to their own freedoms, and she was a big believer in karma, or perhaps they would view it as ‘do unto others as you wish them to do to you’. 

Perhaps the young woman before her was just as curious as she, like a cat seeing its reflection for the first time and not knowing if it was friend or foe. She’d seen her wander past the shop front before, she only had a small collection of regular customers, and sometimes she would get a new comer, but rarely did she see people of the flock even come near her or the store.

Her cheeks darkened with an awkward blush as a small chuckle bubbled up from within. “Given me a heads up… thank you but you are allowed to search the woods as well. We are here for Abigail afterall.” Tilting her head as the other got all sheepish and shy, she couldn’t help but take a small step forward, the childish smile that was barely visible on Joans face was enough to put Sierra at ease once again. 

Sierra wasn’t a fan of crowds, partially due to never really being accepted by enough people to form a crowd, or because people could be a lot which required a lot of patience and energy on her part. “Oh, that is why I split off as well, covering more ground is the logical thing to do.” Well she never really split off, she was alone from the start. Her head tilted, almost mirroring Joan’s if it wasn’t for the fact that is was a fraction of a second before she moved. A small curiosity tugged at Sierra, but she wasn’t able to grasp it, like something incorporeal, it slipped through her fingers.

Glancing down at the stick she decided to let it drop to the floor, Joan wasn’t a threat to her so there was no need to keep it. “I heard you walking nearby and thought you could have been someone dangerous, I was looking for Abigail.” Mistrust breeds mistrust, that’s what her grandma used to tell her, there was something off about this, it caused her to be guarded.

‘we’re here for abigail after all.’

  the simplicity to the statement, its straightforwardness, and the heavy shade of truth with which they were colored made joan shiver. like a slap, like an acknowledgment of reality. but they served their purpose: they tranquilized joan in a strange way. 

  she didn’t know why she felt so open and trusting in the presence of sierra. no, that was a lie. she knew, she just couldn’t tell if it was the right reason or not. the other had shown to be bold enough to oppose people like her father, immediately earning the woman’s admiration. now, joan knew incredibly little about sierra, but that just made her more inclined to trust her. there would not be the same barrier of judgment there would be, say, if she were to confess at the church. call it holy ground as much as they wanted, joan still felt as though she had to quiet her thoughts upon entering. but not with sierra.

  something in joan made her think sierra knew more than she let on. and she was so young she had yet to rid herself of that childish curiosity and urge to let it get the best of her. there must be something to that deck of tarot card for some people (a handful, at least) to keep coming back. 

  “i think this would get done in half the amount of time if the entire group split. though, i’m sure they’ll insist on sticking together to avoid losing someone else along the way,” the thought made her chuckle, not maliciously, however. her eyes followed the stick as it felt to the ground, and she almost even took a step back at the collision of the stick against the ground. she loathed how easy it was to startle her nowadays - what would that say about her conscience’s state? 

  “oh, i’m so sorry for scaring you, then. i can promise i’m not dangerous,” joan said playfully, as if to lighten up the mood. but she nodded, this time her features showing a change in her emotions. there was distinctive melancholy shining through ever so damp eyes. “me too,” she half-whispered.

  “have you had any luck? found something yet?” 

[ofheresy-blog]

the insurgent‌.

Sunsets were reserved for a time of waiting - for cars to dart home and idle in parks, for town folk to cook their dinners and diners so start illuminating their signs. Orange and pinks cascading the sky by a sun barley present, yet always there. Raph would hate it, this time for families. It was the night he’d fall in love with.

Shadows thrown to the gravel as he’d walk the street under the warm glow of street lights. Headlights passing, never lingering. Eyes would dart from the ember that lit the end of his cigarette to the ground.  Shattering vending machines by the moonlight, and parking as far from town to watch the start. At night, in the lack of light, the boy could pretend to be a ghost. Something of beauty. A lie who’s hands would never tremble, and smile never sharpen. He could pretend perhaps just for a little while that he could belong in such a damned place. With neighbourhood whispers and nosey pedestrians. 

He could dream of being one of those ideals as he stained his real finger with paint. Drawing across a brick wall that would be covered many times before now. What did you lose?

Tonight however he’d just watch the sun set under a futile search. Eyes slowly fixating on Joan. Familiarity that would take all too long too realise. Nothing felt real tonight.

“Not the kind full of stiffs.” The words attempted to be a joke, yet the left his mouth through gritted teeth. Emotions never were something Raph was good at suppressing, and tonight was full of them. “You planning on waitin’ around for me to invite ya for something a lil’ more lively than this place, or actually have plans on searchin’ for the dead girl?”

joan smiled. funny how her smiles were still tinted with innocence and naïvety. maybe it was indeed helplessly romantic of her to think she could color herself sinful. it was also a strange aspiration, wanting to become a worse person. but joan williams was not bad. at least, so her smiles said. 

   he conjured a chuckle from her, and she felt the need to look over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. libel and slander were a real and corporeal as the next churchgoer, and there was still that fear of the ‘what if’ weighing her bones down. joan eyed raph’s cut, images of them lighting each other’s cigarettes coming to mind. she’d felt like coughing up a lung after her first ever hit. in times like this, it became so clear why people craved it, why people craved drinking. they were life inducers. liquor and nicotine went down like a charm, but they burned one’s throat the way breathing fire would. and while it hurt, it was better than feeling suffocated by loss and grief. it was better than to feel nothing at all. 

   “watch it. my family’s there,” she joked, her words very clearly making this fact known. she had long begun distinguishing between personal attacks and humor. maybe she was still struggling to shake off the stiffness to her, but with the search going, the urge to retreat into familiarity only increased in attractiveness. “are you even planning on going?” joan pondered aloud, the question hinting at the trace of intrigue she still felt in his presence. 

   “depends on how long that takes you,” the brunette teased, mischief dangling from curled lips. but then, her insides turned, and she swallowed down the sense of impending doom.

   “raph...” joan began, brows knitted and a tone that hinted at a mix of anxiety, uncertainty, and doubt -- “you don’t really think she’s dead, do you?” 

[ofheresy-blog]

the vagrant.

                           S E C R E T S embedded themselves within the lining of his stomach. An uncontrollable itch that tugs and tears at the seams. He carries them, barely, awaiting the next time to unload them - or to feel numb enough that the weight does not falter. His father had a different habit. After the disappearance of his wife, he had forced himself into a holy than thou visage - perusing the ways of the lord as a means of solitude. A safe haven. 

                                           ‘ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME.’

   His father would yell, his own self hatred coming up like bile, - the vain in his forehead throbbing. Charlie had bathed himself in holy water that night. Wounds carved like crescent shaped markings up his arm, - track marks spreading a map to destinations he will not reach. Still, he had managed to make it out of bed, - withdrawal clawing.

             The word that snap him out of a trance cause a happy distraction, finger and thumb rubbing a cigarette between his fingertips. “I do.” He reaches into his pocket, grabbing hold of the said object before handing it towards the woman. He had seen her before, vaguely. ANGELS weren’t allowed near the rotting of the town. “You’re Joan, right?” Abigail had spoken of her, endless stories which now seemed pointless - intrusive.

“thank you,” she smiled politely, as she had always done. 

   ‘ what do we say, joan? ’ the man in her memories asked, an eyebrow raised. whenever she looked up at him, she felt sickened, dizzy, solely due to the fact that he towered over her. such a large figure planted inside of her a sense of intimidation. so she always did as he said.

    ‘ thank you, ’ joan, aged three or four, said in a sing-songy way. her cheeks were the color of cherries. 

as she reached out to grab the lighter, joan’s fingertips caressed the others. the sudden meeting of skin against skin made her shiver, feeling as though someone had crept up on her. she hadn’t meant to, and of course, he most likely hadn’t noticed. but she had. and it scared her picturing herself finding abigail’s body, somewhere deep in the woods, and her feeling cold to joan’s touch. 

   the light was born, and just a quickly, it flickered. a curved palm was used to shield the young flame from the wind, and just like that, the light was out. and there, amidst the foliage, amidst the autumnal masterpiece, the bright neon orange at the tip of her cigarette burned the brightest. joan handed back the lighter, and instinctively fished her pack out of its hiding. she extended it to him, an offering, a display of gratitude. 

  “it’s only fair, isn’t it?” she smiled kindly.

his question didn’t catch her terribly off-guard. admittedly, she did panic, but only for a minute. friend or foe? he looked more like the first. “i am. i’m so sorry, i don’t mean to be rude, but i don’t think we’ve ever met. you’re---” a name, or rather, a HISTORY, like his wasn’t simply forgotten. the name came to her suddenly and loudly “-- you’re charlie, yes?” 

[ofheresy-blog]

WIDOWS (2018) dir. Steve McQueen

[ofheresy-blog]

the allegiant.

He felt nervous as they wrapped up the days work, though Tommy didn’t know if nervous was the correct emotion to feel? Or perhaps it was. Nervous they’d find the body of his dead friend, or something worse as the town started moving to search through the woods surrounding the town. Would that be worse than finding nothing at all? Of course it wouldn’t, but he didn’t like the idea of his friend becoming some mystery that remained unsolved for people to tell tales about years down the road. Certainly the best outcome would be finding a confused Abigail wandering the woods with some sort of treatable head injury that would be all better soon.

However, the pit in his stomach said that was not going to happen.

Tommy took a breath and started to leave, but.he didn’t even make it all the way out of the door before he spotted Joan waiting for him. Part of him wanted to be surprised – there had been a growing chasm of separation between the two of them – but he didn’t feel surprised at all. She was still his best friend. They’d both still grown up with Abigail…

“Of course I am,” he said, face filling with emotion as he walked over to her. He held back his questions ‘are you alright?’ ‘how are you holding up?’ The girls had always been far closer than he had been with Abigail after all, even if he still considered her a dear friend. But … the questions seemed so false and flat at this very moment. Instead he reached out with his hand for her to take, “do you want to go together?”

of course he was. this was tommy -- tommy, who she liked to say she knew like the palm of her hand. but she didn’t, though she hadn’t realized. but for now, she thought otherwise, now her ignorance was a half-bliss. maybe all of this was too. maybe there was nothing -- no one -- out there they should be searching for. maybe abigail had made out of town on foot. maybe all those ‘maybes’ were far better and sweeter to the tongue than any truth’s harshness.

   she smiled at tommy again, kindly and softly. maybe he could be strong for the two of them, for them all. but hearts were heavy burdens. “i figured you would,” joan nodded solemnly. “sorry, i-- this is all so bizarre, i know. it almost sounds impossible that it’s happening, that it’s real.”

   her chest filled with peace at his question. “i’d like that very much,” joan responded. it seemed simple enough of an invitation, like he was putting on the table the idea of coming over for dinner or to get in line next to each other during eucharist. but as strange as the circumstances were, she’d take him up on the offer any day. she’d cling onto the normalcy to the question and ditch the contest, use it like some anchor. 

   ( she’d lost one friend already, she didn’t want to lose any more. )

 she turned in the direction of the search party, the sight of the silent closed establishments nearby surprisingly gentle and monotone. looking over her shoulder, she gestured, as if to say they should get going. the search party was technically a party, yet she didn’t think they’d mind if they were a couple minutes late. 

  “tommy?” joan asked then, “have you ever felt like you were dreaming even though you’re not? you feel like you’re about to wake up to your normal life any minute, but instead, you’re stuck, floating in some strange reality.” and then she took notice of herself, blushing and shaking her head. “sorry, it probably looks like i’ve gone mad.”

[ofheresy-blog]

the mystic.

The cool evening air stung her cheeks a little, the last glimpses of sun clinging to the tree tops. Wringing her hands around the stick in her grasp she could feel the wood and bark starting to splinter, one of the many reasons she decided to leap out from the tree, that and she could hear someone fast approaching.

At first she had thought it was just her imagination playing tricks on her as people wandered the woods with the impossible task of locating a missing girl.

Bringing the stick down from above her head, she narrowly missed hitting Miss Joan, letting the far end of it drop to the floor as a sheepish apologetic grin spread across her face with a rather awkward chuckle. “Oh my stars, I am so sorry Miss Joan.” Dropping the stick completely to the ground, the leaves crunching beneath its weight. Her hands raised in surrender as she gave a reassuring smile, “No not at all, I let my imagination get the better of me, I thought you could have been someone else. What are you doing out here alone?”

Rubbing her dirt ridden hands on her dress, leaves clinging to her boots and socks, she tucked some wandering stray hairs behind her ears. It was only now she realised the irony in her words, she too had been alone wandering the woods, most people had split off in pairs or small groups. There was some worry among people that perhaps Abigail had been taken, which inherently made these woods something to be feared.

  joan williams has, as of recently, developed an abrupt deal of intrigue and curiosity toward sierra la’vore. 

the judgment of the other had been, initially, created out of whispers huffed out in frustration and head motions that screamed ‘disapproval’.

  ‘ you’ll see it -- she’ll bring nothing but trouble. those preaching to possess abilities only He would always do’. 

        now, joan did not know sierra to a great extent, so that just meant that whatever else she was unfamiliar with filled her with a new-found selfish want of finding out. 

  curiosity killed the cat -- joan had thought, the first time she’d walked past sierra’s workplace -- but satisfaction brought it back. 

the woman let out a soft exhale of relief, nodding gently. her cheeks picked up color and warmth the more a smile spread across her features. she felt like a bashful kid, stumbling into something she shouldn’t have yet not being reprimanded for it. she nodded calmly, not ever feeling threatened by the other. 

   “no, i’m sorry. i should’ve... given you a heads up, maybe,” joan commented sheepishly. she liked that -- miss joan. it sounded like something she would be called, or something she would call herself, while playing play-pretend or imagining herself as the queen of some made-up kingdom. but because it made her feel special, it made her feel different. “what are we both doing here alone?” she replied, though half-playing. “ i... i don’t know. i don’t know. i guess it was getting a bit too crowded for my taste back there with the others. i thought it could be helpful to... well, split. you know, divide and conquer?” joan let out a dry chuckle; she was not being entirely truthful about her reasons.

   “and you?” her head tilted to the side. her eyebrows furrowed gently, and she gestured at the stick discreetly. suddenly she was young, too young, asking questions she probably shouldn’t. “what’s the stick for?” 

[ofheresy-blog]

× WHEN: october 14th, 1991. evening – a liminal space that impregnates the air with a desire to feel more, more than this, more than the numbness × WHERE: town limits × WHO: ft. charlie grazer ( @charliegrazer ) 

the whispers of the townsfolk, although soft, burdened her with a strange pain. it was as if the feigned grieving and shallow concerned scratched itches of her being, the way a piece of sandpaper would. joan could see it, the murmurs and shushes sprouting legs and arms and clawing at her. 

         “ i’ve never understood why some people choose to leave the town. it’s so pleasant here, isn’t it? ”

         “ things mustn’t have been going well i’m home. doesn’t surprise me with that family of hers... ”

         “ that’s what happens when you ignore his plans, when you stray from his teachings. may god rest her soul, wherever that poor girl is ”

  yeah, well, speaking from experience, when people said ‘god rest your soul’ what they meant was fuck you. but it didn’t shock joan to see so many upset churchgoers. they followed her father, and her father followed the sheriff, and all of them followed the town. they were a part of blackpine as much as it was a part of them. made sense; both were rotting from within. who knew, maybe there were places (and people) not even god could reach. 

   the pastor’s child found herself seeking refugee away from them and it all, walking in the opposite direction to them as she ventured deeper into the woods. she fished for a cigarette and brought it up to her lips, huffing ever so gently as she failed to find a lighter in her purse. after some moments of walking, she happened to spot a figure, immediately recognizing its owner not to be a foe. 

  “i hate to bother you--” she smiled, gently, gesturing at the other. the features clicked in her head, but she was still a young, shy girl at times, and now she chose to hide behind a wall of politeness and distance-- “but do you happen to have a lighter on you?”

[ofheresy-blog]

× WHEN: october 14th, 1991. evening -- the kind with lavender skies that seem to extend forever, colored with harshness and unpleasantness over the absence of an old friend × WHERE: outside cosmic ray’s starlight café × WHO: ft. tommy flores ( @tommyflores​ ) 

the gentle october air ruffled her dress and coat frivolously, her bible weighing down inside her satchel like a reminder at the back of her head ---- ‘ He’s watching, He’s always watching. ’ she brought it along tonight, whereas she’d usually throw it somewhere inside her drawer to leave it to rot as an act of quiet rebellion --- ‘ you’re not watching me, you’ll never ever watch over me again. ’ but it tagged along today like a nagging acquaintance too stubborn to be ignored, a younger sibling demanding to be let into the playground. one never knew when they might need some godly counseling or heavenly wisdom (though, she did hate having to think that the book’s weight could crush her pack of cigarettes anytime).

   in dire times, joan williams sought the comfort of that which she knew. she was reliant on repetition and the reassurance it inherently provided. there was a reason so many people seemed to enjoy sitting at shores or beaches and simply watch the tides -- because they knew, time and time again, they would see the seas come back to greet the land, and the peaceful rhythm soothed them just as much as the fact that they knew this cycle to never shift did. 

   in dire times, tommy flores was the sea to her land. visions of a smile or an outstretched hand from him lived throughout her memories, like resilient poppies. and in these same times, joan looked for tommy, a subtle, somehow distressed, yet still warm & appreciative smile spreading across her features.

  “are you joining them over by the town’s edge too?”

[ofheresy-blog]

the insurgent‌.

                                                                『 EVENT 001. 』

OCTOBER 14TH, 1991. 07:00 PM.

The warmth of the day began to dissipate as the sun sunk lower into the sky. Orange hues illuminate silhouettes that weaved in and out of the trees that loomed above. Flashlights beginning to appear, one by one. Like fireflies dancing through the bitter chill that would soon leave fingers numb, and faces red. 

What would Abigail think of all this attention the town adorned her with. MISSING! plastered all through the town, her name heard on the radio every morning he work up, and every shop front he passed. Whispered in the air, carried along side him like the winter that threatened its presence. The girl was more alive now than before, kept vibrant in tales from the town, and all those who just adored her.

Raph watched them flock into the woods as he sparked his cigarette to life between his lips. Searching. But for what? The hope that the girl would suddenly appear? Or be found under a pile of leaves too large to be lifted in the wind. Perhaps a trail of blood, all too perfectly left behind like films. It was a mockery for the boy who’d stopped searching the moment he reached the woods to sit on the bonnet of his car and watch. But no more of one as it was to herd the children, and gossip with Mary next door about how awful this tragedy was.

Submerged in his world of thoughts, the moment a cracked twig sounded too close to his car Raph’s head would snap in the direction. “The fuck do you want.”

joan had always loved sunsets. she found them romantic in a way fools would, but more importantly, she found them peaceful. like perfect strokes of paint on a white canvas, or whiffs of vanilla, or roses with flawless sets of petals. nowadays, not everything managed to grant her peace like it once had done. she had been quick to disregard it as a side effect of growth -- a growing pain of sorts. but still, sunsets did, like ethereal characters with an everlasting nature. 

   but now, with the chilly october wind creeping up her coat, all she could feel was discomfort. the sunset turned ominous and tense right before her, like the more light erased the lower the chances of finding abigail alive became. it did not matter how many familiar faces smiled at her, or how many hands she shook, nothing managed to ease her of qualms and paranoia.

  then she thought of abigail. abigail, the town’s golden girl. abigail, who always had the last word. abigail, who paid kindness forward. abigail abigail ABIGAIL. it was ironic how she was nowhere to be found and yet felt more present than ever. her name seemed to be dangling from everyone’s lips, or shining in the uneasy twinkle of their eyes. silly little joan almost turned her head to the side, some witty remark half-uttered, expecting for it to find abigail and laugh along with her. silly little joan. she’d swallow her pride and taste the sin burning her throat than admit she missed her, that she ached for her... that she was angry that she’d left without her. maybe she wouldn’t have gone through all the hell had there been someone to lend her a hand. 

  but her thoughts were loud, far too much for joan’s liking. joan, who up until recently had had a habit of speaking too little yet thought too much. her eyes remained fixated ahead, on something that -- much like abigail -- could not be seen (maybe felt, if anything). an accidental brush against someone else jolted her back to the harsh reality, to blackpine. and she excused herself, as politely as she’d once done, seeking the company of something that felt familiar. something that brought some peace, in whichever shape or form. 

   “’s just me. i didn’t mean to startle you--” joan said, calmly in the face of the sudden burst of energy. yes, perhaps it’d been raph she’d sought amidst the hell that was the search party. maybe an escape wouldn’t do much harm now.  “what, are you not a fan of all this? i thought you liked parties.” 

[ofheresy-blog]

the mystic.

                                                                             『 EVENT 001. 』

OCTOBER 14TH, 1991. 06:00 PM.

She’d had that same vision. Again. But there was something different about it this time that was more urgent, something dark had crept into it, it felt twisted and perverted. She’d awoken feeling genuinely terrified. Heart pounding. Sweat dripping. Hands cold and clammy. Finding some semblance of sleep was hard, but nonetheless it came in the wee hours of morning, not that she could have called it sleep.

She ached all throughout the day, both mentally and physically. The price of such a vision, not that she ever asked for them, but there was a payment demanded in return for such a gift. 

That afternoon was anything but normal, everything had changed. There was a stiffness to the air, that static cling that made you aware of something clinging to your skin.

It had happened. That car crash.

Standing at the edge of the woods she was more aware of her own breathing and heartbeat then one normally is. She had been on edge all day, jumping when the clock chimed in the shop, breaking a few glass jars before deciding not to do any more work for the day. There was something that had been niggling at the back of her mind all day. What had changed? Why hadn’t she been warned about this sooner? Sharing her vision with Lennon, in a much downplayed manner so as not to worry her, she’d told her over coffee and toast that she was going to try and help find Abigail in the woods. Perhaps being nearby would trigger something. 

That unsettled feeling possessed her to pick up a large stick, club like as she ventured into the edge of the woods, away from everyone else, she needed the quiet to concentrate. The faintest of crunching footsteps were to the north, snaking between the trees she circled around them . Taking a brief pause behind a tree as she waited for them to walk into her path, leaping around with the stick raised above her head against whoever had harmed Miss Myers. “STOP.”

joan felt hollow. she felt sickened to her stomach, sick to an undeniable extent. if she closed her eyes, she could see herself on the back of her eyelids, a doll being pulled apart at the seams and stuffed with cotton. but more than that, she felt angry. angry like a child whose parents snicker after being asked a simple question, angry like a young girl being too short to reach something kept outside her reach, angry like someone who’d lost a close friend in the span of a night.

    that kind of hollow. that kind of angry. 

   she didn’t utter so much as a compliant ‘hmm’ when invited to -- no, shoved into -- the search party. the desolated limit that surrounded town always gave her the chills, for reasons unknown to her. she’d swallow her fear deep down and only felt it coming back up to choke her when staring down at her palms and finding the flourishing half-moons riddling her skin. joan could not identify what would be worse -- to find whatever was left of abigail (in a state, joan supposed, would send her running for the hills) or to not find the woman at all. 

     the more she soldiered on through a place that seemed lost in the clouded annals of history, joan began to hope for the worst. she’d long strayed away from her father’s periphery ( in all senses ). fairytales once forbidden in her home about siblings snatched by witches or little girls taunted by wolves came to live in her head, and in the deceitful shadows cast by the foliage and tree trunks. looking up, she found herself letting out a soft, ever so noticeable gasp at the sight of someone else. then, joan furrowed, intrigue clear in her demeanor. 

   “am i... interrupting anything?”

[ofheresy-blog]

I bear a cross on me, I bear a god on me, of whom I’ve lost faith in a long time ago.

remnant-thoughts (via sweetcandirps)