#i will conjure up a kid who grew up in a basement SO hard

[rynezion]

no first character out of CC will ever survive the gauntlet of Actual Gameplay as we all know (especially if the game is determined to give you One Character Archetype to work with. deep sigh.) so—attempt two: twink necromancer (twinkromancer. necrotwinker...?)

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XLIV: Sting Ray

Exhaustion set in as soon as the form before us faded. Vague shapes of the people around me blurred further until they were just airbrushed silhouettes who swayed from side to side. They were both close to me while also being further away. Miles away, even as they stood in place, next to Sunny and I. Even without exhaustion, I would have felt the same, thanks to the high setting in.

“I can’t believe it’s over...”Sunny muttered as she puffed the last of her joint. I think we were all shaken by the experience, even if none of us were naive enough to believe we were rid of such a monster.

Before we were ready to move on, Remora stepped out in front of us and lowered herself down to one knee.

“Aw, are you about to propose to someone?” Sunny leaned in and teased. Remora looked up and tilted her head.

“...What?” She asked, perpetual confusion. “No. I just...well, I do have a proposition.”

“Well, out with it!” Sunny urged.

Remora lowered her head, then continued:

“I left you all at a time when I suspected we weren’t rid of the one who sought to harm us. Thus, I put you all in danger. For that, I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I tried to reassure her, “I don’t think any of us knew Cronus could conjure up a fog like that.”

“Even still...I left and I shouldn’t have. For so long, I wanted a home, some place I felt right in. Maybe this place wasn’t what I would have considered ‘home’ at first, but over time I found you guys to be important to me. Yet I left you all behind, because I was scared. Because I didn’t understand what you all meant to me. So, even though I know I have no right to ask this of you, I will do so anyway: may I be a part of your lives once more? If you refuse, we’ll part ways once we reach the surface and you’ll never have to see me again.”

We all stood in silence. Despite the haze which was taking over, I took the initiative and cleared my throat.

“Oh my. I wasn’t expecting this,” I remarked.

“I’m serious,” Remora replied.

I can’t do serious. Not when I’m starting to feel the buzz kick in.

“I know. It’s just that you should know by now that at least in my eyes, you’ve always got a home here.”

“Yeah, I don’t see why you’d need to worry about something like that,” Sunny added.

“Still,” Remora turned her head away from Sunny and I, “I want to make sure it’s okay with everyone.”

Tigershark stamped her feet as she marched up to Remora, then tapped her on the shoulder.

“I still don’t like that you used to kill people. That’s not a very nice thing to do. But the you that I know is a good person now, so that’s what matters to me. Besides, you’re still one of my precious older sisters!”

“I…” Remora sounded ready to object.

“If you don’t stay, I’m going to be mad, so you have that to think about!” Tigershark roared, hands on her hips.

“I guess I do, huh?” Remora chuckled a humorless chuckle, awkward smile to boot. Afterward, she turned her attention toward Demetria, to which, the rest of us did as well.

“What? Why’s everyone looking at me for?” Demetria stammered, then on the defensive, took a step back and crossed her arms, “what do you need my opinion for? It’s not my decision to make.”

“Everyone means everyone,” Remora told her, insisting on an answer.

“Sure...Yeah. Whatever.”

“Is no one gonna ask me how I feel?” Tigershark jumped up as she asked.

“How do you feel?” Sunny looked down to humor the child, still with enough energy to jump in place.

“Terrible! Thanks! This whole thing has been a nightmare! First, there was that other you,” Tigershark looked over at Remora, “who turned out to be a monster. Then we fight rock monsters. We’re all bleeding and getting hurt. Then we fight another guy who’s a monster and apparently he’s the one who killed my parents? It wasn’t a blizzard, but a scary guy? And now...I’m ready to wake up.”

“Aw, we’re sorry, dear,” Sunny pursed her lip.

“No, I agree, though,” rasped Demetria’s rough voice. Odd, ‘rough’ when I had known her to have more of a mouse-like voice. “What else could it be called other than a nightmare?”

She didn’t speak another word after that, opting instead to hobble her way closer to me, and further from Remora. It was remarkable, that even in my high state, I could notice such subtleties. As we made our worn-out strides out from the room of Cronus’ design, I noticed little pebbles fall into my messy black hair. I ruffled through my hair, trying to shake the flakes out, all while more fell onto my head.

Of course. This part of the tunnel is one of his own design. Once he’s faded away, so too do his illusions.

“Don’t mean to rush any of you all, but I think this place is about to collapse,” I dropped the hint, and being the smartypants that they were, they looked at each other, eyes bulging, then in a panic, began to pick up their pace.

“Demetria, if you find it hard to walk, you can hold onto the side of my suit,” I offered to her. She scowled, though the scowl dropped to a more relaxed frown. As if to say, “fine. If it comes to that, I’ll allow it.”

“Good, and Sunny,” I added, then turned to my wife, my life, “you can do the same with Remora. If either of you need to lean on each other, that’s totally fine,” I gave the thumbs up. Sunny winked.

It was more like a game of hopscotch than a race of peril. Really embarrassing, if I were to be honest. If I had thought to bring a video camera, or even just record them on my phone, I’d look at the footage of us running for our lives and I would laugh. As it stood, I didn’t have that luxury. Any reason to laugh had to be put on hold as my breaths grew short and shallow and the collapsing rocky ground continued to close in behind us. Its pace picking up alongside our own increasing pace.

Other short breaths followed my own as if the other four were a barbershop quartet with stage fright. Hell, with me alongside them, it may as well be a quintet.

Remora and Sunny were both tall ladies. Tigershark was somewhere. Demetria was not a tall lady and I was a Short King (OK. So actually, I am Average Man height. Like 5’7”-(on my good days) 5’9”. Probably). Together we made up a group of people trying to get by with our lives.

I felt a little pull against my arm sleeve. I looked down and saw the orange jelly bean, Tigershark herself, held on tight to my sleeve.

“Hey! Look at you! Good job!” I congratulated her as I tried to work up a smile. If not for myself, then for the kid. She still looked ready to cry. Maybe when we got back to the diner, I could make a cake. If we even still have enough ingredients. Dammit Cronus (because the fog, not because he stole our food, which in an indirect way, he may as well have).

“Fancy weather, innit?” Sunny tried up a Parisian accent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re underground,” Remora replied in a non-emotive shout, partially muffled by the rumblings around us.

Out the false tunnel and into the original tunnel as we slid our way through as the collapsing illusion. As it shut behind us and became a wall once more, it caused a miniature quake and had us all jump into place before we fell into the ground.

“Worst trampoline I’ve been on in a while,” I remarked as I rubbed my sore bum.

Tigershark was the first to stand back up and made cymbal crashing motions as she danced around with an angry chicken look on her face.

“When I get back, I’m going to bang pots and pans, because I deserve to!” She roared.

“Yeah, can’t argue there,” Sunny murmured. Then her and I laughed.

When we struggled back up and continued walking, I decided to break the ice:

“So, anything you wanna talk about?” I peered at the Demetria beside me. She didn’t say a word.

“Ah, the quiet game. I see,” then I turned to Remora who had a confused look on her face, but also said nothing. “You’re playing too, I see.”

“You’ll have to excuse my Ray of Sunshine, he’s a little high right now,” Sunny waved her hand around in a fanning motion.

“High?” Tigershark looked up. “What’s that mean?”

“He’s ascended,” Sunny then fluttered her hands to the side, like she was breaking out of her cocoon and becoming a beautiful moth fairy.

I tried to keep quiet. I knew I should. There were rules, and if all the world was a stage, then I was a character just as much as anyone else around me. Which meant, there were rules. One of those rules was that I was to stick to the established personality traits of my character. Any deviation was forbidden.

Oh, but much like someone who drank a gallon of tea needed to pee, if we walked through this long tunnel with neither Sunny nor I saying a word, I think I’d be in throbbing pain.

“A word,” Sunny took one for the team. “That’s all I’m going to say, though.”

Wow. Do we share the same mind?

“Thank you, dear,” I told her.

“Any time. Just remember: you’re my wife.”

I chuckled in response.

“I’m your wife, just as you are mine.”

“Wife and Malewife. We’re a gay male and female couple,” Sunny snapped her fingers and remarked.

“That’s what I’m saying!” I exclaimed in agreement.

Collective groans were made from the other three ladies.

Much of our trip back from then on was a blur, other than the fact that at one point, Demetria remarked, “gee, I bet everyone else back at the diner’s wondering what’s taking us so long.”

Although I was still a little outside of my mind, I let out a chuckle.

“Yeah, they’re probably thinking, ‘it can’t possibly take this long just to turn the lights back on’.”

Speaking of lights, as weary as we were, the sight of the bright, yellow glow flooded into view the closer we reached the entrance back into the basement. I looked beside me and saw Tigershark blink several times and rubbing her eyes. The others might have been just as astonished to see light again.

For my part, I was just hoping I had a spare pair of glasses somewhere once we got back up to the surface.

We walked through and everyone’s astonishment was voiced through low “ooh”, “aah,” and “wow.” While they all looked around, I couldn’t help but notice little red streaks on the otherwise clean floor.

No doubt from the fight that went on.

Everyone else made it up to the ladder before me. When it was my turn, I noticed some red marks upon the bars of the ladder. Whether blood or rust, I couldn’t tell. I just hoped they were dry enough that none of the others had gotten it on them. Even without getting it on them, one thing was certain: all five of us were due for a bath (but not at the same time).

Once I made my way up into the kitchen, I closed the hatch behind me. Sunny dropped to the floor, a wide grin on her face, then shot her arms up.

“Whee! Let’s do that again!” She cheered.

“NO!” The rest of us shouted in unison. It couldn’t be helped, of course. She was still riding that high, even if I was starting to come down.

I half-expected for someone, or a few someones, to bolt through the kitchen door and check in on us. When that didn’t come, I expected to hear commotion from the dining hall. Then, when that didn’t come, I just had to investigate. My heart beat like a dog would wag their tail at the prospect of a treat. Though replace ‘treat’ with ‘mystery’.

So I strolled, or strode, whichever suited my fancy, out into the dining hall where I saw the crowd...that wasn’t there. Yes, despite my poor vision, I still couldn’t believe my eyes at the emptiness of it all. There were still plates and messes on each table, signs that life had been there. But where they had gone, that was still a mystery.

Everyone else came out from the kitchen soon after me. Behind me, I heard Tigershark ask, “where did everybody go?”

Yes. Good question. Just how long were we gone? What could have happened in the meantime? Were they all hurt?

“That’s a good question, pipsqueak,” Demetria replied.

“Hey! Who you callin’ pipsqueak? In a few years, I’ll be taller than you!” Tigershark shouted back with ferocious fury.

“Man, I love you all,” Sunny drawled out, an adorable smile spread across her face.

“Uh. OK? Thanks?” Remora didn’t know how to respond.

Two things caught my attention: one, though outside looked fuzzy and dark, it did not look foggy. Which could only mean that the fog was lifted. The other thing I noticed were a few sheets of paper spread out on a nearby table. Ignoring their banter, I wandered over to the table. Each sheet had our names written on one side, with a series of text on the back. Although I couldn’t make out the individual words of our names, I could tell who was who by the individual letters shown and the vague shapes that made them up.

I chuckled at the absurdity of not even being able to read a simple letter.

I hope I have a spare pair of glasses somewhere.

“Hey guys,” I motioned for the others. It was my own little way of obfuscating from the fact that I couldn’t see what was written, “come check this out.”

The others scrambled on over and noticed the sheets of paper on the table, just as I had.

“They’re...letters?” Demetria blinked, astonished, and just a slight tinge of confusion.

“Man, oh man! This is too much!” Sunny held one hand over her face while the other held the sheet of paper, “she spelled it ‘hoomin’! Like Moomin, but with an ‘H’!”

“It’s Astraea!” Tigershark gasped as she read her letter, “she said that everyone else went to the hospital and she followed them there! Apparently there’s someone in particular she wants to see.”

“What does yours say, Demetria?” I turned to her as she parsed through the page. Before she answered, she folded up the paper and put it in her pocket.

“Nothing important,” she answered in a dry manner.

“Same here,” Remora added with a shiver and a shifty look.

Nervous, much?

“In that case,” I smiled, still trying to save face, “I’ll keep my letter private as well. They are meant for the individual, after all.”

“Aw, I wanted to know what yours said,” Tigershark whined. I pat her head and chuckled.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it later,” I suggested as a means to reassure her.

“...Heh...Hoomin,” Sunny mumured to herself and laughed a howling laughter.

Now that I think about it, she probably has less of a tolerance to that kind of stuff than I do.

I strolled over to each table and picked up each plate, ready to take it to the kitchen. As I held a stack in hand, I turned to the other four.

“Now, we’ve all had a long day, so how about we all relax? Go ahead, sit down, I’ll get you guys something to drink.

“I’ll take vodka,” Remora requested whilst lowering herself down to the booth next to her.

“What’s vodka?” Tigershark asked.

“Shitty alcohol,” Sunny answered, not seeming to care about the swear, “I’ll have whiskey, take it or leave it.”

“Both of those sound gross!” Tigershark stuck her tongue out. “I’ll just have some hot cocoa.”

“Whip or no whip?” I asked.

“Lots and lots of whip cream!” She roared and cheered, fist pumping into the air.

“How about you, Demetria?” I turned my attention to her and watched as she slumped over in her seat, next to Sunny, and sulked at the table.

“Coffee,” she stated, which I found interesting, as I never pictured her to be a coffee drinker. Then again, I didn’t know what kind of drinks she tended to like.

“And how do you take your coffee?”

“Orally.”

Her response left me no choice but to make my expression as dull as hers as I teased, “oh, really? And here I thought you took yours rectally.”

“Wha...no. I mean, black, I guess.”

Sunny cackled into a thunderous laughter and slammed her fist on the table, which shook the poor thing every which way.

Sheesh. It’s like I’ve got my own laugh track. Thanks hun.

As I worked my magic in the kitchen, washing dishes and preparing drinks, I thought it over and decided that what Sunny really needed was water. As for everyone else, it went over just fine: I didn’t have to venture back down into the basement to get some vodka (thank goodness) as there was a bottle in the fridge. After I poured a shot, I filled another shot glass with water from the tap. Next, I brewed a pot of coffee, boiled a kettle of water on the stove, and as I waited for each one to heat up and fill up, I took off to the back of the diner to search for a pair of glasses.

There were none in my desk drawer. Next, I ascended to the upstairs bedroom. Sure enough, on the night stand, there was a box for glasses. I opened it up, half-fearing that it would be empty, but my heart fluttered upon seeing that there was indeed a pair for me.

Thank my lucky stars. Feels like things are finally starting to turn around.

As soon as I put them on, the world opened up to me.

“I can see clearly now the rain is gone,” I hummed and made my way back down.

Before I went back into the kitchen to prepare the final three drinks, I unfolded the paper and read its contents. For the sake of posterity, I will transcribe it without so many spelling errors (trust me, just about every word was misspelled):

Dear Ray,

Thank you a lot for letting me be a waitress. I appreciate what you taught me about humanity, just as much as I do with the things Sunny and Tigershark have taught me. Tigershark is my friend, you know. Also, I liked asking people what food they wanted to eat. I learned so many names of foods.

I think we’re a lot alike, because we’re both curious about things. It’s good, I think, because there’s always more to learn. While I didn’t understand what was going on at the time, I know a lot of people weren’t doing too good and you looked a bit sad. But I think even if bad things happen, you’re still very nice. I also want to be very nice! But I think I like tricking people too. That’s fun (Tigershark taught me about tricking).

As for how I managed to write all this after everyone went to the hospital it’s because I can write fast (Tigershark taught me to read and write). I’m very fast! Maybe not running but I can do things fast!

Also everyone left because someone called the doctor and the doctor mobile picked them up. I was in my room but I heard that someone fell over. It sounded interesting, so I’m going to walk to the hospital now. I might come back, but it also might take me a lot of days. I can’t always tell where I’m going.

P.S. I think you would like Animal Crossing. Tom Nook is kind of like you. He’s a nice man and maybe human.

I smiled and folded the paper back up, placed it into my desk, and strolled back into the kitchen. There were still some missing pieces, some gaps that needed to be filled in, but I’m sure they would be explained in time.

Actually, I’m growing a little impatient on that front.

After pouring in the hot cocoa mix into the boiling water, I stirred it. Then I filled it sky high with whipped cream. The coffee was easy, since it was all automatic. Really, needed no explanation. As for my tea, I chose a nice cup of ceylon and jasmine tea, and let it steep. While it sat, I decided to call up Dr. Cole-Slaw. To my surprise, she answered right away.

“Ray! You better have a good explanation for all this!” She huffed into the phone, clear annoyance rang through her voice.

“I’m sorry, Shir – Doctor, but I was hoping you could give me one. I was away while everything went down. One moment, I was attending to business in the basement, the next, all my patrons are gone.”

“Are you aware what ‘DOA’ means?” She asked, a little ‘tsk tsk’ in her tone.

“Yeah. Of course. I’ve been a wanted man in a few cities.” That was a joke. I wasn’t as popular as some might have believed me to be.

“Dead on arrival, smartass. One of your friends, Xena Warrior Princess over here, called me to go retrieve a dead body. Is this some kind of practical joke?”

Dead body? What?

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. I don’t know anything about that. Also, Xena Warrior Princess?”

“I dunno, purple sword lady.”

“Wendy. I don’t think she’d appreciate being called that.”

“Oh, no, she does. I ran it by her first. She said it’s quite amusing. Anyway, care to explain?”

Still the same Shirley, I see. Still...this is concerning.

“Trust me, I’d love to. I’ve buried a couple of people outside of the diner, but there shouldn’t be any corpses inside.”

“Excuse me? There’s more? Have you gone off the deep end, Ray? I know you’ve done some questionable stuff, but I didn’t know you had it in you to be an ax murderer.”

“It’s nothing like that. Look,” I slid back from the counter, “I’ll tell you what I’ve been dealing with for the past year: there’s been a terrible fog, maybe you’ve seen it? Maybe not. But there’s been monsters in the fog attacking people and I’ve been sheltering as many people as I could, trying to keep everyone alive on what limited supplies we had.”

“No offense, but I’ve got a hard time believing that.”

“Maybe it’s better that you don’t. I’d rather it wasn’t real, myself. But as you could see, it’s been lifted. For equally supernatural reasons, I presume.”

I got to thinking about all that I’ve endured the past year. All that we’ve endured. How all that time, I never bothered to learn the names of the people I sheltered. It was just as Aurora said. Perhaps if I had gotten to know everyone, I would have figured out Sister Cecilia’s identity sooner. I would have figured out Captain Aca...okay, that one was obvious. But still, I wished that I had a stronger bond with the others. Maybe then I might have had higher spirits.

“Say, do you know who it was you picked up?”

“No, sorry. But your cohort seems to have an idea. I’ll put her on the line. She’s agreed to mop the hospital floors while she’s here. I figure it’s a fair enough deal since I ended up hauling off a whole crowd of people.”

“Great. Do it.”

“Oh, and by the way, our little Jane Doe’s still breathing. For now, anyway. She’s in, uh, not good condition, but it’s something.”

“What a relief. Wait, I thought you said dead on arrival?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t say arrival to the hospital. I’m a genius, I know,” she gloated.

“OK, let me hear from Wendy.”

She passed the phone on over, then I heard Wendy’s raspy yet sly voice.

“Hey, Ray, guess who I’m with at the hospital right now?” She posed the question.

“Are you going to tell me?” I wasn’t really in the mood for guessing, nor did I have enough information on hand to do so. “I know they’re a woman, that’s about it.”

“Hmm…” she lingered on that last ‘m’, “have you taken a look in the mirror since you got back? I do take it you’re back, and not just calling me from underground.”

“No, I haven’t. I should get on that, but I’m busy preparing drinks for the other four.”

“You sure sound exhausted, that’s for sure. I bet you look just as bad as you sound right now,” she suggested.

“Probably. I just sound this way because I’m coming down from a high, but we all need our rest. Now, since you’re not going to tell me about this mystery patient, will you at least tell me what went on while I was away?”

“Aw, you’re no fun. But sure. Basically about a minute or two after you went down, the lights flickered back on and we were all excited. I told everyone to temper their excitement, as we still don’t know what to expect. What a statement that turned out to be, as maybe a little more than an hour later, we hear someone coming back up. Some of us got all giddy, thinking it was you guys, but instead walks out this woman none of us recognized. Well, some of us thought we did, but I’m not gonna name names. She fell down once she saw us, but not before saying something, I think it was, ‘that’s all, folks’ in a weak voice.”

“Someone besides us was down in the basement?” My heart skipped a beat. I knew there was that impostor, and later on Cronus, but I didn’t think there would be anyone else. “Did she sneak down there and hide or something?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. I’m as lost as you are on that front. But I’ll say this: upon seeing her face, I flew into a panic. I shouted for someone to call a doctor. Others thought it was ridiculous, but then we saw that the fog was gone and that was when we all wanted a doctor. Someone had the number to your good friend, Cole-Slaw, and she was happy to come out and get us all.”

Something tells me she wasn’t very happy at all, but let’s put that aside.

“Speaking of coleslaw, what’s the deal with it? You put mayonnaise on radishes and lettuce or something and for some reason that’s supposed to taste good?”

“Any other time, I’d love to talk about what constitutes as food, but I’m just a little beat.”

“I get you. I think even I would be, given what you all must have gone through. But hey, now we’ve got clear skies. That’s something to celebrate, no?”

“Yeah. Maybe in the morning I can get a good view outside. As it is, it’s just a little too dark for my liking. But anyway, I should go,” but before I did, I got to thinking, “oh, and hey: if this mystery patient manages to make it, I’d like to meet her in person. Maybe you can invite her back to the diner and Tigershark and I will treat her to a nice meal. How’s that sound?”

“Sure thing, Ray. We’ll see.”

There was a great list of things to look forward to, and that just became one of them. But anyway, I needed to deliver everyone their drinks before the hot drinks turn cold and the cold drinks turn warm. So once I ended the call, I brought out each of the drinks on a platter and strode out into the dining hall.

“Here you go, ladies,” I set down each drink onto the table. Sunny, without hesitation, downed her shot.

“Damn,” she wiped her mouth, “that’s the best whiskey I’ve ever had.”

I suppose the irony may have been that it would have been easier to mistake water for vodka than it would be whiskey, but since she was still riding a high, perhaps it was just a little hard to tell.

Tigershark sipped on her hot cocoa, a little whipped cream mustache forming above her lips.

I, meanwhile, too my seat at the booth just behind them. It wasn’t a matter of isolating myself from the others. No, I just liked to listen in as an outsider while I took comfort in the solitude.

“It really has been over a year. How old are you now, Demetria?” Remora asked, working up her best kind voice.

“Twenty-four,” Demetria replied and shrugged whilst sipping her coffee.

“Aw, man! That means I missed your birthday!” Remora then complained.

“Uh, yeah? That’s what being away for over a year means.”

“Still, it’s good to see you,” Remora smiled and continued to try to lighten the mood.

“It is? Why?”

“Because I’ve missed you.”

“No you didn’t. You just missed the attention.”

“That’s not true…” Her voice turned desperate, before lowering it.

“Sorry. That was maybe too harsh of me,” Demetria looked away as she mentioned.

“No, you’re right.”

Demetria got up from her seat, took the coffee cup, chugged it down, then announced, “I’m going to my room.”

She walked off a couple of paces, then turned back.

“Don’t worry, Ray. I’ll wash out my mug before I go.”

She walked a couple of paces once again, almost to the kitchen, then turned back once more.

“Actually, I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll go to my room.”

I couldn’t help myself, perhaps a tad insensitive of me, but I cupped one hand over my mouth and called out to her.

“Actually, you’ll go through the hallway, then take a shower, then go to your room!”

She twitched, it seeming to strike a nerve, but then just said, “yeah…”

I then saw Tigershark, still with her whipped cream mustache, look over with an incredulous face, then turn back to Remora.

“What was that for?! We just got back and she’s already got an attitude?” Tigershark thew her hands up.

“It’s because of me,” Remora turned somber and stared down as she explained, “the whole reason why she left last time, and why I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I told her that I didn’t, and couldn’t care about her. Or anyone. I really thought that at the time, too. She didn’t take it well, which...understandably so. So I tried to bargain with her, and...that made it worse, because I panicked and I wasn’t feeling well, just recovering from being sick, which probably contributed to the whole thing. So...I can’t blame her for being wary around me.”

“Well, that’s stupid! You care about us, right?” Tigershark was incensed and poised for a rant.

“Yeah, but it took a long time to figure that out.”

Interesting. I never thought I’d hear her say that. Perhaps in her absence she went through a long journey of self-discovery and probably has many stories to tell of her adventures.

“So? Just tell her that.”

“It’s not that simple…”

“Yeah it is. You just told me.”

“I’m sure she’d want me to prove it, and I don’t know how to.”

“That’s dumb too! And I’m sure you missed us, too! Also, what’s wrong with wanting attention? Who says you can’t miss people and want attention at the same time? Attention is good.”

“You don’t get it. You’re just a kid.”

“So what? What’s that got to do with anything? I’ll have you know, I’m eleven now!”

“Wow. I’m gone for over a year and all of a sudden everyone’s a year older,” Remora muttered. It was almost like she was making an observation, but to anyone else, it may have come off as sarcasm.

She looked out the window, listless, then peered her head over to where I was; to be honest, I was a little caught off guard that she would notice me, given that I was just there sipping my tea and listening in to everyone else.

“I’m going to my room, too, and, uh, Ray?” Remora announced.

“Yes?” I addressed her.

“Your wife’s asleep at the table.”

“Ah. Thank you. I suppose it’s time we get some rest. In the morning I’ll make us all a large meal, how does that sound?” I offered.

“I can do it! You’re still hurt pretty bad!” Tigershark shot her hand up.

“Very well. I’ll leave it to you, then,” I gave a light chuckle as I got up from my seat, took one last sip of my tea, and led Sunny up, first by tapping on her back.

“Come on, hun. It’s time we got ourselves to bed,” I coaxed as I helped lift her up.

“Boobas…” She murmured in a half-asleep daze. She must have been dreaming about bubble tea or something.

“Yes, dear. I understand quite well.”

We stumbled our way to the back, then up the stairs to our room. She rubbed her eyes a bit, but rather than start to wake up, as soon as we were next to our bed, she collapsed right into it. I followed suit.

The following morning, I fumbled getting my glasses back on, surprised that I had slept without taking them off, and my head almost crushing them while asleep. Once I had conquered that battle, it was time to...well, check the time. My phone read 5:31 AM, and as early as it was, I accepted it and forced myself out of bed.

As I got up, I felt the intense soreness of yesterday’s struggle. What a terrible and aching physical reminder it was. It got worse when I went down and took a shower; the hot water stung against the wounds on my sides and on my face. After getting myself dressed, I headed to my desk in the middle of the hallway and sat down. Yes, it may have been wiser to have brewed another cup of tea, or perhaps, dare I say, coffee, but I just wanted to sit and think for a little while.

What a day yesterday. For better or worse, we all made it back, and the diner is once again empty save for the five of us. While I do hope to get some customers sooner or later, I must say that I enjoy the quiet. We’ve all earned it. Now, even if some things may be different in terms of everyone’s personalities, if we are getting back to business as usual, then I ought to make a phone call.

The downside is that based on our timezones, Cybele would probably still be asleep.

I know. I’ll just send a text.

Me: It’s safe now. You can return if you’d like.

I set my phone down on the table, then almost jumped out of my seat upon seeing Remora seated across from me. Her serious expression made whatever she was there to say seem urgent.

“So, I just had a dream that we were all on a battlefield and then Demetria died and I got sad, so there’s no denying it now: I’ve got a crush on her.”

I matched her dull expression with my own.

“Remora, it’s like 6 AM,” I informed her.

“Is it? I don’t have my phone with me, so I can’t really tell the time. Anyway, I don’t see what that has to do with the dream I had, so quit beating around the bush and tell me what you think.”

Is this really all I’m good for?

“It doesn’t really sound like a crush,” I shrugged, figuring she wouldn’t give up staring until I gave her an answer, “it just sounds normal. You’d be sad if I died, wouldn’t you?”

She paused. Didn’t say a word. I let it linger for a few seconds longer, then I couldn’t help myself.

“What?! No answer?!” I spat out.

“I’m still tired,” she replied, “I have to think about this.”

I was still just a little baffled, but I let it go.

“Even if it turns out you haven’t developed a crush, like you theorize, I can still tell you’ve discovered some things about yourself, so I commend you for that. Maybe later we can discuss some of the things you’ve learned.”

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s a crush,” Remora dismissed, as if she didn’t even listen to what I had to say, “but I’m going to deny it, because I already know a relationship wouldn’t work out.”

“I agree. As it stands, I don’t think either of you are ready for such things. Besides, I know how she used to be, but do you think that’s something she wants now?”

“What? That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say, ‘go for it, what do you have to lose? You only live once, et cetera’.”

“I’m agreeing with something you said. Isn’t that good enough?”

“We’re friends, right, Ray?”

I put my palm over my head.

“Yes, Remora. We’re friends.”

“So you’ll tell me anything I wanna hear, right?” She closed her eyes, crossed her arms, and smiled.

“That’s not how that works.”

“I know, but can’t you just pretend?” Her smile lowered and she pleaded.

“OK. What do you want to hear?” I humored her.

She just slammed her head against the desk and groaned.

“Ugh...I don’t know. What should I do?”

“First you should get your head off my desk,” I instructed. She didn’t, at least not at first.

“Ugh...you’re so mean, Ray,” she whined before lifting her head.

“Now, you should go back to bed. You clearly need some rest.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” she blinked, her face back to the blank expression I was used to seeing on her. “What are you doing up so early, anyway?”

“I’m just sitting and thinking. I like to do it sometimes.”

“Wow. That’s such an old man thing to do. You’re not that old yet, you know,” she pointed out.

“Don’t you ever do that?”

“Only when I need to.”

“Well, then, I think you need to do some of that after you’ve gotten a little more rest. You said yourself after we got back last night that the reason she’s acting the way she is around you is because of what happened before you left over a year ago. So don’t you think that should be addressed first before any prospect of a relationship?”

“Hm. Yeah. OK. Back to bed I go.”

A few hours later, Tigershark had made pancakes with strawberry syrup for everyone. She, Sunny, and I sat together while Remora and Demetria sat alone in booths at opposite ends of the diner silence.

“So, I was thinking, hun, how we don’t really charge people for meals most of the time,” Sunny brought up in between bites of the fluffy pancakes.

“Yeah. We used to a few years ago, but there’s been many changes since then,” I replied.

“Right. But you don’t mind that we don’t charge, do you?” She pondered.

“I suppose not.”

“So I’ve got a couple of ideas: we could turn this place into a hotel and start charging. If we hire more staff, then it shouldn’t be all that stressful managing all those people. Yeah, we had to house many people already and it was awful because of the circumstances, but if people can go in and out, then it should be fine.”

“It would cost a lot of money to expand this space in order to accommodate,” I pointed out.

“Right. My other idea is: why do we need to be a business at all? Like, sure, the front half is pretty much designed like a business, but there’s nothing saying we have to. We get by just fine on our own as it is. So maybe we could provide free meals to anyone who comes in and advertise that.”

“So basically what we’ve already been doing, but announce it?”

“Yeah!”

“I won’t rule it out. Not sure if I really want the attention, but it’s an option.”

“What do you think, Tigershark?” Sunny turned to the kid.

“Hmm...oh! You could do both! Make it like a free hotel!”

I put my palm over my mouth and chuckled.

“So like a homeless shelter, but fancy...not bad, not bad. Still would be expensive to see it through, but it seems like the kind of thing Wendy would approve of. Not to mention, just like with the previous hotel idea, we’d have to hire more staff, and even if they’d live here with us, they’ll probably want to get paid for their labor.”

“Oh! Have you heard from Wendy?” Tigershark asked.

“Yeah, I talked to her last night. She’s doing fine. Just hanging out at the hospital.”

“That idea…” Sunny scratched her chin. “Tigershark, you’re a genius! It’s easy! We make lots of money by taking on requests again!”

“That’s one way...but then there’s the chance of Cronus striking at any moment. Sheesh, everything’s become so complicated.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something, hun,” Sunny reached across the table and gave me a pat on the shoulder. When she sat back down, I felt my phone begin to ring. I picked it up and saw that it was Cybele.

“Oh my Goddess! This is the best day ever!” Cybele gushed over the phone, her excitement at maximum capacity.

“Is it really?” I chuckled.

“Yes! I can’t wait! I’m going to head back on over right away! Oh, but what should I do about the big house? Should I sell it? Should I give it to a homeless person? Oh, but if I do that, then they wouldn’t be able to afford to pay utilities, so that wouldn’t be very fair.”

“You can sell the house, then give the money to a homeless person,” I suggested.

“Yes! Brilliant! Thank you so much, Ray!” She hung up right after, without so much as a goodbye.

“Who was that?” Sunny asked.

“Cybele. She’ll be coming back soon,” I informed her.

“Awesome! We’re getting the band back together!”

“Band? What band?” Tigershark looked at the both of us, turning her head back and forth.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I explained.

After breakfast, Tigershark and I tended to the dishes. Once we had finished, I headed back to Sunny and I’s bedroom so I could fetch myself a book to read. We had an extensive collection along multiple bookshelves, enough that if we expanded the space just a bit more, we could have ourselves our own little library.

After much deliberation, I decided to settle on a collection of Akutagawa’s short stories. His tales were amusing, if nothing else, so it should at least pass some time away.

As I made my way back downstairs, I heard some commotion between Remora and Demetria.

“We need to set boundaries! So you stay at your end of the hallway, and I’ll stay at mine!” Demetria shouted whilst holding a stick of chalk.

“But the bathroom is on your end of the hallway and sometimes I have to pee. Also, what about showering?” Remora stated her case.

“You’ll have to get creative! We’re not good around each other, and this is a good solution!”

I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, then turned to the two.

“Hey Demetria, I need to cut something, so can I borrow one of your knives?” I asked.

She looked up at me, blinked, then dug into her pocket.

“Uh, sure, here.”

I took her knife and held it up, making a slashing motion into the air.

“Yep. It’s just as I thought. The tension in the air’s so thick that you have to cut through it with a knife.”

“What?!” Demetria stomped her foot at my little theatrics. I handed her knife back to her, then smudged out the chalk line on the floor with my foot. She, of course, took issue with that. “Hey! What are you doing? I’m setting boundaries, here!”

“You’re acting like a child, is what you’re doing.”

“Am not! She started it!” Demetria pointed at Remora. I faced Remora, who then backed away a step.

“I was just trying to talk things out with her, but I understand wanting space and I’m willing to compromise, but please let me take a shower sometimes,” Remora pleaded.

“There’s the bathroom in the dining hall,” I explained, “but yes, there’s no reason to restrict what bathroom you use. That’s just ridiculous.”

“First off, when she tried to talk things out, she just made things worse,” Demetria was still going at it.

“Look, I’m fine if you guys fight with each other, but can you two not take up so much space? Sit down at a table, or go to a room and go at it there,” I told them.

“I don’t want to go at it with her, I just want us to coexist,” Remora explained.

“We can’t coexist! We’re not good around each other!” Demetria shot back.

I shook my head. This was really trying my patience.

“Maybe you’re right,” I relented.

“Ha!” Demetria gloated.

“What I mean is, if you two can’t get along, you both can leave. We don’t need any of this bickering.”

“What?! You can’t do that! I was here first!” Demetria protested.

“Technically speaking, Remora was here first,” I pointed out.

“Well I came back first!”

“Well, I’m...uh...taller?” Remora interjected in an absentminded fashion.

You do realize this isn’t a competition, right?

“I’m serious. Get along or else,” I reiterated.

“But we can’t get along!” Demetria whined.

“...You won’t have to. I’ll be in my room, so, there should be no issues,” Remora stated, then walked away back to her end of the hallway. Even if she didn’t look like one, the image of a sad little puppy conjured up.

Once she entered into her room and closed the door behind her, I turned to Demetria.

“Anything you would like to drink? Tea? Coffee?” I offered. She looked up, confused, but answered.

“Espresso?”

“Very well. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll make you some.”

I brewed a cup of espresso, then set it down for her and sat across from her at the booth.

“What gives? First you say I’m acting like a kid, and now you’re rewarding me?” She asked after taking a sip.

I smiled before I spoke.

“I figured ‘let’s have a drink’ would sound less like you were in trouble than ‘let’s have a talk’.”

“I see. It was a clever ruse.”

“Not really. So, care to tell me what I missed?”

“Nothing much,” she scoffed, “she just came up to me and said she was sorry and that she’s started to feel things. I didn’t get it and I still don’t. She asked me if we could be friends, at least until she figured things out.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I asked if it was even possible for her to be friends with someone.”

“Don’t you think that was a bit harsh? It may have hurt her feelings.”

“Does she even have feelings?”

Can you not tell?

“Sure she does,” I answered, “maybe she doesn’t express them in the same way that you do, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t. I don’t know, but I’m thinking she’s started to figure that out as well.”

“I’m sorry, then,” she muttered, then slumped her head down onto the table. I wanted to get her head off the table, but...I let it slide.

“I don’t need any apologies.”

“Well, she said in response to that, ‘I don’t know, but I’d like to try’ and so I gave in and said that I guess I could do that much. It’s just, what does she mean?”

“I think she means that she’d like to be friends?”

“But what does that mean to her? Can I really do that? It’s not like I really know what to do with friends either. I’ve never been good at that kind of stuff.”

“In that case, maybe it will be a good learning experience for both of you.”

“Why...why does anything have to be a learning experience?” She grunted, “I don’t want any more learning experiences. That’s not what I came here for. I don’t even want to like her anymore.”

“Don’t want to?” I questioned.

“That’s...you get what I mean.”

I do. It’s just that you’re trying to convince me that you didn’t say what you meant.

“Demetria,” I commanded, “what is it that you want?”

She looked up, leaned back toward the window, and looked out.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Because you don’t have to be her friend if you don’t want to. It wouldn’t be right if you forced yourself to, would it?”

“Look: I came back to protect you guys. She wasn’t on my mind at all. I did everything I could to get her off my mind and just move on with my life, but I couldn’t bear the thought of the rest of you in a dangerous situation beyond your control. So if for nothing else, I wanted to return for that.”

“And I thank you for that. Seeing as the cat’s out of the bag, I think it’s fair to say you know what I think of you.”

“But I wish I didn’t have to be in disguise to hear it.”

“Yes, but I’m telling you now: we all like you. Tigershark likes you, even if she might like to pick on you sometimes. Sunny took a liking to you right away.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your wife from you,” she replied and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not what I meant, but I’m amused that you took it that way.”

She puffed her cheeks and scowled. I felt like getting a needle and popping one of her cheeks, though I doubted it would pop like a balloon.

“We’re all happy to see you back, don’t get me wrong. But you should have known that there was a chance of her coming back as well.”

“Really? I thought she didn’t care about anyone.”

“Oh, come now,” I flashed a toothy smile, “and I thought you knew better than to take people’s words at face value.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She turned to face me.

“Figure it out yourself.”

Again, she puffed her cheeks. I wasn’t going to spell it out for her, but I figured an elaboration was in order.

“Don’t get me wrong, even if she was how she was just a couple of years ago, she’d have justified it by saying ‘I’m only doing this because it’s my mess and I need to clean it up’ or something to that effect. But how is that any different than ‘I only came back to protect you guys?’”

“It’s plenty different! What? You saying I’m a liar? It was a big motivating factor! If I never heard that you guys were in trouble, I probably would have never returned. That would have been that. Like I said, I wanted to move on with my life.”

“I don’t want to put words in your mouth. You say you came back to bail us out, I believe you. And so you did and we are thankful, so now there’s nothing stopping you from moving on with your life.”

“Uh, yeah there is. Cronus is still out there and he could come back any time. What then?”

For a moment, I had forgotten that whole matter. Oh, such sweet ignorant bliss.

“It’s true he really had us on the ropes. Drove me to the point of despair, took lives right in front of me, all for the sole purpose of wearing me down. But if the same incident were to happen again, even more hopeless this time, I want to maintain compassion just to spite him. I want to learn everyone’s names, that way even if their lives end up lost to his petty game, at least they would be remembered. However, now that we have more knowledge at hand, going forward it will be that much easier to prepare. What I’m saying is that while there’s no guarantee, you shouldn’t have to hinder your future for our sake.”

“You wouldn’t be hindering my future,” she muttered.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because if it’s something that I chose to do, then it’s on me.”

“I see. I’m just saying, you can choose to do other things. It’s true that there are times situations are out of one’s control, but you’re crafty in ways that even surprise me sometimes. If you need support, I could try and assist you in any way. Even if there’s something you want to do and you can’t achieve it, I’m just saying that I want you to have the option of trying.”

“Thanks,” she replied, then let out a dejected sigh, “she’s going to be disappointed. I’m not the same person she remembers.”

“So what? Why worry about disappointing her?”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, if she’s expecting things to go back to how they were before, she’s setting herself up for disappointment.”

“I think it goes without saying that we’ve all changed since we’ve last seen each other, but now I’m curious: how exactly have you changed?”

“First of all, I finished school. I can be a marine biologist if I want to now.”

“Good job. I’m proud of you,” I gave a little clap, “if you want to be a marine biologist, you should. There are many benefits to being a marine biologist. If you want to stay in the area, you can find an aquarium to work at and visit here from time to time. We could talk about how your job’s treating you, and how life’s been, and we can both share a good laugh.”

“I just don’t know. I didn’t get it because I want to be a marine biologist. I wanted to, once, but I don’t know. I didn’t finish school because I wanted to finish school, either, but because I didn’t want it to go unfinished.”

“So perhaps it was a pride thing less than interest?”

She either laughed or scoffed. It was hard to tell.

“Yeah. Might have been something like that. I...also killed a few people.”

That took me aback. Though not appalled, just surprised. But given where we were at, who she was talking to, she should have known that there wouldn’t be any moral condemnation.

“You and Remora have something in common, then.”

“Is this a joke to you?” She rasped.

I smiled and shook my head.

“No. At least not one I benefit from laughing at.”

“I didn’t enjoy it.”

“I doubt she enjoyed killing, either. She was just conditioned to treat it as a chore or routine. Just another assignment.” However…

“That said,” I continued, deciding not to keep my thought to myself, “there is a certain thrill she gets from intense fights, hunts, perilous situations. It may not be that she enjoys pain. Whether it be inflicting or receiving. But...it’s a rush that’s hard to satiate.”

Demetria gulped, as if she knew what I meant. Sensing that she was afraid to speak, I continued once more:

“There are things that she was conditioned to believe about herself, things that she’s told herself, that she’s had to unlearn. Then after that, there’s learning new beliefs in its place. I can’t imagine it’s easy. I’d say it’s probably been scary for her, as well, and in that process of challenging such old mindsets, she’d resist them. Maybe she’s changed since then, and she’s not the person you first had a crush on and maybe you’ve changed and you’re no longer the person she was hoping to see again, but even if that’s the case and things can’t work out between you two, I think you should still have a talk with her.”

“About what?”

I snorted, then coughed up a laughter. It wasn’t like she said anything funny, nor did it warrant a laugh, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Anything. Just say anything to clear the air. Even if nothing’s resolved after, at least it would be better than avoiding each other. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you have to, nor do you need to do it right away. If you need time, if you don’t feel ready, that’s fine. But I do think it should happen sometime.”

“It’s going to be hard to face her,” she replied, and some of the edge in her voice had diminished, in its place an aching timbre.

“I can imagine.”

“What if we try to talk, but then I snap or lash out and that just makes things worse between us?”

I shrugged.

“I’d rather than not be the case, but at least then you’d have made an effort. Forty percent is better than zero, y’know?”

“Sounds like a wasted effort if it still ends in failure.”

“No effort is wasted, dear.”

She got up from her seat without another word. Her face looked a little more relaxed, though I wondered how much that had to do with the talk and how much it had to do with the caffeine. Then again, there’s the possibility that giving her so much caffeine would have done the opposite of relaxed her and make her unable to sleep, so...my god, why did she want that? Why not some relaxing herbal tea?

After dusk, Tigershark made tartiflettes for everyone with buttered sweet rolls on the side. Again, Sunny, Tigershark, and I sat together, while the other two (no need to name names) sat far away from each other at opposite ends of the diner. Both were thankful for their meals, but they remained fixated on the food in front of them, not on anyone else, let alone each other.

Once that was said and done, I walked back to my desk, gathered up papers, and examined any possible requests or avenues in which to make money through unethical means. Just me, a middle aged man, sorting through papers. As if that was what my life had been reduced to. Even with my glasses on, the words all seemed to just bleed into each other after a while. Every little option or scheme carried with it some kind of risk, and balancing risk and reward...man, it was a stress and a half.

I reached into my drawer, hoping for a joint, but none were to be found.

Sunny must have taken them. She might even be getting higher than a hot air balloon in outer space right now. Lucky her. Can’t really blame her, either. To quote a certain little nun, we all ‘went through hell.’

Going back over to the stack of papers, I looked up and saw Demetria emerge from her room and saunter (maybe ‘saunter’ wasn’t the right word choice, but she couldn’t stop me from describing her movements that way) through the hallway. She caught my gaze and turned her head.

“You said it didn’t have to be right away, but better now than never,” she told me, before crossing the threshold into the other end of the hall.

I expected that she would have knocked on Remora and Tigershark’s door (I didn’t know where the kid was, at the moment. My suspicion was in the kitchen, either cleaning up, or baking treats for herself). Instead, I watched as before she could get to the door, she bumped her head on an invisible wall. I heard her hiss, “ow,” then slide her back down against the wall until she sat, legs folded up, and her head down.

“Figures you would put up a literal wall. You’re not really one for metaphors,” she muttered, “then again, at least you’re direct. Here I’ve been trying to keep you out of my mind and avoid you to little success.”

I figured after saying that, she’d get up and go back to her room, given that it didn’t seem to be the right time. Props to her, though. She was a persistent one.

“Funny how that works, huh? I started out all obsessed with you. I wanted you, or at least I thought I did. Well, I’m pretty sure I did. I had all sorts of fantasies you probably wouldn’t want to hear about. Somewhere around the line those fantasies faded and in their place, I just wanted to know you better. Even then, though, I was still pretty attached, and I still think I wanted you to notice me, more than anything else. Now…” She shook her head, “Ha. You don’t need the whole recap.”

She folded her arms over her legs. It was like she was trying to cradle herself, but she remained still and just held on tight.

“You probably can’t hear any of this. That’s fine, too. Maybe it’s better sometimes to talk to myself and pretend there’s someone else listening. I’d do it more often, but I don’t like the sound of my own voice.”

I watched as the illusion shattered, the wall must have come down, and in its place, Remora sat at the opposite end of Demetria, in the same position. To boot, her back was against Demetria’s.

“I only caught the last bit,” Remora spoke up, “what was the rest of it?”

Demetria, startled, but regained composure within the same sentence, replied, “I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“That’s fine. But what are you doing on the floor?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I guess just to try to work something out. Figure out where to go from here.”

“Well, you don’t have to believe me, but I’m glad.”

“I’ll choose to believe you – but only because if you aren’t, it doesn’t really affect much, but if you are, then it makes things a little better.”

“But what if you believe me, but then it turns out not to be true?”

“Dammit. Why do you have to ruin this?”

“I just want to cover all the bases.”

Demetria huffed, then answered, “I think I’ll choose to believe you anyway. I know how I’ve been since we got back, but I really would like us to be on good terms as well.”

“Do you mean that?”

“What? Now you’re doubting me?”

“No. It’s just that if you didn’t want to, I’d have understood.”

“Well...when you asked about being friends, it really caught me off guard. For one, the last time the subject came up, it was how you said you could pretend if I wanted, but it wouldn’t be real. When you brought it up this time, it was ‘at least until I figure myself out’. Which means that maybe after a while, you’ll come to the conclusion that you don’t want to be.”

“I know. It’s a risk. One that you might not want to take. I can’t really say what conclusions I’ll come to or how things will turn out. But I prefer to be upfront about what’s on my mind and how I feel, and at the moment, how I feel is that I would like to try being friends with you. I think I’ve reached the point where I can say that whether it’s pretend or not is a moot point, because if I think of us as friends, then I’m going to treat it as real.”

“B-but...what does being friends even mean to you?”

There was a pause and Remora lifted her head up.

“I’m not sure. Friends are...friendly to each other? Well, that might go without saying. I know friends are people who like each other. Get along. But then there are friends who don’t get along. So I’m not sure. I feel like I should know, it just seems more vague when I try to put it into words.”

“Well,” Demetria replied, “that makes two of us. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, myself.”

“Then...we can not be good at it together,” Remora suggested. “Maybe we can both learn.”

“But how would we do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either.”

“See? We can not know together.”

“But how would we both be friends if we don’t know how to be friends? That just makes no sense.”

“I know. But I think if we were both in elementary school, we wouldn’t think so much about that sort of thing. One of us would just go up to the other and be like, ‘let’s be friends!’ And either the other would say, ‘yeah!’ Or say something like, ‘ew! Go away!’”

“That’s kind of a cute idea,” Demetria remarked, “if only we had met that way.”

“Hm. I don’t know. Even as a kid, I preferred to be left alone.”

“Oh. Yeah. Me too.”

“But now we’re adults and we’ve spent so much time wanting to be left alone that –”

“– you no longer want to be left alone?” Demetria suggested as she tried finishing that statement.

“Hm. No. I was going to say, ‘even if we have some friends, we don’t really know what it means.”

“Oh. I guess that’s true, too.”

“Yeah. But I like your answer better.”

“Yeah. But your answer applies to you and mine applies to me.”

“It’s kind of nice that way, though. Each different perspectives.”

“You know, when we talked earlier, and you asked me to hug you, it felt weird, but I said sure. So I held out my arms and walked up, but then you backed away and said you didn’t think you were ready after all and I didn’t take it well.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I wanted to, too. I’ve just never been comfortable with others touching me, and even if it would have been okay, I was still a little hesitant and nervous.”

“It’s okay not to be ready. I should know better. I was just hoping that things would be different.”

“They might be, in time.”

“You know, it’s still hard. Because I want to be friends with you, I do, and I feel like I should be happy about that, but then I just think about when we talked right before we both left and it hurts. Like, I was so convinced that we had gotten closer and that you cared, and hearing you say that you didn’t, I wanted it not to be true. But you pushed harder, and I just thought ‘maybe you’re right.’ Now you’re saying ‘I don’t know’ and it’s like, nothing’s really changed, has it?”

“You’re wrong there. I’m sorry about what I said and how it affected you and it makes sense that it would hurt, but you’re wrong in that nothing has changed. Before, I was so sure it was a ‘no’ and now I’m not so sure, but I’m more optimistic, and even leaning toward the possibility that it’s a ‘yes’. It just feels messy and gray.”

“I think I can understand that. To be honest, it’s going to be awkward. Us, as friends.”

“We’re awkward people, so it’s to be expected.”

“But at the same time, you might not like who I am now.”

“Maybe. But I’d rather find that out for myself. It’s only been a couple of days.”

“You’re taking this rather well,” Demetria remarked.

“Not really. I’m just taking it.”

“Well, I’m just saying, I’m different than how I used to be.”

“I’ve changed as well, you know.”

“How?”

There are many obvious things you could say, so what is it you’ll say? I wondered. Remora lowered her head, and when she answered, it wasn’t an answer I would have expected. But then again, it wouldn’t have been her if she didn’t throw a few curveballs in between her signature style.

“If I was the old me, and I still had that job, and you were the target, then I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Demetria spoke in what was like a half mix between a growl and a tease.

“You wouldn’t even see me coming.”

“I’d like to see you coming.”

...What?

“Well, maybe with how you are now, you would. But then, maybe with how I am now, I wouldn’t mind you seeing me coming.”

This is still about a hypothetical assassination, right?

“I suppose that’s how we’ve both changed, huh?”

“It’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

“So what are you thinking about now?” Demetria asked.

“How much I have to pee,” Remora answered. “That’s why I undid the barrier, so I could go to the bathroom, but then I saw you sitting there talking so I figured I’d hold it and sit too.”

“Oh my fuck. Just go to the bathroom.”

“But we’re in the middle of a conversation. It would be rude.”

“That doesn’t matter! We can continue when you get back!”

“But then you might lose your train of thought or I might not feel like talking anymore and just head to bed –”

This is ridiculous. I’m done eavesdropping. I should’ve just left my desk the moment they started talking. Why did they have to talk in the middle of the hallway, anyway?

I got up and headed out into the front of the diner. If those two had anything more to say, they could have at it. As for me, I went into the kitchen to check in on Tigershark.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I greeted after a knock with the back of my hand.

“I made cookie brownies!” She cheered, and I saw a large casserole dish filled with brownies.

“Oh, good. May I have one?” I asked.

“You may have two!”

She put two pieces on a saucer for me and had two on her saucer as well and she jumped down from the stool she stood on and we both walked out into the dining hall and sat at a booth together.

“Mm. Good job,” I complimented.

“Thanks. I was still hungry and sweets are sweet.”

“That they are. Just don’t have too many.”

“I won’t!” She scowled. “Maybe three. Or four. But that’s it.”

We both laughed together as we ate our brownies. Just a few minutes later, Sunny walked up. She looked (not) high, and her eyes were (not) bloodshot red. I suppose she might have moved the stash elsewhere and planned to smoke them some other time.

“Hey hun, you gotta come check this out!”

“What? I’m busy spending quality time with Tigershark,” I replied. And it’s quality time because I’m not hearing about bodily functions.

“I see that, but this is important!” She urged, and motioned us to come to the back with her. Tigershark and I hopped out from our seats and followed. When we reached the hallway, Sunny pointed and went, “aww” and Tigershark and I saw what the fuss was about: Remora and Demetria were asleep, leaned against the wall, and backs against each other.

“I guess that’s what happens when you hold it in for so long,” I remarked, then, realizing I had said that out loud, added, “emotionally, I mean.”

“Aww, so adorable,” Sunny continued fawning over the scene.

“How am I supposed to get to bed tonight? They’re blocking the way!” Tigershark complained.

“It’s okay, you can sleep with us tonight,” Sunny replied.

“Tigershark,” I turned to the child next to Sunny and I, “get the broom and dustpan. There’s something on the floor.”

“Don’t!” Sunny nudged me, “leave them be.”

“Tigershark,” I continued, “I give you full permission to draw on their faces with a sharpie.’

in response, Tigershark grinned and ran off to go find one. While she was gone, I turned to Sunny.

“So, shall we head off to dreamland as well?” I offered.

“Oh yes. Two tickets, please,” she replied and yawned for added measure. We locked arms with each other and strolled up the stairs. I’d like to say that in the coming days, the dynamic between everyone improved greatly, but the truth is, it was more like slow and drunken baby steps.

[your-dietician]

Billie Eilish and the Pursuit of Happiness

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/entertainment/billie-eilish-and-the-pursuit-of-happiness/

Billie Eilish and the Pursuit of Happiness

210413_ROLLING_STONE_06_1486_v4-billie-opener – Credit: Yana Yatsuk for Rolling Stone

From the outside, the house isn’t terribly different from others on the block: a cozy bungalow in L.A.’s Highland Park neighborhood with an old lilac tree blooming near the entrance. In fact, it’s legendary: the place where a prodigal teenager and her older brother recorded the album that made Billie Eilish Pirate Baird O’Connell the queen of Gen-Z pop.

It’s a location familiar to any Eilish fan, and at first glance on an absurdly beautiful day in April, not much appears to have changed about the house in the couple of years since it became famous, along with its teenage occupant. The O’Connell family’s rescue dog, Pepper, trudges through the backyard, now joined by Eilish’s year-old rescue, Shark, a gray pit bull. Signs of home-schooling linger in common areas, like an old-fashioned pencil sharpener attached to the wall and dingy supplies precariously placed on a desk.

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But look closer, and plenty is different. For starters, contemporary pop’s most famous home studio, set up in the childhood bedroom of Billie’s brother Finneas, is no longer a studio. Instead, the siblings’ mom, Maggie Baird, has taken over the space. “It still looks similar. There’s just no equipment,” Billie insists as she greets me in her kitchen, gathering ingredients and utensils for the cookies she wants to bake. Her mom’s added a blue rug to the bedroom and sleeps there with their cat, Misha. “We kept [the studio] for a while, then we were like ‘We don’t need this,’ ” Eilish says.

Finneas moved out a couple of years ago, settling down in Los Feliz with his influencer girlfriend Claudia Sulewski. He constructed a new studio in his basement, where he and Eilish began recording music last year. Eilish is, at first, cagey about admitting that she’s moved out as well. “I’m secretive about what’s really going on,” she offers conspiratorially, rummaging around the cabinets of her parents’ kitchen like a college student visiting home on a long weekend. “It’s been a couple of years now where I’ve been doing my own thing. But secretly, because nobody needs to know that.”

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Eilish hasn’t been totally lying about where she lives; she still spends a lot of nights in her childhood bedroom. “I just love my parents, so I want to be around them,” she says, shrugging. Maggie and her husband, Patrick O’Connell, buzz in and out of the kitchen, commenting on the cookie baking and helping Eilish use the old oven. Eilish is sporting her new blond-bombshell look. A 180 from her formerly signature black-with-green-roots ’do, the new hair caused an uproar when she debuted it on Instagram in March. Today it’s damp from a shower, and she’s cozied up in a black T-shirt from her own merch store, along with a pair of matching sweats. On today’s menu are vegan, gluten-free peanut-butter-and-chocolate-chip cookies. She’s reading off an old recipe displayed on a food-stained printout that has clearly been well-utilized over the years. Eilish used to make them whenever she was sad. “It was a therapeutic thing for me,” she explains.

It’s been a while since she’s made the cookies (“You’re seeing history,” she teases). She’s found other ways to process her feelings, namely through writing her second album, Happier Than Ever, which is due out July 30th. The title is no fiction: She has, in fact, felt happier than she ever had before. But like a lot of things in her life, it’s not quite that simple.

“Almost none of the songs on this album are joyful,” Eilish explains, refuting the possibility that her second album is the bright, cheery counterpoint to 2019’s When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? The Babadook-inspired debut conjured up vivid memories of night terrors and lucid dreams over textures ranging from industrial electro-pop to jazzy ballads. Her videos were just as dark, full of spiders and black tears covering her face.

On the surface, Happier Than Ever is a different kind of nightmare. Emotional abuse, power struggles, and mistrust — stories drawn from Eilish’s life and the lives of people she knows — take up much of the lyrics, alongside musings on fame and fantasies of secret romantic rendezvous. The sound is mellowed out from the haunted-house sprawl of her debut: lush, somber, mesmerizing electronic soundscapes trickle down your spine, right along with Eilish’s words.

And yet, even on the darkest songs there are moments of reflection, growth and, most important, hope. This is an album from someone who began to heal long before she wrote it. Or at least tried to.

“Have you ever gotten stung on your head by a bee?”

Eilish mentions she got stung “like 20 times” on a camping trip when she was eight or nine. It’s a story she’s told before. “I don’t know why that popped into my head,” she says. “Why did that pop into my head? I have no idea.”

She posed the question after a bit of mesmerized silence as we watched Shark go to town on an empty can of peanut butter. Eilish doesn’t like silence; she even narrates the cookie baking like a food vlogger. She shows me how to make oat flour (“It’s literally oats on their own; pour them in this thing [a Vitamix blender], full power”) and figuring out the right chocolate chip to peanut-butter-dough ratio. (“Some people like too many. I like too little.”)

“I can’t go to the bathroom without watching something on my phone,” she says. “I can’t brush my teeth. I can’t wash my face.” Over the past year she rewatched a lot of things: Sherlock, The Office “probably like six times,” New Girl “like four times,” Jane the Virgin. There was also time for Good Girls, Killing Eve, The Flight Attendant, The Undoing, and Promising Young Woman “like four times.”

“It’s all on my phone,” she explains. She rarely watches anything on TV, except The Twilight Saga, which she took in for the first time recently, with a friend. “I just watch it while I do anything because it takes my mind off the reality of life. I should go on My Strange Addiction,” she says, coincidentally referencing her 2019 song of the same name (which, by the way, samples dialogue from The Office).

Eilish can’t really go outside anymore. There are paparazzi and creeps waiting for her every move, and some have threatened her safety to the point that she needed a restraining order against them. The instant recognizability of her When We All Fall Asleep-era look — bright-green hair, oversize clothes, saucer-like ocean eyes — helped keep her caged. She grew resentful: “I was a kid and I wanted to do kid shit. I didn’t want to be not able to fucking go to a store or the mall. I was very angry and not grateful about it.”

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When We All Fall Asleep and the image she projected at the time marked her uniqueness from the rest of the pop world. But those things also cemented a view of her she’d love to leave behind. I mention an instruction during a musical challenge on a recent season of RuPaul’s Drag Race where a competing drag queen was told the song she was performing was “very Billie Eilish.”

“What do they think when they think that? Do they think what the internet thinks, which is whispering or whatever the fuck people say? Anytime I see an impression on the internet, it just reminds me how little the internet knows about me. Like, I really don’t share shit. I have such a loud personality that makes people feel like they know everything about me and they literally don’t at all.” She wants people to understand a few things: “That I can sing. That I’m a woman. That I have a personality.” Happier Than Ever offers a statement on all of the above.

“Anytime I hear somebody say, ‘Oh, your songs sound the same,’ it gets me. That’s one thing I really try hard to not do. I think the people that say that have literally only heard ‘Bad Guy’ and ‘Therefore I Am.’ ” Both of those songs feature Eilish’s tendency for muted, moody sing-rapping. These days, she’s channeling the jazziness in her voice, a timbre honed from years of touring, on songs like “My Future” and “Your Power.”

Eilish’s privacy was more precious than she had initially realized. She put a lot of herself out for the world to consume early in her career, when she was an “annoying 16-year-old” (her words) trying to engage with her fandom the way she wanted her favorite artists like Justin Bieber to do back when she was a preteen fan. “It’s sad because I can’t give the fans everything they want,” she says. “The bigger I’ve gotten, the more I understand why [my favorite celebrities] couldn’t do all the things I wanted them to do.”

She struggles to find the right way to frame it. “It wouldn’t make sense to people who aren’t in this world. If I said what I was thinking right now, [the fans] would feel the same way I did when I was 11. They’d be like, ‘It would be so easy. You could just do it.’ No. It’s crazy the amount of things you don’t think about before it’s right in front of you.”

Eilish describes her life as “normal as hell,” and at times, it is. She’s watching Twilight. Going on first dates again, as discreetly as possible. Getting first tattoos (she got a giant black dragon on her right thigh in November and “Eilish,” in an ornate, gothic font, in the middle of her chest the day after the 2020 Grammys). “That’s why it’s hilarious when I see, like, ‘10 reasons why we think Billie -Eilish is in the illuminati,’ ” she says. “I’m like, you know how regular I am, dude?”

She wants to share more details with her fans, but the thought makes her nervous. The songs on Happier Than Ever are buzzing with the fear of “interviews, interviews, interviews,” of the names of abusers or toxic friends being forever tied to her, of her own words coming back to haunt her.

“I wish that I could tell the fans everything I think and feel and it wouldn’t live on the internet forever. And be spoken about and called problematic, or called whatever the fuck anybody wants to call any thoughts that a human has,” she explains. “The other sad thing is that they don’t actually know me. And I don’t really know them, but obviously we’re connected. The problem is you feel like you know somebody, but you don’t. And then it’s like, yeah. It’s just a lot.”

We move outside, to the sole picnic table in the yard, and enjoy the warm, crumbly peanut butter cookies. Shark finds a particularly bright patch of sunlight to lie in. Suddenly, he hops up and runs along the fence, in response to the barks of a neighbor’s dog that he desperately wants to befriend. Eilish is a bit jealous.

“Don’t you just wish that was you?”

billie eilish rolling stone cover

“My mom was saying this yesterday,” Eilish says. “When you’re happier than ever, that doesn’t mean you’re the happiest that anyone’s ever been. It means you’re happier than you were before.”

After an adolescence plagued with depression, body dysmorphia, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts, Eilish started feeling better in the summer of 2019, while on tour in Europe. It was shortly after the release of When We All Fall Asleep, and she was seeing a therapist, had just broken up with a boyfriend, and was joined on the road with one of her best friends (as well as, of course, her parents and brother). “I was thriving,” she says. “I felt exactly like who I was. Everything around me was exactly how it was supposed to be. I felt like I was getting better. I felt happier than ever. And I tried to continue that.”

Early 2020 was a whirlwind. Eilish swept the Big Four categories at the Grammys and started a headlining tour that would have eaten up most of her year. She was more excited than she had been for previous tours, which left her with sprained ankles, shin splints, and chronic pain. She played all of three dates before the pandemic forced her to cancel the rest.

Eilish kind of got to say goodbye to the When We All Fall Asleep era (and the look that helped make her famous) at the Grammys this year, performing the one-off single “Everything I Wanted” with Finneas. Happier Than Ever was nearly complete, but she wasn’t yet ready to show off her new blond look. So she hid it beneath a green-and-black wig. “It was weird,” she reflects. “I was playing this former Billie Eilish with green hair, singing a song from a year and a half prior, while I have 16 new songs that I haven’t put out yet. The fans didn’t really even know that it was a goodbye to an era. That’s kind of heartbreaking but endearing at the same time.”

Recorded as the world went on pause, Happier Than Ever was an opportunity to dig into her personal trauma. “I went through some crazy shit, and it really affected me and made me not want to go near anyone ever,” she says, though she declines to give details.

Like everything Eilish does, the lyrics are sure to spark debate, side-eye emojis, and conspiracy theories as people ponder who she’s singing about. The songs are a mosaic of experience, ripped from her own life and those of people she knows. They juggle deadbeats, secret lovers, emotional abusers. Eilish won’t name names or get into specifics, and she’s quick to remind that this is not just her life she’s talking about. But she also says the stories in the new songs are more honest than When We Fall Asleep, which she describes as “almost all fictional.”

Eilish says she’s letting go of the Old Billie, who would tuck away her own emotions to make others feel better. “There’ve been times where I’ve been really affected by somebody, and I said to them, ‘I need to tell you how you’ve made me feel.’ And they said something that was like, ‘I can’t handle this right now. I just can’t handle this right now. This is going to be too much for me.’ ”

She says she spent so long “being fucked with” and had to realize that while the toxic traits she sings about were often born out of pain, that doesn’t make it OK. “I was talking to a friend about their life, and they told me all this crazy traumatizing shit that happened to them. And I’m like, ‘Oh, right, you don’t have to treat everyone like a piece of garbage, just because you’ve been hurt.’ It’s OK to be traumatized by something and have bad instincts, but also, there’s no excuse for abusing people. There just is not. I feel like everything is excuses all the time. Excuses, excuses.”

Album opener “Getting Older” was particularly harrowing to write. “Wasn’t my decision to be abused,” she sings over a delicately plucking synth beat. By the end, she lays bare what’s on her mind. “I’ve had some trauma/Did things I didn’t wanna/Was too afraid to tell ya/But now I think it’s time.” Eilish recognizes how shocked listeners may be by the rawness of the song. “I had to take a break in the middle of writing that one, and I wanted to cry, because it was so revealing. And it’s just the truth.”

The title track, which starts like a mopey breakup song, then fires off into an electric-guitar-driven rager, was the first thing she started writing for the album, back on the European tour where she felt like she was thriving. The rest of the songs bare different kinds of catharsis, teetering between sexy, electronic beats and warm folkiness, reminiscent of her earliest music. Each song is delicate, sensuous, and balancing naked vulnerability with a bit of self-protective confidence posturing.

Writing about her deepest emotions wasn’t easy for someone who had painstakingly kept the details of her relationships under lock and key. “I’ve been in two [relationships],” she says. “I’ve experienced a lot in what I have done. But I’ve never been in something really real and normal.” The news cycle and fan response to her Apple TV documentary, The World’s a Little Blurry, earlier this year cemented her decision not to name names or get specific about details in the new songs. People are like “ ‘Well, you’re an artist, so when you put something out there like that, you can’t expect people to not dive into it more.’ Yes I can,” she says. “You should absolutely respect me giving you this much information and saying, ‘This is all you get.’ The rest is for my own brain.”

billie eilish rolling stone cover

The most the world has gotten to see of Eilish’s romantic life was in The World’s a Little Blurry, which spanned from the final weeks of recording When We All Fall Asleep in late 2018 through the 2020 Grammy Awards. Eilish wasn’t necessarily psyched for it to come out. “I don’t like to share that part of my life, and I was not planning on sharing that part of my life ever,” she says.

Her ex, Brandon Adams, an artist who performs under the name 7:AMP, played a pivotal role in the film. The World’s a Little Blurry showcases a painful give-and-take between Eilish and Adams, who was then in his twenties. In the aftermath of the documentary, fans went after Adams and his family on social media.

Many have assumed Eilish’s chilling single “Your Power,” which mentions a relationship between a teen girl and an older man, is about Adams. Eilish — who released the song in late April, along with a statement saying, in part, “this is about many different situations that we’ve all either witnessed or experience” — strongly objects to this notion. “Everybody needs to shut up,” she says. The documentary, she insists, “was a microscopic, tiny, tiny little bit of that relationship. Nobody knows about any of that, at all. I just wish people could just stop and see things and not have to say things all the time.”

Eilish describes herself as “clingy,” but since she and Adams broke up in 2019, she’s spent the past two years trying to learn how to exist on her own. “I didn’t know how before,” she explains, “which is ironic because I had never been in a relationship that allowed me to really exist with that person anyway. My emotion always is because of somebody else’s, and that had been such a big pain in the ass.”

She’s still trying to grow out of that. “You heal eventually.”

Eilish and I actually weren’t supposed to meet at her parents’ house. She wanted me to see where she recorded Happier Than Ever, in Finneas’ basement studio. But a pipe burst, nearly destroying the space. “The room had to be completely rebuilt,” he explains later over Zoom. “But my hard drives, synthesizers, and guitars and stuff were all fine. I feel very lucky for that.”

Eilish speaks with relief at how much less draining the recording process for Happier Than Ever was compared with her debut. It was partially due to some peak-mom advice from Maggie early in the pandemic. After nearly a month of lockdown, Maggie suggested that her kids get on a weekly schedule. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Eilish would drive her matte-black Dodge Challenger over to Finneas’ house. Some days they would write songs. Other days they’d play Animal Crossing or Beat Saber. Every day they would eat good meals: “A lot of Taco Bell, homemade pizza, taro boba, Thai food,” Eilish lists. “Crossroads and Little Pine. Nic’s once. Fatburger once. It was such a reward.”

In The World’s a Little Blurry, the teen’s misery is palpable as she finishes When We All Fall Asleep. Eilish and Finneas had been largely left to their own devices, but pressure still loomed from the label. There were deadlines (the album was due right around her 17th birthday), constant meetings, and an expectation that a star was about to be born, thanks to a couple of years of growing buzz. “I hated every second of it,” she admits. “I hated writing. I hated recording. I literally hated it. I would’ve done anything else. I remember thinking there’s no way I’m making another album after this. Absolutely not.”

This time, there was no pressure. No notes from the label. No meetings. No rush to meet deadlines. “No one has a say anymore,” Billie says. “It’s literally me and Finneas and no one else.” On April 3rd, 2020, the first day of their new weekly work schedule, they wrote “My Future.” Within a couple of months, they realized that they were making an album.

She pulls out a clear acrylic sign holder with the track list written in marker, songs clearly erased and moved around. “I think I’m going to frame this,” she says, smiling. There are some water stains on it, since it got drizzled on when Finneas’ studio flooded.

The 16 songs on the album are the only 16 they worked on. The pair are completists: Once they start a song, they have to see it through with meticulous precision until it’s perfect to them. The way the album sounds is a testament to that, each song a unique, avant-pop soundscape that elevates the baroque trip-hop-ness of her debut.

billie eilish rolling stone cover

“I admire artists that can make, like, three songs in a day and keep doing that over and over,” Eilish muses. She compares songwriting to running, in that it would be “fucking exhausting” to do all the time. “Songwriting is like that for me. I’m pretty good at it, but it takes a lot out of me. I feel like I just ran a marathon whenever I write a song.”

Finneas saw the change in his sister this time around. She liked writing songs, feeling less tortured by the process than before. “It’s been awesome as a big brother to see her become more confident and feel more ownership and just to be more excited than I’ve ever seen her about the music that we’re making,” he says. “I also just think she has objectively gotten even better. That’s my opinion. If she were an Olympic gymnast or something, she would’ve gotten better. She’d be able to do a higher vault or something.”

Since “Bad Guy,” Finneas has become one of pop’s most in-demand producers, working with everyone from Tove Lo to Selena Gomez. He also has his own solo career that’s taken off, though the studio flood came at the worst time possible for it, as he was working on his debut album. Eilish has found Finneas’ career outside of being her creative partner to be “fucking great” and easy for them to adjust to. “It doesn’t interfere at all, and it’s fun for him,” she says. “He only does what he wants to do. He’s not a slave to it.”

“I scratch a lot of itches working with Billie,” Finneas continues. “I think my primary goal was to just go deeper. This was Billie’s sophomore album, you just . . . you have the opportunity to go further inward and further down in your Mariana’s Trench.”

Finneas says that their process is “50-50” creatively, and he speaks proudly about the gated tremolo and distortion that elevate songs like “Oxytocin” and “NDA,” two tracks that look at romance and hookups through the lens of a very famous person attempting to have both under the radar.

“Billie Bossa Nova” takes that theme one step further, building a fantasy around the life of a touring pop star. “We have to do a lot of goofy bullshit when we go on tour, where we enter through freight elevators in hotels and stuff, so that paparazzi doesn’t follow us to our room,” he explains.

“And so we acted as if there was also a secret love affair going on in there of Billie being like, ‘Nobody saw me in the lobby/Nobody saw me in your arms,’ as if there was a mystery person in her life during all of that.”

“I write songs with my brother, and we kind of have to plug our ears when we’re writing about desire for other people because we’re fucking siblings,” Eilish says later. Songs like “Oxytocin,” named for the hormone released in the bloodstream due to love or childbirth, has her wondering “What would people say . . . if they listen through the wall?” over a slinky beat. The folky “Male Fantasy” features her distracting herself with pornography, then meditating on the effect porn has on men.

“The thing is, we’re very open about both of our lives, so it’s not weird, really,” she continues. “It’s just fun. It’s songwriting and it’s storytelling. We just have to think about the art of it and not think too hard about [the lyrics].”

As 50-50 as they are, Finneas drives home the fact that everything is under Eilish’s name for a reason. “In many instances we’ve been asked about our relationship as a duo when it’s billed as a solo artist,” Finneas says. “It’s her life. It’s all her world. I’m helping her articulate that, but it’s really her experiences that she lived through, and on this album she let me into it a lot. But I don’t know what that’s like to go through.”

He quotes his friend, the singer-songwriter Bishop Briggs, who says writing is how she copes with everything. Finneas agrees. “Billie making this album was her working through a lot of this stuff.”

When Eilish releases a new song, she can’t listen to it again. It disappears into the universe, only to be heard by its maker if she happens to catch it as it’s played on radio every hour on the hour. “It’s not because I don’t like it anymore,” she explains. Happier Than Ever has become Eilish’s favorite album in the world, but she’s already mourning the loss of it, months before it even comes out. As we talk, it’s a couple of weeks before the first single is even public knowledge.

“I don’t know how to explain this, but all the songs on the album feel like a specific time, because they feel like when I wrote them and made them,” she explains. “It’s so funny that to the rest of the world it’s going to feel like a certain moment for them, and it’s going to be so different than mine. That’s such a weird, weird thing to wrap my head around. And I will fucking love it. I love it. That’s the reason you do this. It’s for that.”

When Eilish and I speak one last time, “Your Power” has been out for a few days. It spurred reflective conversations online, with many women sharing their own experiences with sexual or emotional abuse. The lyrics about an older partner taking advantage of a younger woman struck a particular chord, and Eilish herself is still processing that reaction.

billie eilish rolling stone cover

“I feel like people actually really, really listened to the lyrics,” she says, flopping around her room in an oversize Powerpuff Girls shirt. “I was scared for it to come out because it’s my favorite song I’ve ever written. I felt the world didn’t deserve it.”

She broke her own Instagram “like” record that weekend as well: Her shoot for British Vogue showed her in more revealing clothes than she had ever been pictured in, channeling Forties boudoir shoots. The images were a topic of internet obsession for days: Was it a betrayal of her more “modest”-seeming fashion before? Did she make the decision herself? But it’s not like her body hadn’t been up for debate even when it was clothed: Her baggy outerwear was used to shame her peers, and she was subjected to belittling, fatphobic assumptions from the too-curious. “I saw a picture of me on the cover of Vogue [from] a couple of years ago with big, huge oversize clothes [next to] the picture of [the latest Vogue]. Then the caption was like, ‘That’s called growth.’ I understand where they’re coming from, but at the same time, I’m like, ‘No, that’s not OK. I’m not this now, and I didn’t need to grow from that.’ ”

Like her fashion experiments, Happier Than Ever is not about resetting who Billie Eilish even is. It’s about expanding the definition and range. But like she feared, she stopped listening to “Your Power” after it came out. “I don’t know. Something changes,” she says, still confused by her own habit.

The song has already taken on a life of its own, so she doesn’t have many expectations for how people will react to the rest of the as-yet-unheard songs. She’d like to make a visual for each track, and plans to embark on a world tour at some point.

She has one other wish for her new music. “I hope people break up with their boyfriends because of it,” she says, with only the slightest tinge of humor. “And I hope they don’t get taken advantage of.”

Best of Rolling Stone

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[cavastaleofficial]

Chapter 4

    "W-w-well, th-that was fun, w-wasn't it Frisk?" Alphys wrung her claws and laughed nervously.

    "Absolutely! Same time next week?"

    "S-Sure! I-I'll start looking for n-new shows t-too... that way w-we don't r-run out," Her mouth jerked up in the crooked fashion that always made everyone around her smile too, "W-Well, see you s-soon, then. Bye, F-Frisk!" The lab doors slid shut, and Frisk was left on her own. She turned away, and sprinted towards the place where she knew the River Person would be waiting.

~

    "Tra la la. The water is very dry today." Frisk's mouth twitched up at the River Person's strange ramblings. They never really made any sense, and today was no exception. How could water be dry, anyway? And earlier, on the way to Hotland, they'd said something about needing to have worn a few million more pairs of pants. Frisk had learned not to read into them too much, although occasionally they gave some useful advice amid the rambles. Frisk settled down and watched the fields of Echo Flowers go by.

    Then the boat stopped unexpectedly.

    "River Person? This isn't Snowdin..."

    "Tra la la. The walls prevent our passage." They gestured towards the water, and Frisk walked towards the front of the boat to take a look. Sure enough, there was something blocking the river. It appeared as though there'd been an avalanche of sorts, and now the river was full of boulders.

    "Oh well. I can always walk. I'll just text Paps and tell him why I'm late." She moved to leave the boat when the River Person reached out and grabbed her tight by the shoulder.

    "Tra la la. Beware of the man who came from the other world." Frisk's eyebrows wrinkled. The River Person sounded perfectly serious, with almost none of the usual lightness to their tone.

    "I'm sorry, I don't..."

    "Tra la la. Beware of the man who speaks in hands." This time they sounded urgent, and almost panicked. Frisk backed away and stepped carefully out of the boat, frightened by this change of character.

    "A-alright. I will." The River Person nodded, and pushed away from the shore.

~

    "Hiya, Frisk!" Monster Kid ran up beside Frisk almost immediately after she'd been dropped off by the small bird. "Suzy and I are just going to visit Onionsan. Wanna come?"

    Frisk forced a smile "Sorry, I can't, I have to get home. Maybe next time?" It wasn't that Frisk didn't like Monster Kid, she really did! He just made her a little... uncomfortable. Suzy, the girl he had mentioned, was Monster Kid's sister. And she didn't exist. Monster Kid thought she was real, but Frisk had never met her. When she asked why, she was told that for his entire life, Monster Kid had always claimed to have a sister named Susan, or "Suzy" for short. They thought he'd grow out of it, but he never did.

    "Aw, okay. See you later!" Monster Kid ran off, and Frisk fought off tears.

~

    Frisk glanced at her watch. 5:45.

    "Shoot" She started to run. She had to be home by 6 to help with dinner. And... she had an eerie feeling, as though something was off. The River Person was nervous, and what was up with that avalanche? Then, she slowed down, and stopped. Was the hallway to the crystallized cheese save point always this long? Her eyes scanned the hall, and she resisted the urge to turn around and run back to Undyne's house.

    That's when she spotted the door. It was crooked, grey, and strangely tall and skinny.

    And it called to her.

    Frisk's left foot moved forward reluctantly. Then, her right. She tried to resist, to stop walking towards this strange door, but she couldn't. Soon, she was standing directly in front of it, shaking.

    She reached out, turned the handle, and walked in. Immediately she was washed over with a wave of cold, and Frisk felt goosebumps run up her arms.

    "Hello, young one." Standing in front of her was a skeleton. Or, at least, that's what she thought it was. Its head looked like that of a skeleton's, but its body seemed like that of the amalgamates. Blobbish, and pulsating. "I'm sorry, as you can see, I'm not at my best. But no matter. I'll be whole soon enough,"

    Frisk swallowed hard. "Wh-who are you?"

    "I? I am Dr. W. D. Gaster. And you are Frisk Nardelli," Frisk's eyes widened, and she started to back away from the figure. Before she could make it out of the door, it slammed behind her. "Yes, I know your name. I know why you're down here. What really happened during your life on the Surface. And. I remember every. Single. Reset. Every detail. Not the foggy, partial memories Sans and Alphys have managed to conjure up." With every sentence Gaster moved forward - or was she being pulled towards him? Soon he was close enough that Frisk could feel a chilling breath on her skin.

    "What do you want with me?"

    Gaster grinned, and started to laugh. It was an ugly thing, and chilled her to her soul.

    "With you? I don't want anything with you," He leaned down so close their faces were almost touching. A shiver ran through Frisk's body, starting at her toes, and making its way up to her head. "I want freedom." He straightened, and moved back, turning so he was facing the back wall. He seemed to be considering something. Then he spoke again, softly at first.

    "Do you know what it's like... to not exist? To look down and see your friends, your family... and not be able to talk to them? To know they don't even remember you?" His tone grew stronger as he continued. "Do you know what it's like to be scattered into tiny pieces, to be lost across time and space?" His voice raised to a shout, and he turned around to face Frisk again, his eyes now blazing and moving between a furious violet and poisonous green. "Do you know what it's like to watch as everything you ever cared for is destroyed by a tiny, pathetic, human, and to know that you can't do ANYTHING?" As he spoke he seemed to grow taller, but as soon as he finished he closed his eyes and shrank back down. "But I digress. I'm sure you get the picture. I am trapped here. And all I need to be free..." His eyes flashed open once again, and his grin stretched across his face in a grotesque fashion, "All I need... is a replacement." Frisk's soul shrank.

    "I... I don't..."

    "Oh, but you do. And... it's too late. You see, all I needed was a way to create this space, a space between the real world... and the void. And you and that meddlesome flower... gave me just that. When he opened up the code to remove the souls, I was able to get in. It took a while to figure out exactly how to create this space to behave the way I wanted, and it took a few tries, to be sure. But now I have finally completed my goal... as soon as I exit this door..." The door behind Frisk moved across the wall until it was behind Gaster, "I will be back in the real world. This room will vanish. And you... will be in the void." He turned around and opened the door. As he slid out of the room, he grew taller and skinnier, and as soon as he was completely out, he had completely transformed. No longer was he a blob. Now he was very clearly a skeletal being. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

    "Good. Luck." The door slammed behind him, and Frisk screamed.

~

    Sans was in his basement lab, sorting through his things that he'd brought down from his bedroom. As he organized his folders, he noticed something sticking out of one of them. He reached over and plucked it out. He flipped it over. On it was a child's drawing of three, smiling figures. On the top were written the words "don't forget". He stared, blinking, realizing what it was. Then, a sound behind him jolted him out of his mind.

    He whirled around, and before his very eyes the sheet that had been draped over the machine vanished, and lights flickered on. It whirred and beeped as it started back up for the first time in who knows how long. Sans' bones rattled against each other as he shook.

    "SANS!" Startled Sans turned around again to face the door. Papyrus ran down the stairs, panicked. "SANS, SANS, I THINK... I THINK..." He was hyperventilating and could barely get his words out.

    "woah, woah, bro. what's wrong?"

    "SANS, I THINK..." Papyrus looked his brother dead in the eye, and his voice lowered into the most serious voice Sans had heard in years, "I THINK HE'S BACK."

|Chapter 3| |Chapter 5|

|Master Post|

[michelletheemann-blog]

The Irony

There is no space more aptly named than the sanctuary in a black church. It is a meeting space, a room of creation and inspiration, a refuge from a country that often refuses to acknowledge your humanity.

At my church, our pastor can sing very, very well, and he can conjure the holy spirit at the drop of a hat in that truly Southern Baptist way. As a kid, I loved to look at the photo of Jesus—loose black curls, milk chocolate skin, and a short wooly beard—hanging crooked in the stairwell. My best friend from youth choir’s granny always sat in the same seat crowned with a new hat. With fondness, I used to look around at the giants, black kings and queens, clothed in their finest royal Sunday garb and always with a smile and hug to give to Tony and Colette’s baby girl. After service, I would lollygag between the pews, poorly helping my dad, the head usher, pick up any forgotten bulletins and whine about going to McDonald’s when I knew good and well I ain’t have no McDonald’s money. On special Sunday’s the smell of fried chicken and greens would waft up from the basement into the sanctuary, flirting with my nose, and when my friends and I would rush down the stairs to be the first in line we were chastised by Mrs. Somebody for running only to have an Auntie save us with a definitive, “let the babies eat, girl.”

This is a village that raises many a child, myself included, and reminds us children that it is our duty to honor those that have come before and work hard to make things better in the future. I grew up in love with everything church and it has always been my home and foundation, my sanctuary. So, one day in college when I finally stopped pushing down those dark, omnipresent feelings and said “I’m gay” out loud I knew I was going to have a few problems.

Twenty or so years ago my parents carefully chose a church, a village, to balance the experiences that my younger sister and I would have in the suburban life they hesitantly birthed us into. Yes, they wanted us to know God for ourselves and for us to have a strong sense of religion but they also wanted to make sure their kids would have a taste of the blackness they were raised on. They knew that our upper-middle-class, white education wouldn’t teach us about Henrietta Lacks or Madam CJ Walker and the name Fannie Lou Hamer wasn’t going to make it into our lessons about black history. Instead, my understanding of blackness and black excellence came from the Vacation Bible School talks, Sunday School Black History Month celebrations, and the pulpit. I was to have examples of all sorts of black people in my church and role models for me to look up to, a village to raise me. Though in the suburbs schools may have been better and the crime rates low, my parents made sure I knew that these white people were never supposed to be my everything because them white folks is crazy and my church, my people, are my real foundation in this world.

But herein lies the problem. “The fact that this particular child had been born when and where he was born had dictated certain expectations” (“Introduction”, xvi). For most of my life, these invisible expectations felt like simple—unachievable—goals and the drive to meet them was fueled by an incessant desire for perfection and affirmation. Follow your parents’ footsteps. Be successful. Achieve even more than your parents and your grandparents, they have worked so hard. Help your people prosper. You’re going to make us all so proud. As a girl, I remember that one lady who always dressed a little different, the woman with the short-cut who was whispered about at book clubs and post-church brunches. She was raised here too and she very quickly hauled ass out of the church, occasionally slipping into the back row on holidays. Yes, there was an expectation for her, an expectation for people like that, which I did not know how to articulate, but I knew that she was doing something wrong. “The child does not really know what these expectations are—does not know how real they are—until he begins to fail, challenge, or defeat them” (“Introduction”, xvi). I had a sense of these expectations and still one day I came home and broke my mother’s heart. Apparently, I had been keeping up my farce a little too well, both for hers and my own sake. “Since when??? How can you want this for yourself???” she pleaded. I am sorry, Mom, but when you imported boys from church for me to take to homecoming dances (the black boys at white schools “don’t go for black girls”, but that is another essay) I was looking over their shoulders at Grace, the only openly black lesbian at my school who, paradoxically, wanted nothing to do with me.

Anyway, there is indeed a difference for when black people are gay than for white people. It is not that black people are more homophobic nor do I believe that the black struggle can be compared to the white, queer struggle. The difference is that when a young black person is gay there is something more at stake: the possibility of losing the only community that accepts you. As a black geek articulated, “Blackness can be a rigid, didactic identity, with people stepping out of line facing ridicule and admonishment or, worse, condemnation. Those who reject the perceived identity of Blackness can be seen as rejecting the whole of black worth itself” (Johnson, 15).

Personally, I gained my entire sense of self, associated all my blackness with an organization that had very specific rules for what it meant to be black. The politics of respectability once disguised as a coat of armor and nobility now choked me like a straitjacket, locked into an idea of who I was supposed to be one day: a successful career woman, a role model in my church just as my parents had been, and, most importantly, a wife to a strong black man. I have always been gay but it is only recently that I have begun to accept and love myself for being gay, for changing a small yet fundamental part of that vision. Still, for a long while, I thought that I had betrayed my people and felt the need to hide that which would make me a stranger in my own village. I would return to the sanctuary and look upon the kings and queens with fear and sadness as “…they move[d] with an authority which I shall never have” (“Stranger”, 83). Instead, I would avoid going to church, stay at school for breaks, drop my girlfriend’s hand every time anyone who knew my family walked by. When I did go to church I felt like everyone could see all the lies pulsing just beneath my skin. My sanctuary became a jungle in which I did not know where to hide and where the possibility of being eaten alive felt invisibly imminent.

Then one day I met Audre Lorde. And Bayard Rustin. I learned that there is quite a bit more to Angela Davis’ story than just having a sick afro. Suddenly I had a new village and I had a reason to hope. After a lot of self-reflection, a very simple yet revolutionary idea crossed my mind. I realized, really considered for the first time, that I could be just as gay as I am black. I learned that the person whose love is most important in my life is that which I have for myself. “Coming out to yourself and to others, and then staying out as you walk out the door brings strength in its action,” and, yes, I could feel my strength beginning to build (Johnson, 17). At times the old thinking that lurks on the fringes of my memory, that which is embedded in my reflexes, begins to creep up and make me doubt myself and my wholeness once again, but now more than ever I refuse to let it control or define me. One day far from now my soul will look back and wonder how I got over.

Works Cited Baldwin, James. "Introduction: The Price of the Ticket." The Price of the Ticket: Collected Non Fiction. New York:St. Martin's/Marek, 1985. Print.

Baldwin, James. "Stranger in the Village" The Price of the Ticket: Collected Non-Fiction. New York: St. Martin's/Marek, 1985. Print.

Walker, Rebecca and Mat Johnson, “The Geek” Black Cool: One Thousand Streams of Blackness. Berkeley, Soft Skull Press, 2012. Print.

[purplexflamingo]

The Dream Guardian: Chapter Four: The Key

  Gasping, Heather sat up straight. Shivering from the cold pavement flooring. She was back in that house, the Elm street one. Unable to recall how many times she ended up there. The air was stiff and still, smelt awful. Soon coming to the conclusion that she was still in the dream world. Thumping and shouting could be heard directly above her, any words spoken were muffled making them unclear. It sounded chaotic. Curious she ascended out of the basement through the wooden doors at the top of the stairs. The furnace roared behind her, causing Heather to jolt. Recuperating she gathered herself and continued. He was near she could feel it. A familiar scent filled her nostrils. It smelt like burning flesh- awful. The house rocked and creaked in the wind. Children's laughter echoed through out the vacant building. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a young boy- presumably age five. In all white, pale with dark circles under his green hues. Noticeably curly dirty blonde fell between those memorizing hues. To her he appeared unhealthy, practically dead.

" Hey kid! Where is Freddy..? 

      You know him right. He is kind of hard to miss."

  Attempting to gain contact the boy shifted his head. Staring at her with it cocked to the side. Eerie enough. Attention had been obtained at least.

" Upstairs. He is playing with his new friends.

                       Freddy doesn't liked to be disturbed."

Voice fluctuating in volume with a hint of childish curiosity, but devious intent. That was temporarily alarming to Heather. Assuming the poor child was conjured up by Freddy himself. Would she heed this as a warning? Of course not. Being who she was, none of this would stop her. Her sight was hindered by the red smoke and heat. It was as if the place suddenly had combust into flames. Screams could be heard over the powerful fire. By now the child mysteriously evaporated in the destruction. Raising her forearms shielding her face. It all felt so real. So hot and she was breaking out in sweat. Grumbling, she spoke to herself.

" He used me, again."

Abruptly everything stopped, the fire was gone, after one last shout for help. Leaving the halls, the walls, everything charred with black. Crumbling into ashes.

"Ahhhhh."

A raspy voice grew behind her. There he was absorbing the soul of some teenager. It had to be...

"You know I can't help myself, babe."

" I hate that you have to drag me along, 

       I almost got burnt for gods sake. The dream world can hurt me ya know."

Confessing, showing absolutely no signs of remorse for the victim she heard. More or less annoyed with the situation. Being there in general. 

"You know I need you."

 He spoke the truth, flashing those crazy eyes. Grasping her locket, hovering over her breasts. Tongue gliding a long his bottom lip. Reminding her of a serpent.

" You are mine forever."

  Challenging him she glared. In fact he became her demon in a short span of time. It was that stupid piece within that locket that kept them connected. Yanking her body closer the demon's tongue marked her painted lips. Snickering at the exchanged while she cringed at the touch. She wondered why she was attracted to him at this point. Forcing a smile across her pale face.

" Well then, won't you let me rest you've got your fix."

" Oh don't be like that....I gave you yours. I can't resist the souls of those brats.  It feeds me, gives me strength! YOU bring me more and I'll repay you by getting you off. See Heather I know you--- I can see through you, I know your deep rooted fears. I know exactly what your thinking. I know your impulses when you've reach your lows... I know everything, Princess."

Daringly he spat and Heather began to retort before his blade went between her thighs. Her knees nearly buckled as she shuddered. Attempting to fight him would be pointless. Stammering she asked. 

" Just let me wake up."

Biting her lip so hard. Snatching his wrist, attempting to halt him. Spiraling into laughter, he withdrawn his arm from her grip. Reaching above him to pull his fedora off his head, bowing slightly.

“ As you wish.”

 With that Heather woke in her bed, panting, frantically flopping over to her side to face the window. Birds chirped and the sunlight was directly in her face.

[stillalicebyheart]

Knotted

Pairing: Michael M. x Jeremy H. x Christine C. (meremine) Word Count: 1,347 Summary: Fluff on fluff on fluff. Soulmate AU;

@aroacethetic-shitpost requested: 28 and meremine

28. the one where some people can see the red string of fate and follow it to their soulmates.

Jeremy was 5 when his teacher started talking about the red string of soulmates – something that appears once fate decides that one specific person was meant to be with you forever, and sometimes it’s meant romantically or platonically. The only set thing was that they were meant to be in your life. He found it fascinating, the idea that someone was supposed to be around forever, meant to be there for you no matter what happens.

And it explained things later on after his mom left when he was 15; she and his father had met, dated, married, had a child, and the string still never appeared for either of them until she started working at a new law firm and met a girl that swept her away. He was happy she was happy, happy that she had finally met that person, but he still struggled with her leaving. His father took it harder; she’d taken off after promising him everything and left him with nothing. It took a while to rebuild it all, but they did, and he was the ring bearer for him mom and new step-mom.

When he was 13, he met Michael Mell – best friend, Apocalypse of the Damned extraordinaire, and multilingual. Their friendship blossomed over a shared love for Pokemon, Pac-Man, and Mario, and Michael opened his eyes to so many things he never even thought of… Crystal Pepsi, for one.

When he was 15, he noticed the red string that connected the two of them. It was a simple thing that didn’t surprise him; they were sitting side-by-side in Michael’s basement playing Left 4 Dead for the millionth time when the thin, red chord wrapped around his left pinky with a bow made its appearance, brought to his attention by the slight tug he felt when Michael pulled his controller to the left. They both felt it and for a moment everything froze, both characters on screen stopping as the two looked between them, then back at each other with huge grins. It was the best day of their lives; the reassurance that they’d always be there for each other no matter what.

(“So… what now?”

“It means we’re bound.” Jeremy grinned. “You are literally stuck with me for the rest of time.”

“Hey, but that means you’re stuck with me too, so looks like you’re the real winner here.”

Jeremy had laughed at the time, but he was right – Jeremy hit the jackpot.)

Nothing changed; they were still close as ever, if not more, because of it. Michael Mell was still Jeremy Heere’s best friend. Jeremy was perfectly content with it that way. Michael, however, wasn’t, but he wouldn’t say anything for fear of Jeremy getting mad at him. He thought it was a platonic soulmate; Michael could live with that.

Around the same time, still at 15, Jeremy met Christine. And started crushing on her. Hard.

He wanted everything for her, for her to be successful and loved and happy. Unfortunately, she didn’t even know his name – or, that’s what he thought. Then he was signing up to do the play with her and she was so happy to see him walk through the doors, a large grin on her face as she exclaimed his name with a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen before; it made him extremely happy, and by extension, Michael was happy.

But weeks later, on opening night of the play, that fated red string showed up again, stretching across the length of the stage, his right pinky with a light bow on it – he could still clearly see the one around his left, through the curtain and connected to where Michael was sitting, so it didn’t make sense as to why he had a second one. Maybe it was the whole ‘platonic vs. romantic’ soulmates and he was lucky enough to find them both in such a short period of time. He gave an experimental tug on the new string, watching at it pulled taught and Christine’s attention was pulled from the conversation she was having with Jenna and down to her hand. He let out a silent laugh, waving with the same hand to show her; needless to say, it was the best performance they had since rehearsals had started.

(“Are you kidding me? We’ve been soulmates and kissing for two whole months now and never even knew?” She’d laughed, her eyes sparkling just like they had that day he’d come in for the first rehearsal.

“Well, to be honest, I suspected it… I mean, I’ve had a crush on you for, like, a year now.” He’d pressed their foreheads together. Standing in the parking lot, with stage makeup and costumes still on with blissed out smiles, his hands gently cupping her face with hers around his middle, he couldn’t have thought of a better way to find out she was fated to be with him.

“Oh, Jeremy,” Her quiet giggle had passed between them like a whisper before she gave him another kiss. “You had a crush on me? How embarrassing.”

“Had? No, I think I still do.”)

After that day, the three fell into a familiar pattern; Michael would walk to school with his ‘platonic’ soulmate, the three of them would eat lunch together, and then Christine would walk him back home, with Michael coming over after a few hours for a group movie night every once in a while.

It wasn’t until 3 months later when they were at the mall, Christine’s hand gripped in Jeremy’s and Michael’s arm linked with the other on their way to get frozen, that things changed again. Jeremy didn’t know; there was no way he could other than them telling him, but Christine had stopped suddenly with a glint in her eye, following something it seemed only she could see until Michael unlinked their arms and was following the same line as her. A moment later, they both burst into laughter, high-fiving in the middle of the walkway like one of them had just told a great joke.

(“I’m not surprised at all by this, it was bound to happen.” Michael grinned.

“We literally just found out we’re soulmates and you’re making puns?”

Their laughter rang out at the joke, and Jeremy just stood looking dumbfound.

“Wait a sec – soulmates? But how…?”

“Not sure, man. But there’s a blue string from my hand to hers, and that can only mean one thing.”

“It’s blue? What does that mean?”

“Wait, yours isn’t blue?” Christine motioned between the two boys, head cocked to the side in curiosity. “What color is it?”

“Red.” Both responded instantly, Jeremy continuing. “Just like ours.”

She shook her head with a chuckle, crossing her arms with a smile that teased, ‘I know something you two idiots don’t.’

Michael glanced between the two, evaluating things in his head for a moment before his eyes grew wide, looking at Christine, who just nodded. He laughed this time, looking at Jeremy.

“Why am I always the last to figure things out?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Michael stated simply.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, thinking things out: why would he have the same color string for both his girlfriend and his best friend while they had a blue one? Obviously, what he felt for Christine was romantic, so why was the other string the same color? He wasn’t in love with Michael, as far as he knew, but the longer he stood there the more it made sense. He loved cuddling with him, waking up next to him, his smile, how happy he got after they won a game… He’d be lying if he said the thought of kissing Michael wasn’t something he’d thought about before, but he chalked it up to being lonely at the time. Now, though, it was clear, and he face palmed when he finally figured it out.

“Of course… God, I am an idiot.”)

They had a short discussion over fro-yo as to what it meant for all of them. The conclusion?

The best possible outcome fate could have conjured.

[scyrel]

A 2D-Bendy Illustrated Fanfiction

An AU of 2D Bendy, inspired by @shinyzango and @squigglydigglydoo. Written and hand-drawn by myself. Used mynoise.net’s poltergiest background audio for ambiance. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO: Part 1

CHAPTER TWO: Part 2

    Bendy’s sheet of paper slowly slipped underneath the door jam, enough for him to poke his head out to check if the coast was clear. Hearing and seeing nothing, he popped back over to Henry’s side. “The goon is gone!” Henry took his chance to open the door, look around and then tip toe on out. They came to a room with a huge sign indicating that they’d reached the music department of the studio. Here, Henry remembered Sammy Lawrence, the music director. A bit odd to say the least. He was the quietest one on the team, but also the most likely to lash out. Henry was certain the poor guy had been suffering from some psychological conditions, but there was no doubt that he had a sensitive ear for music. Having hardly ever visited this  department, Henry took a moment to survey the room.

    A pair of speakers placed on either side of the sign started whistling a familiar tune. The beat was catchy; it was a ragtime beat coupled with the gentle tinkling of a piano. It started soft before growing steadily faster and louder. Henry could feel Bendy dancing within the piece of paper, but despite the tendency for Henry start tapping a foot, he felt there was something odd about the music. “Bendy, could you stop twitching for a second?” He lifted him up to see the little ink demon dancing a little jig to the swinging tune.

    “I can’t help myself!” Bendy grinned that iconic smile of his, cutting a rug like no one was watching. Guess it’s just part of my design!” He gave Henry a sly wink, but the old man was now focusing on what was happening on the floor. Ink seeped up from the floorboards into puddles dotted around the room and from those puddles arose horribly contorted shapes of inky black creatures. They had very small eyes, pupil-less white dots that were sunken into their melting faces and horrible gaping mouths that dragged only partly off the floor. These things rose above the floor about waist height and trudged towards Henry as if wading through thick mud. Those that grew too near began reaching out with their scrawny arms, clawing at the air. Bendy did a double take, seeing the axe in Henry’s right hand come down fast. He wasn’t even aware they were in danger because of the distracting music, but it held him in a jig that he couldn’t consciously break from. As the piano keys of the tune started to ring louder and more furiously, the creatures moved faster and horrible groans escaped from the pits of their throats.

    The axe slashed through the air and struck down the ink covered creatures with a vile SQUISH! While some of the monsters could be dealt with in one strike, others had already attempted reforming themselves after the first hit. Ink with the thickness of mud splattered over the walls, but the hoard didn’t stop. Henry had taken out at least a dozen of them, but there were still more reaching to grab his pants leg and shirt. Trapped in his dance, Bendy felt helpless. He could see the old man growing tired with every swing. If only he wasn’t stuck in this hapless jig. Wait. He wasn’t dancing until the catchy music had started. Henry was somewhat close to the speakers, and if they could get the music to stop, perhaps the creatures would too. Henry stood panting, axe in hand and bent over, looking exhausted. An ink pool appeared next to his foot, quickly followed by a black hand snapping itself around his ankle.

    “Henry, quick! Kill the music!” Bendy called out as the old man struggled with the creature, pulling its way out of the puddle using Henry’s leg. Looking behind, Henry located the speaker and kicked his leg hard enough to dislodge his attacker before pulling his arm back. The axe spun through the air with an impressive whooshing sound and hit one of the speakers straight through. Immediately, the strength of the creature around his leg weakened, turning mostly back into sludge and giving Henry the chance to retrieve his weapon. The hoard of inky sludge monsters still made their way towards him, but at a slow enough pace that allowed Henry to chop down the last speaker and smash it to bits. The room fell dead silent now and the pools of black ink dripped back under the floorboards. Both Henry and Bendy flopped down on the floor for a break, Henry leaning up against the sign for support while Bendy laid flat on his back; his little bow tie moving up and down.

    “What were those… things?” Henry asked after catching his breath. Bendy covered his face with his gloved hands, shaking his head. Henry’s hands trembled from the adrenaline and tried clasping them together to steady them before continuing on. Bendy took a moment to collect himself as well, watching Henry bend over and shake quietly, muttering something inaudible. He could feel a little of what the old man must be feeling. Recalling the eerie melody of the music sent a shiver throughout his body. Knowing that he was somehow connected to those horrible monstrosities troubled him deeply. Many thoughts swirled about his head; Who was he? Where did he actually come from? Was Bendy really conjured by the insane fellow living in the basement, or had Henry just given him some kind of life with a mere brush of a pen? Bendy covered the sides of his head, recalling something darker that had transpired before ever coming into contact with Henry. “Bendy!” The unhappy thoughts quickly disappeared as he looked up towards the old man’s softened face. “Let’s go, Kid. I can’t wait around for any more of those things to show up.” He could still feel light trembling in Henry’s hand once he grabbed the paper. This made Bendy only feel worse.

    Henry was moving as quietly as he could with the axe at the ready. Every darkened shadow made his heart beat faster. He crept cautiously around the recording room filled with empty chairs and dusty instruments. One of his vaguest memories came back to him, where he’d sat above the band for an old country tune the studio had been recording. He looked up in that very spot and staring back at him was a Bendy cutout and someone else. He stopped, staring straight at a darkly colored man, or, what seemed like a man, wearing a mask of Bendy’s face.

    “It’s him.” Henry heard Bendy hiss. There was no way of pretending he wasn’t there now, it was time to face the music. Henry pushed his fear aside, gathering up his courage to stand straight and make sure this strange fella knew he was capable of defending himself.

“Hey! Who are you?” He pointed the axe right at the stranger. The figure of the man seemed to stand in a silent blank trance. Henry asked again, more forcefully in tone. As if moving in his own time, the man began to lift his black arms up towards the sky very slowly.

“Me?” Replied the mysterious man. “I, am his Prophet, his shepherd to this accursed place.” Henry hardly understood a word of what the man was saying, but was desperately trying to place the voice.

“Sammy? Sammy Lawrence? Is that you?!” Henry shouted up to him. The man lowered his arms, seemingly unaware of Henry.

“No… no, no, no.” The head seemed to writhe on its shoulders. “I am the shepherd. My Lord has been confined in his prison for too long. He must be free, you will see…”

“What kind of bat-shit crazy nonsense are you talking about, Sammy! What happened to you?!” Henry’s worries began to eat at him again; there was no logical reasoning that could be done if this guy had truly gone insane. The man known as, Sammy, sniffed the air, darting his tongue between the broken cardboard teeth of the cutout.

“Dusty… so, filthy. I cannot sense him. His presence is hidden… why?” Sammy seemed troubled. “He must be weak… he must need sustenance.” The creepy mask flashed to look directly at Henry. “SHEEP!” He cried. “My Lord requires an offering to become strong and I need him to notice me. To notice me SET HIM FREE FROM HIS INKY PRISON!” His voice suddenly became very excited. “You will do nicely!” Sammy vanished quickly from the booth, shortly followed by rumbling within the room. Axe at the ready, Henry looked around wildly for those inky bastards. Bendy kept an eye out as well from his perspective.

“You know what he was babbling on about?” Henry asked over the groaning of the walls. Bendy had a feeling that he did, but refused to answer. Dwelling on dark thoughts stirred up something deep inside he wanted to forget.

    A new tune began to reverberate off the walls, echoing down the dark hallways. An icy chill shook Henry; he just knew what would happen next. The floor looked as if it were bleeding, black ink collected in pools that spread outwards, meeting up and linking with each other. Chairs and stands began to slide around as the substance pushed its way from under the floor. The ink creatures rose forth with their grotesque melting features. Looking like soulless blobs, they stretched their mouths down to the floor, as if wanting to swallow everything in their path. Bendy caught sight of the ink-covered floor and the wretched things arising from it. The blackness was like an ocean and he was terrified to be swallowed up; lost in a void of decay and rot. Looking at it made his head spin as eerie voices seemed to be whispering, tickling his ears with inaudible sentences. “Please, tuck me away, Henry.” Bendy pleaded in a quivering voice. “Don’t let me go...” Henry automatically tightened his thumb against the side of his index finger around the piece of paper, gripping the axe tightly in the other. Doing as Bendy asked, he carefully tucked him inside his front pocket so that only a small corner stuck out. Staring straight ahead with brows furrowed and determination in his eyes, the axe rose high above Henry’s head, paused for a second, then moved with the quickness of lightning.

The wedge met its first victim upon the top of its head and split the thick sludge into two gurgling pieces. Two more followed, only to be met with the axe tearing into their mucky forms. Henry felt himself moving away from his physical self and heavily focused on every single moving thing within the room. His senses acute, he could see five or so creatures to the left of his peripheral and heard the sickening blops of about six or seven of them coming from behind. The axe swung again, knocking down two of them at the same time. One came awfully close to grabbing at his ankle, to which Henry picked up a nearby chair and swung it as hard as he could. The ink creature and chair crashed against the wall, breaking the legs off and leaving a large ink stain. Henry tackled the oncoming hoard better than expected, their slow movements giving him enough time to maneuver and plan his attacks. If Sammy was watching, the lackluster performance of his creations would have set him on edge. Henry hadn’t been paying any mind to the music, but the sudden rise in tempo snapped him out of focus. It was about now that he found himself overwhelmed with the masses of blobby moaning ink monsters surrounding him. Having quickened their movements, it wasn’t as easy for Henry to move nor evade the swarm of outstretched arms ready to ensnare him.

    Bendy had been pressing his hands to his ears so hard that his head hurt. He was trying everything to block out the music. All the involuntary kicking he was doing shook the paper in Henry’s pocket. Different broken memories flashed through his mind: derelict scenery, broken and mutilated characters, anger and toxic black liquid that poured from the spout of the machine, choking him in darkness. Bendy coughed, feeling as though he was being strangled by a black sea. “HENRY!” Bendy cried out into the void. A dark wave rose up and curled over, within it he could hear it asking, “Why cry out for him?” The wave swept him up and the voice inside it deepened as it rolled, “The creator left us. Don’t fall for his lies!” Bendy was thrust under the strength of the wave crashing over him. Breaking the surface, he panted to catch his breath. “HE PROMISED!” Bendy shouted to no one. “I AM PART OF HENRY! I KNOW HE DIDN’T LIE!” He couldn’t clearly see anything, but could feel the waves rushing over him. The noise was like the roar of a storm, one that was currently raging inside. All he wanted was to go back to how things were, back to when things were simple, before that machine ever made its home in the building.

    Henry had managed to cut himself a path out of the music room and darted for the doorway. Hoping to reach higher ground, he sprinted back the way he’d come, but already too many creatures blocked his path and was forcing him a different hallway. He failed to see where he was going and stumbled into a wet flooded pool of ink. The walls were a bit narrow and bits of board and debris floated on the surface. Henry cried out desperately as newly materialized monsters grabbed his arms and shoulders, dragging him to his knees. He fought with them, swinging his axe wildly to cut himself free. He had heard Bendy cry out in his pocket and reached in to grab him. Raising Bendy’s paper as high as he could in the air, Henry desperately fought to keep the slick inky fingers from snatching it. Yet, with nowhere to place it; there was little that could be done as Henry became crushed under the weight of many hands attempting to drown him. Bendy watched motionless, horrified as Henry’s face became covered in sticky black ink; terror shook him. Suddenly, he realized he was falling, falling towards the black sea that yawned wide and ready to devour him. Bendy’s paper flipped in the air, then landed face-down in the pool, turning black and sunk into the depths. Henry still tried to reach for the paper, but was already fighting to keep his face from being shoved into the liquid. The background music sounded haunting with the chorus of moans emanating from dozens of ink zombies; he couldn’t believe this was how he would go.

    Henry closed his eyes and with the remaining bit of strength, tried to rise. Unbeknownst to him, the pressure on his shoulders and back has suddenly weakened. The hall shook, boards creaking as if something were pushing them outward. The ink just a few feet from Henry began to bubble furiously, momentarily stealing the attention of the hoard away from Henry’s shuddering body. A massive black shape emerged, with crookedly pointed horns and sporting a very familiar mischievous grin, half the ink dribbled down most of its face. Except for one large, dark eye, with a small glaring white pupil that narrowed itself on the creatures. The monstrous Thing’s head crashed against the low ceiling of the hall and its broad shoulders were grinding against the protesting walls. Frustrated with the space, it let out a horrible guttural roar that made the very room shake. Henry tensed up, fearing that the worst was yet to come and dared not to open his eyes. A thick hand swept over Henry with a low woosh and a heavy POW!, turning the creatures sitting on top of him into ink stains. With the pressure on his back released, Henry had a chance to turn his head and look above from his fetal position. Something dark and wet hovered over him, dripping ink onto his head and shoulders. The end of its body seemed to begin somewhere in the pool of ink, while the thick upper torso was supported by a huge forearm planted underneath it. The other arm was busy smashing ugly sludge monsters into puddles.

[keepersreprise]

“ANNABELLE” REVIEW

31 Days of Tarot Halloween - Day 3

Card: XIII Union

For Day Three of my horror/thriller movie marathon, I decided on a film that I had never seen, but had heard quite a bit about. I in fact, incidentally procured a movie poster of it several years ago, after being locked out of the theater, and let back in by an attendant (who gave me the poster). So I felt obligated to add this one to my list.

…and I regret it.

When Annabelle was first announced to an eager audience that had visions of a modern day Child’s Play, I was as excited as I was apprehensive.

And, as it turns out, for good reason.

Child’s Play this movie is most certainly not. It lacks the grittiness and dark atmosphere that the posters and trailers promised us. The movie receives some merit for being based off a legend of a doll of the same name, that is currently sealed behind a glass box at the Warrens Occult Museum in Monroe, Connecticut; owned by demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren.

The doll came into the possession of a nurse in the 70s, who felt malicious intent seeping from it like a festering wound. A psychic proclaimed it was possessed by a woman named Annabelle Higgins. Of course, this has been met with much skepticism for the popularized possessed doll trope. Which I think possibly stems from the strange, almost haunting appearance of antique porcelain dolls.

The film is a prequel to the Conjuring series, which I was unaware of (despite the movie cover smacking me in the face with it). It was produced by Peter Safran, directed by John R. Leonetti (I’m sure these names mean something to someone), and distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures.

OVERVIEW

Annabelle begins as most horror flicks do (disappointingly un-Child’s Play like) with a peaceful introduction to the characters. It opens with a married couple sitting in a church, listening to the priest’s sermon. Now admittedly, I should have known that this movie would follow the same hard-beaten path of possession-based movies that is their foundation.

Doll is possessed, the Devil is involved, there’s something creepy and evil lurking about, a priest gets involved but the priest fails, and people die before everyone is saved.

Till the next time of course.

It’s a very standard formula this film sticks to like a fly in a honey trap. And that’s fine. That’s not the major problem I have with Annabelle.

My major problem was that it brought nothing new to the table. And I could never figure out where the Rated R scenes were located. Was I too distracted by the sunny smiles of John and Mia Form’s (Ward Horton and Annabelle Wallis; I’m not making that up. The main character is played by an actress named Annabelle) perfect little lives and ideal, gouge-out-your-heart marriage?

Till that is, their home is broken into by their neighbors’ missing daughter, and she and her “estranged” boyfriend attempt to murder the Forms. The girl - one Annabelle Higgins - commits suicide while holding Mia’s doll, in a most cliche ritualistic fashion.

Naturally traumatized after having been stabbed and almost losing her baby, Mia attempts to rid herself of the doll. But after an incident at their home and the couple move, with newborn baby Leah in tow, the doll reappears amongst their things.

Mia’s decision to keep the doll and face her fears (note I say face, not overcome) is just one of the many flimsy ways that Annabelle tries to sideline the cheap plastic box of tropes this disc came in, while still being pressed right up against it.

THEMES

POSSESSION

I feel obligated to talk about the central theme of the movie first, since it’s most definitely what captured everyone’s intention.

Now, the possessed doll trope is a familiar one. Which isn’t bad. In fact, it’s good. It gives us watchers something to relate to, to get excited for, to compare to. And then…that’s where you run into problems.

Comparison.

I grew up with the Chucky franchise (which admittedly, most of the later ones are pretty bad; looking at you Seed of Chucky), and I’ve seen Dead Silence (which in my opinion, didn’t get enough praise as it should have). And I’ve watched plenty of devil or demon or ghost possessed movies, and so for so popular a movie, I had high expectations for Annabelle. Too high.

The possession element is pretty mundane. The ghost of the mysterious girl Annabelle Higgins haunts both the doll and our too-happy family; subtly at first, and then more forcefully as the film progresses.

The doll moves, doors open and close, furniture is knocked around, people are hurt. Honestly, I don’t have much to say about any of this. If you’ve seen any other possession-based movie than you’ve seen Annabelle.

CULT

What’s a possession movie without the aspect of the Devil and demons for a God-worshipping couple to face?

When I heard a news report of the Manson Family in the background at the film’s start, I thought: “Yeah, okay, it’s been done, but let’s see how they handle it.”

Well, film writer Gary Dauberman (who doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page of his own), didn’t handle it. Not really. We hear a tidbit of the news report, we are told Annabelle Higgins and her boyfriend were members of a cult, but all references to Charles Manson end there. They’re not involved.

Even why or how Annabelle Higgins came to possess the doll isn’t touched upon. There was a small ritual that summoned some weird creature that only appears twice in the film. In reality, the threat isn’t this Devil or demon, it’s Annabelle.

I will give praise where praise is do. Those brief flashes of Annabelle are a nice touch. Not scary, but ominous. The moment when she appears to Mia as a child, then grows into an adult as she attacks her, was intriguing. I can only wish that the ghost of Annabelle could do more. Tease Mia, play upon her motherly instincts, chide her, beguile her, just oh my god, something!

But there’s no depth here. We never learn how Annabelle joined the cult (or even if she was a part of the Manson Family for sure), or what her motives were. Why she murdered her family.

Yep, pretty soon the movie Annabelle is just going to be the ghost of a memory itself.

WHAT IT PROMISES, BUT NEVER DELIVERS

I feel like this deserved to have a category as a theme, because this movie does this quite a bit. A good example is the one I stated above. The mention of the Manson Family and a cult’s devious intentions are never expanded upon.

And it’s not only these two aspects. One of my biggest gripes was the revelation that it was Mia’s soul promised to this Devil/demon (which just looked like a slightly malformed, burned man), and yet I don’t recall a point in the movie this happened.

When its first thought to be the baby Leah’s soul promised, I concluded that the father John must be involved with the cult. Throughout the movie he always seemed a little…off. His smiles a bit too thin, his eyes a bit too bright, even as he’s trying to assure his wife that they can beat this possessed doll. It was awkward. Weird. Suspenseful.

But it wasn’t meant to be. John Form really is the sickeningly understanding, hard-working guy we’re presented with. Nothing nefarious about him. How truly disappointing.

Now let’s talk about the Devil/demon that briefly chases Mia. We see it in two scenes. Two very brief scenes. When she’s in the basement and it lures her with a moving baby carriage, then chases her up the stairs. And then when it’s climbing on her ceiling, and thrusts do-good Evelyn out of the apartment.

And then…it disappears. Our secondary antagonist is nothing but a bully that pushes little kids around on the playground, before getting bored.

The last thing I will discuss in this section (before actually moving on to the theme I’m really supposed to be detailing) is the horror aspect. Possibly the only part I would consider that makes this movie Rated R is when Annabelle and BF (or the Better Forgotten as I’ve dubbed him) attack John and Mia in their home. There’s a little blood, a little violence, and that’s. Really. It.

No mutilated bodies. No nudity. Hell, the scene isn’t even really interesting till we see Annabelle’s blood seeping into the doll’s eye socket. And that’s still rather meh.

“UNION"

Okay at last! I can discuss something positive in this movie!

(And if you truly believed that, you haven’t been entirely paying attention)

There are many examples of Union in Annabelle. Foremost, is the united strength of John and Mia’s love in the face of this new threat to their very ordinary lives. And as can be expected - of course - John is an unbeliever at the beginning (that heathen!). But faced with a hysterical wife and underwhelming evidence (he never really sees anything peculiar himself till the end), he stands vigilant in the face of Annabelle’s ghost. It is through the power of their marriage and the strength of their love…!

Aaaannndddd…I just can’t do this.

While John and Mia’s marriage is a central focal point of the movie, and it is in fact their love that gives them strength to oppose the evil forces working against them, it frankly sickens me. It is the same tale told again, made somewhat eerie by John’s dismissive personality.

Instead I’ll talk about the most obvious case of Union in the film, which is that of Annabelle’s soul and the doll.

I really do wish that the movie had expanded upon this more. Told or - better yet - shown, how Annabelle Higgins knew the ritual necessary for this. Though I suppose that’s what Annabelle: Creation is about (yes…?…please…?). The doll - which was already eerie to begin with - takes on a more sinister appearance as the film progresses.

The skin turns more grey, the blush in its cheeks more pronounced, the smile thinner and more malevolent, the eyes more frightening. We never really see the doll move, not even it’s eyes, which makes it somehow creepier than if we had. While in a way I wish the movie had given a reason for this transformation, I think we’re better off without it.

The last aspect of Union I want to discuss, is that of mother and child. The bond of love that is undeniable.

This connection is very paramount in the movie. It’s Sharon’s Higgins’ daughter that returns home and commits suicide in anticlimactic ritualistic fashion. It’s Mia and her unborn child that the watchers are most concerned for. It’s the memory of her daughter that drives Evelyn to commit suicide in order to save the Form family.

In the start of the film, John worries about what an unborn Leah is exposed to, convinced the outside does in fact, have an effect on his baby. He wants her to come born innocent and carefree. And Mia chooses to uproot her life in thought of her daughter, and to keep the doll (in a moment of eerie behavior I really mistakenly thought was leading somewhere) as a reminder that they must face their fears head on.

There are difficulties, of course. Mia seems detached from her child at times. When Priest Ferez asks for a picture of Leah to welcome the newest member to their church, Mia doesn’t want to be a part of the photo. The priest convinces her, but she remains reluctant.

The why of this is never clearly stated. During an argument with his wife, John suggests she is suffering postpartum depression. An accusation that Mia quickly denies.

And yet there are signs of it. Mia is depressed, craves adult conversation, and yet rarely seeks it. Instead she at one point turns her attention to two children living in the building. At times, when she holds her baby, it is almost as if she is holding a doll (which I wish they had played upon this more).

Yet when Mia fears the summoned creature is after her baby, that almost casual dismissiveness disappears, and we see the true depth of the bond that is between a mother and child.

Mia is completely prepared to leap to her death, to give up her soul, to save her child. And she even does it. But her husband grabs her and tries to reason with her.

And then the watcher sees the revelation that comes over friend Evelyn’s face. She who had lost her daughter Ruby in a car accident. Ruby, who had visited her mother in a dream, saying there was something yet Evelyn had to do.

And with the heart-shaped locket holding the baby picture of Ruby in her hand, she leaps.

To me, Annabelle was less a horror movie, and more so the tale of a conflicted mother and wife, confronted with the diabolical and the unknown. A woman, who has led a happy and ordinary life, is now faced with the most difficult of situations.

The murder of friends, the assault on herself and unborn baby, the deterioration of her marriage, the challenge to her faith, and the test of her love for her child. For the promise of a life greater than her own.

[survivingafterus]

String of Consciousness

CW: Rape mention, child abuse, poor living conditions, mention of pedophilia, mental illness, self harm

Trying to conjure memories from the dust of traumas and misfortunes is aimless. Sometimes with a smell I feel sharp intakes of time flooding back to me, holding nothing but a vague idea of the memory tied to it. My earliest memory is from behind the bars of a play pen. I am being given gold fish crackers. I can’t be older than four. 

The deep, dark smell of Pepsi in the largest Texico mug you’ve ever seen winding into one with the comfortable chemical smell of Zippo lighter fluid. My father. 

It is immeasurably hard to recall the details of a moment in which your consciousness is disconnected to your body. I laughed. It was funny. Watching a grown woman jump up and down, screaming. Her face was red and she spit as she screamed, red hot frustration. Her teeth were yellow and streaky, like an unwashed egg. Her hair was wild and greasy, the result of inadequate parenting before her and sulfur-heavy well water. She is terrifying. When asked how I was abused I used to tell people it was never physical. I had been taught that hitting your child in the face and head was acceptable. 

I grew up without clean drinking water. I stole and hoarded food.

Salt and spices scoured our tongues before we hid the evidence and threw the bouillon cubes behind the propane tank we sat on. It was hot and we were young, poor, and desperately starved for entertainment. We wanted fun. The feeling of ice cold AC air on my bare legs as I lay on the love seat in the farthest corner of the house. Laying here is always a gamble, because spiders love to gather around the AC, and in Missouri the spiders kill you. 

The acrid smell of stale piss and rotting food hit me in the face each time I come through the door. There are ants in the bottom of the gallon of chocolate milk after it was left open. It’s hard to distinguish where the piss smell originates from, is it her 5 year old still in diapers or is it the smell of too many animals in one house? Maybe it’s the smell of negligent obesity and the limitations it set on self care, or maybe the desire for it? My best friend lived in this house. I spent most of my time in this house as a child. Marissa was the cheapest babysitter in town and my mom was busy. The sound of Rob Zombie music is played over the muted television, showing a healthy balance of SciFy and professional wrestling. Seeing her skin pulled over her fat body was shocking. Seeing his huge ass was traumatizing. When semi-professional wrestlers want to act hurt they cut their faces with razor blades. It was hot in the van and the smell of rotting food and trash only made the van ride more uncomfortable. JD was supposed to see his dad today and we had all driven together to drop him off. His dad never came to get him. Stains decorated the light blue walls, from food, from art supplies, from human feces. Staring out the window I focused on making it through the night. I was a paranoid kid. I was terrified. Stirring on the cot that had been set up in one of the children’s rooms I focused on making it through the night.

When I was around the age of five I thought that one could stretch their limbs out and suspend themselves under the bed, so if someone looked under the bed the person would be over their line of sight. I was always practicing hiding. Digging my way underneath my parent’s bed I’d watch my mother’s feet pass by, unconcerned with where I was. The thick weight of fur coats against my face as I hide inside my closet, thinking that as long as I had a barrier of outerwear I was invisible. I was safe. I knew that spiders lived in that part of my closet and still I practiced hiding there. The satisfying click of the pull string bulb in my mother’s closet rewards me with darkness as I push my way further into the mass of my mother’s wardrobe, wedging myself between elaborate lingerie outfits, dress-suits, and glitzy dresses. My mother always wanted to be seen. I just wanted to disappear. I was terrified of my room and my big bed. A wooden headboard beautifully carved cradled my twin size mattress, which in turn kept me frozen in fear at the shadows cast by trees in my windows. I saw myself sleeping, there in my bed, but I don’t remember the rest, or if there is “the rest”. My dad had a file of naked photos he had taken of our fifteen year old babysitter. 

Memories of Versaille float through the air, like scents that can’t be identified, fleeting and undefined. A waterfall. Other kids. All the world was green. I remember being scared. I remember sleeping in the rain in a tent with my best friend and her family. I get the memory of us looking over the crowds of tents and the scene in Harry Potter where they’re looking at a scene of tents mixed up. An albino peacock is something to awe at. 

It is hot and the door is open, leaving a thin gnarled screen as a filter to deter bugs. The Summer nights still hang within the nineties and the house is humid and wet. The sound of cicadas is a nice background to the hushed sounds of my mother speaking to her friend outside. She left that night and I was left to sleep on the couch. It looks like she’s peeing, the woman on the centerfold of Playboy. She sits on a fountain and sports very little, but just enough, body hair. The boy showing it to me is two years older than me, and his brother who is a year younger than I am stands with us. This Playboy is one of many in the trailer outside the house I slept in last night, where their grandfather spent the majority of his time (and may have lived there.) When I came home from my visit I told my mother I had showed people my boobies, because I felt like I had to. I was four. She then explained to me sexual assault and rape. Afterwards I told her I had been raped, she laughs it off as my having mixed up the definitions. I don’t know what happened, but I do know I was always a very smart kid. 

Life was a movie, and I was it’s disocciative director. Walking through life, narrating my adventures, even looking at the camera and speaking outloud. “Ah, my favorite show is on.” I would say and rub my hands together and make my way downstairs. The ornate stained glass lamp that sits on my grandfather’s antique rolltop desk illuminates my shadow and I imagine what I must look like descending the stairs. I am five or six. I sit at the bottom of the stairs and listen to my parents’ war. It’s shouting, he’s drunk, and she’s mean and desperate. Glass crashes as my father swings our dining room chair through the air, onto our kitchen table, breaking our chandelier and leaving a large crack running through the left side. Our side cupboard door never shut the same after he ripped it off it’s hinges. 

The smell of chickens gags me, as I cower in the hutch. I sit atop cracked and eaten eggs, one of our dogs had made short work of the nest. I am thirteen, maybe, and I am terrified. I sob into my knees and curl into myself and try to escape hell, but I never make it out of the hutch. It is hot and the bugs fly around me and get in my face. My face stings from sobbing and i feel red hot. My mother finds me in the kitchen and starts to scream at me. I am lazy. I am stupid. I am useless. I am being pulled through the kitchen by my hair, which falls down my back, sharing the shade and texture of my mother’s. When she does this I shut down. I don’t have an option. I can take anything as long as I can’t feel. 

There is a framed dollar bill in the girl’s locker room office in the basement of my elementary school. I imagine this field when I think of the Lovely Bones.

I never tried to hide it, I wanted to be seen. An arm, pale, dusted with freckles opens the door to the hall, the arm opposite stings with each small movement, breaking the thin scabs and sending fresh blood to mingle with the crusted blood from the hour before. It’s hard to count how many vertical lines have been opened on my skin, even if my arm weren’t covered in blood. I am reported to my high school nurse. She does nothing.

I walk down the five miles of gravel that connect us to Town. In my pocket is a cute kitty pouch with x’s for eyes. Inside is a varied collection of razor blades gathered from cutting apart my mother’s disposable razors. I cut as I walk, my whole arm is covered in blood. The dust sticks to my skin and sets on my wounds as cars pass me walking in the road. There are no sidewalks here. I make it just past the horse farm before my mother and little brother find me in their car. She doesn’t notice at first. She is mad at me for leaving to walk the five miles to look for my cellphone, which my mother threw out the window trying to throw it at my head. The lights on my Sony Ericson change color and help guide me to find it back. I don’t remember if I ever found it. My mother demanded I get in the car and my brother tells her I’m bleeding pretty badly. She starts to scream at me and tries to hit me in the head, demanding my razor pouch, this she also throws out the window. My skin turns orange as my mother roughly scrubs turpentine onto my split skin, telling me it should be burning. She was confused, turpentine does not burn when applied to skin. She wanted it to burn. There was a terrifying black and white portrait of a young girl around ten in a dress. It had to be taken in the late 1800s or early 1900s and it curled and started to sink in it’s frame. The ceiling my mother meticulously applied ornate paper to cracks and yellows and starts to sag. Dust covers everything so quickly, and what was a beautiful well kept home slipped to a kept enough, slipped to a dusty, dirty, clutter filled space, to a completely coated with dust and bird feed crumbs and powder. 

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This essay was written for a college course. It’s intent is to use descriptive language to lay out scenes. It is also a huge mess of an essay, but I feel the descriptions are good.