#this happened a while ago and I still here the clack of plastic on tile

[tampon-on-the-sidewalk]

Butterbel comes into my room with a muffled chirp, a toy mouse in her mouth.

She sets it down for me. I throw it. She does absolutely nothing.

Hours later, Butterbel does the same muffled chirp. "Oh? Another toy?"

It's a cap to a whipped cream bottle. "Honey, that's not a toy."

She sets it down, goes absolutely feral towards it, and then runs out of the room with it in her mouth.

[alecxaheart]

Someone's Someone | Bang Chan Oneshot (1)

✎ Genre : CEO AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 3.5k words

✎ Synopsis : We all just wanna be someone's someone that we can't live without. At this time, Chan was looking for his. And unexpectedly, he was already tied down to someone.

✎ Warnings : Explicit Language

✎. . . I actually just played my songs on shuffle then Monsta X's Someone's Someone played so.. yeah, I'm inspired. Also, this is my first post in tumblr btw. :)

✎ Parts : 1 , 2

The relaxing sounds of nature enveloped him as a whole. His shoulders less tense and eyes closed as he sat on the cooled sand, facing the burning star and calm waters ahead. Seagulls could be heard in the distance as they caught themselves a dinner to eat. The refreshing cool wind hit his body, slightly making him shiver for a second. Waves, created by the sea and wind, kisses the shore repeatedly. For once, he was far away from worries, stress, fears and regrets. Just him, contented with the company of nature.

As he fluttered his eyes open, he was met with a stunning view of the sun meeting the ocean. The ocean reflecting the sun's visuals as well as the sky above it. Even though the reflection was blurry, it's still pleasing to the eye. Just perfectly imperfect.

However in his opinion, it wasn't stunning as it seems. This secret escapade paradise of his doesn't quite appeal to him yet. A missing piece that could be anywhere on this wide world. That thought kind of bothers him every time.

Sighing, he figured that it was time to go back. He slipped onto his slippers and headed out of his escapade paradise with a head hung low. Hopping on an enormous boulder that happened to break the wired fence and fixated there, having easier access to and from the place than climbing over the fence.

With a last glance towards his escapade, he knew he'll be coming back and that next time will be the scenery he's been looking for, hopefully.

Frustrated with the task at hand, Chan ran his fingers through his blonde locks as he leaned back on his chair and head facing upwards toward the ceiling. Taking a brief break from a whole 6 hours straight of writing and staring at the monitor. Followed by him grabbing his coffee and taking a sip, eyes boring on the monitor. He was just half finished with his paperworks at the time of nightfall, which made him more in distress and felt crammed.

His eyes then wandered around his office, landing onto the view of the opposite building of his company in the end. Where he could see the workers of the Marketing Department bidding their goodbyes to one another, closing the lights and exiting the room. Oh, how much he too wanted to leave and rest right at this moment. Although his belief of 'getting things done before going into slumber' is preventing him to do so (even though he already got a lot of things done). With a sigh, he faced back in front of his monitor and papers, determined to get everything done before tomorrow starts.

" Sunbae-nim, aren't you coming with us? We're having dinner at the Chicken & Barbecue restaurant just a block away from here. " Seungmin asked, grabbing his suitcase below his desk. You leaned back on your chair while stretching your cramping arms and a yawn escaping your mouth.

" As much as I want to, Seungmin, I can't, " You started, rubbing your temples to ease your aching head. " Because our new boss literally gave me 5 thick documents to finish before tomorrow morning without any mercy. And that's just bullshit. I don't even think I'm halfway through it! " Seungmin replied with a chuckle to your short rant, an amused expression written on his soft face. You were having another small mental breakdown as you stared at your unfinished pile of work, feeling your soul escape your body.

" I think you're overreacting. "

" Well, what if I am?! "

Laughing, Seungmin leans his side on your cubicle, looking over at your messy desk filled with sticky notes, papers and pens. " I don't think it's that much. You're lucky that your boss isn't here to hear any of your complaints, " He muttered as he took a peek at one of your documents. You scoffed, not my fault that I'm not as good as you.

" Hear what? "

Frantically, you immediately hide yourself behind your cubicle and pretend that you were focusing on your work. On the other hand, Seungmin casually brushed his navy blue coat with his palms and lifted himself off from the cubicle. Making it all seem like nothing happened.

" Oh, it's nothing, Ms. Ka- " Seungmin paused as he met the owner of the voice who wasn't the person they were expecting to be there. " M-Mr. Bang?! " He stuttered, eyes widened at the blonde headed CEO. Seeing in the corner of your eyes, Seungmin bowed ninety degrees at him as a sign of respect. Even with his heated glare on you, you continued your work like no CEO even entered. Thanks to your cute height, for sure you wouldn't be spotted.

" What are you doing here? Working hours are done. "

Seungmin stood straight and scratched the back of his head. Curiosity slowly arose in you as seconds passed - since you've never met a CEO called by your colleague as ' Mr. Bang ' - although as much as possible, you didn't let go out of hand and kept your focus on the documents silently. The least thing you wanted to happen to you right now is get caught by one of the company's CEO. " I was about to head out, Mr. Bang, " Finding an excuse, he pulled up his sleeve to check the time on his wristwatch. " Uhm.. Yeah, I'm late for dinner. Sorry, Mr. Bang, I have to leave right now. Have an great night! "

With a last bow to the CEO, Seungmin dashed his way out of the building, leaving you alone with your work. The blonde head noticed how the room was still lit up despite it being unoccupied, which he thought. Heading to the switches, everything around you darkened. The only source of light you had was the monitor, and Chan caught it in the corner of his eye.

" Is someone still there? " His voice, catching a bit of foreign accent with it, echoed in the hushed area.

Baffled as he approached that light with a few slow strides, you freaked out mentally. Swiftly but silently, you left your chair and hid yourself underneath the desk next to yours. As he neared your cubicle, you held your breath, slowly starting to feel lightheaded. You don't know what are the consequences if you get caught after working hours since you're still kind of new - got hired just 5 months ago. Dumb you overthink random shit first before even going to the thing called 'common sense' and the rules you heard just goes in one ear then out on the other.

The moment Chan was about to reach your cubicle and take a glance to his right, the sound of marimba playing a soft tune echoed in the room. Stopping in his tracks, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and grabbed it, swiping to the right to answer the call. You let out a hushed yet shaky sigh of relief, your shoulders less tense than a while ago. In your mind played a chant, thanking whoever was your savior.

Chan narrowed his eyes at the back of your cubicle while his phone is still pressed against his ear, listening to the person on the other line's complaints. " I'm on my way. Don't do anything stupid, " Not too soon you hear heels clacking against the polished marble tiles, the noise fainting as he left the room.

It took you a good couple of seconds to get out of your hiding spot (since you had to catch your breath and calm your heart down from the thrill), slightly shaking your whole body first before heading back to your seat and continuing your pile of work. Mentally groaning at yourself.

Oh. My. Gosh. These. Eyebags.

Is the first thing you thought as you looked at yourself in the mirror. The cause of it appearing badly because you obviously lacked sleep. All due to the time allotted for slumber was consumed by finishing your 5 thick documents that will be passed this morning. You could've cared less if today wasn't a work day, which fortunately for you it was still work day and these damn documents aren't gonna pass themselves to your boss this instant.

Fumbling around in your bag, you found your makeup kit and started fixing yourself. A little bit of touch ups here and there, just a little to look like it's still more natural than a lot to look like a plastic doll barbie.

Once satisfied, you smiled sweetly at yourself just to start your day nicely and exit your household. While walking on your way to the train station, incoherent mumbling leaves your mouth. A train of thoughts clouding you about your worries if you've left something important behind. In all honesty despite of your current good looks, you look stupid or crazy for talking to yourself in public. Well, at least you aren't as worse as someone yelling nonsense.

" I have all my files, identification card, phone, wallet, pocket knife 'cause anything could happen, keys- " you paused as soon as you misplaced your shoes at the edge of the last stair, falling forward. Luckily for you, you caught yourself and regained your balance. Wide eyed, you saw a kid, a giddy smile plastered on his face as he saw your commotion with a lollipop in hand. You felt embarrassed but laughed it off anyway, a light tint of pink decorating your cheeks.

You rushed towards the gates as soon as you realized the time with the card in between your fingers. Three beeps emitted from the machine when the gates opened after you placed the card on the scanner. With a few more strides, you caught up to your train ride as it was about to leave. You sighed in relief and sat down on a vacant bench, head automatically leaning back on the window. Your eyes boring at the ceiling while taking steady breaths after your short marathon on the way.

On the other hand, across you sat Chan. His right leg crossed over the other while scrolling through his phone. He wore a button up shirt, the first two still unbuttoned revealing more of his chest. His navy blue tie hung loose around his neck while his coat is still folded around his arm. His slacks were the same color as his tie and coat and wore black pointed shoes to finish the statement of his overall clothing. Blonde hair locks were scattered around his face but still managed to look stunning and attractive.

You haven't noticed his presence, so did he to you, and the fact that you both don't know each others' appearance even though you go to the same company just adds to the reason for you two's ignorance to one another's existence.

You got yourself to go back to slumber comfortably in your current position although you know when you wake up, you'll be greeted by your neck aching. Hopefully you don't miss your stop while gaining more sleep. The train swaying you lightly from time to time that you found quite relaxing, like a cradle rocking back and forth lightly to put a baby to sleep.

A child was running around the train with a joyful smile, giggling. He only stopped in his tracks when he reached in between you and Chan. His eyes glowed like there were stars decorated around his chocolate brown pupil when he eyed you two. Looking around, he spotted a roll of red thread underneath your bench and grabbed it. He thought it was just right.

With you being the closest, he starts to tie the thread around your pinky finger. You were too tired to even feel his small cold fingers run around your fingers nor the string tighten around it. Once done, he smiled to himself, his dimples appearing on either side of his cheeks and eyes forming into small crescents.

He left your side and skipped over in front of Chan, who was now too deep in thought as he gazed outside the window and his phone tucked in his pocket. Holding the other end of the thread, he wrapped it around Chan's thumb. Chan's body shook in surprise as he felt cold fingers ghosting above his hand and averted his attention to the child. He saw him knotting the red string tightly, strange that he barely even feels the string tightened around his thumb. " What are you doing? " he questioned although the child only responded with a bright smile, followed by a giggle.

The child turned and ran away from him, more giggles leaving his lips. Chan stood up and tried to chase him. But stopped as soon as he saw the child in the distance, dissolving into little particles in thin air and completely vanished in his sight. In disbelief, he rubbed his eyes and looked for the child around his area. Thinking that he was out of his mind, he sighed in defeat. There's no way anyone could do that in reality. It's either I'm insane or living in a fantasy or a chosen one blessed to see ghosts. Maybe, all of the above.

Chan looked down on his thumb, following where the other end lead to. Then, he spotted your sleeping beauty state, the other end attached to your pinky finger. With the sun rising in the horizon, a ray of gold-like light shines through the window, casting a shadow on you. And he thought you looked mesmerizing like that, peaceful and lovely. At least he wasn't tied up with a bitch or a hag.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open as the sun shined upon you. Squinting at its brightness, you raised a hand above your eyes to see more, only finding a red string wrapped around your pinky finger. You examined it, wondering what prank is anyone even planning and why did it have to involve you out of all people. Before anything stupid could happen, you attempted to loose the knot, ignoring the curiosity for a while of where the other end was. Looping and tugging it, even tried to chomp on it with your teeth, but all attempts failed. Well, that's until you gave up, untying it was impossible, unbelievably there's a knot that couldn't be untied. Sounded like marriage when you think about it, but there's the annulment and divorce ruining the picture.

Tearing your gaze at the string, you caught a pair of bewitching dark brown eyes staring back at you. In that particular moment, everything just froze in place. Time has stopped just for the two of you, you thought.

You felt your heart melting, probably from the warmth emitting in your body or from the warmth his eyes give off as you saw little sparks decorating the pupil. Unfamiliar light feathers tickling the insides of your stomach is what you felt other than the heat and that thawing heart of yours. Your mind knew it well that you shouldn't feel this way towards someone who you just met but your body and heart reacted so differently. There's just something about him that made you feel so exposed and vulnerable in his eyes that you couldn't come up with a possible answer to your 'why's.

Both of you didn't notice how seconds turned into minutes, too lost into one another's orbs. That was until the train stopped, causing Chan to break the eye contact and lose his balance. Before his hands made contact on the metal floor, he took a step forward in order to regain his balance which he successfully did. A small chuckle left your lips, eyes turning into crescents as you saw the commotion. He narrowed his eyes at you as the train was back in motion.

Chan fixed his clothes first before asking, " Who are you? ". Grabbing the pole next to him to prevent him from falling again on the next stop.

" Shouldn't I be asking you that as well? " You replied with a gummy smile, which quickly faded when you remembered what's the problem.

" What is this on my finger and why is it connected to yours? What kind of trickery is anyone pulling? Why am I involved in this? " You kept firing questions at him while he stayed there unbothered. Unlike you who did some more attempts to remove the thread, silly you even tried aggressively shaking your hand in hopes of making it a little loose. But no prevail happened once again.

" Just get rid of it. I didn't want this too, you know. " Chan taps his foot impatiently as he eyed your useless attempts.

" I am trying! " You exaggerated. Deciding to bring out the best tool you have for the situation in hand, your hands fumbling in your bag. Once you felt the cool metal on your fingertips, you brought it out and flipped it open.

Chan's eyes widened at the sight of the pocket knife in your palms. " You carry that on a daily basis? Are you insane? "

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. " It's not insane when it's used for self-defense purposes. I'm too nice to be the murderer you're assuming, " You replied, head throbbing as things aren't going well with the charming blonde.

He responded just before the blade and thread were in contact, starting with a scoff. " Yeah sure, nice. Anyone can wear that façade anywhere. "

" You know what, " You started as you withdrew the pocket knife back and glared at him afterwards, pissed off. " You deal with this shit yourself, I'm done with my part and I could care less about this red thread anyway. You look like you don't need any of my help 'cause you look fancier than me and it seems like you're not taking any gratitude towards my kindness. Damn these crazy rich people. " You threw the tool towards his direction and looked away from him, arms crossed. Chan instinctively caught it without getting any cuts despite the fact it's closed, his eyes burning through your figure in fury.

" If I actually got wounded instead from your little stunt, I would've sued you this instant, " He growled, only to be ignored by you.

Irritated by your sudden change of attitude, Chan flipped it open and skillfully ran the blade through the string. Only for it to just fall through like the string never existed, ghost-like perhaps. " It's not cutting, what the hell, " Chan muttered under his breath as he tried a few more times again.

"It's just a string, how could a- " You spoke as you turned your head back to his direction, only to be cutted off as you witnessed the unusual. Mouth a little bit agape in disbelief. The thread didn't fall apart even while the blade was just sitting in between of it on air. Maybe that explains why you could barely even feel the thread wrapped securely around your finger. You could tell that this stunning blonde head was just as puzzled as you were.

" Sir, if you're having any problems that includes this woman, we can sort it out. Just withdraw the knife first please, " a man suddenly blurted out, his voice a little bit shaky. That's when you realized the commotion you both have caused, everyone around you two took steps back away. All had fear in their eyes.

" Wait, you don't see the thread we're trying to cut? " Chan questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. At that, he was more misunderstood.

" There's no thread..? " With that, it got the two of us surprised. Is the crazy one here them, who couldn't see this string, or us, who could?

Chan tried to explain our situation thoroughly but when he was about to speak up, out of the blue, a voice spoke in the speakers. " Please mind the gap, " You immediately grabbed his arm, carried his belongings and dragged him out of the train. Leaving its passengers confused as they eyed us. They might be thinking that you two are idiots.

The doors just shut a second later when you two got out. You felt a bit suffocated for an unknown reason, your hand reaching for your chest where you could feel your heart beating. Panting, you shoved Chan's belongings into his chest. " Are you alright? " He asked as he tried to place a hand on your back, the least thing he could do to comfort you.

But his hand only stopped in mid-air when you took your last deep breath, replying. " Let's just part ways here, " Saying those words felt a bit disheartening at some point, yet you chose to disregard it.

You walked forwards, while Chan stayed in his position, wearing his coat and fixing his tie. Although, something stopped you. As in you couldn't go forwards as much as you force to. Well when you did force yourself, it only tugged Chan towards you. Turning around, he was already eyeing you. " What was that for?! "

Glaring at the thread, you thought out loud, " Is this string telling me, it can only stretch itself approximately at 7 meters?! "

Continue

[loganscanons]

not a tantrum

Characters: Britney and Quest

Summary: Britney being moody and angsty and Quest checking up on her.

@romecanons

As far as Britney was concerned, there was nothing wrong with her. The self-induced isolation had nothing to do with an inability to process through confusing emotions. She’d ditched the team after the last heist because she wanted some much-needed alone time. No one could deny that the team was infuriating and a complete pain in the ass at times, and it was perfectly reasonable for Britney to hole up in a motel for a little while. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum, though. She wasn’t. And that billboard she’d doused acid slime? That wasn’t an outburst of rage. If anything, she’d improved the advertisement. The cracking and smoking mixed with the smell of acid and burning metal and plastic was incredibly satisfying. She watched as the acid ate away at the oversized photo of that smiling white woman with flawless skin and straight, perfect, shining teeth, and long, full eyelashes, and glossy lips, and hair that was too fucking shiny and smooth to be real, and—

Okay, maybe she’d been a little pissed at the billboard. But, other than that, she was fine.

Wearing an oversized sweatshirt, with the hoodie pulled forward to hide her face in the dim yellow lights that hummed above the reception desk, Britney exchanged a wad of cash for a cheap motel room. The bored woman behind the counter smelled like cigarettes and hairspray, and she barely glanced at Britney as she typed, the long nail on her forefinger clacking against the keys.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said nasally, giving Britney a dull look. There didn’t seem to be much life behind those blood-shot eyes. Britney took the key without a word.

She had to walk back outside to get to her room, and up a flight of steps to a veranda that lined the second-floor motel rooms. A group of drunk men, surely stumbling to the next bar or strip club, yelled a jumble of intelligible words at Britney. One voice called out above the rest.

“C’mon baby, whatcha hidin’ under there?”

Britney curled her lip in disgust. She pulled back her hoodie, revealing the yellow-green tint of her skin and her colorless eyes. If she had to spend the rest of her life looking like a monster, she might as well put it to good use. The joyful hollering of the men morphed into startled confusion and fear. Britney wanted to pelt them with some slime for good measure, but that would cause too much of a scene that she didn’t want to deal with right now.

The motel key protested going into the lock, but eventually gave way, and the door swung open with a horrific whine. Britney flicked on the light and closed the door behind her, taking in the room. Once there may have been color, but by now everything was dull yellow or brown. The wallpaper peeled in the corners and stains patterned the ceiling. The light on the nightstand flickered uneasily, sending shadows dancing across the walls.

With the number of heists the team had pulled over the past few months, Britney could afford a much nicer place to stay. She could be in a penthouse suite, overlooking a beach and crashing waves, the lights of the city dotting the peripheral. A room with fluffy white towels and soft cotton sheets. An enormous high definition television and a bathroom with tiles that gleamed and reflected anything that passed.

Small and cheap was better for a girl like Britney. There was no chance of seeing herself reflected in the dulled, dirty tiles of this bathroom. No television to broadcast beautiful men and women overreacting about menial problems that could never compare to the shit she’d been through. The greenish tinge of her sweat would be indiscernible on the already-stained yellowed bedsheets. Mutant sweat might be the least gross bodily fluid on that bed.

Once this place would have disgusted her. Now, she could think of nowhere more fitting. Except maybe a sewer. A sewer where the slime of the walls could match the slime that slipped off her in her moroseness. Maybe she’d make friends with the supposed alligators that lurked in the disgusting water, or a pack of oversized rats.

There was a chance she was being dramatic right now, but if she’d spent a second to dwell on that possibility, she would’ve decided that dramatics were completely justifiable.

Britney dumped a duffle bag full of stolen magazines and make-up onto the plain desk against the wall. Only about a foot and a half separated the desk and the full-sized bed that took up most of the room. She plopped down into the plastic desk chair and set to work, opening the first magazine her fingers touched. Stealing full purses worth of make-up would never be as enjoyable as destroying entire warehouses full of make-up products, but it brought her some satisfaction. Especially when she used the stolen products as an outlet for her anger. She stabbed the point of a knife into palettes of eyeshadow and blush, assaulted and marred the smiling faces in her magazines with eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, turned each flawless face of beauty into something monstrous. Something like her.

Turning the page of her third magazine, Britney was greeted by another smiling face. This triggered something in her that the others hadn’t. All of the airbrushed smiles infuriated her, but this one was the worst yet. The rage hit her with a jolt. The woman, a young woman, probably not yet twenty, looked like Britney. Not Britney now. Britney with clear, human-colored skin, and soft, strawberry blonde hair.

With a small shriek, Britney stabbed the magazine repeatedly. The knife tore through the pages and sank into the desk, leaving marks in the cheap wood. She didn’t care. She stabbed until the woman on the page was nothing more than shredded glossy paper. For good measure, she spit on the page, leaving a glob of green-ish saliva.

Britney reached to toss that magazine into the trash. There was nothing left of it to destroy. She had her wrist bent to chuck the magazine aside when she heard a noise. Tensing, she froze, listening carefully. This motel didn’t reside in a nice area, so disturbing noises had reached her ears since she’d arrived, but this one was different. The noise of someone or something trying to be quiet, followed by too much silence, like a teenager sneaking back into their house after a night partying, and freezing when the second to last stair creaked beneath their foot.

Then a scraping noise came from the same area, near the window. Britney rotated the knife in her hand, holding it with the sharp edge of the blade angled away from her. In her other hand, she produced a glob of slime, the shape of her fingers melting away into an oozing green liquid. She tip-toed across the room and plastered herself against the wall, beside the window.

--

Quest hadn’t thought twice when Britney unexpectedly vanished two weeks ago. She could be the poster child for angsty teenagers, and he figured she just wanted some time to let off steam. It happened to all of them. One of them would go missing for a week and return in better spirits. If they were worried, they could track one another by the carnage they left in their wake, keeping tabs to make sure their team member wasn’t dead or in danger. Which is one of the ways he found Britney. The acidic, steaming holes left in billboards were useful breadcrumbs.

If anyone else had gone M.I.A., Quest wouldn’t have paid so much attention. This was Britney, though. From his first day on the team, he had an affinity for her that he couldn’t quite explain. At first, it was fascination. Britney resented her powers and everything she’d become. Quest admired her power and found it interesting that she didn’t. The fascination evolved into genuine liking. Quest enjoyed Britney’s presence, even with all of her moaning and complaining. So, when a week passed and Britney still hadn’t returned, he decided to go looking for her.

Following the destructive breadcrumbs, and a few leads from his family’s underground network of spies, Quest found Britney easily enough. She’d committed some petty thefts at Walgreens and CVS pharmacies, as well as some make-up stores, hopping from motel to motel as she did so. At each hotel he’d been just a little too late, but this time, he’d found her before she left. He slid the motel room window up and climbed gracefully inside the room.

Only to be met with a knife in his face and a raised fist of oozing slime. Not steaming slime, so he was in no danger of losing his skin, but it would still be unpleasant.

“It’s been a while since anyone has greeted me with a knife,” Quest said. “You sure know the way to a man’s heart.”

“Through his ribcage,” Britney quipped flatly, lowering her arms. “What the fuck, Q?”

“Nice to see you too,” he said, closing the window as Britney stepped back to let him in.

“You couldn’t have just knocked on the door?” she asked. “I could’ve stabbed you.”

“Eh, I’d be fine,” Quest said. “Would you have let me in if I knocked on the door?” he asked.

“No,” she said flatly. She didn’t want to see anyone, including Quest.

“That’s why I didn’t knock,” he said.

Quest crossed the short length of the room, his eyes drawn to the mess on the desk. Britney felt a ripple of anxiety, followed by a wave of anger. He was invading her personal space and examining things that were supposed to be her secret way of venting. Why was he here? He needed to leave.

“Nice art project,” Quest said, touching his forefinger to a destroyed eyeshadow palette. A residue of purple, glittery dust covered the tip of his finger. He rubbed the dust away with his thumb, watching with what Britney thought was a weird amount of interest as the eyeshadow fell away.

“Will you leave.” It wasn’t a question the way Britney said it.

“I just got here,” Quest said, picking up a magazine.

Britney was beside him a second later, still brandishing the knife.

“Maybe I should just stab you anyway,” she suggested, pressing the tip against the side of Quest’s neck. He leaned back slightly but made no indication of fear or concern.

“Stabbing. That’s romantic,” he said, with a distracted air. He placed the magazine back on the desk and then peered closely at the photo that was stabbed into ribbons.

Britney rolled her eyes, pretending that her heart hadn’t started to beat a little faster, and then said, “Fucking leave, Q.”

“I came to see you,” he said, touching the destroyed magazine.

“I don’t want to be seen,” she said. “I want you to go away. An-and stop looking through my shit!”

Britney pushed him away from the desk and blocked the mess that covered it with her body. The action broke his reverie and his eyes didn’t drift back to the table. Instead, he gazed at her face, eyes moving slowly over her features. He always looked her right in the face, and it unnerved her. Never with disgust. Usually with what seemed to be mild interest. Britney felt like Quest was taking her apart and figuring out every secret she’d ever had when he looked at her like that.

This time though, he looked concerned. Quest was a master at masking his true emotions and replacing them with anything that would help him get his way. But this didn’t seem like a mask. Britney spent enough time around him to accurately guess what he might be feeling. It helped that he was more candid around Britney than he was around anyone else. He still never showed exactly what he was feeling, but enough that Britney was learning how to read him.

There was a slight, angled bow of his brows and a glimmer of softness in his eyes, suggestive of concern. Quest made no effort to hide it. The silence grew heavier and thicker for Britney the longer Quest gazed at her like that. No more than a foot separated them, and Britney wasn’t used to having anyone so close to her, unless it was Will or Dev making an effort to annoy her, or one of the girls showing some gesture of sisterly affection. And occasionally, Quest, with a flirting, possessive intent.

Britney was about to snap or yell at him, anything to dissipate the silence, when Quest’s expression turned neutral again, any trace of emotion melting away. He stepped back and sat down on the bed.

Quest started spending time with the team more out of curiosity than anything else. He wasn’t raised to work in team settings or to trust anyone else’s judgement. Joining the team offered him a challenge. To his surprise and horror, he started to care for the train-wreck teenagers, especially Britney. There was just something about her. Quest prided himself on his ability to remain detached. In hindsight, he should’ve known the day he met Britney that she was going to ruin that.

Britney was never happy, not really. The closest she got to happiness was the high that hit her when she destroyed things. But right now, she was worse than usual, and that bothered Quest. The sickly tone of her skin was more sallow, and the color of green bruises marked her under eyes. The muscles beneath her black, long-sleeved leotard were taut and tense. Not like she was ready to attack. More like she wouldn’t know how to relax her muscles if she tried.  

Except for the rare occasions when Britney was in a truly good mood, her reactions could be unpredictable. Anything could set her off. Quest knew that, and he’d learned to read her moods and could usually guess when he’d only make things worse. He wasn’t sure now. Clear indications of her current anger covered the desk behind her. But she hadn’t kicked him out yet. Risking ticking her off, Quest stood again, and reached his hand to her face, gently pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His knuckles brushed against the spot where her chin met her neck. Britney jerked her head up, a defiant gesture, but she didn’t push his hand away.

“Britney,” Quest said softly. He almost asked her what was wrong but changed his mind before the words could reach his lips. “This place is a dump. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Now she did bat his hand away.

“No,” she said. “I’m fine here. It’s a good place for me.”

“This isn’t a good place for anyone,” Quest said, glancing around the cramped space and wrinkling his nose. “Actually, it might be a good place to torture someone. Just being here would be a form of torture. Other than that, it’s no good for anyone.”

He looked back to her face. The horrid flickering yellowing light wasn’t doing her any favors. Even so, he found himself drawn to her. Her lips, the purple-ish black color of blood pooling under the skin after death, were downturned and pouting. She frowned at the floor.

“I’m not going back to the theatre,” Britney said, glancing up but keeping her chin down, so her colorless eyes glared up through her eyelashes.

“Okay,” Quest said. “I have somewhere else we can go.”

“Of course you do,” Britney grumbled.

With a grimace, Quest added, “I can leave you there if you want to be alone. I just don’t like the idea of you being in this disgusting hellhole.”

“Fine,” Britney said tartly. She didn’t know the grimace was because Quest wanted to stay with her.

[linseaallen-mccoy]

Embodying and Discerning

I trust Nature, the ravishing, the habitat, the intelligence.  I trust, as an adult grown from a zygote in a design beyond my own conception, as the makings of nature. I trust, as someone who has attended about a hundred births, including of my own giving. I get the give-and-take of nature, as a labourer often outdoors in various weather-affected roles like construction, demolition, logging, and planting trees. As someone who swims in water, runs on land and breathes only a specific recipe of atmosphere, as a product of magical biology, I trust and move with nature.            

           I trust my bodily processes to function under our basic scientific definition of what it means to be living: to eat, to proliferate, to evacuate excesses. I trust my body to let go of unrealized fecundity, repeatedly, continuously, my blood shed like the leaves of autumn click-clacking down with the wind, the renewing of uterine walls like the leaves fermenting into humus-rich soil. I trust my body to deliver a live, wet, squealing infant after fully gestating the life-igniting sparks, just as I trust winter to be cold and bodies to be warm. I trust proteins to clot and reweave skin and muscle tissues torn on trespassed barbwire fences, and fluids of immunity to ambush and ferry away foreign microorganisms non-native to my body. I trust nature's power, inclusive of the power of nature within me, to carry on with life.

           But I don't trust the nation-state of Israel not to operate from a basis of fear and control, and I had to walk through many various detectors, passing each scan with some apprehension, but opting for the body search alternative only once.  As hand-held detectors glided over my belly I wondered, Are you okay in there baby? We happened to be in the Middle East, my partner and I, when the kidnappings in June triggered the latest avalanche of re-occurring violence. I know tear gas to be an abortificant, so despite the fact that visiting friends in the occupied territories was high up on the itinerary, our plans changed. We made the call anew each day waiting to see if things cooled off. Don't you dare! The voices of his mother and other family and friends were mixed. Not today, the tanks are still active, and Bethlehem is off-limits. Well, we'd love to see you, you know it's not that much more dangerous than it always is. If you drive around to the north road to Ramallah there may be a better shot. So-and-so got through a few days ago, but it's gotten worse since then.

           There is a tactile tension suspended in the molecules of the holy land, even in Jerusalem's catacombic stone-by-stone-built Old City where the Jewish and Muslim Quarters are piled on top of each other, and the Armenian and Christian Quarters too, touching each other on many levels. The Jewish pogrom and holocaust museums, the state of the art security, the frequent Muslim calls to prayer all wound through each other. We rested with our backs against the outer walls of the Old City staring at the hill opposite us. On the hill was an enormous Jewish cemetery that blocks the path that Muhammad is prophecized to take to end all suffering. On top of the surrounding hills was the wall of apartheid as far as the eye could see.

           Despite all my roofing and demolition jobs, I am not that tough. I often feel freakishly wide-open to the sufferings of the world, with too many permeable membranes, vulnerable to my environment. By environment, I include the palpable fear in a landscape of violence and oppression. There was underlying tension even on the civilian buses which were well endowed with M16 assault rifles on the shoulders of soldiers and on the minds of people. How did I wind up traveling around the hot zones of this small but notorious country while newly pregnant? My first child had just turned seven years old, and this new life was long desired in our family.

           Initially I was there for a wedding, a union of love between two go-getters, a Canadian medical student and an Israeli soldier. Have many children for the army!, uncles cheered at the wedding with fervour. Her parents were proud – there was a particular flavour of honour in her marrying a soldier. I was subdued; I know some veterans who cope with a lot of trauma and my partner has many friends on both sides of the conflict.  With so many people facing unjust prison terms, home demolitions and the loss of family members while we were drinking champagne, it was very problematic. Even still, the evening of dancing began with the hora on the terra-cotta rooftop overlooking the azure and crashing Mediterranean Sea.

           There was a certain inborn incapacity for the trip to be apolitical, being where we were, being who we were. My partner and I were staying on various uncomfortable couches of activists, ex-kibbutzniks, a progressive teacher and a human rights journalist. At other times we stayed with more right-wing, government-employed family members in white tiled apartments with stunning views. And at other times we struck out on our own, sleeping under a thatched roof sukkot deep in the Negev Desert, among seas of solar panels, among Bedouin tents and kibbutz farms, surrounded by ineffable canyons and deft mountain ibex by day, and by night the noise of coyotes and army camps, all united (or not) under the wondrous, starry sky. People in all situations are desperate for the killing to end. People in all situations are conserving the dwindling water resources, and there is a scramble for expensive water desalinization infrastructure and recycling plants, as well as think-tanks sent to the task of reshaping/plastic surgery for the Dead Sea itself.

           A few weeks into the trip I knelt down on the ground, the fatigue of pregnancy and the summer desert heat defeating all my ambitions, having me simply endure each moment. I was in a place called Canada Park, a nice place for a picnic or a leisure stroll, full of tall pine trees but not quite right. The trees were of uniform spacing, size and age, the monoculture having been planted all at the same time. I knelt under the shade of one of the fewer older almond trees. That one was here when the village was here. My new Israeli friend Eitan showed us how to see the Palestinian village that had been demolished and planted over.  He pointed out the cemetery, left mostly intact, the remaining olive trees, and the cactus plants that had been used as fences. Eitan has been fighting for years to get some signage to indicate the aspects of the Muslim history here, with many frustrations and little progress. There were however, other signs. We walked around the stone plaques that listed the hundreds of Canadian donors of Canada Park. Generously funding projects of “forestation” to “rehabilitate” the “desertification” sounds like a really good thing to do – but what of the forensics? I knelt among the grassy mounds where the houses used to be, learning how some people had been trapped alive inside their homes at the time of the demolitions.

           It wasn't your fault. There is nothing you could have done differently.

           Surviving the desert was a minimal experience because I was sick numerous times and having a hard time staying hydrated. In the cities too, I was sick with even the slightest smells of street food and unwashed teeth and sweaty crowds, the olfactory sense hyper-wired for pregnancy – an undesirable superpower if there ever was one. I became mean and suddenly foreign to my partner, and he was foreign to me now too in the context of this side of his family and this place where he had once lived. Triggered by the intensity of heat, stress and enough hormones to fill the canyons, I got vicious and unrelenting migraines that were like starving hounds yapping at my tent as though I were hiding bloody meat inside, as the winds shrieked high and deep and threatened to destroy my thinning shelter. After one particularly long and terrible row, shredded, I wanted desperately to drown myself and the baby in the Mediterranean Sea.

           I did not do that. When I recovered enough, I did go to the sea. That is where I swam and swam and found myself again, my prolific human worries melting in the ecstasy of great waves pleasing my belly-full body over and over again. Reality changed shape into something softer and move forgiving, time itself becoming pregnant with love and possibility. The place is holy but too obscured to be holy until the spirit is permitted freedom from the horror, oppression and fear. I had become a sea anemone taking it all in, down the trachea, through the heart to the winding road of my entrails, and I had boiled in it, unable to let it all go. The ocean was an exorcism, the waves my salvation.  

           Maybe the kid just thought better of joining us. We aren't good enough, the world far from it. It was not a rational thought, but it wasn't my sheer rational mind that conceived and composed the baby into human form either. Who could blame one for leaving?

           It wasn't your fault, there is nothing you could have done differently. It's normal to question what might have been the cause. We generally don't know the answers, but it is often a matter of the genes not lining up just right, the doctor said.

           It's hard to pinpoint exactly why things happen, like an electron or the name of a song you knew ten years ago, but I couldn't help the thoughts. What about that deep-seated feeling in my belly when the airplane jumped us up then so fiercely down in a short series of turbulent extremes? It was enough to stop a fledgling heart - or, at least I felt with a raw gut that it might be - a heart that had been pumping for only and all of five months so far. A heart I had listened to in the doctor's office and in dreams and in the echoes of dreams. Maybe too fragile, a common-place mix-matched chromosomal mistake, is that why, and for the best?  

           The possibilities for why provided no shortage of wondering in Israel and in Canada. There are radiation-emitting products everywhere in our electronic age, everywhere there are computers, microwaves, cell phones, sunlamps or over-exposure to the sun itself, medical xrays – I'd had one for a work-related injury – there's the portable data terminals at work too.  Then there's exposures to asbestos, lead paint, plastics, contaminated water, the outpourings of industry in the air, chemicals sprayed on the food, genetic splicing inside the food, nanotechnology in the sunscreen. I get why the doctor didn't ask me about work-related or environmental exposure, it's really far too pervasive.  They don't make the environment like they used to.

           It had been a long time before the Israel trip that I'd planted trees, and I generally trust spruce saplings to be harmless. But I don't trust the pesticides and their labeling: Pregnancy Not Advised For One Year After Exposure. The labeling itself is bitter-sweet. I would rather know, then I can choose. But science is always learning too, being refuted and revising itself, and the research is always owned and swayed by someone with investments. Why one year? What happens at one year and a day? I planted thousands upon thousands of trees that year. It seemed like a really good thing to do.

           I am writing with sad news. I am not pregnant today. The babe passed in the dusk of this morning. I was in labour throughout the night, knowing the meaning of the familiar rhythms of the rocking, pacing, and moaning, but not acknowledging completely - some denial to preserve me, some surprise because I thought I had quite the fighter inside of me. The thunder and lightning were loyal to the night. It was at home, I was alone, I knew what to do.  The delivery was straight-forward and astounding - a little child who fit in the palm of my hand, more perfectly shaped than you might expect, with a look of softness, of vagueness and of peacefulness too, followed by a healthy placenta that took extra pains to let go of as I didn't want to tear the teeny umbilical cord.  With the coming of dawn, I wrapped up the baby after one last long look. I took a shovel to the nearby forest, and I buried him/her (I forgot to check) deep under a thick, white birch tree, marked with a flat red stone then a round black rock on top. Heart-shaped leaves of wood sorrel covered the forest floor there. I wept in the rain.

       I was the habitat. My body was the environment, creating warmth in precise and perfect degrees, making vitality and nourishment into a human being, meanwhile buffering and dimming the harshness found in the world beyond. But not stopping it, the harshness of all that's wrong with the world. If I could, I would. The barriers between my blood, the placenta and the smallest body were selective in what gets through, but not as selective as I wish I could be.  

           I feel profound gratitude for the slice of forest left intact by the house. There is a campground on one side, a subdivision on the other, a river to the south and more forest to the north.  Even just to have that little bit of wild left, that was significant solace. I did not want the impersonal technocratic fluorescence of a hospital, nor did I want an autopsy. My repulsion against the application of scalpel and dissection of the fetus far out-cried my wanting to know why. Even with an autopsy, answers are often unclear.

           You don't need to wait to try again, the doctor reassures me. That is good because we weren't exactly waiting... The medical convention is that only after three “spontaneous abortions” [1] in a row is genetic testing and investigation performed. I trust that either another pregnancy will happen in due course, or that maybe that is just how it is now, we humans coming to terms with Enough.

           One in three couples are involuntarily childless in both Canada and Israel today. A good friend of mine had a baby nine months ago and was diagnosed with cancer eight months ago. We are becoming aware of rising rates of infertility, allergies, asthma, pregnancy loss, prematurity, and many forms of cancer. Environmental pollution as the root cause cannot be ruled out. Body is not separate from environment in that both are endangered together. You know, they don't make us like they used to.

           This tiny human passed through me, born dead. I trust that nature may have taken the fetus in a selection process most efficient. Nature includes death, my own and those born of my body, and this I trust and work to accept. I don't trust that the accumulation of toxins in my environment and my work life were necessarily a neutral factor in the miscarriage. No one on earth is really qualified to say that.  In either case, we pay with our flesh, I pay with my sorrow.

           But, you know, there are things I can do differently.

           This is the only body and the only habitat we have. Addressing root causes remains a possibility. Though the pain of transformation pierces our lives when the veils to death are thin, reminding us of the impermanence of the health of our bodies and our habitat, we endure in the aftermath. Though the world is not more safe for all our technological contrivances and our abolishment of wild places, and we rearrange our problems like a rubix cube without permanence in our solutions, we persist in living. We are still here, making ready for the next steps.

[1]      Meaning “miscarriages”, neither term I'm happy with for one thing because blame seems implicit in the language, as if women “carried” improperly and aborted their fetuses impulsively.