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mostly-marvel-musings · 4 years

Text

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Two

A/N: This story is based on the prompt : Vampires cannot enter a house without your permission, but what if your landlord’s a vampire? It’s his house, he’s just letting you live there. Part of the Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles. I’m super nervous about this one, so feedback’s most welcome!

Series Masterlist

Tags : @buckybarnesplumwhore @ladyacrasia

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 1670

Warnings: Foul language. Smut in future chapters. 18+ content!

Taglists open! Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future chapters.

...

Bucky’s POV

I noticed a car pull up in the square just as I was about to head back home. I stopped to see who I assumed was (Y/N) step out of that car. I was standing at the far end of Chapel Street, I knew she couldn’t see me.

My enhanced eyesight being an advantage, I hid behind a tree and watched her every move. She was beautiful in the most unconventional way. She looked around the town with a child-like curiosity. I suppose she’ll grow to love the town.

The breeze made her hair blow care free in the mid-morning sun. The whiff of her tea tree and lavender shampoo made its way to my nostrils. The scent made my head spin and I had to stop myself from approaching her right then and there and introduce myself. I decided to send her a ‘welcome to Dewsbury’ text instead, as I turned to return home once again. I’ll meet her soon. I have to.

…

Looks like a lot of luggage. You’ll be exhausted after all that moving. Why don’t I come over with a welcome drink? It’s about time we met (Y/N) – James B

As you read James’ text, you couldn’t help but feel a little weird. He seems to be aware of everything, very stalker-ish. But the rational side of your brain intervened, it’s a pretty small town, word must’ve gotten around about the moving trucks and the ‘new girl’, so you shrugged it off and got to work.

About two hours into unpacking, when you were just about done, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was coming over.

He said he’d come by didn’t he? Something must’ve come up, you defended his absence in your mind. Since when were you waiting around for a guy to show up? That too someone who you’d never actually seen in person. It was the damn voice. Okay maybe you were reading too much into it.

Shaking your head to derail your train of thoughts, you looked around your new house proudly. A low rumble in your stomach announced that you were famished. You figured you’d go to the grocery store that was a ten minute walk from the house and buy essentials.

So grabbing a warmer jacket, wallet and keys, you stepped out.

The walk to the store turned into a jog as the wind had turned brutal. The sky was painted in beautiful twilight colors and you couldn’t resist taking your phone out to get a picture.

You heard a shuffling sound coming from your right. You stopped and looked towards the woods, hoping to spot the source of the noise. You found nothing. As you turned back you swore you saw a shadow move through the woods from the corner of your eye.

Before you let panic set in, the rational part of your brain convinced you that it was your mind playing tricks on you. It might have been an animal of some sort.

You kept your gaze on the ground as you picked up the pace, but suddenly bumped into a tall figure.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see-

Your head snapped up at the voice, recognizing it immediately. The same voice that you found oddly calming over the phone. The voice that made you dream about what the person behind it looks like. Now you had finally come face to face with your landlord.

“You must be (Y/N). We meet at last.” He replied offering you his hand as a warm smile played on his lips.

The initial shock evaporated as you had to mentally shake yourself from getting lost in his steel blue eyes.

He had a well chiseled face with a neatly trimmed beard adorning it, and light brown hair that looked way too fluffy. You found yourself wondering what it’d be like to run your fingers through them.

Your eyes trailed over his body, he wore a white button down shirt tucked neatly in black pants and he was wearing oxford shoes. What’s with the formal look, you thought.

“Uh y-yes I am. It’s nice to finally meet you Mr Barnes.” You clasped his hand in yours and immediately felt his freezing cold skin against your much warmer hand. He must’ve sensed that as he broke contact at that moment and shoved his hand back in his pockets.

“I was coming over to say hi. Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah I’m actually headed to the grocery store. I figured I’d buy some stuff for the house and get stuff for dinner you know.” You replied, looking at the ground, hands buried deep in your jacket as well.

“Of course. Do you mind if I accompany you to the store? I could probably answer some questions you might have about the house. Unless you want to do it another time.”

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your reply.

You agreed, surprised initially, and started walking down the road in silence.

You kept glancing at each other after every few minutes followed by an awkward smile. No this cannot turn into one of those horribly awkward meets, you decided you’d do something.

“You were gonna show up two hours earlier.”

“What?” James looked at you perplexed.

Of all things you could think of, you decided to come off as a desperate woman who was waiting around for some guy to show up. Great. You cringed internally.

“I mean, I got your text about two hours ago saying you’d be coming over and then you didn’t show up. Not that I was waiting or anything. Just you didn’t show up. Which is fine.” You continued to ramble trying to cover your embarrassment with some more.

He was amused looking at your flustered state, finding it quite endearing. He laughed before saying, “Oh right I did. I was about to leave the house when one of my old pals showed up. We got to talking and I completely forgot to call you to let you know I’d be late. Sorry about that.”

What he didn’t say, was the fact that Loki showed up at his house unannounced, like he always did. He had met you at the library earlier that day and was intrigued by your demeanor. He wouldn’t shut up about you and described you like an object of wonder which made James worry about you. He’d have to keep Loki away from you. If only it were easy. Loki was known to get his way once he set his eyes on something, or someone.

“Okay.” Was all you managed, not really sure why you spoke up in the first place. You decided to remain silent for the rest of the walk.

…

A worn out signboard of Fred’s Family Mart came into view after a while. It had a faulty light on the right side of it which was flickering constantly. The street was relatively empty except a few people walking in and out of the pubs. The wind making the leaves rustle gently with a distinct whooshing sound, made it look like a typical thriller scene setting.

You stepped in, James followed closely behind. The store wasn’t huge, but it was big enough and had practically everything you could possibly need.

“So (Y/N), tell me about yourself.” James asked as you picked a trolley and walked further into the store.

“Well, I’m a writer. I love to travel, that’s kinda obvious I guess. Not a lot of family, none that I’m close to anyway. My parents split up when I was twelve, and I chose to stay with my Dad. He runs a publishing house, so I was always surrounded by stories which slowly nudged me into writing.” You said while picking through cereal boxes, stopping every now and then to look at him.

“Wow a writer that’s fascinating. What do you write about?” he seemed genuinely interested.

“Mostly fiction. I’ve written a few thriller short stories. New places and towns like these always serve as an inspiration for me. I’ve always had a thing for horror though. The whole paranormal and mystical genre is my jam. I know it sounds weird right?”

He looked at you with a surprised expression as he grinned and added, “No no not at all. It’s good to know. I’m just used to girls saying they’re into romance or comedy at least. Never horror though.”

You were nothing like he imagined you to be. It just made him want to get to know you more.

“That’s such a cliché. I don’t blame you though. But I’m here to break the stereotype.” You said sending a wink his way as you picked out some veggies and fruit, feeling more comfortable around him now.

“Tell me about Dewsbury, Mr Barnes.”

The way you called him Mr Barnes made it difficult to not imagine you saying the same in a different scenario. A very different scenario. He wondered how much of that confident woman persona would differ in the bedroom, if it would. You seemed like someone who’d like to be in control of every situation. That’d be fun to explore, he thought. Perhaps he could teach you…Before his cock expressed interest in that subject, he shook those train of thoughts away and replied.

“Well there’s a lot that would be of interest to you here. This town’s full of rich history and myths. And please call me Bucky, Mr Barnes makes me sound like a sixty year old.” he replied, as you both made your way to the checkout counter. A tall man stood with a bored expression on his face, as you started unloading the trolley.

“Alright Bucky. Myths you say, that’s already got me hooked. What kind?” You asked him with excitement clearly visible in your eyes.

You missed the man and Bucky exchanging a knowing look, as you were busy picking out a flavor of gum that the side of the counter displayed.

“Dewsbury is notoriously famous for vampires (Y/N).”

…

Next Chapter

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #a mere mortal #vampire au #vampire bucky #vampire loki #mcu au #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #vampire fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #reader insert #reblogs are love #feedback is appreciated #my writing #mostly marvel musings

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

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Breaking Bread (Loki x Reader)

"Mm."

A ... grunt? Growl? A hum? A noise. A deep noise, and it came from Loki's bed. "Where are you going?" he asks, heavy sleep in his voice.

Damn. You really tried not to wake him up.

"I was just gonna go look for a vending machine or something."

"A what?"

You shift on your feet, "Y'know, a vending machine or a drink machine. You put in some money, you pick what you want to eat and it pops it out for you."

Loki stretches his arms, "Sounds very Midgardian." He slouches back against the headboard. "And you're going to go search for one of these machines by yourself?"

"Well, yeah."

"Really? On this foreign garbage planet, in the middle of the night, dressed in your sleep wear?"

"I'm hungry, okay?" you whine, now feeling stupid about the whole thing. "I didn't eat dinner earlier."

"You wasted the Grandmaster's kind, generous, complementary food service?" Loki chides.

"Oh, well excuse me for liking my food to not be wiggling around and staring at me while I eat it!"

He shakes his head. In the dark, your eyes have adjusted and you can see him more clearly; a smirk on his face and the most ridiculously perfect bed head you've ever seen. He's sitting upright, his lower half covered by the blue sheets and you avert your eyes upon seeing his upper half exposed.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" Loki asks, after putting together that every meal the two of you have been provided has been of a similar nature - very much alive, and that he hasn't actually seen you eat anything either.

All you wanted to do was go find a fucking vending machine. Not get the third degree.

A snarky reply is centimeters away from falling from your mouth, but then you consider how different Loki sounds. He's ... concerned. And not just because you woke him up; he's genuinely concerned.

You decide to answer honestly, even though it takes a moment to remember the last thing you consumed. "Do you remember those little bowls of fruit - at least I think it was fruit - but it was served as a side with those blue, tubular creatures that you said tasted like fermented meat?"

Loki's eyes widen, before he drops his face into his hand. That was yesterday morning.

Now he's alarmed. Humans can't go long periods of time without food or water before their bodies begin the grueling process of dehydration and starvation. He's seen what can happen to those unfortunate and impoverished enough to experience it - Asgardians, at least. Never a Midgardian. He can't let that happen. Not since ... well, not since he made that promise.

The silence from Loki makes you fidget. You try to break it, "It was good, anyway. Tasted like berries but was shaped like a garlic bulb. I was gonna try to find more of it if I can't find a vending machine."

He sighs. "You're not wandering these hallways and sectors alone." It wasn't a charming, lighthearted question. It was a statement.

And it was also a relief.

"You'll come with me?" you ask, picking at your fingernails in anticipation.

Loki bites his tongue, rolls his eyes. It's as if you're a child begging for sweets, with your big innocent eyes and hopeful little voice. He feels guilt tripped, even though he can tell that's not what you're doing; it's just you. The innocence, the hope. The excitement.

"Yes - " you inhale sharply before he can finish, "I'll assist on your hunt for food suitable enough for your needs."

You exhale, a huge smile coming with it, and have to control yourself from jumping for joy. "Thank you! ... Ah, are you decent under there?"

He smirks at you. "I'm wearing trousers, if that's what you mean."

The hallways of this Sakaarian palace are a flamboyant shade of drab. The architectural effort is visible in the abstract door frames and corridors, painted in bright contrasting colors. These halls in particular are an artificial sunny yellow with dark blue accents - a seemingly modern appealing design. And it would be, if not for the green and brown bloodstains obviously from the mutilated victims of the Grandmaster.

They're all around. On the golden ceilings, the blue diamond patterned floors, on the chandeliers and sconces. A faint stench lingers in the air of these hallways; the best way you've found to describe it is burnt. Pair that with the stains and it's almost enough to kill your appetite.

Not quite enough, though. And it's not like Loki would let you turn back now that you've interrupted his sleep.

In the distance you hear the thumping bass music and constant hustle of Sakaar, but in these hallways, it's dead quiet. Your footsteps achingly echo with every step the two of you make. They remind you of just how big and unfamiliar this place is. How alone you are, in that you're the only living human on this planet.

Of the few people - or, beings that you've walked past so far, none have been friendly. They all seem to detest your existence, as if you smell bad or look horrifying. For the most part you keep your eyes on your little slippers padding across the glittery floor.

You must admit, though, having Loki with you takes away some of the fear about walking around this place late at night.

Unbeknownst to you, you hadn't actually woken Loki up. He knows better than to sleep in a place like this; rest will do just fine. But that doesn't mean he was prepared to drop everything and go blindly walking the palace in search for a "vending machine".

As he walks now, after putting on some more appropriate attire - lightweight boots, proper leather trousers and a skin-tight blue tunic, all courtesy of and chosen by the Grandmaster himself - he glances down at you. He notices your inward demeanor. You're taking small steps, you're breathing shortly, and he can't even see your face with your head hanging so low.

Isn't this what you wanted? he wonders. He's doing as you asked for Norn's sake.

You near two civilians congregating near a corridor to another sector. Wearing typical skimpy Sakaarian wear, both were as tall if not taller than Loki. One was frighteningly thin and the other was frighteningly large. They appeared similarly built as you and Loki, save for their bleached white skin and black gums surrounding animalistic fangs.

With eyes an unsettling shade of gold, they widen and they immediately lock onto you - not you and Loki, but you - like cats watching a mouse. The tiny hairs on Loki's neck stand on end. He immediately narrows his own eyes at the creatures, daring them to do anything further. They don't even as much as glance away from you.

Loki claims ownership. His right hand brushes your right shoulder guiding you closer to him, once again daring the aliens to make a move. The two of you pass the corridor and Loki cranes his neck to watch the creatures, long after you've passed them. His arm stays around you, connecting you at the hips the entire time.

Monsters...

"They didn't look very nice, did they?" you laugh nervously from below him. Loki looks down at you and notices you ever so slightly, probably unconsciously, leaning into him.

His face feels hot. Quickly he retracts his arm.

"Ah, no. No, they didn't."

You on the other hand, were coming down from being fucking terrified. Those people looked at you like their next meal; at any minute you thought they may step closer and say something or do something or attack ... Relief, when Loki pulled you close and hid you away, is a huge understatement.

"Thank you. For protecting me and all." You lightly elbow Loki in the arm - for emphasis, of course - sending him shuffling a foot or so outward.

He dramatically collects himself and says, "Don't get used to it. I could sense your fear from a millennia away."

Straightening his tunic and looking forward, he doesn't look at you again. He was too annoyed with everything, including himself.

But you glanced at him as you walked. He had to be tired and was definitely a little on-edge, which wasn't completely unusual. He's taking the whole trapped-on-Sakaar thing much more gracefully than you, but that isn't saying much. Yet somehow he remains composed and in control. Reserved.

Except when you elbowed him. You really caught him off guard and you haven't stopped grinning since you did it.

Seeing his ever so serious eyes locked in front of him, his clenched jaw and tight mouth. Ridiculously long, dark eyelashes, fluttering in his stupid little frustrated way. That may have played a part in your grinning also.

His intense green eyes meet yours while you're watching him. "What?" he snaps.

"Oh, nothing," you chirp. I could get used to this, you think to yourself.

Loki's face twists up in offense. "If you think that I - "

"Look!" you grab his forearm and run to a sign on the wall. It had an arrow, with an image that vaguely resembled a plate of food. Vaguely. It also had some lines that could possibly mean something if you were to understand Sakaarian, or whatever. "Wonder what it says."

"It says 'Food, this way.'"

You scoff. "Not funny, Loki."

"I'm telling the truth! It says 'Food, this way.'"

"How can you read that?!"

Loki sighs. "Have I given you a reason not to trust me?"

You think of what happened moments ago. "No," you say timidly.

"Very well. The sign is a directory sign to the eatery. I think my duties here are finished. Good night." With that Loki starts to walk back down the hallway.

"Wait!" you call, a bit louder than you meant to. He's already a few feet ahead of you now, but groans and stops to give you an unnerving glare. "You can't just leave me here, you said it yourself!"

"What I said was you can't wander these hallways alone," he corrects. "I've brought you right to your destination. What more? Would you like me to hold your hand all the way through the eatery as well?"

... Yes?

"Now if you'll excuse - "

"Loki," you plead, trying to think of a convincing reason for him to stay - something to do with him, maybe - but you think of nothing, and now if looks could kill you'd be a bloodstain with all the others.

With no other choice, you desperately explain yourself. "Look, the truth is I don't stand a chance in this place alone. I mean, did you see how those things looked at me? By the looks of it I'm probably gonna be mauled in cold blood in the middle of this floor and they'll all gather to watch! No one would bat a eye. No one - " you shove his chest sending him backwards, "no one but you. Maybe. I don't know," you hiss.

Loki licks his teeth. Sorting through conflicting thoughts; mostly from the fact that someone just laid hands on him, and that that someone was you. All else aside he's rather impressed with the nerve you do possess. You unknowingly could survive here, perhaps, if not for your innate earthliness.

He sucks on his bottom lip while eyeing your ironic fluffy slippers. "Fine," he nods, looking up. "if that's what you want. I'll be your personal chaperone."

Finally, a bit of understanding! Your arms outstretch for a gracious hug - until the cold blade of his voice, as well as a silencing pointed finger stop you dead in your tracks.

"But if you give me one reason - one reason, to believe that you'd betray me, you will be all alone to fend for yourself in this wasteland. Do you understand?"

You nod. Dry mouthed.

"Good. I don't wish to repeat myself."

And, what a perfect time for your stomach to growl perhaps the most obnoxiously it ever has, in your life. A reminder as to why you're here in the first place.

You squirm and fidget with the hem of your sleep shirt, "Sorry."

For the millionth time and counting, Loki sighs and rolls his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

"Why does everything have to be alive?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, for Heaven's sake. And don't be so disrespectful to the culture of these people."

You look blandly at your plate. It appears nearly full with it being so small, since apparently Sakaar cares greatly about portion control.

The food court, eatery, cafeteria - whateverthefuck, was displayed in a ring formation with patrons on the inside and servers on the outside. Surprisingly you weren't the only patrons at such an hour; a handful of people stood around eating and drinking cocktails - minding their own business, thankfully.

You find Loki contemplating the mixing bar to the left serving drinks, but he ended up staying with you. He translated the description of each food from the charming little labels standing near them. Charming, indeed, compared to the elaborate display of every item. At first glance to you, they appear to be expensive delicacies, until Loki read the labels.

And while the water-centipede noodle soup looked very appetizing at first, that ended when you approached and the bugs begun to stir.

Throughout the menu you're left with few alternatives that weren't moving. Your plate currently consisted of a tiny loaf of stale bread and a blue jam made of the same fruit from the other morning (which you couldn't begin to pronounce the name of). It won't sustain you for too long, but you've already gone this far on way less.

That's of no comfort to Loki, though.

Though he won't say it, he relates to your disgust and is still plotting on a way to escape this place. He hasn't forgotten about the obedience disk implanted in your skin - quite the opposite, as he continues to recast his Seidr on it every night, while you sleep. To keep you from complaining about it. But if it's not one thing, it's the next ...

Like now. You can't possibly survive long on a mere bit of bread and jam. He can't even do that. Oh, but it's the only thing that isn't alive. Death? You'll face death with a mighty fist! Unless death is alive, of course.

Loki does have a conscience, so he can't just abandon you here. But Gods, you're making him want to.

"Come on, there's a few more courses to choose from," he urges you forward.

The last two items looked promising. One was a pyramid display of small black eggs, which were in fact not eggs at all. "What are they?" you ask Loki.

"They're called 'eyes of the dead'. It consists of - "

"Nope."

Loki scoffs, "Would you let me finish?"

"No, I'm not eating something that has eyes."

"You are insufferably prejudiced."

When you say nothing in return, Loki feels a pang of regret. After all, the eyes are rather unsettling. He likely wouldn't eat them either. Especially now that they can't seem to look away from him, following his every move.

"I guess this is my last choice," you sigh. "Looks promising, at least."

He finally musters the courage to look away from the nasty creatures. You're standing somberly by the end of the court; he leans over your shoulder to read the label and is astonished.

You look up and find Loki's jaw dropped, his face close enough that you can see the green ocean swirling in his eyes. "You okay?"

Loki glances down at you, still in shock. "This is from Asgard."

"Really?" you blink. "What is it?"

He shudders. "They're calling it 'Tastes of Asgard', but it's just mutton chops, sheep's cheese and honey cake."

That sounds like heaven. Or Asgard, apparently.

But before your stomach takes over your mind, the answer to Loki's distress hits you. "How do they know what you eat in Asgard? Unless you've told them?"

Loki eyes you wordlessly, but says enough.

You hiss, "You don't think there's more Asgardians here, do you?"

"We'll talk about it privately. For now, do you want to try this or not?"

Your minds still running a mile a minute. How could anyone else from Asgard end up here? This place is for bottom feeders! You and Loki stick out like sore thumbs in this landfill with Loki practically being royalty and you - well. You being with him. You begin to shift on your feet anxiously when your eyes land on the mutton again.

Another opportunity to try food from Asgard may never arise again. Of course you want to!

"On one condition."

Loki huffs and rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Will you try some with me?"

Those emotional nights when cheese and crackers are more satisfying than the most elaborate Thanksgiving dinner; that's what you thought of. Somehow you were reminded of home. The Sakaarian bread was stale, but had a pleasant sourness that complimented the sweet, blue fruit jam and the sharp sheep's cheese. It was a means of comfort.

And when you and Loki played rock paper scissors to see who would try the "mutton" first, he indeed informed you that it wasn't authentic sheep from Asgard, but rather it was from Midgard. You tried it next and were pleased.

It didn't cross your mind how little manners you were using - wiping the grease and jam from your mouth ravenously - until you looked across the balcony and noticed that Loki had barely eaten any of his food. Instead, he gazed into the empty, colorful Sakaar sky. Something was bothering him.

"Why aren't you eating?" you slur, covering a mouthful of honey cake with your hand.

Your voice breaks Loki away from his thoughts briefly. He cringes. "You've killed what little appetite I'd acquired."

"I told you I was hungry," you defend yourself. A moment of silence passes as Loki looks back to the sky. It was easy to stare at, as it seemed to lure you in. As if it were trying to hypnotize you into believing there was some kind of beauty here. But the real beauty sat beside you.

"Do you think there's more of your people here?" you mutter.

Loki nearly bites back something about his true heritage, but chooses not to. He senses your honesty, your naivety. He absently cuts his honey cake with his fork. "I think there's one person in particular here."

"Who?"

He smirks despite himself. "Well, this meal is the true indicator. It isn't the same as I recall, but it's a cheap attempt to replicate it."

You stay quiet, confused as hell. You take another bite of the delicious honey cake that tastes anything but cheap.

"I knew this would happen eventually. It always does."

"What?" you ask urgently, not wanting him to veer away.

"This is Thor's favorite meal."

another tale from Sakaar! I love these. And to those who read the whole thing, I seriously applaud you. I don't know what happened. It started as one little sentence/idea and it just kept going and going and going and going and

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

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go-go-garraty · 4 years

Text

Art Deco

Summary: Their paintings were neatly organized horders of kids, gazing with open mouths at them but McVries found that looking at Stebbins’s profile was far more interesting for him.

AO3 Link: ❤

McVries didn't know how this had begun, but he wasn't complaining, that's for sure.

McVries didn't know why he and Stebbins had begun to do this, he looked around him, the smell of the fresh oil and drying paint, all around them, dozens of discharged paintings and scribbles sitting around the room.

Looking at the ocean landscape in front of him, he could almost taste the salt of the sea, he had never been at.

He looked behind him, Stebbins was sitting cross-legged on the ground, his fair head next to the easels’s feet, an old rugged down sketchbook, resting on his lap. He looked so focused.

“What are you drawing, this time, Stebbins?”

“A bird” Stebbins didn't part his eyes from the sketchbook.

“Which one?” McVries had gotten used to the short answers, and the lack of explanations, he knew he had more fun bringing it out of Stebbins than he would do otherwise.

“A bird” He smiled, a mischievous glint on it “That I saw on the train”

“A bird in the train, nothing else?” McVries held his godette, passing his brush through it, turning back to his canvas.

“The bird was inside the train” Stebbins left his head fall back, his hair dangling off, sticking to his forehead and his face, his lips were so chapped.

“Why, was there a bird inside the train today?” McVries chuckled.

“A little boy opened up the window even though the train driver said no to.”

“And why do you know that?”

“I saw him do it.”

“And you said nothing?”

“Maybe” He grabbed the pencil again “The bird got in, some women began screaming about it, the train driver came to see what the commotion was all about, the bird stung him in the eye, he cried afterwards but he was still trying to act like he didn't, how stupid.”

“What an epic tale” Stebbins laughed, showing his full teeth just a little. McVries supposed that should look creepy but everything was beginning to look nice to him again, like those painting of stabbed men.

He heard the pencil touch ground, it rolled around and hit his leg, the metal parts were cold, Stebbins did that whenever he was done, then it was up to him to search for the pencils again.

McVries put the brush back down “Are you done?”

Stebbins turned around to him, he grabbed the sketchbook with both hands, white teeth showing through, he raised the sketchbook, a childish, shadowy-looking drawing of a bird in the middle, the graffito was mounded over on the white creamy paper.

“With everything and epic illustrations” McVries finished, he looked down with fondness at the drawing, the whole world could be so beautiful.

There was beauty on smuggled pencil traces, birds, and creepy smiles, McVries had known that his whole life but drawing like this, every now and then in the afternoon, he realized it time again time and time again.

Stebbins laughed, and hid the sketchbook in his lap again.

----------

“Hurry we can't have The President and The Vice President of the club being late always” Garraty said, backpack strap hanging off one of his shoulders, standing next to the classroom door.

“I'm ready. Tell Stebbins” McVries said, looking at Stebbins awkwardly stuffing notebooks, and way too thick books into his worn out backpack.

“Pete is The President of the club, and you are The Vice President, why are you hurrying me?”

“Keep complaining, and we kick you off the club” McVries said.

“Shut it” Stebbins slid the backpack up his shoulders “Let's get going” He said walking out the door.

“Your backpack is open” Said Garraty.

“I know.”

“I'm gonna close it” Garraty said, he walked behind him, and slipped down the zipper.

They walked down the hallways to the club room, McVries slid the white door open. They entered, Stebbins immediately went to the back.

“Why are The Vice President and The President the ones that are always late?” Barkovich said, looking up from his watercolours painting.

Easels and double tables, the smell of coffee and open windows, the rest of the boys were starting to look up, pencils and brushes still on their hands.

It was The Art Club.

McVries greeted it with a smile.

“First of all Barkovich is not me who’s late is this two” McVries said pointing with his head to Garraty and Stebbins “And second: Activities of the day, I need all of you to finish your work this evening so we can hang them up and show them at the club's entrance tomorrow, as The Director instructed us.”

Parker groaned, his painting was a mix of reds and oranges, Abraham patted his back.

“Yeah. Sure, dude” Pearson said.

McVries nodded, he finished what he had to say on the front of the classroom, and walked to the back of the room with Garraty. They sat besides Stebbins.

Garraty brought out his bloc, opened it on the middle paged, Garraty always did that, didn't like following the linear and never went to the very back, he took off his rucksack, he was right about to finish.

“You guys aren't going to finish yours?” Abraham asked McVries and Stebbins who were simply observing Garraty make his.

“We already did” McVries answered for the both of them.

“No fair! You guys do everything in your house” Olson said, looking up from the painting he had deemed abstract.

“The Unfairness of Working out of Hour an essay by Doctor Hank Olson” McVries said putting on a news reporter voice.

“You really do all club activities together, though” Baker said without looking up from his canvas, already adding the last touches to his painting.

“We work better as a team” McVries said. Stebbins looked to the side, covering his mouth with his hand “Aww you are smiling, you agree.”

“Shut it, Pete.”

“You are smiling” McVries repeated, swinging one finger in front of Stebbins’s face.

“Pete...” Stebbins avoided his eyes.

“I don't even remember when you guys began doing that” Garraty said, calling back their attention.

“I do” McVries said.

“Are we having a movie flashback now?” Stebbins forced the smile out of his face, and took off his hand.

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

“I can't believe, I left you to convince me of doing this” Stebbins said, as Garaty tugged at his sweater's sleeve.

“I can't believe you left me convince you either” Garraty answered, he slid open the white door of the clubroom “Hey everybody! Stebbins. He will be joining us in the art club from now on.”

The rest of the guys looked up from their canvas and sketchbooks, Stebbins felt the burning gazes in him.

“I just want you to know, I hate you Ray” He whispered to Garraty.

“Sorry” Garraty whispered back, he tugged at his sleeve again, dragging him to the back of the room to a double table, behind them hanging from the ceiling and resting on the floor were beautifully finished oil landscapes, flowers, rotting fruits, and blown up buildings.

“Want to sit here?” Garraty said.

“Yeah” Stebbins sat on the left, his feet up on the bars of the chair, Garraty got on the right.

Garraty reached a hand into his backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a rucksack, he skimmed it over to the last page and pulled it out “Here, we can share this time.”

“This time?”

“This. Time.” He opened up his rucksack and pulled out a pencil, Stebbins stared at the pencil for a second too long as if he could vaporize it with his mind if he tried long enough, the pencil was still there so he had to take it.

“What do I do now?”

“Just do whatever comes to mind, if it sucks, we can call it abstract.”

“Aren’t clubs supposed to have designated activities, Ray?”

Garraty looked awkwardly to the side “Well, yeah but as you can see, we don't really have Our Club President to give out activities right now so...”

“So you brought me to a presidentless club to do nothing.”

“You are harsh.”

Stebbins rolled his eyes into his skull “Where is your president? I thought you two were attached by the hip.”

“Me and Pete don't actually spend, every single of second of our lives together, you know?”

“No, actually with the way you spend every single second of your lives together, it is hard to distinguish” Stebbins sighed, playing with the bright red gum of the pencil “Why didn't you ask him to come?”

“You think I haven't?” Garraty swung the pencil in the air, Stebbins stared harder at him.

“As he usually does everything you ask for, immediately? Yes, it is easy to assume.”

“That's not true”

“Ray, one time he drove you all the way to his prior state, by himself, in one day, because you said that you wanted to see his old movie stand, but didn't have anybody to go with.”

Garraty stared at him with wide-open eyes “Okay. Fine. He does a lot of stuff for me, but not everything” Garraty moved his head back and forth, as if the words he was trying to say were too confusing “I have- I have asked but…. he's not really himself right now.”

Stebbins tilted his head “What do you mean?”

“He’s… sad, right now" Garratry said softly, whispering "He's just not up to it, I asked him a lot but, I don't think it’s right to push him to do anything right now” Garraty looked down at the white paper, he looked defeated all of a sudden.

Stebbins placed his hand on Garraty’s back, feeling the muscle through the layers of clothing, he looked to the side “I see.”

Garraty looked at him, Stebbins could feel his eyes on the side of his face, Gararty shook his head rapidly, as if trying to shake the bad thoughts off, he straightened his back a little, Stebbins hand slipping down.

“Stebbins, can you please stay, and makeup like we are doing something, so The Director doesn't close The Club down, on us?”

Stebbins looked down at the paper, then back up at Garraty’s eyes.

“Fine.”

Garraty smiled. Garraty smiled with his whole face, with his cheeks up to his eyes “Thank you, Stebbins.”

“Though I don't understand why you need me here, you already have more than a quarter of the classroom in here.”

“Because...”

“Stop getting in the way of my painting!” Stebbins raised his head to Barkovitch’s strident screaming, coming from the middle of the room.

“Oh? Am I getting in the way? Barkovitch?” Olson replied, holding a big brush dripping with red colour, way too close to Barkovitch’s painting of a white butterfly with a broken wing.

“Hank. Stop” Baker said, from the other corner of the room, staring off the window, his pencil held a few centimeters up from the paper.

“But-”

“Stop.”

“Fine.”

Garraty turned to look back at him after the scene was over.

“We need a little calm to level out” Garraty said.

“And without club president you need as many as you can get to justify keeping the club open” Stebbins said, Garraty shrugged.

After that Stebbins centered on his blank page, on the white drilling blank page, he held the pencil up to it, staring at the classroom, somehow nothing felt worth the effort, the clock ticking down on the background, and the rest of the kids’s brushes and pencils skimming against the paper.

It had become evening at some point, he was getting a headache.

He bit onto the pencils gum.

“Don't eat that” Garraty said, Stebbins turned to look at him, he felt more dead than the usual amount “Are you okay?”

“Your club is draining, Ray.”

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

Stebbins doodled something on his striped notebook, looking out the window, his left hand supporting his face. The teacher's voice feeling like white noise.

“You will be visiting The Portland Museum of Art, you will have to pick an artist presented there and explain why, with everything that includes, such as….”

Stebbins blocked everything else out, and didn't pay any mind to it until the last day.

He was sitting on the bus, looking off the window, headphones resting on his shoulders, he had Garraty on the phone.

“You should have told me, I would have taken you with the rest” He and Garraty didn’t share all classes, but they still got the same projects.

“I forgot.”

“You never forget anything” Stebbins smirked at that, it was true.

“I didn't care.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like you.”

Garraty and he spoke for a little more.

“Oh” Stebbins heard Garraty take the phone away from his mouth “Sorry, I think something is burning in the kitchen.”

“Who are you teaching how to cook this week?”

“Olson.”

“Again?”

“Again. How did you know that?”

“You never burn anything.”

Garraty laughed, it was a clear light sound “See you tomorrow, Stebbins” He could feel the smile on Garraty’s face through the phone.

“See you” He hanged up the phone. There were two women with bags talking way too loudly on the front seats, he put his headphones back on. He had his eyes closed the rest of the ride.

He entered the gates of the museum, ignoring the people just standing around taking photographies of themselves standing before the brick walls.

“Would you like a guided visit, Sir?” Stebbins was approached by a woman waving a bunch of fliers in his face.

He thought back of his homework “No.”

The woman blinked twice “Alright, Sir.”

Stebbins walked further into the museum, he looked around stopping each time, not bothering to read the plaques underneath it. The deeper you went in the emptier the place was, it was depressing to see, the sun coming through the picture windows in the ceiling made his eyes hurt.

He lost himself between hallways, coming across a white and black pattern, so grand on the overtaking white walls of the museum.

The matching golden plate read.

"Corpse and Mirror Jasper John's 1976"

"McVries?" Stebbins heard his voice echo on the empty room. McVries had been standing there eyes lost, as if he were staring directly at the sun.

McVries touched his face, he slowly turned to him "Stebbins?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

"Homework" Stebbins stared at the painting, or whatever it was "What are you doing here?"

"I'm doing, what a museum is supposedly for, appreciating art."

"How do you appreciate art?"

McVries looked at him with a grimace in his face "Do you want a spoken tour?"

Stebbins thought about it "If you can give it."

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

They walked down the halls, museums felt haunted sometimes, Stebbins could hear the sound of the place screeching on top of them.

They passed a painting of a wave, and wood, Stebbins stopped in front of it, it was the second most attention-calling thing he had seen so far.

“That's by Winslow Homer, The Weatherbeaten ” McVries said.

“I see.”

“Shouldn't you be writing this?” Stebbins tilted his head “It’s the same homework Ray had, isn't it?”

“Yes, and no. I don't forget” He kept staring at it.

“Whatever you say.”

They kept looking and looking, until Stebbins began feeling that the salt and water of the painting could get to him.

They walked, outside trough one of the many doors made of windows the place had, Stebbins didn't understand how anybody was meant to get out of there, in case of a fire, maybe they weren't, if the paintings went down so did you.

“And here's The Portland Outdoor Sculpture Garden” Said McVries, as a bunch of black-turning-green statues came into view.

Stebbins looked at each one carefully, they were starting to collect dusk, leaves falling on top of them.

He approached a statue of a horse of bones, it looked made of branches put together by a forest ghost.

“And to think that this and Michelangelo's David and the Antinous Mondragone and everything else in the world are all equals” Said McVries “Did you know that, when they first unpacked it the Antiguos Mondragone came with lipstick on its cheek, some lady on the old days, did her makeup especially that day to kiss it, and who could blame her, right?”

Stebbins thought about it, about kissing a statue, leaving your mark on something forever, he was sure they were still visible, wherever the statue behind its fortified glass was in, the sun reflecting on the red pigment, until even the sun itself burned out.

“Is it really all equal?”

“All art is equal, never doubt it, or at least that's what everybody says, take it with a grain of salt”

Stebbins gave one last look at the horse statue, then rolled his eyes.

“I already have what I need for the homework. I'm leaving, I’m getting a migraine.”

“Too much art appreciation for you, Stebbins Deary?”

Stebbins sighed, his headache was getting worse, the sunlight was so intense "If you appreciate art so much why aren't you assisting to the club, your art club, specifically?" Stebbins said.

"How do you know that?"

"It must be really bad if The President of The Club is not on the know of who is assisting his club" Stebbins turned back to him "Why is that?"

"I'm not feeling very creative right now, I'm not really channeling my inner muse at the moment" Stebbins titled his head, McVries sunk his hands into his hoodie, his scar was itching, just like when he was getting the stitches, he wondered if he would feel like this forever, like something was scratching inside of his skin.

"I can't paint right now."

"You paint?"

"You didn't know? The paintings on the back of the room Garraty drags you to every Monday after school are made by me."

"They are?"

"Yeah. What? Did you think that they were out of Collie Parker's sensible hands?"

"No I-" Stebbins looked to the side, he felt somehow embarrassed now "I thought they were from a gallery or something of the sort."

McVries stopped on his tracks for a second too long, he could feel his heart beating off his chest.

He didn't know how to react to this, he had heard thousands of compliments before, from his parents, Katrina, Katrina's friends, his friends, Ray, the teachers, and The Director but none of them felt like this. It was different to receive such a genuine compliment, Stebbins didn't even mean for it to be a compliment, he was sure, hearing anything out of Stebbins's mouth was a different experience by itself each time.

He pushed his hands inside his pockets, trying to regain composure.

"I don't think that's how that works" He said with a smile but Stebbins didn't change his blank poker face at all, he never did, McVries didn't know why he has expected him to this time.

"How do you do that?"

"How do I do what? Paint? Well Stebbins, as you know you have two hands left and right, right is the one you write with, unless you are a witch."

"Shut up. I mean how do you draw things like that?"

McVries thought back of all the club's classes, practice, his whole life really, he didn't have an answer on why or how or what when it came to himself, he never did, he did stuff that felt right to do and when it stopped feeling right he didn't know what to do anymore.

"I don't know" His hand shot up, scratching the scar, he knew he shouldn't do that, it was going to whiter and worsen if he did, he scratched it harder "I told you I can't anymore."

"How can you not be able to anymore? How can you lose yourself like that?"

"I don't know if I knew I wouldn't be here" McVries said with a smile, he didn't know why his first reaction was to smile whenever he was in pain.

Stebbins looked to the ground, he looked troubled now, gripping on his sleeve.

"Can you show them to me?"

McVries choked on air a little, that had felt as a blow for some reason, he didn't know why but it burned and stung a little, he didn't know most of anything nowadays. He stopped scratching the scar.

“Are you willing to introduce yourself to my parents?”

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

They had gotten to McVries’s car, Stebbins memorized the path to McVries’s house, the evening was completely set in.

“Forewarnings Announcement!: My parents are, how to put it? Touchy-feely people, so be ready” McVries said.

Stebbins sighed audibly, rolling his eyes to the back of his skull “I will try.”

“Hope you survive being hugged by a housewife, a man who reeks of cigarettes, and the cutest little girl you will ever meet.”

Stebbing turned to him “You have a sister?”

“Yeah, her name is Katrina she's really little and she's adorable, so you scare her and I beat you up.”

“I get it” Stebbins said, letting his head fall on to the window, feeling the bumps on his temples “I wouldn't mess with anybody's sister. I'm not a bully.”

“You better” McVries stopped the car in front of a medium-sized house.

It had a small garden, a clean driveway, the painting didn't look too old, and it wasn't graffitied on the sides, it looked like the sort of house who in a children's book would have a pie resting by its windows. Stebbins stared openly at it.

“We have arrived to your location” McVries said “C'mon blondie move it.”

Stebbins opened his door, they walked up to McVries’s opening, his house’s path to the entrance was tilted upwards, Stebbins’s noticed.

McVries’s got his keys out but he rang the doorbell regardless, he opened the door and took a step to the left, bowing slightly.

“Ladies first.”

“I would actually walk first, but if I do, who do I use as a human shield when your parents bombard me.”

“Always three steps ahead, uh my blondie?” McVries gave him a smile, the sort of smile actors gave each other in movies, Stebbins stepped in, he felt dazed again for some reason.

“Petie? Is that you?” Stebbins’s heard a high pitched voice followed by the sound of running, he figured that must be Katrina, he straightened his back readying himself for whatever was to come next.

“Yeah, Beautiful” Stebbins took notice of the nickname.

McVries stepped in, Stebbins walked slowly behind him, feeling smaller behind his back.

“Mom. Dad. A school friend” McVries said.

“Oh. Hi there!” A woman wearing a pair of red washing gloves greeted him with a pearly white smile. Stebbins figured she was McVries’s Mom.

“Greetings” Stebbins shyly offered her his hand, he didn't know if that was the right thing to do, he looked at the ground as he introduced himself, he couldn't stand looking at people's eyes most times “My name is Stebbins, Madame.”

“Nice to meet you Stebbins!” The woman rapidly took off one glove and shook his hand, her skin felt bleached.

“Nice to meet another friend of our son, not like Ray isn't a fine boy but…” A man wearing a tie said, McVries’s Dad, Stebbins assumed.

“Yeah Dad. We get it” McVries interrupted him.

“Don't hide Katrina” McVries’s Mom said, as Katrina clutched to her legs, looking up at Stebbins, with wide curious eyes “You have to say hi too.”

“Introduce yourself Katrina. Don't be rude” McVries’s Dad said.

Katrina gasped and ran to Stebbins “My name is Katrina! Nice to meet you!” She held up her hand high at him, Stebbins grabbed it, Katrina shook it with all the might a primary school child probably had.

“No need to be so intense, Katrina” McVries’s Mom said.

“Yeah. Poor guy you are gonna leave him without hand” McVries said.

“Sorry...” Katrina left go of his hand slowly.

“It’s okay” Stebbins had the distinct feeling that that was the wrong thing to say-

“If we are all done with introductions. I will be taking him to the back room, not that backroom Mom, the paintings room.”

She smiled, clapping her hands, producing a wet sound, Stebbin wondered why that made her so happy “I hope you enjoy the art, boys!”

“We will, Mom” McVries said, then he began walking to the left hallways, Stebbins followed him, looking at everything in McVries's house with the same intensity he had looked at the museum's halls.

They passed some other locker doors, Stebbins wondered what that many rooms were for.

“How many backrooms do you have?” Stebbins said.

“You must be level Ray of Friendship to unlock that secret” McVries said. They arrived to a door with old paintings stains all over “Now. Here goes your personal gallery experience.”

McVries opened up the door, revealing his dozens of paintings. They all uncovered, there was a blank sheet on the ground collecting dusk, McVries had told himself he didn't want them anymore, didn't need them anymore, would cover them up with blank sheet someday, and never think about them again, but never today.

An enormous oil landscape stood in the middle, it was the painting of a night sky.

“Wow” Stebbins said his eyes trying to take everything they possibly could one look, he walked closer to the painting, holding up his hands as if he wanted to touch it.

“You don't have to act impressed” McVries said “Though then again like you would bother yourself acting for anybody.”

“If you already know I wouldn't bother, why do you ask?”

“Because, why would you be impressed? They are just paintings, there's nothing special about them.”

“They are beautiful” Stebbins said without hesitation, he wasn’t soft about it, it wasn't supposed to be a compliment it was just a statement of a fact, that made it even more bittersweet to McVries somehow.

He smiled, cynical, one-sided, he wasn't happy, he knew he wasn't allowed to feel happy “Can you see something in them?”

“There's something in everything.”

“Is there something in you?” McVries asked, he felt like he could burst out crying right now, he felt submerged in the sea.

Stebbins turned to him for the first time since they had stepped into the room, his eyes slightly wide, looking at him, though him, trying to find malice in his words, but there was none, McVries just wanted to know, he just needed to know.

“What do you think there's in me, McVries?” Stebbins tilted his head “Do you think there's something in you, McVries?”

“Ha” He let air through his teeth, a pitiful attempt at a laugh ”Do you think there's something in me, Stebbins?”

Stebbins looked back at the painting, he walked down the room, staring carefully at each of the paintings, trying to suck all meaning life and colour of them, he stopped in front of the painting of a white roses bouquet with hiel dripping off it.

“How do you make this?” Stebbins said.

“Anybody can.”

“That's not true.”

“It is. You could do it too, if you wanted to.”

“I doubt it.”

Stebbins arrived to the back of the room, the biggest painting stood on the middle, half-finished, McVries has started it before That and then had never found on himself to finish it, after That he hadn't found much of anything of himself.

“Why is this one like this?”

“Never finished it.”

“It looks like an orphan” Stebbins turned back, they were standing in opposite directions now, McVries hadn’t moved an inch since Stebbins had entered, he hadn't realized that “If everybody can do it, why don't you finish it?”

McVries grimaced “Why don't you draw me something?”

“I can't”

“If you can't then I can't neither.”

Stebbins turned back at the unfinished painting resting in the darkness and dusk, being illuminated in blues, and so empty it was haunting.

“If I do, will you finish it?”

McVries felt moved somehow, he walked to the table, grabbed an old sketchbook more than half the pages, already ripped out, and a pencil with the gum completely chewed out, he offered them to Stebbins.

“You first.”

Stebbins looked down at it, carefully, McVries could almost phantom the danger a person like Stebbins saw in everything.

Stebbins received it.

“You first” Stebbins told him.

“Alright” Stebbins’s light up a little, McVries convinced himself he saw nothing in it “And take a seat, because this is going to take a long time.”

Stebbins lowered himself on the floor, he looked up to McVries, he could feel the intensity of his stare.

McVries grabbed the godette from the table, it was made of nogal wood, his parents had been so proud, so happy with themselves when they gave it to him, it still had old, dried off pools of pigment on it, he grabbed the paints and replied it, shining anew.

“Look up, Vang Gogh they call me” It was supposed to be a joke but it seemed too bleak to his own ears, Stebbins stared at him as he finished his painting, he could hear the rough scratching of the pencil against the paper, they didn't speak much during it, there was no need.

He felt Stebbins’s eyes on him the entire time.

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

They heard two knocks on the door, then Katrina entered “Petie, Mom and Dad wanna know if your friend is going to have dinner with us?”

McVries's eyes shot open, he had been completely spaced up while doing this “Are you, blondie?”

Stebbins clutched the sketchbook “No. Thank you.”

“Are you sure? My parents really love having extra kids to feed.”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Knock yourself out then” He left the godette and brush back down the table, there were blue specks all over his hands now “C'mon Katrina, let's say goodbye to this hermit with Mom and Dad” Katrina nodded, they walked out.

Stebbins got himself to the door, through murmurs and insistencies from McVries's parents, McVries looked to the side, he seemed embarrassed but even more used to it, Stebbins held himself tighter onto the sketchbook.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay?” McVries’s Mom said “We have more than enough food prepared.”

“I don't wish to bother Madame” Stebbins avoided her eyes.

“What a polite boy” McVries Dad said “Why aren't you more like this, Peter?”

“Dad!?”

Stebbins put his hand on his mouth, he wasn't going to laugh, he refused to laugh right now.

“Please Sir, I have to arrive to help My Mother” Stebbins wasn't quiet lying, he would probably have to help his mom out with something back home, he just didn't know what yet.

“What a shame” McVries's Mom said “But if you have to go help your mom, what can we do?”

Stebbins nodded.

“Hope to see you again boy” McVries's Dad said.

“Yes, Sir.”

“You say goodbye too, Katrina” McVries’s Mom said. Katrina nodded, she ran up and hugged Stebbins’s legs, he flinched, immediately tensing.

“Goodbye Petie’s friend.”

He gulped down, lightly patted her head, with his open palm “Goodbye to you too...”

“Has everybody said goodbye?” McVries asked around “And Katrina let go of the poor man's legs, you are giving him a heart attack.”

“Sorry...” Katrina stepped off.

“It's okay.”

“Okay blondie, let me take you to your house” McVries opened the door, Stebbins waved one last goodbye to the rest of The McVries family before answering him.

“You have to regardless.”

“Let me be romantic.”

“About what? I would take the bus, but they apparently don't exist here.”

“At least I don't live in the middle of nowhere like Ray does.”

“Point taken" He looked at the car "But you still have to take me, you should be a more polite young man, Petie."

"That's the worst thing I had ever heard coming out of your lips."

"Oh really? Petie?"

"Shut up, and get up" McVries said, they walked up to the opened door, and got in.

He put one hand on the wheel "So where do you live again?"

Stebbins gave him instructions to his address, staring off the window the whole time, it was almost night when they got back.

“I told you not to scare my sister, but apparently, she scared you way more than you could ever scare her.”

“Shut up.” Stebbins looked out the window “Stop here” Stebbins said as an old broken down apartment conjunct came into view, the walls were cracked down the painting becoming gray and falling off, McVries did his best to not stare at it, he hadn't expected Stebbin to live in a place like this, he wasn't wealthy none of his friends were but he was grateful for his well-kept house for sure

“Do you want me to get down, and introduce myself to your mother as well?” McVries tried to joke.

“No” Stebbins said, opened up the door, and walked out without saying goodbye.

“Well, okay” McVries spoke to the shotgun sit where Stebbins had been, he started the car again and went back.

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

He already had his keys out when he arrived, but Katrina opened up the door first, she was always waiting for him, she hugged him like he had been gone to war, he petted her head, and she backed up a little, she opened her mouth in a big O shape.

"What is it, Beautiful?"

"Petie and your notebook?"

McVries thought back, Stebbins had been holding onto it the whole ride.

"Ugh."

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

McVries walked up to his locker by himself Garraty hadn’t arrived yet, he was always late.

He opened it, a ball of paper fell out of it, McVries shook his head, he had almost forgotten that the entire world was going to be like middle school, he sighed and picked it up, maybe it was dumb but he honestly didn't care anymore, might as well read it, might as well scratch his scar until the ghost of the stitches he could still feel on his skin fell off.

He undid the ball, inside was an amateurish drawing done with pencil, a little dirty and stained all over, it was a drawing of him, childish as childish got but he could recognize himself on it.

“Uh?” He said it out loud, he didn't know what to do with it, or who could have sent it, he could see the marks of some scriptwriting transparenting from the back to the white spots of the paper, he turned it around.

Come to the club

You are the president

And nothing else.

McVries flatten out the paper, the marks felt crispy to the touch, he grabbed one his books from the inside of the locker, not a textbook just another old book he enjoyed reading, he opened it on the last page he had left, and carefully placed the paper there as a bookmarker, he knew the pencil would probably stain the pages, but that didn't seem to matter right now.

He went to class, did his notes, as usual, didn't listen to a word, as usual, he felt somewhat decided now, he had to get his sketchbook back someday, after all.

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

He walked slowly to the club room by himself, Garraty had stopped coming to his classroom to try to drag him off weeks ago, he felt ashamed of himself, had left his best friend with more responsibilities, taking care of something that had been his idea, hadn't even told him why, hadn't told anybody why.

He slid open the door, he could see the lights coming out of the window, could already hear the laughter and the banter.

“Hey guys” He stepped in.

“Pete!” Garraty stood up immediately, he ran to him, like he wanted to hug him but retracted at the last second, McVries didn’t approach him either, they high fived instead.

“I told you he would” Stebbins said from the back of the room, looking down at the sketchbook, a pencil held on his hand.

“What did you do Stebbins?” Garraty said, turning his head to the back, the rest of the guys did the same.

“Secret” Stebbins said without raising his eyes from the paper.

“Are you ever going to tell me what he told you, Pete?”

McVries looked at Stebbins, he thought back of the paper, he gritted his teeth into a smile, it wasn't a real one, but he owned at least this much to Garraty and to Stebbins, and to everybody else, he had to at the very least try.

“Secret” McVries said.

“Disappointing” Pearson said, his hands still gripping the french pasta owl statue he was making.

“Agreed” Baker said, vice as soft as always.

“Are we your personal telenovela?” McVries said to them.

Parker opened up his mouth, a big grin in his face.

“Don't” Said Garraty “I know what you are going to say, don't” Stebbins tilted his head at that “Don't worry about it Stebbins, and you don't say anything either Pete.”

“I didn't even open my mouth.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“I-”

“You were.”

“Sit down somewhere already! and Shut up!” Barkovitch said.

“Oh, how I had missed the sound of your soprano voice on those clear after school afternoons” Said McVries, as he and Garraty walked to the back of the room.

“What does that even mean!?”

“That you sound like a girl, you idiot” Answered Pearson.

“I! Don't! Sound! Like! A! Girl!”

“His voice is breaking my eardrums” Stebbins left go of his pencil, massaging his temples.

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

The clubroom was almost empty, only McVries, Garraty, and Stebbins had stayed back.

They heard the clock go off, the sun was getting ready to set.

Garraty closed his sketchbook, getting inside his backpack “Have to go now, I'm gonna lose the bus.”

“And people think it’s hyperbole when I say you are always late for everything” McVries said.

“I'm not late for everything ” He stuffed the rucksack inside “Am I?”

“You were ------- to class today?”

Garraty looked down, finishing the sentence “...Late”

McVries held his eyebrow up in an I told you so manner “Don't worry, I can give you a ride.”

Garraty light up “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why do you always get surprised? I do it almost daily.”

“You haven't done it in a few weeks... and I thought you may want to stay behind, to finish some of your other stuff.”

McVries felt his chest tightening, he had lost forgotten “I can finish later in my house, I take you now.”

“Okay” Garraty said, getting his backpack up.

“You are leaving already?” Stebbins finally looked up from the sketchbook, he sounded oddly catechized, as if he had just realized he was going to be left alone in the room.

“Is getting kinda late, isn't it?” Said Garraty “Are you planning on staying much longer?”

“It has to be finished right?” Stebbins said, he had his usual cold voice, but he seemed nervous.

“Not today, you know. You already made me a big favour by actually coming and staying, Stebbins.”

“I can give you a ride too” McVries interrupted putting a hand on the back of his neck “And you can finish in my house, it is my sketchbook after all.”

“Wait. Your sketchbook?” Garraty said, giving the both of them a look.

“Long story” Said Mcvries “Do you want to? Stebbins.”

Stebbins chewed on the pencil, before awkwardly taking it out and answering “Yes.”

“Okay. Get your stuff” Said McVries.

Stebbins nodded grabbing his backpack, he carefully placed the pencil and the sketchbook inside, he put it on and stood up “Let's get going.”

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

They approached McVries's car, Stebbins and Garraty reached out for the shotgun door at the same time.

“I didn't know Pete had given you a ride before” Said Garraty.

“Jealous?” Said Stebbins.

Garraty sucked a sharp intake of breath “I’m not!” He looked down at the car’s handle “I didn't know you two got along so well.”

“Are you two fighting over me now? I didn't know I was this popular” Said McVries.

“We are not! Who would fight over you?” Said Garraty.

“Then what's the dramatic scene about?”

“About who is getting shotgun” Garraty said.

“My car I choose” Said McVries “Ray gets shotgun, he has seniority priority.”

Stebbins left go of the handle.

“Thanks” Said Garraty opening the door, they all took a seat inside, Stebbins sat uncomfortably near the window, sinking into the corner, he stared at the front mirror.

“I'm going to leave you in your house first, Ray” McVries said.

“Yeah” Garraty nodded.

Stebbins looked to the side. He wondered how many time Garraty and McVries had done this, McVries drove the path like it was going to his own house, they smiled at each other with domesticity, Stebbins thought they really belonged together. He kept his eyes fixated on the window.

“Your palace, My Lord” McVries said, as they stopped in front of a regular suburban home, plants growing all over it, but it didn’t look abandoned in the least.

“Thanks, Pete” Garraty opened his side of the door “See you, Stebbins.”

Stebbins nodded, and Garraty got out, he waved goodbye to them standing in front of his door, McVries smiled at him and started the car again.

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

“And you already knew your way from here” McVries said as they arrived to his driveaway “Hope you can survive my parents two times.”

“They are not so bad” Stebbins grabbed the sides of his sweaters, his fingertips grazing the holes and its insides, he felt cold even to himself “I have seen worst.”

“Is your mother the stepmother from Cinderella? That's why you don't want me to see her?”

“You have an awful amount of interest in my life, McVries. Do you really like me that much?”

“Tragic Backstory uh? Maybe I do. If I say I do, would you tell me?”

“You are disgusting McVries” Stebbins said, he reached out for the backpack he had thrown into the floor.

He shrugged “Had to try.”

Stebbins shook his head, opened his side of the door and walked to the front door, McVries opened it.

“You are back, Petie?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Petie!” They heard Katrina's voice coming from the living room, she ran towards them “Hi Petie's friend.”

“Hi” Stebbins said, almost whispering.

“Good evening, Stebbins” Said McVries's Mom.

“Good evening, Madame.”

“God. This dialogue is awkward” McVries shook his head “I’m taking him to the back room again, before you get too attached to him and try to replace me” McVries grabbed Stebbins’s hand, and took him back down the halls.

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

Stebbins took the sketchbook off his backpack, sitting cross-legged in the same spot as last time, McVries had his godette in hand, but he wasn't using it, he had been so tempted to grab a little yellow before, he didn't know what for.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

McVries blinked twice before he processed the question “I'm sorry” He circled the brush on top of the of the wood “You- You don’t look like a real person sometimes.”

“What do I look like?”

“Like 3 o'clock spring afternoons.”

Stebbins looked down. McVries could see the blues of the room’s walls reflected in his face, he could have sworn Stebbins looked flushed.

Stebbins stared at the painting behind him, his fingers pattering the pencil softly.

“Do you want to try?”

“I can't paint.”

“I thought we had already established everybody could” McVries left the pencil rest on top of the godette and extended him a hand, the lighting on Stebbins’s face shifted “Let me help you.”

Stebbins gripped the pencil a little harder, his white knuckles turning pink underneath the strength, then he left it to fall, rolling through the floor until it touched against a corner in the room, he took McVries's hand and stood up.

“Wait” McVries said, he took the canvas off the easel and grabbed a new blank one.

“Isn't the paint going to fall off?” Stebbins said.

“I will paint another, I will paint it again, in reality, I don’t think about preserving too much.”

“But isn't all of this so it can be preserved forever, like in the museums?”

“Between making and preserving, I prefer making” McVries said offering him the brush and godette “Hold it, there's more on the table, if you need it.”

“What do I do?”

“I could give you all the theory on sketching, and colors, and whatever else I know, but I'm not a painting teacher, and that would bore even my grandmother, just do what you want right now, that's what I do.”

“Something like that can’t come off of simply doing what you want.”

“I do what, I want but I been doing it for a long while. Do you really not want to try? If so, you don't have to but I can tell you do.”

“Don't speak like you know me” Stebbins said, but his voice sounded meek to his ears. He passed the brush through the godette, he softly caressed the canvas with it.

They stood in silence together for ages.

“What are you making?”

“A forest.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You can't say that. you don't know it yet.”

“Then let me speak on future mode. It will be beautiful, and everything that will be already is”

“What cheap poem did you steal that line from?”

“Actually, it’s stolen from a quantum physics book.”

Stebbins smiled a little, a soft sound coming out of him, he was laughing

“Wow...”

“What is it?”

“I didn't know you could laugh.”

“I'm not that heartless” He kept moving the brush.

“No, no you are not.”

McVries stood behind him as he painted, the outside noises becoming stronger.

Stebbins knew there was no way it could all be okay just doing what you wanted, that the mannerism was awkward and structureless, but he felt so comfortable doing it, that room and that time-space was so comfortable to exist in.

“It's getting late” Said McVries “Will your mom be mad if I bring you home past dawn?”

“Oh" Stebbins looked out the window to catch the setting sun "I hadn't realized.”

“I shouldn't have said anything” McVries smiled, showing his pearly white teeth, but he seemed so disappointed as well.

“We have to go” Stebbins said, placing the brush on top of the godette “But I might have to come by tomorrow again, I still have your sketchbook after all.”

“So you weren't planning on giving it back at all.”

“Blame Ray for it, he's the one forcing me to assist to your club.”

“I should thank him instead.”

“Don't you ever feel dirty, lying so much?”

“Who says I'm lying?”

“You must be.”

“Do I really have such a bad reputation?”

“You don't. I do”

“Really? Is that also a part of your tragic backstory?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

“I would but... I can wait” He took one last look at the painting “You should finish this one” McVries said “Later on the year we get to hang our paintings for the new entry students to see, you should hang this one.”

Stebbins looked at his painting, with his lips pursed, he looked like he was making a really hard decision, then he relaxed, he looked at McVries in the eye a small soft smile on his lips.

“Yes I think I will.”

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

McVries stopped his car in front of Stebbins’s house, their paintings already loaded up in the back, they had been finished for months now.

He honked, and a few minutes later a very tired looking Stebbins came outside.

Stebbins groaned as he sat on the shotgun seat, leaving his backpack to fall on the floor.

“It's open” McVries looked at the backpack, it's contents ready to spill out.

“I know” Stebbins slammed the door shut, and turned to look at him, his lips were completely dry, his eye bags were getting purple.

“You look even worse than usual.”

“I know” Stebbins closed his eyes and stretched, his backbone popping as he did.

“Did you just wake up?” McVries said.

“The prospect on getting up early on Sunday, just to go put a show to a bunch of 14 years old who, by mere statistic, won't stay in our school, it's not something that calls to me, Pete.”

“Don't act like that, I know you want to see the exhibition too” McVries turned to him, Stebbins avoided his gaze.

“Why would I want that? I already saw them all, as they were being made.”

“Whatever you say blondie” McVries started up the car, and they left to the school.

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

McVries parked down, the place was almost completely empty, but in a pair of hours it would be full of kids and their parents. They got off the car and opened up the backseat.

“Help me carry them” McVries said.

“You got them here on your own just fine, I don't see why you need my help for it now.”

“Carry your painting yourself, Princess” McVries said, carefully taking his painting and pulling it off the car.

“Why isn’t Ray here? He could carry it.”

“I love how your first thought is to make Ray carry it for you.”

Stebbins rolled the sleeves of his sweater up, and grabbed the painting awkwardly by the sides, losing balance a little under the weight.

“Why is this so heavy?”

“Be careful” Stebbins gave him an exasperated look “Okay, hold on, I help you.”

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

McVries and Stebbins sat the paintings on the desks, next to the other’s works.

The door slipped open in one harsh motion “I’m sorry I’m late!” Garraty arrived, carrying his painting uncomfortably with one hand.

“And there he is” Stebbins said, McVries laughed.

“Finally! Garraty!” Parker said.

“I still can't believe Barkovitch is more in time than The Vice President of The Club” Pearson said.

“Told ya!” Barkovitch said.

“I'm sorry!” Garraty said “Let's just hang this all on already. We are gonna be late.”

“Late, like who?” Said McVries.

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, like always” McVries said, then turned to the paintings “Let’s carry this all to the exhibition place, we are not that lacking in time be careful with them, we can't afford any incidents happening right now. And that goes to you too Ray.”

“What did I do?”

“The painting” Baker said.

“Oh” He quickly took it with both hands, carrying it with more care now “Sorry.”

McVries gave him a smile. He was always so full of fondness when it came down to Garraty.

“Okay everybody, let's get this over with.”

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

“I don't know how you can physically carry that many stuff at once” Said Abraham as Parker passed him by, with a desk, the hooks to hang the paintings with, and a bunch of pamphlets.

“Ah! This ain't even heavy, y’all just weak” Parker answered shimming with pride.

“Then carry this desk for me Parker” Said Olson struggling to move the desk even an inch.

“Carry it yourself Olson!”

“Why are you dragging it, instead of folding it and carrying it like the rest?” Said Baker.

“Wait... It folds up?”

“Olson, why?” Said Pearson.

“Collie. Go help him” Said Baker.

“You can even call it charity work, Parker” Said McVries.

“You help him. Your club.”

“Pete. Help us hang this” Garraty said, holding up the paintings together with Stebbins.

“Sorry. The missus called.”

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

They finished hanging everything up, the halls were starting to fill up, kids coming left and right.

A little boy walked past them with his mom ruffling his hair, he stayed back staring at Pearsons's sculptures. Garraty began speaking to him, passing pamphlets to his mom.

“You don't seem to hate it so much” McVries said, Stebbins was staring at the scenery in front of him, he looked tenured

“I hate having to work for the school.”

“Hey it's our club and” Imitating the voice of The Director “Our Project, and completely not, a free publicity gimmick by the school.”

“You didn't let me finish Pete. I hate having to work for the school but I love the paintings” He turned back to them, staring at McVries’s landscape “They are beautiful.”

McVries looked at him, and looked, and looked until the world seemed to stop spinning around them.

“Yes. Really beautiful.”

#The Long Walk #finn writes #my fanfiction #McVries/Stebbins

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valeskaparksofficial · 5 years

Text

Publicly Anxious

The idea for this halfway came from a prompt and halfway came from my own experiences with my anxiety disorder and going to the grocery story.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lyla sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the front doors of the grocery store and drumming her fingers off-beat on the steering wheel.

She’d waited too long again. Her cupboards were bare, not even a crumb left over, and she had no choice but to go inside and face the crowds.

She growled low in her throat, frustration bubbling up and needing somewhere to go.

The dark, otherworldly creature that hid in her jacket purred and hissed in comfort as it rubbed against her shoulder in comfort.

She sighed and opened her door.

It was hungry, too. Even if she was willing to go hungry, she wasn’t about to force her friend to do the same.

Just go through the door and you’ll be fine. Almost there…

She continued to give herself pep talks in her head as she crossed the parking lot, dodging runaway carts and cars who’s drivers didn’t know what a rearview mirror was.

The doors opened automatically and she was almost run over by a college student with a cart full of assorted alcohol and snack food.

Lyla’s stomach ached. This had been a mistake.

The eldritch abomination seeped into her sleeve and seemed to pull her forward, straight toward the carts.

Yeah, those are good barriers.

Lyla wiped the cart down with the, quite frankly, dry antibacterial disinfectant wipes the store provided because that was what she always did and went through the second set of doors.

She took her list out of her pocket. It wasn’t long, but she didn’t want to forget anything.

She was in the produce section. Fruit first. Why was fruit first? Shouldn’t the cold food and the produce all be near each other on the other end of the store?

She sighed again, trying to hold it together. There were a lot of people.

Her friend purred again.

Right. Fruit and vegetables.

The blackberries were technically on sale, but they were still too expensive, so she passed them up and went for the mangoes. Maybe she could make a smoothie tomorrow. Her friend liked those, too.

She grabbed some decent looking romaine lettuce, a few tomatoes that she could bake later, and a bag of baby carrots her friend could gnaw on when he got bored.

Over by the end of the department, she picked up a few bags of nuts and dried fruit because she did not want to come back for a while.

Lyla snatched up a bag of her preferred bread without stopping on her way to the meat.

Her friend stuck it’s head out of her jacket as soon as she stopped in front of the display, curious of the scents that he loved so much.

“Is it going to be chicken or beef today?” she asked under her breath.

One of the other customers frowned and stepped away quickly, eyeing her over her shoulder.

Lyla ignored her, watching as the tiny, black, gooey head swung lazily back and forth between the sections and finally rested on the beef.

“Good choice,” she congratulated and picked up the biggest (and best priced) pack.

Coffee, creamer, different kinds of tea, ice cream.

It took her a while to choose the last one. The wall of freezers containing ice cream alone were… overwhelming. So many brands, half of which were just the same kind but with a different price? What was the point?

Lyla eventually gave up and just let her friend choose again (cherry and chocolate) before she went to the center aisles to pick a few bags of chips.

She added those into the baby seat with the fruit and vegetables and filled the rest of the cart with cans of soup, fruit, and vegetables until it nearly overflowed.

Lyla debated adding some soda to the pile, but decided against it when her hands were beginning to shake with the stress of the trip as it was and she just wanted out of there.

Her friend patted her shoulder comfortingly and she took a deep breath to calm herself, counting her fingers as she tapped them on the cart’s handle and went to the front of the store.

Oh, no…

The lines were long and people were talking and children were screaming.

She grit her teeth and hunched up her shoulders, wishing she could just disappear.

Even her friend was getting prickly with all the noise.

The incessant beeping of the scanners just kept coming.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

When she finally got to the front of the line, the cashier did a double-take.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she grit out.

The cashier shrugged, popping his gum and getting back to his job.

The beeping continued and Lyla felt her friend rub against her neck, just barely being hidden by her jacket, in an effort to keep her calm.

When the cashier finally gave her the total, she practically threw the money at him, telling him to keep the change, and ran out the door.

She raced across the parking lot and nearly dropped her keys as she unlocked her trunk and loaded her groceries.

She ran the cart to one of the places set aside for them and nearly dove through her open window, sighing in relief as she sunk into her seat.

It was finally over and she didn’t have to do it again…

For a few more weeks at least…

Donate to my PayPal?

#writing #writeblr #experiment #experimental #short stories #short story #anxiety #anxiety disorder

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mooniessuniverse · 6 years

Text

Amnesia || Tony Stark

Requested: Yes, by my best buddy @the-right-drug-wrong-time

Prompt(s) used: 92.“You are small and full of anger.”, 67: “You’re bleeding!”, 53. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” (prompt list here)

Summary: You lost your memory after a car accident. Everything keeps coming slowly back.

Warning(s): swearing, sexual jokes, bit of angst, Tony is insecure, fluff...

Word count: 5100

A/N: This took me wayyyyyy longer than I thought it will and it is also a loooooooot longer than I thought it will be. I am full of surprises these days, lol. I hope you will like it, Alex, and all of you who will read it willingly

My masterlist || Characters list (aka who I write for)

GIF IS NOT MINE

“...We have to run another few tests before we can release you. Of course, I will no longer tire you and allow you to get some rest; You need it,” The doctor smiled at her from behind his glasses. She forced her own smile to occur on her face, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples.

He turned around to leave but then he added: “I almost forgot, you need to stay put and try not to leave your bed. The injury on your head caused by whatever reason could make you feel like your head is spinning and you could faint if you make too much of movement. I would also recommend that you hold off on searching for clues on your past. It could stop your brain from remembering."

She stared at him confusedly, only for him to give her a sympathetic smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose, "When the brain tries too hard to remember what it doesn't know, it tends to suppress many other memories. Not to mention it inflicts upon the other functions the brain is responsible for, like hormone productions and whatnot. Overloading the brain with trying to remember what it cannot will only cause more harm than good, ma'am. Do you understand?"

She nodded her head silently.

"Good. I'll leave you alone for now. A nurse will be by soon enough. Enjoy your rest, ma’am.”

She let a loud sigh escape her lips as soon as he closed the door behind himself. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. He was honestly so naive to think that she wouldn’t go and try to find anything about her past. It was stupid of him to think that anyone would just stop and not look through their stuff, especially if all they could remember was just their childhood and teenage years and nothing more.

The last decade and a half of her life was hid behind the curtain of mist and she felt helpless at the emptiness.

She let her legs fall from the edge of hospital bed and kicked them back and forth slowly, thinking through every movement she wanted to do. She eyed the room carefully.

Her room had a TV in the left corner, right next to the window with the open blinds. Under there was a table with tons of flowers, all of them her favourite. There was also a teddy bear, a little one with a blue and red shirt with traces of spider webs on it. He sat on one of the two chairs. The second one had a black bag on it, probably with clothes. On a table next to her bed was a bottle of water, something what looked like a pain killers and some fruits. She hoped that they had left her personal things in a drawer but before she opened it she took the pills and swallowed them down immediately.

She felt her stomach drop at the sudden realization of what she didn't know. She wasn’t sure if she was excited or scared of what she would have to find out.

Did she stay friends with Anna, her childhood best friend, or did they have some terrible arguement and stopped talking? Did she become the screenwriter she always wanted to be? Or did she started a career as a cop slash detective, like everyone predicted?

How was her family doing? Is everyone okay? Did her brother enlist in the army like he said he would? Oh, and does she have fiance or husband or wife or significant other? Or does she has more than one? Is she in poly relationship? Is she a cheater?

Oh wow, that escalated quickly.

She was glad that she has room just for herself because she was blushing so hard from her thoughts.

She waited for a few minutes for the pills to kick in, just watching through the slightly opened window. It was already dark outside and light breeze brushing over her bare feet made her shiver a bit.

It didn’t last long and she already felt better. Her headache was getting better by every second.

Oh god, these pills are some strong shit. Wonder if I can be high because of them, she giggled. Jesus Christ, I’m a mess.

She decided to finally open the drawer. Inside was a sealed package with her phone, some jewerly and a piece of paper. There was also her wallet and a pack of gum. And, oh god, a condom.

Well, now we can be sure that I have a boyfriend. Or... Who knows, she thought to herself with raised eyebrows.

She opened the package and let the items fall into her open palm. She started with the paper with a little note.

Don’t forget to tell Happy to pick Peter up. I love you, sweet cheeks. Tony P.S. Sorry about last night. I hope this breakfast will make up for it.

A grin appeared on her face without realizing. She bit her lower lip, another silent giggle escaping her lips. Tony, you bastard.

The thought was automatic, coming from seemingly nowhere in her garbled, jumbled mind. Who was this man? They must have been together for a few years by the contents of this letter. Who was Happy? And Peter? Did she have a kid?

She shook her head. She would remember if she has a son, right? She would have to remember. But one thing she couldn't deny, she felt a strong connection to the name, even if there was no face attached to it. Yet.

Her body froze when an image played across her mind.

She was holding someone in her arms, running her hand down his back while he had his arms strongly wrapped around her as well. “I am sorry, Y/N.” His voice came out deeper than usual.

She pushed him away, keeping him an arms distance length away, tightening her grip on his strong arms. She looked into his brown eyes filled with regret and exhaustion. She caressed his cheek and unnecessarily wiped away the almost dried tears, for no reason other than providing comfort to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid. I stand behind my decision of protecting you and helping you with anything that happens. I know Tony is angry but it's just because he is worried about you. Don’t be sorry, you did good. Briliantly, actually, and I am sure, one hundred percent, he thinks the same. You took Vulture down on your own, come on!” A wide smile spread across her face, one that he couldn't help but reciprocate. She pulled him back into her embrace and ran her hand through his hair.

“Besides, he will be back with his “mentoring” before you blink. Let’s go, we have to patch you up.”

Memories flash through her mind. She was sure of that. She was sure that these were her memories. She could remember those brown orbs anywhere, that typical “lost puppy” look.

Ha! And doctor said it would slow down remembering! Bullshit!

She went back to the rest of her things. She took one piece of the gum and started chewing while she put the necklace back on her neck where it belonged. The chain hung right between the valley of her breasts, and if she didn't know any better, she was sure that that was the necklace's main purpose.

“I have something for you,” A voice echoed, the image of whiskey brown eyes looking into hers. It was like he wasn’t sure of her reaction when he took the black velvety box from his back pocket. Despite all the confidence exuding from his body, his eyes still held traces of hesitancy.

“I couldn’t help myself, I had to buy this. Okay, maybe I didn’t buy this and actually did it myself - great work, by the way - but, ugh, well… I hope you like it,” he said as he fidgeted with little box in his hand. She outstreched her hand across the table with encouraging smile, opening her palm. He placed it there without his usual smirk, holding her for few moments.

Tony Stark was nervous. She loved it, she loved that she was able to make the most confident man nervous.

They were on the rooftop of Stark Tower. It felt like she could touch the stars if she tried hard enough.

“I'm guessing this won’t be another condom like the one you gave me the first time you wanted to sleep with me." He relaxed a little, short laugh escaping his lips at her words. He opened his mouth to retort when she interrupted, "You succeeded, may I add. Multiple times."

She winked at him, a small smirk playing on her lips. He placed his hand on her arm, rubbing a few soothing circles into the skin with a coy look on his face, “Well, I still think that it’s the most romantic thing I ever did.”

She giggled and bit her lip as she let go of his hand and opened the little box. There was small arc reactor with a diamond instead of the glowing energy it produced. (She knew she should know the exact term for it but…science was never really her thing.)

She really tried to not let tears fall down from her eyes.

“Darlin’?” he spoke up carefully, searching for resistence in her eyes.

She took a sharp breath in and looked up at him, her eyes shining brighter than the stars above them, “It’s beautiful. I am never going to take it off.”

She broke her promise. Not willingly of course, but fate has its ways, doesn't it?

When she closed her eyes, she could see the bright lights of an incoming car blinding her, and she could feel the impact the collision had on her body as she was crushed into the street light at almost full speed when she tried to avoid a man walking in black clothes she hadn't seen.

She knew Tony was worried sick. She woke up a few times, for just a few seconds during her sessions of unconsciousness. Everytime, she saw him sitting on one of the plastic chairs.

He looked tired with black bags under his eyes and messy hair. It was always just for a few blinks accompanied by terrible headache before she fell asleep again. Last time she saw him, he was asleep by her bed, holding her hand firmly.

She played with the simple ring on her hand. She put it on and took it off from her ring finger a few times before she let it on for good. It fit perfectly.

“Why are you still here?” he asked her one night when they were in each other's embrace, after a long comfortable silence. She had her head under his chin and she did soothing circles around his arc reactor. She left a kiss on his bare chest before she looked up to his face.

“I enjoy your presence. You are incredibly smart, charming and so. freaking. handsome,” she placed a kiss all over his face with every word. She giggled when he took her face in his hands and placed a kiss on her nose with a smirk. “You are complicated as hell but when you are with me you don’t hide. You are trying not to hide your emotions from me. You are honest and you are being real. You have the most adorable laugh I ever heard and I want to listen to it forever,” she lied her head back onto his chest so he couldn’t see her face.

“I know you will make fun of me but do you remember when we watched this dorky, unrealistic comedy you find so funny? I couldn’t help myself but record you when you giggled and ranted almost whole movie about how stupid it is and you asked countless times why we are still watching it. I listen to it in work, when I feel like giving up or when I am sad or when you are away on mission and I miss you. You are not what everyone else say, you are so much more,” she placed her hand over his heart hidden under the arc. “I fell in love with you. And I keep on falling,” she added with a grin.

He stayed silent. He didn’t dare to breathe, like if he thought that she would disappear if he did. So he pulled her closer, hiding his face into her neck and kissing her shoulder. “That was… the cheesiest thing I ever heard. You are the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I love you. Will you marry me?”

Oh god, she missed him so much. She wanted to go home.

Her headache was getting worse. She pressed the button to call the nurse so she would be there quicker. She wanted to know if Tony knew she was awake and another pain killer because with the intensity of the pain made it all too overhelming. She was close to tears when nurse entered the room. Before she fell to unconsciousness she heard her say: “Mrs. Y/L/N, are you okay?”

When she woke up again she had an IV and breathing mask on. She carefully looked around the room as soon as the world stopped spinning. Maybe her headache wasn’t that bad anymore but she still felt like shit.

She wasn’t alone. There was a man in the black suit, his tie was loosened a bit and his hair was a mess. He had glasses on the bridge of his nose. There were newspapers in his hand, in his free one he fidgeted with a red pen. He was concetrated on the piece of paper before him and looked awfully familiar.

She took off her mask.

“Hi,” she whispered, her throat sore.

“Good morning,” he answered absentmindedly but soon he lifted his gaze and gave her a big, goofy smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Great, but to be honest, I would kill for a glass of water,” she attempted to smile as well because somehow, she knew he had to be close to her. But she couldn’t grasp a name or how she met him. It worried her and she didn’t want to pretend.

When she took a drink from his hand with silent ‘thank you’ she cleared her throat. “Can you… Can you please tell me your name?” His smile fell. She felt the need to explain, she didn’t want him to be sad. “I know I know you, I am really close to these memories but a name would help.”

He went back to his chair at the end of her bed. He stared at her, unsure if it was a good thing to do. The doctor definitely warned him. The doctor told him what probably caused her blackout - her effort to get all her memories back. But the man wanted her to remember, she saw it on him. He sighed when she looked at him with beseeching eyes. He put his glasses down on the bedside table.

“I am Harold Hogan but you and almost everyone I know call me Happy. I would say I am your security guard but you reffer to me as a knight in a suit.”

Flashes of him in many opportunities to help her, his usual black suit on, played in the back of her head accompanied by another starting headache. She smiled widly, happy that her memory is really coming back. “Yeah, it suits you more,” she laughed at her own joke.

He rolled his eyes. “I guess that concussion wasn’t that bad.”

“But the broken ribs are,” familiar doctor entered her room.

She shrugged, only now acknowledging the bandages holding her chest and uncomfortable preasure there. “That memory loss is a lot worse. Did you wait behind the doors to make a dramatic appearance?” she pointed her finger lazily towards the door, her brow raised.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he took a look into a folder he was holding. “I came to tell you you will be released in a few days,” she silently cheered, “but you have to stay in contact in case you will suffer from another strong pain. You have to be more careful, Mrs. Y/L/N, and stop to force your brain to remember. Do I have to repeat my speech from the last time we saw each other?”

She tried to make herself as little as possible. She felt like a little kid who her parents caught doing something what she wasn’t supposed to do. But, well, it was true except she was an adult woman. She nodded slightly.

“Good. I would be happier if you stayed awake for longer than three hours.”

“How long was I out?” she asked curiously.

“For almost a day, Miss,” he informed her and she widened her eyes.

“Well, shit,” she muttered under her breath.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Let your memories, please, come back to you naturally. Now you see what excessive effort can cause. I hope this will not happen again,” he warningly glanced at her from behind his glasses.

He turned to Happy when she nodded again. “I will have to ask you to leave, sir. I know you are worried but as you can see, memory is fragile and rushing it can cause a lot of problems. Please, say your goodbyes, I will wait on you outside if you want more information.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

“I want this information too,” she involved herself into conversation, upset that the doctor doesn’t want to tell her her condition.

The doctor smiled at her. “Of course, Miss, you are the patient, I am sorry. Would you like another cup of water?”

“You definitely were standing behind the doors and waiting for the right moment to walk in, doc.”

∼∼∼∼∼∼

She got up from the bed carefully. Her head was throbbing a bit but it was a lot better than last few days and she was determineted to get out of this place. Boredom was eating her alive. And Tony didn’t stop by. She didn’t know if she should be angry at him or worried.

Yeah, probably both.

She took a shaking breath in when she straightened her back. “Fuck,” she mumbled through gritted teeth. She looked over her room and made her way to the bag with clothes as quickly as her head let her.

She was just pulling her jeans on when a boy with brown hair and the cutest terrified look on his face she ever saw on a boy who saw her in her underwear. He quickly covered his eyes and turned his back to her.

“I-I am so sorry, Mrs Stark,” he said with voice an octave higher. Finally someone to call her by her right last name. She laughed.

“It’s okay, Pete, things like that happen-,” she stopped mid sentence. His name fell from her lips easier than she thought. She quickly put on her pants and walked up to him, turning him to face her and putting his hands gently from his face. He was blushing adorably and trying to look everywhere but at her.

“You are Peter. You are the one I was suppose to tell Happy to pick up. You are one the one who I held in my arms and who was beat up and who I was so proud of in my memory,” she studied him carefully.

His smile was so contagious that she couldn’t stop her own. “Yes, that would be me, Mrs Stark.”

She punched him light in the shoulder. “Stop calling me like that, you know it makes me feel old and too professional. Call me Y/N, the fact that I had an accident doesn’t mean that you should act differently around me,” she let the words spill naturally. Memories were coming back easily, now without being acompanied by horrible headache which she welcomed with open arms.

He surprised her by hugging her tightly around her waist and liffting her up. “I was so scared you wouldn't remember me,” he confessed with happy giggle and twirl. She, instead of replying, screamed with mouth closed. He quickly put her down and only then noticed the bandages sticking from under her t-shirt that ran up a bit. “I'm so sorry,” he apologized again while she hissed her pain away.

“It’s okay,” she let out breathlessly and waved him away when he wanted to help her sit or help somehow. She took a sharp breath in.

“It’s okay, it'll go away. I've had worse,” she assured him while pictures of catching a bullet or getting sliced by a weird looking spear through her leg played in her head. She shook her head at her memories still not setting in. Her life was a freak show at some points.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

She pointed a finger at him. “Stop apologizing or I will take away your webshooters.”

His jaw dropped but smiling widely right after, happy that one of his mentors is back again. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh yes, you bet your ass I would, kid. Now, where is Happy with those papers? I need to get out of here.”

∼∼∼∼∼∼

When they arrived at her (supposed) and Tony’s house she stared at it in awe. She remembers seeing the large size of the building, but things were still a little hazy. This was much more bigger and spacious than her memory had let on.

“This place is huge, you sure this is our house?” she asked Happy as they got out of the car. They dropped Peter off at his home with his aunt on their way here. She found out May was one of the greatest people she had in her life immediately after Peter opened the door from their apartment. May was just walking through the hall when she noticed them and ran up to them, hugging them both. May and her chatted for a while by which the italian woman helped Y/N a lot with remembering her life. Peter complained after a few minutes that he was hungry and that Y/N has a place to be and husband to talk to. He got double smacked in the back of his head for that.

“Yes and half of the rooms there were your idea,” Happy let her know while getting her bags out of the trunk. She held the teddy bear from Peter close to her chest and the biggest bouquet of her favourite flowers in her free hand. She decided to let the rest of the flowers to patients at the hospital.

She nodded her head in approval. “Sounds like me.”

When she got to the front door and was ready to open them she stopped and looked up where she knew cameras were.

“Friday?”

“Yes, ma’am?” The Al replied in a matter of seconds.

“Did you informed Tony about our arrival?”

��No, miss. He told me to not disturb him while he works unless it’s matter of Earth's safety,” she let her know. Y/N rolled her eyes and smirk appeared on her face.

“Wonderful. Please, soundproof any noises from the first floor while we take all things in. When I go to his lab, don’t tell him anything.”

It took them longer than she thought it would but finally, she was walking down the hall to Tony’s lab.

The lab had glass walls from one side, same as in their old house, and the rest of the walls was from classic bricks, a window every few metres high, just few centrimetres from the ceiling. Tony didn’t notice her because he was tinkering with something in undercarriage of one of his cars at the moment. She took the opportunity to silently slip in there.

She waved on Dumm-y who stood above Tony, giving him what he needed when he asked. She put her finger in front of her lips and robot understood her, not letting out anything more than some whirling. She put carefully Tony’s stuff aside of his iron desk, trying her best to not let out a sound.

“Dumm-y, give me a screwdriver. The one I asked you earlier, don’t mess it up again,” Tony’s muffled voice echoed from under the car. She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips. She was unable to put her finger on the feeling that she felt in the hospital, that tug of her hurt and she realized that it was sadness. She wanted to see him there when she woke up and she was nowhere to be seen. Peter helped to bury that aside but it returned when she was in the car with just Happy at the front seat again.

She sat on the desk. It creaked as it rode back a bit. She bit her lip.

“What did I tell you?” Tony rumbled and rode from under the car. “You should be more caref-.” His words froze on his lips as his eyes fell upon her. She had a bed hair from the hospital, looking exhausted. Her eyes were still shinning with the spark he loved so much, even with the dark bags under them. Wide smile was plastering her lips that he liked to kiss so much. She had AC/DC t-shirt on that he gave her and he would bet all the things that he hold dear that she knew what that did to him.

“Hi, handsome,” she greeted him, voice roughed by emotions.

He jerked in surprise and hit his head as he wanted to get up quickly to put her in his arms. He groaned in pain. She didn’t waste a minute and she was already sitting by his side as he sat up and held his forehead. When he put it away he almost didn’t notice that there was blood at his fingertips. He felt like a teeneger again when she looked at him all worried and with hardly held back a good laugh.

“You're bleeding!” She couldn’t hold back a laugh anymore. He frowned at her playfully. “You are unbelievable. One of the world’s mightiest heroes and he gets a cut on his head because he was too enchanted by his beat up, but still beautiful,” she added quickly as he glared at her, "wife.”

He looked her over, watching out for every injury her car accident caused and followed her as she took an aid-kit from Dumm-y.

“Thank you,” she smiled at the robot and turned back to Tony who studied her face. “What? Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head, "You're so beautiful, I can't stop looking at you.”

She blinked a few times before she shook her head affectionately. She took what she needed out of the aid-kit and started to take care of him.

“That accident must have done a lot more damage to you than we thought. You're using silly pick-up lines again.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You love them,” he reasoned.

She nodded her head. “Yeah, I love them.”

The comfortable silence fell upon them. They felt like themselves again when they were with each other, they were the missing pieces that other was missing. He missed her and she missed him. They were able to function and relax without each other but when one of them was at the hospital or away on a mission or just gone for a long time, it affected them more than they wanted to admit sometimes. The connection between the two was strong, stronger than they thought that they would ever have with anyone. They loved each other, they cared for each other and helped each other in the way that other people couldn’t.

Their moment was disturbed by Tony himself. “I wished that you wouldn't remember me for a while.” She took a deep breath to say something but he continued. “If you wouldn’t remember me you could have started over. Without this superhero bullshit, without danger, without a man who has to many issues to solve them in a few months - I am an asshole. You could have start with a chance to have a proper family, to-.”

She cut him off, “I will stop you right there. Listen carefully and remember with me. As I once told you - everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy, the bad boy who will broke my heart one day. Well, you know how I was and still am with advices. I never listen. You remember the night you asked me to marry you?” she smiled softly at the memory and gave him a quick peck on his lips that left him wanting a proper kiss before she continued.

“I meant all of it and I still do. You might be an asshole sometimes and do some stupid decision from time to time but it’s human and you are still learning. And besides, and that’s what I stand behind, you are kind of just, small and full of anger,” she gave him another peck when he glared at her with raised eyebrows.

“I know I forgot for a while who you were and that I love you more than anyone on this stupid planet. But I am back now and I am not going anywhere. You are stuck with me just as I am stuck with you. I love you,” she repeated while looking into his eyes.

He didn’t think, just listened to his heart. So he lifted himself up and locked his lips with hers. They were soft and tasted like the minty toothpaste she used but he didn’t mind at all. She was there, somehow okay and still alive and breathing and remembering him.

As soon as their lips connected, all his troubles were gone and all that mattered was her and only her.

She placed her hand to the back of his neck and shimmed closer to him to kiss him better. His lips felt roughed against hers and he tasted like coffee but she didn’t mind a bit. He felt like home and that was all that matter.

When they pulled away to catch their breaths it didn’t take her long to find her words again. “And you are right, you have many, many issues, like PTSD and Daddy issues and insecurities and ego bigger than-.”

He growled and pulled her into his lap, kissing her again as she giggled.

All that mattered was that they were together and happy. The outside world could wait a minute.

Beta-read by wonderful @haztory (check her work out, she is an amazing writer!!)

Tag list: @the-right-drug-wrong-time @haztory (if you would like to be tagged in my future work, send me an ask or a message)

#tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #tony stark #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man x fem!reader #iron man x you #iron man x y/n #iron man #marvel imagine

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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Hello, Moto

Nnedi Okorafor (2011)

“African women in general need to know that it’s OK for them to be the way they are – to see the way they are as a strength, and to be liberated from fear and from silence.”

—Wangari Maathai, Kenyan environmental activist and Nobel Laureate

We were three women. Three friends. We had goals, hopes and dreams. We had careers. Two of us had boyfriends. We owned houses. We all had love. Then I made these… wigs. I gave them to my two friends. The three of us put them on. The wigs were supposed to make things better. But something went wrong. Like the nation we were trying to improve, we became backward. Instead of giving, we took.

Walk with me. This is the story of How the Smart Woman Tried to Right Her Great Wrong.

Dawn

With the wig finally off, Coco and Philo felt more distant to me. Thank God.

Even so, because it was sitting beside me, I could still see them. Clearly. In my head. Don’t ever mix juju with technology. There is witchcraft in science and a science to witchcraft. Both will conspire against you eventually. I realized that now. I had to work fast.

It was just after dawn. The sky was heating up. I’d sneaked out of the compound while my boyfriend still slept. Even the house girl who always woke up early was not up yet. I hid behind the hedge of colorful pink and yellow lilies in the front. I needed to be around vibrant natural life, I needed to smell its scent. The flowers’ shape reminded me of what my real hair would look like if the wig hadn’t burned it off.

I opened my laptop and set it in the dirt. I put my wig beside it. It was jet black, shiny, the “hairs” straight and long like a mermaid’s. The hair on my head was less than a millimeter long; shorter than a man’s and far more damaged. For a moment, as I looked at my wig, it flickered its electric blue. I could hear it whispering to me. It wanted me to put it back on. I ran my hand over my sore head. Then I quickly tore my eyes from the wig and plugged in the flash drive. As I waited, I brought out a small sack and reached in. I sprinkled cowry shells, alligator pepper and blue beads around the machine for protection. I wasn’t taking chances.

I sat down, placed my fingers on the keyboard, shut my eyes and prayed to the God I didn’t believe in. After all that had happened, who would believe in God? Philo had been in Jos when the riots happened. I knew it was her and her wig. A technology I had created. Neurotransmitters, mobile phones, incantation, and hypnosis- even I knew my creation was genius. But all it sparked in the North was death and mayhem. During the riots there, some men had even burned a woman and her baby to death. A woman andherbaby!

I didn’t want to think of what Philo gained after causing it all. She never said a word to me about it. However, soon after, she went on a three-day shopping spree in Paris. We could leave Nigeria, but never for more than a few days.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I meant well.” I opened my eyes and looked at my screen. The background was a plain blue. The screen was blank except for a single folder. I highlighted the folder and pressed “delete.”

I paused, my hands shaking and my heart pounding in my chest.

“If this doesn’t work, they will kill me,” I whispered. Then I considered what they’d do if I didn’t finish. So many others would die and Nigeria would be in further chaos, for sure. I continued typing. I was creating a computer virus. I would send it out in a few hours. When they’d both be busy. Then all hell would break loose…for me, just me. Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.

My name is Rain and if I didn’t get this right, the corruption already rife in this country would be nothing compared to what was to come. And it would all be my fault.

The Market

I am beast. I am lovely. I am in control. I was born beautiful.

All this Philo thought as she walked through the fruit and vegetable section of the open-air market. Around her, women slaved away. They sat behind tables and in booths selling tomatoes, peppers, plantain, egusi seeds, greens, yams. All those things that they’d have to cook at home for their families after a long day. Philo didn’t live that life. She’d chosen better. She was above all of them.

Philo was tall and voluptuous, as she sashayed past women and men in her pricey high heels and brown designer dress that clung to her every inch. Her foundation make-up made her skin look like chocolate porcelain. Her eyelids sparkled with purple eye-shadow. Her lips glistened bright sensual pink. Perfect. Sexy. Hot. And her wig was awful. A washed-out black with auburn frosted tips, it looked as if it were made of colored straw and sat on her head like it knew it did not belong there.

“Here,” a woman said, running up to Philo and handing her a roll of naira. “Take. You will make better use of it than me.” The woman paused and frowned, obviously confused by her own actions and words.

“Thank you,” Philo said, with a chuckle. She grabbed the money with her long nailed painted fingers and stared into the woman’s eyes. Philo felt her wig heat up and then a dull ache in the back of her head. Then she felt it behind her eyes, which turned from deep brown to glowing green. Philo sighed as the laser shot from her eyes into the woman’s eyes. The woman slumped, looking sadly at her feet. It always felt so good to take from people, not just their money but their very essence. Philo quickly moved on leaving the tired sad-looking woman behind.

She passed a group of young men. They stared and she stared back, zapping and taking. Their ravenous looks grew blank. Philo smirked knowingly. She felt amazing. She strolled into a booth where a man sold hundreds of Nollywood movie DVDs. She glanced over the array of colorful dramatic covers where women and men scowled, wept, grinned, pointed, accused, laughed. “I’ll take this one,” she said, picking a DVD at random. She’d watch it. She’d enjoy it. She loved Nollywood. These days, she enjoyed everything. The world was hers. Soon it would be, at least.

She tucked the DVD into her purse and left the booth without paying. No one stopped her. As she stepped into the sunshine, she turned, absolutely loving herself. She knew everyone was looking at her, just as she knew she was sucking the life from them as they stared. Her wig’s heat increased and her brown eyes glinted a bright green as she smiled at any man who caught her eye. By the time she left this market, she’d be weighed down with naira given and life juices taken. Market by Market. It was like this every day.

Her cell phone went off. A male voice happily drawled, “Hellllo Moto,” then upbeat music began to play. Everything about Philo rattled as she stopped and lifted her purse- the jangling bangles on her arms, her jingling earrings, and her three gold chain necklaces. She was clicks and clacks, shines and sparkles.

“Oh where is it,” she said, digging in her purse, mindful of her long nails. “Where, where where.” She pushed aside her lipstick, her unnecessary wallet, tissues, compact case, a pack of gum, wads and rolls of naira. Her cell phone continued going off. She laughed. She already knew who it was. Rain, the weakest link in the chain. She could tell by the ring tone. However, she could also tell by more than that. In her mind’s eye, Philo could see Rain standing outside her compound, next to some flowers, holding her cell phone to her ear, waiting. Philo found her phone, flipped it open and held it to her ear. It clicked against her long gold earring.

“What?” she said, grinning with all her teeth. She heard nothing. “Rain, I know it’s you. Say someth…”

She felt it before she saw it. A coolness that contrasted horribly with the heat of her wig. She frowned as the phone made an odd beeping sound. She held it before her just as the phone glinted a deep green similar to the one her eyes flashed when she sucked psychic energy from those around her. Her phone buzzed, an electrical current zipping across it before disappearing. Green smoke began to dribble from it.

“Chey!” Philo exclaimed staring at it. If she were smart, she’d have dropped it. But Philo was never really that intelligent. Just greedy. Rain didn’t know that before but she knew that now. A text message appeared on the screen but Philo could make no sense of it. It was a series on nonsensical symbols, rubbish. She dropped the phone, pressing a hand to her wig. “That bitch,” she snarled, looking around with wide enraged eyes. “How dare she even try.” In the sunshine, her canines almost looked pointed.

Right then and there, Philo disappeared in a flash of green.

His House

Coco had just lit a cigarette. She leaned back on the plush white leather couch and crossed her legs. She held her glass of champagne up to the photo of her husband on the wall. He was out. He was always out. Working. For her. She laughed, scratching under her itchy wig with her long-nailed index finger. Scritch scritch. It was spiky, dark red and short and no one in his or her right mind would wear it. She got up and looked at her reflection in the glass that protected her husband’s photo. Her skinny jeans and t-shirt fit wonderfully snug. Her face was flawless. And her hair was power.

“Mwah,” she said, blowing herself a kiss.

She ambled into the living room where two fans were blasting. She stood very still between them, her wig’s “hairs” blowing about her face. It felt secure, despite the blowing air. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Behind her eyelids, she could see. Then she began to draw it in from…

The busy street. People sitting in bustling bush taxies and perched atop hundreds of okada motorbikes. Market women walking alongside the road. The mish-mash of old and modern buildings of Lagos. Disabled beggars in the road. Boys playing soccer on a field.

When she opened her eyes, they glowed a deep green and the wig glinted an electric blue. The blowing fans made the heat from her wig more bearable. Her cell phone went off and she nearly jumped. “Hellllo, Moto,” it said as it played its dance music.

“Ah ah, what now?” she muttered. But she was smiling. The wig. It always left her feeling so good. Minus the heat, which left the actual wig feeling like a burning helmet. She ran to her cell phone on the couch. It was Rain. What did she want now? In her mind, the wig showed Rain standing outside her compound looking worried. The woman always looked so worried; she should have been at the top of the world.

Coco held the phone to her ear as she brought out some lipstick. “Hello?” she said, smearing on a fresh coat. She grinned, sure of what she’d hear. She frowned. “Hello? Rain, what is it? Speak up.”

But she heard nothing. She held the phone to her face when it suddenly became like a chunk of ice in her hand. “Iiieeey!” she exclaimed, throwing it on the couch. As she stared at it, appalled, the cell phone began to dribble green smoke. A text box opened on its screen. Coco squinted trying to read it. It looked like rubbish. But, like Philo, Coco understood what was happening.

“Oh,” Coco said, out of breath. “You want to play now, eh? Ok.” She threw her lipstick on the leather seat, the lid still off. It left a smear on the pillow. “Someone will die today, o. And it will not be me.”

She disappeared.

I have made my choice. That’s why I am still here, standing in these lilies. I run my hand over my shaved head. Waiting. The sun shines bright and happy in the sky, unaware of what’s about to happen to me. Unaware of what I have done and will soon suffer the consequences for. Unconcerned.

Philo appears. She is standing on the lilies, mere feet away from me.

“What is wrong with you?” she shouts. She looks beautiful and ghastly in her tight brown dress that probably cost more naira than a market woman makes in two years.

“I’m…” Fear pumps through my veins like adrenaline and blood.

“Why is your wig off, eh? You look horrible.” Her wig flashes as the digital virus tries to cripple it. Notice I say “tries”.

“I took it off,” I snap. “This is wrong, o! This is wrong! Wake up!”

Philo chuckles. “And what is wrong about it? We have everything we want.”

“Stealing from people is not what I made these for! I made them to help us give! To cure the deep seated culture of corruption by giving people hope and a sense of patriotism. Remember??”

She looks at me as if I am crazy. The wig has made her forget. Na wao. Tricky tricky things, these wigs.

“Put it back on,” she says, pointing a long nail at me.

“No,” I say. “It has made us cruel witches. Look at you!”

Coco appears behind me. She hisses like a snake. She is in no mood for words. Her wig flashes. The virus is not working. When you mix juju with technology, you give up control. You are at the will of something far beyond yourself. I am done for.

See how it all ends? Or does it begin? I am watching them approach me now. I tell you while my life hangs on its last thread. I am putting my wig on. It is so hot. I should have paid more attention to the cooling system when I made these. I hear the heartbeat of everyone around me now, including the irregular rhythm of Coco and Philo’s. But oh, the power. It rushes into me like ogogoro down the throat of a drunk.

See Philo bare her teeth. They are indeed sharp like those of a bloodsucker. The virus is working through her wig now. But something has gone very wrong. They are both smiling. For a year, we have been psychic vampires but now as they come at me, mouths open, teeth sharp, I see that they have become the blood-sucking kind.

I feel my own teeth sharpening too as I prepare to defend myself. This is new but I can’t think about that right now. I tear the wig off and throw it aside.

“Come then!” I shout. Then, I…

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lauriecgarcia · 5 years

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The Low Down On Breakfast Cereal

Wendyl Nissen’s book Supermarket Companion, how to bring home good food, is a wealth of knowledge for those looking to avoid foods laden with dangerous chemicals, there’s a comprehensive list of food colourings and additives so you can shop smarter and be more aware of what’s in processed supermarket food.

This entertaining and enlightening exert looks at breakfast foods, in particular, Nestlé Milo Oats and Kellogg’s Froot Loops (no fruit there!) and the importance of eating a nutritious breakfast that is not laden with sugar and additives.

Make sure you check out Wendyl’s findings at the end of the chapter.

Just for starters!

“Look at what?” I say, as we both gaze at the bags of shopping.Can I look at that, Grandma?” says our four-year-old grand-daughter, Lila, as I’m putting the shopping in the back of the Prius. We have just made our way around the supermarket and Lila has been a great help.

“That one there,” she says pointing at a brightly coloured box.

“Oh, that’s not for you,” I say reaching in and covering the offending piece of garish marketing with a bag of potatoes.

“Why not?” she says, disappointed.

“That’s for Grandma’s work.” I reply and hastily strap her into her car seat. “When Grandma has done her work on it, maybe you can have one next time you visit.”

Most visits to the supermarket require that I look for products that I can review in my column. This box was for some brightly coloured biscuits called Oki Doki Disco Bits. They looked frightening in terms of artificial colours and so I threw them in the trolley. Lila never said a word when I took them off the shelf, nor to my knowledge even noticed they were in the trolley. But when it comes to kid marketing Lila is a perfect target. She has an innate ability to seek and find any brightly coloured foods within a 10-meter radius.

I’m not sure what she thinks Grandma does when she “works” on these foods but she knows that they generally live on a shelf in my office, lined up and waiting for my magnifying glass to hover critically over their ingredients panel.

I know Lila knows this because it’s her first stop at every visit, once we have all been all been greeted with a cuddle, she’s patted our dog, Shirl, and gone out to check that her white hen, who she has named “Mummy”, is still around.

I had an extremely colourful and enticing box of Kellogg’s Fruit Loops sitting in my office when Lila came to visit recently. She regards my office as our “second” kitchen because on any occasion she might find all sorts of wonderful foods lined up on my shelf ready to be analysed for the column. I was in the “first” kitchen, when she appeared clutching the box of Froot Loops with a look of wonderment on her face.

“Grandma, can I please have these in a bowl with some milk?”

Something about the packaging had managed to (tell her that a) she desperately needed to eat these and b) it was a food you had in a bowl with milk.

“Why do you want them?” I asked.

“They look nice,” was all she said.

I gently pried them off her with promises of other treats and hid them in the pantry.

When I went back to get them to write about, I found that my 26-year-old son, Daniel, had succumbed to the same marketing message, but didn’t need to ask first, and ate them.

I am always astonished at the power of packaging and its ability to transfix a small child or her uncle. Lila lives in a household where her parents are very aware of food additives and eat a very healthy, real-food diet. (Not because I pressured them –they are just intelligent consumers, honestly.)

So Lila’s exposure to junk food and the bright packaging is minimal and she would have had no conditioning to tell her that inside these packets are sweet tasting, moreish foods. She just wouldn’t know. Yet something about the design of the boxes sets off a reaction in her brain which gives her the drive to search for it in bags of shopping or reach up onto a shelf and carry it all the way down the hall to me in the kitchen.

It is no secret that kids as young as Lila are directly targeted by advertising, not just on TV but also techniques such as free gifts, competitions, games and puzzles, website games and movie promotions.

And that marketing is why breakfast becomes a minefield for well meaning parents to negotiate.

Next time you are at the supermarket, wander down the breakfast aisle and take note of the packaging. It all looks fantastic. Aside from the relentless use of every bright colour in the rainbow, you will see three elements competing for your attention: chocolate, punchy bright berries and fruit and fibre.

In my house over the years, we have been through most of the cereal crazes as each of our five children has begged to be allowed a new brand and their busy working mum (former) bought them.

Have you ever noticed Jerry Seinfeld’s cereal shelf in the kitchen on Seinfeld? Next time you watch the show have a look. One internet source sets the number at nine, mostly cornflakes and shredded wheat. His cereal shelf looks exactly how ours looked for years, as every child claimed a new brand as theirs.

While you’re in the breakfast cereal aisle, see if you can find one box which lists the sugar content per 100g at less than 15g, which is what we should aim for when buying our kids cereal.

Consumer magazine conducted a survey of our breakfast cereals in 2008 and found that seven products had more than 40 per cent sugar – over three teaspoons in a 30g serve. I’ve listed them at the end of the chapter for you, in case they’re sitting on your Seinfeld cereal shelf. One of them is the aforementioned Kellogg’s Froot Loops which I prevented Lila from eating.

My focus when first studying this cereal was primarily on the three artificial colours used in it (see my findings below) but then I worked out that, if Lila had been allowed her Froot Loops with milk, she would have consumed 4.3 teaspoons of sugar in her bowl.

I can guarantee you will not find a box of cereal in the supermarket with low sugar until you come to Weet-Bix. Plain old Weet-Bix is the star of the cereal aisle, at just 2.8g per 100g. Admittedly, a lot of people add sugar, but at least you can control that and most kids enjoy eating them.

Lila eats two “bix” for breakfast every morning and won’t be swayed from them even when her grandpa is offering to make her sausages and eggs.

My mother, Elis, however, can’t stand them. Something to do with trying to avoid eating them when she was a child by sneezing into them, thinking her patents would deem that a reasonable enough excuse not to have to eat them. But no. She had to eat every last bit and has never touched them since.

As a guide, when you are out shopping, if sugar appears in the ingredients list directly under the name of the cereal, such as rice, corn or wheat, that means that the second biggest ingredient in there is sugar, and you should put it straight back on the shelf.

The other thing you need to think about is salt levels (fewer than 400mg sodium per 100g of cereal) and fibre.

We all know that we don’t get enough fibre in our diets. It’s good for bowel health and digestion and the things that give you fibre – fresh fruit, veges and wholegrains – tend to be really nutritious and good for you. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed a trend for food manufacturers to add what I call “faux fibre” to their processed foods, using vegetable gums and inulin, which is a substance that occurs naturally in root vegetables, particularly chicory. Other additions include polydextrose, which is created out of dextrose (glucose), sorbitol, a low-calorie carbohydrate, and citric acid to add to processed foods, usually to provide fibre. It is called a functional fibre because no one knows if it has the same health benefits as fibre found in real foods.

A good guide for children’s fibre requirements is 5g to 15g per 100g, so look out for that on the label, and if you see inulin or vegetable gum in the ingredients panel, reject it in favour of something which uses wholegrains and fruit to provide fibre.

Another problem with most breakfast cereals is the fact that they are extruded. This means perfectly good wholegrains are ground up, made into a slurry with liquid, heated to high temperatures, then pressurised through small holes to create shapes such as rings, flakes or puffs. You have to wonder just how much nutrition gets killed off in the process with those high heats and pressures.

OFTEN WHEN I’M out and about, people like to talk about the food column and what it has taught them.

“Thank goodness Krispies are okay,” said my aunt. “They’re my favourite biscuit.”

“I haven’t touched a raspberry jam slice since the day I read your column,” said a woman I met at a knitting bee.

And, of course, many people have suggestions for foods I should look at. By far the most disturbing conversation along these lines with a woman I was doing some work with.

“I have this friend who basically throws those cartons of Up&Go at her kids from dawn until dusk,” she said. “That’s all they eat. For breakfast they sit there in the car sucking on them on their way to school, they have another one with their lunch and sometimes dinner too. I’ve tried to tell her they need some real food but she believes they are good for them. Are they?”

Then I got the emails about UP&Go: “My kids have one every day and I’m wondering how healthy they are,” said one mother.

“I really don’t like this product because it has so much sugar and it’s like this giving your child a milkshake for breakfast,” said another.

I was well acquainted with Up&Go. My son Daniel has never been a great breakfast eater, and so for a while he took one of these with him but in the end he didn’t even eat those, claiming the texture was weird.

Up&Go, for those who are not familiar with it, is a drink which is endorsed by the All Blacks in its advertising campaign and claims on the box to have “the protein, energy and dietary fibre of 2 Weet-Bix and milk”.

It is reasonable that parents like myself would read that and presume that in the little box we are handing over to our kids is simply two Weet-Bix and some milk all mashed up. And presumably it would have the same nutritional benefits.

Wrong.

The label should also state that it has 11.7g more sugar and 13 more ingredients than a simple bowl of Weet-Bix and milk. By the time I’d finished writing the column I was quite angry with Sanitarium for the misconception and wrote: “Is it really that hard to get a kid to sit down at the kitchen table and eat solid food these days? Are we raising a nation of astronauts in training who need to develop a taste for liquid food?”

I think if you’ve got a kid who needs something quick to eat in the car you can throw them a banana. And if you’ve got a kid who only likes to drink their meals, whip up a smoothie, put it in a bottle and let them drink that. On the Sanitarium website they even recommend that you throw a Weet-Bix into the smoothies.

I also took a look at Nestlé Milo Oats, mainly because Pearl had picked them up in the super-market and loved them. I’m a big fan of oats, as not only are they a good source of fibre but they also do wonderful soothing things to your digestive system.

Nestlé have a range of breakfast cereals marketed under the Milo name and some are better than others. Milo Oats is a better one.

I found that they weren’t too high in sugar and were a good source of fibre. I saw them as a great food to get kids interested in porridge for breakfast. I also found a study which showed that children who had oats for breakfast had better spatial memory (which means being able to remember geographical details like the interior of your house), better short-term memory and better listening attention than children who ate ready-to-eat cereal or no breakfast at all. Pearl was very relieved.

PUTTING THE CHOICE of cereal for your kids aside, there is a bigger problem emerging on the horizon for families, and that’s the kid who just won’t eat breakfast. This is cause for concern because every study you read emphasises the importance of breakfast for kids to kickstart their brains and give them the energy to see them through a day of learning school.

One University of Sydney study, conveniently commissioned by Kellogg’s, looked at the type of breakfast eaten by 800 New South Wales children aged eight to 16, across 19 different schools. The students who ate breakfast before their tests performed better, and those who ate the most nutritious breakfasts, such as cereal and milk, or eggs on toast, got the highest scores. They also scored higher on literacy and numeracy tests than their classmates who ate only toast.

It is easy to see why many parents faced with a non breakfast-child will be less fussy about the food they consume, reasoning that at least they’re eating something. We let two of our children, Daniel and his step-sister Alex, go to school on a diet of Pop-Tarts (basically jam-filled pastries you heat up in the toaster) for months because we were just so glad they were eating something.

In the end we settled on toasted sandwiches, smoothies and, if all else failed, a banana. I have yet to meet a child who doesn’t like the taste and as a food they have a lot going for them. They have lots of carbohydrates for energy, are low in fat, and are potassium-rich, which is great for muscles. They also have some protein and iron.

Instead of throwing an Up&Go at your child on the way to school, swap it for a banana a carton of milk, which will give protein, calcium, zinc, vitamins A and B, and iodine.

I’m very much a toast and a cup of tea girl at breakfast, and it gives me enough energy, even with a gym work out to see me through to lunch. Which is when I go outside to raid the chicken coop and find some delicious, bright yellow-yolked eggs.

MY FINDINGS

Nestlé Milo Oats

I see this as a great transition product to get children who may be used to the a diet of high sugar processed breakfast cereal used to the taste and texture of oats which are a very healthy option for the reasons above. By the time they’ve gone through a packet of these, they might just like a bowl of real porridge with some fresh banana and honey mixed in which is less sweet option than this product and better for them. It also means that your child sets off on a cold winter’s morning with a warm breakfast in their stomach, which is a nice old-fashioned thing to do, and the effect of the oats on their memory and listening skills might be good too.

Summary:

Three teaspoons of sugar in every serving if made with milk, but with water only one and half teaspoons.

20g of oats in every serve which is a great option for good nutrition, and oats have proven benefits for your child’s memory and listening skills.

A great transition food to get your child interested in eating porridge on a winter’s morning.

**Nestle still use palm oil so be sure to read your labels**

Kellogg’s Froot Loops

There is just something irresistible to children about food which comes in fun colours and Froot Loops certainly fulfils that expectation. It even has the sell line “a fun fuel for adventurous kids.”

There is no doubting your kids will love this cereal and hoover it down. But why not teach your children that real food doesn’t come in six fun, mostly artificial colours? Most children are quite happy to eat Weet-Bix which by comparison has only 0.8g of sugar per serve or 6.8g per serve with milk. It also uses wholegrains and has more fibre. Top it with some fresh fruit, like strawberries and peaches, and you have a great breakfast with plenty of natural colour.

And perhaps follow a rule for eating by the author of Food Rules, Michael Pollan, who says “Don’t eat breakfast cereals that change the colour of the milk.’’

Summary:

Contains 38 per cent sugar.

Has three artificial colours which are banned in other countries.

Uses natural flavourings.

Wendyl Nissen

Photos by Fischer Twins Etienne Girardet rawpixel Peter Lewicki

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andya-j · 6 years

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This is a tale you will only hear once. Then it will be gone in a flash of green light. Maybe all will be well after that. Maybe the story has a happy ending. Maybe there is nothing but darkness when the story ends. We were three women. Three friends. We had goals, hopes and dreams. We had careers. Two of us had boyfriends. We owned houses. We all had love. Then I made these… wigs. I gave them to my two friends. The three of us put them on. The wigs were supposed to make things better. But something went wrong. Like the nation we were trying to improve, we became backward. Instead of giving, we took. Walk with me. This is the story of How the Smart Woman Tried to Right Her Great Wrong. Dawn With the wig finally off, Coco and Philo felt more distant to me. Thank God. Even so, because it was sitting beside me, I could still see them. Clearly. In my head. Don’t ever mix juju with technology. There is witchcraft in science and a science to witchcraft. Both will conspire against you eventually. I realized that now. I had to work fast. It was just after dawn. The sky was heating up. I’d sneaked out of the compound while my boyfriend still slept. Even the house girl who always woke up early was not up yet. I hid behind the hedge of colorful pink and yellow lilies in the front. I needed to be around vibrant natural life, I needed to smell its scent. The flowers’ shape reminded me of what my real hair would look like if the wig hadn’t burned it off. I opened my laptop and set it in the dirt. I put my wig beside it. It was jet black, shiny, the “hairs” straight and long like a mermaid’s. The hair on my head was less than a millimeter long; shorter than a man’s and far more damaged. For a moment, as I looked at my wig, it flickered its electric blue. I could hear it whispering to me. It wanted me to put it back on. I ran my hand over my sore head. Then I quickly tore my eyes from the wig and plugged in the flash drive. As I waited, I brought out a small sack and reached in. I sprinkled cowry shells, alligator pepper and blue beads around the machine for protection. I wasn’t taking chances. I sat down, placed my fingers on the keyboard, shut my eyes and prayed to the God I didn’t believe in. After all that had happened, who would believe in God? Philo had been in Jos when the riots happened. I knew it was her and her wig. A technology I had created. Neurotransmitters, mobile phones, incantation, and hypnosis- even I knew my creation was genius. But all it sparked in the North was death and mayhem. During the riots there, some men had even burned a woman and her baby to death. A woman andherbaby! I didn’t want to think of what Philo gained after causing it all. She never said a word to me about it. However, soon after, she went on a three-day shopping spree in Paris. We could leave Nigeria, but never for more than a few days. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I meant well.” I opened my eyes and looked at my screen. The background was a plain blue. The screen was blank except for a single folder. I highlighted the folder and pressed “delete.” I paused, my hands shaking and my heart pounding in my chest. “If this doesn’t work, they will kill me,” I whispered. Then I considered what they’d do if I didn’t finish. So many others would die and Nigeria would be in further chaos, for sure. I continued typing. I was creating a computer virus. I would send it out in a few hours. When they’d both be busy. Then all hell would break loose…for me, just me. Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. My name is Rain and if I didn’t get this right, the corruption already rife in this country would be nothing compared to what was to come. And it would all be my fault. The Market I am beast. I am lovely. I am in control. I was born beautiful. All this Philo thought as she walked through the fruit and vegetable section of the open-air market. Around her, women slaved away. They sat behind tables and in booths selling tomatoes, peppers, plantain, egusi seeds, greens, yams. All those things that they’d have to cook at home for their families after a long day. Philo didn’t live that life. She’d chosen better. She was above all of them. Philo was tall and voluptuous, as she sashayed past women and men in her pricey high heels and brown designer dress that clung to her every inch. Her foundation make-up made her skin look like chocolate porcelain. Her eyelids sparkled with purple eye-shadow. Her lips glistened bright sensual pink. Perfect. Sexy. Hot. And her wig was awful. A washed-out black with auburn frosted tips, it looked as if it were made of colored straw and sat on her head like it knew it did not belong there. “Here,” a woman said, running up to Philo and handing her a roll of naira. “Take. You will make better use of it than me.” The woman paused and frowned, obviously confused by her own actions and words. “Thank you,” Philo said, with a chuckle. She grabbed the money with her long nailed painted fingers and stared into the woman’s eyes. Philo felt her wig heat up and then a dull ache in the back of her head. Then she felt it behind her eyes, which turned from deep brown to glowing green. Philo sighed as the laser shot from her eyes into the woman’s eyes. The woman slumped, looking sadly at her feet. It always felt so good to take from people, not just their money but their very essence. Philo quickly moved on leaving the tired sad-looking woman behind. She passed a group of young men. They stared and she stared back, zapping and taking. Their ravenous looks grew blank. Philo smirked knowingly. She felt amazing. She strolled into a booth where a man sold hundreds of Nollywood movie DVDs. She glanced over the array of colorful dramatic covers where women and men scowled, wept, grinned, pointed, accused, laughed. “I’ll take this one,” she said, picking a DVD at random. She’d watch it. She’d enjoy it. She loved Nollywood. These days, she enjoyed everything. The world was hers. Soon it would be, at least. She tucked the DVD into her purse and left the booth without paying. No one stopped her. As she stepped into the sunshine, she turned, absolutely loving herself. She knew everyone was looking at her, just as she knew she was sucking the life from them as they stared. Her wig’s heat increased and her brown eyes glinted a bright green as she smiled at any man who caught her eye. By the time she left this market, she’d be weighed down with naira given and life juices taken. Market by Market. It was like this every day. Her cell phone went off. A male voice happily drawled, “Hellllo Moto,” then upbeat music began to play. Everything about Philo rattled as she stopped and lifted her purse- the jangling bangles on her arms, her jingling earrings, and her three gold chain necklaces. She was clicks and clacks, shines and sparkles. “Oh where is it,” she said, digging in her purse, mindful of her long nails. “Where, where where.” She pushed aside her lipstick, her unnecessary wallet, tissues, compact case, a pack of gum, wads and rolls of naira. Her cell phone continued going off. She laughed. She already knew who it was. Rain, the weakest link in the chain. She could tell by the ring tone. However, she could also tell by more than that. In her mind’s eye, Philo could see Rain standing outside her compound, next to some flowers, holding her cell phone to her ear, waiting. Philo found her phone, flipped it open and held it to her ear. It clicked against her long gold earring. “What?” she said, grinning with all her teeth. She heard nothing. “Rain, I know it’s you. Say someth…” She felt it before she saw it. A coolness that contrasted horribly with the heat of her wig. She frowned as the phone made an odd beeping sound. She held it before her just as the phone glinted a deep green similar to the one her eyes flashed when she sucked psychic energy from those around her. Her phone buzzed, an electrical current zipping across it before disappearing. Green smoke began to dribble from it. “Chey!” Philo exclaimed staring at it. If she were smart, she’d have dropped it. But Philo was never really that intelligent. Just greedy. Rain didn’t know that before but she knew that now. A text message appeared on the screen but Philo could make no sense of it. It was a series on nonsensical symbols, rubbish. She dropped the phone, pressing a hand to her wig. “That bitch,” she snarled, looking around with wide enraged eyes. “How dare she even try.” In the sunshine, her canines almost looked pointed. Right then and there, Philo disappeared in a flash of green. His House Coco had just lit a cigarette. She leaned back on the plush white leather couch and crossed her legs. She held her glass of champagne up to the photo of her husband on the wall. He was out. He was always out. Working. For her. She laughed, scratching under her itchy wig with her long-nailed index finger. Scritch scritch. It was spiky, dark red and short and no one in his or her right mind would wear it. She got up and looked at her reflection in the glass that protected her husband’s photo. Her skinny jeans and t-shirt fit wonderfully snug. Her face was flawless. And her hair was power. “Mwah,” she said, blowing herself a kiss. She ambled into the living room where two fans were blasting. She stood very still between them, her wig’s “hairs” blowing about her face. It felt secure, despite the blowing air. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Behind her eyelids, she could see. Then she began to draw it in from… The busy street. People sitting in bustling bush taxies and perched atop hundreds of okada motorbikes. Market women walking alongside the road. The mish-mash of old and modern buildings of Lagos. Disabled beggars in the road. Boys playing soccer on a field. When she opened her eyes, they glowed a deep green and the wig glinted an electric blue. The blowing fans made the heat from her wig more bearable. Her cell phone went off and she nearly jumped. “Hellllo, Moto,” it said as it played its dance music. “Ah ah, what now?” she muttered. But she was smiling. The wig. It always left her feeling so good. Minus the heat, which left the actual wig feeling like a burning helmet. She ran to her cell phone on the couch. It was Rain. What did she want now? In her mind, the wig showed Rain standing outside her compound looking worried. The woman always looked so worried; she should have been at the top of the world. Coco held the phone to her ear as she brought out some lipstick. “Hello?” she said, smearing on a fresh coat. She grinned, sure of what she’d hear. She frowned. “Hello? Rain, what is it? Speak up.” But she heard nothing. She held the phone to her face when it suddenly became like a chunk of ice in her hand. “Iiieeey!” she exclaimed, throwing it on the couch. As she stared at it, appalled, the cell phone began to dribble green smoke. A text box opened on its screen. Coco squinted trying to read it. It looked like rubbish. But, like Philo, Coco understood what was happening. “Oh,” Coco said, out of breath. “You want to play now, eh? Ok.” She threw her lipstick on the leather seat, the lid still off. It left a smear on the pillow. “Someone will die today, o. And it will not be me.” She disappeared. * I have made my choice. That’s why I am still here, standing in these lilies. I run my hand over my shaved head. Waiting. The sun shines bright and happy in the sky, unaware of what’s about to happen to me. Unaware of what I have done and will soon suffer the consequences for. Unconcerned. Philo appears. She is standing on the lilies, mere feet away from me. “What is wrong with you?” she shouts. She looks beautiful and ghastly in her tight brown dress that probably cost more naira than a market woman makes in two years. “I’m…” Fear pumps through my veins like adrenaline and blood. “Why is your wig off, eh? You look horrible.” Her wig flashes as the digital virus tries to cripple it. Notice I say “tries”. “I took it off,” I snap. “This is wrong, o! This is wrong! Wake up!” Philo chuckles. “And what is wrong about it? We have everything we want.” “Stealing from people is not what I made these for! I made them to help us give! To cure the deep seated culture of corruption by giving people hope and a sense of patriotism. Remember??” She looks at me as if I am crazy. The wig has made her forget. Na wao. Tricky tricky things, these wigs. “Put it back on,” she says, pointing a long nail at me. “No,” I say. “It has made us cruel witches. Look at you!” Coco appears behind me. She hisses like a snake. She is in no mood for words. Her wig flashes. The virus is not working. When you mix juju with technology, you give up control. You are at the will of something far beyond yourself. I am done for. See how it all ends? Or does it begin? I am watching them approach me now. I tell you while my life hangs on its last thread. I am putting my wig on. It is so hot. I should have paid more attention to the cooling system when I made these. I hear the heartbeat of everyone around me now, including the irregular rhythm of Coco and Philo’s. But oh, the power. It rushes into me like ogogoro down the throat of a drunk. See Philo bare her teeth. They are indeed sharp like those of a bloodsucker. The virus is working through her wig now. But something has gone very wrong. They are both smiling. For a year, we have been psychic vampires but now as they come at me, mouths open, teeth sharp, I see that they have become the blood-sucking kind. I feel my own teeth sharpening too as I prepare to defend myself. This is new but I can’t think about that right now. I tear the wig off and throw it aside. “Come then!” I shout. Then, I… The End

From Horror photos & videos June 14, 2018 at 08:00PM

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