the-lunatic-archives
the Lunatic Archives
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Why did they fear the open skies
Up here is as if nothing is bad is happening.
But I know down there. Everyone is so afraid.
War. Poverty. Famine. And us.
We are told that we are building weapons to protect the country and its people.
But we know its a lie. We build these machines that drop death below for the corps so we can live.
If we went against them we would all be killed and replaced.
Some even worse would be turned into tin cans and programmed to be unable to do anything other then what we were told.
We really are the monsters.
Maybe one day I can make it up to all of them.
Drop a satellite or two and delay some peoples deaths. Before mine comes.
Well, If I can live long enough in this void of humanity.
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Ah, I get it now.
I like her— no, I'm in love with her. That was it. As I think back on all the things we've done, the time we've spent with each other, I can't help but wonder how long I've been like this. I might never know exactly 'when' it was that I fell for her. It might not matter.
Its been a week since I talked to her. I run away when she approaches me, making up some excuse or another. Ever since I noticed my feelings, I haven't been able to look at her the same. When I see her face I cant help but think about how cute she is, or how much I want to kiss her. I can never tell her.
How would she feel, knowing that her closest friend has these kinds of thoughts? Knowing the way I steal glances at her when she's not watching, knowing I blush when the light hits her face, lighting up her smile like it's the prettiest thing in the world. Would she be disgusted? Or would she feel the same?
I’m too scared to find out.
—
She caught me. I knew it would happen sooner or later. Class let out, and before I could leave, she grabbed my hand and dragged me along with her. I could've gotten away- her grip isn't that strong- but I was afraid. I knew that I had already hurt her by running away. I couldn't bring myself to do it again.
I apologized to her, gave some nonsense excuse about studying. I’m sure she didn't buy it, but it seemed good enough for her. She was almost crying, and made me promise not to avoid her ever again, to always be with her. I know she didn't mean it that way, but hearing her say that made me really happy.
Its okay if she never knows, if she doesn't feel the same way. As long as I can be with her forever, I'll be fine. That will be enough for me.
—
It hurts. I thought I would be fine. I thought I’d be okay so long as I could spend my life alongside her, even just as a friend.
I was wrong.
I have to tell her. I don’t want to regret these feelings.
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The fleeting thought that changed everything
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[cw; a graphic depiction of self harm, dehumanization, and abuse]
A dark enough room is both infinitely large and suffocatingly small. Until light claws its way in, ruining the mystery. Those nostalgic words floated into my mind as the greenhouse shed’s door drifted shut behind me. Before I knew it, I could feel my hand sliding across the still-healing cuts on my arm. The sensation soothed me, even as it stung. It helped me remember— no, it made me remember. As long as I have these, I will never forget them. My brothers and sisters.
I reluctantly pull my fingertips away, the tips of my nails dyed crimson. It’s not time yet. Wait until tonight, okay everyone?
—Six Years Ago—
A sudden clanging startled me awake, accompanied by an adult’s shouting.
“Wake up, Zero-Nine. You have your first test today!”
“Test?” I asked, staring up at him. The harsh light from the hallway illuminated my room, but it was too bright to see his face. My bed suddenly jolted backwards— the man kicked it. A year ago, I would have cried just from the sight of him. Now, not even this was enough to shake me.
He spit at me. That was enough of an answer for him. It was enough for me, too. He turned and left the room; I was expected to follow. So I did. He suddenly stopped, then gestured at an open door ahead of us. ‘Go’, it meant.
So I did. As the metal panels slid shut behind me, I heard his voice again.
“Hopefully this one kicks it.”
The new room was big, smooth, and grey. A table sat in the middle, a small box on top of it. And standing on the opposite side of the room was one of my siblings— my brother, Zero-Eight. He was older and taller than me, but I wasn’t sure by how much.
A voice boomed throughout the room. “Subjects Zero-Eight and Zero-Nine, approach the table in front of you.” We both complied, stopping on opposite sides of the table. He had a sad look on his face.
“Brother? Is everything—“ I began to ask, but was interrupted by the voice.
“Subject Zero-Nine. No talking.”
I nodded.
“Subject Zero-Eight. Open the box on top of the table and retrieve its contents.”
He nodded, still wearing that same look. Slowly, carefully, he opened the box and lifted an object out of it. Its long, slender shape glinted in the room’s white light— a knife.
“Subjects Zero-Eight and Zero-Nine. Your test objective is as follows: One of you must kill the other. If this objective is not met within ten minutes, then you will both die. Your time starts now.”
…Kill?
I lock eyes with Zero-Eight. He looks down at the knife in his hands, then back at me. Time slowed to a crawl. I felt each beat of my heart. In the lulls between, I could swear I felt his, too.
A minute passed. Neither of us moved. Another minute. I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“Are you going to kill me, big brother?”
He opened his mouth, only to be silenced by the voice again.
“Zero-Eight. Zero-Nine. Do not speak to each other.”
Without a word, he stepped around the table. I matched each step, backing away until I hit the wall. He leaned forward, slamming his fist into the spot just beside my head. I shrank. He’s going to kill me.
I’m going to die.
“Nine,” he whispered, barely audible even to me, “take the knife from me. Use it on me, and live.”
I closed my eyes. My hands wrapped around the handle, which he thrust into my hands. I don’t know what happened next. My hands were hot, and when I opened my eyes, the blade was buried in his chest. He smiled at me. “Remember me, Nine.”
I nodded, then let go of the knife. My hands were still warm with the proof of Zero-Eight’s love. He slumped down to the ground, and the voice spoke again.
“Test Beta-One has concluded. Retrieve Subject Zero-Nine and confirm Zero-Eight’s death.”
The doors slid open. The man from before came in, stopping before us. He looked down at Zero-Eight, his pure-white jumpsuit splattered with a crimson mosaic.
“Pathetic,” he said, then looked to me. “Subject Zero-Nine. Come.”
I nodded, and followed.
“Sir, may I… ask a question?”
He glared at me, but nodded.
“What was I supposed to kick?”
He laughed.
—Six Years Later—
Slowly, carefully, I remove the knife from its sheath. It’s a memento. An important treasure that I have to keep with me, so I can remember. I run the smooth side across my wounds. These, too, are a memento. The still-healing cuts, the new scars, the old scars. All of these are precious treasures, mementos of those who love me.
I can never forget them.
I turn my arm over. The scars here are some of the oldest, fading slightly. This won’t do. I pour alcohol over them, letting it soak into my skin. I’m ready to remember, now.
The blade presses against my skin. The flesh dips under the pressure, doing its best to resist, until the blade rips into it. Crimson warmth pours out as the blade drags through me, engraving me with the proof of their lives.
“Zero-Eight,” I say. I lift the blade, move it along my arm, then go again.
“Zero-Seven.”
Again.
“Zero-Six. Zero-Five. Zero-Four. Zero-Three. Zero-Two.”
Blood drips down my arm, into the empty flower pot below. It’s burning hot, but I’m not finished.
I have to remember.
“Zero-One,” I say, laying the final mark into my arm. I let out a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t forget. I remember all of you.” This searing pain is proof. Proof of your lives. Proof of your love.
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Our silhouettes flickered against the cave wall as I lay watching.
Mother tended the flames, keeping an eye on me from time to time, still not completely trusting Graymist to refrain from ending my life right then and there. I ran my hands up and down the back of the beast. By now, it had gotten so used to the sensation that I hardly elicited any response.
It happened one misty afternoon, not long before. That was when Graymist and I first met. We were bringing the game back home, when I secretly discarded some of my load. It was no use overexerting myelf. Back then, my condition had not worsened to the point that I needed a stick to walk. Now, I struggled to bring food to my mouth, though I didn’t know if it showed for anyone in the clan. I did try to hide it from everyone, after all.
The beast waited for me at the same location since. It might have assumed I was being generous at the time. Did it come back to me because it was abandoned by its pack? Did it always have a home to go back to and just came to me on its own? Whatever was going in that beast's heart would remain a mystery. There were no answers. No one in the clan had ever come across this strange practice of having a beast within their ranks.
“You would do good to let the beast go, Stiffhand.”
The voice of Stinkytoe brought me back into the present. Right. I was given that name a long time ago, when I started having trouble keeping up with the vigorous hunting activities. Little did we know that I would never recover.
The fellow clanmate continued speaking without looking up from sharpening the axes that lay in a heap beside him.
“The clan has no use for another mouth to feed.”
“Graymist will… leave when it.. wants to.” A complete sentence coming from my mouth. That was a feat.
As if to spite Stinkytoe, I scrambled up and headed to the food cache. Moments later, I returned and placed a piece of raw venison by Graymist’s snout. Its pointed ears twitched and the beast looked at me in confusion.
“Go on,” I gestured invitingly.
“If you have the energy, your time is better spent sharpening these axes.”
I didn’t respond to Stinkytoe. He scoffed and looked disapprovingly at Mother, who returned an apologetic glance. Stinkytoe got up and left for Stoneforge’s station, most likely to vent. Stoneforge was the master craftsman of the clan and was in charge of maintaining the heirloomed weaponry. A good clanmate to garner favors from.
“Can’t you do something about your illness?” There was frustration in Mother’s voice. She had tried everything from ritualistic chants, small sacrifices, and pouring ice-cold water over my head. Her responsibility as my caretaker was keeping her from more… important duties.
“I’m trying my best.”
Graymist tore the meat apart, blessed by the grace granted by its animal instincts. Though, there was a bit of hesitation in its actions. I could feel it, having been by its side for a while. It might have been the odd hour I picked to feed it.
I sat staring. The vision of the eating beast barely registered in my eyes.
What exactly was I to Graymist?
Nothing more than a feeding hand, was the obvious answer. But deep down, I wished… I knew… I was something more than that. I had been an incapacitated individual within the clan long enough to know that being useful is one of the only ways to establish value around clanmates. If you did not bring home enough game, you would be expected to pick berries. If you did not pick enough berries, you would be expected to be the entertainment at the firepit. If you did not do even that, then surely, the spirits have decided to forsake a soul for good reason.
Did Graymist abide by these principles?
I did not believe so.
I refused to believe so.
The beast would most definitely be by my side even if I present myself empty-handed.
It was not an easy connection to describe. If there was a word for it, it would look a lot like the word for “free.”
Graymist was with me not because it couldn’t do otherwise.
I knew this meant I could lose Graymist anytime. It could be to the beasts from its former pack. It could be to another human. But that was why our connection was strong. It was why I was happy it was with me.
–
It was late afternoon the next day, and the clan’s ranger team had just returned from the hunt. I sat near the mouth of the cave, staring off into the distance.
It was past the time that Graymist would usually dart into the cave to seek me out. The air was full of mist again, much like the day we met. Perhaps the beast had gotten lost? No… That's impossible.
I was woken from my daze sometime later by a light prodding on my side.
Beside me stood Graymist. But, there was something that made this reunion unlike the others.
A large slab of meat dangled from its mouth. There was labor in its breathing. There was no doubt, the beast was hungry. And yet…
"Graymist, no. You did not have to do that…"
The words escaped my mouth as if on impulse, with none of my usual stammer.
Graymist must have noticed my dismayed reaction by now. I wondered what was in its heart then, if it had one to begin with.
…
This was not the connection I wanted to have.
This was not what I wanted our connection to be built on.
I faked a smile as I stroked its mane and took the slab of meat from its mouth.
"Would you look at that." Stinkytoe had walked up to join me in stroking the beast. "This beast of yours is starting to be a good fit for the clan." Graymist's tail moved to and fro relaxingly.
There was a heaviness in my heart. For a creature so pure, was the feeling of having to provide, lest be abandoned, even something that could be entertained?
Perhaps the fault was with me, having given it the first morsel of food. I was the one who forged the connection. I was the one who, in one fell swoop, told the beast what kind of connection was being established.
What kind of thing would cause this connection to break down? What must be done to maintain it?
I knew the answer to both, naturally. I would have never expected a beast to understand this.
I would have never wanted a beast to understand this.
–
I bit into Graymist's donated meat, now cooked, and chewed gingerly, taking care not to swallow accidentally and choke.
It had a bitter taste in my mouth.
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[cw; suicidal ideation]
Day in, day out, it was always the same for her. Wake up alone. Go to school alone. Attend classes alone. Go home alone. Eat dinner alone. Go to sleep alone. It never changed— throughout all sixteen years of her life, Yamada Shiroko had not once had a friend. She was well and truly alone— even her parents were rarely around, always busy with their work.
It wasn’t as though she was hated by her peers, though. She had never been bullied. It was simply as though nobody ever thought of her— she was never invited out after school, even club recruiters seemed to look right through her. These were the thoughts that went through her head every day. Before she knew it, class was over. Her classmates all gathered in groups with their friends, talking, making plans.
‘How nice,’ she thought, gazing wistfully at their smiling faces. ‘If I had a friend… would I look like that, too?’ She shook her head, then stood. ‘As if anyone would be friends with me. Nobody even knows I’m here.’ With one hand she brushed her bangs from her face, then left the classroom.
—
She watched the sun set across the city. A beautiful sight— but it did nothing to stir her heart. She didn’t know what she was doing, here, on the school’s roof. For the first time in… a long time, she had altered her routine. She looked over to the door, still propped open, and sighed. It was well past the time school let out, and still nobody had come up here. No teachers, no students, nobody had noticed her. She turned around, leaning against the roof’s railing and gazing across the school’s courtyard. She couldn’t help but notice how far down the ground was.
“Nobody’s ever noticed,” she said, not even realizing she spoke aloud now, “And nobody ever will.” She stared down to ground. ‘If…’
“Don’t do it!” A girl’s voice shouted from behind her— the first time someone had ever called out to her. She froze. Tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t jump!” She didn’t even care what the voice was saying. It was getting closer, shouting at her to “stop!” and “don’t!”, getting louder with the pounding footsteps, until she felt a weight against her back. Arms wrapped around her, and pulled her away from the railing. She found herself face-to-face with the voice now. It was a girl, about her age. A classmate. She didn’t know her name, though.
“Yamada-san, you can’t do things like that!” The girl launched into a lecture. Another girl might have found it annoying, but Shiroko was just happy that someone called out to her. That someone had finally noticed her. She was happy to exist— and this happiness showed itself through a decade’s worth of tears.
“Geez, what were you thinking, Yamada-san? Did you want to die?”
The lecture was over, it seemed. Shiroko dried her tears, looking at the girl. ‘Die…? Of course I don’t want to die—’ She thought for a moment before realizing how it must have looked. ‘Did she only notice me because… she thought I wanted to die? If I don’t want to die… will things go back to how they were, before?’
“Yeah,” she said, looking up at the girl with a pitiful expression. “I do.” It was a lie; she was too scared to die. But if the choice was between this lie, and her old life, then it was an easy choice.
The girl’s expression changed— the gentle smile she once wore became twisted, and her warm eyes turned cold. “I don’t believe you,” her voice dripped with malice this time. “Prove it.”
“I-I, um…” Shiroko stared blankly at her. Prove it? How do you prove that you want to die without, well… dying? “I was… about to jump, wasn’t I?”
The girl leans forward, nearly pressing her face against Shiroko’s. “Were you?” The words stung like acid. She shrank backwards, but the girl maintained the same distance, matching each step with one of her own. She felt the railing against her back again. She swallowed.
“I was. If you didn’t come, I would’ve… jumped off the roof.”
The girl seemed satisfied with that answer. Her expression changed again, back to the gentle, warm kindness of before, and she hugged Shiroko again. “Good girl,” she said, rubbing her back, “It must have been so scary. But don’t worry. You’re safe now. Akane-chan will protect you… Shiro-chan.”
She shuddered in Akane’s embrace. She was conflicted— she had never been this close to someone, this seen, ever. But she couldn’t help but feel like she was doing something bad, like she had made a mistake. Surely, anything was better than how things were before?
“Hey, Shiro-chan…”
“Y-yes, Akane-san…?”
“You’ll be mine, right? Since I saved your life, since I stopped you from throwing it away, you might as well give it to me, right?” Her tone was soft— gentle, even— contrasting with the venom of her words. “Since you don’t want it anymore… right, Shiro-chan?”
Shiroko gulped, trying to wash the anxiety down her throat. But it didn’t help. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. ‘All I have to do is say “yes”. Say “yes” and I’ll never be alone again. I’ll finally have a friend.’ She felt Akane’s arms tighten around her, and looked up at her. The cold, distorted face was back, again.
“Right, Shiro-chan?”
“R-right, Akane-san.” Just like that, her face changed back again, smiling down at her new friend.
“That’s no good, Shiro-chan. We’re best friends now, so you need to call me ‘Akane-chan’, right?”
“A-Akane… chan.”
“That’s a good girl, Shiro-chan.” Despite the uneasy feeling in her chest, Shiroko was happy. For the first time in sixteen years, she had a friend. She wasn’t alone.
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Meet Protag.
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Protag lives in a modern society.
Protag has a well-off life in modern society.
They are gainfully employed, their interpersonal skills are functional, and they have a number of friends that can be counted on more than one hand.
But this story isn’t about Protag.
You see, inside Protag, there are two wolves. Two wolves forever locked in a confrontation with each other. Arguing to no end.
One is named Valludd. The other is named Cannseld.
“Is Protag valid or not?” Each wolf has its own interpretation of the question. Each its own answer. None of them would yield their position.
Here is their story.
===
Valludd: It’s another lovely, valid day in the valid life of our very valid Protag.
Cannseld: The fuck? Homeboy using that word like it ain’t got no meaning no more.
Valludd: Precisely. “Valid” is but a subjective concept whose application is purely contextual. Such context seldom exists for our Protag, I’m afraid. The meaning of “valid” is, therefore, moot.
Cannseld: Well there’s your problem. How you gon’ call them valid if you don’t got the context?
Valludd: And what context might you be referring to?
Cannseld: Let me ask you this. What’s it take to make a homie valid?
Valludd: Well, I’m assuming you’re asking about the context in which the word “valid” would apply. In which case, my answer would be the conditioning of the mind to formulate its own meaning of “valid,” and, subsequently, to perceive oneself as matching such criteria.
Cannseld: That’s where you wrong. Homie be valid when society say they valid. Look around. You say you looking for context? It be right there looking back at you.
Valludd: Society can be your context if you allow it to be. Protag would be quite mistaken to do as such. Society can deem Protag valid or invalid on pure whim. But. There is no “valid” or “invalid” if neither of them have the context to accommodate their meaning. I’m speaking, of course, of the context that Protag should reject in favor of one where they can freely define themself as their own interpretation of “valid.”
Cannseld: I get what you saying. Just, why you can’t match them two interpretations? Say, Protag see themself as valid, under they own interpretation. Society say they valid, under they interpretation. Everybody happy.
Valludd: You expect Protag to subject themself to the whims and fancies of the people around them?
Cannseld: Dang, homeboy got brains yo.
Valludd: Preposterous. You want Protag to embrace that grindset? Abiding by the hierarchy? Clambering their way up the social ladder? Suing for validation? Getting rejected?
Cansseld: Protag got some things to learn. Gotta start somewhere.
Valludd: Surely, you have not forgotten all the times Protag had been rejected in the past?
Cansseld: Not enough times, man. Not enough times. Gotta work up that courage. Ain’t nothing to be afraid of.
Valludd: I see no reason for Protag to leave themself vulnerable to rejection. If you insist on fusing the interpretation of “valid” across society and the self, having Protag be branded as “invalid” would be terminal. The self-delusion that was always available as a place of retreat is no more.
Cansseld: You hearing yourself? Calling it “self-delusion” like both you and I, and Protag, don’t know it’s a delusion. They just straight up be lying to themself? When they know it’s a lie?
Valludd: Do you know what the real lie is? The real lie is if Protag acts as though they do have what it takes to earn their status and respect in the presence of others, when in fact, they don’t. It will be significantly harder to subsist on this self-delusion than the previous one.
Cansseld: That don’t sound too bad. I’mma say it. I mean, what Protag doing right now? I ain’t got no clue, but it ain’t how they want to live. They trying to avoid rejection, see? They just don’t apply. I don’t mean schools and jobs and shit. I’m talking people. Homies.
Valludd: Well, not applying is a sure way to not get rejected. Applying would risk the self-delusion being shattered for the worse.
Cansseld: Living they entire life without applying to nothing. Ain’t that the same as applying to shit and getting rejected again and again? Bruh? They already living they worst nightmare, they just don’t know it.
Valludd: Well, there you have it. Something Protag most definitely did not have to know. I hold you in full responsibility for putting it in their head. That being said, the rewards of getting accepted rather than rejected are completely overblown. Now is as good a time as ever to remind you that Protag, indeed, has friends.
Cansseld: See, that’s the thing. Protag got homies but they ain’t giving them relationships no mileage. Ain’t giving them no room to accept or reject them as a person, just letting them chill at the edge of the circle. That’s why Protag feel like they tight with they homies, but they homies even more tight with they own homies.
Valludd: Precisely what makes it all the more irresponsible for Protag to place their own sense of “valid” under the whims and fancies of others. Or to even assign any meaning to “valid” in the first place. You won’t win a game you know you’re already losing without bending the rules. Or abandoning the game altogether.
Cansseld: Game’s here to stay bruh. It don’t be easy trying to abandon it. Protag just gotta do what they gotta do.
Valludd: (Sigh) They just gotta do what they gotta do.
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A sudden knock at my door interrupts my peaceful night. I set down my tea, mark my place in my book, and get up. Much as I’d love to continue relaxing, there’s generally only one person who would bother me this late. The lock clicks as I turn it and open my door, revealing my visitor— a short, red-haired girl with a wide smile on her face, holding a six-pack of beer.
“Char. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
Charlotte. My childhood friend, the only person from my youth I still talk to. We used to be inseparable, but now we’re lucky to hang out once a week.
“Ahaha… I just missed you, Amy. Can I come in?”
That’s not the whole of it, I’m sure. But I’m not about to interrogate her in the entryway. I think I know why she’s here, anyways.
“Sure, make yourself at home. I was just thinking that I missed you, too,” I say, gesturing for her to enter. While it wasn’t completely true, it wasn’t completely untrue, either. I always miss her.
With exaggerated, happy steps she enters my home, laughing a little. “Ehehe, you’re such a softie, Amy!” she says, bee-lining to the living room. “Come on,” she shouts back to me, “we’re gonna get drunk tonight!”
She’s always been like this, it’s one of the things I admire about her. “Yes, yes,” I call back to her, following shortly behind. By the time I reach the room, she’s already taken a seat at the coffee table— opting to ignore the couch and sit directly on the floor— and cracked open a beer. She excitedly pats the ground next to her, and takes a deep drink.
“Come on, Amy! Sit! Drink!”
I glance over at my tea, across the room, and sigh. She’s as unobservant as ever. It’s endearing, in a way.
“Yeah, alright,” I say, lowering myself to the floor next to her. “Let’s drink.” I crack open one of the beers she bought, enjoying the hiss of the can more than I will the beverage inside it. I don’t even like beer, but... with her, it's okay, I guess.
Time passes. We make small talk about our jobs, our lives. We drain one can after another, and before we know it, we’re all out. I only managed two to her four, leaving me wondering where in that tiny body she holds all that alcohol. Perhaps steeled by the alcohol, I finally ask her what I’ve been meaning to all night.
“So, Char,” I lock eyes with her. She looks like she’s about to cry. “What really brings you here tonight?”
“Ahaha… it’s that obvious, huh?”
I nod.
“B-before that, um,” She looks away from me. This isn’t easy for her to say, it seems. I’ll wait, though, and give her all the time she needs. “I’m really sorry. I don’t talk to you enough, and now I show up, unannounced, and take over your night—“
Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close. “It’s okay, Char. I’m glad you’re here.” Ah, this nostalgic smell. She still uses the same shampoo as before, lavender. It’s my favorite. I can’t let myself get distracted, lost in her. “I told you when we were kids, didn’t I? I’ll always be your best friend, Char.”
“Th-thank you, Amy…”
She’s barely holding her tears back, now. I can feel it in her voice, in the spaces between her words, in the trembling of her small body in my arms. She takes a deep breath, and then pulls away from me, looking me in the eyes again, a pained smile on her face.
“To tell the truth, I got rejected again.”
I expected as much; the same thing happened just a month ago— showing up randomly at my doorstep in the evening. She’s predictable, of course, but only to me. Nobody knows her better than I do.
“Typical, right? It keeps happening,” she continues, “Just once, I think… It’d be nice if they felt the same way.”
“What went wrong this time?”
She straightens her back, then gazes wistfully at the empty cans on the table. After a short pause, she answers.
“Ah, well, um... She’s straight.”
“Wait— she? I thought you were straight.”
Every time before this, Char had been in love with a man. At least, as far as I was aware. I had never actually met any of them. I… have to know. I have to ask.
“Char… have you been into girls this whole time?”
“Oh, no! No, no,” She panics, embarrassed, and waves one of her hands in front of her face rapidly. “Th-this was my… first time. Falling in love with a girl, that is.” Dejectedly, she looks down, continuing in a downtrod tone. “Sorry… This probably seems silly to someone like you, who’s had all this figured out for years…”
I can’t stand it. The thought of someone else knowing this before me. I hate it, even. But looking at Char, there’s something more important than that right now. Without a word, I pull her close to me, burying her in my chest. She mumbles something, but I shake my head and sway her side-to-side. I can’t help but wonder, though… Is this what she looked like when that girl rejected her?
“It doesn’t matter if it’s been a day, a week, or even years. Rejection always hurts, Char.” I loosen my hold on her, letting her look up at my face, and smile gently down at her. “And no matter what, I’ll always be there to help you through it, okay?”
She nods, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Amy… You really are the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Of course.” That’s always been my role— the ‘best friend’, the one who watches over you, helps you feel better when you’re sick or hurt. Nothing more, nothing less. “Always and forever, remember?”
She nods, and lowers her head again, wiping her tears against my sweater and nudging deeper into the comfort of my chest. That’s right. Even if it was some random girl who found out first, I’m still the only one to get this. The only one to comfort her when she’s hurting—
Suddenly, I feel a burst of warm breath against my chest. I glance at the clock: 11:14 PM. “Getting sleepy, Char?” She nods against me. Gently, I let go of her, and stand. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the—“ A firm tug on my sweater interrupts me. I look down at her.
“Tonight,” she says, a pleading look on her face, “can we sleep together?” I know what she means, but still, my face goes flush.
“T-together?”
She nods.
“Will you… comfort me, Amy?”
I must be a bright scarlet at this point. Quickly, I turn away. I have to calm down, or she’ll find out… A deep breath— in, out. I look back to her. “Of course, Char. After all—“ I love you. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”
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I never much cared for the sea.
As a growing child, on occasion my parents would drag me out to the beach during the lull of summer. It wasn't very often. Perhaps they grew tired of my complaints, boundless as the ocean itself. Most of what remains in my memory lies sunburn's scorching sting against my skin, contrasting against the icy prick of waves as they lap at my ankles. The gnarled gravel of shattered shells jabbing into my soles. The onslaught of salt that overwhelms the senses, at the very moment so much as a drop of that saline leaked past my lips-- that is to say, nothing particularly good. And oh, the smell, don't get me started on the stench. A brine so sickly and vile that it surely must cure the decaying creatures that call this mire their home. It's a setting so many hold fondness for, though I never understood why.
Until it all was destined to leave me, that is.
Once the looming threat of change makes its presence known, even the things you never once cared for start to become sacred. And there are so, so many things. More than you could ever hope to comprehend. Things both large and small, obvious and indistinct.
As all those individual elements pile up, it begins to dawn on you the sheer weight of what you're about to lose, and swiftly a deep sorrow wells up within you, overtakes your being. Arms lash out to either side, and out from each fingertip spool threads in all directions, winding around whatever it is that catches their desperate grasp. Be it the warm hues of autumn's decay, the light crunch of snow underfoot, leafy hills and the mountainous spires that crest above them, decrepit architecture within that time itself abandoned, hell even the sickly scent of the sea; the web of connecting threads bundles up beneath your fists, and with all your might, you pull. It all comes reeling back toward you. The mass closes in, surrounds you, buries you, crushes you, suffocates you. So why does it all still feel so distant? It's right outside your door, yes, but you've already made your decision. It won't be for much longer.
You've begun to mourn what is not yet lost. Your mind has already set adrift, and no sensation of touch nor sight nor smell can reconnect you to the surroundings you took for granted all your life. Funny, isn't it, that you become blind to the very things you're longing to experience, well aware it will be the last opportunity you're granted to bid a final farewell...
And in an instant, it's all gone.
You've ripped the rug right out from under your own feet.
See, all of those things you long for are not gone, they very much still exist. Unlike a death, there is no finality here, no closure. Everything you grew to love is still there, continuing on without you; it simply sits long out of reach. But the reality is that you are now here. In this flat, featureless, barren wasteland. You're thousands of miles away from that which shaped you, yet those connecting threads linger, their ends still bound to your skin. They tug at your chest, rip it wide open. The first four stages of grief cycle around, loop through each other and erratically jump back and forth, all wracking your heart without the catharsis of acceptance.
You did this to yourself, you know. This was of your own volition.
A fear begins to bubble up, the fear that at the end of all this, everything you've come to call "home" will only ever remain a memory.
A memory that, with time, will decay.
Deteriorate.
That which held such importance, such significance,
would simply disintegrate,
as does salt in water.
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>>part one
*You won’t be able to see her again if you do this.*
“I don’t care. She’s the only thing that matters.” Her voice trembled with each word, barely masking her fear with resolve. The Voice was right, of course. She knew that. And yet, she still moved forward. “Without her… This world is nothing to me. It only has meaning so long as she’s in it.”
The Voice stayed silent for a moment. She wondered if it had given up, but that thought was quickly dispelled. *I know,* it said, *Because I feel the same way.*
“What do you mean?” The confusion was apparent in her voice— such a statement didn’t make sense to her. The Voice had never met Mel, it had never seen her smile, it had never heard her sing. She shook her head.
‘Surely,’ she thought, ‘this is just the demon trying to tempt me.’
*I’m not,* it replied to her thoughts, first, before explaining itself. *It’s silly, isn’t it? I’ve never met her, your Melody. Still, somehow… I’ve inherited your feelings for her.*
“I…” she trailed off, only more confused. “I don’t get it.”
*I’ve been telling you all this time, haven’t I? I’m you.*
“But that doesn’t make any sense!”
*Maybe not,* the Voice seems calm, contrasting the girl. *And yet, it’s true. We’re one and the same— your feelings are my feelings, your desires are my desires.*
*We even share the same love. So…* the Voice trails off for a moment, a melancholy tinge coloring her words. The silence permeates the air, thick and suffocating. Almost too much to bear, the girl opens her mouth to speak, but the Voice cuts her off.
*So don’t try to shoulder this burden on your own, Grace. You don’t have to fall alone to save our beloved Melody.*
The girl flinches when her name is spoken, unaccustomed to hearing it anymore. Her gaze is cast to the ground, and she clutches her arm nervously. Finally, she speaks.
“Then help me. You already know, I’ll—“
*—we’ll do anything for her.*
She stands there, motionless for a moment, before speaking again.
“One more thing, voice.”
*What?*
“She’s my beloved Melody.”
The Voice laughs in her head.
*Of course, Grace. Then, shall we begin? Our fall, together.*
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11 PM in the doll room.
I could barely keep myself from falling over from fatigue as I fired up the stove. As exhausted as I was, food was still a must. I had already been drained by the end of my second shift that day, and by the time my third shift rolled around, time seemed to drag on even more slowly. By this time of day, Clara would usually engage me in conversation to keep me awake while I did chores, and that was only on her non-graveyard-shift days.
She was here with me tonight too, in the doll room (her name for our studio apartment, not mine. Yes, I’m one of her dolls), just, unusually quiet.
She had been staring at her phone with her usual dead fish eyes for a while, so I assumed it must be something interesting. I had given up on trying to read her expression a long time ago. You would know if you got to know her.
=====================
“You ever heard of Prologue-H?”
I guess she wanted to talk when I was finally done manning the stove. I shook my head.
“It’s a charity group that just got some funding and went public with their proposal. You get to retire early and live out the rest of your life happily ever after. They give you all the money you need to meet all your basic needs and have a decent lifestyle, and then some.”
“…Oh my. It’s like a dream come true.”
“You know what I’m gonna say next, don’t you.”
“I was afraid there was gonna be a catch and wasn’t sure if I wanted to ask…”
“Guess.”
“You… have to be a good citizen and rescue at least one kitten a day from a tree?”
“You die exactly three years to the day you swallow their pill.”
…
“I swear, it’s the edgiest shit anyone can think of.”
“That’s… unfortunate.”
“They call it the Prologue-H. H as in Heaven.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Get it? Cause it’s like Heaven but it’s just before Heaven? Everyone’s calling it the ‘kill pill’ anyway. There’s something inside the pill that activates it when it’s due. You just, end up getting put in a coma so you die in your sleep.”
“Well, hm…”
By this point, I was skimming the article on my phone out of morbid curiosity.
“They’re already backlogged pretty heavily. I… I don’t understand how anyone would do such a thing. The amount of people who are desparate out there… just, wow.”
“Serves them right. The customers, I mean. For ginning up their own expectations for retirement this fucking much. There’s like, nothing else that keeps them going. They’d dream of being the kind of superhero in the comics they read that sacrifices years of their life to become OP enough to save the planet, or something.”
The comics you read, I thought to myself.
“To be fair, I might end up saving the planet if I had just one extra second of free time everyday. Still not worth it, I think. Yeah, nope…”
“How about you set the planet aside for when you retire. Which… could be tomorrow. Or it could be when you’re old enough to go bar-hopping with your great-grandchildren.”
“…There is no retirement age anymore, right? Most people can’t afford it and work until… they drop.” I quickly added, “But, I still think this kill pill’s a terrible idea…!”
Did I give enough of a signal to Clara by this point? I sure hoped I did.
She didn’t immediately answer and was instead fixated on her phone. I leaned over her shoulder and looked. On display was the “Take the Pill Now” landing page.
“No…”
“No what?” She yanked her phone away from my line of sight. “Just let a poor girl think for a second.”
A strange feeling welled up inside of me. What happened to the time we cherished together? What happened to settling happily and growing old together?
A flood of doubt filled my mind as I thought about our past, all the hardships we had to endure, often at each other’s expense thanks to our garbage job security and pathetic incomes. I thought about the ever-changing power dynamic between us, which shifted depending on who’s ass was being covered by whom on each occasion.
Should I have expected as much from her? This twisted, toxic, childishly nihilistic line of thinking? She was a goth girl. And I was just a doll in her world.
Maybe I’m the selfish one. Maybe I should’ve known what degree of respect was being asked of me as I got into this, and all I was doing was overstepping myself. I shook the thought off my mind.
All I want… was what’s best for Clara.
“I don’t want you to take the pill.”
“Noted.”
“Please?”
“What’s with you?”
“I’m… I’m not going to say you can’t, but if you really want to…”
“No, you doofus. I’m not taking the pill.”
“Oh, thank god. Don’t scare me like that. It’s such a terrible idea.”
“It’s a fantastic idea.” She showed me her phone again, this time displaying the “Contribute” landing page. “That’s why I’m donating to the cause.”
“You know, the way you say things like that so sincerely is honestly what scares me.”
“What’s scary about wanting people to live fulfilling and happy lives?”
I blinked. “If that’s all you’re thinking, I guess there really is a gentle side to you.”
“Well then, that sucks for you because that’s not all I’m thinking. I’m thinking this fucked up system can use some reminders that people can be empowered to take control of their own lives for once. And exactly how far they’re willing to go for that. Maybe then it will actually start being a little less fucked up.”
I glanced over at my plate, having forgotten that there was food on it. Clara’s plate, on the other hand, was already empty.
“I guess… having fulfilling and happy lives isn’t that much of a reach for us, huh.”
“Yes. I suppose you, Ken, might’ve had some part in it.”
I chuckled quietly. Clara’s way of showing affection was endearing if even noticed at all.
Still, as I wolfed down the remainder of that day’s dinner, I couldn’t help but think back to the dead stare in Clara’s eyes as she was reading the “Take the Pill Now” page, seeming to take maybe a little longer than natural to move on.
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“Mel…”
A young woman stands before a small stone marker. Dozens more like it litter the field, but they are of no consequence to her. Only this one matters. She kneels down in front of it, placing a small bouquet of flowers on the ground, and stares into the characters carved into the stone. After a long pause, she speaks.
“I promise, Mel. I’ll bring you back,” she said, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, forcing resolve to the surface, displacing her usual timidness. She looked back down to the stone, the letters still reading the same— Melody Faris— and spoke again. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
There was, of course, no response. She chuckled, shaking her head.
‘What would Melody think of me, now?’ she thought. ‘Sweet, gentle Mel… Heh, she’d hate me.’
*Of course she would. You’re a monster now, aren’t you?* Another voice chimed in, from deeper in her mind. *Of course, once you use my— no, our power… it won’t matter what she thinks. You can just make her ours.*
‘I won’t do that. I’ll do everything I can to keep my Mel out of your clutches, daemon.’
*My clutches? Daemon? I’m hurt,* the Voice says, echoing throughout her mind. *You do know that we’re one and the same now, don’t you? There is no seperation between us, no “you” and “me”. Only “us”.*
She doesn’t respond to the Voice, instead turning her gaze to the sky. There was a long journey ahead of her before she could bring her friend back, before the Voice had its power once more. Shaking her head, she turned her back to the stone.
“I’m sorry, Mel,” she said, “I hope you can forgive me.”
*You know she won’t,* the Voice replied.
“Shut up. You don’t know her.”
*But I do. I’m you, remember? All your memories, your thoughts— they’re mine, too.*
“No you aren’t. You’re a daemon, a monster,” she was yelling now, releasing her anger into the darkened sky. “I’ll restore your power, then take it for myself! And then…” She faltered, tears streaming down her face. “And then…”
*’And then’, what?*
“And then I’ll destroy you.”
The Voice sighed.
*Listen, you can’t—*, it paused, realizing the futility of its words. *Fine. We can talk more about what my ‘existence’ is, later. For now… You have quite the walk ahead of you, don’t you?*
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So.
I guess I’m stuck with this kid for now. The bus trip should take a fair amount of time. Since I’m stuck sitting next to him, I might as well make the most of it.
Man, he sure is an eyesore. Trying his best to look nonchalant as he gazes away. Sticks out like a sore thumb every time he’s around me and my friends.
Today I get to find out what’s the dealio with Dennis.
Just kidding. I know what exactly the deal is with him. And what kind of lesson he needs.
I hate him.
I hate having to share a space with him, hate having to acknowledge his presence with every one of his flimsy attempts to make conversation, hate giving him the social validation that he doesn’t deserve in the least.
I hate him so much, I can’t live with myself without having let him know how much I despise him.
“Are you just gonna stare out the window like that?”
…
“...I guess.”
“You’re doing this thing you’ve been doing this whole time. Being in your own corner, doing your own thing. Even someone as dumb as you would know that’s not sustainable.”
“What did I do wrong?” I can hear his voice start to shake.
“Pretty much everything. You’ve been screwing things over for yourself ever since I’ve known you.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Because I can be. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
…
“Why does it matter to you? I’m just saying words. I’m just telling you like it is. You can ignore me anytime, but you’re choosing not to. You’re too weak to ignore me.”
The kid never once turned to look at me as we talked. But he’s now starting to fidget.
“See the way you’re playing with your fingers? That’s how hard you’re coping right now. And that’s how you know what I’m saying about you is true.”
…
“Don’t you get lonely?”
“I…I don’t mind the loneliness.”
“That’s obviously not true. Lying to me won’t get you anywhere.”
People who can't be bothered to learn how to socialize deserve all the loneliness they inflict on themselves. Having them be immune to loneliness would just defeat the purpose.
“What do you really want? Out of life.”
“I just want happiness.”
“Well, are you happy now?”
…
Of course, I don’t really care if this kid is happy. But as long as we’re in the same class though, he’s stuck with me and my friends, and we’re stuck with him. Which is making me unhappy as hell, and that’s what matters.
“I would wish you the best, but I don’t trust you to know what’s best for yourself.”
“...Why are you talking to me?”
“I just feel like it. And I’ll keep talking for as long as I feel like it.”
I have the whole remainder of the bus ride to talk to this kid at my leisure, so that’s exactly what I'm doing.
People like him cut themselves out from the rest of society and pretend that everyone’s just chill with that. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Having his quietness speak the loudest, him trying to be inconspicuous being the most off-putting. Chances are, he already knows. But you can never tell with low-IQ folk. So, I’m doing this just in case he needs any reminders.
Human society is like a well-oiled machine. It’s a very delicate set of moving parts, and needs a lot of maintenance for everyone’s benefit. If a square peg wants to go into a round hole, they’d have to shape up, or beat it.
Assholes like him have no right to exist in my circle. Or anyone else’s circle, for that matter.
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