beepbeepbeepjeep - Tumblr blog

beepbeepbeepjeep · 2 years ago

Text

previous / next

[cw: brief description of accident, death, and injuries; experiences that can be likened to dissociation and hallucination]

/— 5: Erasing the Edges —/

As gruesome as it is, Savannah is pulled toward the overturned jeep. They walk to it with bated breath. A few feet away from the crash, officers attempt to get rid of the crowd. She steps right past them and ducks under the caution tape.

The back of the jeep is open, putting them all on display. She could still see hints of the mess under the shrouds.

Reality steadily begins to seep in, like blood staining pure white cloth. Metal cuts through their bodies, still shining. Still sharp.

They shut their eyes and take the rest of it in. The clamor, the heat, the sharp scents of blood and gas. It’s all familiar, but not like the low crackle of a fireplace. It’s more like the ear-piercing booms of fireworks still ringing after they’ve long dissipated. It’s haunting, like war, like tragedy, like death.

Something unlocks in her. She slips back into a dream.

They're falling, faster and faster. There's a chorus of screams, but no faces to connect it to. It's too bright to see anything. Are they staring straight into the sun?

She can't turn to see where they're landing. No—she can't move at all. They've gone limp like a rag doll, limbs fluttering hopelessly above them.

Then it all stops. Her vision cuts to jarring darkness. She hears frantic voices bouncing around, discussing… something. They're unsure what, but they just know they're a part of it. It's as if she's sitting backstage, waiting for her cue.

They want to stay and finally figure out the meaning of all this, but they feel their grip on the vision fading. They wait and wait, and it’s almost time for their entrance, but…

She finds herself back in the jeepney—the magic one, where everyone’s in one piece. Her head hurts, and she still feels a little lost.

Cato’s the first one she notices again. “Is everything alright? You seemed dissociated. You wouldn’t leave the scene of the accident. We had to guide you back here.”

“Yes, I’m alright.” She pauses. “What about you? It must have been horrifying seeing how exactly you…”

His brows furrow. “I’m fine.”

And they fall into silence. Savannah sighs. Cato clearly isn’t alright. Who would be after seeing their own corpse pulled out of a car crash?

Then again, she wasn’t very honest herself. Maybe she can encourage a little more communication.

“Actually, I’m quite shaken up,” they blurt. Cato only slightly turns toward them, but they take this as enough of a sign to continue.

“I’ve been seeing—hearing? No—sensing things.”

Now this has his full attention. “Things only you can sense? Like hallucinations?”

“I wouldn’t call them hallucinations.” She purses her lips. “They’re more like… flashbacks? Like I’ve felt them all before.”

He stays quiet, so she elaborates. “I’ve been having these visions—well, they’re more than just visions, but you know what I mean—I think they’re related to the accident. I get these feelings of falling, and I hear these voices that I know I’ve heard before, but I can’t put names to them.”

Cato’s face is tight with concentration. “Do these come with any other symptoms? Anything you think is related?”

Symptoms? Strange way to put it, but sure. She gives it a good think. “I get headaches. The visions make me dizzy. And I have trouble sleeping.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“I’m not sure… I’ve had these visions for as long as I remember.”

“Have you had similar experiences in life? Traumatic events?”

“No…”

“You don’t need to get into the specifics.”

“There are no specifics.” They shrug. “I’ve never been in any accidents this severe and… Well. I guess I won’t be in any other ones now.”

He looks away, deep in thought. “Flashbacks, but not connected to any actual events…”

“Well, they feel real. Like I’m connected to them somehow.”

“Are you taking anything?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean medication. Drugs. Of any kind.”

“No?” She doesn’t like where this is going.

“I won’t judge.”

“I really don’t take any medication.”

"Well, what about—”

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Hide.” She bites on the inside of her cheek. “I came here looking for a conversation. Not a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh.” He’s silent for a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!”

Cato looks at her weirdly. “There’s something wrong with me. How is that okay?”

“Well, I think there’s something a little wrong inside all of us.” Savannah’s eyes drift around the jeep.

Cato does not stop looking at her weirdly. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“No, it isn’t, but you know what is?”

“What?”

“It means you’re not alone.” They lean over a little to bump shoulders with him. “There are people you can talk to. They’ll understand. Or listen at the very least.”

He breaks eye contact to contemplate this.

“You don’t have to share right now if that’s uncomfy. We all just saw a lot of it, anyway,” she adds. “My point is that we have all the time in the world.”

This is great. Savannah is going to get a good grade in friendship: something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve. Cato will be so befriended by the end of this.

Finally, he turns back to them. “Fine.”

A smile breaks out on her face. This is going so great.

“But for the record, if you need anyone to talk to about your episodes—”

“Visions.”

He sighs. “Visions… I’m here to listen.” Savannah’s shoes happily tap away on the metal floor. “Thank you.”

previous / next

#now i know my ABCs

3 notes · View notes

beepbeepbeepjeep · 2 years ago

Text

previous / next

[cw: suicide attempt, implied child abuse/neglect, family member death, brief descriptions of blood and injuries]

/— 4: Doctor, Doctor —/

After staring at the blinding white for far too long, Cato turns back to the driver. “You still haven’t explained the rules.”

“That is true.” Its head rotates back to face the windshield. “However, I believe that because they are so simple, you will all understand them as we go.”

“That doesn’t strike me as very fair.”

The mannequin doesn’t respond. Instead, the light floods the jeep before fading away to reveal a sunny neighborhood, with all its white picket fences and evenly mowed lawns.

The jeep parks next to a blue house that would be rather dull if it weren’t for the tree in the front yard. Its branches cradle a small home, where a child around the size of a fifth grader sits, legs dangling over the platform just outside it.

The mannequin begins to speak, taking on the tone of a game show host. “Cato Linn, born August 28th. Virgo: the practical nature.”

It turns back to the contestants. “You may step outside the vehicle now.”

One by one, they get off the jeep, taking in their surroundings and realizing that the kid in the treehouse bears a striking resemblance to the current player.

“Oh my God, it’s so weird seeing Grandpa so… tiny.” Ascot giggles.

Cato doesn’t respond; he’s too fixated on what looks to be a younger version of himself. His face is tense, as if there’s something he’s dreading.

“Why are we here?”

“Well, it’s your life. We’re judging if it’s worth returning to.”

His eyes noticeably widen at that.

“Can anyone see us?” Liza asks.

“No. You also cannot interact with your surroundings in any way.”

Sure enough, the kid hasn’t noticed the jeep or any of its passengers. At least, if he has, he’s great at hiding it. It feels almost as if he’s staring right through them. His eyes are devoid of any of the joy and warmth that a kid his age should have.

Cato—the older, deader one—quickly returns to his corner in the jeep.

“I should warn you,” the driver states, bringing back the mechanical sympathy, “these trips down memory lane may get intense.”

“Intense—?”

Just as Liza says that, the kid throws himself off the platform. Cato winces at the sharp crack sound made on impact. Everyone else is frozen with shock.

Over the next few seconds, his cries emerge from the silence.

“Hm, well, considering what just happened, I’m not sure why you were so focused on winning this game, Mr. Linn.”

Ascot lets out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. ‘Far from heartless,’ it says. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I am far from heartless. I am simply questioning him.”

“No. No, no, no, this isn’t even funny!”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to ‘make light of a bad situation’ earlier?” Cato speaks up, back to usual, seemingly unaffected by what he just witnessed.

“Are you seriously siding with it?” Ascot cries out. “This is about you!”

Their conversation is cut short by a scream.

Everyone turns to see an adult dropped on the ground next to the child. With tears, they take him into their arms.

“Help,” he breathes, voice weak from the fall.

A woman, likely Cato’s mother, follows soon after. “Oh God. How did this happen? Did you do this?” She doesn’t seem worried— rather, she looks more inconvenienced.

The child’s silence seems to be enough of a response for her.

“Of course you did. Stop your crying, you did this to yourself. What, are you sad you didn’t succeed?”

“Would you just call an ambulance already?” the other parent yells.

The mother does call one eventually. Everyone’s too stunned to say anything at first. In the silence waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Beau speaks. “Man, how were you that fucked up at… like, what, 10?"

Cato looks at him, replies, “11,” and says nothing else.

Beau tries to relieve the tension, “Uh, I mean, I was pretty fucked up at 11, too.”

He doesn’t have to struggle anymore because a wailing siren catches everyone’s attention. Paramedics haul the child into the ambulance. The family is informed that Cato has a broken hip.

The ambulance drives away. “Well, aren’t we going to follow him?” the mannequin says. “Get in.”

They follow, climbing in the jeep one by one. Cato seems to retreat even farther into his corner.

They start to move—well, they should be moving, but they aren’t getting anywhere. It’s as if the jeepney is pushing against an invisible wall, force steadily building up.

“You might want to hold on to something.”

Then the jeep breaks through the solid air, and all of a sudden it’s shooting through space, thrusting the passengers backward. Outside the windows, the world speeds past in a dizzying blur, glowing white like before.

And just like that, the ride stops, leaving everyone seeing stars. The white melts away to reveal the sterile, similarly-colored walls of a hospital hallway.

“Jesus,” Tauny mumbles. Looking out the window, his face scrunches up in confusion. “How the fuck are we inside?”

“Magic. Besides, I’m sure we’ve all seen stranger things. And, no, once again, Mr. Hep, I am not Jesus.”

Tauny just rolls his eyes.

Flashback Cato is in the hall, sitting up straight on a bench outside one of the rooms. He’s much older now, and more worn out, but he still has that same thousand-yard stare. Around him, staff and patients hurry in and out of rooms. The coughing, the low rumble of wheels, and the sad attempts at comfort build up walls of noise.

A doctor walks over to him and repeatedly attempts to get his attention. “Excuse me— sir—”

He snaps out of his haze. “Sorry, yes?”

The doctor’s face twists into an apologetic smile. “There’s no easy way to say this, but your mother, she… well, she just passed away.”

Cato doesn’t say anything; he just lets out a soft “Oh.” He holds his fists a little tighter, but his face betrays no emotion. The world’s a little fuzzy.

“Yeah, um.” Even with years of experience, this doctor still seems to be unaccustomed to this part of the job. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else we could do.”

The most Cato could muster is a small nod, sending the doctor off to deliver more bad news, probably.

He looks around the hall. How many people take their final breaths behind these closed doors? How many of these staff members exit preparing condolences? How bad do they really feel? They don’t seem too bothered about it. They say sorry, then move on to the next family; just the regular workplace routine. These people are just their patients, much like that newly reaped soul was just his mother’s. To her, his fall from the treehouse was a waste of time and money. She wished he’d succeeded.

So why, when she finally gets what he always felt she deserves, does it feel like his lungs are one breath away from bursting? Why does he want to claw them out of his chest? Why does this genuinely hurt?

He wishes he could have the doctors’ indifference as he makes the long walk back to his car in the parking lot.

He makes two phone calls. It's unknown whom he calls, but his responses are short and fast, like just he wants to get this over with.

After that he just stays in the driver’s seat, not going anywhere. His grip on the steering wheel is so strong that he could tear it off. From a distance, it’s hard to tell, but he’s trembling.

When the jeepney followed him here, the trip was a lot shorter than the last one. Present Cato is in a similar state to his flashback counterpart, all lost and spaced out. Everyone’s a little uneasy, as if the tension in the parking lot’s air is potent enough to be contagious.

“Hey, man. If it’s any help, you can talk to us. We’ll listen. And. Uh.” Beau starts, but trails off when Cato remains unresponsive, his breathing quicker and leg bouncing all jittery.

Beau backpedals. “Shit, um— you don’t have to talk now! I get that. It’s,” He pauses, looking for a good word, “difficult to open up.”

“He’s right.” Savannah adds. “You can take your time.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got quite a bit of it, considering—” He glances at Liza, and promptly clears his throat. “Well. Considering.”

Savannah frowns. She can’t tell how helpful they’re really being right now. They wish they could be as comforting to Cato as he was to them, but they just don’t have his experience.

She tries to place a hand on his shoulder, but he tensed at the touch as if a shock of electricity passed through her fingers. He’s arched over himself, face hidden from view, and he’s shaking a lot more now. The stark white lights above flicker anxiously.

Savannah shifts a foot away from him. “Maybe… he just needs some space right now—?”

The parking lot plunges into darkness. It’s as if the sun were switched off. Even more panicking ensues.

“Mr. Driver, I swear to God, can your timing be any worse?”

“I assure you, Mx. Mosbirm, my timing is quite alright. And, though I wish I could take credit for this display, sadly none of it is my doing.”

“Oh, boohoo. Who else could it be?! Last I checked you’re the only one with creepy magic space powers!”

“Well, you see—“

The lights fade back in, revealing everyone to be all shaken up—except for Cato. He’s sat in his corner, much calmer now, doing his breathing exercise. Outside, Flashback Cato drives away.

Liza is the first to speak up, voice still a little wobbly. “What just happened? Was that real? Was there a blackout, or-?”

“No. There was no blackout. No nothing.” Cato answers stiffly. “Can we move on?”

“Wait, but-… what was it then?”

“I may have a theory,” the driver responds, but Cato cuts him off.

“I said, can we move on?” He says, louder this time. “After this, I drove back home.”

The mannequin hums in suspicion (it sounds like a printer whirring), but it faces forward, says, “Alright,” and transports the jeepney back to the neighborhood.

Everyone waits for something to happen, but minutes go by and the house curtains stay drawn shut with no way to peek in.

“This is boring.” Tauny groans. “Hey, war vet, do you actually do anything here?”

“Research.”

Tauny makes a face like that’s the strangest thing he’s heard the whole time. “Fucking research?”

Cato seems just as confused. “Yes? I had to study to prepare for the next school year.”

“But your mom just—”

“You know what she was like.”

“… Okay, fair, I guess.” He turns to the driver. “Can’t we just, like, speed through this?”

“Mr. Hep does have a point. I don’t see a use for this part. Let’s speed it up.”

If it weren’t for the sun rising and setting each half-minute, no one would be able to tell that time’s really passing by. Cato’s parent occasionally leaves the house. Sometimes, even when the sun is right above the house, the world goes black just like before. The flickering gets more and more frequent with each day, until, finally, two people step out onto the porch. The world slows down to its regular pace.

Flashback Cato has already made it down the porch stairs when he turns around to his parent, who hasn’t moved past the doorway.

“What is it?” he asks.

His parent looks down with a sigh, and when they turn back up, there’s a sad smile drawn across their face. “Sorry, it’s just— I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“What do you mean? I’m always at home.”

“Yes, but you almost never leave your room.”

Slowly but steadily, they walk toward their son. They’re just an inch shorter than him.

“You were much smaller the last time we all properly spent time together.” Their smile trembles a bit. “You’ve changed so much since then.”

“That’s just how life works.”

“I guess.” They hesitate before adding, “Can I hug you?… Is that alright?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just gives a fraction of a nod, and they pull him in. His hands are placed stiff over their back, as if he doesn’t know how to hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh.”

They laugh weakly. “Thanks for coming out here. I know that she… wasn’t the best.”

He frowns but they don’t see it.

“But,” they continue, “I think she’ll appreciate the visit.”

The world turns dark again, blinking tiredly.

They bring him out of the embrace. “We’ll get some flowers before going to the cemetery. How does that sound?”

“Alright.”

“Thank you again,” they whisper, taking his arm and walking out of the front yard. The two walk past the jeepney, never noticing its presence.

Liza is teary-eyed at the scene. “Aw… How was the visit?”

Cato’s crossed arms press into himself some more. “That was today. As in the day we—you said we can’t say it.”

“Oh.” Her heart can almost be heard breaking. “The… accident… didn’t happen after the visit, at the very least?”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sounds much sadder than Cato about all this.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I know.” Liza’s eyes widen. “Wait—are they okay? Your parent? If you were both on the jeep, then…”

“No, we didn’t board it.”

After a second of collective confusion, it clicked. Only five of the six were actually inside.

The jeepney parks close to the scene of the crash. It’s unsettling: all the passengers are in one piece here, but the grim reality is just down the street at the crossroads.

On one side is a quaint flower shop. On the other, the gates to the cemetery. In between lies the scene of the accident.

People are everywhere: bystanders, reporters, firefighters, medical staff. The jeepney is on its side, up in flames that are quickly being put out. The driver survived the crash, but just barely. The staff couldn’t work fast enough, and so he bleeds out on a stretcher. Inside the jeep, five bodies are covered with white sheets like bloodied Halloween ghosts. There was also a car involved, but its driver seems fine—distressed, but still uninjured.

A team tries to lift the jeep to retrieve the person trapped underneath. Cato’s parent cries in horror at the sight of their son’s body crushed beyond recognition. The medical staff pull him out and immediately blanket him with a sheet. Cato looks down at himself and back at his shrouded corpse, as if he were trying to imagine himself split open like that.

Almost all of the people in the crowd are adults, but there’s one child in the midst. Her light brown hair is tied in space buns and her dull blue cloak hangs loose off her small frame. They don’t look any older than 10. She’s sobbing, overwhelmed by the disaster.

Cato’s parent notices and kneels down to her level. They wipe away the tears from under their eyes and muster the kindest smile they could. “Hey, kid.”

She looks at them and takes a step away.

“What’s your name?” they ask.

The little girl responds so quietly that only they could hear her.

“That’s a lovely name.” They sigh. “Listen, I know it’s scary right now, but… they’ll be in a better place now. All of them.”

She’s a little more audible when she says, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” It sounds just as much, if not even more, like they’re trying to reassure themself.

She starts crying again. “What if they won’t?”

Their smile falters, and they fiddle a bit with their thumbs. “I guess we’ll never know.” There’s a pause, and then they continue: “It’s okay, just let it all out. Do you want a hug? Is that alright with you?”

“Yes.”

They hold her as she wails. They shed tears too. All the while they whisper words of comfort: “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

previous / next

#now i know my ABCs

0 notes