#'Heelies for his feelies' still gets me every time I think about it

[veryangryhedgehog]

“Mike Miller’s Second Day”, an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Mike Miller’s second day at St. Adelaide’s School for Gifted Youth opened rather abruptly at approximately 3:30 in the morning. Gradually, a series of bumps and scraping noises jostled him awake. Not that he’d been really that asleep anyway, strange bed and all. Was someone trying to break in? If so, they were being awfully loud about it.

After a minute he rolled out of the small bed, and approached the door. Mike didn’t have anything to defend himself, but he played soccer. He could just kick them. That’s how it worked, right? To his still half-asleep mind, anything was possible.

Mike opened the door an inch and peeked outside. There was someone in the room, fumbling with Doug’s door. He almost went in to tackle the intruder, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he caught the faint glow of white hair. It was Doug who was trying to break into Doug’s room. Wait. That wasn’t right. Mike blinked, trying to wake himself up more.

“...and herd. Seems to make it all just a little bit...” Doug mumbled to himself, fumbling with his key.

“Doug?” Mike asked, opening his door a little more.

Doug turned slowly, the mere quarter revolution almost seeming to make him dizzy. He blinked several times. “Oh, hey Mike,” his words slurred a little. “I... forgot you were here.”

Frowning, Mike took a step towards his roommate. “Dude, are you high?”

“What?” Doug leaned back dramatically, and almost fell over. “No, no. nononono. I’ve just had a rather... shocking evening.” He paused, as if he had just now processed the words that had come out of his mouth. “‘Shocking evening,’ that’s a good one.”

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” Mike asked. He certainly didn’t look okay.

“Oh, yeah.” Doug nodded lazily as he finally managed to get his key into the hole on the doorknob. “‘S nothing I ain’t used to.” The door opened, and Doug almost fell into the room. “Good night.”

Mike bit his lip as Doug’s door closed again. That, to say the least, was weird. He hadn’t really seemed drunk or high. That was... something else. But he shook himself. What Doug got up to was really none of Mike’s business. He was older than him anyway. Mike was concerned, but there was nothing he could do about it right now at 3:30 in the morning. He went back into his room, plopped down on the tiny, hard bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

He maybe got another hour or so of shut-eye before his alarm woke him at seven. Mike had never been able to sleep well in new places, but knowing this didn’t make getting up any easier. Breakfast wasn’t until eight, but Mike wanted to give himself extra time to make sure he wasn’t late. He didn’t need it, because fifteen minutes later, Mike found himself all ready with a lot of time to kill. Eventually he decided to take a walk in order to shake off the weirdness of this morning.

Briefly, Mike considered asking Doug to go with him, but he found his door shut with the light off. He decided that it would probably be best to let him work off whatever he was on earlier. So he passed by Doug’s room and went out into the hallway.

It was cloudy and dark out, he could tell right away from the lack of light in the common room ahead of him. What lovely weather for his first day of class. The common room seemed devoid of life, at least to the point when he reached the stairs. Just then, Jilli unpeeled herself from the shadows in the corner and smiled, waving.

“Good morning, Mi-kun,” her grin widened as an exasperated look crossed Mike’s face. “You’re up early.”

“I don’t sleep well in new places,” he said, a little lamely. “I could say the same for you.”

“I don’t sleep well period.” She laughed, a little bitterly. “Comes from years of 5AM rehearsals, I guess.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Were they really that early? I mean, I’ve heard some stuff about the idol industry, but that just seems too crazy.”

“No, it’s true. When you’re an idol, you have to live and breathe your work,” she explained. “You start to feel like a singing robot, or a certain voice synthesizer.” They both chuckled a little at that. “And sometimes it gets a little... claustrophobic.”

“How so?”

“Well, the managers and agents can be a little overbearing,” Jilli made a strange face. “Our image is controlled even more so than a lot of pop singers over here. We can’t even have boyfriends. Of course, most of us did anyway, but the pressure and paranoia tend to get to you after a while. I remember a lot of girls having really nasty breakups when their managers found out, or when they couldn’t take the secrecy anymore.”

Shaking his head, Mike’s eyebrows knitted together. “Jeez,” he said. “Sounds really depressing.”

“It is,” she admitted. “But you know, I do really miss it. The singing, I mean, and the performance. I was just about to graduate before my, uh, incident. If I’d been able to hang in just a little longer, I might have been able to become a solo artist.”

“You still could.” Mike smiled. “I haven’t heard you sing, but I’m sure a lot of people would want to hear it.”

Jilli laughed, though there was a hint of sadness behind it. “You’re a sweet kid, Mi-kun,” she patted him on the head. “But, enough about me. It’s almost time for breakfast. Have you seen Doug?” She noticed Mike’s sudden frown immediately.

“He was... out really late last night and, uh, came in a little messed up,” Mike confessed. “I thought it was probably best to just leave him alone.”

“Good call,” Jilli nodded. “It was most likely one of his sessions.”

“Sessions?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, there’s an on-site staff of psychiatrists here.” She paused momentarily as Mike’s face twisted in confusion. “Rich kid school,” was the only explanation she needed to give. “Only the best for our screwy little brains.”

But Mike was still concerned. “So, Doug...”

“I mean, he’s Doug,” she shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never noticed anything explicitly ‘wrong’ with him. But who knows. All I know is that every once in a while, those creepy people in white lab coats come to take him away, and he comes back all fucked up. He’s always back to his annoying self soon enough though.” Jilli tried to appear nonplussed, but Mike could tell that she was worried.

“What can we do to help?”

“Pff, hell if I know,” she said with a hint of frustration. “He never talks about it. Believe me, we’ve all asked. Victor, Sonia, you name it, not a word.” Jilli shook her head. “But if he really needs help, he’ll come to us. Anyway, should we get going? Sometimes they give out donuts to the early kids.”

Unfortunately, there were no donuts on this particular morning, just a large, drab room with many tables of assorted sizes scattered around its area. Metal beams stretched across the high ceiling, casting unnatural half-shadows on the tile floor. The cafeteria was about a third of the way full of students milling about or eating an early breakfast.

From somewhere in the quiet crowd, Sonia stood and waved to the two of them, and Mike followed Jilli over to a round table in a small, out of the way corner. “Good morning, Jilli, Mike,” Sonia beamed. “Is beautiful day, da?” Ah, so that’s where the sun went. Sonia had stolen it all from the sky.

“Beautiful?” Mike glanced out the long, thin windows to the vaguely miserable skyline. “I don’t know about that, but whatever you...” He broke off as he turned back to see that Sonia was no longer looking at him. Instead, her gaze was drifting away towards an empty corner, her eyes glassy, as if trying to see something she couldn’t quite make out. “Uh, Sonia? Are you—?”

“It’s alright, she does that sometimes.” Jilli waved it off. “We told you about it yesterday, didn’t we?”

Mike nodded, remembering. “That’s right, you did. Is she gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” rumbled a deep voice as Gil came up behind them. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Sonia?” He whispered, and her eyes fluttered a bit as she focused again.

“Oh, Gil,” she smiled again. “Good morning. I apologize,” Sonia bowed her head towards Mike and Jilli. “I was just, uh...” she looked confused herself. “Never mind.”

“Clearly, it was a spirit attempting to contact you from beyond the mortal realm.” Gil said sagely, placing himself in the chair next to her with that smooth, nearly catlike way which he did most things. “You must remember that you are most sensitive to these things, my lady. I will do some research in my Tomes of Knowledge and we shall see if we can communicate with it.”

“You really think it’s possible?” Sonia’s eyes widened. “Ooo, I can’t wait! I am wondering what kind of spirit it is? Perhaps a Viking! Great warrior with magic sword!”

Gil nodded. “Indeed. The possibilities are endless.”

Mike couldn’t help noticing how his smile fell half an inch, but at that moment, Jilli turned to him, raising an eyebrow, and they laughed silently as Gil and Sonia kept up their dialogue.

One by one, they went to get breakfast, and Mike couldn’t help noticing the gathering of faceless men and women in lab coats that were surrounding the perimeter of the room. They must have been the psychiatrists that Jilli was talking about. By the time the cafeteria was mostly full, there must have been a good ten to fifteen of them. Mike didn’t like it; they gave him the heebie-jeebies. But none of the others seemed particularly disturbed by their presence, so he tried to ignore the growing feeling of unease in his gut.

Just as Jilli got back to the table with a plateful of fruit and waffles, one of the psychiatrists moved to the platform on the far side of the room. The students quickly fell silent, so much so that you could have heard a pin drop. “And now,” the psychiatrist said, “a word from the Director.”

There was a crackle, and a burst of static that reverberated around the room. Mike looked up to follow the noise, and saw for the first time the speakers perched in the upper corners of the room. A strange noise came through suddenly, like someone clearing their throat, but he couldn’t quite tell because it sounded so distorted.

“Good morning, students. The new semester is here at last.” The voice boomed across the room, altered by static and modulation, but decidedly female. Probably something about its tone and inflections, Mike decided. “To those now joining us, welcome to St. Adelaide’s. To those old faces, welcome back to your home away from home.”

Jilli scoffed, and even Gil rolled his eyes. Sonia, on the other hand, had zoned out again.

Mike didn’t like this. The voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was something about it, something Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were shivers running up and down his spine.

“Remember that you are all the most gifted students in the country, possibly the world, and we look to you all as the hope of the future. And it anyone has any concerns, questions, or snide remarks, feel free to talk to the friendly men and women in lab coats. They are here to help.”

The Director continued on for a few minutes, mentioning a few other events and announcements relevant to the student body at large, before finally wrapping up her address. “Thank you as always for your patience,” she said, “and enjoy your first day of the new semester.”

With another small crackle, the speakers fell silent, and gradually the students began to converse once more. “Well,” Mike muttered, “that wasn’t ominous at all.”

Jilli and Sonia both began to laugh. “Do not worry,” Sonia reassured him. “You will become used to it after a while.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He frowned. “It all seems a little ‘Big Brother’ to me.”

“What sort of daemonic older brother do you have?” Gil asked, looking horrified.

Jilli sighed. “1984, Gil.”

He blinked. “Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies.”

The four continued talking as they ate breakfast, which if Mike was honest, was not very good. The texture of Aunt Marma’s Totally Genuine Maple Syrup™ stuck to the roof of his mouth. Finally, Jilli looked up at the clock and saw the time.

“Well,” she stretched, “first period begins soon. What’ve you got, Mike?”

“Uh...” he pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket which had his schedule. “Ugh, Algebra II.”

“What instructor have you been assigned to?” Gil asked.

“Vantas,” Mike added after looking back at the paper.

Gil nodded, a determined expression settling into his pale features. “Then this is a battle we share, my friend. If you would have it, I would accompany you to our battlefield.”

As he blinked, Mike wasn’t sure he’d gotten a word of that. “Uh...”

“He has the same class,” Sonia translated. “He wants to know if you want to walk there together.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Gil bowed his head as he took her hand. “That was my question exactly.”

“Oh, um, sure! Thanks.”

Jilli stood, grabbing her trey. “Well, Sonia and I are off to choir, see you losers later.” She waved. “Oh, and Mike, tell Doug hi for me if you see him, yeah?”

“Will do,” he nodded, standing as well.

“You coming, Sonia?”

“I will catch up with you in few,” she smiled, before beginning to zone out again.

Gil’s gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment before he shook himself. “Come, young apprentice,” he said to Mike, his coat swishing dramatically as he began to walk. “The battle of mathematics awaits us.”

Mike would have probably gotten lost in the crowd had it not been for the fact that Gil stood out like a sore thumb. Students seemed to give him space wherever he walked. He didn’t seem to mind. Gradually, as the crowd broke away into the various directions of their classes, Mike was able to hear himself think again. Gil was silent a few steps ahead of him, seemingly lost in thought. Mike wondered just what went on in his head. He seemed like a really smart guy, so why did he persist in his delusions? Did he honestly believe that he was a warlock with infinite power? Or was there some other reason? Mike didn’t think he had the guts to outright ask him.

“So, Sonia,” he asked instead. That was what guys talked about, right? “Are you two—?”

“Our love transcends time and space,” he intoned. “I have loved her for four-thousand years, and I will love her for four-thousand more.”

“So, it’s complicated, huh?” Mike didn’t know what to say to this guy. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a role-playing game with method actors.

There was almost no one in the hallway anymore, and Mike was sure he’d seen that motivational cat poster just a second ago. This place was like a maze. “Hey Gil,” he asked. “Are you sure we’re going the right...?”

Gil looked to the left and the right, then abruptly turned on his heel to face Mike. “A warning for you, Michael Miller.” His golden eye almost seemed to freeze Mike in place. “Your wariness of this place is not unwarranted. Don’t ignore your intuition. It may just save your life.” He wasn’t joking. “There are forces at work in this school that will attempt to pull your very being apart. I’ve been affected by it, Sonia, that ignoramus you call a roommate, all of us have. If I were you, I’d watch where you step.” It was not a threat, more like a warning. Gil seemed genuinely worried. And for a moment, Mike thought that he might actually understand what he was trying to say.

But the second passed as quickly as it came, and Gild grinned knowingly once more. “Now, on to slay this dragon built of overly complicated equations.” He started walking again, laughing manically, and after hesitating for a moment, Mike followed him.

Needless to say, he didn’t pay any attention during class that day as teachers handed out syllabi and repeated the same information over and over until Mike thought he’d never forget that three absences equaled a tardy. But he had too many questions running through his mind to care about any of that. He had had this lingering feeling that something was strange here, off even, except that everyone around him seemed so used to it that he thought he might be the weird one. “Don’t ignore your intuition,” Gill had told him.

But wait, why was he listening to Gil? He was delusional! It was probably just one of his wizard roleplaying things again. Yet something about what he’d said, the look in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Gil had known what he was talking about. That hadn’t been some sort of weird fantasy metaphor, Mike could somehow tell. He was right, something was wrong here, Mike could feel it. And he thought the others could too, even if they didn’t talk about it.

There were so many mysteries, so many questions left unanswered. Mike decided to make a list. That would help him organize his thoughts.

1). Who was the Director? Yes, she was a crazy, modulated voice over a speaker system, but why? Why bother hiding her face and voice from the student body? It certainly made her intimidating and slightly creepy, but wasn’t enough of a reason by itself.

2). The psychiatrists. He didn’t know of any other school that needed ten of them. And the explanation of “rich kid school” simply didn’t cut it. To be honest, they seemed more like a security force than a group of doctors.

3). Why was everyone here so weird? Not just in their personalities, though the school was nearly stranger than a superhero’s rogue’s gallery in that respect. But more so in the way everyone seemed so nonplussed about all of these other questions Mike had. They didn’t care about the psychiatrists, or the Director, or the other host of strange things. Or maybe they were just really good at hiding it. And finally,

4). Doug. What the hell were they doing to him in his “sessions” that made him act like that? He’d hardly been able to walk properly. In addition, though he hadn’t really known him for that long, it seemed entirely out of Doug’s character to not talk to anybody about it. Most importantly, why was everyone not harassing him about it non-stop until he gave in and told them what was going on? That was the only way that they could help him, after all.

Maybe these questions wouldn’t be so confusing after he’d been here for a few months, but to be honest, he didn’t want to become numb to the strangeness like everyone else. He couldn’t handle not knowing these things. And if no one was going to help him, then he guessed that he’d just have to find the answers himself.

Of all the questions he had, one stuck out as the easiest to answer: Doug. He also had the distinct feeling that if he answered this one question, then all the others would begin to fall into place. Like dominos.

The rest of the day passed slower than paint drying, all of the thoughts and confusion cycling through his mind every time he saw a lab coat pass, especially whenever the students turned away from them. Finally, classes were done for the day, the final bell rang, and according to his schedule there was an hour before dinner. So Mike headed back across the snowy path to the dorm. Maybe Doug would be feeling better by now. Either way he needed to drop off his backpack, which was as good an excuse as any.

The light was on in the room, Mike could see it in the wide gap in the bottom of the door from the end of the hallway. At the very least, Doug was up. Mike didn’t know if he had known him for long enough to just knock on his door, but he ended up being lucky. When he pushed open the heavy door, Mike turned to see Doug at the bathroom mirror, trying in vain to smooth down his hair. He hadn’t noticed this morning in the dark, but now Mike saw that Doug’s hair was now even more static-y and gravity-defying than it had been yesterday. His sweatshirt sleeves were pulled up to prevent them getting wet, and Mike couldn’t help noticing a strange, metallic bracelet on his right wrist as it caught the bathroom light.

“Oh, hey Mike,” Doug grinned lazily as he saw him though the mirror. His speech was still a little slow, but he seemed much more normal now. Or at least, normal for Doug anyway. “How was your first day of class? Want to jump off a bridge yet?”

He didn’t even know, but Mike decided not to open that can of worms just yet. Maybe just peek inside the lid. “Almost,” he nodded instead. “Maybe give it another day.” Alright, now was the time. “Hey, so what happened last night? You were in really late.”

Doug paused for a second, before rolling his sleeves back down and turning to properly face Mike. “I’m sure the others told you about my ‘sessions’ right? Jilli, I’m guessing.”

“Two for two.” Mike nodded.

Sighing, Doug shook his head. “Listen,” he began, “the last guy I told even a little about what really goes on in this place, he disappeared. Just gone from the dorm one day and never came back. I don’t want that to happen to you, or any of the others. The only reason I’m even telling you this much is because I know you’ll just keep asking about it if I don’t. You’re that kinda guy, right?”

Mike looked down sheepishly. There went his whole plan down the toilet. “That makes three. But if you tell us, maybe we can help you.”

Much to his surprise, Doug started laughing. Whatever the joke was, Mike didn’t get it. “Your optimism is admirable,” Doug admitted. “But in this case, optimism alone won’t cut it. If I tell you not to go asking questions you’ll probably just do it anyway, so I’ll say this instead: keep your head down, Mike. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this place alive.”

He began to scoot past him towards the door. “Now, I hear that Jilli and the nerds are playing a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons. So I’m gonna go crash it. If you want to come along, first one in gets to make the wizard cry.”

As he watched Doug wheel himself out of the room, Mike hesitated. That was the second vague warning he’d received today, and Mike wasn’t sure whose advice to follow. Doug told him to keep his head down, but Gil had told him to trust his intuition, which in turn was telling him to start asking questions and solving mysteries.

As much as Doug warned him against it, Mike really wanted to help him, and part of him couldn’t ignore the weirdness of this place. So, okay, he guessed he’d step carefully, but that didn’t mean he had to stop asking questions.

“Yeah,” he grinned at Doug, who was waiting in the doorway. “Let’s do it. I’ve always wanted to make a paladin fall.”

[everyman0]

WALLS TO BREAK US

so i know i dropped all communication for the past several months...and evans fucking journal might have you believe i sat on my ass the entire time but that isnt the case. I didnt intend on sharing this information, frankly. but my time is running out now, evans already gone. this account of events will be all i have left.

i cant leave this place. i dont even know where the fuck i am supposed to be to begin with.

there is a house. a neighborhood. stores. a town. but nothing has a name.

there are people, but despite the gift of sight i was given, i see nothing of them. like empty thoughts given a shell to walk around in.

i thought at first, a couple months ago when i was first allowed to walk outside again, that they were real and that i was simply too overwhelmed with shock to really notice what was wrong here. but now i see it. i see it because there is nothing to see. these people aren't people at all, more like ghosts. 

at least im not entirely alone. there's still the house and asterion.

ive walked to the store many times, even got assaulted in the parking lot. Was that guy a ghost too? I dont know. but i havent only gone to the store - ive walked around the entire town. know what i finally realized, several days after i had made that exploratory journey?

there are no cars here. none being sold, none being driven, absolutely fucking nothing. no bikes either. no skates, no skateboards, no heelies wheelies or fucking feelies. not a single mode of transportation of any kind.

theres a bus stop though! thank fuck for that! oh wait, it's fucking useless. i have not once seen a bus in this god forsaken place.

imagine the anguish i felt upon realizing that despite being able to steal groceries just fine, i cant even hope to steal a car to drive as far away as i can from this hellhole. but it doesnt stop there.

of course it doesnt.

so alright, no cars. but i still had my legs, right? (and still do, somehow.)

so i figured if i cant drive away, i could at least saunter the fuck out of this place and maybe determine some sense of location on planet fucking earth. i set out. i walked in one direction from the house to the town and onward. and onward. and onward. for five fucking hours.

i found nothing.

but it wasnt your average nothingness like that of a long rural road, as it had originally appeared to me. no...instead, i eventually encountered what i call the Edge. here, the road stutters into an impossible blackness. here, if you turn your head, you can see how the blackness runs parallel to the world around you, bordering everything for miles. real truman show type shit.

the real kicker is when i discovered that only i can see it.

like any good scientist, i did some experimenting. kicked some cans, threw some rocks, all hurtling in the direction of the black wall. to my surprise, the items phased through it. swallowed might be a better word. i couldnt see or hear if the objects landed on the other side, if there was even a side to land on beyond the boundaries of ink. so then i decided i needed an extra set of eyes, and brought evan along a few days later.

this is the first and last time i let him outside in my care, and for good reason.

we arrived at the Edge, and evan was immediately annoyed at me as i had stopped walking just a few feet before the black wall. i asked him to explain what the problem was. he was like, "dude, you told me there was some shit i had to see and we have been walking forever. where the fuck is it? is this it? because it looks like a whole lot of fucking nothing."

i then asked, "what does this nothing look like to you?"

evan was growing more confused and angry, but i didnt want him to know what i did until i knew what he did first. i didnt want to contaminate his perception by revealing my own. i needed to be thorough and absolutely sure of our experience.

he threw his arms in the air in frustration, "a road, vin. it looks like a road, the same fuckin' cracked asphalt we've been following for miles. forwards and backwards, road."

evan took a step forward, into the blackness. i saw the tip of his foot disappear, sliced by the unfathomable wall. evan didnt seem to notice anything different, standing there with his arms crossed. so then i knew at least one thing for certain: only i could see the wall.

however, until seeing evan's foot just barely phasing through the wall, it hadnt occurred to me if i could pass through it too...or at least touch it. before, when i had been throwing cans and such, i didnt dare get too close to the black edge. i had no idea what would happen, and wasnt particularly interested in finding out at the time. all i could gather was that, just like the rest of the town and even the house herself, it was designed to keep things inside.

as it turns out, evan was not one of those things intended to stay. i stood there pondering silently, and watched as evan began an impatient pacing along the length of the wall. an imperfect, wobbly hobble across the street and back; i saw arms and legs flash in and out of the blackness as evan walked, still taking no notice. evan couldnt see the difference like i could, and he wasnt the prisoner these walls were meant to encase. so who was?

well obviously it's me. at least, i'm somehow a part of the equation i think. and then i figured now was no better a time as any for me to make my approach and reach out - touch the wall, see what happens, inwardly hope it just kills me on the spot, and so on.

but right as i had decided this, i hear evan angrily spitting an expletive and turn, marching off beyond the pitch black walls. guess he was tired of waiting on me, and you know ev - always runs in head first. i word this story now as if this is something i remember fondly about evan, but let me be clear: in that moment of time, standing in the middle of some fucking road behind a maliciously black prison wall, a wall of which evan was now beyond and impossible for me to see any longer? leaving me, alone?

i fucking hate how much of a hardheaded ass evan is sometimes.

i was so caught off guard by evan's sudden disappearance beyond the veil of the Edge that what that meant didn't register until several seconds later when i found myself clamoring towards the wall. i yelled for evan, then screamed for him. my hands meet the black surface with a loud plang as if the wall was made of glass, but the way the wall felt against my skin is indescribable. i wailed my fists against the presumed surface, the noise of the impacts reverberating loudly. this lasted a few minutes.

evan eventually came back...and he seemed just as he were before, except maybe even more annoyed as he began to once again pester me on why i was just standing there wasting time. he got his first round of bitching out before he noticed that i had tears running down my face, looking disheveled.

he changed his tune and asked me what was wrong, what the fuck happened. his confusion was telling - he hadnt heard me screaming for him to come back. i wiped my eyes, faked a chuckle, and told him it was nothing to worry about and that maybe it was best to go home for now and try some other time when im more 'in the present.'

i decided that i wasnt going to tell evan about the Edge, at least not right then. i needed time to gather myself back together, since the resulting panic attack had taken a lot out of me for one day. But even after i had taken that time...

i didnt want evan to know about the wall. fuck, i know its selfish, but i didnt want evan to know that he had the ability to leave this wretched fuckhole but i didnt, that i was trapped and he wasnt. its not because i wanted to spare evan the heartbreak of knowing his friend was doomed...but because i didnt want evan to get the idea that he could abandon me without consequence.

i didnt want evan to use this knowledge as an escape plan to get away from me.

not wanting evan to leave me wasnt the only reason i didnt tell him though. there was still so much i was uncertain about; hell, i still wasnt sure if just being outside the house put evan at risk. i took a chance in taking him to the wall and he lasted well enough during that time...but given what was discovered, even if evan could sit out on the lawn every day and not a thing touch him...the very existence of the wall was a dangerous game of chance.

this is why i did not want evan to go back outside again after this incident. i couldnt trust that he would truly be safe...and i couldnt trust that he wouldn't just run away on me. i completely fucked myself in both ways, though. he's out there getting hurt or dying or already dead because i pushed him far enough to truly fucking hate me.

even now, ive no idea what happened to evan after he ran out of the house. Maybe he never made it past the wall again.

maybe this post is the first time he’s hearing about it.*

*IT IS, YOU SMART BOY. I COULDN’T JUST KILL HIM BEFORE YOU EXPOSED YOURSELF AS A HIDEOUS EXCUSE OF A FRIEND. THE PAIN WILL ADD FLAVOR! MAYBE I’LL GIVE YOU A TASTE.

>>

[islelight]

“ every time i see you i just feel more alone. ”

having feelies in my heelys // @existends​  //  closed 

      HER  VISITS  TO  TWILIGHT  TOWN  have  been  getting  more  &  more  sporadic  since  —  since  it  happened .  it  dropped  very  quickly  from  every  couple  of  days  to  once  a  week  to  hardly  once  a  month .  this  was  unintentional  —  well  it  was  unintentional  at  first .  she  just  can’t  bear  the  thought  of  being  there ,  bear  the  thought  of  seeing  him .

      SHE’D  THOUGHT  HER  HEART  would  mend  faster  than  this .  after  all  what  were  they  …  friends ?  close  friends  at  best ?  they  were  never  in  a  state  of  being  together  despite  all  the  times  they  were  together ,  all  the  times  it  felt  like  they  were  together  &  all  the  times  she’d  wished  they  were  together .  but  they  weren’t ,  they’re  not  &  now  they  never  will  be .  &  yet  she  still  feels  her  heart  ache  for  him  as  if  he  was  a  lost  love  of  years  gone  by .  how  cruel  it  is  for  fate  to  treat  her  this  way .

      SHE’S  IN  TOWN  FOR  for  olette’s  birthday .  the  gang  had  made  sure  to  invite  several  weeks  in  advance  considering  kairi  tends  to  make  her  schedule  inflexible .  since  arriving  she’s  holed  herself  in  her  apartment .  not  to  be  a  recluse  or  anything  she’s  just  afraid  of  what  would  happen  if  she  came  across  him  on  the  streets .  so  she’s  just  been  communicating  with  the  others  primarily  through  her  gummiphone .

      WHEN  THE  EVENING  FINALLY  arrives  to  go  out  &  head  out  to  olette’s  house  she  can  feel  herself  trembling  from  head  to  toe .  she  didn’t  think  she’d  be  this  nervous  though  maybe  she  shouldn’t  be  surprised .  it  has  been  a  long  time  since  she’s  seen  them  —  seen  him .  hopefully  it  won’t  be  so  bad ,  hopefully  she’s  just  making  things  worse  in  her  head  &  everything  will  be  same  as  usual .  

      SHE’S  ALMOST  AFRAID  TO  knock  on  the  door  when  she  reaches  olette’s  front  door ;  afraid  for  the  inevitable ,  afraid  to  see  the  rush  of  all  the  familiar  faces  —  one  in  particular  &  just  have  herself  completely  shut  down  again  like  she  always  does .  she  could  just  run  right  now  &  save  herself  from  a  world  of  hurt .  she  could  just  tell  olette  she  caught  a  stomach  bug  &  couldn’t  come  she’s  sure  she  would  understand .

      BUT  SHE  HEARS  A  SOFT  COUGH  behind  her  &  almost  jumps  out  of  her  skin .  she  hadn’t  heard  anyone  walk  up  behind  her .  guess  she’d  been  to  preoccupied  with  her  own  nerves .  as  she  readies  herself  to  turn  around  &  see  who  the  other  guest  is  who’d  snuck  up  on  her  she  finds  herself  begging  in  her  mind  —  please  don’t  let  it  be  him ,  please  don’t  let  it  be  him ,  please  don’t  let  it  be  him  …

      &  AS  IF  THE  GODS  THEMSELVES  cursed  her  for  even  thinking  of  him  there  he  stands  in  front  of  her ,  roxas  the  boy  that  broke  her  heart .  did  he  get  more  handsome  somehow  in  her  time  away ?  no ,  it’s  probably  just  her  thinking  that  because  she  hasn’t  seen  him  in  a  long  time ,  hasn’t  seen  him  &  she’s  missed  him .  god  she  hates  admitting  that  even  if  it’s  just  to  herself .  

      BLUE  MEETS  BLUE  as  their  gaze  momentarily  meets  each  others .  they’re  both  quick  to  look  away  however .  she  feels  rude  not  to  greet  him  in  some  way  so  spares  him  a  quick  hello  before  swiftly  knocking  on  the  door .  guess  her  plan  of  escape  is  futile  now .

      THE  FEW  MINUTES  OF  SHARED  silence  between  them  before  the  door  is  answered  feel  like  agony .  it’s  clear  both  of  them  want  to  be  as  far  away  from  each  other  as  possible  but  have  no  choice  but  to  just  stand  there  until  they’re  allowed  in .  at  times  like  this  kairi  wishes  things  were  the  way  they  used  to  be , before  she  kissed  him ,  before  she  messed  everything  up  &  left  them  both  in  this  limbo  of  something  little  less  than  friendship  now .

      THE  DOOR  FINALLY  OPENS  &  the  pair  of  them  are  greeted  with  olette’s  beaming  face  (  though  it  dampers  slightly  when  she  sees  who  exactly  are  next  to  each  other  at  the  doorstep  )  they  both  bustle  in  the  townhouse  almost  immediately  making  their  ways  to  seperate  sides  of  the  room .  yeah ,  that’s  about  what  she  expected . 

      THE  PARTY  CARRIES  ON  LIKE  THAT  for  most  of  the  night  &  kairi  can’t  decide  if  she’s  grateful  for  disappointed .  maybe  admittedly  she  wants  to  talk  to  him  at  some  point  …  eventually .  she  just  doesn’t  know  how .  she  hopes  there’s  some  point  they’ll  be  able  to  talk ,  that  it  won’t  always  be  like  this .  for  even  with  whatever  she’s  feeling  &  he’s  feeling  they  still  were  friends  …  she  still  cares  for  him .  admittedly  she  cares  for  him  more  than  she’d  like  to  say  but  that’s  an  entirely  different  issue .  

      SHE’S  BY  THE  PUNCH  BOWL  grabbing  juice  later  in  the  evening  when  she  sees  him  approaching .  while  she  instantly  feels  the  urge  to  flee  the  area  like  a  panicked  rabbit  she  decides  to  stay .  things  aren’t  going  to  get  better  if  she  doesn’t  do  anything  about  them .  when  he  draws  near  she  cracks  a  half  smile ,  trying  to  ease  the  tension .  she  asks  him  about  the  party  &  he  ignores  her .  waits  a  moment  &  asks  how  he’s  doing  &  he  again  ignores  her .  she’s  about  to  give  up  &  just  leave  when  he  speaks . 

              “    EVERY  TIME  I  SEE  YOU  I  JUST  FEEL  MORE  ALONE    ”  

       IT’S  A  VULNERABILITY  she’s  not  used  to  seeing  in  him .  all  those  time  before  it’s  been  her  pouring  her  heart  for  him ,  crying  for  him ,  absolutely  bleeding  for  him .  but  perhaps  —  now  it’s  time  for  that  to  change .  

      IT’S  A  BIG  THING  to  admit  loneliness .  kairi  didn’t  wanna  do  it .  lots  of  people  don’t  ever  do  it .  so  she’ll  admire  him  for  being  brave  enough  to  open  himself  up  for  her  like  this .  but  it  doesn’t  change  the  fact  that  the  words  themselves  make  her  undeniably  &  irrefutably  angry . 

      HOW  DARE  HE  COME  TO  HER  &  complain  of  his  loneliness  when  it  was  he  who  did  this ?  he  who  gave  her  back  the  heart  she  offered  him  shattered  into  pieces  &  said  “    i  can’t    ” .  sure  perhaps  she  might  have  made  some  questionable  decisions  leading  up  to  it  but  he  was  the  one  who  decided  to  pull  the  plug ,  who  decided  her  offer  of  sacrifice  wasn’t  good  enough  &  left  her  in  the  dark .  how  dare  he ?

      SHE  FEELS  HER  ANGER  tighten  up  her  entire  body ,  her  fists  clenching  up  as  she  looks  back  at  him  with  hurt  &  frustration .  for  a  moment  kairi  forgets  about  the  glass  of  punch  in  her  hand  &  it  shatters  in  her  grip ,  spilling  juice  everywhere .  she  feels  the  sting  of  what  is  undoubtedly  several  cuts  from  the  broken  glass  but  she  doesn’t  care .  she’s  too  angry  &  hurt  to  focus  on  that  right  now .  

      SHE  DOESN’T  EVEN  KNOW  IF  she  can  give  him  can  speak  to  him  in  this  state .  she  has  so  many  things  she  wants  to  say  to  him ,  wants  to  scream  at  him .  but  it  would  never  be  enough .  he  would  never  be  able  to  understand  the  pain  he’s  caused  her .  she  makes  a  move  to  walk  away ,  stepping  on  glass  shards  with  her  black  leather  boots .  after  a  few  steps  she  turns  back  &  casts  him  a  look  ❛    maybe  ask  yourself  who  caused  that  loneliness  &  who  else  was  effected  by  it  before  coming  to  me  about  it .  ❜

[veryangryhedgehog]

“Nothing to See Here, Just a Never-Ending Pile of Shit, Right on my Head” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Nothing to See Here, Just a Never-Ending Pile of Shit Right on my Head

Of all the students at St. Adelaide’s, of all the tragic backstories and fucked up personalities, Doug Bailey had the worst, and was the most. And no one knew it. To most people, Doug was just that kid who was there. True, he was a bit of an oddity, with his bright white hair and his tendency to slide in and out of rooms on Heelys. People often joked that he used them to “escape his feelies”, but no one even knew what his “feelies” were. So mostly, they wrote him off as a weirdo and forgot about him. Even his friends. There was just something about him that made people not want to know.

They didn’t.

Of course, Doug’s life didn’t start out full of tragedy and woe. That wouldn’t be good storytelling. Even so, Doug had been a loser since the beginning. He was the youngest of three, and from early childhood it was clear that he was never going to measure up. His brother Gordon amazed people with his intellect and knowledge. His sister Clover charmed everyone around her with her passion and ready smile. Doug was just kinda there. He wasn’t clever, or charismatic. All Doug was really good for was the occasional snide remark.

Though no one ever said as much, people must have wondered what had gone wrong with him. By all accounts he should have been just as remarkable as his siblings. His mother Christine Bailey had a trifecta of Ph. Ds in Biology, Physics, and Psychology, and was a professor at Yale. His father Tim Bailey had received his medical degree at Stanford and had since written several books that had allegedly “Changed the American Diet”. At least, that’s what he had proudly scribed on all of their covers.

So how had Doug happened? No one had any idea. For the first twelve years of his life it seemed as if he’d simply been a fluke of creation; that somehow the brilliant genes of his progenitors had mixed in such a way to create a perfectly ordinary child. At least that’s what he assumed, until the results of his “mandatory IQ test” came in the mail.

He’d been forced to take it by his parents, who said there was no way a son of theirs wouldn’t be inducted into the Gifted and Talented program, which in his humble opinion, was a bullshit name. But who could have predicted the results? Because as his mother tearfully explained, the torn envelope crushed in the hand clutched to her chest, Doug was apparently a genius.

“Are you sure he didn’t just break the test?” Gordon asked over his physics book, as they all sat down to dinner that evening.

“Gordon!” his mother scolded. “That’s not appropriate. Apologize to your brother.”

“I’m sorry I doubted your entirely obvious genius, squirt,” he muttered, before turning back to the textbook.

Rolling her eyes, Clover smiled down at him. “I’m sure the test is right, Doug’s just been holding back, right Doug?”

He knew that she meant it as a compliment, but that phrase would grow to be his curse. Doug should do better in school, if he only “applied himself”. Even the very words sent shivers up his spine. What the fuck did that even mean? If he actually gave a shit? If he just tried a little harder? But he saw the already developing obsession with scholastic excellence in his fellow classmates, how they would check their grades every few minutes, how they would flip about tests. He simply couldn’t handle that kind of pressure.

So he did… okay. But that of course was never enough for his parents. Once every semester he would hand in his report card, and wait for the inevitable sigh and the “sit down, Doug,” from his father. Then he’d get the same speech he’d gotten the last semester, and the one before that. Like clockwork.

He wished every time that something would distract his parents from his “failing” grades. Anything. Well, anything but what he actually got.

Because for the final semester of eighth grade, he handed his report card, covered with Cs and Ds, to his father, and braced for the worst. But his father had merely glanced blearily at it, said “That’s fine, Doug,” and turned back to his writing.

Doug was frankly a little shocked, and wondered if he was dreaming. It all seemed so surreal that it couldn’t have actually happened. He couldn’t have gotten off the hook that easily. As would quickly become a theme in his life, he didn’t. Because that evening when his parents sat down to dinner with the two boys, they had some news.

“Clover is… sick,” his mother broke the silence finally.

“Well yes, of course, we know that.” Gordon frowned. She’d been bedridden for weeks. But they’d just assumed mono or something like that.

His father looked down at his plate. He hadn’t eaten anything. “It’s… it’s cancer.” His voice nearly broke on the last word. “Brain cancer.”

There was silence for a good minute. “What?” Doug asked finally, after looking over at Gordon, nearly frozen to his chair. “You’re… you’re shitting us, right?”

The fact that they didn’t even scold him for his language said volumes.

He couldn’t believe it. It didn’t seem real. Cancer… cancer was something that happened to other people. Something that distant relatives or friends of friends got and you had to pretend to feel sorry for. It didn’t happen to sisters. Not to Clover.

Late that night, as he was failing to fall asleep, he heard his father cry for the first time in his life. It came soft and muffled from his parents’ room, and it almost destroyed him. If his father was crying, then the world really was ending. He was never going to fall asleep now.

Doug stood, and padded across the dark room, taking care to avoid the piles of discarded clothes. The old wooden door creaked a little, and he cringed, but no one seemed to notice the sound. Before he knew what he was really doing, he found himself at Clover’s door. He opened it, just a sliver, just to make sure that she was still his sister.

“Hi Doug,” her voice came from the room, exhausted, but decidedly awake. He didn’t question how she knew it was him. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No,” he hesitated for a moment, before entering the room. She turned on a lamp, and patted the bed next to her. She didn’t look any different. Her cheeks were still their usual rose and her hair fell in dark ringlets around her face. More than anything, she just looked tired.

They sat there for a moment, before Doug finally broke the silence. “Mom and Dad told us about…”

“The cancer?” she finished for him finally.

“Are… are you gonna… die?”

She looked off to the far side of her room, her jaw tightening. “Probably,” she said finally.

“Why?” Doug asked, shaking his head. “Why does it have to be you? You’re… you’re the most amazing person I know. You’re the only one who’s never… never wanted anything from me.”

“I don’t know why things happen, Doug,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s some kind of great plan, and I got sick for a reason. Maybe it’s to motivate you to get off your ass,” she laughed bitterly. “Or maybe there is no meaning, and everything is random.”

“I don’t know which one’s better.”

She laughed again, but hard this time. “I don’t think anyone does. Wanna hear my opinion?” Clover’s blue eyes glowed in the low light.

He nodded.

“I think that you have to make your own meaning in the world. I think that you have to take what this universe hands you, and make something out of it.”

“I don’t think I understand,” he admitted.

“I’m not sure if I do either.”

He thought about those words for a long time, for the months and months that it took for Clover’s body to finally give up. They had taken her in for Chemo, of course, and Doug had watched helplessly as her hair fell out and her eyes grew cloudy and she ceased to even look human anymore. And it almost killed him. He didn’t want to remember her like that, the dead look in her eyes, the pain omnipresent in the tenseness of her shoulders, the complete smoothness of her face and head where her beautiful hair used to flow freely.

Of course, it didn’t work. Nor did any of the other treatments they tried, and gradually as the months passed, Clover just got weaker and weaker, until she could hardly lift her head to say hello anymore. By the time Doug’s freshman year of high school was nearing its end, she just slept. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the day when the doctor had gathered what remained of his family together, his parents and his brother and him, and told them that Clover was never going to wake up again.

They did what any sane person would do, and pulled the plug. If she was going to be a vegetable, not able to think and feel, to laugh or cry, to enchant people with her kind words and plentiful smiles, then there was no point in letting her suffer any longer. “It’s time,” his father said, hugging his mother tightly.

Doug left the room.

He didn’t want to remember her as she was, before the end. But that was the singular image that kept flashing through his mind. The deathly pale skin, hollow cheeks. Stop it stop it, go away. I want to remember my sister, not the Cancer. He found his way to the too sterile hospital bathroom, and threw up.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The next night, he couldn’t sleep.

The night after, he couldn’t sleep.

The night after that—

The night after that—

All he could see was the Cancer.

It stalked him, haunted his every waking moment. He saw It during class, in the morning, in the evening, while he was not eating, while he was not sleeping. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Hollow eyes, hollow cheeks, lips stretched thin, not his sister, couldn’t be. It was Cancer.

Finally, after a week, he simply collapsed in the middle of his Bio final. But even in his dreams he couldn’t escape It. It was there, watching him in the dark, smiling, laughing at him. It loved the fact that It had ruined the image of his sister forever. It cackled with mad glee, the skin on Its face stretched grotesquely over Its cracked lips.

He didn’t remember much of the next few hours. The teacher poked him, and began to panic when nothing she did woke him up, apparently, and someone dragged him to the nurse’s office. When he finally did wake up, it was nearly two. There was no point in trying to go back to class now, and he wasn’t sure he could stand if he tried. How many days had it been since he’d eaten? He couldn’t exactly remember. There was no point, he couldn’t keep anything down anyway.

Maybe if he’d had the strength to get up and walk out, he wouldn’t have met Monte. Maybe his life wouldn’t have gotten so out of control.

Monte was a junior, and quite obviously off his gourd on pot most of the time. There were the stoner kids, with their overlarge hoodies and baggy pants, and then there was Monte. When Doug had first seen him on the cot next to him he was wearing a dad shirt covered in flamingos, and his large feet were enrobed in socks and sandals like some kind of Tibetan monk.

“And sleeping beauty finally awakes!” he said, grinning lethargically. “Thought I was gonna have to start mackin’ on you for a second there.”

“What... happened?” Doug rubbed his eyes.

The stoner shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “You’ve been snoring away since I got here. Does that happen a lot?”

“No,” Doug replied, shaking his head. “But I haven’t slept in... a few days.” He didn’t know why he was telling any of this to the random guy on the cot next to him, but something about him just made Doug want to tell him things. He seemed... cool.

“A few days? What kinda damage you dealin’ with?”

Doug shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He liked this dude, but not enough to tell him his life story.

“Suit yourself. I’m Monte, by the by.”

“Doug.”

A few minutes later, the nurse came by, noticed that Doug was awake, at least nominally, and nodded at him, acknowledging that he was going to camp out here for the rest of the day. She then moved onto Monte, and handed him a small, metal tube that looked kind of like a pen. “Only one,” she admonished, and moved back over to behind the curtain.

Monte put the pen to his lips and took a deep puff of it. It smelled oddly like cotton candy. He noticed Doug staring a second later.

“Yeah, it is exactly what you think it is,” he laughed. “I’ve got epilepsy, ya know, seizures? The pot helps. Calms my body down, ya know?”

Doug nodded, and kept staring. A thought began to bloom at the back of his mind.

And it seemed Monte could read it, for he glanced over to the curtain, and then leaned over conspiratorially. “You wanna hit?”

He hesitated for a moment, the pen hanging in the air between them. Would this help him? Would it get rid of the Cancer that even now was flashing behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes? Doug reached out, and took the pen.

“Go easy on it,” Monte instructed. “Though you might not actually get high the first time anyway.”

Doug took a slow, deliberate puff of it, and coughed a little, even though it wasn't actual smoke, more like steam. He paused. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Give it a minute,” Monte said, and Doug did. After a little while, he realized that he was, for the first time in weeks, actually a little calm. The Cancer wasn’t gone, not entirely, but it seemed... further away somehow, slightly less important. Like a bird with a blanket on its cage. But still, it wasn’t entirely enough.

Monte seemed to notice his hesitation. “Keep in mind,” he offered, “that this is shitty medical J. If you wanna real high you’ve gotta get the real stuff, ya know?”

Every shitty DARE documentary he’d ever been shown flashed through Doug’s mind. He was supposed to say no to shit like this, wasn’t he? But Monte wasn’t pressuring him, not like everything he’d ever been told, he was just offering. And Doug was curious. And slowly getting desperate.

“You’d... give me pot?” he asked. “Why? Couldn’t you get in trouble?”

“Why not?” Monte shrugged. “You seem like a cool dude. And no offense, but you look like you need it.”

So that day after the final bell rang, Doug followed Monte under the bleachers to get high. And it worked. For a little while, he didn’t have to think about his grades, or his thoroughly broken family, or the Cancer. For a few hours, he could just laugh with his new friend and not worry about anything at all.

The summer was spent chilling with Monte and his friends, getting high in his dad’s garage, driving around the suburban wasteland. There was Jonah, who was a drummer that all the girls went nuts for, and Jake, who did theater and was constantly teased for it. He claimed he only did it so he had an excuse to be in the auditorium after school with girls. And then there was Morgan. Morgan, was... a little weird. A little twitchy. He hung with the others but they still kept a slight distance from him. Monte told Doug later that he did some... harder stuff. He was a little fucked.

But even with Morgan among them, Doug felt awesome, for the first time in years. It was... cool, he supposed, to hang out with these older guys. He felt cool. He even got offered a beer. It tasted bitter and weird and he didn’t really like it, but he forced it down anyway.

Of course, the universe just couldn’t give one to him. Uh uh, not allowed, old Dougy never gets a break. He felt like it was a written rule somewhere that he was not allowed to have anything good in his life, and if he did, it had to be snatched away from him as quickly as possible. To be fair, what happened after that was mostly his fault.

The problem with chemistry-altering drugs, Doug soon found, was that your brain quickly got used to the imbalance and learned to work around it. He’d learned that in Psychology, he was pretty sure. If he’d taken it slow, only used when the dreams or insomnia got really bad, he probably could have kept going for years. But he got greedy. Like any sane person would, he enjoyed not being constantly plagued by the growing pit of problems in his stomach, the weight on his chest. He just wanted to forget it all, all the time. And so he did. All the time. And by the end of the summer, it became harder and harder to do so.

By the end of the summer he began to feel the Cancer pressing at him again, staring at him through the blanket of its cage, just waiting for the day when the bars got thin and the blanket got worn and it could break free once again. He didn’t want to, but he could almost see it. He started to sleep less again, and when he did, the dreams began to return. He could feel himself slipping back into that pit, regardless of how much he smoked. And school only made it worse.

One day he was at a football game with Monte and his friends, not really watching, just hitting a toke behind the bleachers and laughing at the muscle-bound football players. When the band came out they hooted and hollered as loud as they could to try and distract Jonah, and all had a good laugh. But it didn’t feel the same, it was harder, Doug was more nervous. He felt It sitting in the back of his mind. At one point, Morgan snuck away to go snort some cocaine in the trees behind the field, and a few minutes later, Doug followed him.

“Hey dude,” Morgan nodded at him, wiping the white stain from under his nose. He leaned back against the tree he was sitting in front of and let out the most content sigh Doug had ever heard. He desperately wanted to be that calm. More than anything. He didn’t want to think any more.

So when Morgan asked if he wanted a hit, Doug nodded. Morgan grabbed the mirror he’d used just a minute before, and used a razor to form a line with the powder. It almost looked like powdered sugar, and Doug wondered vaguely if that’s what it would taste like. He took the straw that Morgan handed to him, and snorted.

Coughing viciously as Morgan laughed, Doug nearly fell backwards. And then, he grinned. It was gone, completely gone. He didn’t even remember what It was. He nearly laughed out loud. He’d found it, he’d found the cure to his fucked-up head at last. “Feels nice, right?” Morgan asked, and Doug nodded. For the first time in months, he felt full of energy. He didn’t feel tired or down in the slightest. This was the best thing ever.

The two of them went back to the game and joined the others, who were now cat-calling Jonah and making stupid faces. Doug joined in with a drive he hadn’t known he’d possessed. For once in his goddamn life, he was having fun.

At least, until an hour later when he abruptly came down.

It happened suddenly, on the drive back to his parent’s house. He’d finally gotten his license a few weeks ago, early birthday whoo hoo... and all of the sudden, out of nowhere, he looked into the rearview mirror and for just a second, he thought he saw It grinning at him.

Doug jerked the wheel so suddenly that he nearly ran into a parked car. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” But he blinked, and it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He shook himself, and eventually made it home without further incident.

But for the next few days he brooded over the appearance. The Cancer had never appeared in the real world before, only in his head. He’d known what was reality and what wasn’t. If the two were starting to bleed into each other. Was he getting worse? Or had it been the cocaine? To any rational person, they probably would have come to the conclusion that it was the cocaine and never take it ever again. But Doug was a teenage boy, one who was still coming down from a high. His limbs felt heavy, and he suddenly felt like crying, or shouting, or both, it didn’t matter which.

One thing was clear. He needed that high.

In the future, he would have difficulties remembering the next four months of his life. It all seemed to pass by in a haze of confusion and fog. He did remember some basic facts. More and more he had stopped hanging with Monte and the guys and clung to Morgan like some sort of parasite, which was what he quickly became.

“Dude,” Monte had pulled him aside sometime that fall. “Are you high... like, not on pot right now?”

Doug responded with something largely incoherent. He felt free as a bird. This shit didn’t matter.

“Is this Morgan’s doing? I’m gonna fucking kill that little prick.” Monte ran his fingers through his somewhat greasy hair. “What’s he thinking, getting a kid high?”

“I’m only like, a year younger than you dude, shut the fuck you’re up.” And suddenly, that slip of the tongue was absolutely hilarious to him.

Everything was pretty hilarious to him, when he was high. Finally, he had a little peace, and little quiet. The coke not only put a blanket on the Cancer’s cage, but dumped it into the fucking ocean. He could smile, he could laugh. He didn’t have to worry about the Cancer watching him. He didn’t have to mourn anymore.

Until he came down, of course. But then he’d just do it all over again.

He started going to parties with Morgan, even though he had never really liked them before. Usually it was because it would seem like a good idea at the time. And then he would wake up the next morning in a stranger’s house, smelling like booze and cigarettes. Sometimes if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have a vomit stain down the front of his shirt.

He’d lost his virginity at some point, though he didn’t remember anything about it. He thought her name might have been Lindsay but he wasn’t really sure. Even if he thought hard about it, for the life of him he couldn’t find her face. There were a lot of girls after that, but they all blurred together into a mass of perfume and curves. In fact, there had been a girl on his lap the night of the accident.

Luckily he hadn’t been driving. If he had, he wouldn’t be at St. Adelaide’s right now, he’d be in juvie. It had been after a party one night, and Morgan had piled something along the lines of eight people in his five-seat Dodge. Again, it had seemed like a good idea, at the time. Morgan had been high as a kite. Doug should have never let him drive. But he was flying at the exact same height. He didn’t give a shit. He was in the middle back seat with a pretty girl on his lap, her fingers in his hair, the taste of her lips, peppered with alcohol and cigarettes.

And a second later she was through the windshield. He watched in horror as with a horrible crash her body was dragged through the glass and bounced like some sort of morbid doll off the front of the car. The police told him later when they were questioning him that Morgan had tried to run a red light, but had stopped at the last second when a semi had crossed in front of him. Unfortunately, the truck that had been attempting to show off its driver’s massive balls behind him didn’t, and the little Dodge’s back end had quickly been reduced to so much scrap metal.

If it hadn’t been for the girl on his lap, it would have been Doug who was through the windshield. That thought kept circling through his mind. For a while, her mangled, Cocaine ridden body joined the Cancer in his nightmares. And the worst part was, he couldn’t even remember her name. He found it later, of course, in her obituary, Elizabeth. Her name had been Elizabeth. He promised himself he wouldn’t forget it.

The rest of the night was a little foggy. He knew that the police had taken the six survivors of the crash to the hospital, and out of all of them, Doug was probably the least beat up. His parents had been called of course, but he was a little surprised when it wasn’t either of them who showed up, but Gordon.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you?” was the first sentence out of his brother’s mouth.

“Nothing,” Doug insisted, “I was just at a party and—”

Gordon just shook his head. “Don’t even try to lie, the doctor told me everything. How you’re still high as a goddamn mountain right now.”

“Where’s dad?” Doug asked, still a little behind. “Mom? Thought they’d be worried sick.”

“Wow. You really are pathetic.” Gordon looked to the sky, as if it could help him. Looking to Clover. “You really haven’t noticed, have you? That coke dulled your fucking head so much you haven’t even realized that Mom’s been gone for the last four months and Dad’s been near catatonic since then?”

Blinking, Doug didn’t think he followed. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“No. I’m not.” At this point Gordon had grabbed his shoulders to try to get him to look at him. But now he let go in frustration. “God, I can’t believe I turned down MIT for this shit.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, who the fuck else was gonna take care of you and dad, huh?” Several of the patients in the waiting room looked over at them. “Maybe it is just time for this family to fucking die.”

It was in that moment that Doug realized he couldn’t do this anymore. The drugs, the parties. Not only was he killing himself, but he didn’t even know what was going on anymore. He’d missed his own mother leaving their house and hadn’t even noticed. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The next week or so of withdrawal was absolute hell, but somehow, even with the dreams, even with the Cancer and the Cocaine flashing behind his eyelids, he gritted his teeth and got through it. Though YouTube helped quite a bit, if he was really honest. Without those Vine Compilations he would probably be dead.

Finally, after about a week, Doug came downstairs. Gordon was sitting at the counter, eating breakfast, and the acceptance letter for St. Adelaide’s was on Doug’s spot. It was the strangest thing, because he didn’t even remember applying for a “School for Gifted Youth”. He’d done a lot of strange things while high, but he never would have done that.

"What's this?" he asked Gordon, flipping the envelope over to see the large wax seal.

“I don’t know. I assumed you’d applied.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Gordon finally looked up at him from his book. “I don’t know what you do period. I hardly know you anymore.”

That hurt. Doug fiddled with the envelope and finally got it open. “St. Adelaide’s?” he furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that that school where all the fucked-up rich kids go?”

“And what do you think you are?”

Doug didn’t respond.

After an awkward pause, Gordon sighed. “Sorry. That was harsh.”

“’S’okay. I kinda deserve that one.”

Again, there was silence for a long minute as Doug read the contents of the envelope. It seemed as if someone had applied for him, but unless it had been one of his parents he had no idea who could have done it.

“I think you should go.” Gordon said simply. “It’d be a good opportunity.” Doug just stared at him for a long minute. That wasn’t the real reason, and they both knew it. This family was as good as toast. All Doug was doing was keeping Gordon chained here. He was brilliant. He’d do brilliant things. He shouldn’t be sitting around here waiting for Doug to graduate and then... probably do nothing. 

Doug sighed. “Alright.”

The day before he left, Doug did something he had never imagined he’d do: he went in Clover’s room. No one had touched the place since she had died, and it was just how he remembered it: light pink walls, posters for the various plays she’d been in hanging on the walls. He didn’t want to dig through her stuff—that felt like a violation, even if she wasn’t around to care anymore—but he couldn’t help noticing a small box under her bed, wrapped in wrapping paper.

He reached under the bed frame, trying not to cringe at the dead ladybugs and dust, and pulled the box out. On the top, in Clover’s handwriting, were the words: “To Doug, from your Sister xoxo”

Hesitating for a second, Doug wasn’t sure if he wanted to open it. The Thing-He-Definitely-Wasn’t-Thinking-About-Right-Now danced at the back of his mind. But it was addressed to him, wasn’t it? Clearly Clover had meant it for him. He took a deep breath, and ripped off the wrapping paper.

Inside were a pair of shoes. Not just any shoes, but a pair of Converse Heelys. He laughed, remembering just then that at one point, so long ago now it seemed, he’d joked about wanting a pair. He didn’t even know they actually made Converse Heelys.

“Hey fartface,” said the note on the cover. “You talked about wanting these, and I had to cut off an arm and a leg to get them, but here you are. Sorry, I think they might be a little big, it was the only size I could get, but I think you’ll grow into them? Maybe? Unless you’re already done growing, squirt ;P. Love, Clover.”

Doug smiled, blinked a few times, and left the room, taking the Heely’s with him.

And then, just in time for the new semester, Doug was dropped in some suburb he’d never heard of somewhere in the Midwest. In the middle of bumfuck nowhere, at least that’s how it appeared to his east coast brain. Gordon had helped him pack as much as he could, but he was also finally getting his life started. He was able to drop Doug off before heading back east to MIT, but for the most part, Doug was on his own.

He had heard that being away from home for the first time was hard, even for those who were more than ready, but he didn’t really feel it. Maybe he was too focused on ignoring the itch to approach the druggies on the quad to see if he could snatch a hit. But he persevered, and stayed as far away from them as possible. Even when the itch became nearly unbearable, even when his dreams were filled with Cancer and Cocaine.

But it wasn’t so bad. His roommate was bearable, the classes were boring but not unconquerable, and now all he had to do was wait out the next two and a half years until he could go to college or do whatever the fuck else he wanted. Maybe the shit was over, maybe the nightmares were bad enough now that the universe had decided to leave him alone for a change.

Well, you’re still reading this, aren’t you? The story hasn’t ended yet. So what do you think?

Doug had heard about the Director’s “sessions” in whispers, but found that most people didn’t want to talk about it. So he had no idea what they were exactly until one day he’d been called out of lunch and marched down to the basement. At that point, he wasn’t even surprised. After everything else, this might as well happen. He had no idea how bad it would get.

“Well, well, Douglas Bailey. I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite a while,” said the figure from under the mask.

By this point he was strapped down to a table, a piece of rubber in between his teeth. The numbness was fading now, replaced by a slowly building sense of terror that he hadn’t realized he was still capable of. Because this was weird. Even for him.

“You’ve been having nightmares, huh? My psychiatrists have informed me that it’s been interrupting your sleep. And we simply can’t have your demons getting in the way of your schoolwork now, can we?”

It was the flimsiest excuse he’d ever heard. This woman clearly could not care less about his current state of mind. He would have said something to that effect, if he could have spoken at that point in time.

“These new ‘humanitarians’ keep saying that this method of treatment is ‘cruel’ and ‘inhuman’, but I still find it to be highly effective. I guess we’ll see just how well it ends up working for you, hmm?”

And then he spent the rest of the afternoon with the sound of laughter in his ear and electric shocks jolting through his head.

At some point that he later couldn’t remember, he found himself back upstairs long after the lights had gone out. He could barely remember what happened. All he knew was that he couldn’t think straight and his entire body ached. It would have probably been best for him to just collapse right then and there, but he didn’t. He started walking, back towards the dorm, trudging through the newly fallen snow, not even feeling the cold through the thin canvas and rubber of his Heelys.

Doug felt... numb. He couldn’t feel... anything. Just nothing, just utter shock. So much shock. What had happened was so shocking that he couldn’t even... no, no more puns. That was a stupid coping mechanism anyway. He supposed this whole thing was a coping mechanism. One foot in front of the other, just keep moving, don’t think about what just happened, just keep moving, walk it off.

Keep. Fucking. Walking.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

He stumbled into the room, and in the first stroke of good luck he’d had in years, his roommate seemed to already be asleep. He did not want to have to explain what he was doing back here so late with his eyes blank and his hair so full of static he could power the school for a week.

In his bedroom, he packed some shit in a backpack, his laptop, some clothes, other random garbage he didn’t think about too hard, and just left. Walked right back out. If this was going to happen, then he was gone. He didn’t know where he would go, or what he would do once he’d gotten there, but one thing was clear: he sure as hell couldn’t stay here.

And then he’d ran right into one of the psychiatrists on the way out and was brought right back to the Director.

“Trying to run away, Doug?” she’d cackled. “Pathetic. Truly. Think you can leave your problems behind if you just keep moving? Well, you are unfortunately, very important, so I can’t have you running away on me.”

The psychiatrist had put the band on his wrist.

“Now, just so you can’t say I didn’t warn you. If you break a rule, if you’re gone from the school grounds for more than two hours, this is what will happen to you.”

She pressed a button on a remote control, and Doug’s whole body went into debilitating spasms.

To this day, the two weeks after that were completely gone from his memory. He doubted at this point that he’d ever get them back.

It’s funny, really, how people are so able to adapt to their realities so quickly. People wonder how starving children in Africa or victims of human trafficking are able to keep on living, keep on breathing, and the simple answer is because they get used to it. As horrifying as it is, it becomes routine, normal. And that is exactly what happened to Doug. One would think that continuously receiving electric shocks about once every month for multiple years would do a number on your mental state, and at first, it did, but Doug was so used to nightmares that this new element to them did next to nothing.

Though she didn’t show it much, he knew that the Director got frustrated when he stopped reacting to the shocks so much, so once every few months, she would turn up the voltage, which was just frankly annoying. It made it harder to get back to the dorm without anyone stopping to ask him if he was “okay”. Of course he wasn’t okay, but if he said or didn’t look as such then he’d just have to explain to people that he’d been receiving electric shocks in a basement and very few people would probably believe him that that was just a pain.

So he just survived for the next few months, trying not to think about his next session as much as he could.

Until the one day when the Director was in an especially prickly mood. Doug was strapped down as always—hot, a particularly immature part of his brain would insist every time—and he could feel the air of tension surrounding the masked figure stalking around him.

“So, are we gonna get started or are you too chicken?” Doug asked, mostly hating the waiting.

“Oh, we’re going to get started, all right,” the Director muttered. “I’m just figuring out how best to go about this. You see, Doug, I’ve had a particularly trying day, today, and I’m wondering how best to relieve the tension.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

She just laughed, that cackle that sent involuntary shivers down his spine. “You shouldn’t.”

After sticking the piece of rubber in his mouth, she moved away from him, over to the big, hulking machine that was responsible for the shocks. “You’re a little shit, Doug Bailey, you know that? And as much as I like that in a person, every once in a while it’d be nice if they’d just shut the hell up. And this, my dear friend, is one of those days. That being said, today I have a special treat for you. Today,” she paused to chuckle again. “Today, we’re going maximum power.”

Oh no. She’d only gone halfway up the scale in terms of voltage. This... was going to be painful.

“So, uh, if you don’t survive this, it was nice knowing you.”

The Director, as much as she loved her flair and drama, was deadly efficient when it got down to it. And so it was without any fanfare that she pulled the switch on the machine.

Doug immediately began convulsing as way too many volts of electricity shot through his body. He screamed, unable to form a singular coherent thought. All he could feel was pain. Sheer, unbearable pain. Usually, the Director would let up the electricity after a minute to let him breathe, but either time had slowed to the most unbearable crawl imaginable or she was letting the machine go.

After too long of oxygen deprivation and nerve snapping pain, something happened. Out of the corner of his eye, Doug saw her. Not the Cocaine, not the Cancer, but her. Clover. She was still ridden with her disease, her eyes dull, her cheeks hollow. But for some reason, Doug knew it was her. Maybe it was the look in her eye, the one she had always given him when she was worried about him. This definitely counted as a time to worry.

“You’re going to die, Doug,” she told him.

He couldn’t speak, the rubber clenched too tightly between his teeth, could hardly even think, but she still seemed to understand what he would be thinking: Yeah, no shit.

“Is that really okay?” she asked. “Is it okay to end it like this?”

It’s as good as any.

“Do you really believe that?”

He didn’t respond.

“This is what the universe has handed you, Doug.” She sighed, staring into his eyes. “What are you going to make of it?”

What could he make of this? This horrible piece of shit that he called his life. Nothing, nothing at all. The best thing for everyone would be if he just died. No one would care that much anyway.

“Maybe not right now,” she said. “But will that always be the case?”

He didn’t know what to think of that. Before now, his life had almost consistently been shit. It would probably continue to be shit. But there was always that chance, that small, insignificant chance, that things could end up differently. Life was long, depressingly long, after all.

“Are you alright with this?”

No. No, he was not. At the very least, giving in to what the Director wanted was simply not his style. At the most, at Clover’s behest, at that tiny little speck of optimism that she was, and had always been.

He screamed again, but this was more of a battle-cry, a bellow against the darkness, against the void. But above that, above it all, he could hear laughter. Her laughter.

A second later, the machine whirred into silence, and Doug blacked out.

He didn’t know exactly how long he had been out for, but when he came to, he was leaning against a wall in an out of the way corner of the Bloch building. He picked himself up, nearly fell over, and meandered over to the nearby restroom. Water, he needed water. The inside of his mouth was sand. He didn’t know why he didn’t just go to the water fountain instead, but at the time he wasn’t thinking quite clearly. Though to be fair, he almost never was.

Leaning on the sink, he managed to get some water in his mouth, though most of it just dribbled back out. In an attempt to get his mind unscrambled, Doug splashed some water into his face. But when he looked up into the mirror, he almost fell over. For a second, he thought that someone else had entered the bathroom, and was standing right behind him, but then he quickly realized that he was still alone. There was no one here. The face with the static-y, cloud-like halo of white hair staring back at him was his own.

At this moment, there were a variety of reactions he could have had. He could have cried, he could have panicked and tried to cut it all off. He could have passed out again, if he so desired. But all of those things were far too overdramatic for Doug. So instead, he just laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. It was a harsh, bitter thing, and he probably sounded insane to anyone passing by. But that’s what he did.

Eventually he stumbled his way back to his dorm room and collapsed. Finally, about two days later, when he was finally able to venture out and function somewhat normally, he emerged to find the school in a frenzy of activity and gossip.

Because that was the day that Jilli Nakajima came to St. Adelaide’s.