A Break in the Action...

After it all shook down that afternoon in the cafeteria, she was in the hospital.
Unconscious.
Someplace between a deep slumber and life.

It went on like this for some days.
She lost track of time, space, whatever else was going on in the immediate world.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet drips of an IV bag and hum of a small monitor, its winding octopus legs attached to her by sticky circles.
Once in awhile, people came in and out.
There was talking.
But she heard nothing. Saw nothing.
Rather, nothing registered about her relationship to earth.

But while she was away, her mind kept moving forward, simply creating pictures while she slept...

She had been in such desperate need of sleep.

Post-traumatic Stress

You don't know this yet

But sometimes when it it's really dark in here,

(and honestly the midnight blackness is beautiful most times)

It becomes imperative to open the eyes.

Adjust.

Seek out what really hides underneath the bed, you know?

I mean, they say there really aren't monsters under there, but you just don't know sometimes.

I saw one once.

It was around for only a few minutes, but damnit it bit me.

Left one hell of a mark.

Call it my battle scar if you will, but honestly, had I had a real weapon, I'd have shot it right then and there.

But it got away.

They're fast suckers. Slipped out the door into the winter 4 AM

and just freaking disappeared.

By the time I'd grabbed the rifle and my shot, it was long gone.

So you see, when it's really cold outside, and a bit insanely black in the room,

I get a little angsty, a little pre-war inside.

It was only ever that damn monster's fault and I really don't know where it is.

But we still gotta check under the bed before going to sleep.

Okay?

You just never know, because it's dark.

And it's so cold outside, because it's January.

Now that I think of it, it was January then too.

What do they look like? Monsters?

I have trouble remembering it sometimes.

Bigger than us, but not by much.

Not a lot of hair really, but more scaly, slippery, like a fish with claws.

Someplace between crab and octopus.

You really can't pin one before being bitten.

You gotta just tear off after 'em when it's over.

Or that's what they all say.

I haven't seen one since that morning.

I don't think I'd even know what color to look for.

All I know is that the monster that bit me is missing part of a tentacle.

I mean, hell, I bite too.

Doesn't everyone have teeth?
Somewhere?

I just gotta tell you this.

It seems simple, monsters under the bed.

I won't bring it up again so long as we just check.

Maybe keep something sharp beneath us.

Just in case.

Because you just never know.

The Thing Is...

The thing is, in this town, no one really wants to get to know anyone else too closely. There is danger in that, knowing someone, you know? I mean, something turns in on itself when secrets are uncovered and you begin to understand where another person comes from.

It's a bit on the scary side, really.
People become all that more human, more fleshy and stupid.
And more prone to make mistakes.

Is that the terrifying part?
The mistakes?

Or is it the understanding, the inherent knowledge that we all do it -
All belong to this community of perpetual falling down and getting back up.

Yes, it's in the spiraling up and down that the fear comes, its unique blend of warmth and coolness that keeps people going, you know.
Yet it is also the fear that brings everything to a hault.

And in this town, we don't discuss it much - this fear.
But none of us wants to die too soon and none of us wants to live without that one thing we all keep hearing so much about.

Right?

It was on a day when the wind felt like a knife. She felt wounded, vulnerable, especially when the icy fingers got through the weak spots in her coat. She always loved winter's beauty, but not its feel. It made everything feel dead inside. It heightened the numbness, the thickness, that had been growing so dense over time.

But on this day, upon opening her mail, a bit of warmth trickled in where it hadn't existed before - an anonymous postcard.

You are wonderful.
Just wanted to remind you of that.

No name. No postage to offer a hint.
Nothing but a card and a business envelope.

And despite the ice and snow on the mail center stoop, she sat down in her business clothes and cried.

Lunatic Lunch Hour

Her morning in the greenhouse was a quiet one. James refused to speak to her about much of anything. His few comments were somewhat bitter, irritable, and always pointed to ways in which she was pruning incorrectly or performing a "completely unnecessary task," like making sure each leaf got a bit of moisture.







"You don't have to soak down each leaf!" he had bellowed.







But she liked the way the leaves and petals glistened when she made sure each one got a dab of fresh water. She felt a bit sheepish when the morning ended, realizing the mental patient had served as her boss, her greenhouse 'master,' all morning long. It made her want to stamp a foot and retort "How dare you!?" but she remained quiet.







By noon, she was famished and unsure of where to go next so she returned to the main office.







"What do we do about lunch?" she inquired at the front desk.

"How the hell should I know?" barked the receptionist as she gathered her materials, "I'm out to lunch too."

So she returned to Dr. Heathrow's office, knocking timidly on the door.

"Come in!"

She entered the foggy office a second time, finding Dr. Heathrow at her desk, feet up, and reading a book, a half-eaten salad next to her.

"May I go someplace to eat?" she asked.

"The cafeteria is down Hall C, just pass the in-patient screening rooms. Help yourself to what's available. Your next assignment, Andrew, begins at 1 pm."

Dr. Heathrow was absorbed in her book, so she retreated silently and headed to lunch.

She felt utterly ridiculous, chastised by a mental patient and then brushed off by the staff. She was half ready to call it a day when she saw a door marked "Cafetorium" and she went in.

It was everything she'd imagined and then some - putrid wall paint, styrofoam serving plates, plastic sporks, and staffers in hairnets slopping up lukewarm, undistinguishable edibles. She got in line, made a small salad (because she knew where veggies come from), picked up a bottle of water, and sat down at a small table near the window.

She peered around the room, which was nearly empty save a few staffers near the door, a few policemen and security officers walking through the room, and two tables, a patient at each one.

One patient was thumbing mashed potatoes into his mouth, apparently not allowed to use utensils. The other was nodding to herself, muttering under her breath, her lunch uneaten.

She turned back to her salad and munched cautiously. It wasn't bad, but it sure wasn't good either. As she ate, she felt her phone vibrate. She looked at the incoming message, which was from Noodle.

"Dinner. Don't forget. You like red or white wine? Talk soon."

She smiled. Maybe the next four hours would speed by and she could end her day in the company of someone more sane, more fun to be around. She messaged back:
"Red. Cabernet or Merlot. 8 pm okay?"

It was then that her mind drifted again. Was this a starting over or merely a continuation? She wasn't sure.

Minutes later, a terrifying scream broke her from her reverie.

Relatable Quote for the Start Over...

"It's okay to lose your pride over someone you love, but don't lose someone you love over your pride."

In the Spark and Strange - His Side

For weeks he did his best not to think too much on it. What good does it do really, worrying about the "down the road" and the "what could happen nexts?"

His knowledge of footpaths and emergency exits, all those calculations and documentations, well they proved to be consistent. Relaxation and termination eventually follows.

But she didn't leave.
And she demanded he be just himself. Nothing else.
It left his mind spinning the phrases "what the hell?" and "what to try next?" all the time.

Who appreciates a real person afterall? Just for who they are? What do they inevitably want? Need? Require?
What is the catch?

It was late in the night when he realized that if it all changed it wouldn't only be his fault, his idea - that the processing wasn't just him anymore - that despite his natural instincts - she was taking responsibility too. Her mind had switched over and was tabulating and calculating at an almost indistinguishable buzz. She too, was on.

She accepted it. She accepted him.
And her capacity for the unconditional left him wondering if he could do that too.

The challenge alone made him electric.

It Always Happens This Way...

It was on an everday morning, sometime between darkness and sunshine, that she rolled over and realized that everything in the world was remarkably different.

And for once, she wasn't the least bit worried about the change.