by T. Wyse
She lay in the comfort of her bed, the circuit of air lapping over her face and washing over the familiar shapes of her room. Below, the two models, one of bricks and one of clay, cast their pensive slouched weight against the walls. Curious and faint offshoot breezes swirled with abandoned paths to peer behind her curtain and into her cherished nook wherein the shape of her dress fluttered.
Yet again she could not move. Now her bed held her back with those barbed concrete teeth. In place of her dirt and discarded baubles the shimmering snapshots of those lines shaped themselves against the wind, again in a cacophony that deafened her sight.
Again she knew that she only needed to see just beyond what she could, that the truth that lay at the tip of her brain’s tongue lurked just beneath the yellow waterfall of her stairs, or upon her desk, or just beyond the obscuring slats of her doors.
And again, the voices returned.
“Gotta grab for it if you want it,” Victoria’s voice murmured from her desk. “All you have to do is look, really look.”
And to whatever credit was due, Amelie fought. She fought harder than before, tearing away enough to lean forward, but still her spine stood clasped and rigid, not willing to turn.
“Just go back, go back and be good. It’ll work out,” Amanda’s voice flitted from the stairwell.
“That’s it, there you go.” Victoria gave an envenomed cheer as Amelie glanced down at herself.
Both of her arms lay rigid and useless above the covers, and both of them lay slashed open at the wrists. From her left dribbled a narrow stream of silver, but from her right it poured down, hugging the sides of the bed and disappearing beyond her sight.
Slowly the venting slats came to rest, sputtering and then growing dark. The clay and bricks fell silent against the wind. In what seemed like days the mobile stopped dancing above, the colours winking out like dying stars so far away.
“What is it you want? Soon you won’t be able to decide,” Victoria murmured in that subtle anger she was so good at.
“It’s what you wanted, right?” Amanda whispered, a little sad.
Slowly even the dress began to disappear from the portrait, and she fought to let it linger in the sight of the dying wind. Finally it winked out as well, and she was left only with the ugly colours of the place, and in that still moment an icy chill flowed over her.
The wind blew through the room in a gale, the slats flapping madly and then tearing away. The pieces of the mobile tore from their meticulous wires and took flight, flushing into the abyssal darkness beyond. The art pieces tumbled out like boulders followed by her desk, her curtains, her lamp. Finally her dress, perfect and shining, lit its primer pouches and took to the wind.
And then in the darkness she sat, and in the darkness Amelie waited, not knowing what for.
No carved wall appeared to her, no sense of her hands moving to shape the dream. She sat in the darkness aware of time, her slickened arms having run dry.
An oily shape lurched into view, moving on its knees like some clumsy approximation of a ceremony. She slid into the frame of the door, the golden glow around her luminous and larger than before.
“Hurt.” The word flowed out of her mouth without colour, but with the note of confusion about it.
“Yes.” Amelie squirmed against the grabbing pain. “Yes, you’re hurt. That’s right. Do you understand?”
“Hurt.” Crow grasped at her side, her hands now as large and complete as Amelie’s.
“Yes. You saw. You saw all of it, right?” Amelie turned, now in front of the wall, with the shape of herself in a yawning empty frame she had hollowed with the blurred hands.
“I…” The sound whirled in a green vortex, shaping a halo around Crow.
“Then…then you…” Amelie’s eyes filled with the first inklings of dawn, the weary sun still not having chased all the stars away. “Then you have to understand,” she finished with a whisper unheard.
She sat up, and welcomed the oval of air in the room, relished the sensation of her glowing lungs within her, and for the first time since she was small she simply batted at the air to watch the simple swirling breezes.
Surely…surely there was still time. Surely there was always tomorrow to finish the conversation, to convince Crow of her humanity, to seal this misunderstanding. With every second away from the dream it weighed on her less, and with a few stretches she all but pushed the trembling fear away.
Her arm no longer itched or throbbed, nor even bore any oval mark of its passing. Dusting off her uniform, she joined Kokopelli in his surveillance of the outside world.
"Wow." She gawked. The world below was changed. Where weak saplings had stood in neat rows, now mighty trees stood. Their height and girth gave their massive branches the look of a single, matted canopy. The trees rose almost as high as the platform of the tower itself, creating a pleasing look of a floating green carpet, almost close enough to touch should the barrier of glass not be between them.
The crops themselves were harder to place, harder to distinguish. There was a clear feeling of growth, a noticeable spreading to their width. Amelie thought perhaps she spotted a golden field of wheat, off in a distance further than her tower's twin.
She laughed, unable to control herself. It wasn't a laugh of joy, or madness, but rather the laughter of someone faced with utter impossibility.
"It's funny." Amelie remarked, finally. "I never asked you about the flute." She looked down at the cat creature below. Strangely the ringing didn’t return to squash her curiosity.
"You put your trust in books, what did it declare?" He said with sly venom.
"As I recall," She changed her voice to a jokingly informative one, "'the trickster god Kokopelli, ushers in the changing of seasons with his flute, he presides over fertility, both the ground and of the child-bearing sense." She held her hand out, holding some invisible tray.
"Well then, be content that it is, as one would say, 'my thing'." He declared with a scoff. "At least one of 'my things'." He added.
"It felt, like magic." Amelie said, abandoning her sarcastic ribbing. "Or something like that. It was beautiful, but so gritty, guttural, at the same time."
"A talking cat-god, and you question that he plays the flute?" Kokopelli chuckled to himself. "Suffice to say, there is 'magic' more impressive than mine to be seen in the world." He sighed. There was something to his tone, something that belied a secret, some truth he restrained himself from saying, and doing so pained him.
She scooped him up, stroking his head gently. "I haven't seen you eat, not since...well Timothy's house. You've been eating, right?" She asked, stroking his head gently.
"Your sacrifice sustains me. Even the first, that of sincerity, would be enough satiation for a hundred years." He said. "I have, at times, gone to eat with the silly cats in this place, the cowering beasts. Only to give assurance to those who would question me otherwise, of course."
"Well, it's good to know that you're not going to starve when I'm too distracted to think of you." She smiled, putting him back on the floor.
"In any case, I'm off," she declared, leaving with an overcompensated wave. He had returned to his pensive survey of the crops and gave no indication of reply. She fought to tame her hair with the brush as she descended the stairs, and wasn’t sure what to think when it reacted with utter obedience. It straightened out a little more ragged than her memory, and oddly it seemed much less interested in its usual movement, only fluttering as she let the door slam behind her.
The atmosphere of staggering zombies infected the darkened universe of the cafeteria. This weary sickness seemed most intent to infect the front of the room, though there were far fewer of them today. Yet even through the almost palpable and infectious exhaustion their tone and breaths were light, their words happily shared, and that set her at least a little more at ease as she passed.
She took to her table, decorated by four waiting lanterns, and sensed a badly restrained secret linking the three. Melissan
bore a full blown infection of the lighter disease, bags under her eyes dark enough to pierce the blue, and her mouth in an almost consistent grimace. Yet through that exhaustion her breaths were happy somehow, and as Amelie sat she broke into a smile.
Craig and Wendy, however both radiated to the point of nearly trembling from trying to contain themselves.
Amelie set her light down gently, giving a half closed stare at the two, about to explode across from her. “So…” She began slowly but the second she spoke her words were torn away.
"Got something for you." Wendy grinned, producing a bowl containing five blobs. Amelie smelled the familiar fragrance, and was stunned. Apples, five huge apples, sat inside the bowl.
"We decided to wait for you. Had to keep Craig off of it though." She grinned, scolding him.
"Well, ready to go now!" He declared, snatching one in his hand, Wendy snagged one immediately after. Melissan reached in gently and took two, placing one in front of the silent little girl.
Amelie took hers, leaving the bowl empty. Craig chomped into his, but she chose to smell it, feel its cool smoothness in her hand. A memory as foggy and unsure as Kokopelli’s stories formed, of being in her mother’s arms somewhere outside, hearing the leaves gently rustled by the wind, and gnawing on just such a fruit. It was unexpected, and the wave of nostalgic emotion was unwelcome in the moment. She kissed it and was glad that none of them could read her lungs and heart.
"Nobody can figure out why, but last night the crops just started growing like mad." Wendy declared with excitement. "The crop managers are pretty smug this morning, they decided to use the pollinator yesterday morning, and well it paid off." She grinned, finally taking a bite out of her treasure.
"Yeah it was crazy. The pollination must have shot them into some huge growth spurt. Everything's got huge, and what's more, they've even started spreading."
"Growing out of control even!" Wendy declared, her arms open, expanding to indicate the feral growth of the plants.
Amelie took a final look at the apple, its colour was indistinguishable in the blue light, its variety didn't matter. She took a flourishing bite into it and felt foolish as her heart began to beat faster simply from the taste. Her mouth exploded with sweet tartness, and she immediately followed with another bite. She tried her best to eat the thing slowly, to savor it, but each taste left her wanting more and it disappeared with a quick ferocity.
"Leave the cores." Craig said, his had been placed back into the bowl, as well as Wendy's. Melissan was managing to eat hers slowly, and E had hardly broken its skin.
Amelie placed her core in the bowl, the tartness in her mouth lingering.
A server removed the core filled bowl, and placed a platter of the mash loaf in front of them. It was hardly a way to follow the apples, Amelie thought, but took her wedge and began to munch on it.
"Even bigger news though." Craig said, grinning ear to ear. "The corn's full and ready!"
Amelie eyed the mash loaf a moment, then asked, "There isn't any in here, though?" Not even the little baby cobs were present.
"Nah, full grown corn's a lot more work." He dismissed. "We've got a bigger crew coming for the lunch prep today, got lots of volunteers for it." He laughed. "Suddenly it's not such dreggy work I guess."
"Oh, and it's going to start a bit earlier than usual." Wendy added.
Amelie looked at Melissan for a reaction. She was still distracted, far away. "Oh, sure. Just do what you can." She said, finally noticing Amelie's gaze on her. "It's not like it won't be dirty tomorrow." She added, almost inaudibly.
"Well, we're off." Craig declared, resolute. The table was left with three lights.
"Is...everything alright?" Amelie asked, stupidly.
"Everything's just wonderful." Melissan's voice didn't match her words. "Corn, apples, heat and light. What more could we ask for, when the world's at its end?" She looked up towards the darkened ceiling, perhaps finding some unseen thing of interest there.
"Is...Isaac getting better?' Amelie asked, cautiously.
"He'll get better, over time." Melissan answered. "Not soon enough though." She sighed.
Amelie was about to ask for clarification, but Melissan stood up suddenly. "Let's get started." She declared. E stood up, still munching on the wedged piece of loaf. Amelie followed them, jamming the last of hers into her mouth, following their two wisps into the light of the hallway.
Today they began by cleaning the stairways running along the two sides of the school. The task dragged. They began at the top and headed towards the bottom, carrying slurry buckets with them as they went. As they proceeded past the cracked line bordering the old concrete and the strange whiteness, that irritating grimed film showed up again.
The sediment in the lower parts of the school clung like grease to the walls, and coated the steps with a thin layer, though it seemed that it simply did not stick to the glass for whatever reason. Amelie tried not to linger on it, tried not to think about the explanations for this strangeness. It was hard, however, to block out these things, when they worked in such utter silence.
Melissan's demeanor was changed. The hope that Amelie held earlier in the day, for a spark of her old self, was dashed as they worked. The girl seemed perpetually dreaming, far away. She seemed to be turning into E, or ‘F’, Amelie supposed.
"Did....you not sleep well last night?" Amelie brought her courage together to ask.
"Slept fine." Melissan said flatly, her eyes on her mop as it swept across the floor.
"You didn't...hear anything, nothing kept you up?" Amelie thought. The question was two pronged.
"No. Nothing kept me up." Melissan looked up finally, dead and glossed eyes probed Amelie's intention. "Was there some noise last night?" She asked, pausing.
"Oh, I thought I heard shouting, something like that." Amelie said, trying to state it in neutrality, without betraying any further knowledge.
"Didn't hear anything. Its possible people were shouting. I didn't hear it though." Melissan stated flatly. Amelie wasn't able to probe whether this was simply her clinging to the last vestiges of her strategy of denial.
E moved towards Amelie, staring at her with a disconcerting intensity that Melissan seemed to miss in her stupor.
"Well, this bucket's dirty enough." Melissan gazed down into the water as if it was a mirror into her troubled mind. She snapped out of the momentary dullness, and moved towards the doorway on the stairs. "Keep going, I'll dump these out." She mumbled, not bothering to look back.
Amelie stared at E's face, her mop stopped on the floor. E was regarding her, something of a scowling squint, it reminded her of The Professor's probing gaze, without the electricity of it.
"Wolf." E said. Her voice cracked with lack of use, the hoarse bass overcoming her childish voice, giving her a surreal and monstrous sound.
"What?" Amelie asked, her neck tingling with some subconscious warning.
“You asked about yelling. Wolf was yelling. He came in the night, killed pieces of Crow. Only pieces though.” E leaned in close to Amelie’s face, kneeling to lock onto her level. Her glare stared through Amelie’s defensive eyes, the growl of her voice rumbling in her ears. "I heard it. I saw it, out the window."
"What's your name?" Amelie challenged. She had seen things stranger than croaking little girls.
"Collette." The girl looked down at the ground, a human guilt washing over her.
E, now Collette, looked up at Amelie, her eyes burning with ferocity. "You're here, waiting among lambs, hiding in shelter. You aren’t like them even though they try to deny it to themselves more than you do yourself."
“You should go.” The little girl closed her eyes for a lingering moment, pointing out the reddened pane of the window.
"I can't leave, it's dangerous out there!" Amelie whispered, desperate to satiate the small judge before her.
"You are no lamb." Collette whispered. "I see you. I can tell."
"Why haven't you been talking, if you could?
" Amelie took Collette by the shoulders, changing the subject.
"Her." Collette said finally.
The sound of the door closing on the landing above them echoed. Melissan stormed down the stairs towards the two of them.
"I heard her talking! Are you alright now E?" Melissan's eyes were filled with an animated hope.
Collette stayed silent, moving back to her old act of silence. "What's wrong?" Melissan's face sank, her shoulders slumped.
"She said her name was Collette." Amelie replied, closing her eyes in the hopes of keeping the after image of the cheered Melissan.
"That's it?" Melissan's voice asked, betraying the hopelessness of the girl once again.
"Yeah, that's it. Just said her name." Amelie lied.
There was a prolonged silence. Amelie was too fearful to look upon the two, instead she opened her eyes and gazed out the window. It shone back an entirely blue world through its filtering frame.
"I think we're done for now." Melissan declared, her voice trembling, unsure. "I need to sit down, rest a minute. Go see if she can use you in the kitchen, it's still a bit early..." Her voice trailed off, disinterested and tired.
Amelie left the two of them there, Collette had joined Melissan in sitting down on the floor, her back to the wall. Collette rested her head against Melissan's shoulder, mirroring the scene now days past on the other side of the school.
She arrived in the cafeteria, holding her lantern but not bothering to follow its guidance. Collette now filled her already over cluttered mind, the raw animosity about her felt both bitter but fascinating in some odd way.
“She is not like you.” Kokopelli’s words had been sincere, but surely even he could be wrong. There was the indisputable taste of something more lingering on Collette’s every breath.
The kitchen’s halo squared the doors at least, and that was enough assurance to push the thoughts away. The incident could be filed as a silly outburst. There was always more time to talk, always tomorrow.
She found Lyssa in the kitchen, but rather than preparing in any sort she too seemed lost in her own thoughts. She leaned back against the unlit oven, head turned to the lights above, eyes shut tight, her breathing meditative and slow.