01-18-2011, 05:48 AM
Jarka stared at Sigfried, her face blank. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing – there was nothing to say. Her mind could not wrap around a single damning thought. She didn’t want it to. If it did, that would mean…
In the wake of her silence, Sigfried began to visibly crumble from his haggard confidence. He looked exhausted, broken. Like he wanted to cry but couldn’t find the tears. His fingers twisted through his hair, anxiously tugging at the scalp. His sunken eyes clenched shut, unable to tolerate her lack of response. Finally, his voice breaking, he pleaded to the girl, “Say something.”
Jarka slowly shook her head. Her eyebrows knotted as the emotions finally began to catch up with the reality she could no longer deny. She drew her lip between her teeth, chewing it with her pulsing thoughts. Everything had been a lie. Everything. He’d planned every last detail, every last deception. She could feel the anger welling in her throat. Seething. Aching to burst out.
The girl began a mad dash towards the kitchen sink. Vomit spilled from her mouth, leaving her sputtering chunks until only bile remained. The girl wheezed as she watched the former contents of her stomach dribbled towards the drain. She felt Sigfried’s hand timidly rest on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her as he had so many times in the past months.
Jarka threw her elbow back, knocking away the boy’s arm. Her teeth ground together as she hissed, “Don’t you dare touch me.”
She spat a final glob of yellow saliva before rinsing her burning mouth with a quick shot of water from the running faucet. The liquid splashed through the messy basin, carrying half-digested chunks of her dinner down the drain to be forgotten once more. She wished she could join them, dissolve into the dark recesses nobody dares explore. She certainly could relate to being chewed up, spit out, and slowly torn apart. As the acrid smell began to sting her nostrils, she stepped away from the sink.
Sigfried’s elbows rested on the counter top; one palm cradled his forehead. If he noticed the girl’s approach, his posture did not reflect it.
“Look at me.” Her voice was chilly, sharp but fragile.
His only movement was the expansion and contraction of his ribcage, barely visible beneath that stupid red sweatshirt.
Flesh against tile, her palm slapped the counter. The crack echoed through the empty apartment, forming a descant against her enraged growl. “Look at me!”
The boy remained stagnant.
“You owe me that much.”
A sharp intake of breath accompanied tensing fingers scratching across the surface of the linoleum. His gaze dragged to the girl hovering menacingly by his side. The girl who had hovered so fondly on his every word not one day ago. The girl who had trusted him. The girl he had betrayed.
The only sound in the room came from the clock’s steady ticking while the eyes of the psychic and the shape-shifter remained locked. Tick. Confounded hazel condemned enfeebled blue. Tick. Tense bodies quivered with each breath, yet the steady gaze remained. Tick. She tentatively slid her hand to the back of his head. Tick. Moisture. Her eyes flashed horror as fingers laced through slicked locks. Tick. The girl saw her trembling palm soaked in blood. Tick. Grasping his head, she swooped in to frantically search for the origin, the wound. Tick. Pristine scalp stained sanguine. Impossible.
Jarka gaped at the boy in horror, in disgust. Her reddened hands begged to him until she briefly found the nerve to speak. “How is- how is-”
Sigfried gently grasped her hands, seemingly unsure of how to best respond. Despite an increasingly knotted brow, his gaze never faltered as he studied the girl’s bewildered countenance. He brushed her palms along his sleeve to wipe them clean. At last, he sighed.
She watched in disbelief as his beloved crimson sweatshirt and dingy jeans began to shift, turning darker, deeper, black. The fabric smoothed and contracted, its boundaries twisting to form new hemlines and collars. The process made her eyes itch; she would have averted them had it not been so mesmerizing. There he stood, the boy with the plan in a three-piece suit.
She saw his eyes change from their dusky blue to iridescent green to the placid wash of a sunset. His skin turned olive, wrinkled, scarred. A thousand faces shimmered past in a few short breaths.
She felt the palms of his hands become thicker, smoother. From his upper lip, translucent hairs sprouted outward. His pupils faltered, pinching into slits. Fur rippled along his body as he shrunk, his paws landing gently on the ground.
The fluffy calico twitched its tail expectantly. Jarka stumbled backwards, failing to clumsily catch herself on the way to the floor. The cat pattered forward and rubbed its shoulder against her limp wrist.
A moment later, Sigfried was crouched with her hand in his. He drew her palm to his scalp. Dry. Her eyes flashed amazement as her fingers laced through clean locks. No evidence of the sickening mess. Her hands explored his face, stroking his cheeks, his forehead. Making sure he was real.
“You’re... you’re like me.” As they had so many times already this fateful day, her eyes welled. “You’re different. You have powers.”
A small smile struggled its way onto his distraught visage. “I discovered them a while back. On my own. Like you.”
“Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”
He gave a slight shrug. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
She threw herself around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. It was all so overwhelming, so confusing, so deafening, yet it was here on the kitchen floor of a dingy apartment that she felt relief. She was cradled by the one person she had ever met who understood her struggle. Her kindred spirit. It was at this time, this moment, that she knew definitively she was not alone, regardless of any other circumstance surrounding them. She could forget about everything else. She wanted this to last forever. To never leave this embrace. To never lose her friend. She knew it was too perfect.
At last, Sigfried pulled away, amicably resting his head against hers. He appeared relieved, but something still tugged at each breath.
Unanswered questions still plucked at Jarka’s mind as she snuggled against his shoulder. Don’t ask. You’ll regret it. Perfection never lasts. Better to know the truth. “What else can you do?”
“I can survive things that could kill a man. I have survived things that would kill a man.” His terse answer reflected his mysterious experiences. “I can heal my injuries like they never happened. Fresh skin, new bones.”
She rolled the information through her mind. Something wouldn’t sit right, wouldn’t settle. “You said before... You said you were everybody.”
A pause preceded his flat response. “I am.”
“But... I’ve seen you together. Hati, Skoll, R- ” The girl choked on the name of their fallen comrade. “You can’t be everywhere. Was it mind control? What?”
She felt his body rumble with a chuckle. “Neat little trick I picked up. I can, uh, split my body. Make people.”
“So... they’re not real?”
“Oh, they’re real as you and me. Well, technically they are me. I see everything, feel everything, but their actions are their own. I just mold who they are and set them free.”
“You said you were the invaders.” She sat up, leaning away from the boy. “You made all of them?”
“Don’t give me that much credit.” The boy rolled his eyes. “I just made the ones on earth.”
Like a champagne glass hurled at a wall, Jarka’s entire worldview shattered. She rose to her feet; her finger shook wildly at the boy lounging against the counter. Her lips sputtered, thoughts wrestling to escape.
“Jarky,” He pulled himself up to her level, troubled by her explosive reaction. “That came out wrong. There’s no invaders on earth.”
She took a step back. “They had video! On the news!”
“They were a hoax.”
“How? City Hall is gone! I saw the video feeds, the alien. He was-”
“I set the bomb.”
Jarka’s eyes bore into Sigfried. His face carried presumption for his actions, but his posture was pleading. He needed acceptance. He needed praise. He needed affirmation.
She slapped him.
“Shit! What was that for?” He rubbed his jaw.
“How could you? How dare you!”
“You’re not looking at the bigger picture here.”
Her potent fury fueled her bitter words. “Fuck the bigger picture! It’s not like it matters to you. All this talk about saving people from uncaring governments, well, look at you. You don’t care about a thing but yourself. Creeping Kai, you surrounded yourself with clones until I showed up! You even manipulated them to get your way. You’re not a hero. You’re a terrorist.”
A rumbling growl eked from the depths of his innards. His fists clenched briefly lashing out to her chest. Her shirt twisted in his hands, lifting the girl but an inch from his mouth. His snarl was indignant, deliberate. “I. Am not. A terrorist.” With each pause, he gave her a hard shake, a warning.
She scoffed, surprising brashness for a girl dangling a half a foot off the ground. “What about City Hall? What do you call that, a picnic?” Her infuriated captor slammed her body against the refrigerator, menacingly raising his arm to strike. She wouldn’t mind. He’d broken her already. “Because I call it 18 innocent graves.”
“No... Nobody was supposed to die.” His fist faltered, choosing instead to press his forearm against her throat. “Not even Roy.”
“Well he did. They did. And their blood is on your conscience.” Her fingers wrapped around his arm in a futile attempt to reduce the pressure on her windpipe.
His face continued to contort with despair as he leaned forward. “I-I didn’t mean to. I planned around it, so nobody would...”
Breathing was getting to be a chore. “Kill me. Get it over with already.”
His eyes widened. “N-No. That’s...”
“Not part of...” The girl wheezed, unable to fill her lungs for more than a few words. “...the plan?”
He shook his head slowly. “Jarky...”
“Just.... kill... me...” Her eyes reddened. Bloodshot. “Please....” Pressure. No more breath.
The boy released her, stepping back in horror. Like a stone, she dropped to the ground. A piercing gasp resonated through the air.
The girl held her neck as though to guide the shuddering gulps to their destination. She reclined against the refrigerator while fresh air filled her lungs and renewed her strength. Tears dribbled over pallid cheeks. She listened to Sigfried’s frantic pacing, timing her labored breaths against his steps. Inhale walk walk walk. Exhale walk walk walk. As her panting slowed, his pace followed.
She struggled to stand. The boy rushed to her aid, supporting her waist in his arm.
“Look around you, Sigfried. Is this the world you want to create? Just death and pain and tears?”
He shook his head dismissively. “We all make sacrifices. Sometimes people get hurt for the greater good.”
“How can you look me in the eyes and say that? I’m just collateral to you.” She pushed away from him, choosing instead to rest her weight on the nearby wall.
“No, Jarka, I-” The boy reached to out to her, anxious to explain.
She tossed her hand. “I can’t do this anymore.” Her body staggered towards the exit.
His voice cracked, but she couldn’t see his face. “Come on. Give me ano-”
“Goodbye.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the friend, the confidante, the kindred spirit she had lost. At last, the door swung shut between them.
Sigfried stared ahead. She’d come back. She had to. She’d be stupid not to.
Couldn’t she see what she’d be giving up? She had a chance to change the world. To make things better. She was walking away from the beautiful struggle for the greater good. That was the whole point of ECM. Guide the weak to bind together to become strong and denounce the shackles of the status quo. She was weak. She was perfect.
The door would reopen any second now.
Why wouldn’t she want to put her mark on the world? To be remembered? Her name would be etched in time next to his. Their glories would be sung by schoolchildren in pageants, immortalized in countless paintings. She was resigning to become an out of work cook with no purpose. Barely a smudge in a diary, let alone chapters in a history book. She could be his prophet, ushering in a new age of enlightenment. Why would she leave?
Surely, she was just being dramatic at this point.
How could anything be more important than this? People were suffering, they just didn’t know it. They would show them the truth. Lead them to freedom. She should understand how important that is. How insignificant a couple of lives were compared to achieving their goal. After all, one must chip away the stone in order to carve a masterpiece. She was being foolish.
Irritated at her antics, Sigfried flung open the door. The hallway was placid. Empty.
“She left.” His lament echoed slightly, a bleak emphasis of his isolation.
He would follow her. Find her before she ruined everything. Before she decided to never return. He had to explain, had to make her see, make her understand what they were doing. Their mission. Why it was so important.
His arms pumped as he stiffly jogged towards the stairs. He was sore; his head throbbed.
That’s not why she joined us. You know that. She said she needed a purpose, a mission. She had lied. She was happy just being involved. Doing her share. Being accepted. She just wanted to belong to something. Look what you did to her. She needed a friend, and you almost killed her.
His progress paused at the first step, a looming obstacle given his dire disposition.
He had betrayed his only real friend. She had opened herself up to him, laughed with him, trusted him. Even after he had begun to confess, she had embraced him. She had faced him. Looking back, she had given him so many chances to redeem himself and apologize. He had responded with rhetoric. He was callous. He was fanatic. He was a tyrant.
Sigfried ascended the steps with deliberation. His crimson sweatshirt suffocated him. He needed to get out of this building. He needed to take flight.
He wouldn’t pursue her. No, it was best she run as far away as she could before he found some new way to crush her.
Tonight he would take wing for himself. He refused to be a predator; he needed to escape that role, if only for an hour. He wanted to be vulnerable, to feel fear mingle with the elation of freedom. He wanted to sing.
His eyes traced the silhouettes of the skyscrapers against the starry horizon. A low-flying hovercar zipped past, catching wisps of his hair in its wake. Feathers rustled as a nightingale became lost in the evening sky.
Jarka stormed down 7th street. She couldn’t cry. Not anymore. She was just so damn tired of feeling anything anymore.
She had no real destination in mind. She could go home, true, but it didn’t really feel like ‘home’ anymore. ECM was her home now, but that house had just been burnt to the ground.
Her eyes fell on a crudely painted sign swaying ahead: “Saiyan Tail Tavern.” There’s no home like booze. Ignoring the taxidermied chimpanzees lining the walls, it was a pleasant enough location. More importantly, the clientele were limited enough that she could down her whiskey in solitude. She had no desire to talk to anybody; she’d done more than enough of that today. Now was time to dwell. To mourn.
She wept for Sigfried. For his betrayal, and for her loss. He’d welcomed her, drew her in, earned her trust and crushed her. He was a murderer. A terrorist. He had no regard for any life but his own. And she had cherished him.
The bitter drink still tumbling through her innards, she stumbled once more down the desolate sidewalk. A low-flying hovercar zipped past, drawing her attention to the starry horizon. There’s always a bright side. Her city had been torn apart by war not one year ago. Buildings were decimated and infrastructures were toppled. All the destruction crippled the populace, many fleeing to safer cities. With less pollution and fewer lights, the citizens of Central City could finally see the stars.
Jarka hated astronomy. The time spent learning about star systems and the mechanics of light speed was much better spent sleeping, which she often did. There had always been one lesson that stuck out.
She remembered learning about space travelers approaching black holes. It became like a dare, teasing the edges of the phenomenon. A game of cosmic chicken. The gravity was so immense, time slowed down. Without realizing it, the astronauts would be caught in its grip. It would pull them in as they tried fruitlessly to escape. Hopeless distress signals and teary goodbyes would be transmitted, only to receive the q-waves moments later as they become swept up in the gravity. Most ships carried a supply of cyanide pills for this reason. There was no escaping the event horizon, only death.
A corner store blazed neon in the night. Twenty zeni bought a cheap prepaid phone with only a few minutes. She didn’t need much time; talking on the phone was never her thing, anyway. Her path took her to a quiet park. A wooden bridge stretched across the man-made pond. It was here she made the call.
“Hello?” The man’s voice was sleepy. Long day.
“Hey, Citrad, it’s Jarka.” Her words hung hollow, unusual when she spoke to her brother.
“J, what’s up?” Concern simmered beneath his casual greeting.
“I’ve done something very bad.”
His tone turned serious. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I want you to tell everybody that I love them.”
“J, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.” Her voice began to crack under the pressure. “Tell them I love them. Tell them that I’m sorry, and if I could change things I would.”
“I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
“Your baby will be beautiful. Like you.” She fought back a sob. “Goodbye, Citrad.”
The phone clicked shut. Her face glistened in the moonlight, tears rippling the water below. She had to do it. There was no choice. She had hit an event horizon.
The streets of Central City had been silent. Water splashed, and the city was dead once more.
The door to the basement apartment creaked open. Sigfried stood facing the kitchen counter, pensively mixing a drink. He turned as he heard footsteps approach.
Jarka shoved him. “I can’t leave!”
The boy was confounded by her hostility. “What are you talking about?”
She continued to push him, a flurry of arms and hands against his chest. “You and your fucking plans! You made it so I can’t leave. You’re a black hole! You’re keeping me here!”
He caught her wrists. “The door’s right over there.”
She struggled against his restraint, moisture trailing her cheeks. “You think I can just walk away? You think I can just go? I’m involved with you. With ECM. We’re on the same team. Everybody you’ve killed gets traced back to me. I’m a murderer by association.”
Remorse twisted his visage. As his hands relaxed, she pulled away from his grip, panting with rage. His aching eyes latched onto her face. “I’m sorry.”
Her growl was barely audible. “That’s not good enough.”
With that, the girl lunged at him. His body collapsed with her momentum, landing limply beneath her. She screamed at him, inaudible words for inexplicable feelings, but it was not punishment enough. Her fist balled and swung forward, connecting with his jaw. His resigned eyes clenched shut on impact before they reconnected with hers.
“I’m sorry.” Each tearful punch brought another apology. The boy accepted her violent retribution with a docile gaze. Her primal growls transformed into whines as blood mingled with saline and the attacks abated. She quivered, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she straddled the submissive boy. Her arms sagged to her side.
Blood had smeared across his swollen face. “I’m sorry.”
The girl gaped at her messy handiwork. She clamored to her feet and wobbled to the counter. A moment rummaging through a drawer and she crouched over the boy once more. A damp towel tenderly wiped the sticky humor from his wounds. The pair shared a smile, tortured but understanding. She leaned into him, her breath hot on his ear.
Her words were a gentle whisper. “That’s not good enough.” She thrust a paring knife into his chest, landing just below his collarbone. As he wailed, the blade slid easily from its resting place before being tossed across the room.
Sigfried clutched his wound, his face a mix of rage and resignation. “You- you fucking stabbed me!”
Jarka stood, glaring down at her victim. Her betrayer. “Now you know a fraction of how I feel.”
The psychic stepped over him, making her way for the bedroom. With her hand on the knob, she shot a glance over her shoulder. “One condition: No more secrets.” The door clicked shut behind her.
In the wake of her silence, Sigfried began to visibly crumble from his haggard confidence. He looked exhausted, broken. Like he wanted to cry but couldn’t find the tears. His fingers twisted through his hair, anxiously tugging at the scalp. His sunken eyes clenched shut, unable to tolerate her lack of response. Finally, his voice breaking, he pleaded to the girl, “Say something.”
Jarka slowly shook her head. Her eyebrows knotted as the emotions finally began to catch up with the reality she could no longer deny. She drew her lip between her teeth, chewing it with her pulsing thoughts. Everything had been a lie. Everything. He’d planned every last detail, every last deception. She could feel the anger welling in her throat. Seething. Aching to burst out.
The girl began a mad dash towards the kitchen sink. Vomit spilled from her mouth, leaving her sputtering chunks until only bile remained. The girl wheezed as she watched the former contents of her stomach dribbled towards the drain. She felt Sigfried’s hand timidly rest on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her as he had so many times in the past months.
Jarka threw her elbow back, knocking away the boy’s arm. Her teeth ground together as she hissed, “Don’t you dare touch me.”
She spat a final glob of yellow saliva before rinsing her burning mouth with a quick shot of water from the running faucet. The liquid splashed through the messy basin, carrying half-digested chunks of her dinner down the drain to be forgotten once more. She wished she could join them, dissolve into the dark recesses nobody dares explore. She certainly could relate to being chewed up, spit out, and slowly torn apart. As the acrid smell began to sting her nostrils, she stepped away from the sink.
Sigfried’s elbows rested on the counter top; one palm cradled his forehead. If he noticed the girl’s approach, his posture did not reflect it.
“Look at me.” Her voice was chilly, sharp but fragile.
His only movement was the expansion and contraction of his ribcage, barely visible beneath that stupid red sweatshirt.
Flesh against tile, her palm slapped the counter. The crack echoed through the empty apartment, forming a descant against her enraged growl. “Look at me!”
The boy remained stagnant.
“You owe me that much.”
A sharp intake of breath accompanied tensing fingers scratching across the surface of the linoleum. His gaze dragged to the girl hovering menacingly by his side. The girl who had hovered so fondly on his every word not one day ago. The girl who had trusted him. The girl he had betrayed.
The only sound in the room came from the clock’s steady ticking while the eyes of the psychic and the shape-shifter remained locked. Tick. Confounded hazel condemned enfeebled blue. Tick. Tense bodies quivered with each breath, yet the steady gaze remained. Tick. She tentatively slid her hand to the back of his head. Tick. Moisture. Her eyes flashed horror as fingers laced through slicked locks. Tick. The girl saw her trembling palm soaked in blood. Tick. Grasping his head, she swooped in to frantically search for the origin, the wound. Tick. Pristine scalp stained sanguine. Impossible.
Jarka gaped at the boy in horror, in disgust. Her reddened hands begged to him until she briefly found the nerve to speak. “How is- how is-”
Sigfried gently grasped her hands, seemingly unsure of how to best respond. Despite an increasingly knotted brow, his gaze never faltered as he studied the girl’s bewildered countenance. He brushed her palms along his sleeve to wipe them clean. At last, he sighed.
She watched in disbelief as his beloved crimson sweatshirt and dingy jeans began to shift, turning darker, deeper, black. The fabric smoothed and contracted, its boundaries twisting to form new hemlines and collars. The process made her eyes itch; she would have averted them had it not been so mesmerizing. There he stood, the boy with the plan in a three-piece suit.
She saw his eyes change from their dusky blue to iridescent green to the placid wash of a sunset. His skin turned olive, wrinkled, scarred. A thousand faces shimmered past in a few short breaths.
She felt the palms of his hands become thicker, smoother. From his upper lip, translucent hairs sprouted outward. His pupils faltered, pinching into slits. Fur rippled along his body as he shrunk, his paws landing gently on the ground.
The fluffy calico twitched its tail expectantly. Jarka stumbled backwards, failing to clumsily catch herself on the way to the floor. The cat pattered forward and rubbed its shoulder against her limp wrist.
A moment later, Sigfried was crouched with her hand in his. He drew her palm to his scalp. Dry. Her eyes flashed amazement as her fingers laced through clean locks. No evidence of the sickening mess. Her hands explored his face, stroking his cheeks, his forehead. Making sure he was real.
“You’re... you’re like me.” As they had so many times already this fateful day, her eyes welled. “You’re different. You have powers.”
A small smile struggled its way onto his distraught visage. “I discovered them a while back. On my own. Like you.”
“Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”
He gave a slight shrug. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
She threw herself around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. It was all so overwhelming, so confusing, so deafening, yet it was here on the kitchen floor of a dingy apartment that she felt relief. She was cradled by the one person she had ever met who understood her struggle. Her kindred spirit. It was at this time, this moment, that she knew definitively she was not alone, regardless of any other circumstance surrounding them. She could forget about everything else. She wanted this to last forever. To never leave this embrace. To never lose her friend. She knew it was too perfect.
At last, Sigfried pulled away, amicably resting his head against hers. He appeared relieved, but something still tugged at each breath.
Unanswered questions still plucked at Jarka’s mind as she snuggled against his shoulder. Don’t ask. You’ll regret it. Perfection never lasts. Better to know the truth. “What else can you do?”
“I can survive things that could kill a man. I have survived things that would kill a man.” His terse answer reflected his mysterious experiences. “I can heal my injuries like they never happened. Fresh skin, new bones.”
She rolled the information through her mind. Something wouldn’t sit right, wouldn’t settle. “You said before... You said you were everybody.”
A pause preceded his flat response. “I am.”
“But... I’ve seen you together. Hati, Skoll, R- ” The girl choked on the name of their fallen comrade. “You can’t be everywhere. Was it mind control? What?”
She felt his body rumble with a chuckle. “Neat little trick I picked up. I can, uh, split my body. Make people.”
“So... they’re not real?”
“Oh, they’re real as you and me. Well, technically they are me. I see everything, feel everything, but their actions are their own. I just mold who they are and set them free.”
“You said you were the invaders.” She sat up, leaning away from the boy. “You made all of them?”
“Don’t give me that much credit.” The boy rolled his eyes. “I just made the ones on earth.”
Like a champagne glass hurled at a wall, Jarka’s entire worldview shattered. She rose to her feet; her finger shook wildly at the boy lounging against the counter. Her lips sputtered, thoughts wrestling to escape.
“Jarky,” He pulled himself up to her level, troubled by her explosive reaction. “That came out wrong. There’s no invaders on earth.”
She took a step back. “They had video! On the news!”
“They were a hoax.”
“How? City Hall is gone! I saw the video feeds, the alien. He was-”
“I set the bomb.”
Jarka’s eyes bore into Sigfried. His face carried presumption for his actions, but his posture was pleading. He needed acceptance. He needed praise. He needed affirmation.
She slapped him.
“Shit! What was that for?” He rubbed his jaw.
“How could you? How dare you!”
“You’re not looking at the bigger picture here.”
Her potent fury fueled her bitter words. “Fuck the bigger picture! It’s not like it matters to you. All this talk about saving people from uncaring governments, well, look at you. You don’t care about a thing but yourself. Creeping Kai, you surrounded yourself with clones until I showed up! You even manipulated them to get your way. You’re not a hero. You’re a terrorist.”
A rumbling growl eked from the depths of his innards. His fists clenched briefly lashing out to her chest. Her shirt twisted in his hands, lifting the girl but an inch from his mouth. His snarl was indignant, deliberate. “I. Am not. A terrorist.” With each pause, he gave her a hard shake, a warning.
She scoffed, surprising brashness for a girl dangling a half a foot off the ground. “What about City Hall? What do you call that, a picnic?” Her infuriated captor slammed her body against the refrigerator, menacingly raising his arm to strike. She wouldn’t mind. He’d broken her already. “Because I call it 18 innocent graves.”
“No... Nobody was supposed to die.” His fist faltered, choosing instead to press his forearm against her throat. “Not even Roy.”
“Well he did. They did. And their blood is on your conscience.” Her fingers wrapped around his arm in a futile attempt to reduce the pressure on her windpipe.
His face continued to contort with despair as he leaned forward. “I-I didn’t mean to. I planned around it, so nobody would...”
Breathing was getting to be a chore. “Kill me. Get it over with already.”
His eyes widened. “N-No. That’s...”
“Not part of...” The girl wheezed, unable to fill her lungs for more than a few words. “...the plan?”
He shook his head slowly. “Jarky...”
“Just.... kill... me...” Her eyes reddened. Bloodshot. “Please....” Pressure. No more breath.
The boy released her, stepping back in horror. Like a stone, she dropped to the ground. A piercing gasp resonated through the air.
The girl held her neck as though to guide the shuddering gulps to their destination. She reclined against the refrigerator while fresh air filled her lungs and renewed her strength. Tears dribbled over pallid cheeks. She listened to Sigfried’s frantic pacing, timing her labored breaths against his steps. Inhale walk walk walk. Exhale walk walk walk. As her panting slowed, his pace followed.
She struggled to stand. The boy rushed to her aid, supporting her waist in his arm.
“Look around you, Sigfried. Is this the world you want to create? Just death and pain and tears?”
He shook his head dismissively. “We all make sacrifices. Sometimes people get hurt for the greater good.”
“How can you look me in the eyes and say that? I’m just collateral to you.” She pushed away from him, choosing instead to rest her weight on the nearby wall.
“No, Jarka, I-” The boy reached to out to her, anxious to explain.
She tossed her hand. “I can’t do this anymore.” Her body staggered towards the exit.
His voice cracked, but she couldn’t see his face. “Come on. Give me ano-”
“Goodbye.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the friend, the confidante, the kindred spirit she had lost. At last, the door swung shut between them.
*****
Sigfried stared ahead. She’d come back. She had to. She’d be stupid not to.
Couldn’t she see what she’d be giving up? She had a chance to change the world. To make things better. She was walking away from the beautiful struggle for the greater good. That was the whole point of ECM. Guide the weak to bind together to become strong and denounce the shackles of the status quo. She was weak. She was perfect.
The door would reopen any second now.
Why wouldn’t she want to put her mark on the world? To be remembered? Her name would be etched in time next to his. Their glories would be sung by schoolchildren in pageants, immortalized in countless paintings. She was resigning to become an out of work cook with no purpose. Barely a smudge in a diary, let alone chapters in a history book. She could be his prophet, ushering in a new age of enlightenment. Why would she leave?
Surely, she was just being dramatic at this point.
How could anything be more important than this? People were suffering, they just didn’t know it. They would show them the truth. Lead them to freedom. She should understand how important that is. How insignificant a couple of lives were compared to achieving their goal. After all, one must chip away the stone in order to carve a masterpiece. She was being foolish.
Irritated at her antics, Sigfried flung open the door. The hallway was placid. Empty.
“She left.” His lament echoed slightly, a bleak emphasis of his isolation.
He would follow her. Find her before she ruined everything. Before she decided to never return. He had to explain, had to make her see, make her understand what they were doing. Their mission. Why it was so important.
His arms pumped as he stiffly jogged towards the stairs. He was sore; his head throbbed.
That’s not why she joined us. You know that. She said she needed a purpose, a mission. She had lied. She was happy just being involved. Doing her share. Being accepted. She just wanted to belong to something. Look what you did to her. She needed a friend, and you almost killed her.
His progress paused at the first step, a looming obstacle given his dire disposition.
He had betrayed his only real friend. She had opened herself up to him, laughed with him, trusted him. Even after he had begun to confess, she had embraced him. She had faced him. Looking back, she had given him so many chances to redeem himself and apologize. He had responded with rhetoric. He was callous. He was fanatic. He was a tyrant.
Sigfried ascended the steps with deliberation. His crimson sweatshirt suffocated him. He needed to get out of this building. He needed to take flight.
He wouldn’t pursue her. No, it was best she run as far away as she could before he found some new way to crush her.
Tonight he would take wing for himself. He refused to be a predator; he needed to escape that role, if only for an hour. He wanted to be vulnerable, to feel fear mingle with the elation of freedom. He wanted to sing.
His eyes traced the silhouettes of the skyscrapers against the starry horizon. A low-flying hovercar zipped past, catching wisps of his hair in its wake. Feathers rustled as a nightingale became lost in the evening sky.
*****
Jarka stormed down 7th street. She couldn’t cry. Not anymore. She was just so damn tired of feeling anything anymore.
She had no real destination in mind. She could go home, true, but it didn’t really feel like ‘home’ anymore. ECM was her home now, but that house had just been burnt to the ground.
Her eyes fell on a crudely painted sign swaying ahead: “Saiyan Tail Tavern.” There’s no home like booze. Ignoring the taxidermied chimpanzees lining the walls, it was a pleasant enough location. More importantly, the clientele were limited enough that she could down her whiskey in solitude. She had no desire to talk to anybody; she’d done more than enough of that today. Now was time to dwell. To mourn.
She wept for Sigfried. For his betrayal, and for her loss. He’d welcomed her, drew her in, earned her trust and crushed her. He was a murderer. A terrorist. He had no regard for any life but his own. And she had cherished him.
The bitter drink still tumbling through her innards, she stumbled once more down the desolate sidewalk. A low-flying hovercar zipped past, drawing her attention to the starry horizon. There’s always a bright side. Her city had been torn apart by war not one year ago. Buildings were decimated and infrastructures were toppled. All the destruction crippled the populace, many fleeing to safer cities. With less pollution and fewer lights, the citizens of Central City could finally see the stars.
Jarka hated astronomy. The time spent learning about star systems and the mechanics of light speed was much better spent sleeping, which she often did. There had always been one lesson that stuck out.
She remembered learning about space travelers approaching black holes. It became like a dare, teasing the edges of the phenomenon. A game of cosmic chicken. The gravity was so immense, time slowed down. Without realizing it, the astronauts would be caught in its grip. It would pull them in as they tried fruitlessly to escape. Hopeless distress signals and teary goodbyes would be transmitted, only to receive the q-waves moments later as they become swept up in the gravity. Most ships carried a supply of cyanide pills for this reason. There was no escaping the event horizon, only death.
A corner store blazed neon in the night. Twenty zeni bought a cheap prepaid phone with only a few minutes. She didn’t need much time; talking on the phone was never her thing, anyway. Her path took her to a quiet park. A wooden bridge stretched across the man-made pond. It was here she made the call.
“Hello?” The man’s voice was sleepy. Long day.
“Hey, Citrad, it’s Jarka.” Her words hung hollow, unusual when she spoke to her brother.
“J, what’s up?” Concern simmered beneath his casual greeting.
“I’ve done something very bad.”
His tone turned serious. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I want you to tell everybody that I love them.”
“J, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.” Her voice began to crack under the pressure. “Tell them I love them. Tell them that I’m sorry, and if I could change things I would.”
“I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
“Your baby will be beautiful. Like you.” She fought back a sob. “Goodbye, Citrad.”
The phone clicked shut. Her face glistened in the moonlight, tears rippling the water below. She had to do it. There was no choice. She had hit an event horizon.
The streets of Central City had been silent. Water splashed, and the city was dead once more.
*****
The door to the basement apartment creaked open. Sigfried stood facing the kitchen counter, pensively mixing a drink. He turned as he heard footsteps approach.
Jarka shoved him. “I can’t leave!”
The boy was confounded by her hostility. “What are you talking about?”
She continued to push him, a flurry of arms and hands against his chest. “You and your fucking plans! You made it so I can’t leave. You’re a black hole! You’re keeping me here!”
He caught her wrists. “The door’s right over there.”
She struggled against his restraint, moisture trailing her cheeks. “You think I can just walk away? You think I can just go? I’m involved with you. With ECM. We’re on the same team. Everybody you’ve killed gets traced back to me. I’m a murderer by association.”
Remorse twisted his visage. As his hands relaxed, she pulled away from his grip, panting with rage. His aching eyes latched onto her face. “I’m sorry.”
Her growl was barely audible. “That’s not good enough.”
With that, the girl lunged at him. His body collapsed with her momentum, landing limply beneath her. She screamed at him, inaudible words for inexplicable feelings, but it was not punishment enough. Her fist balled and swung forward, connecting with his jaw. His resigned eyes clenched shut on impact before they reconnected with hers.
“I’m sorry.” Each tearful punch brought another apology. The boy accepted her violent retribution with a docile gaze. Her primal growls transformed into whines as blood mingled with saline and the attacks abated. She quivered, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she straddled the submissive boy. Her arms sagged to her side.
Blood had smeared across his swollen face. “I’m sorry.”
The girl gaped at her messy handiwork. She clamored to her feet and wobbled to the counter. A moment rummaging through a drawer and she crouched over the boy once more. A damp towel tenderly wiped the sticky humor from his wounds. The pair shared a smile, tortured but understanding. She leaned into him, her breath hot on his ear.
Her words were a gentle whisper. “That’s not good enough.” She thrust a paring knife into his chest, landing just below his collarbone. As he wailed, the blade slid easily from its resting place before being tossed across the room.
Sigfried clutched his wound, his face a mix of rage and resignation. “You- you fucking stabbed me!”
Jarka stood, glaring down at her victim. Her betrayer. “Now you know a fraction of how I feel.”
The psychic stepped over him, making her way for the bedroom. With her hand on the knob, she shot a glance over her shoulder. “One condition: No more secrets.” The door clicked shut behind her.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.