This past week has made me realize something. While one of the kids in I Enjoy the World with You wanted to be a snake because they’re laying down as they walk, I? I want to be a jellyfish.
Not even a head to be emptied of thoughts, no nervous system, just an ethereal bundle of cells floating in the ocean. Only care is if there’s enough plankton in the water for them to absorb. Maybe I could be one of the lake ones, that are in symbiosis with an algae that photosynthesises inside of them. Plus those ones don’t have stingers and look really pretty. Maybe I’d get captured and left at a pet store for a jellyfish otaku to fall in love with, to be saved by the girl’s soon-to-be femboyfriend buying me for her just before he crashes at her no-men-allowed apartment house for the night. She’d vent all her worries and concerns to me and all I’d do is float around and not understand any of it due to the distinct lack of a brain, becoming inspiration for a fashion brand to save the apartment house from developers so the otaku there have someplace they belong.
Oh, right, sorry, long pointless tangent. Here’s a point to make up for it: I feel even more hollow than usual, more empty. All I’ve done for the past week since my monumental failure was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. If it hadn’t been for Moss coming over with lunch every day and Top letting them in, I might have starved in my zoned out neglect of basic bodily needs. Top tried her best to cheer me up all week, too; she’s still trying even now, gently purring while curled up on my chest, but I’m not all there to appreciate it. Out of obligation I pet her, just to reassure her that yes, I’m still alive, still breathing, and she won’t have to experience two deaths within a week of each other.
But it’s not like I’m really living right now either. How could I? How do you even cope with someone dying? And not only that, but almost experiencing their last breath. I still remember how freezing the water felt as she climbed in! How quickly the cold began seeping into her bones. How quickly she started shivering. How the frost burned, especially on the parts of her I had been desperate to experience. I nearly experienced her death first hand, and I experienced her dying near me. Two Near Death Experiences. Both have fucked me up.
How do you carry on after such a thing? How do you deal with a twisted version of survivor’s guilt? And yes, it is survivor’s guilt. I was there as she began dying a slow, agonizing death, but I’m still here; I’m still alive to feel like shit while she’s gone. It’s not like I have any way of bringing her back. I already checked. “If thee wishes to return a soul from the pits of Hell, make certain you have one to take its place.”
Equivalent Exchange. A life for a life. And unlike the harpies of Tau Eta Epsilon I’m not a murderer. Not that there weren’t plenty of people that deserved to lose their agency and influence over others.
Top looks at the clock on the wall and starts bumping into me with her head, meowing incessantly. “Fine, fine, I’ll go to class.” Her mrrp of approval is the final push I need to get out of bed and go try to be a person. None of the professors were so heartless as to punish a witness to a pressumed suicide for not showing up for a week. But more than that would be pushing it.
Despite the mercy of the break, I still have to show up in boy mode. Because I was right, Moss didn’t out me. I remember that even in my catatonic state, as they lead me back to my dorm, I managed to tell them I’m closeted. And so I hide my long hair that sports two inches of purple roots, tying it neatly into a bun to pin into place beneath a beanie. And I cover my frame in jeans and a hoodie, looking for all the world like a skater guy displaced in time. I don’t look in the mirror when I’m done. I just grab my bag, pet Top, and step outside, leaving my apartment for the first time in a week. Moss catches me on my way out, and the smile they give me is genuine. I try and return one, but it’s clear it’s forced, my eyes make it obvious. I don’t stop to have a chat, I don’t feel up to being a person right now. I don’t know if I’ll truly feel up to it ever again.
It’s raining when I step outside. I sadly chuckle, my wish granted partially in the most roundabout way. Floating in the ocean as a human being. I feel sorry for all of Top’s relatives who are falling out of the sky.
I disassociate my way through the class, paying zero attention to whatever it is that the professor is saying. I know I should care, that my stay and education depend on it, but I can’t bring myself to. Only thing that comes to mind is that Liz will never have a chance to graduate and to find the acceptance she so desperately craved. I barely care enough to bring myself to lunch. The rain doesn’t let up. The university stands on a hill that has a great view of the beach and sea shore. The waves are wild and massive. Those I would not want to brainlessly float in. I’m sure whoever visits the beach on their morning jog tomorrow will find many of my brethren beached.
Somebody shouts “Hey!” as I walk back to my dorm. “Hey! Beanie Emo Kid!” They shout again. I am used to harassment. If they’re far enough away that they have to shout and you’re outside, your goal is to either reach a crowded area or shake them off and get home as soon as possible. I pick up the pace, not by much, not so much that it wouldn’t be suspicious of me to walk a bit faster in the rain. “Fuck, shit, hey, dude, I’m not a threat! We’ve met each other!” They yell once more, I grit my teeth at being called dude.
The dorm is in sight, just a bit further and I’ll be inside and I’ll be able to get out of these soaked clothes and take a shower and cuddle up with Top for warmth while zoning out. Just thirty feet left. I decided to dash the rest of the way. Quietly, I point behind me and mutter “Pyast-Pohdrziaz-Nouhee,” and part of the concrete wrinkles up like a tree root, so as to trip whoever is following me and calling out to me. I don’t even look behind me to see if it worked. I do not however hear the distinct sound of somebody eating shit.
I get out of the rain, but it sounds like they do too, breath ragged from running. “Man, fucking, I’m the fakeass medium, alright? Gave you a high five after you fucked the girl who killed herself?” I turn at last and recognize her. “I wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re okay, I figured nobody else would have.”
“Thanks, but my neighbor did, and I’m already paying for a therapist with wet food.” Only the best for Top, she deserves it.
“Yeah, right.” She steps forward. Despite being a head shorter than me she feels more intimidating and intense. “What you need is someone to drag you out of your fucking slump.”
I shrug. “Whatever. I’ve got options.” Like Moss, if I ever decide to open up to them.
“Bullshit. Come on dude, it’ll be chill, we just go to your place and shoot the shit for a few minutes, maybe get some beers in us and then I fuck off.” She grabs my shoulder and downright drags me to the elevator.
I sigh. If things go badly enough Top can claw her eyes or bite her ankles or something. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Shit, bro, knew I was forgetting something. Violet Bryann, and may I have your name?” Her wild hair and another obnoxious gendering has me pause for a moment, to consider my response. I answer as the elevator doors open and we step in.
“You may not have my name, but you can refer to me as Kouzelna.” The wording was far too specific and so far out of character for her. Either she’d see it as a joke, or I saved myself a world of trouble.
“Fancy name, pick it yourself?”
“It’s my last name, what do you think?” My answer has her smirk.
“Bet you’ve got one chosen if you’re so fucking dodgy about it.” The elevator dings and I step out, defeatedly walking to my door. Violet stays too close to me for me to lose her. Plus she already knows where I live, so there would be no point.
“Well, here it is, my place.” Violet whistles as I show her the apartment, and Top meows. “Top, this is Violet. Violet, Dame Topiary Forges Her Armies On Moons.”
“At least one of the people in this house is a top.” She’s right but she shouldn’t say it. “Man, you really do have a sweet space for yourself.” Her gaze wanders into my bedroom and I forget I left something out in the open. “Dude, these yours?” She walks over to Liz’s panties and picks them up. “Nah, far too small to be your size. You nick them off of little miss suicide? Mad respect bro.”
I grit my teeth, I clench my fists, and I breathe in. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” She’s twirling them with one finger.
“Stop. Calling me. A Man. or Dude. Or Bro.” I try to hide my hands shaking to the best of my ability.
“Alright, dude, spill it. Why?”
I rip off my beanie and let my hair free. “BECAUSE I’M NOT ONE!”
She smiles, it looks wider than it should be, almost impossibly so, and her teeth look sharp. “Called it. Called that and you being magic.” She taps her nose. “You reek of it, you and your cat, like a quarterback in the showers.”
“What do you mean I smell of magic?”
She steps closer. “You’re not a man, I’m not a hu-man.” She bows, something that doesn’t fit with her punk aesthetic. “I’m the ginger bitch in green with a pot of gold. Your Friendly Neighborhood Seelie.” I’m against the wall, she has me locked in with one hand on the wall. “Now you’ll tell me what magic you done did pissed out.”
What a spectacularly calculated shithead hehe, I love them both. Really enjoying this!
Nice kabedon.
aw f*ck.
pressumed suicide for not
presumed