Coronasona Writings

Stop. Get Some Help pt 3 (finale)

Jackson stepped out onto the front porch and let out a deep breath. He had a few days to find a mic solution. He could do this. It would be fine.
He stepped out onto the porch and shut the door quietly behind him. Scottsdale, or Plantsdale as it was now called, had changed a lot since he was last there.
Daisy spotted Jackson and waved him over to where she, Serr, and Mini were standing.
"Look." Serr said. "All I'm saying is that if I were in a horror movie I would simply not die."
Mini looked about ready to pull their hair out. "You can't just not die, it takes smarts and planning!"
Daisy rolled her eyes and left the two of them, pulling Jackson along as she walked.
"Where are we going?" He asked, following her through the all but desolate remains of his hometown.
Daisy checked her watch and kept marching. "I had an idea," she said. "You're dying with your mic broke, yeah?"
He nodded, "yeah but I don't see how that's—"
"We're gonna get you a new microphone."
Daisy stopped in front of a familiar building and held the door open. "After you."
As soon as Jackson stepped foot into the radio station, everything seemed to slow down, which was weird since he hadn't even realized things had been going fast.
Daisy stepped inside and walked straight to the recording booth.
"If we hurry we can get in and out before the next broadcast starts," she said.
She knocked on the door and a loud voice from inside replied with, "come in!"
Daisy opened the door and inside was a small plant girl. She was sitting in front of a microphone with headphones half on. She leaned back in her chair and turned towards them.
"Hiya Daisy, i'm just about to go on air," she said. "What can I do for ya?"
"Claire, I have someone I would like you to meet." Daisy said, pulling Jackson into the room.
Stepping into the room was a much less pleasant experience than stepping into the station itself. Jackson felt panic rising in his chest as he looked around the room. It felt smaller than he remembered, more cramped with less space to breath. God, it was getting hard to breath.
Daisy and Claire were talking now, but none of the words registered with Jackson, not really. He could pick out a few, sure, but few processed.
"Did he leave you for a younger girl? Should I fight him?"
"No he was my late husband. He died."
"He doesn't look dead."
Dead. That's what Jackson was. Dead. That's what he was going to be if he stayed here much longer. Dead. He could practically feel the piercing needles of electricity under his skin. And he couldn't breath. Why couldn't he breath?
"Excuse me for a moment!" he announced, louder than was necessary, and hurried outside.
He stepped out onto the steps outside of the radio station, trying to take deep breaths of air. It felt like somebody had put a two ton weight on his chest. He needed to get away, he needed some fresh air.
So Jackson walked. He walked for a while, trying to calm the silent panic overtaking him. The further away he got from the site of his death, the easier it got to breath and to think. He was so tired. He just wanted to rest, and yet he was afraid to.
Eventually, Jackson was brought back to reality by a crunch below his feet. He looked down to find a crushed flower petal. At first glance it wasn't recognizable as such. The black petals with electric purple streaks and eye markings didn't scream "flower petal" at first, but sure enough it was.
He picked it up and turned the crumbling pieces over in his hands. The pattern reminded him of Alaster's tentacle hair.
A lot of things reminded him of Alaster, actually.
He hadn't passed many TVs, but they were a pretty good reminder. Any time he heard a fact, fun or otherwise, he would think of Al and his show. He passed a lake the night before and nearly started crying because it reminded him of the time they went to the aquarium.
Everything from the leaves on the trees to the sound of his feet were connected to Alaster.
Jackson collapsed onto the ground by his grave. He was just so tired. Physically, yes, but also emotionally. He was tired of his trust being broken, he was tired of feeling bad, he was just tired.
Jackson noticed some more petals scattered around as if there had been flowers sitting there before. He concluded that whoever's grave this was must have had a visitor who left these weird flowers there. He turned to look at the name on the gravestone and gasped.
Jackson Signal. His own grave. How had he missed it before? He didn't know. He gathered a few more of the flower petals and stared at them.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Cracks covered the surface, his screen had all but shattered while fighting with Lonnie, but it still turned on, it was still functional.
He tapped into messages, and he didn't have to scroll to find who he was looking for. He typed and deleted and typed again numerous times, trying to figure out what to say. There was no way to put all his thoughts and feelings into a text, so he settled for a simple sentence instead. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to work up the courage to hit send.
Meanwhile, in a decently sized apartment a few states over, an alien sat at his kitchen table, crying into a bottle of whiskey while watching Friends reruns. He didn't choose the Friends reruns, the Friends reruns chose him. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tried to pull it out of his pocket, but it took a few tries before he put in on the counter. There was a single text message staring up at him from someone he assumed he would never hear from again. Jackson Signal, the love of his miserable life. He read the text through his tears, though it was heard with a head full of alcohol.
"I'm sorry I blew up at you, can we talk?"