Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Chapter 13: Chapter 17

July 11th, 2478

11/7/2478

I have given up on chapter names. Originally I wanted to entitle each chapter with a word that was relevant to the chapter, but you know, that didn't really work for me. I'll probably go back and rename them after I'm done.

Maybe I won't though. Also, I have noticed that I am dating all of the chapters with the American way of dating. Month, date, year, whereas most other countries prefer day, month, year. Smallest, medium, largest. From here on out I will date the titles both ways. It will be a good way of adding more words to my word count.

Anything I can do at this point will be very helpful.

I skipped whatever happened last night (night of the tenth of July) because nothing happened. Actually, let me rephrase that. Nothing interesting or relevant to the story happened. How disappointing for us all.

But quite honestly, you don't need to know Guinevere's general regimen for brushing her teeth and doing her hair before bed. And you don't need to know about how neither Christopher nor Nicholas slept well. Both were worried about Alexandria, and it took quite a bit of Christopher's willpower not to get out of bed.

The only thing that kept him under the covers was Nicholas' warmth, pressed tightly against his own. That, and the fact that Nicholas was awake too, and totally would have noticed if Christopher left.

But I'm skipping that. You don't want to hear about that. I don't want to hear about that. I'm not sure whether or not I'll have the motivation to finish the story.

I mean, I know I have to, but I want to end it right here, right now. Just blink at the paper and the story is all there. All done.

Perfect.

But that's not how you write a story.

Writing a story is messy.

It hurts.

We haven't actually got to the part where it'll hurt you (the reader) the most, but it hurts the author of the story to put the words down sometimes.

It hurts me with every word. It reminds me that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't kind enough. Wasn't strong enough.

Nobody is ever as good, as kind, or as strong as they would like, but I know, deep in my heart, that I didn't try hard enough. I could have been so much "gooder" so much kinder, so much stronger.

But I wasn't. And now we're here. And now I'm slowly collapsing under the weight of all of these words that I'm trying to pour out of my hands and my brain onto this paper. That part hurts too.

You don't need to know this. I'm sorry. You don't want to know this either probably. For all the therapy and drugs to help with brain damage, I never tried to mess with my own. I'm not entirely sure why.

Probably too scared to lose all the stories that slip in on the cat's feet and once they leave, only small reminders of what they were. But this isn't important.

Skip through the morning.

Guinevere wakes up. Nicholas makes breakfast. She leaves for work with her bag and camera. It's all normal. Alexandria is not mentioned, nor is the sleeplessness showing on all of their faces.

"Bye Dad. Bye Father."

"Bye Guinevere."

"Have a good day at the Library."

"Say hello to Amaryllis for me."

"If I didn't know any better, Nick, I'd say you love Amaryllis more than me."