Dying to Breathe

8.4: obsession in the form of blue flowers

A/N: lots of updates for those of you wondering:

(1) the bird I tried to rescue (I named it Comrade) unfortunately took a turn for the worst by the time I got him to the animal hospital. His neck was too badly broken and eventually it effected his motor functions and he couldn't stand anymore without falling and rolling over onto his back, so the vet believed the most humane thing was to euthanize him/her (sorry, I know it's sad. I crieeed like a fcking baby). I got some pictures beforehand and my heart just hurts a hella lot now. That bird was the sweetest baby... he pecked at everything except for me, and he let me pet him and hold him and goddamn. IM SO SAD. I wish I could have saved him. R.I.P. Comrade -- the bestest little bird I ever did get to hold.

(2) I ended up applying for a position at the daycare. My sister already works there, but I figured more hands that weren't abusive to the kids was better than nothing (unfortunately because my sister works there, anything bad she said about the daycare teacher was taken as slander. It's a messy situation.) So, fingers crossed I get the job--I'm in school for psych and soc, so I should be qualified enough for a summer job there. 

Okay, now lastly, I was in a witchy mood during this chapter (summer solstice woo) so enjoy fleetwood mac (FUCKKKK I LOVE STEVIE NICKS ughhhhh she is my QUEEN.) 

Chapter 8, Part 4: Obsession in the Form of Blue Flowers

"Welcome to the shop of haunted horrors! Is there a specific cursed object you're looking for today?"

Coraline laughed as she placed the unique objects in a neat row, watching Penelope fool around with the aged merchandise.

"What do you think this one was?" Penelope hummed, spinning around with the unidentifiable antique with purple roses painted delicately on its black iron. As she spun, her long lilac skirt twirled around with her, her dark hair fanning around her shoulders.

Coraline tilted her head, placing a finger on her chin in thought as she watched Penelope dance around the room, "A paper weight."

Penelope stopped spinning, awkwardly making her way over to an old chair before stumbling down into it as she sat. "Really?" She held up the bulky object, trying to understand its many delicate edges with doubt in her voice.

"No. But if a customer asks... it's a paper weight." Coraline giggled, swishing her almost matching yellow skirt around her legs as she moved in time to the old record playing in the little boutique.

"Smart." Penelope chuckled, letting her brain settle in the dizziness before putting the object back in its place on its shelf, "People collect weird things." She sighed, running a finger along the wooden shelf.

"My mom used to love these things." Coraline spoke, crouching down to inspect a tiny clay figurine of a cat in a human like position.

Penelope bent over her shoulder, her long hair cascading against Coraline's arm, "Creepy." She muttered, looking into its beady black, soulless eyes.

"Right?" The blonde whispered, a giggle in her voice. She turned her head slightly towards Penelope; her soft breath rolling against Penelope's throat, "I had this friend who collected broken blue flowers—she would cast them in resin and set them up against these delicate little fairy-lights.". Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes lingered on Penelope.

Penelope glanced down at Coraline's face, copying her expression; almost breathlessly waiting for whatever Coraline was trying to communicate, so as to not scare her off from her train of thought.

Biting her pink bottom lip, she continued to stare at Penelope—as if looking straight through her. "She loved those things, but they were so badly done. The bubbles in the resin distorting the already ugly flowers and the edges uneven and sometimes even unshaven." She mumbled, her eyes flickering up to Penelope's as the dissociative glaze cleared, "But she loved them regardless." Smiling, she finally looked away, rolling the cat figurine in her palm, "She used to say that they represented society—the real society, not the fantasy. That real things were ugly and flawed and it was those imperfections that made them art; made them unique; sometimes even made them beautiful; but always represented the fact that it could be so much better than it was."

Penelope caught the slight shake in Coraline's hand as she put the figurine down. Her voice was quiet—the same eerie hum from before at the boutique on Sunday enwrapping the feminine sound. "She said that fantasy could only ever be a fantasy. When made real, it would always become chaotic and ugly and just... different. And you could see it in her work because every single flower turned out ugly in some way; no matter how many times she tried she could never achieve the fantasy that everyone could vividly imagine in its ugliness."

Coraline stood up, brushing her skirt off while Penelope leaned her back against the shelf, observing her and taking in her words silently.

"Those flowers represented more though." She continued, getting a sad look in her expression. "They represented obsession—of not being able to let go. She loved the idea of the fantasy so much it became some sick masochistic goal. She knew she would never achieve it, but she tried—she kept trying. She wouldn't stop trying. Not until it consumed her, at least." With a loud gulp, she clenched her fists at her sides, "Everyone knows it, but everyone lives in denial about it, too—fantasies should never be made real. Not only is it impossible, but the outcome is so much worse than anyone could imagine and even then, people continue to strive for that impossible perfection that only lives in their head. If you allow it, or humour it, it will never let you go until you are broken—until you are destroyed. It will feed off your hope like a parasite until all sense of fantasy and reality is so distorted, you can't tell which is which. It will all be coated in ugliness."

The darkening shop was quiet as the warning hung stagnant in the air; the record from the music box scratching softly as it reached the end of the song. Penelope knew that Coraline wasn't just speaking about the flowers anymore—rather, she was speaking of something dark that seemed to silently live in the shadows around them. That maybe lived inside Millie.

Something that maybe everyone but Penelope knew about.

Coraline cleared her throat, turning to Penelope with a flushed face, "I'm sorry." She squeaked, "I haven't spoken about Cindy in a long time—I guess it turned a little dark." Her cheeks continued to blossom in heat as her eyes squinted.

Penelope shook her head, chewing the inside of her cheek, "What happened to her?"

Looking down at the ground, her eyebrows stitched together, "She got sick." Shaking her head, she forced a smile back on her face, "That was a while ago—before I found Poppy." Exhaling, she walked over to the desk in front of the store, "Knowing Poppy saved me." She turned to Penelope, smiling gently as they held each other's gaze, "I think, sometimes we're put into someone's life because they have the potential to save us from ourselves right at the most important time in our lives. And I think there's a moment before they do, that you can physically feel it—that they are someone who will completely change your life if you allow them to." 

Tilting her head, her hazel eyes shimmered as Penelope bit her bottom lip from the suddenly stifling atmosphere. 

"If you find someone like that, Elly, don't let them go, okay? No matter how hard it might be, they are there for a reason that will one day become clear to you."

End of part 4

A/N: Thank you for reading and for your interest in my life. You guys are wonderful. 

All my love x