Iris

Chapter Two

“Every fairy tale had a bloody lining. Every one had teeth and claws.”

~Alice Hoffman

***

I guess I was still in that fairytale phase. That phase where you still believe in the lies that the princesses tell you. Their voices are sickening, sweet like sugar and harmonious like church bells.  Their voices draw your attention and lie to you. And their lies don't just stick to you, they are embedded into your brain. You are wired to think no matter what, there will be a happy ending. They tell you that you're perfect in every way and that you are so perfect that all you have to do is shed a few tears and wish hard enough and the happy ending appears like a pie to the face.

But I am August Park. I am haughty, ignorant, loud, stubborn, and I don't believe in fairytales. And for good reasons too. But I heavily consider their message: dreams come true with tear-shedding and wishing. And, sometimes . . . waiting.

And even as Phoenyx was clinging to a life I was unsure he even wanted, I believed he would pull through. Even as I assessed my wounds and cried out in pain when I touched them, I believed they would magically heal, or at least stop hurting. Even as I waited and waited for nothing, I believed someone good will show up and save the day. Phoenyx? Psyche?

But then I remembered--Psyche is within me. And I could summon her to wait at my ease whenever I wanted, as long as I didn't piss her off. I know now that Psyche is just as haughty, ignorant, loud, and stubborn as I am. And I know she doesn't believe in fairytale endings. She believed in assets and advantages. Maybe having me and Phoenyx think Iris was alive was an advantage to Psyche, so she lied. That wasn't a fairytail ending. That was me and Phoenyx dead. I was on my knees praying Iris really was alive. Because if I was wrong, Phoenyx would really never forgive me.

But then, if she was alive, where was she? The simple answer, I supposed, was anywhere. And not just anywhere. She could have been anywhere. Usually, anywhere means they are most likely on the continent or within the country or state. But anywhere means they don't even have to be on this planet or in this universe or dimension. Now that I live in this world, I knew anywhere . . .

. . . was a whole lot bigger . . .

Finding Iris was going to be worse than scanning a book page for Waldo, who stands idle in a faceless crowd. It would be more tedious than digging through a barrel of hay looking for a needle and hoping to God you don't get your fingers pricked, or get worse, you break a nail or something.

No, I would have to run to the ends of the earth to find her. And for what? My survival? Phoenyx's? Did I still have that curiosity in Phoenyx's demented past, thinking with Iris came a story I desperately wanted to know? Yes. But what about Romeo? He helped me save Phoenyx. Did Iris send him? Aphrodite? Was he even real? I was not that insane, but the questions still loomed.

I could not take sitting at Phoenyx's bedside any longer. Whether he lived or not did not depend on my presence in that God-awful room. The air smelled sick. Time slowed. Stranged thoughts floated against the ceiling. And I just couldn't bear smelling like deathly air. Time flowed like an empty river. Seconds throbbed like a dead man's heart. And the dark thoughts throttled me. They were thick, explicit, petrifying . . . trapping.  I staggered out of the room, flutters of shadowy air and scattered thoughts following me. 

I decided to make some soup. 

"Soup," I said aloud, making a popping sound with the 'p.' "Atomic chicken noodle soup."

That was one of my specialties: atomic chicken noodle soup. It consisted of every type of noodle you could find in a house, an entire box of chicken broth, and a bunch of vegetables. Sometimes, I'll even throw in some microwavable chicken. Basically by the time the noodles are flaccid and cooked, the chicken broth is fully dissolved. So it is just a big pile of noodles and vegetables and soggy "chicken." Trust me; it's delicious.