Maya's POV
I sat out of the high, becoming a spectator in the crowd. Silently observing. I hadn't been the one to take care of my friends in such a long time.
The frenzy began and almost inconspicuously there seemed to be a change in the air.
Mick clung to Robert's leg, hissing at anyone who came close to him. He bared his teeth and adopted the position of a prowling cat. Marianne was dancing, spinning and humming the Nutcracker. Jimmy sat a few feet away, his eyes closed and his head cocked to the side. George was smoking from a hookah.
George's POV
The smoke that floated out of my mouth made letters in the air, drawing a name: 'JABBERWOCKY' it spelt, in fuming purple letters that began to erase themselves as soon as I started puffing out another set of rings. The air vibrated with the distant beat of bongo drums and a humming. A soft dull voice stood out, reciting what seemed to be a poem. 'MOCK TURTLE' spelt the smoke as an explanation. I steadied myself on the mushroom, making sure that my feet weren't sticking out from one of the ends and fixed my gaze in the horizon, trying to look past the hills of the chess game. I thought of the little girl, with the questioning eyes and the messy hair but her name would not come. It seemed to be at the tip of my tongue, soft as honey and ready to roll off but not quite, taking its time. It would come soon enough, or, the smoke would spell it out for me.
Maya's POV
Paul was the most changed of them all. He had slipped my book inside his sweater and I could see it bulging. He had a hand over his heart and the other raised in front of himself. He was reenacting the book. 'Bartholomeus' was the name he kept repeating. He began speaking in a low voice, voicing each phrase in a flawless French and I sat a little closer, eager to listen to him.
He recited the different arguments with such a good tone that I got caught up in the play. I was witnessing a play by Ionesco condensed into one actor. I hadn't noticed that he'd grabbed the noose that Jimmy had made earlier. He kept fiddling around with it, hesitantly, his face turning into a mask of fear from time to time. He whimpered, snapped a response and went back to the whimper. He sulked, smiled, growled, laughed, grinned, saddened. His face adopted all the possible expressions as he played each character.
His face soured, though, this time going back to the mask of fear and I sensed that something was wrong. The grip on the noose was too tight, the knuckles too white, the pain he seemed to be feeling too excruciating. He looped the noose around his neck as he stood up on a chair. I gasped, and sprung to my feet, ready to stop him. He didn't find anything to tie the noose to, so I was relieved when he jumped down and crawled into a fetal position. The noose hung as a necklace made out of rope, decorating his neck, very dark against his pale collarbones. He closed his eyes and hugged his knees to his chest. He began to cry. The trip was turning bad. I sat beside him and wrapped my arms around him, but he shouted as if I had burnt him. He sprung up and ran to the door. I was too surprised to move. I looked around, to see if any of the others had noticed anything but they were all caught up in their own trips. They were all in their own dreams and nightmares. I ran after Paul, suddenly remembering the feeling of his soft hands caressing my hair and his soft whispers telling me that everything was going to be alright. I found him lying down in the snow, crying and cradling the noose against his chest.
Ringo's POV
The piano was alive. You could feel it, throbbing, giving away a faint glow. I wanted to stroke the keys, but also, I didn't dare. This piano had something special. As I tried to take a decision between playing it or just contemplating it, six heads seemed to appear on it. They floated, surrounded by a yellow aura. They were all identical: a man's head resting on shoulders. The man wore a suit, you could see by the grey tie. A thick white mustache covered his lip, and he had black eyes, shiny and scrutinizing, like a crow's. It reminded me of a surrealist painting I'd seen in one of Maya's art books. I vaguely remembered that it had been made by Salvador Dalí. The heads floated, and the man seemed to take a deep breath before opening his mouth and speaking a garbled speech. Russian, I guessed. He looked so dictatorial and solemn, but I couldn't prevent myself from laughing as I realized that the voice speaking in Russian was none other than Polly's.
John's POV
I had never been so hungry in my life. I ran to the kitchen, opening the cupboard in one swift movement. My mouth ached for sweet food. And salty. And spicy, and sour. My stomach grumbled in agreement. The only way to comply to this demand was to make something that contained every flavour I craved. I found what looked good enough to be a bowl and poured flour in it.
Jimmy's POV
I followed John into the kitchen, curious. He didn't seem to notice that he spillt half of the flour on himself before actually serving the right amount into the bowl. He couldn't really focus, and he didn't see that his hand was shaking spasmodically. He cracked two eggs, making his hands sticky with egg yolk. After that, he opened every drawer containing food and began throwing things into the bowl as if he were a witch brewing a potion. He mixed in chocolate, vanilla, oatmeal, salt crackers, tomato juice and half a lemon. He looked proud of the mixture, seeeming to like the bitter smell and the colors. He poured the batter into a tray, making sure to leave some in the bowl and slid it in the oven, trying hard to push the right buttons for the correct baking. The batter looked tie-dyed.
John's POV
I licked the spoon tentatively, afraid of my own combination but was comforted by the good taste. I smiled, proud as I had been able to create something that could satisfy this hunger for various things.
Could Maya do that? Of course she could, she could probably do even more.
The ringing of the oven snapped me out of my thoughts and I remembered to put on heat resistant gloves before I spontaneously reached out for the cake. I suddenly noticed that Jimmy was watching me. I took the tray out with a flourish, making sure to demonstrate my delicacy to my new audience. I took a knife covered in chocolate from the counter and cut up a square. I ate it hungrily, as if I hadn't eaten for weeks. After I was done I proceeded to cut the rest of the cake in smalls squares and continued ingesting it. Jimmy looked dazed and uninterested so I left him there in the kitchen, not wanting to bother him. As I satiated my hunger and it began to abate, I had a strong urge to make a tree house. I began walking up the stairs, knowing that I could not do it outside for it was winter. I was planning to make it out of sheets. I went to Maya's bedroom. Sadly, the bed looked so comfortable. Stripping it of its sheet would be like taking its clothes off and leaving it bare. I shivered at the very thought. I opened a closet, finding a blanket and managed to hang it from a book on the shelf and the window, creating a roof. It was close enough to the tree house. And it felt like home. I yawned, crawling under it on the cold wood floor and hugging my knees to my chest.
''Because we love you, Mr Moonlight.'' I sung softly before closing my eyes.
Robert's POV
I could feel Strider clinging to my leg, his paws digging into the soft flesh. He held on so tightly that it felt as if I was wearing shackles around my ankles. Strider was chaining me to the ground coffin.
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back, babies, i'm back
iloveyou
sorry<3
