ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

60: I'm Not Here

60 Ella

I need to tell them.

Creep down the stairs, which are stairs but also smoke collapsing in on itself. Pray to God you won't be found, by the grey boys or the smoke man. Look for the green girl. She's in the room with the other people in charge. They whisper about things that do not matter. Hear them if you try, or do not, for it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

We are running out of time.

He comes. Four horsemen of the apocalypse sleeping before arriving. Then afterwards, so will she. She will be here and she must be stopped. You must warn them, right?

You are not a banshee, contrary to popular belief. Listen to your heart. You're heart. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Is that your feet on the floor, or the organ in the chest? Does it matter, for you are your heart.

Their voices are a symphony of chaos. Boy beaten, not yet banished because of a lack of proof. A girl beaten, not banished either. Are they fighting? Is it retaliation? Are they being targeted?

All of this is true, but they are all wrong.

Help. I'm bringing it. Violet girl, you see me for who I am. I love you, like the green loves the blue, and the red loves the red, and the grey loves the grey, and the smoke man loves destruction. You see what I am doing for you, yes? What you have forgotten is my fault. I can protect she who is not you no better than I can save you.

A meeting, a series of interrogations, and no one trusts anyone. What plan is this? Turning on each other does nothing to protect from the imminent threat of destruction. I want those damn memories back you fucking asshole. I can see through this. I know what year it is smoke man, you son of a bitch. The words you told me to forget, I have them in another language too. And another.

I want them back, and I will die before I let you send that boy up here with prepared Gladers.

Green is talking, or something. Time, we need more of it. She agrees.

Next step, you listen in. Or try to listen in. You can see colours in the clouds. Don't notice you have no hands or fingers or substance. Pretend that you are tangible, because you know they live in a tangible world.

Violet girl, we will escape and be together once more. I shan't lose you again. No shucking way are you going to be gone. I want you, like want you like I want salvation and air and voice and soul and freedom and memories and truth and to actually fucking see what exactly is going on in this room because I feel trapped in a world that is built to be destroyed by me and you and all the boys behind the door who can't, or won't, understand exactly what I am trying to explain to them because the smoke man has filled their minds with fog and my eyes with haze and I just want to go home.

Home is in the arms of you, violet girl.

I stumble through the door, or push or shove or whatever word is accurate to describe that I am attempting to fight this but I have no success. Maybe they are still talking, maybe they are not, but I only see smoke and a bit of green, hanging in the air.

I charge for it, or fall, or at the very least move towards it with much effort but little grip.

"It's going to be over soon," I tell them. "I remember. I know what the smoke man did. He stole your colour, and now there's a new player coming."

The energy tenses, all the colours becoming murkier and blurring into each other. "We were running, and you, you picked the lock, because you loved like I did, and couldn't lose her either. I've failed, but I won't again. I tell you, they are watching us. They have white pens, and they write down what we are doing."

I lurch forward, and everything is suddenly black. "You have to trust me."

It's gone. I'm in a room, and there are many people standing up. Hands up, scared. Scared of me.

How did I get here?

I should tell them about the newcomer, but they wouldn't believe me. I guess, if they did it wouldn't matter. They already think I'm crazy since I keep having seizures. I think so anyway. I don't know where I am. Is this a meeting.

"Ella," there is a boy whose hand is on my shoulder.

I'm Ella. That's my name. "Yes."

"Listen to Clint, El," there is a brunette in the corner, moving closer to me slowly. "Go back to bed."

The boy next to her grabs hold of her, to prevent her from moving closer. He has blonde hair, and eyes just like hers. Eyes which remind me of long nights, lonely conversations, and lost memories.

I breathe in, trying to digest it. "You look like the violet girl."

~~~~

So, fun fact. I've been trying to get more traction (as you do), and like, Wattpad tidbit is to only update twice a week. Do you guys like biweekly updates? Do you want more? I have more to give you, actually, but it's hard because, I love my commenters. All the people who leave little tidbits make me so excited to write and stuff. I want more people to enjoy the story, because I want comments, does that make sense?

I guess I'm not asking anything of anyone. Just ranting. This is kind of a ranty chapter anyway. But I really like it. Do you think Ella is sane?

I'll see you soon in Leo and Late Nights.