ADRONITIS (II) : tmr minho

24: I Could be Violet

Ella 24

I made it all the way to sit on the grass with Zart for dinner. He has blonde curly hair, up in tight ringlets. I know I know him, but it feels like I've never seen him before. The world is existing in some new technicolour. The world is void of smoke, but with that there is much less violet. Whatever that means anyway.

Solution: They've tricked our brains into not seeing the colour. That must be part of what they fixed.

"You're feeling better?" Zart finally asks the question which has been on the tip of his mind since I walked out of the building. I think he is surprised.

I nod, up and down slowly. Better is what he wants to hear. Better is an absence of hallucinations. They may have been hallucinations, but they were mine, and they were hers, and this is infinitely worse. The world is so clear I've even been able to count seconds again.

It has been sixteen seconds since Zart last spoke. Which means, I've been silent for what I imagine is longer than all the years I've been alive.

I can see my hands as I pick at the berries on my plate. My skin is dark and peeling. The berries taste sweet; I have forgotten what it is to taste. No matter how much I focus on what I have gained, I have lost her, and I have lost thoughts, and I have lost weeks and months of time.

Clint was foolish and I am isolated. No sound shall reach my ears. No nothing happens. Is a lack of something nothing? This is a great lack. This absence is painful and heartache, and never ending.

She is gone.

He nods, turning back to his food. There is a secret behind his lips, but I'm only recently use to seeing them, so I can't discern what it is he hides behind his grimace. Maybe it's about Thomas, since he did train the boy the other day.

I can't seem to ask.

Solution: The thing they put in our bodies suppresses our brains.

"I left the violets for you to pick," I don't remember why he makes sure I know this. At least I appreciate the sentiment he leaves me. Maybe one day I will remember.

I need to talk to that unconscious girl.

"Thank you," I stand up, moving away. He doesn't chase after me. It could be because I forget which direction I'm going. It's into the building right by here. It's getting late anyway, and I'm tired.

I enter the building, moving inside. I turn a corner, and walk into the supply closet. This wasn't where I was trying to go, although when I think about where I was trying to go. Lately, I've been getting a bit lost. Not entirely sure what's happening. Not entirely sure what is thinking.

"You're Ella, right?" It's that kid who's name I forget. Which I know, isn't very specific, but I can remember knowing it. Probably. "I'm Chuck."

I smile, trying to remember what language we are speaking. All the words sometimes get caught up in my head, and I don't understand where they are going.

"You never talk much," he notices, like I don't know. I don't really know, but I'm not ignorant to it. Like, I live in this body on this Earth, and I know that I'm odd, but I know I was built weird.

The best way to answer that observation is with silence. His name is Chuck. My feet feeling like they are teetering beneath me causes me to forget what we are talking about. It causes me to go back to a place I do not remember.

I know what is happening.

"I need paper," I tell him.

He looks at me funny. Glancing around the hallway for a sign of anyone, he remains silent. It is when the coast is clear that he shuts the closet door behind me and begins to speak.

"Why do you need paper?" Chuck asks, quietly.

"I need to write," I tell him plainly, because the answer is rather obvious. I need paper to write. Origami isn't really my speed, so I don't know what else he is expecting from me. Perhaps it makes sense that he is a Slopper. Has the brains, it seems, of pretty much everyone else here. Uncaring about the outside world. Trying to escape; looking forward over searching behind us. The answers go with the details.

"Do I need to get Clint?" He asks.

I turn around, leaving the room and heading out the door. He is running in front of me, turning around to try to stop me from doing whatever I am doing.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't..." I try to walk past him. I don't have the time to wait. "Listen Ella."

I stop, staring at him and waiting for a response. The proper one will never come. He won't tell me anything.

When he doesn't speak, I push past him heading down the stairs. I don't know who to ask for paper.

"Hey, wait," he rounds in front of me, following me into the foyer. "I can get you some paper, and like a marker or something. Just wait here."

He runs away, out the front doors. I am not entirely sure where he is going. For a second, I worry I might forget why I need paper. It is already slipping from me, second after second.

I know what happened to me. I know why it is slipping so easily, and I need to write it down.

Half of my brain was attached, which means half had forgotten. The other half, however, remembered. It's why this is so hard.

Now, both have been attached. One half has forgotten all before the Maze, and the other remembered. The first half was not reattached, so it remembers the memories in this Maze, while the other has forgotten. One half for each period of time. I can only remember remembering, because I remember having remembered. At the same time, I am only getting glimpses of what happened while we were here.

I remember the girls, because I remember remembering them, and I remember coming here. I remember Zart, but only barely, and I remember Alby, but only just. I don't know what this place is, or why I'm here, but I know I was trying to figure out.

And I can remember having visions of her, but I forget her sight. I forget her touch, her smell. They robbed me of experience and have left me knowing. It is infinitely worse. This is unbearably lonely. It is an empty chair in a full classroom. It is a reminder that there is something vacant. An empty bed. An empty girl. One who I would not recognise if I saw her.

Chuck comes back in, with a sheet of paper and a pen. "I had to take it from the Maproom. They have enough to last them until the next supply shipment, so don't take anymore. I could get in real trouble."

We are in real trouble.

I sit on the ground, and Chuck follows me there. I write, and I write, and I write.

Solution: Create one.

~~~~~~

Ella is sweet, but confusing. I really feel badly for what happened to her. Was Clint right, or was Ella?

Do you have any song recommendations for this book?

I'll see you soon, in Leo and Falling.