ADRONITIS (II) : tmr minho

36: I could be Steady in the Wind

Ella 36:

I return here, again, and again, and hover over bodies.

At first, I hovered over myself. I watched my body attempt to find recognition in sleep. Rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling. I walked the same path day after day. Saw the same faces, in a different order. On the worst days, their colours were distorted and blurred, and angry. Those days, I had trouble recognizing myself through it all. Now, I have forgotten.

Then, I would watch over different girls as they slept. Michelle, Dawn, and Leo have had their fair share of time, unconscious. Their thoughts didn't swim like mine. At the end of it, they got to experience new events. Breathe new air and live new lives. Somehow, the world isn't static for them.

Even amongst all this change, I find myself unconcerned. It is unimportant, a negligible detail. After all, all that I can think of is the past. The present will only carry me along, but the future lies in that which I have forgotten. Erased by hands I did not ask for. Stolen by choices I did not make.

Now, before me, the one who has made these choices has been presented with the opportunity to remember. He did not know the boy who was taken, so I can only assume he chased after this pain with the intent of recalling.

As glad as I am, I am jealous. This boy, who I can't remember disliking, gets the one thing I am craving. Justice is an instrument that either does not exist or has been manipulated to weigh out in the favour of the evil.

Maybe, I cannot seem to figure out how to adapt. Since he is not the boy who was there, nor is anyone the person who was there, maybe I must turn to the present. After all, how can I hate someone who has not done the things which I hate him for?

He lies, just like me, rising and falling.

Thomas. I want to remember him too. At one point, we knew each other. For what purpose, and for what intent I know not.

He squirms around on the mattress. Sweat beading on his skin, sliding down his neck. They threw one in here. Every time he begins to scream, there is another Med-jack who runs in to check on him. Although, they find themselves preoccupied now.

I could still do it, if I wanted to. I could kill him. Although, that was another girl. One who was close to remembering. One whose body was not her own. How could that have been less than two weeks ago?

It's all about proportion. Since I remember so little, everything seems to me much slower than it actually is. Every minute feels like a year. When I remember again, it will be different. There will be weeks and months of memories to pool.

Solution: Ask Thomas what he remembers.

He groans, and I stumble back. My feet race out the door. I round the corner, running into a boy I don't recognise. He grunts, pulling me off him by the collar, before dragging me off.

I don't really know what happens next. It sort of blurs together. My feet are dragged, from one location to the next. Is this walking? I can't tell if this movement is autonomous or not.

"Ella," a voice snaps me out.

I remember it to be turquoise. I remember it to laugh, and play with daisies, and smile, and worry. It's the voice of my Keeper.

Zart is kneeling before me. I am on my knees too. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, trying to tuck it behind my ear. It's a physical gesture I haven't noticed before. I don't notice the physical. I barely recognize faces most days. It's colours that seep into me. It's a specific feeling.

"Are you okay?"

We're in a room, alone. Is it his room? It's a part of the Homestead (I assume it is the Homestead) that I haven't been to before.

He notices me glancing around. "I thought you'd like it here. Minho is out for the day, running. So no one will bother us."

I have been in here before. It sets me back that I had forgotten the room. It's a lot cleaner than I remember. Maybe that's it. I hope it isn't my doing that the sight is unfamiliar.

"Are you okay, El?"

I nod, since I think I am. Of course, I could be wrong. It could be true, maybe. I don't remember.

He leans away, further from me. It's almost like he is disappearing before my own eyes. Sort of similar to melting away. To evaporating. To turning to smoke, and filling the room.

Right, I remember there was a smoke man. Although, not much about him. I just remember disliking him far more than Thomas. Thomas was a means to an end. He, the smoke man, was my real enemy.

"I'm sorry," he mentions it briefly, looking down.

I'm still mad at this boy for doing this to me. I have to remind myself of this, since I have forgotten. Not because of what he's done, but because I find my attention focused elsewhere.

"I truly am."

At this, I get up and leave the room. Bouncing around is better than this. How can he rectify this? He can't. That's why I'm upset. How can't he tell that I am broken down, piece by piece. Here, I too ache. My stomach burns as well. Every single inch of my skin screams. All because I need to know what to fix.

I need to know why I chose to come here. Was it all for her? For a face I don't even remember? For nights we have both forgotten? If neither of us remembers, how will we find each other. There is no way to fix this problem. Not after what he has done to me. Not after the agony I have been put through.

It feels like I am trapped in a washing machine. Tumbling and tumbling, spinning and spinning, swimming and swimming. There is no rising and falling. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Here, there is no God. Any semblance of truth and dignity is stolen way. All of it, gone forever and ever.

Or maybe, not quite gone forever. Maybe just gone for a little while. Perhaps, I can find some salvation.

That is when I come to terms with it.

Solution: remember.

I am angry, and I am in the Bloodhouse. I pick up the knife.

~~~~~~~~

Uh oh. Oops. My bad. 

I love Ella, so much.

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