Hymns of Struggle

9- Kindness of a Coin Toss

Author's Note: This chapter's art is by MetallicArtist

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"His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him." - Exodus 2:4

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Blood.

Ink.

Blood.

Ink.

Sammy's mouth widened only to drown. It ate him inside out. He could hear her scream. He could hear Susie scream.

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"That...is your name..." Still pink, still wet eyeballs shifted in their sockets, nervous of what she felt inside her and then of what she saw ahead. Her words were steeped in mourning; for some reason she was still clinging to life. "...Right?"

His back stayed facing away from her, tar overlapped by strips of cloth.

"I just...that name keeps coming up everywhere. And I- I found this." She feebly lifted a tape to show him as if he could see behind his own head. For all she knew, he did.

The grey box slowly rested back into her stomach as an awareness was born. He was shaking.

Oh god, what had she done?!

"I'm- I'm SO sorry! I- I should have thought- I should have known-!" She shrunk backwards, awaiting his fury. He obviously didn't want her to know his name or at least not to acknowledge it. He had avoided the topic like it pricked sewing needles into tongues. She was so stupid.

She recalled her escape- consumed by grief she had forced open the office door, diving into the cancerous flow of ink only to fail to find her prized phone. It wasn't even ankle deep. But even so, it was just...gone.

The fear from the river eventually came back to her and she picked herself up and out. Preternaturally, most of the ink that clung to her body sunk back down to the puddle like metal shreds to a magnet. Some, however, still hung as leeches to dirty garments and bare hands.

She kept moving forward but hadn't gotten far when she heard his arrival, and yet this was enough searching to grasp in her hands a truth. It was his voice- definitely his voice- inscribed with a claim. Sammy Lawrence.

It was clear now to be forbidden fruit as she and he joined paths again. Her jaw clenched. She was prepared; not sure for what, but she was prepared.

Or so she thought.

"Sammy?" She bit her lip, ashamed to immediately be so accustomed to the word; it was thoughtlessness awaiting rage.

Again, unfulfilled expectations. He stood there noiselessly, refusing to respond.

Unable.

He kept shaking, and she finally comprehended.

Then empathy persuaded common sense.

She gradually followed a counterclockwise path that met him at the cusp of the office wall and the pool of ink he stepped into. Instead of fleeing the spider's web, she entangled herself further within. The light and shadow shifting as she moved, he emerged before her as a thin silhouette- a glossy, bare chest with boney arms. Maybe arms lacking bone, instead.

If one expected the response he gave, it would be anticipated after a touch against his slimy outer crust. But no; it didn't even provide a chance for her to step over whatever was sinking by his side. As the sole of her shoe joined him in the puddle, he finally turned.