dumb

♡TURNING INTO DUST♡

June 18th, 1989
A trail of drool leaks from the corner of Kurts mouth as soft snores escape his throat. It's barely noon; too late to be asleep. But he's exhausted between working odd jobs and playing gigs late into the night.

Chad and Krist are sleeping as well. They played last night and the fun dribbled into the morning hours. The slumber was deep and undisturbed; until it wasn't.

The phone rings sharply. The sound echoes for a few moments until Kurt is rudely awakened. Baby blue eyes wince at the harsh sight of sunlight that pours in through the shabby bedroom windows. He rubs his scruffy cheek and drags himself off of the firm mattress. It was thin and made his body ache, but it was comforting in the event of absolute exhaustion.

He goes into the living room and answers the phone. "Hello?" His voice is scratchy and weak from the previous night. "Hey. It's Cleo. Listen, I don't know if you remember me, but I know you're friends with Maggie, and she's in the hospital right now."

The information rings in Kurts ears.

It takes him a few moments to find his own voice.

"I-I'll be right there." He then immediately hangs up. His thin body shakes like a leaf. He's wearing his clothes from last night but decides a fresh change can wait. He rushes to tug on his rugged converse, and grabs the car keys off the table. Then he's flying out the door.

His shoes pound against the pavement as he thunders down the sidewalk towards his car. His lungs are burning and he's dizzy, and he can't tell if it's from the running or the mounting feeling of dread in his stomach.

He scrambles to unlock the car, and slides into the seat. He starts the car and swerves out onto the main road like a mad man.

For the first time in a long time, he feels genuine terror.

_______________________________

Cleos head is bowed and resting against the warm wool blanket atop Maggie's frigid body. She feels emptied, void of any energy or judgement. She's been seated in the same rigid plastic chair since Maggie was admitted.

Her back is aching and a desperate madness is consuming her. Jenny and her are constantly pestering doctors, asking for more information on Maggie's brain activity and when she'll awaken, but their efforts are fruitless.

Maggie's mother, Nancy, sits alongside Cleo, gravely grasping her daughters limp, cold hand. She had flown in from New York on the night of the incident and arrived in the early morning. Words cannot justify the unmatched agony that racks her mind and body. To lose a husband and a daughter to such a beast was unimaginable. It took her long enough to process the untimely death of Arthur, and she has not yet digested the thought of losing her own child.

Jenny sits on the other side of the bed, silently observing her half dead friend. She was always crying, quiet little whimpers and sniffles the only sound present in the bleak hospital room.

The three women share their sorrow and depravity with one another. The sentiment binds them together and reminds them that Maggie has to wake up. The vexation is unbearable and crippling, and the women want it to be vanished, and replaced with relief.

The throbbing quietude is interrupted upon violent footsteps.

Kurt rushes through the doorway, his frantic being suddenly still at the unnerving sight of Maggie. His skin melts into a ghastly shade of white as he tries to digest the scene before him, but he can't seem to wrap his head around it.

"Kurt, why don't you sit in my seat?" Jenny offers, her benign, sweet voice cracking and fading. She slowly rises from the plastic chair, and moves aside. Kurt is unyieldingly still.

She hesitantly approaches him. Her presence does not phase him. Her petite, delicate hands find his narrow arm. She guides him towards the chair, and he cannot tear his eyes away from Maggie. He lowers himself into the seat, and Jenny releases him. She hovers behind.

Kurt reflects on the night she came out to see Nirvana play, how she seemed so distant, physically present but you would feel nothing if you reached out to touch her, an illusion made of dust and broken dreams. He remembers the blue sweater she wore, how warm and supple the wool felt against his chin as they embraced.

He remembers all of it, and the memories sicken him.

Short but sappy❤️