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torchbearer x original female character

now playing: ode to sleep previous track: oh ms. believer (ch. 1) next track: loading...

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Juliette’s POV

Sleep is something I’m fortunate to say comes extremely easy to me. After Tyler departed our rooftop to go to his placement, I spent about five minutes staring out at Dema, watching other citizens hurry to their placements, before I could feel the heady haze of fatigue clouding my mind.  At that point, I decided to head back inside and leave this godawful day behind. 

Brushing off any remnants of the pebbles I’d previously been sitting on from my pants, I turn from the city’s landscape and make my way downstairs. My steps are slightly bouncy with the genuine excitement I feel at the prospect of getting into my nice and warm, albeit hard as a rock, bed, so much so that I begin humming a song I’d heard Tyler working on a couple of weeks ago. Although I’ve made it abundantly clear that I adore the music he creates, he’s very private about his art, minus the rare occasions in which he feels a song is nearly perfect. Any other time, he works on his pieces when he thinks he’s alone, leaving me to pick up any scraps I can catch in the brief moments his guard is down on our rooftop, or on his nights off while he thinks I’m sleeping. 

Reaching the tenth floor, I exit the emergency staircase, round the corner and press my thumb to the doorknob of our door. Pushing my way inside, I notice the trail of clothes that Tyler left outside of his door in his haste to get to his placement. Other than occasionally using the floor as a laundry basket, I have to hand it to him - for a man, Tyler is fairly clean. And because I’m such a good friend (totally not because he has done the same for me numerous times), I grab his clothes and bring them into his room to fold and leave on his desk. 

For as long as I’ve known him, Tyler’s room has, for the most part, retained the same layout. Not that there’s all that many options for creativity - every room has a light grey desk, a shitty mattress and dark grey bedframe, and a mirror mounted on the wall. Individuality kind of goes against everything vialism stands for, so there’s really not any way to decorate our walls with posters or photos. Instead, Tyler figured out a way to stick pages from his journal to his bedroom walls, filling the space with his lyrics, poems, and a few drawings that aren’t half bad. But what stands out most in his room is that the sheets he was given aren’t on his bed - rather, they’re draped on his mirror, essentially erasing its functionality. I asked him about that choice years ago, to which he shrugged and said it made him feel “safer”. I dropped the conversation after that, but have wondered if I should renew it every time I look at his mirror, not only to remind him I’m open to listening to anything he wants to talk about, but to remind him of my offer to steal a blanket from the hospital so he’s not cold at night. I guess his blankets being preoccupied can be added to the list of reasons he doesn’t sleep well. 

I force my eyes away from his decor quirk, give the little clothing pile I’ve created a small pat, and turn to finally crawl into bed. I make my way to my bedroom, open my closet to grab a set of sleepwear, and… shit. I left clothes in the washer that, if I’m being honest with myself, I really couldn’t be bothered with drying right now. I suppose that’ll be my first task for my day off tomorrow. 

As I climb into bed and wrap the nearly black sheets around my body, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see that same, green landscape tonight in my dreams. It used to be something I’d see once every few weeks, but recently it’s been a nightly occurrence. Knowing now that it could be images of Trench, I’m hoping more than ever that I get another glimpse at what might be out there. The thought causes my heart to beat a little faster, ironically pushing me further away from sleep, even as I cuddle up to my second pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. To get the sleep I so desperately need, I instead drive my thoughts to something boring and mundane, and a topic that always allows me to drift off - pondering whatever it is Tyler is doing at his placement. As always, it works like a charm, and I drift off to a peaceful state.

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Heat. Sweat dripping down the back of my neck. A muffled broadcast of Good Day Dema crackling through a shitty radio. Where am I? 

I lift my head up to look at my surroundings, and am immediately hit with pain and confusion. Pain, from the headache that splits my brain when I open my eyes due to the bright sunlight reflecting off of the snowy grass. I close my eyes again and let my head fall back. How can water be so goddamn bright - wait, grass? 

Eyebrows furrowed, I take a better inventory of my surroundings. I’m in the backseat of a car. The seat to my left is empty, but the door is… gone. 

Turning my body fully to look through the rear window, I figure out why I feel so hot. The trunk is on fire. I’m in a metal cage filled with gasoline that’s on fire. Awesome. But that’s not what makes me panic.

Sitting in the front seat, head hanging low as though they’re asleep, is one of the Bishops. Suddenly, it feels like I can’t take a deep breath, my ears start ringing, and my heart might hammer out of my chest. I can’t be here when they wake up. I’m not sure how I got here, or why I’m here, or where ‘here’ even is, but I need to run. 

If there’s grass, then I must be outside of the city walls, and my best plan is going to be to pick a direction and put as much distance between me and this car as I can. I will my arms to start working, fiddling with the janky seatbelt across my lap and trying to work through the quake in my fingers to get it off. With every second it takes, my heart beats faster and my breathing gets sharper. I can’t get this stupid belt off of me, and if I’m here when the Bishop awakes, I’m as good as dead. And how ironic would it be for a goddamn seatbelt to be the reason I died? A seatbelt that’s doing its job a little too well at the moment, or maybe it’s that my fingers are practically vibrating with fear, or - click! It unlatches. And in that same instant my door is swung open from the outside. I feel arms grab me around my waist, and forcefully yank me from the car. I see the ground coming at me much too fast for my liking, and just as I’m about to hit it…

I sit up in my bed, gasping for air and grabbing for my chest, searching for the fire and Bishop I’d just been in much too close proximity with, but finding only the early light of morning shining through my window and the soft hum of the air conditioner. The only thing that’s carried over from my dream is my heart slamming into my ribcage and the terror I felt. So much for some peaceful sleep. 

I flop back down against my pillow and try to calm my racing heart. Staring up at my ceiling, my eyes wander over to the picture of a dream catcher that Tyler drew me a couple months ago when I’d hinted at having weird dreams. He’s going to need to manufacture at least five more of those for whatever the hell I just experienced. 

Given the grass, I know we weren’t inside of Dema anymore, but the fact that we were on a paved road means we weren’t quite in Trench, or at least not the forest that I envision Trench to be. There was a Bishop with me, which makes absolutely zero sense - not only have I never spoken to a Bishop, but I would never choose to be within fifty feet of one, so I’m not quite sure how I ended up in that situation. There’s no way for me to make sense of the fire without having more information, nor is there any way for me to know who grabbed me from the car. Why couldn’t I have had my nice, pleasant, apparently prophetic dreams of Trench’s landscape instead of this bullshit - wait. If what I usually dream about Trench is true, what if this dream means something more than overactive (and frankly rude) brain activity too? What if it’s a way out? What if this is my chance to escape? What if I can get Tyler out? Introduce him to peace? What if - click.

My ears perk up at the sound of the front door shutting. Taking a glance at the clock, I notice it’s about three hours too early for Tyler to be home, and we don’t really have any other friends, definitely none close enough to be walking into our apartment unannounced. Maintenance workers would’ve announced themselves … so that leaves me to wonder who the hell is in my apartment? 

That wonder is short-lived, however, when I hear the same song I’d been humming on the staircase earlier drift into my room. Tyler’s home. Why is Tyler home? 

I roll out of my good for nothing bed, coming to stand and quietly padding my way to the kitchen, where Tyler is standing with his back to me, shaking out a box of cereal into a bowl and stirring a cup of instant coffee. 

I stand at the counter for a second, listening to his song and trying to pick out the lyrics. After about twenty seconds goes by, I start to feel guilty for intruding on something he thinks is private, and I decide to make myself known. 

“You’re home early,” I quietly say, feeling bad about interrupting his solitude, but ecstatic that we’ll get to spend breakfast together. I can’t remember the last time we had that luxury with our mismatched schedules. 

“Shit!” He clearly had no idea I was standing behind him, his expletive accompanied by his body tensing and some of the milk he was pouring splashing onto the counter.  

I let out a snort, grinning at both the fact that I spooked him, and that he felt comfortable enough to let his guard down. He turns to see me smiling at him, shaking his head while carrying his coffee and cereal over to the counter that I’m now sitting at. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, I’ll get you back.” He sounds done with me, but the corners of his lips perking up destroys his tough guy persona. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

I nod, still smiling about spooking him. “I was, it was shitty sleep though.”

He nods, as if agreeing with me. “Same.” 

My eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Huh?”

“That’s why I’m home. My supervisor caught me nodding off at my desk and dismissed me for the night. I’ll have to work an extra shift this week with reduced wages.” He says it with a neutral tone, though I feel the opposite. 

“That’s bull! You work overnight, of course you’re going to fall asleep every once in a while. I’m sure your supervisor sleeps half of his shift away in his office.” Anger lashes through me, pointed towards the idiot that decided to flex his superiority over Tyler, who just shrugs in response to my statement. 

“Nothing I can really do about it. Honestly, I’m just happy he didn’t attempt to make an even bigger deal out of it and get me demoted or something. Not that there’s really any further down to go, but still.” Shoot, that’s a good point. And he’s being so calm about this that I feel like I don’t have any option but to react the same way, so I allow my fists to unclench under the countertop and my shoulders to drop back down. 

I guess I’ll choose to look at the brighter side, too. “As sucky as it’ll be to work an extra day, I’m kind of relieved you’re home.”

“I know, I’m the light of your life.” 

I roll my eyes at his ego, even though there’s truth to it. “Get over yourself. I’ll have you know I had a really shitty nightmare.” 

He looks up from his bowl at that. “Oh? Were you forced to pick up an extra shift at your placement, because that’s going to be the real nightmare.” I smack his arm with a rolled up newspaper that sat forgotten on the counter. He feigns hurt, cradling his arm as if I’d just hit him with a bat rather than some flimsy paper. 

“Could you reign in your sarcasm for one conversation, Ty? This is something really serious I want to talk about.” He’s not going to take this well, but this is going to be a lot easier if I don’t have to think of snarky comebacks to keep him in check. 

He caves, albeit accompanied with a playful eyeroll. “Okay, fine. What was your nightmare about?”

“Before I tell you, I’m going to say something you’re not going to like, and that might possibly make you angry, but I’m begging you to hear me out on this.” I watch his reaction cautiously, trying to gauge his emotions before I drop my proposal on him. 

He finally gets a sense of how serious I am, and sets down his half eaten bowl of cereal. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me and waits for my next statement. Here goes nothing.

“I want to leave.” There it is. 

Tyler continues to stare for a couple of seconds, then glances to his right, blinks, looks back to me, furrows his eyebrows, and says just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Like, to the supermarket?” You know what, get me that bat. 

I shoot him an ‘are you serious’ look, and decide to double down with words. “There’s no way you just said that to me.” 

“Jules,” his eyes look guarded, and he slightly hesitates before asking, “leave…to where?” 

I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to say the full thing, but I wasn’t sure if the thought scared me more, or Tyler’s incoming reaction. “Leave Dema. I want us to leave. I want us to leave and go to Trench.” There’s no second meaning to that statement, not that it mattered because Tyler’s reaction is immediate. 

“Absolutely not.” His voice is scarily steady, though his hands are tightening around the counter’s edge. 

I need to keep talking before he shuts it down entirely. “That’s what I saw in my dream - well it was a nightmare this time, but still.” Come on Juliette, eyes on the prize, don’t get distracted with semantics. Or with the fact that Tyler is now white-knuckling our perfectly good counter with a clenched jaw. “Doesn’t matter. I saw myself in a car, and it was on fire, and it was being driven by a Bishop, but from what I saw they were passed out in the front seat or something. And the car was on fire. And I don’t know exactly where we were, but we were definitely outside of the city walls and on the way to Trench because there was grass on the ground.” I’m talking rapidly now, trying to get all of my words out before he cuts me off with the rejection I can practically feel radiating off of Tyler. Not to mention the growing redness in his cheeks, which I’m sure mirrors my own as I can feel adrenaline pumping through me. Keep going. “I’m not sure how I got into that situation, but I’m hoping that’s something we can figure out together. I really, really think this is something that we need to do, and you know I can’t, I won’t, do it without you.” 

Oh my god, he’s never been this quiet. That might be the fastest I’ve ever spoken, and I have to take a small gasp of air at the end of my ramble while I wait for Tyler’s response.

He shakes his head before saying, “it was a dream, Jules. I used to dream that a banana was going to eat me when I was a kid. You had a bad day at the hospital, it was just your brain trying to make sense of it.” 

“No, it wasn’t. For the past few weeks, I’ve been dreaming of tall trees, overgrown bushes and mossy rivers - exactly what you described Trench to be like.” He lets out an ‘I’m over this conversation’ sigh, but that doesn’t stop me. “I believe I’ve been dreaming about Trench without having to see it, and I think this dream is the same. I think it was showing me a way out.” 

Tyler’s next response comes a little louder, agitation lacing in his voice. “It wasn’t showing you anything. Drop it. We’re not attempting an escape.” He places his bowl and mug into the sink, walking towards his bedroom.

I’m not giving up that easily. I turn to him, intent on this conversation very much not being over. “Tyler, this could be our only chance! We have to take it!” 

His gaze remains on the floor as he walks past me, saying “Conversation over, Juliette. My answer is no.” 

I now have to stand to look at him, and my desperation is high enough that I grab his wrist as he passes by in an attempt to stop him. “Please listen -”

He steps back from my grip with a sharp glare, his shoulders tensing up and hands raising to emphasize his loud words. “There’s only so many ways I can say no. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. They’ll find us. They always do.” 

“I know you’ve tried, and I’m sorry it didn’t work. But if we put together a plan we might -” My words are cut off by his sudden change of course. Instead of his bedroom, he moves towards me and grabs my shoulders, his eyes once again aimed at the floor. He simply stands in place for a few seconds, not moving, not talking, seemingly not even breathing. However, his hands on my shoulders are a different story - they’re trembling. 

Slightly forgetting the fact that we were even arguing, I reached my hands up to cover both of his, forming an ‘X’ over my chest with my crossed arms. I dropped my head a little bit to see if I could get a glimpse of his face. “Ty?” 

“The last time I got caught, Nico promised that if I ever tried again, he’d kill you.” I feel my face drop, every muscle that was previously tensed from our argument instantly relaxing. He’d never told me anything about his recapture, but that certainly wasn’t what I expected. 

I crouch down in front of him, my hands still grasping his when they fall off of my shoulders as I lower myself to a level where I can look in his eyes while I speak - something I realize might be a bit harder while his eyes are squeezed shut. “That won’t happen.” 

“You can’t guarantee that. I’m sorry, I want us to get out of here, I really do. But that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.” His voice is a whisper now, contrasting with the previously sharp-tongued anger.

“I’m not saying we have to leave tonight, or even come up with a plan tonight. I’m not going anywhere without you by my side.” I squeeze his hands to emphasize that last part, coaxing him to open his eyes and look at me. “This is the last I’ll say about the matter, then I’ll drop it for now. I trust you more than anyone. I have no doubt we’d be smart about it, and I know if there’s anyone that deserves to get out of Dema, it’s you. I want to make that happen.” 

At last, he opens his red-rimmed eyes, and I can see how deeply this is affecting him. His eyebrows are furrowed, and I can’t help but hope he’s thinking about what our life could look like in Trench. His body is still tense, like he’s waiting for me to say something else that will knock his morning off balance. Rather than responding, he simply shakes his head, eyes trained on a point just to the left of my face.

I feel guilty for putting this all on him after an already hard night, yet relieved that I got it out. But still, I can’t help but feel responsible for the tremble in his hands and jaw-breaking clench. “I’m right here, Ty. I’m not going anywhere. We’re safe. What are you scared of?”

His eyes finally shift to look into mine, eyebrows relaxed and something that looks eerily like defeat in his gaze. “I’m scared because I know you’re right. When I nodded off at work, I saw the car, the snow, the Bishop. I pulled you out of the car.”

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Somewhere in Trench…

“So, you really think this guy is our next Clancy?”

Slumping back in my chair, I answer him with a sigh. “Yes, Malachi, I do.”

“Then we need her, too.”

“There’s no way we’ll pull that off.”

“Non-negotiable, man.”

“Why?” I ask, my shoulders tensing up. “It’s risky enough to get him out of Dema again, but hiding both of them in Trench will be nearly impossible. You two are the freshest escapees, you know as well as I do how close of an eye the Bishops keep on them.”

The siblings, sitting on either side of me, glance at each other with an uneasy look. I continue on, a bit quieter. “You also know I would get everyone out if I could, but trying for the both of them, together, is simply too dangerous. Don’t you agree?”

Malachi shakes his head with a frown, holding firm. I turn to my other confidant, hoping she could talk some sense into her brother. “Mattea, please tell me you understand where I’m coming from.”

She offers a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Torch, she’s his crux. Anywhere she goes, he follows. We need her.”

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Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Astoria Greengrass

a/n: hiiii! so I was debating making this dramione, but I feel like I've read so many of those fics that it would be hard to create an original story, plus Astoria's character has so much room for development bc there's basically nothing about her in the books. ss is Draco's tbh, which is the reason I've wanted to write a fic surrounding him for a while. but anyways lmk your thoughts, opinions, anything <3 also veeeryyyyyy minimal proofreading, i just wanted to get it out sorry :)

Professor Snape’s unforgiving hand on her back was the only thing pushing her forward. “Pick up your pace”, he snapped. 

“Professor, was he…he looked…I think he was…” Astoria couldn’t seem to put words to what she’d just seen. Scratch that, she didn’t want to put words to the sight. 

His response confirmed her fear. “Yes, the boy is dead”, he sighed, seemingly annoyed at her disbelief. “Grieve later, we’re needed elsewhere.” Astoria has to quicken her pace to keep up with him, but felt her frustration rising with his roughness. She had no idea where they were going or why she had just seen Cedric’s dead body, and her professor couldn’t really seem to care less. 

One of those questions were answered when they came to an abrupt stop in front of the phoenix statue. Professor Snape whispered the password, ‘ice mice’, and Astoria took a small step backwards as a staircase formed in front of them. Any other day, she thought, I would’ve loved to know the password. 

Following her potions professor up the staircase, she felt her stomach becoming uneasy and her eyebrows draw together in worry. Her discomfort deepened with the heated bickering she heard as the pair reached the Headmaster’s office. 

“Albus, they’re just children. We can’t lay this responsibility on their shoulders, we’d practically be sealing their fate!” 

“We’re not sealing anything, Minerva. Their fate has already been set. We’re facilitating its smooth transition.”

The first voice, who Astoria now realized was a seething Professor McGonagall, drew in a breath to continue her argument, but the bickering duo’s attention turned to Astoria and Professor Snape’s entering figures.

“Ah, Ms. Greengrass, thank you for joining us”, he says with a comforting smile, though the only thing that comforted Athena was seeing Hermione’s face, although tear-stained, pop into view from behind a large chaise. Thank Merlin you’re here too, they thought in unison. Astoria would’ve liked to stop time and figure out what in the gods was happening with Hermione, but Professor Dumbledore continued speaking. 

“I know tonight’s events have been...”, he pauses briefly, considering his next words, “rough, to say the least. I’ve no doubt you felt the darkness which crept in upon Mr. Diggory’s death?” Hermione and Astoria glance at one another, the girls now standing side by side. Hermione’s voice drifted into Astoria’s head - you speak, my voice will be shaky.

Astoria steadies her shoulders and holds her head a bit higher before responding. “Yes, sir, we did. But I’m not quite sure what it has to do with us.”

“Rest assured, your involvement in this never crossed my mind”, the headmaster responded. The girls relaxed a bit at that. “However, you two will find yourselves intertwined in the future of this situation-“

“Albus, I implore you to seek other options.” Professor McGonagall is quick to cut him off, sensing his next words would be damning. “Severus, you know exactly how this will turn out.” 

Astoria took a step forward, her patience wearing thin. “Please explain what’s happening, professors”, she said firmly. She could feel frustration creeping up her spine, her jaw clenching and hand reaching for her wand in a search for safety.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore answered their question. “A war has begun, and you two will play important roles in finishing it.” 

The girls glanced at each other once more, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. Hermione spoke up this time. “Well that’s not so bad”, she started. “We’ve worked together plenty of times.” 

“Yes, Ms. Granger, you two are a formidable team in the classroom. This couldn’t be more different”, he trailed off, readying himself for his next phrase while Professor McGonagall placed a hand on each girl’s shoulder. “This war will be heartbreaking, painful, and deadly. And you two will play opposite roles of one another.” Astoria felt a sense of dread creeping up from behind her, and attempted to steady herself by grabbing Hermione’s hand. “While I can’t give you many details at the current time, Ms. Granger’s role will require her to remain an informant to Mr. Potter”. Astoria almost smiled at that - sounds like business as usual. 

“Ms. Greengrass, your heritage puts you in a unique position - one that we may soon find ourselves dependent upon.”

Astoria’s breath was stolen from her lungs, and she felt the urge to curse her headmaster’s lungs to empty in order to stop him from speaking the following sentence. 

Torchbearer x Original Female Character Tw: blood, allusions to death/suicide

now playing: oh ms. believer next track: loading...

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Juliette's POV

I hate the color red. An ugly omen, it confers brutality, hatred, anger, death - everything I try day in and out not to succumb to. And yet, it’s the color I’m most familiar with.

I do everything I can to avoid the stupid color and, somehow, red always seems to follow me home. It splotches my otherwise light gray scrubs, sticking closer to me than my own shadow. 

How ironic, I think to myself cynically. How fucking ironic that my placement deals with so much red. 

Really, there wasn’t anything ironic about it. Placements within Dema were carefully assigned to whoever’s passions and happiness are least compatible with the placement itself, hoping that would hurry along the individual’s submission to vialism. 

Being the one person standing between life and death for a patient is just about the least appealing thing in the world to me; not that I don’t do well in that sort of situation, but it lingers. Just like the red-stained scrubs I’m trudging up to the ninth floor in, each patient I cared for today is coming home with me - especially the one I failed. 

I know I’m good at my placement - it’s half of my pride - but I’m never good enough to save everyone, and never strong enough to take the outcome as a lesson and move on. They knew exactly how to pin me to the ground, stopping me from aspiring above my station or, worse, outside of Dema. My distaste for the color red was just the cherry on top. 

I hate that they know me so well. The Bishops would do anything in their power to darken the bags under my eyes, maintain my insomnia, lengthen my thousand-yard stare - except for one thing. 

They won’t take Tyler.

I’m not really sure what’s stopping them. He’s the only bit of happiness, the one flicker of light, I have in this world. I like to think I’m that for him, too. That kind of thing doesn’t slide with the Bishops, so it surprises me each day that we were allowed to become friends as children. 

Now, it worries me that we were placed as roommates. Most other citizens of Dema live in solitude, confined to their own thoughts and four concrete walls. But, although I internally question the Bishops’ decision, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Because as much as I hate reflecting on my day, doing so on the roof of our apartment building, with Tyler, pushes me through. Tyler has a talent in giving people hope, no matter how dreary the circumstance is, or how little he believes in himself. 

I robotically move through my post-placement routine, throwing my soiled scrubs in the washer and taking a lukewarm shower. After pulling on a stiff set of loungewear in the same shade of gray as my scrubs (and just about every other piece of clothing in Dema), I’m finally making my way to our roof. 

———————————————————————————

I find him perched on his usual ledge, gazing out at the dreary landscape while holding one leg to his chest as a headrest and letting the other sway in the wind. 

Oh boo, I think. I was looking forward to sneaking up on him. Maybe odd, it’s something I do often - he’s said it makes him feel something, and it definitely makes me giggle to see him jump. What wouldn’t make me giggle, however, is startling him right off the roof. Instead, I take heavier steps to alert him of my presence. 

Coming to stand behind him, I place a hand on the top of his head, gently combing through his short locks. “You know how I hate it when you sit like this, Ty.”

He maintains his position, staring out into the desolate city. “It feels peaceful.” His response didn’t surprise me - it did evoke a sense of peace to know that you had autonomy over even the smallest of actions. I knew that was especially important to him, with the Bishops watching every action, every step, every breath he took. If anyone were to ask me, I think him sitting like this, as well as partaking in any other actions that metaphorically sat him on a ledge, was Tyler’s way of sticking it to the man. He wanted to show that no matter how many vultures they had spying on him, the number of times they’d dragged him back to Dema, or the control they could take of him through seizing, he was in control of his own actions - even if some of them filled me with anxiety. 

Rather than attempt to convince him to move, I hook my arms under his shoulders and gently haul him backwards until he’s laying in the pebbles layering the roof, his calves still propped up on the ledge. I sit criss-cross to his left, waiting for him to start our conversation. 

“Well that was rude”. Oh, so he’s feeling sarcastic today. 

“My bad. I could haul you back up, but I might overshoot it.” Who am I kidding, our friendship would be dull without the sarcasm. 

“Very funny. You’d be lost without me.” He finally looks over at me, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. 

“That I would be," I say, my lips perking up at how true his statement is. “How did you sleep?” 

Any smile he had dropped as he turned his gaze back to the sky, giving me enough of an answer. He never sleeps well, but I can’t pin down a singular reason. Of course, there’s the fact that he works night shift, or maybe it’s the night terrors which have plagued him in the past that he still won’t open up to me about. I guess there’s a lot of reasons for him to stay awake. 

Tyler finally answers. “Don’t worry about it. How was your shift?” Always quick to get the spotlight off of him. He’d better be glad my day was a shit show, because before I can badger him about his lack of sleep, words come spilling from my mouth. 

“A girl, maybe 15. No, 16. Wait, no, I think she was 15 … I don’t remember. Too young. Always too young. She came into the department as a Code Neon, which threw me off from the get-go because I didn’t think we were allowed to call that code anymore after the Bishops caught wind of it and…” I lose my train of thought, and come to a full halt in my retelling as my chest tightens up. By now, Tyler has sat up so he was eye-level with me, intently listening to whatever it was I was clearly blocking from my memory. 

“Wait, I got it. We ran a full code on her. Somebody cut off her clothes to see what we were working with, while someone else started asking her questions to see how alert and oriented to her surroundings she was.” I cut myself off, realizing that he probably didn’t want the nitty-gritty, gory details about my day. A glance at Tyler tells me the contrary, his eye contact showing me he’s listening intently. 

“We found the source of bleeding pretty quickly, honestly. My role was to stop it. I tied a tourniquet as tight as it would go, then applied pressure to her arm, just like I’ve always done.” I don’t even notice the tears running down my cheeks. “It wasn’t enough. I don’t know why it didn’t work, or how long I performed CPR for, but nothing worked. She’s gone. Blood-loss. The tiniest little job, and I failed it completely. I wasn’t enough. And I can’t help but think, why her? Why is she done because I failed, or if I could have just swapped places with - “.

“No.” He cuts me off. I know I’m spiraling, but it’s all I can do to make sense of what I’m feeling. “You know that’s not fair, Jules. Whoever that girl was, you gave her a fighting chance, and you and I both know that’s a lot more than other people would’ve been able or willing to give her.” He hooks his arm behind my back, his left hand landing on my left shoulder and pulling me to lean on him. 

We’re silent after that. I know he’s right. Even though I’d never admit it to him, he’s usually right. And annoyingly good at calming me down. 

I wipe my cheeks and clear my throat, resting my head on his shoulder. I feel exhausted - mentally, emotionally, and physically. I shift to surveying the city before us. From our view, it looks like a whole lot of concrete nothing, but I had to believe there was something beyond these walls. Rather, I knew there was, but I’d never attempted to escape. 

Tyler had. Twice. And both times he’d been tracked down and dragged back by Nico. His last attempt was years ago, and while I only have a vague memory of him returning, Tyler always tells me his punishment for leaving trumped any inspiration he’d had to try again. 

“Tell me something about Trench.” My request was answered with a contemplative inhale from Tyler. He hated talking about Trench, but at the same time it gave both of us some hope; hope for the future, for change, for anything but this. 

Frankly, talking about Trench scared me as well. If given the chance, I want to believe I would sprint from Dema, and if it weren’t for the following two reasons, I probably would’ve followed behind Tyler. 

One, he urged me to stay back until he could scout it out. We spent days arguing, but Tyler won that fight.

Two, I have no clue what’s out there. As children growing up in Dema, we heard stories about a rebellion group called the Banditos, whose goal was to free people from the Bishops’ rule and, eventually, overthrow them completely. Their existence felt like a fable - there was no way it could be proven, save for outing them as a whole and risking their recapture. The only thing that entertained my faith in the Banditos was their saying popping up in the city every once in a while - “East is Up”. Although it felt like a long shot, it was enough to give me hope.

Instead of an answer, Tyler stands and offers his hands to pull me to my feet. Once we’re both upright, he points towards the city wall enclosing Dema. “Just past that barrier, everything is green. Tall trees instead of the towers, overgrown bushes instead of graves, mossy rivers instead of concrete sidewalks.” He comes to a full stop, hesitating to say anything more. I thought about encouraging him to continue on. Did he see anyone? Speak to anyone? Find any traces of a society?

I decided against it, watching a haunted look cross his eyes. Not that my questions would have mattered anyways, as the 10-minute warning bell for night shift workers rang throughout the city - Tyler’s call to leave.

Although he says his placement doesn’t bother him, I see the small drop in his shoulders each time he hears that bell. The Bishops found a different way to suppress Tyler - rather than find a placement that would darken his life, they selected one that would put what he loves tauntingly close, yet always out of reach. As a Good Day Dema production assistant, Tyler’s main role is to act as a lackey for the producers and directors pushing out destructive, depressing, vialistic viewpoints to the people in Dema. His position puts him so close to a platform that would allow him to speak out against the Bishops, to create a rebellion from the inside out. Instead, he’s forced to watch (and even help) his supervisors create pro-Dema propaganda for the selected vessels to spew every morning.

I’d like to think that we could be whatever we want in Trench. Tyler could become the performer he dreamed of being, bringing joy to himself and anyone that was willing to listen. As for me, I could…well, I’m not really sure. And if I’m honest, I don’t really care. Apart from getting out of Dema and Tyler being safe, I haven’t really thought about what I want my future to look like. 

My thoughts are interrupted by Tyler turning to look at me. “Alright," he sighed. “I’ve gotta go. We can talk more in the morning if you’re feeling up to it.” 

I send a smirk over to him. “We can talk more about Trench?”

That earns a half-smile from him. “I meant we could talk about your day, Jules”, he replies. “But good try.” Tyler pulls me into a quick hug. “Don’t stay out here too long.” 

I wrap my arms around him and give him a squeeze before stepping back to look at him. “I won’t. Some of us can’t wait to go to sleep at the end of the day,” I deadpan. 

He rolls his eyes, turning to make his way to the downstairs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

I smile at his retreating figure. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, Ty. See you in the morning.” He shuts the staircase door with a final wave and a closed-lipped smile, leaving me alone on the roof. 

Without Tyler to talk to, the exhaustion starts to set in. I take one last look at the city walls, and reflect on what Tyler said about Trench. Although he didn’t offer much for me to go off of, he gave me more information than he could know.

Tall trees, overgrown bushes and mossy rivers, I replay in my head. It has to mean something that I see that same landscape when I go to sleep every night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

previous track: oh ms. believer now loading: ode to sleep (ch. 2)

ch. 1 is out now! click here :)

“So, you really think this guy is our next Clancy?”

Slumping back in my chair, I answered him with a sigh. “Yes, Malachi, I do.” 

“Then we need her, too.”

“There’s no way we’ll pull that off.” 

“Non-negotiable, man.”

“Why?" I asked, my shoulders tensing up. "It’s risky enough trying to get him out of Dema again, but hiding both of them in Trench will be nearly impossible. You two are the freshest escapees, you know as well as I do how close of an eye the Bishops keep on them.”

The siblings, sitting on either side of me, glanced at each other with uneasy looks. 

I continued on, a bit quieter. “You also know I would get everyone out of there if I could, but trying for the both of them, together, is simply too dangerous. Don’t you agree?”

Malachi shook his head with a frown, holding firm. I turned to my other confidant, hoping she could talk some sense into her brother. “Mattea, please tell me you understand where I’m coming from.”

She offered a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Torch, she’s his crux. Anywhere she goes, he follows. We need her.”

hey hey!! putting feelers out there - is a story surrounding an original (f) character in trench/dema something anyone would give a shot?? I’m kind of considering making it ofc x torch because I’m a dystopian lover at heart.