rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.

Your name is JADE HARLEY. It is the 1st of December, which just so happens to be your birthday. The dog beside you is BECQUEREL. He was the best friend a girl could ever ask for. He never left your side, and now, you will never leave his.

You had been nervous before- stomach knotting itself to sickness, fingers anxiously holding to the comforting weight of a gun. Maybe it's being back with Bec, but you feel at ease by the time you're done greeting the skeletal pile dog. You don't think you're afraid of dying...up until a few days ago, you had just never put any serious thought into it. It felt...surreal.

From memory you know exactly how the tip of a shotgun parts through fur, smooth and almost kind in its grace. You aim the muzzle, skin brushing cool steel as you exhale quietly. You have to realize your hand has started shaking again before you force it to stop, eyes lowering to Becquerel's permanent grin. Breath in again.

You've been holding your breathe. A year of forgetting to breath in. Nearly- 10 months, give a few days by now- forgetting what it felt like to let go of the air trapped inside your collapsing lungs. Inhaling wood and paper, you had signed away a different future months ago (-feri, don-) and nothing would ever be so easily restored. You didn't make the right choices, you followed the wrong directions, you were never smart enough to get the proper answer in time.

            If dying meant the chance of coming back a better person- you were ready to bite the not-so figurative bullet. You needed to be better (not for yourself) but to find her again.

                        You needed to be better and the thought of death didn't scare you at all if it meant being able to help the ones you loved.

You catch yourself thinking about your last conversation with Eridan. You idle over how nice it would have been to talk and say goodbye to everyone else, where-ever they were, and quickly shove the thought aside. Just this body, just this version of you. You'd promise you'd be back soon. Inhale.

Index finger hovering over the trigger, you count the pulse of your thumb pressing against the wooden handle. You think about Aradia's tiny New Orleans apartment: the smell of burning mac 'n cheese and bad horror flicks and cramped couch seating. Summers beside the ocean and wagging tails and extraordinary adventures. Ice cream and clubs you've never even been to. You think about Dallas and confusing street signs and local coffee shops and terribly endearing sea-themed puns.

You miss everything so much, and you're ready to move on.

SF: hi, boy

You promise to return as soon as you can, and head down the spiral basement stairway. With the door shut behind you it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the dimmed light.

>Greet the dog

You feel a quick stab of guilt. After your childhood friend had been put to rest you had been meaning to perform some sort of proper burial. You had gotten caught up in chasing ghosts instead.

Soon. As soon as this was over with, when things were back to normal, you would do it. For now- what you were about to do would have to suffice as some sort of whispered apology, another reassurance of your love, to the creature.

Fingers tracing along the faded wallpaper, you guide yourself through the hallway entrance. You pass the old wooden stairs heading upstairs, and need to lift your hand as you pass the door-less opening to the living room. Too dark to see inside, you continue forwards.

Your Grandfathers shotgun waits were you remember it would be. The weight of it familiar- and in a way, like always before- comforting in your grasp. The scribbled signature on the stock has been eaten away as much as anything in the house, the name unrecognizable but in your memories vision.  Your fingers curl against the firearm, squeezing tight into another hand to hold. Nervousness rises in your throat, and you fight it by walking stubbornly forward.

SF: i always preferred rifles to shotguns but this one seemed really important to my grandpa

SF: he used it when he went away to fight with the resistance!

That was a long time ago, but you had always enjoyed his stories once he returned home. For a while things had been simple. Blood rushes loudly in your ears, swallowing as the door you have been heading for comes into view. Another plain, oak door, with nothing remarkable or noticeable about it. It has not been that long since you have encountered this door. You shift your head, smiling down to Mado,

i think im running out of ways to say i miss you. i still really do though, and im sorry if you get tired hearing it (if any messages ever do make it, i mean). im sorry for a lot of things. im sorry i didnt listen to bec if it meant helping you months ago and im sorry...just about how things turned out, you know??

im still trying to save you and im going to do anything i possibly can until youre back here!! when were all together again eridan is taking us out for ice cream!

once i god tier i might be able to see clearer where you are. the process of it sort of scares me....but im ready. even if it takes me months after that to find you just remember that theres someone out there thats looking and really cares about you and just hold on okay?

i cant not remember you. i really like you and i sort of hope you wont forget me, either.