#chap. 3

I think, all the while a collar and leash bind me. Weaken me, so much so that I can do nothing but float and watch. Watching is something I’m good at, especially now, notice things, find things, understand their possibilities. I think something resonated with the girl though, I can see it in her eyes. She feels remorse. So it would seem, she is like the boy from before. I hope she keeps her mouth shut.

It doesn’t take long for mother to get to what she’s always wanted. A chance at dissection. Strapping me down with unnecessary levels of aggression and force. She sets out her instruments while making it a point for me to clearly see each one. She gets to work first removing at the ropes embedded in my flesh, ripping and tearing the flesh wildly as she goes. As they clatter to the floor, I hope none are damaged; something might work. She’s focused so intently on me and on what she wants to do. She doesn’t notice, but I do, the others reactions. They blame me sure, want me to suffer for their suffering, want me dead. But this is too much for all of them. I’m sure it’s not because of weak stomachs, no one has that anymore; how could they? You can only see someone destroyed by those stars, or crushed by a building, or cannibalized by another person; so many times before it doesn’t churn your insides anymore.

It doesn’t take long for my chest to be opened up, flayed out like a butterfly made of ruby reds and emerald greens. I know I hear wrenching and there are things being said but ignoring the pain is where my focus goes. That and I have to find a way out, I have to be the hero.

I can see mother swing her knives in the others general direction, no doubt protecting her game of doctor. This only causes the others to show genuine disgust and disdain towards her, rather than me. That’s the thing with human morals, they’re strong and only something stronger will outweigh their morals. For the sake of science, apparently didn't cut it for the others. As they watch on still trying to argue with her, as she takes away chunk after chunk of her pound of flesh.

I don’t mind so much, it’s horrible and painful but. There’s always a but with me, I can always excuse others actions; it’s never really their fault. In some way, the blame is always mine and I’ll take it gladly; no matter how much I have to suffer. And suffer I do, regardless of what she thinks; ghost feel pain. We all do, and I’ll always do what I can to minimize others pain. That’s why I school my expression now, as she pulls out piece after piece, seeing my hurt would cause pain to them. I refuse to be the cause of their pain. What pieces she takes I can not tell, blurred vision makes observing difficult. Maybe she’ll learn something from me that can be used to save everyone, human and ghost. Though I know she doesn’t care for the ghosts. Maybe this is how I’ll finish my work, be the hero. I only hope that if she does find something that will work that she’ll step up and do it herself. I think she owes me that much.

Through their arguing a man, large and bearded comes in. He is calm and soft but commanding in his presence. At first I think it could be, but no, it’s not dad. Surprisingly he goes to untie me, mother leaps over to stop him. Grabbing his wrists and glaring but not speaking. A heart locket swings around her neck, dangling in front of me. That’s new and I can read that dad’s name is engraved on it. Oh. I see. I guess that’s how it is. Someone else I failed. With that, the pain is too much and I fade to black.

I wake to a wrapped body and I can tell my toes have finally regrown. It’s a welcomed thing, to wiggle them again. However, I’m still bound it would seem. I doubt I have been out long. The group of humans is all around me with my back against a wall, none of them look at me; whether I move or not. And I dare not break the silence. I can feel the itch of all the bandages, they cover everything. How much was cut away? How much is left? Is any of it even usable? Stable? Just keep going. Just keep working. And for today, just do what I must to survive. So I choose to use this as time to observe. Observing the door, walls and the silhouettes of figures arguing quietly. I have a feeling it’s about me.

It was about me. It seems the large man has taken charge of me. He doesn't bother with binds at all. Not that it would matter, I’m far too damaged to do much beyond what I must. And I must keep working, I must fix this, I must keep going. So I do. The first thing I do is put back on the shoulder piece I made, Be the hero, stands out on it still and I made a promise. The man watches me tinker, occasionally mother comes in and scowls but says nothing. This man is clearly in charge and he’s told her no. I don’t know why he cares to watch my tinkering but I imagine it’s because of all the weird tech I got out of the suit. Maybe he just wants to see what and why I work away.

The peace of this doesn’t last long, it never does. Nothing ever lasts long for me. Be it good or bad. It’s not the fault of the man or my mother though. But rather the stars. One crashed into the building, now everything burns. I take what I can re-tie to me and look for people. Chuckling dryly I quickly come to know they left the danger, and me. Left me to be destroyed by the stars. Stars that I once loved so very dearly. I live though, I live through it all. I always do, I always have to, it’s what I do. No one can afford for me not to.

Out a tunnel, I go walking along. I don’t have the energy for flight but I find, as I go, a pile of apples. “Sorry” is written on one. I need no apology, I need you to survive girl. But I take the apples gladly anyways. In my time between apples, I check over the damage. I had been functionally flayed from neck to toe, and who knows what internals are missing; the bandages hurt to try to remove. So I opt to just leave them be. I’ll be able to remove them when my work is done, when everyone is ok. Then I’ll fix my body up, then I’ll see what’s regrown and what hasn’t. Though I do take the time to check that I still have my pulse, I need that to keep my immunity to the purple pollution. If I lose to that I won’t be any help to anyone or thing. I can’t have that.

I had to give up on the hand balls. Just not working out and I can’t waste time. My body is still a mess and I know I look just as horrible as I have in days past. But that doesn’t matter and I don’t care. My body isn’t of importance, it doesn’t matter. My next device is a sharp chest trinket, it taps into a ghosts core. Mines stronger than most, perks of being a halfa. My ice, no matter how weakened I am, stays strong and powerful. Utilizing it’s all that’s left for options. Everything else has been exhausted or just isn’t doable now. I place no blame on anyone though. Hooking into my core like this burns something fierce but I’ll grin and bare it, like always and forever more. So long as it is needed.

Surprisingly, as I’m out to test this latest trinket I spot a human. It’s the same large bearded man from before. Only now he’s down an arm. He’s holding a little girl in his arms. Blood running down his side pooling on the ground. I stand understanding the loss and grief. But also the need to be silent. We’re on the surface after all.

This man is very observant, he notices me quickly and turns. Tears stain his beard and cover his cheeks. All he does is point to my chest, or more so to the trinket there, and then the closest star. We need no words I know what he’s asking. I simply nod, his returning smile screams anger but is filled with nothing but absolute sadness. She must have been his daughter. I understand too well, I lost a little one in my arms who bore the same colours as me long ago. She was too weak to handle any of this, she tried though. If she could have lived off of spite, she would have. I wonder if the bearded man’s little girl was full of fire and spite too.

He watches from afar as I walk up the same way as many, many times before to this star. The biggest I can find, to see what this trinket can do. Things will end. Things will be fixed. They will all be ok.

It doesn’t work.

The man looks at me wearily as I simply collapse onto my hips. I sit slumped for a while. I’m not sure what more I could possibly do. What anyone or thing could possibly do. I promised but it’s not working. I’m the hero but it’s not working. I’m still going but it’s not working. I’m giving everything but it’s, still, not, working. I vomit up what little I have into the grass as the man comes up behind me. He heaves me up and takes me back down, to where it’s safe. Though I don’t know if safe means anything, if my everything is doing nothing.

He pushes me to keep tinkering, tapping on my shoulder piece; he understands it’s purpose, the reminder, I think. He won’t let the others interrupt me either, snapping his fingers at anyone who even so much as looks at me dirty. He gets what I’m trying to do now. So does the apple girl, she keeps bringing me apples. Sometimes I eat, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I tinker, sometimes I think I’m giving up. And I can’t do that. I know I can’t but I’m not sure anymore if “can’t” is even a real word. Maybe this is all just inevitable.

The man won’t let go of the little girl, she’s starting to rot. He cradles her all the time. I get it, I do. But. You have to go on, dammit. Seeing him still holding on, holding her, when there’s no use, no point; just makes something click. None of this is working, I’m not working. I’m not being the hero. I need to do that. I have to. So I get to work, on something new. Though I never took off the chest piece, a reminder of what I must still do. Even if I’ve found I no longer can.

It takes very little time to finish and with that, I walk to the man. The first time I’ve walked or stood since the chest piece failed. And I give him my new trinket, an arm. Shiny and metal but an arm. He stares at it confused, but I simply point to his armless shoulder and to the girl. I understand the silence that must be kept and so does he. He allows me to attach it, I can feel others watching. Once everything’s attached, neuroreceptors in place, I let him move it himself. He does so cautiously but as soon as he sees that it works, he brings it down underneath the little girl and holds her up. He cries. Wet, angry, messy tears. He knows no words are needed and out of everyone I’ve ever done right by, he seems to know I won’t accept a thank you. Hero’s need no thanks after all and sometimes being a hero isn’t about saving the world but helping a man to hug his daughter one last time.

After that, the other humans don’t give me cruel looks but most of the looks they give me are sad. Maybe it’s the way I look, I’m supposed to be the hero, the shining star. Yet I look like a man whose very existence is actively spitting in the face of death. Which for me is actually quite accurate, I should be dead many times over.

The bearded man was able to lay his daughter to rest, he looks filled with determination in every sense of the word now. He seems to be making a point of using the metal arm whenever I’m in the line of sight. It’s nice to see that it works still, and with that, I am able to work again. They all try to help me now, except mother. She just watches from a distance, I can never read her face. The others will point to where they think something should go or how it should be turned. Point out anything I may have missed out, they’ve all come to understand silence. No one talks near me and I never talk. There’s no place for it, work needs to be done. Even if nothing will ever work. Even if it’s all pointless. It’s all I can do. It’s all I know.