#diegrets

EASY VERSUS RIGHT  /  THE COMMON THEME OF THIS WORLD.      all it does is take, scratch, kill, bite  ---  plucking everything out of an individual, leaving them unrecognizable and their corpse dry. figuratively and literally. you’ve seen the outcome firsthand of this vile world; the betrayal of people you’ve trusted and the deaths of those closest to you. the tense emotions of the world used to ooze out of you, spilling everything and leaving a carmine mess trailing behind you. now, the past is all you fight for  ---  it’s the only thing left to fight for. 

“save the monologue.”   the words are more sardonic than expected, becoming more of a normalcy than usual. you’re tired; just like everyone else. the repetitive cycle of surviving, fighting, nearly dying, repeat. nothing changes  ---  what do you keep fighting for if nothing changes? the past can only hold enough motivation for so long. your golden heart remains pumping, the rarity of your blood flowing through your veins; everyone changes and looks for the easiest route, rather than the right path. if anyone sees eye-to-eye on the topic and this repulsive world, it’s you and glenn.

                                                                                        “i used to be a cop before all of this  ---  only for a day though.”   you confess, leaning your back against the cement wall of the prison cell. the archaic paint is splitting, grey chips lying on the concrete ground next to your feet; everything is dying. it’s a reminder of the world that stole your first day on the police force and kept its grasp tight on the rest of your life. it’s killed everything, whether it’s people you’ve known or the life you used to own.   “i wanted to protect people; i wanted to do the right thing.”   the oath you swore; to serve and protect. the faces of those on your first day at raccoon city, flesh betwixt their teeth, ichor dripping from their mouths; you’ve never forgotten it. it haunts you when you sleep, your eyes gazing at the ceiling in remembrance more than in slumber. 

   a sigh worms itself out from your throat, toned arms crossing themselves over your chest tightly, as if it’s a comfort blanket to protect you from this world. there’s nothing comforting in this world  ---  there’s nothing to protect anyone.   “the city got nuked from the government  ---  there was no survivors besides me, another woman, and a little girl.”   their smiling faces are one of the only colorful memories in your frontal lobe. hand-in-hand, waltzing in the sunset as survivors; if only you knew what the world held in store for all of you.   “i tried to do the right thing   ---   if i did the easy thing, i probably would’ve survived. i would’ve stayed home and not have came into the city. but the two others? i don’t know if they would’ve survived.”   the answer is easy to calculate, leaving a bleak and gloomy incense forming in your stomach. it’s sickening to imagine it, creating a sense of nausea you can’t stomach, so you wash it from your mind rapidly. 

“i  ---  my friend  ---”

you stumble to find the words you mean to say, unsure of how to verbalize the past to him. how do you discuss something you hardly remember  /  you’ve shoved your adolescence deep down and sealed it with duct tape, making sure it cannot be ripped off and reopened. you remember one thing, though: joel had promised to teach you how to play guitar  ---  now, that promised was repudiated from your separation from each other.

separation, you tell yourself; you know the hidden truth whether you want to admit it or not.  (it’s easier to ignore.)  you’d left to look for supplies to treat a wound he’d attained, only to return and be greeted with a blood-soaked cot and an empty garage. 

he told you he wouldn’t leave  ---  everyone always leaves or die, you told him. he promised otherwise; everyone lies. you leave his demise in the stygian corner of your imagination. 

that was months ago; it might have even been a year now. losing track of time was orthodox; you always found yourself falling dependent on the seasons and weather to divulge the time. joel and his faux promises were history; this was your life now  ---  a boarding school that housed teenagers, now turning into young adults, looking to survive from the harsh reality behind these walls. 

clearing your throat, you lean against the hickory piano that louis has claimed as his baby, rolling your eyes at the words you’ve discarded earlier.  “i always wanted to learn how to play something. i was supposed to learn guitar, but  ---  things happen.”

NO, I’M NOT.      those are the words echoing throughout your head, bouncing back and forth off the walls in a zig-zag pattern. you can’t tell if they’re the reason for your headache, or if it’s the gashing wound from your carmine filling ribcage. it didn’t take much consideration to figure out what had taken residence in your body  ---  impaled by a metal rod on the left side of your torso. there was obvious internal damage, most likely some irreplaceable organ or artery damage. something doctors from years ago would be able to fix with surgery (even then with some type of a risk) and their words telling you to take it easy afterward.

you’re probably overreacting. you always had a thing for the theatrics in your younger years but one thing is clear as the sun on an august day: you’re dying. there’s no doubt about it  ---  there’s nothing to stop the pooling of ichor in your body. there’s nothing to fix the damage  ---  no scalpels, no needles, nothing to fix the broken pieces. nothing alicia says will fog the sun’s visage and halt the inevitable from occurring. you’re going to die.

it’s easier to face the music now.

for decades, you had viewed the world with a deluded outlook. what once had been intermerate in your eyes was now ugly and demolished; full of monsters and full of brutality. a nomad had flourished inside you, leaving decaying benthos blooming throughout your body. as long as you had jack daniel’s in your flask, you were content and ready to face the kismet set in marble for you. she had changed everything. you were kindred spirits; she offered a broader outlook on this barren world, whether she realized it or not. she became everything you had desired from this world: she had become the closest thing to a family you had. she had become someone you were willing to risk it all for and at this moment, it was the last thing you wished for.

“you’re going to make it.”  it’s a simple correction before your fingers lift to grasp the rod, an attempt to alleviation some of the agony, head leaning back as features wince through the surges of pain. it’s arguably one of the worst pains you’ve encountered; you’re vulnerose from all your years  ---  the squinting of your face speaks level. over her shoulder, you match the groans to the faces; walkers awaiting their next meal. you were a happy meal on their agenda  ---  you couldn’t let alicia be the appetizer. you wouldn’t allow that to be the end of this story.

“go to the east. if you listen carefully, you’ll hear the groans from the west and if you go west, you’ll get sandwiched.”  dulling eyes stay on the growing crowd of walkers, every second wasted deeming more of a hazard. there’s a growing moment of benignity causing you to swallow hard before meeting her worrying gaze, a sense of amicability planting its roots inside you.  “if you remember what i taught you, i promise you  ---  this will be all worth it.”  you can see her lips trembling, trying to find the aching words but the shake of your head finalizes your decision.

excavating the strength, digits gesture towards the eastern portion of the woods before your other hand finally lets go of the rod. your hand throbs and aches from your tight grasp, eyes watching as the young woman rises from her original crouched position. the thumping of your heart becomes louder and louder in your own ears, unable to hear the words spilled from her lips. you know she said something  ---  you watched the words be spoken from her quivering lips; you swear you saw a tear tumble from her eye. within moments, she had dispersed from your visage.

another hard swallow  ---  another epiphany from the man about to die.

NOTHING IS IDYLLIC ANYMORE.      there’s no hidden warmth in the crevices of this world. there’s not a nudge of serenity or compassion; her words offer no true solace from outside these kitchen walls. detroit is sylvan and full of monomania, you falling into the hysterics that humans are now carrying upon their sleeves. androids were revolting, their blue inlay turning cochineal as they left their masters, becoming their own group of individuals. you were one of them  ---  a deviant who fell into the role of becoming a mother. a gun in one hand, a dead body lying across the floor; you did the only thing to protect yourself and the little girl who had burrowed her way into your cobalt beating heart.   you ran.

      all you have done is run, guarding alice as if she’s the only thing that matters in this world. in your eyes, she is the only thing that’s worth caring about. you have encased yourself around her and slit your heart open for her, fortifying her with all your strength from the masses who want to harm you and her. humans don’t get it  ---  they believe you are only a machine incapable of showing emotions, wanting to remove them from the throne they’ve sat themselves upon. you don’t know what you’re doing, you have no idea what it is like to feel  ---  those are the words they speak when they think no one is listening. you’ve seen the news reports, you’ve heard those walking past you on the sidewalks and what they mumble before collecting their android from their parking spot. they just don’t get it; you question whether they ever will. jericho is only a step in the right direction  ---  will they be able to become the saviors androids need?

a prolonged sigh leaves your throat as you rise from your chair, an undecided tone taking root on your faux larynx.   “thank you, clara.”   is she truly as kind as she perceives herself to be? the image she displays is one of a masterpiece, capturing your attention with every moment. you can try to tear your eyes away and yet, you’re unlucky. she’s too captivating. is she’s the snake in the garden of eden, awaiting to strike and ruin everything you’ve built these past weeks? will she turn you in to the police department and leave you to burn in the fiery pits they have planned for androids like you? there’s a risk in trusting her and there’s a feeling taking your gut in its grasp  ---  you should trust her, it whispers in your ears. trust her and you will be rewarded. but you have to ask: how much do you trust yourself?

         “i should make sure alice is asleep.”   a forged simper is ear to ear across your features, your back turning as you aim towards the staircase. 

                                                     there’s something missing. 

IT’S EASIER TO LAUGH AT HER WORDS.     easier than to feel a sense of dejection  /  easier than to strip yourself naked and expose yourself of being the forlorn girl pocketed underneath your countenance. it’s easier to ignore your soul splitting into two, shoving down the explosive tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. you’re used to pushing it all down  —  a vital tool you learned to resource when your father wasn’t coming back, when you recognized the ritual your mother settled for and wasn’t willing to change, when you realized it would be you and lexi taking care of each other from now on. it’s a combination of being both horrifying and beautiful, just like you.

         the hindering fog of your vision was beginning to lift though, and you were beginning to realize the harsh reality: rue wasn’t any different than anyone else. 

“you know what  —  you’re right.”  are your doe eyes batting your lashes enough? did you have the warmest smile plastered across your dulcet face? do you look pure enough yet? it was the checklist your mother had birthed for you  —  the beauty of wearing a façade. everyone loves to act euphoric and avoid the nodus’ that they face; it’s easy to ignore the heart-wrenching sensation in your gut and to avoid what you truly want. all you wanted was for her to remember  /  to remember the night you shared of laughter and genuine euphoria. jocose smiles and incarnadine cheeks, chrysanthemums blooming with every laugh spilled, hands held in each other’s  —  all you wanted was for her to remember. 

                                                                                         all you wanted was her attention.

leaning your head against the flowing wall of green lockers, you shake your head as the smile remains playing across your features.  “forget i even mentioned it.”  desperate for a change of topic, you clear your throat before tapping your fingernails lightly against the metal behind you.

A FLASK IN YOUR RIGHT HAND,   the opened rim is brought to your lips as you drain the remaining liquor, the liquid streamlining down the back of your throat. your comfort and security blanket, you never travel too far without it. you always opted for whiskey as your drink of choice in the past, now you’ll take whatever you could find in this soporific new way of life. today, it had been barcardi; you were unsure about what you would drink tonight or even tomorrow. you never planned that far ahead.

“you don’t have to worry about that from me.”

  eyes remaining straight ahead, you scoff as your digits shove your empty flask into your back pocket. alicia’s company was futile  —  an inconvenience, if anything. you’d eventually decided to tune out her ranting; something about madison, something about nick, a periodic mention of travis. recognized names and faces, yet something you could give two shits about. nothing truly mattered in this world anymore besides survival. even that was a struggling topic for you; it’s hard to survive when you’ve been surviving for years on end, doing the same actions repeatedly with no furthering outcome. everything repeated in a cycle  — survive, endure some more bullshit, watch some of your friends die, and repeat. nothing ever changed.

                   i wonder if ada’s still alive, though.

you can hear her boots pattering on the road with ever step, her huffing breath, the anger radiating off her. things you had picked up throughout your many years and stopped doing. it’s an image you recognize fairly well and yet could critique beyond belief.  “your stealth’s for shit, you don’t hold a gun properly, and you’re too emotional.”  you spare a glance behind you at the girl as you speak, noting the redness in her face. an evident sign of anger, one that most likely won’t disappear after your comments. teenagers  —  too sensitive for their own damn good. they use their fervor as a shield until you pierce through it, hurting their feelings if you dare to criticism them.

you would know; you dealt with it yourself back in raccoon city years ago.

you  have  been  seated  on  the  couch  for  minutes,      watching  &  waiting.      the  clank  of  a  quarter  shifting  back  &  forth  between  his  fingers,  his  continuous  pace  throughout  the  living  room  —  a  rare  scene  of  manifested  agitation.  it  would  be  facile  to  concentrate  your  attention  on  the  illuminated  screen  sprawled  across  the  coffee  table:  a  cynosure  case  file  that  needed  to  be  concluded  tonight  with  his  name  listed  as  active  investigator  in  the  corner.  you  had  seen  glances  of  the  file  &  heard  occasional  mentions  of  it  throughout  the  past  weeks.  your  tunnel  vision  remains  on  him,  cupid  remaining  its  chokehold  tightly  around  your  throat.  tongue  grazing  against  your  molars,  you  clear  your  throat  before  shifting  your  position  on  the  couch,  dulcet  voice  breaching  the  chiefly  silent  atmosphere.