#echojace

“Name: Jacqueline Drake. Date of Death: September 4th, 2020. Cause of Death...” Shepherd would read off as they were completing paperwork. It looked like what would be a modern tablet, yet they were using what appeared to be a quill pen being used to write. However they were cut off by a noise coming from the body they were standing over. 

“Oh looks like you are awake. Took your time. Nah, take all the time you need. This can be disorienting at first I know. I’ve got nothing better to do. We got all eternity after all. Oh where are my manners. I’m the Shepherd Angel, but you can call me Shepherd, Shep, Grim Reaper, Charon, Jim, whatever you want.” They would reply with a laugh at the end.

          there’s a certain satisfaction in discovering just how bad things can get.   it runs from a hole in his stomach,  soaks rivers into his shirt and stains his skin.   breathing is shallow,  backed up against a wall in an abandoned apartment,  hazy eyes trained on the opening where a door had been.   blinks through the red dripping into his vision,  ears straining to confirm what he thought he’d just heard  --  footsteps.   a figure blows straight past the room,  but steps are quick to retreat,  and tyler is just as eager to level his pistol at the newcomer,     ‘  wouldn’t recommend that,  mate.  ’

NIGHTMARES ARE SIMPLY FEARS that we have yet to conquer. Or so, Diana’s mother would tell her when she was but a child scared of the midnight’s extraordinary darkness. Now, Diana is a creature of those same shadows that once taunted her so viciously. Even still, her dreams are as horrific as the world that produces them. Perhaps that is why Diana refuses sleep. For it is in her slumber that she witnesses beloved faces that she cannot grasp. When she awakens, she is plagued by a feeling of utter emptiness. Rather would she feel sorrow or wrath than this streak of endless nothingness! How it taunts her so; the feeling that she is void of love or mirth or even despair. Misery is not an emotion as much as it is a cage keeping her prisoner. 

She sits, naked, on the edge of the bed, willing away the exhaustion threatening to seduce her into unconsciousness. A stirring behind her reminds Diana that she is not alone. And that, once again, she has been caught in the act of wakefulness. She’ll allow her lover to believe that it is simple insomnia that keeps her awake.

A lie built upon thousands of others. 

          ‘ it’s just a dislocated shoulder, ’     he grunts,  lucky it’s not his left.   raleigh’s brows raise,  a kind of  are you gonna help me or not?  look,  already prepared for what’s to come.   much like that time when he was eight,  and he fell out of that tree.   or when he was fourteen,  tumbling down the mountain side running from a stampede.   or when he was sixteen,  getting his ass kicked before yancy stepped in.   ‘ i don’t need the med bay. ’

Sabina was toes deep in O’ahu’s sandy beach when she realized this was no vacation. This had to be different from the time wasting she spent in L.A., from the distractions of pretty girls and lack of will power to be GOOD at her ‘ job ‘. When Sab had enrolled herself in the military post what should have been college years, she’d had no idea the rabbit hole about to be discovered. Had she ever imagined herself in the midst of a legitimate Jaeger program, with the potentiality of being a pilot ?

Maybe not jumping at the chance to answer ‘ yes ’ was her problem. There could be no room for doubts in war.

Soon Sabina found herself laying on the sand with her arms and legs out, slowly making herself into a sand Angel, looking up at the clouds and thinking maybe there was a sign in one of the shapes — strawberry, dog, bicycle ? God, she had to get it together.

SHE COMES IN WITH the night breeze, existing more as an apparition than a figure of reality. A gush of air sputters from behind Diana, black hair tangled with soot preening down her shoulder blades. From her modest apartment’s open glass doors does she emerge, armor coating her in vibrant colors that contrast her soured mood. Despite the metal edge of her boots, she lands on her feet without so much as a thud, a panther in her prime who never falters. The ache coiled in her back unravels at an excruciating pace as she moves weakly. A battle won, whatever victory means these days, and her body is paying the very real price. 

Her mouth falls open into a silent gasp, for her bones grow wearier with each steps she dares to take. She’s hurt, and it hurts, and it is excruciating. However, never once do her instincts remain unguarded. She perceives the footsteps rummaging in her kitchen, and it offers her the time she needs to clutch at a robe, hiding her armor clad figure from view. She doesn’t dwell in shadows. She doesn’t lie. Yet, there is a distinctively dishonest feeling about hiding herself. From Jac. For of course it is her. Diana will not waste breath in asking, What are you doing here?