#icassandra

How far would you go for love? What would you sacrifice? Everything? Your life? I ease my way along the grotty, damp corridor towards the rickety wooden door of Blue's apartment. It took ten long, brutal days of scouring drone images of the lanes and alleys to find her building, Akron's photographic memory of my memories giving us the only lead we had. Even though I don't remember doing it, I had looked out Blue's window. Opposite her apartment, a particular gargoyle perched on the ruins of a nearby chapel. Ten long, soul-crushing days spent searching for a gargoyle. Akron was stubborn, though, and found it in the dead of the night—terminating an exhausting search through the endless wreckage of a dying city. And now here I am, in her deserted building, dressed in full combat gear, passing the once-familiar scrawls of faded graffiti plastered over the breeze block wall: 'Fuck the GC'; 'God help us'; 'Let it end'. The images awaken memories of before, when I was myself—when I walked with her to her apartment, burning with anticipation, my heart aching with love. Even after everything I have learned about her, it still does. More than ever. Blue. Now I can only love her in silence. The one she loved is dead. Who I have become is no one to her. I can never tell her the truth—tell her I am still alive, like this. It would break her heart to see what I have become. No longer a man, but something other—a machine made for killing. (continued in comments) #icassandra #dystopianfiction #writersofinstagram #writersofig #inyoureyes #love #forbiddenlove #london #eacarter https://www.instagram.com/p/CCT1oYSDe4d/?igshid=1nb5p2axkcpqk

I wake in a hospital gurney. This time no bright lights sear my vision. Instead, soft illumination slides up the plain white walls from a thin luminescent strip embedded along the edge of the grey slate floor. Apart from the gurney, no other furnishings grace the space. The door facing me is closed. To the right of the frame, a panel with several blue lights blink in sequence. I lift my hand, cautious, expecting restraints. Nothing. Disbelief, then relief slams through me. It is my hand. My own hand. I lift my other hand and clench both into fists, the movement familiar, invigorating. For a beat euphoria rules me, then like the wash of a polluted tide, nausea swarms over me and steals my joy. I spot a stainless steel container beside the gurney. A vile, blue-black liquid splatters the pristine container, slides down against its sides in ugly rivulets. Sickened by the sight of it, I heave and empty myself, gagging against its bitter, metallic taste. The door slides open. de Pommier's avatar walks in. I ease myself back onto the gurney, trembling, my guts strafed by agony. The acrid stink of my vomit fills the room, soaks my mouth. I want water. There is nothing. 'The worst is over,' de Pommier says. She stands just inside the door, her eyes move over me, critical, searching for flaws. A look of satisfaction touches the curve of her lips. 'Welcome back, Capitaine Ryan Maddox. For the next three months, you will remain with Vallis and be to her what you were before . . . and you will give her hope. Hope you and she will be together, forever, on Mars.' She cocks her head at me. I stifle a fresh wave of nausea. 'Of course, you won't. But when she realises that, it will be too late and she and the other evacuees will be on their way to Mars while the rest of us burn.' (continued in comments) _______________________________ #icassandra #eacarter #storytime #passion #forbiddenlove #dystopia #cyborg #bnwphotography #awardwinningauthor #wordporn #thesystem #storm #ultimatum https://www.instagram.com/p/B_DHcdVHuvo/?igshid=g6h1j5i57g4w

I ease my way along the grotty, damp corridor towards the rickety wooden door of Blue's apartment. It took ten long, brutal days of scouring drone images of the lanes and alleys to find her building, Akron's photographic memory of my memories giving us the only lead we had. Even though I don't remember doing it, I had looked out Blue's window. Opposite her apartment, a particular gargoyle perched on the ruins of a nearby chapel. Ten long, soul-crushing days spent searching for a gargoyle. Akron was stubborn, though, and found it in the dead of the night—terminating an exhausting search through the endless wreckage of a dying city. And now here I am, in her deserted building, dressed in full combat gear, passing the once-familiar scrawls of faded graffiti plastered over the breeze block wall: 'Fuck the GC'; 'God help us'; 'Let it end'. The images awaken memories of before, when I was myself—when I walked with her to her apartment, burning with anticipation, my heart aching with love. Even after everything I have learned about her, it still does. More than ever. Blue. Now I can only love her in silence. The one she loved is dead. Who I have become is no one to her. I can never tell her the truth—tell her I am still alive, like this. It would break her heart to see what I have become. No longer a man, but something other—a machine made for killing. ______________________________ I, Cassandra #icassandra #forbiddenlove #cyborg #dystopianfiction #darkfiction #eacarter #epicreads #scififiction #workinprogress #gritty #grim #desolation #longing #static #darkmood #television #bedroom https://www.instagram.com/p/B8JNPEPn_oB/?igshid=1nanwe0jvexk5

Inside, everything is still, silent, a crypt. I wander around, numb, Adiana's bouquet hanging, pointless, in my grip. Little folded pieces of yellow cardboard dot the apartment, left by the investigators at points of interest: an open book on the table; beside a photograph of her and her father; on top of her tablet. In her bedroom, the bed is unmade, one of the pillows lies in a crumpled heap on the floor. The other, still on the bed, sports black smears across the cover's pristine white. I lean closer. Mascara stains. She cried. A lot. On the bedside table, an open, empty bottle of Lagavulin. No glass. I open the dresser drawer. A bottle of Fentanyl, dated three days ago. One tablet remains. I lift the mascara-stained pillow, sending the little yellow card perched on top fluttering to the floor. Underneath, her phone. I scoff. Some investigation. I pick up the phone. The panel lights up to a screenshot of me and her at the botanical gardens, smiling and in love, taken ten years ago by one of the botanists. I trace my finger over her smile, my heart aching. I open her call history. Her last call was made two days ago at eleven fourteen in the morning. I stare at it, my chest constricting. Her last call was to me. The call I didn't answer. Without thinking, I open her text messages. Her last one is a draft. Also to me. Written at eleven thirteen, one minute before she called me. My heart tight, I open it. I can't live without us. Forgive me, my love. I sink onto the edge of the bed and look at the wilting bouquet. I throw it against the wall. The roses shudder in silent agony, their petals tumble free, coating the hardwood floor, brilliant red, drops of blood. (continued in comments) _______________________________ I, Cassandra #icassandra #eacarter #epicreads #dystopianfiction #awardwinningauthor #typography #writersofinstagram #wordsmith #wordporn #bnwmood #noiretblanc #thinkers_and_writers https://www.instagram.com/p/B76ccAnHMht/?igshid=v3bzl7o8hn2o