#selfp

Her feelings towards her mother were so complex, it would take ten more voyages of this length to fully sort out the past twenty-five years of manipulation.

Emory didn’t know when it had finally dawned on her – maybe she always knew. Maybe it wasn’t until bullets ricocheted around her, tearing through flesh, bone… leaving holes where the sinews of life once was, as she watched in horror the massacre unfold before her. Maybe it was the day she had been introduced to Adam and saw the widest smile on her mother’s face as she pranced away, having hand picked her daughter’s prince “perfectly.” Maybe it was the day she came home with a ring and her mother had finally declared her pride in her daughter – despite spending years seeking the same affirmations by following her mother’s every order, that had been the one to win her approval - a fucking boy. Maybe it was every look of disapproval, disappointment, displeasure, dis-a-anything whenever Emory wanted something that didn’t fit neatly into Evangeline Marlowe’s picture-perfect expectations for her only child. 

Yeah, maybe she always knew.

By the fifth week of her voyage, most of her time was spent on the upper deck, enjoying the tribulations of sea. Emory liked the tight red burn that had sprung up along the higher ridges of her face; she liked the rip of chapped lips from salt and water constantly misting around them. She saw the pain as white noise – merely something in the background, unnoticed in the face of oblivion, the price to pay for solitude. The merchants and sailors didn’t even look twice at her anymore – Emory was often left wondering if it was a result of the infection, or simply disinterest. Her sickness certainly hadn’t gone away; in fact, it had kept her bed ridden for a whole week after a certain someone began appearing in Emory’s dreams (or were they nightmares?) As soon as she descends to the depths of the hull for food or rest, an uneasy tingling spreads throughout, often causing nausea that sends her right back to the deck. The bite of the night wind kept her at ease, but at the expense of rest she so desperately needed.

The wind also alleviated something else: her anger. It snipped away at the heat threatening to rise and make her lose control – of what, she didn’t quite know yet. Years wasted, in a moment… a stupid split-second decision because she was unhappy but ignoring it, shoving it deeper and deeper to please the people around her. Emory could feel the rage under her skin, white hot and twisting like a serpent. The apocalypse occurs and she allowed herself to become more stuck than she ever had been before. The world, D-Day, Colony 11, her mother, her father, Adam, the NWRF, the Radicals, even herself – they had all let her down in the end. Had they not even glanced at the body they were given to bury, to even see if it was really her? Did her death give her the value that her mother never seemed to see?

Sparing lessons missed so that Emory could study textbooks about molecules she didn’t care to understand. Crusades skipped so that she could do extra work she didn’t ask for and earn a good name for herself under her mother and Lilith’s watchful leadership. Friends lost, and romantic options limited as her future became a tunnel slowly caving in on itself before she reaches the end. Two months ago, she was grasping at straws for reasons to even make it through the day as she worked a job she didn’t want with a fiancé she didn’t choose, only to be criticized by a mother who would never be happy.

It’s too dark to see the storm approaching on the horizon, but Emory can feel it and smell it easily enough. The temperature drops even more so as the wind picks up, heavier now as if to push Emory away, back towards the safety of below deck. She sighs and rises to leave - as she stands, the tingling sensation lessens, and Emory can only hope she can make it back to her quarters before the seasickness and migraines set in.

Location: Dr. Besty “Bee” Dobson’s Office Date: August 16th Time: 2:30 pm Inspiration: Mr. Brightside by Run River North

Arlo takes a deep breath – in through the nose, out through the mouth – and schools his expression into a lazy, relaxed grin. He knocks on the door in front of him before burying his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep them from fidgeting.

Betsy doesn’t keep him waiting for long. The door opens and he’s hit with the familiar (if slightly unsettling) smell of chocolate and evergreen – an odd combination for the middle of August. But, Bee’s always been a little odd. A little off center, for a medical professional. Probably why she’s been able to deal with the Foxes (and all their many, many problems) for this long without turning tail and running for the hills.

My darling angel,          look at the blood staining your hands

One pill. Nothing. Two pills. A little buzzed. Three pills. Smashed.

Three weeks of seasickness, survivor’s guilt malnutrition, lack of sleep and ignorance towards the soft prickling under her skin sent Emory into a true ailing state – once just pale and delicate looking to the naked eye, Emory had begun to look sunken and diseased instead. Her brain felt stuffed with cotton balls, her entire face clogged, and her muscles aching as strength was constantly sapped away from her. It was a stark contrast to the Emory she knew a year ago – a blossoming flower turned corpse. Her obvious suffering had earned her the polite compassion of a few passengers aboard the ship, even some the merchants, but every offer to help was shoved away with a slight shake of her head, and a quick departure from the conversation. She didn’t need people’s help – the last thing these good people needed was to get sucked into her void. Her darkness would merely poison them just like it was poisoning her. It took all of Emory’s waning efforts to drag herself towards her cot midday, unable to carry out the rest of her daily routine. She couldn’t even look in the mirror as she passed it, knowing all too well that the girl looking back at her looked more like the ghost in her dreams than it ever had before. Crawling under coarse sheets, exhaustion overcame her in seconds, but that didn’t stop her from dreaming.

Emory….

She knew that voice.

Emory….

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Emmmmoryyyyy……

Somehow worse than a ghost, worse than a nightmare, the blackness faded and in her line of vision was the most ethereal woman she had ever seen. In life, she had been pasty and soft, quiet to a fault. But here, in Emory’s dreams, she was positively glowing, rose blonde curls cascading down her shoulders in a way they never had in real life.

It was Lilith. And she was beautiful.

Emory…..

She wasn’t moving her lips – just smiling, the same tenderness that had always surrounding her absolutely exuding from every molecule of her being, and Emory wondered if the universe was kind enough to allow her to be an angel. It was like having sunlight poured over her head, or being wrapped in the most royal of silks.

No, Emory… I’m here for you.

It felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over her head, and Emory was suddenly wracked with the sudden need to cry, to sob, to scream at the top of her lungs like she had the first night on board the ship, the first time she had been able to collapse in on herself.

No, no, that won’t do… I’m here for you.

What did that mean?! Was it time – was Emory’s body going to crumple and decay, and allow for her to finally find peace? Demons were just fallen angels, and this was her demon, telling her it was time to go to where she belonged.

Emory…. I’m here for you.

Emory found herself shouting, screaming at Lilith, but no words came out of her mouth. A warm prickling began underneath her skin, heating her to her core, and she felt a blush begin to rise from her toes to her cheeks, alighting a fire beneath her skin she hadn’t felt in too long.

Emory began shrieking in her head, the only place Lilith could apparently hear her, the only place it was safe to be as evil and wretched as Emory was, as not to taint the palatable divinity surrounding them. Why did I do this?! Who did I think I was? How could I be so careless, so stupid? How could you just die? You were so close! I watched you almost escape and instead… you did this to me! You gave me this out and I took it! You were the smartest person I knew, and you were supposed to keep us all safe, and you didn’t! You were our leader! I trusted you! I cared about you! You mattered!

Lilith only smiled again, smaller this time, her eyes wincing in response, but there was no response, no soft cooing of Emory’s name like a baby’s lullaby. That only angered Emory more. I could have been something! I had potential, I had promise, I had you! You were my mentor, you were supposed to teach me everything you knew! You were the only thing that was worth it outside it all – Adam, and my parents, and the Colony, it all didn’t matter – I had you, and your brain, and your guidance, and now?! Look what I’ve done! Look what I’ve done! L-look! Look at what… what I’ve done…

She didn’t remember being able to cry in dreams before, but here she was, wracked with sobs as the screams in her head quieted. The tingling beneath her skin spread deeper, like a hug, and a sniffling Emory looked at Lilith with a sadness that ached all the way from her chest. She didn’t deserve to be her. It sullied everything Lilith was, everything she strived to be, every value she held high and every standard she had kept Emory to. She was a liar – worse, she thought she could get away with it, without any baggage. I wanted this, but… not like this. I didn’t want to be this.

Emory, I’m here for you.

& if you and I can keep our love alive – we’ll fight.

As the days bleed into the second week, reality began to turn in on itself as Emory hid from wandering eyes, including her own. She had watched herself become sickly in appearance, whiter than ever before and tired eyes framed by deep purple-blue bruises as sleep continued to evade her most nights. When the nightmares surmounted to be too much, she would find solace on the deck of the ship – although discouraged among the others, Emory herself found that the lateness of her habit meant that there weren’t many people around to catch her. Even so, the few times she had slipped up and been exposed in the moonlight, she seemed to be unnoticeable to the crew members, with no more than a glance her way before Emory slinked back into the shadows.

The sound of rolling waves hitting the hull was the closest thing to white noise Emory was able to find on the ship, and for a few moments, she was able to close her eyes and rest her weary mind as the sea cradled her sadness and despair and pushed it under its depths for a few moments. It was here, on the edge of reality, that Emory was able to feel something again, something other than constant anxiety, as the ocean cleansed her of her secret darkness while simultaneously giving her a home inside of it. It was here that she could take out her only talesman of home, her engagement ring, and think of Adam in peace.

She didn’t even get to say goodbye.

I know it’s warmer where you are & it’s safer by your side, but right now I can't be what you want - just give it time.

Running away was a mistake. Every day that leeched into night, Emory became surer of it. All the problems of her old life, all the things she had stayed up all night aching about as Adam slept beside her – the infection, the NWRF, her job, her impending marriage, her parents – they paled in comparison to this pain. This pain that seemed to engulf her from the inside out, the raw ache of a wound festering beneath her skin. When she had initially devised this plan, placating herself in the hour it took for her to be on the run, it was under the pretense she could come back and make everything better again, apologize for her short sightedness, and be welcomed back into her family with open arms and a scolding from the Colony officials. But here, in the middle of an oceanic desert, the truth was blindingly clear – there was no going back. There was no Emory Marlowe anymore – not temporarily, not for a year or two, but forever. Emory Marlowe was dead on that laboratory floor, surrounded by her colleagues and every dream she ever had for herself. She was buried, she was mourned, and she was dead.

It should be easy, right? Lilith was so many things Emory wanted to be – so why couldn’t she just phase into her place? Why did it feel like the corpse of Lilith was clinging to Emory’s ankles, so that Emory was stuck dragging around a dead girl’s woes?

The engagement ring was warm in her hand.

Adam was kind, and smart, and tender in a way that Emory longed for as she laid awake in her cot at night. They weren’t anything special – their love couldn’t topple mountains, or part the sea, but it was beautiful in its simplicity in a world riddled with so much confusion and fear. Her father had loved him, her mother had tolerated him, and Emory’s life was quaint in a way that most people her age couldn’t identify with. Emory Marlowe was raised to have fire, to seek adventure and weather storms and be the ray of sunshine her mother always pushed her to be – to live to the fullest because this life wouldn’t be a pleasant one. Adam didn’t have that fire, but he let Emory have it, and he kindled it with benevolent understanding of her need to be greater. He had undergone terrible things – losing his own mother to a Radical attack, losing his father to the drink – and yet he never had become a terrible person, never let him stop moving forward. Emory had admired his strength of heart, ability to be compassionate in the face of adversity… she loved him because he was so many things that she wasn’t, or didn’t want to be, but he was showing her how to be more tolerant and patient with the world around her and the prejudices she held against it.

She didn’t like to think about what losing her must’ve done to him.

Well it’s cold when we’re apart – and I hate to feel this die but you can’t give me what I want. Just give it time.

Emory liked to daydream that she could go back, and everything would be the same, but that was a daydream and the truth of the matter was that Adam probably kept on trudging, went through the motions, and in a year or two would move on with another fiery blonde girl, one he would see parts of Emory in the shadows of her movements or the twinkle in her eye. She could live with that. She wanted him to be happy again, to love again, to move on… He deserved that, after what she did to him.

Who does something like this to the people they love?

A small leather cord holding a tiny metal circle that represented all the things Emory had run from – that was all she had left of who she was. The more she looked at it, the more she ached inside, but having it under her clothes and touching her skin was a cold reminder of the things she sacrificed to be here. The deaths of her friends, of her world, the freedom from Colony 11, the new adventure she had unanimously decided to pursue, while leaving behind those who were still breathing and still cared. It would always be there, to remind her to be better than who she was, who she chose to be, and rise above the despair she had created for herself.

But for now we stay so far ‘til our lonely limbs connect; I can’t keep you in these arms, so I’ll keep you in my mind.

RECEIVER

indie henry townshend of silent hill 4