#skizzweek 1

“What if that’s the intrigue though,” Skizz pointed out, walking onward once more. “The Imp and Skizz radio segment, Forest Edition! I think I’m really on to something here.”

“I think you’re on something,” Impulse muttered, matching him step for step.

“Never. Tis simply my nature to explore the world on a more finite level,” Skizz defended himself curtly, dramatic English accent and all.

The forest crowded in on all sides of their path, silently encouraging them to hush and enjoy the nature around them. But being quiet was something neither of the two men had ever been good at, even from young ages. And it only got worse when they were in the same room. Or, in this case, in the same forest. It was a brisk late morning up in the mountains as they followed a well-trodden path towards a supposed lake. They hadn’t caught sight of it quite yet, but they’d been informed by a ranger a day ago that this was the perfect time to go and see it. Admittedly, Impulse was not nearly as enthralled about this whole hiking business as Skizz was. They were doing it together though, and Skizz had also promised to cook meals for the next two weeks once they got back to the duplex. His skills with a pan had finally convinced Impulse to agree on the weekend trip.

“Alright Shakespeare. Then maybe you could finally explore Dead Poet Society so we can get that out of the way?”

Skizz made a face at the comment, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “They still want us to do that?”

“It’s extremely popular with the kiddies, says the studio,” Impulse shrugged.

Skizz shot him a look.

“Okay, fine,” Impulse hunched slightly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “I really want to do it still. Did you at least read some of the book?”

“No,” Skizz shook his head. A fraction of guilt poked at his innards upon the look his friend returned. He sidestepped a fallen branch on the path before putting his own hands in his hoodie pocket. “I told you already. I don’t read.”

“You’re missing out, man,” Impulse insisted quietly.

“What if I just go watch it and say I did?” Skizz countered smartly. Even as he said it, he knew what the response would be.

“No,” Impulse declared shortly. “I would know.”

Skizz smirked, grinning at him the way only he was allowed to. “Because?” He prodded annoyingly.

Impulse glared despite no heat radiating from the look. He pursed his lips, refusing to say it.

“Say it!” Skizz encouraged. There was a taunt in his voice, but it was a part of a language only they spoke. It was an undertone only distinguishable over years and years of growing familiar with one another. And it frequently rolled off both of their tongues in a familial way. Neither of them knew what they would do if that sweet playful banter were to cease.

Impulse averted his gaze, refusing to satisfy Skizz. It was a joke at this point, and one that Impulse played often. It never got old though, and Skizz never grew tired of it. If anything, he’d only gotten more persistent over the years.

“Say it!”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Now that’s what I like to- woah!”

The solid terrain disappeared from under Skizz’s feet. His eyes darted back to the path ahead, only to find that he’d misjudged it entirely. The path turned sharply, leading way to steep forest hills and rocky shelves. He gasped as he found no form of grip beneath his body, sinking into the angle and getting tossed head over heels. The world spun dizzyingly out of control as his weight was thrown into the ground over and over again. Blurry smears of color skidded past him before with a jolt, everything stopped at once.

There were stars at the edge of Skizz’s vision. He blinked slowly, trying to bring them into focus. There were parts of his body that ached and some parts that he couldn’t feel at all. If he concentrated really hard, he could manage to hear something beyond the ringing that filled his ears. Impulse was shouting his name distantly. How far down had he fallen? Should he get up, or wait for his buddy?

A minute or so later, his ears began to settle again. The sounds of trees and wind welcomed him back, and the fog in his head lifted just a tad. He needed to get up. He needed to get back to Impulse —get back to the designated path. But something heavy was laying on top of him… He lifted his head to see what it was, but nothing greeted his gaze.

“Skizz! Stupid bra- Skizz! Where are you?”

The voice was getting louder. Skizz could hear his friend pushing recklessly through the underbrush. There was sliding and skidding mixed with half hearted curses before another holler split the air. His tone was unmasked; betraying exactly what he felt. And a part of Skizz couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“I’m here,” he responded, pulling his elbows underneath him in order to push upward. As soon as he did though, a bolt of lightning rocketed through his backside. He just barely composed his tongue, dropping into the dirt again and holding back a pained yelp. Teeth gritted, he muttered furiously under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

Impulse appeared a moment later, his cheeks bright red with windburn. He took deep gulps of air as if he’d been the one rolled down a hill. Upon catching sight of Skizz, he ran forward to crouch down at his side. “You okay?” He wheezed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Skizz admitted, trying not to think about all the things that could currently be wrong with his backside. Pain had bloomed about three quarters of the way down his spine, threatening with another burst if he moved the wrong way. “I think something happened to my back.”

“Uh, Skizz? If you haven’t noticed, something definitely happened,” Impulse slowly slid his backpack from his shoulders. “You fell down a hill for goodness sake. Thank God for this tree here.”

Skizz grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s probably what got me.” He didn’t know what to do now. He was stuck, lying here on his stomach with who knew how serious of an injury. Not to mention, they had to be at least 30 feet from the trail with no guide to point them in the right direction. Why had they even come out here? Why didn’t he just stay put like Impulse had encouraged him to during their precious days off?

“Do you wanna sit up at least, or… how bad is it?” Impulse leaned over, trying to make eye contact at this awkward angle. “Do I need to call for help?”

“No, no,” Skizz raised his head, albeit slowly, so as not to disturb the muscles along his spine. “Gimme a minute or two. It might just be shock.”

“You went down pretty hard,” Impulse murmured before attempting to add more lightly, “And I refuse to carry you bridal style anywhere, just so we’re on the same page.”

An involuntary smile crawled onto Skizz’s face. “Aw… and here I thought Dipple-dop was my knight in shining armor.”

Impulse blew a raspberry, rolling his eyes as he sat heavily in the leaf litter. “I’m just one guy, Skizz. A guy that’s trying to keep you alive-“

Skizz flinched. He didn’t know whether it was because of the statement or the pain.

“-and I just feel pretty terrible at my job right now. So what do you need? Water? Pain meds..? I think I have one or two of something somewhere.”

Skizz knew Impulse. He was in need of a task. Something to keep him preoccupied while the situation outcome was unknown. He was outwardly scared on Skizz’s behalf. And Skizz simply couldn’t ask for a greater friend. “Water sounds great right about now.”

Impulse nodded, opening his bag and digging around inside. After a moment, he brought out a clear bottle, handing it over. Only then did Skizz realize that his hands were trembling with nerves.

“Buddy,” he began, taking the water and unscrewing the cap. “You gotta relax. I’m not dying.”

“I- I know that,” Impulse retorted, looking away. Skizz sighed faintly.

“Look at me.”

Dark brown eyes sheepishly met his.

“What do I always say?”

Impulse groaned, gaze sliding past his ear.

“There are times when you can play it safe, and there are times to be reckless.”

“What are you getting at, Skizz?”

“Look at me?”

Impulse’s gaze returned, slightly harder this time. “What?”

“There’s a third option. It’s not an option though. It’s happenstance. And we just happened to run into it today, alright?”

Confusion swam behind Impulse’s eyes, but it was obvious his patience on the matter had run raggedly thin. He scowled at Skizz. “Would you just tell me what needs to happen man? I don’t need your cryptic-“

“Alright, alright,” Skizz lifted a hand, patting the air calmly. “Just…” He let out a slow breath, hoping that it would negate the throbbing pain somehow. “Just give me another minute or so. I’ll see if I can get up then.”

It still felt as if a heavy object had weighed Skizz’s lower backside to the ground. He couldn’t help but wonder why that was. His legs tingled faintly, weak, and he could tell his jeans had holes in them now. What would his girlfriend think when he returned home with a newly ruined article of clothing? If he returned at all.

Now there was a grim sentence. But Skizz was a realist. And the genuine logical reality of all this was that he’d probably bruised a bone or two and was overreacting completely.

His spine didn’t get the memo.

Shooting pain rushed up and down his muscles, nearly making him sick as he strained himself. His arms shook before giving way, and he just barely had time to clamp his jaw shut, so as to dampen the landing as much as possible. It wasn’t without his mind spewing a line of vial phrases though.

“This really isn’t looking good, Skizz,” Impulse shuffled forward. “You okay?”

“No, it’s not. And yes,” Skizz replied curtly. He gritted his teeth, trying again to bring his palms beneath him. After a moment, Impulse stretched out a tentative hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“Maybe… a few more minutes..?”

They were speaking that familiar language again. The one that said a thousand words, but only required the minimum. The one that they’d learned to interpret through studying the other. Impulse’s hand spoke volumes. Feeling the brush of fingertips against Skizz’s body sent a shiver down his already pained backside.

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Impulse radioed the emergency frequency.

–+–

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“Huh?” Skizz opened his eyes, tipping his head backwards from where he was now laying on his back, wrapped in his sleeping bag. The crackle of the fire near his head filled the silent night air.

“The forest segment,” Impulse explained, hugging himself tighter in his thin cotton jacket. It was colder tonight than it had been the night before. And many of the stars were hidden through the dead leaves still on the trees. They would be falling soon, no doubt, littering the forest floor in a blanket of its own. The two of them were now regretting not having packed more properly for emergencies. Hindsight was constantly and annoyingly 20-20.

“You’re not just feelin’ sorry for me now are you?” Skizz chided jokingly. He was comfortable making light of the current situation. He was okay with mentally removing himself from this harsh reality. He was just tired and sore from the day. That was all. So they’d camped early. “I would hate to be scoring pity points, you know.”

Impulse was silent for a while. The low fire casted heavy shadows across his face. “…no. Genuinely. Now that I’ve been listening, it’s kinda… nice out here.”

Skizz smiled. “See? I told ya. And if they really like it, maybe they can send us other places, like the ocean. That could be cool, you think?”

“You mean..?” Impulse raised his head shyly.

“We could travel the world,” Skizz nodded eagerly. “Just like we always wanted to.

“You’re crazy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

The momentary excitement dwindled. A tired sigh played on Skizz’s lips, and his smile faded, replaced with disheartenment. Pain still riddled his body, more prominent in places he hadn’t noticed before. But it was his heart that bled openly. It bled and it wept. Because despite his calm and collected face, a part of him really was scared. Fear twisted in his gut, unkind with its iron grip and sickening anxiety. He was infinitely better at hiding emotions than Impulse was. Now was no exception. But seeing his best friend so torn up about all this wasn’t exactly making it easy. There was pain, yes. But Skizz personally chose to stash it away. The two of them had always differed in their preferred coping mechanisms. Skizz believed that faking it till you made it was the answer to all problems. Impulse had a much softer approach. It did make his temper less stable, but if that was the only thing Skizz had to worry about when it came to this, then he’d still take it any day.

“I’m not dying, buddy,” he reminded his friend softly.

“You’re so lucky it wasn’t your head…”

“True. But seeing as it wasn’t, you can relax now.”

“Skizz…” Impulse found him in the firelight. “I don’t think you get it.”

Smoke curled into a perfectly still evening.

A pause followed. Skizz grew uncomfortable at it, as he swallowed nervously and filled the emptiness with, “Pitch it to me then.”

Impulse sniffled, and if it weren’t so dark, perhaps his watery eyes would be acknowledged. But the light of the low fire was too weak for that.

“What would I have done if it was your head? What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know CPR, or how to set a bone. I wasn’t ready for all this. And you’re acting like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. It’s an emergency. You’re in God knows how much pain and refuse to take the stupid tablets-“

“Impulse. The mountain rescue people are coming. They will find us, and I will be okay.”

“You don’t know that!”

“What did I tell you?” Skizz snapped, his tone dipping sharply.

“You say a lot of things, Skizz,” Impulse retorted.

“Happenstance,” Skizz glared through the dark, brows drawn together in seriousness. “You cannot plan for everything. This was never in your control.”

Sparks drifted from the pit of embers. They danced on the air, winking out of existence as if they'd never been there in the first place. And tree branches rattled above their heads, scraping against one another in an eerie disconsonant symphony. Earthy smells overpowered the fire despite being so close to its heat.

“You quoted Dead Poet Society earlier. You know that right?” Impulse asked. He twirled a small twig between his fingers absently —another coping mechanism. “There’s a similar saying in the movie. Something like ‘there’s a time for being daring and a time to be careful, and a wise man understands what is called for’.”

“Huh…” Skizz blinked, his vision blurring slightly.

“I’ll be the first to admit on both of our behalfs that we aren’t exactly wise,” Impulse broke the twig in half, tossing its pieces on the fire. “We’re not stupid either though. The jokes kinda made me.. feel stupid.”

“Okay.”

Skizz loved to make people laugh. He always had. That was why he broadcasted his voice across the county Monday through Friday, for hours on end. To bring people a little ounce of joy throughout their stress filled days and weary nights. And he got to do it alongside his best friend at that. But even more than laughter, Skizz strived to provide comfort. There could only be real laughter once comfort was established. And tonight, it was as if he was seeing Impulse for the very first time. Because in a way, he was. Impulse was in a state unfamiliar to him. And he’d been trying to push the wrong buttons all in the wrong order. So his gaze softened, relaxing as best he could despite his pain.

“Okay, Dipple-dop. No more jokes tonight.”

Impulse nodded, as if to reassure himself as well. “I just really don’t like happenstance, as you call it.”

“I know,” Skizz murmured. “I don’t like it either. I should have said that from the beginning.”

“It’s still pretty impressive how close your quote was though.”

Skizz chuckled. “If I had known that, I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

“To keep me from talking about it?” Impulse rolled his eyes, shoulders relaxing a little. “Actually, since you aren’t going anywhere, I can just tell you what happens.”

“Does this mean I won’t have to read the book.”

“Maybe. It depends on how well I remember everything.”

“Oh shut up, you remember everything!”

“Apparently everything except a first aid kit,” Impulse pointed out. “I know the first thing I’ll be doing once we get back home.”

“I think I should be the one making that purchase,” Skizz argued. “I was the one who fell down the hill, remember?”

“I suppose you are more accident prone.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You know I could.”

“Just tell me about the book already. We’ll worry about this later.”

“Just as soon as you say it.”

“Say what now? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Say it.”

“You really are the worst, aren’t you.”

For the first time in hours, Impulse finally smiled. Its brilliance washed over Skizz in a warm wave, providing more heat than the fires embers ever could. He cherished this very moment in time, because despite how he’d been acting, this wasn’t going to be anything easy to get over. He had no clue whether the injury had repercussions or a long recovery time in store for him. But Impulse’s smile made everything better somehow. It glowed like the pale moon above them, twinkling like stars, infinite like space itself.

Skizz wondered how a man such as himself would go about gaining such depths —such wisdom. And then he remembered what Impulse had said.

‘There’s a time for daring, and a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.’

And perhaps he would read that book when they returned home.

Maybe then he could gain a little bit of wisdom himself.

Skizz pursed his lips, refraining from rolling his eyes. Right. Because the city was so much quieter than he was.

They slid into a tight walkway between buildings, finally approaching the main street with its overbearing shop faces and low-hanging signs. A muffled thunk came from Impulse’s backpack as the assorted materials inside of it jostled about. He held up a closed fist, signaling for them to halt before leaning forward and peaking around the corner. Skizz rocked his weight from his heels to his toes and back again, equally bored as he was anxious.

To be fair, Impulse did have merit to his argument. The city really was a quiet place under the glint of moonlight. Hardly anything stirred, and the streets were all but abandoned. Things happened, and as a citizen, it was in your best interest to simply close the curtains and wait until morning before venturing out again. But Impulse, in a stupid mid-teenage mindset of defiance and recklessness, considered it the perfect time to level up his talents. And maybe that made one year-younger Skizz even stupider, because he followed him.

“Where are we going? Sandy’s or Northflower?”

Impulse hummed deep in his throat, concentrating for a while. After assessing the view, he said, “I was thinking we could try a… different place tonight.”

Skizz would be an idiot not to notice that strange final note in Impulse’s voice, or the way he purposefully avoided looking back at him. A scowl made its way onto his face as his whisper turned sharp. “You still want to go to Enchantix, don’t you? We could get arrested for that-“

“No, not Enchantix,” Impulse pulled himself back into the alley, shooting a quick glare in Skizz’s direction. “I’m not gonna go wandering onto private property.”

Silent relief stabilized Skizz’s pulse. He relaxed a fraction, shaking his head tiredly. “Alright. Where do you wanna go then?”

“Maples? The abandoned office building?”

“Fine. Whatever.”

The two of them darted into the haze of street lights, quickly jogging across the road. There was no need to look both ways, as they were completely and utterly alone out here. Even the rats and raccoons were seldom seen, with beady eyes watching from the darkest of corners.

Skizz began doing the math in his head. If they wanted to make it all the way out to Maples and back again without arousing suspicion, Impulse would only have about an hour or so to look around. Which was fine with him, considering he had wanted to actually have a campfire out in the woods like they had told their parents they would. But Impulse insisted time and time again that the city was much more active and easier to practice among. So here they were, making the same old excuse, running around like dogs without horses.

“Did you look up whether it’s private or not?” Skizz asked a while later, squinting at the warning signs plastered along the side of the building.

Silence greeted him —an obvious no— before Impulse readjusted the straps on his shoulders and pushed the door open. “After you?” He offered. Skizz rolled his eyes, flicking on his flashlight.

It was strangely cold inside the office building. Colder than either of them had initially expected. But this exited Impulse greatly, putting a bright grin on his face. They were silent for a few minutes as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. A lot of the building space was surprisingly open, with random support pillars standing in the middle of barren rooms. Nothing remained in the interior, including carpet and most of the outlet covers. Eventually they drifted apart, with Skizz slowly climbing to the second story via the emergency stairwell. He had always had trouble believing in this whole paranormal world that Impulse described. It just wasn’t in him to be spooked by things he couldn’t prove were there. And with the cold beginning to seep into his skin, he was missing that fire pit more and more. But seeing how his friend had lit up at this place, he knew they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. He made a quiet sweep of the second story, not bothering with going any higher.

“Did you look up anything else about this place?” He asked Impulse upon returning to ground level and discovering his buddy sat in the middle of an empty room.

“A little,” Impulse replied. His backpack was in front of him, and from it, he had pulled a notepad, pen, small plastic balls, and a pack of glow sticks, which he arranged in a semi circle around him. “What color do you want?”

Skizz listened distractedly to the inconsistent drip of a drain pipe. He shrugged, uncaring. Impulse chose for him, tossing the thin stick in his direction. “Blue it is.”

“Why is it always blue?” Skizz asked, plopping himself down against a pillar. Gravel shifted loudly under his sneakers. “What about red, or green?”

“Because there’s no more red, and green didn’t come with this pack,” Impulse explained, simultaneously flipping open his notepad to a blank page. After scribbling the date, he added, “And you said you didn’t care.”

“I mean, technically I didn’t say anything,” Skizz shrugged, pulling his legs into a criss-cross position and turning off his flashlight. “How are you feeling?”

“Energized,” Impulse rolled a few of the plastic balls away from him, tracking with his flashlight beam to see where they landed. Once they had settled, he then cracked his glow stick, shook it, and laid it back down. He placed the notepad in his lap, pen in-hand. “They’re eager.”

Skizz nodded quietly, even though he didn’t really understand what Impulse meant by that. “Sure, sure. How long do you want to yourself? We’re gonna need to get going by 1 at the absolute latest.”

Impulse waved him off with the flourish of a hand. “Whenever you call it is fine. Let’s start with twenty though and then regroup.”

“Yessir. Setting twenty minutes now,” Skizz brought his digital watch to his face, squinting at the small screen. “Ready.”

“See you on the other side,’ Impulse announced before flicking off his own flashlight, plunging the both of them into near pitch black. There was a few seconds of shuffling around, and then the entire world went still.

Ghosts and phantoms and spirits were real. As real as the people around this city. As real as the ground beneath both of their feet and the sun above their heads. At least, according to Impulse anyway.

The paranormal plane, more thoughtfully referred to as “the other side”, existed in a universe tied extremely closely to their everyday one. The other side had never been seen before, but Impulse’s rare empowerment allowed him to somehow sense it.

From what Skizz could comprehend, every once in a while, these two universes would collide, creating friction that bounced between each world. It would send objects flying off of tables or short circuit light fixtures. Occasionally for short periods of time, people would be able to see shadows of figures in the corners of their eyes. It all began to make total sense once you had the right pieces of the puzzle to fit together.

But perhaps Skizz had spent a bit too much time around Impulse for a few too many years, because everything started to sound a little bit like garble after so long. He had grown too accustomed to be scared or put-off by any of this investigation stuff. Granted, Impulse typically described the other side in a beautiful and unique way. It didn’t make the paranormal sound creepy at all. It was simply another place where different things presided, and Skizz liked that sentiment.

Even with the years of sneaking off into the city on school nights and crawling back into bed a few minutes past curfew though, he definitely wouldn’t call himself a true believer. He lived in this world, and he preferred to make observations based on what he could determine. Not the invisible.

A distant cop siren pulled his attention away from watching his friend. Its high pitched wail echoed among the hollow grid lines of the city. Skizz turned to the busted out windows, where their only natural light could be found seeping through cracks in wooden boards. He liked this part of the county, with its high glass walls and bustling crowded walkways. There were so many people to greet on a given corner, and sure, most of them weren’t interested in returning his greeting, but the ones who did always had the most peculiar of stories.

He listened to the siren grow louder before it dwindled again, changing directions. Soon, he returned to seeking out the dripping pipe within the building, counting with a silent tap against his leg in order to divulge a pattern. His mind grew fuzzy, swimming in a fog of jumbled up ideas. He had nothing to do right now, so he let himself wander among all the ramblings and memories he could manage to conjure in the moment. His head drifted from one topic to the next like he was following a web of red strings. All the while, his hands rose into a familiar position, beginning to drum quietly against his leg, glow stick in-hand. Quickly, its blue color sprang to life.

Impulse’s pen glided across the page of his notebook, unclear on what he was doing from so far away. He could be writing down observations, or drawing with the aid of a ghost’s guiding hand. He had even caught snippets of conversations at times. Whatever it was, there seemed to be a lot of it tonight. He kept writing for several minutes on end, eyes closed, letting his steady fingers do all the work for him. Skizz had seen Impulse practice this in the margins of his math books, closing his eyes and trusting himself to keep all the words and spaces orderly. He’d tried it himself, in fact, before discovering that it was much harder than previously expected. Impulse had been using this technique for several years now, learning to keep his eyes shut in order to hold his concentration on the connection formed between himself and the other side. Skizz could only shrug, writing it off as mostly a party trick.

Slowly, the minutes ticked on. One of the plastic balls presumably moved, rolling over dirt and deteriorated material. A moment later, Impulse raised his pen, pointing out a direction in the dark. He paused, most likely confirming with whoever he was communicating to, before writing down another note. This one was considerably shorter.

Skizz may not believe in a lot of this stuff, but he knew Impulse did. So he wasn’t going to stop him, and he certainly wasn’t going to disturb him. Impulse’s abilities were awesome, whether Skizz believed what they spelled out or not, and the two of them trusted each other, which meant playing any sort of trick or prank was completely off the table. He had learned that lesson years ago, when they were stupider still.

His watch lit up, signaling the end of their predetermined time. Skizz peered over at Impulse, whose hand had gone back to writing diligently. One line, two lines, three lines. He would wait until he was done. And really, he shouldn’t be surprised by all the chatter tonight. This was a new place, filled with new patrons for Impulse to meet and get to know. It was a place where he got to feel unique, as opposed to a city where everyone else seemed to be cooler than him. Skizz would never admit it aloud, but he also felt that way sometimes. And Impulse had never told Skizz that he felt uncool compared to everyone else. Skizz just… knew.

He continued using his glow stick to drum, picking up speed as an invisible orchestra crescendoed in his ears. He was momentarily distracted, and completely caught off guard when Impulse piped up quietly.

“Skizz..?”

Somehow, the glow stick managed to burst in his grasp, releasing bioluminescent chemicals in a wide sweeping arc. He gasped, knowing that some of it had definitely splattered on his face. “Aw shoot.”

Impulse turned to look at him before a poorly controlled snort left his nose. “I leave for twenty minutes-“ he began.

“Shut up!” Skizz made a face, cheeks hot with embarrassment as he tried and failed to wipe the glowing patches out of his clothing. “This was my favorite shirt, dang it.”

“It is all over you,” Impulse chuckled, uncrossing his legs and standing to his feet. “I’m pretty sure it’s washable. It’ll be okay.”

“Whatever,” Skizz grumbled, picking up the broken end of the glow stick. In his frustration, he began drawing out a crude symbol, before thinking better of it and scribbling out the lines, just in case the chemicals did stain.

Impulse turned on his flashlight again, notebook clutched to his breast, and went about collecting the plastic balls from the open floor. He kicked them back in the direction of his things, shoulders slumped uncharacteristically. Skizz watched him out of the corner of his eye with curiosity before asking, “You wanna do the ‘yes and no’ game?”

His friend shook his head. “No, I… um…” He overshot his next kick, evidently distracted, rolling the toy towards Skizz who picked it up off the floor.

“I think I’m ready to go home now.”

The statement nearly made Skizz drop the toy. His eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, gaze darting back to him. “What?”

“Just… you know, I don’t want us to get in trouble or anything.”

Skizz had to do an entire double take. Was Impulse even hearing himself properly? Since when did he care about following the rules to a tee? Unless there was a drum pad in front of him, it was a commodity. “What’s goin on buddy? Everything okay?”

Impulse slid his backpack back onto his shoulders, gaze averted once more. “Yeah, yeah. How about that fire pit now?”

“Seriously, dude. What’s wrong?” The alarm bells were ringing in Skizz’s ears. He hurried to catch up as Impulse walked to the hallway. His glow stick was abandoned, strewn.

The steps quickened.

“Everything’s fine. I just need to go home.”

“Impulse. Impulse,” Skizz called his name again, trying to get him to slow down. “What- what about home? Is something wrong?”

“It’s not wrong. I just- I need to ask a question.”

“What do you mean?” Skizz raised his voice, blinking furiously as the two of them burst out into the moonlight. They didn’t bother to keep their presence a secret anymore as Impulse marched into the street, beelining for the neighborhood. It was as if he’d been tranced, unable to be distracted from anything beside his task at hand. As a last ditch effort, and because nerves were rapidly beating their wings against his chest, Skizz stopped dead in his tracks.

Impulse kept walking.

“Dipple…”

His steps faded into silence, the distance between them having grown too far.

Skizz stood there, confused, heart racing with anxiety and confusion. He was spooked. Not because of some strange noise from another room or an ominous voice whispering into his ear –he had experienced all of that countless times around Impulse– but because of the shadows that fell over his body. Because of the shadows flickering across Impulse’s gaze, like a haunting that could only be seen by him.

At least haunt’s weren’t real. At least those were times when that misplaced energy affected someone, causing momentary startles. It got into your head, making you unsure for just a blink.

And it would be all too easy to write those shadows off as just that. As nothing more than misplaced energy. But Skizz knew Impulse too well. Those shadows –that energy– was not what he had seen.

The past might only be composed of silhouettes, casting shadows along dark and dreary walls. But at one time or another, someone had filled those silhouettes. And only Impulse knew what all of that looked like.