#sntcrs

what mary wants mary gets and they're sitting in velvet chairs mary's right hand squeezes pandora's left and mary snacks on popcorn pandora hears it crunch in her mouth crackle and pop sweetly & envies it really but she tries to refocus as irritatingly empty characters dance on something like a thousand square feet of projected light mary giggles and her laugh chimes like a bell & sits behind pandora's teeth because while she derives no pleasure from being here in front of a screen far too large showing people far too shallow the taste of mary's voice will linger on her tongue for as long as she can hold it

what mary wants mary gets and they're opening the door and a wide grin is stretching cross mary's face and tilting her lips ninety degrees up as a vile little thing steps over the threshold to give her a hug; oh darling, how have you been? says mary to the thing the spiteful invader who scratches out a guffaw like an ass and smiles i'm okay thank you so much for letting me stay with you both! and it turns to her as if it expects warmth the only warmth pandora will offer to the creature is the warmth of his blood after she slashes his throat and it pools underneath him—but of course she says instead of gutting him there and then-- because what mary wants mary gets.

1982

.

Mary sits at her boyfriend's marble kitchen table and takes out a pen. It's a lazy afternoon on a drizzling Sunday, and Mary's mind is cloudy. There's something on the tip of her tongue—a name. She's been having strange dreams lately: a pale face; silver eyes. Wild hair. They have met before, Mary and this girl. But she cannot remember when.

Mary thumbs through her book, doodles on her napkin as she sips her coffee. Smoke curls and hisses softly from the open drink, and she inhales. Mary looks down at her napkin and sees—a figure with long, curly hair. It's Mary. And she holds a stick in her hand—what is it?  The doodle's aimed it at—Mary's eyes widen. Pale face. Wild hair. Mary hadn't even noticed herself drawing the girl.

Strange.

Mary finishes her coffee and stands to go toss the container in the garbage. She grabs the napkin, too, and considers—she turns around, and slides it into her back pocket.

1983

.

Now the birds chirp melodiously and the trees' leaves have greened. Mary is near the same as she was in that past drizzling fall, although she's recently sans boyfriend. Except…the dreams have gotten worse. More intense. Each night, she's plagued—a burning house; green lights. A shout: "Marlene!" She has never known anyone named Marlene, but it is undoubtedly her screaming that name.

And she still sees silver eyes; a pale face. This girl has no name, but she haunts Mary's sleep.

Mary laughs with a red-headed girl, runs with a freckled one—Marlene. The girl with the silver eyes dances in her dreams, even laughs. But Mary doesn't know her. She doesn't think she ever did.

1984

.

Winter sinks its teeth into autumn and Mary knows the pieces are going to fall into place. Mary likens her memories to a million-part jigsaw puzzle, of which she has maybe seven components. That's no deterrent, Mary resolves, as she collects more. She's taken to putting sticky notes on the wall opposite her bed in her flat when she wakes up from her dreams—she doesn't have much up; she forgets almost everything by the time she reaches her notes and pen:

Silver eyes again. Can't reach.

I'm going to kill her.

Red hair. Her eyes are green.

Beard and spectacles.

They don't make much sense to her either. 

On a crisp morning, Mary wakes up with a name on the tip of her tongue and a pen in hand. She scrawls on a neon sticky note in jagged marks and rushes to eat her breakfast. She's late for work.

Before Mary leaves, she sticks the note onto her dresser drawer. She's already forgotten what she wrote—but she's going to remember. She's going to remember.

Innocently, it waits for her. Just five words.

They're dead. They're all dead.

1985

.

July 31st, Mary sits up in the middle of the night, cold and panting. The moonlight streams through her window and casts a shadow on her face as she reaches for her notepad. It's become almost routine to scribble these nonsensical fragments of thought down. Today, her fragment is He's five today. She would have been so happy. Mary's no idea who he is, but she thinks she can vaguely remember—a tuft of dark hair. A soft coo. He's an infant, and he's also five. Five months?

Mary shakes off the speculation and sticks this note above her bed. Where there was once four or five notes opposite her, there's a wall of thought that stares her down, intimidating in the moonlit gloom. She's almost glad for its presence—the more she thinks of this strange other world, the more she dreams of it. The more she dreams, the closer she gets to unravelling these visions at their center.

1986

.

It has become clear to Mary that she does not just see images of a world of her own creation. She has eyes that rip two spyholes into the fabric of another life. Sloping fields and laughing skies and imposing towers and grand staircases that all somehow feel like home. Mary pines for it, this life. This warmth. She wants to take out her skeletal, neglected hands and claw it away from this other Mary, this lucky Mary who got flickering fireplaces and ancient towers and bright silver eyes that met hers. She feels the ache of want beating in her chest, and it hurts.

mary -- monday

hey r u there?? better come back soon or everyone will know ur little secret!!

^^ mary is pining + threatening to reveal pandora's a lesbian bc they used to be friends in middle & pandora confessed then (yeah this is gonna mirror the mean girls au) + wants pandora's attention

mary -- tuesday

you have til friday.

she's lying btw sbe wants pandora to come back sawr they cn kiss & be happy lesbaisn in love

pandora

i'm transferring, so tell who you like

mary

why???

so then pandora tells her "my mums dead" so mary doesnt text back for like a day cuz she doesn't rlly jnow what ti say bc she doesnt want to be a terrbel person & feels like thats a line she cant cross when she finally txts back its just "oh i see" which is awful and makes her feel like shit so she throws herself onto her bed and kicks her feet and sobs for an hour thne checks her phone and panfora hasnt read the txt cuz pandora has a life & isht chronically online sawr mary edits the txt to say "jm sorry 4 ur loss" which feels even more wrong and stupid and impersonal so she cries for 2 more hours cuz pandora is moving & then she runs away to follow pandora bc uhhh idk but anywys she flws pandora cross the cojntry like a stalker

stargirl mary because she's trying too hard to be the moon and she's too scared to be the sun stargirl mary cuz she's a follower lead around by her nose her love like a dog stargirl mary cuz she glimmers shines verges implosion but never moves never changes her path she's about to fucking die and she freezes stands still she can't move so she obliviates herself so she won't have to mary a star that's burning that's exploding light years away but you won't know til it's too late mary is supernovic mary is a black hole that doesn't care enough to warn people away from her gravitational pull because that's what she does she ruins she ruins she fluoresces she ruins and still she's in ruins

pandora is the sun but not in the idealized way not in the rays of light warmth of summer way not in the dappling beams illuminating the water way in a hurtling ball of fire way in a once you are drawn into her orbit you can't escape way in a don't get too close way in a charred skin and flaky ashes way in a the sun is a star way in a she's not enough to be a black hole way in a she's going to shrink into nothing way in a burn herself out way in a phaethon crashed the sun and scorched the land way in a violent burning way that needs that begs that calls

mary is not the moon because she is sharp and pointed and loud but she could be for all she endlessly revolves around the sun chasing something nothing at all pandora is not the moon because she is blunt and uncalculating and thoughtlessly brilliant with her wreckage sort of style but she could be for all the time she spends being someone else's center