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She still wakes up screaming, sometimes. The feeling of cords pricking at the back of her neck, the phantom weight of a heavy helmet resting on her head, a low voice whispering in her ear.
Everyday gets better, though. She goes to class during the day, explores the cold city in the afternoons, and ends her nights with her roommate Dawn, after a wild adventure DMing their Dungeons and Dragons campaign. All in all, she’s living her best life.
But not every day is a step towards healing. When the sky goes dark, and one wrong word is said, all of her hard work being okay comes crashing down. She doesn’t know what triggers her “episodes”. It could be the time of year, a picture a friend shows her, or even a certain sound. Her therapist says even the smallest, microscopic things can cause a dam to open and the trauma to flood back into her life. But whatever the reason, Marcy finds herself spending days on end in her dorm room, curled in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and refusing to eat.
She’s safe, and the Core is dead, and she knows they can’t hurt her anymore.
They’re gone. They’re gone. They’re gone!
So why do her hands still shake as if they are out of her control? Why does her body tremble and shake while the memories command her, just like the Core did all those years ago?
“Marcy…”
The twenty-two year old jumps as her name rings through the dark dorm room. She shoots up in bed, reaching for the sharp arrow she now keeps under her pillow at all times. A small reminder from her otherworldly adventure. Not that the weapon did any good back then, when she was literally possessed by a-
“Marcy…” The voice calls out, more forceful this time.
The girl scoots back on her bed as far as she can, her head whamming against the headboard and making her see stars. She feels something wrap around her arm and she freezes. She tries to move but finds that she can’t . A chill runs down her back starting at the nape of her neck, almost as if something is there. She feels a thousand eyes on her now, watching her every movement. Maybe if she stays perfectly still, she’ll be able to escape. After all, struggling for her life sure didn’t help the last time.
She gasps, but finds she can’t fill her lungs. Has-has the Core already restricted her breathing? Forcing her to suffocate? She broke free from the Core’s grasp, so why would it have any use for her? It must be here for revenge.
She feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes as she comes to a terrifying conclusion; she doesn’t want to die. Not now. She didn’t back then either, but at the same time her life was falling apart at the seams. She would sometimes fall asleep wishing she could just stop existing, at least for a little while.
But now things are finally looking up! She’s going to a good school and studying to be an engineer, she found a good group of friends who finally understand her nerdy self, and she no longer feels like everything is in pieces.
“Please,” Marcy whispers, “I want to live,”
Begging now, are we? The Core’s voice vibrates through her mind, How pitiful.
“Get out of my mind!” Marcy speaks softly, but she knows the Core can hear her no matter her volume.
But dear Mar-Mar, we are one.
“Leave me alone!” This time Marcy shouts, squeezing her eyes shut and using her free arm to clutch at her head, pulling at her long hair. (She hates wearing it short now. She looks too much like her old self, like Darcy .)
“Marcy?” Light floods the room.
Marcy gasps, the trance she was in breaking and air finally returning to her body. Her arm drops and she inhales greedily, as if worried her supply will run short again. Once her breathing has returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, Marcy focuses on the rest of the room around her. She blinks the white spots away and finds that the only eyes watching her are the concerned ones of Dawn - not the thousands of eyes from the Core.
(It’s dead. Anne destroyed it. It’s dead and can’t hurt her anymore. Why is that so hard to remember?)
“Are you okay?” Dawn reaches out and Marcy instinctively raises her arm - the one not trapped - and jabs the sharp point of the arrow in Dawn's face, inches from piercing her flesh. She didn’t even realize she had grabbed it again, but now she feels the wooden shaft bite into her palm. “Whoa!” Dawn flinches back, nearly toppling off the bed. “Why on earth do you have an arrow?! ”
“Eek! Dawn, I’m so sorry!” Marcy drops her arm and lets the arrow fall back onto her bed. She tries to sit up better but finds that her other arm is still trapped. She sharply inhales, but forces her mind to think rationally.
Slowly she looks down and to her immense relief, her arm is just caught in her sheets. Her dumb, panicked mind was playing tricks on her (as usual) and making her see and feel things that weren’t really there.
It sucks.
Marcy is trying so hard to get better but it seems like every time she takes two steps forward, she takes about a dozen back. She can’t keep this up. Tears that never really went away prick at the corners of her eyes again and this time she can’t keep them from falling.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Dawn pulls Marcy into a tight hug and lets her cry into her shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“I’m-I’m sorry, I thought something else was in the room with me.”
“You didn’t even turn on the lights to check, how could you have known?”
“Oh. I guess I could have done that,” Marcy blinks, the thought to have just turned on the lights never crossed her mind. “I guess, I just had a feeling? I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make much sense,” Marcy hangs her head in shame, a bright blush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. Great going, Mar-Mar, she thinks, now not only does your roommate think you’re a dorky weirdo, but she also thinks you’re a weak idiot .
“No, I get it. The trauma runs deep, right?”
“Uh, yeah I guess so.” Marcy’s head jerks up in surprise, taking in the sincere smile on Dawn’s face.
“I’m no therapist, but if you ever need a friend to talk to, just let me know.”
“Thank you. That-that means a lot to me.”
“But enough talking for tonight. It’s already two in the morning, and I for one am exhausted. So what do you say I make us some popcorn and we watch War of the Warlocks?”
“That would be perfect, thank you Dawn.” Marcy smiles softly, the crushing panic from before slowly drifting away. She’s not healed yet - she knows she might never be - but she’s doing better, and that alone is enough.
A few minutes later, Marcy and Dawn are snuggled under a mound of blankets while Marcy’s laptop sits between the two and War of the Warlocks plays. They munch on buttery popcorn and laugh at the parts they’ve both watched hundreds of times. Dawn doesn’t last long though, and is out cold within the first forty-five minutes but Marcy doesn’t mind. It reminds her of the sleepovers she, Anne, and Sasha used to have. That feels like a lifetime ago.
Marcy turns her head and looks at the vision board hung on her wall. Illuminated by the light of the laptop are several pictures taken throughout her life. She lifts her arm and brushes her fingers against the last polaroid she took with her bffs before everything got turned upside down.
Marcy smiles and reaches over Dawn to grab her phone. She unlocks it and after a moment of thinking she shoots out a simple, one-word text. She puts the phone back and snuggles deep into the blankets to enjoy the rest of the movie.
Her eyelids start to feel heavy about two-thirds of the way through, and she drifts off into a peaceful, nightmare-free sleep.
- - -
Her back still aches. Everyday when she wakes up, a burning feeling shoots through her spine. The wound was cauterized long ago, but the scar will always remain; a constant reminder of when her best friend tried to kill her. Not that it was Marcy’s fault, but Sasha can’t erase the image of the sick smile plastered on the nerdy girl's face as she swings a burning scythe.
The scar starts at the base of her neck and travels all the way down her back, stopping at a small divot in her skin. It’s not a pretty sight. The scar itself is raised, and the edges of it are jagged. No one blames her when she refuses to wear cropped tops or bikinis, or anything that could expose her back anymore.
When they first got back to earth, Anne traced it with her index finger and said it looked like a map, with different paths jutting out from the main road. She said it was similar to how the three girls went on the same adventure but each found their own paths in life. Despite that, however, they know they will all be connected forever. Sasha isn’t sure if she believes Anne or not, but the sentiment is still sweet.
But that sentiment gets lost on the bad days, when everything feels so much more dark and hopeless. (and so much more painful).
Phantom pains aren’t anything new, but that doesn’t make them any less unbearable. But what’s worse than the phantom pains are the phantom screams .
Her troops - the ones she swore to protect - shrieking in terror as Andrias swung his flaming sword. Humans flooding the streets, running for their lives as buildings collapse and robots drop from the sky left and right. Grime’s groans of pain as his arm is chopped clean off. Her own screams of agony as fire ripped through her back, slicing her skin open and cauterizing the wound just as quickly. The yells of Darcy, their voice sounding way too similar to those of her best friend, as Sasha destroyed their connection to the Core.
When the screams get too loud (like today) Sasha gets in her car, turns her radio as high as she can, and drives. She never has a destination in mind - at least, not at first - just the need to feel the wind whip through her hair. The need to feel in control . Her emotions run wild, her brain supplies her with impulsive thoughts, and even her body betrays her. But when she drives - her hands gripping the steering wheel till her knuckles go white and her feet easing the pedals - she finally regains some semblance of the control she so desperately desires.
“ I’m a heartstomper! Stompin’ on hearts! ” Sasha belts out, her voice getting lost to the wind as her iconic song blasts from the radio. One thing she realized after returning to Earth is that she’s not good at sharing her feelings or putting them into words. But thanks to her therapist, she’s learned that she’s great at sharing them through song.
It started out as a simple hobby, a way to cope with everything that had happened. But lyrics flew out of her as if a dam had been broken inside of her and they were just itching to get out. Overnight she had gone from being a nobody teenager, to a national icon (though, saving the world from an interdimensional invasion definitely had something to do with that). But despite that, Sasha found that a surprising amount of people - both young and old - relate to her music and emotions. It’s…nice to find that she's not alone.
The song ends and the music fades out while Sasha sighs. She flicks her turn signal on and merges off the highway. She turns onto a small dirt road, focusing on where she’s going and definitely not getting lost in memories. She recognizes where she’s headed and expertly navigates the uneven path, avoiding every pobble and pothole. No matter where she starts when she first gets into the car, her subconscious always veers her to the same place.
The road does not remind her of marching into battle, her troops walking straight to their demise. It does not remind her of when she was a prisoner and dragged through Amphibia by bloodthirsty toads. It does not remind her of tricking Anne and all the frogs and leading them to their near-deaths. And driving this road definitely does not remind her of watching her friend die and flake off into dust. Sasha finds she isn’t the biggest fan of nature anymore. Though, if she’s being honest, she never really was. She always found dirt gross and plants home to too many bugs.
She reaches the end of the path and her car bursts through the trees. A wide clearing stretches out in front of her, grass growing wild and flowers blooming erratically. It’s not a very big clearing, ending abruptly as the ground drops and forms a steep cliff. Although Sasha doesn’t love nature, this clearing is one of her favorite places. It’s quiet, and far away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.
Sasha pulls over and jumps out of the car, slamming the door gracelessly. Her feet carry her across the clearing, moving closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. The radio still plays in the background, but to Sasha it’s no more than white noise.
Stretched out in front of her is the wide expanse of Los Angeles. After being stuck dimensions from home, Sasha couldn’t quite stomach leaving LA again. Maybe someday she’ll leave the nest, and venture further than the state of California, but for now she’s content where she is. So she attends a local law school, going to classes during the day and teaching self defense to kids at night. It’s a simple routine, but she’s found that having a solid routine is good for her.
Sasha sinks to the ground, pebbles and sticks biting into her knees. She doesn’t feel them though. The only pain she can feel is the burning fire raging through her chest. She feels defenseless, like everything in her life is out of control. She feels like she’s going to throw up.
Instead, she leans back, tipping her face to the sky, and screams .
It’s a raw, guttural sound. A sound of pain and anguish. A sound so desperate and alone, longing for a shoulder to cry on. The only one who hears her is the wind. No one is near, much to Sasha’s relief. She’s alone and can scream her pain away, becoming a dragon and breathing out her fire.
She screams and she screams and she screams. She screams until her throat is sore, her lungs are empty and her tears drip into her open mouth. She screams until her head hurts and she can’t hear her own thoughts. She screams until the pain in her chest is expelled (at least for now), left to drift away through the air.
Then just as quickly as it started, it stops. Sasha falls into a deafening silence, her ears ringing at the sudden lack of noise.
Her face is still wet with tears, and even though she could get the screams to stop she can’t seem to end the continuous waterfall. That’s okay though. Over the years Sasha has learned that her emotions can’t just be ‘turned off’ or ‘turned on’. They are complex, and run deeper than the olms. But despite that, Sasha has learned how to deal with them. Her therapist was a big help;
Why do you need to feel in control?
Because my life is so out of control.
Why did you need to be the ‘leader’ in your friend group?
Because I’ve always felt powerless.
Why do you scream?
Because I’m scared my voice will get lost to the screams of others. If I scream louder, then I can prove I have a voice too.
But the biggest help was - and still is - her best friends. Even though Marcy moved away, she and Anne were still the only ones who truly understood her pain. They all had their own demons, but together they knew they could conquer them.
Bzzt!
Sasha’s phone buzzes and she takes a few deep breaths before checking it, settling her mind and centering her emotions. Inhale…(2, 3, 4)...exhale…(2, 3, 4)...inhale…(2, 3, 4)...exhale…(2, 3, 4). She sighs and rubs her arm over her face, drying her tears and erasing any evidence of her breakdown. She pulls her phone from her pocket, her face lighting up in time with the screen as she spots who texted.
*Calamity Girls*
Nerd: Reunion??
Sasha grins, her dark thoughts getting blown from her mind by this one word. She sits up straighter, crossing her legs and feeling like a dorky twelve year old all over again.
*Calamity Girls*
Way-Knight: yesss!!
Way-Knight: isn’t someone's bday coming up? ;)
Sasha puts her phone down and smiles. It’s softer than before, a secret smile. One meant to savor alone. It’s not big and flashy, not meant to impress people. Just a small smile that says: I’m okay now .
And she is. Sasha’s okay. She’s okay. The sun starts to set beyond the horizon, the gloam casting a soft light across the city and making it sparkle. Sasha just sits there, taking in the view. Her secret smile never leaving her face.
She doesn’t know how long she stays, and quite frankly she doesn’t care. She only gets up when the sky is fully dark, and a chill settles in her bones. She stands and walk back to her car, but before driving off she takes one last look across the clearing and whispers to the wind,
“I’m okay now,”
- - -
She stares at her brown face, and a mirrored reflection stares back at her. She rubs her thumb over smooth, crack-free skin and sighs. She still remembers that feeling; of dying. Some days the pain is but a mere ache at the back of her head. Other days she feels the crushing weight and power of harnessing all three calamity stones. On those days she can’t stand up for very long before feeling dizzy. It’s exhausting.
She knows this isn’t her real body, she knows it's only a copy. But even a copy of herself remembers the pain.
(Man, isn’t that weird. To live in a body that technically isn’t your own, yet still walk around as if everything's the same)
She closes her closet door, and traps the mirror inside. She can’t stand to look at herself anymore, can’t stand to see her reflection. She gets dressed quickly, refusing to see a body that's not hers for longer than she has to.
Her therapist called it ‘body dysmorphia’, but that’s not quite right, is it?
Every callous, every scar, every imperfection on her skin is still the same. So the problem isn’t about what she looks like, it’s that she’s not Anne Boonchuy, not really. And no matter how many times her friends and family reassure her that she’s still the same person that they love and adore, she never believes it. Because Anne is dead. Anne Boonchuy died ten years ago, and is never coming back.
Sometimes Anne (the copy) wonders what Anne (the original) is up to. Is she a lost soul, searching for eternity for her purpose? Is she somewhere better, having the time of her life with Domino and her grandparents? Or does she no longer exist at all? Her essence simply wiped from the universe forever?
Anne likes to believe that the dead Anne is still around, and she’s able to float between realms. Sometimes she comes home to check on her parents and see how her copy is holding up. Other times she visits Amphibia, watching Polly grow up, relaxing as Hop Pop tends to his garden and listening while Sprig chatters on.
Oh how Anne misses Sprig's voice. She’d give anything to hear it again, even if only for one more time.
She still calls her old number sometimes. It took her a second to remember it at first, but now it’s ingrained into her mind forever. So now, whenever she’s missing her little buddy - which is more often than she’d like to admit - Anne will call her old phone and wait while it rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Then goes to voicemail. (She should have taught Sprig how to record his own voicemail. Maybe then the silence would be a little less unbearable).
Bzzt!
Anne’s phone buzzes and her heart skips a beat. Could it be…? She slowly reaches into her pocket for her phone, biting her lip nervously. She pauses, her hand freezing in midair. Don’t get your hopes up Anne, she thinks, trying to stay rational. Taking a deep breath she grabs her phone, flipping it over and turning it on in one fell swoop.
*Calamity Trio*
Anne looks at the message tag, and her face falls. She really shouldn’t have expected anything different, but still, her heart had found a sliver of hope and grasped onto it like her life depended on it. With a bitter sigh, she unlocks her phone and reads the message.
*Calamity Trio*
Nerd: Reunion??
Way-Knight: yesss!!
Way-Knight: isn’t someones bday coming up? ;)
Anne sinks to the ground, her legs shaking and unable to hold herself up any longer. She softly bangs her head into the dresser behind her, falling into a rhythm in time with her heartbeat. She chokes out a sob and quickly sends out a reply.
*Calamity Trio*
Frog_Girl: Sorry guys, I’ve been swamped lately and have barely gotten a free moment! Maybe some other time?
Frog_Girl: imysm tho!! Can’t wait to see you guys again!!! :D
It’s a lame excuse, Anne knows. But a lame excuse is all she can muster up at the moment. She’s so tired. Tired of lying to her friends, tired of her new body, tired of being so emotionally unstable. She just wants to be okay, when does she get to be okay? She’s been going to therapy for years, she’s worked hard towards being happy and feeling safe, she knows Amphibia is gone forever and she reconciled with that. So why does it still hurt to breathe? Why is she still sent into a panic every time she sees a flame?
Her phone falls from her hand and goes crashing to the floor, but Anne barely notices.
"Anne!" Mrs. Boonchuy calls, concerned. "Are you alright up there?"
"Yeah mom!" Anne calls back, trying and failing to disguise the tears in her shaking voice. "I'll be down in a second!"
"Would you like any help?" Her mom asks as her daughter shakes her head (despite the fact that Mrs. Boonchuy isn’t up there to see it). However, Anne fails to notice the faint sound of footsteps walking up the stairs. By the time she shouts 'I'm good!' her mom is already opening her bedroom door. "Anne?"
"Mom! I-I'm fine! All good here!" Anne jumps up, wiping her eyes and plastering a fake smile on her face. Her legs shake, and she sees spots dance across her vision from standing up too fast. Her knees buckle, and her mom reaches out just in time to catch her before she goes tumbling to the ground.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" Mrs. Boonchuy asks, guiding Anne to her bed to sit down. Anne nods but switches to shake her head as her mother gives her a stern look. "What's the matter?"
"It's dumb,"
"I'm sure it's not."
"I just..." Anne bites her lip, she's never told anyone about calling Sprig - not even her therapist. She's scared everyone will think she’s a delusional weirdo who’s afraid of letting go of the past. It’s irrational, she knows that, but nonetheless she can’t stop her brain from firing off those insecure thoughts.
“It’s okay honey, take your time,” Mrs. Boonchuy wraps an arm around Anne, providing comfort to the girl.
“It’s been ten years mom. Ten years since I’ve heard his voice.” Anne inhales sharply as the words are said aloud for the first time and they settle in her skin. “I thought the pain of missing him would lessen, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s only grown bigger as the years go by.
“Please mom, I just want the pain to go away,” Anne turns her head into Mrs. Boonchuy’s shoulder and feels hot tears fall down her face, “I just want it to go away,”
“Oh Anne,” Mrs. Boonchuy sighs and hugs her daughter. “Do you remember when Nona and Papa passed away?” Anne shakes her head.
“I was too young to remember.”
“Well, that was the saddest year for me. I loved my parents very much, and seeing them go hurt more than I could imagine. I almost felt that same pain again when you disappeared.”
“I’m so sorry,”
“No no, I’ve come to terms with that pain,” Mrs. Boonchuy holds up a hand to silence Anne then continues her story, “I thought the pain would never go away. And every year, it seemed like I missed them more and more. I still feel that pain to this day.”
“So the moral of your story is that I’ll feel like crap for the rest of my life and I’ll always miss my best friend?”
“Yes and no,”
“Wow. Real helpful.” Anne deadpans, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh hush,” Mrs. Boonchuy chuckles and pokes Anne’s forehead. The girl laughs wetly and she wipes at her tears. “The pain is still here, but it’s grown smaller. It’s no longer an all-consuming force that pulls me down and drowns me. My heart has grown bigger with each new person that comes into my life and fills it with love.
“So yes, you will always miss your little frog friend. But your heart will also grow to hold so much more love and the pain will decrease.”
“Promise?” Anne asks tentatively, as if she were a young child again.
“I promise.” Mrs. Boonchuy plants a kiss on the top of Anne’s head and smiles. She rubs her hand over her daughter's face, wiping away the last of Anne's tears. “Now what do you say we go to the mall or something? When's the last time we’ve spent quality time together?”
“That would be lovely,” Anne smiles and she realizes her mother is right. The more time she spends with those she loves, the smaller this empty pain in her chest feels. Mrs. Boonchuy stands up then holds out a hand to help Anne up. She takes it and the two start to walk out of the room. However before they can make it to the door, Anne stops.
“Sweetie?” Mrs. Boonchuy asks, her brow furrowing.
“I’m alright mom, there’s just something I need to do real quick. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure,” Mrs. Boonchuy nods and leaves Anne alone. The girl slowly sinks back to the floor and grabs her phone. The first thing she does is send out a text:
*Calamity Trio*
Frog_Girl: Actually, I’d love to see you guys.
Frog_Girl: When are you free?
The next thing she does is call her old number one last time. She knows the call isn’t going to go through, she knows Sprig will never answer, and she knows it will go straight to voicemail. But over all the years of calling and listening to her old voicemail tag, Anne never thought to stay until the beep and record a message for him.
So she dials the number, waits while it rings, listens as a younger version of herself laughs and tells her to leave a message. Then the line beeps, and Anne opens her mouth.
“Hey buddy…”
- - -
Anne smiles from her seat in her wheelchair. She holds a bright pink frog in one hand and gestures wildly with the other, dramatic movements adding to the story she tells the kids. They’re only nine.
They’re only nine .
They don’t remember the horrors of when the world was almost taken over by an interdimensional newt king and his Core friend. They don’t remember when Anne and Sasha became world-wide heroes. They don’t remember when thirteen year old Marcy Wu was put on trial as an accomplice to the invasion (once they had proof she was possessed the case was dropped, but still).
They’re only nine, and Anne desperately wishes she still had their level of innocence. But alas, that was never in the cards for her, was it?
Even in high school she was supposed to be thinking about her future and what she wanted to do. She rarely got a moment to just stop, and enjoy life. She smiles softly as she thinks about the piece of looseleaf paper hung on the wall of her room. The essay she was supposed to write, but forgot about in the heat of the battle. She remembers afterwards, when she finally returned home and found the piece of paper laying on her bed. The words “Who Am I?” almost screaming at her. She remembers how her tears stained the page as she wrote one word, scrawling it across the entire thing. She never fully finished the assignment, and quite frankly after everything that happened, she doesn’t think Principal Murphy cared all that much.
“This energetic fella is a Pink South American Tree Frog. I named him Sprig, after a dear, dear friend of mine.” Anne smiles at the kids as she finishes up her report, the small pink frog resting on her finger. The kids wave goodbye and move on to another exhibit. She chuckles as they animatedly talk about all they learned, and how cool Anne is.
Anne opens the glass cage behind her and puts Sprig back, letting him hop onto a leaf. He looks up at her with something close to understanding in his eyes.
“Well I’ve sure come a long way, haven’t I, buddy?” Anne asks, rubbing a finger across the frogs’ head. “Remember when I thought you were disgusting creatures? Yeah, I’m glad I don’t anymore.” Anne says goodbye to her friend and shuts the closure. But as she closes the glass, she notices something in the reflection. Anne wheels around, tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes, as she spots her oldest friends.
“Anne!” They shout, waving and running over to her, their bags falling from their arms as they race towards their friend. Anne jumps up from her chair, wobbling a bit, then throwing herself into their arms. Sasha and Marcy hold her as the tears fall down her face.
“Losing it already, Boonchuy? And here I thought Marcy would be the first to start crying!” Sasha teases, her own small waterfalls streaming down her cheeks.
“Well I don’t think you’re faring much better,” Marcy laughs wetly. Soon all three girls are sobbing and hugging each other like their lives depend on it. Sasha is the first to pull away, wiping at her eyes and trying to compose herself. Anne doesn’t let go of her though, keeping one hand firmly on her shoulder and the other entwined with Marcy’s.
“Uh, Boonchuy?” A voice calls out. The girl in question turns around and spots her boss, watching with a soft smile. He takes in the three girls, each of them in various stages of grief and seems to put two and two together. “You can have the rest of the day off, Anne. I’ll have Josh cover your shift.” He starts to walk away then turns around and addresses Anne one last time, “Oh, and have a happy birthday!”
“Thank you Mr. Smith!” Anne waves and drops her hand from her friends. She turns around and starts to walk away from them.
“Anne?” Marcy asks, “Are you coming?”
“Yeah! I just have to clock out and gather my things, I’ll meet you outside!”
“Okay, just don’t keep us waiting too long!” Sasha says, laughing. They wave and start walking out, picking up the things they dropped while they chuckle and banter the whole way.
Anne smiles brightly as she sees how far her friends have come. Sure they’ve had their rough moments, and they’re bound to have even more in the future, but Anne knows there's nothing they can’t overcome together. She loves her friends so much and she couldn’t be more grateful to have them in her life. She doesn’t know where she’d be without them, only that everything would be very different.
She gingerly sits back in her wheelchair, her legs already starting to get sore. She sees Marcy brush a hand over her chest, as if she’s trying to relieve an ache. She sees the edge of Sashas shirt lift up slightly, revealing part of the long scar that runs up her back.
They’ve been hurt. They’ve been hurt more times than Anne can count. But no matter how many times the trio has been beaten and bruised, they’ve always found a way to persevere. They’re healing. And Anne knows it will take time, and that they will never be the same innocent children they were before their adventures to Amphibia. They may be safe, but the nightmares will never truly end.
But , Anne thinks, turning to look at Sprig, every day is a little bit brighter.