Chapter Text
The young couple, under the impartial essence of the voluntary rest, relished freely in their slumber, without surrendering to the bounding, distant presentment. Nor the winter dawn’s already inducing revival in its photonic glow, nor the considerably increased bustle of New York City could agitate their transparent serenity. The past week’s collective duties and its summarized, weary accumulation had directly required the delicately fragmented volumes, the dreamy images themselves and their direct projections into their imagination, taken out of the calm neuron mimicry. The bed, adove the ordinary, customarily refined comfort, did not deceive them with a simplified wake. The mother, ever since, had been laying on her side, wearing a cold-striking slip melted from silvery velvet, which pursued her finely clarified qualities in an elegant highlight. Her coal-black hair, curling in gentle waves, attained beyond the shoulders, flowing like an enervated cascade across the combined relief of the pillow. Her thick blanket, folded in dense layers, warmed her from toe to the full length of her neck, while insisting, she would not have to endure the disappointing, affirmed shiver ever again. The clear, synthetic fiber’s white extract offered a partial contrast to her softly adjusted shade, a reminiscent of her Native American heritage. Whether real life or photographs, everything reconciled in one exact aspect through her gracefulness, modestly glazing pleasantness or adapted seriousness stemming out of fortitude, with her small chin, narrowly arched face and almond-shaped eyes set in a resolute, glaring enticement. Meanwhile the father, in a loose proximity, had been dozing on the width of his back, occasionally emitting scattered wheezes and sighs, or expressing stirred traces in an unknown rash of sudden convulsions. His hair color, equal to his beloved, settled on the dominant chant of black, whereas the style was cut into a fitting, short-cropped routine. The hue indicated an opposition to the color code of his pants whilst the gray, patternless T-shirt underlined his slightly concluding paleness with distorted accuracy. The marks of determination, strictness, and dedication in this condition further dictated distinctively from his angular uniqueness, in such an imposing display, as if he was still dressed his uniform, counting the all individual lined up medals and cyan borders that were revealed in affiliation.
The cautious, aligned click in slow-motion indicated the entrance of a determined guest. A little girl, about seven years old, after taking a glimpse at the opening, tried her best to tiptoe inside as quietly and precisely as possible, via the provision of coordinated steps. But thanks to her competence, no one came to their senses. Even the door’s theoretically elongated, slight creak or the finalized, warning closure could not interfere with the scheduled, incidental quiet. The subconscious observations, perceptions, unforeseen reactions also did not confirm sincere developments. Her movements, all long, were intentionally measured, highly deliberate, laced with absolute discipline and attention to detail, which not only was intended to dispel any probable, self-inflicted mistakes, but to reinforce the avoidance of any unexpected consequences that might contribute to her eventual, unfortunate downfall. Her details, in this straightforward approach, presented an overriding state of intransigence, while the agitation, anxiety and worry circulated inside without any real visible occurrence. She acted and proceeded along the way as if any change, flutter or exaggeration was enough to develop into a comparable, decisive turning point of fate. Ever since she conceived this plan, every moment in its execution had defined her personality, negotiated in the short term, while in turn, validated her delicacy and attitude, decisively regulating the fixed point of her life that had previously been listed in composure.
In the glowing trance of vividness, her once hidden curves and featured revived segment by segment, as a recombinant estimation of acquired contemplations. They were significantly enhanced by her mother's reserved, endearing grace and cheerful nature, usually tuning in by frequent smiling. The array was almost as prominent as its occurrence in an unraveled, warm memory, taking place on a formal, carefree weekend that was spent together as a family in the Appalachian Mountains, in Virginia. On the other hand, the angular nose and narrowly shaped eyes, where emeralds were preserved in an ever-melting warmth, single-handedly attracted her father’s legacy. The long, straight headed, veiling black locks hung over her shoulder blades’ respite, whilst her skin tone was a near perfectly blended configuration of her parents' distinct origins, like if she was meant to be the squarely calculated possibility between the two ends. Her pajamas, in addition to her growing taste, campaigned with a preferred pastel elegance, including a shirt, rolled out of sugary pink foam, covered by a flowering perennis field, alongside flutteringly fitting organza lilac pants and forgettable, pearly yellow socks.
During the momentary halt, a series of flashing, turned lights led her eyes away from the ledge to the glass window’s gaping compulsion, organized accordingly by the improvised, guiding disciple. The dizzying extent, which was florid with an overflowing brilliance out of molten gold, unfolded the city, hence sought to draw her attention to the routine of amazement, in such an inviting plea, so she would want to see more and more of the panorama’s dazzling confession. The ascendence itself that was laid out in a colour-light play. But despite the imperturbable overwriting conscientiousness, she was destined to neglect the majestically scouring spectacle. She only pried occasionally over the brief elevation, towards the unvarnished, foreign world. She then completely silenced her demanding lability by a virtue of speculation. She knew with her parents being up, she would be able to glance at the persisting, luminous rapture from their place to the point where the forenoon degenerates into a usual, worn-out inurement.
In accordance with continuity, she then staggered to the father's side in a hurry. When she managed to adapt to the proximity, she reached into her shallow pocket, taking out a small, ambivalently wriggling, thread-like thing. Inside her small palm, the two compressed, peeking arches felt faint from a timid demeanor, as they were carried by the momentum of the unknown. After a drop of hesitation, the rapidity integrated courage discharged itself, so at first, she could only poke at his upper arm with barely noticeable confidence. As the excessive chance of failure was realized, she began to supplement the act through diffident shakings. When these did not lead to necessary results, she was forced to whisper in uncanny mutters, which soon, apace with the apparent, proclaimed despair, imitated a gradient detectability.
“Dad! Dad…! Dad, please wake up…! Dad…!”
The ominous call and the constant shakes on his arm, arranged by an increasingly restless concentration, swiftly bounded him into a partial wakefulness. Yet his attention was dulled by the phase of urgent confusion.
“You? In here?” Despite the rakish, cast calibration, the directive’s motive emerged out of tenderness. “Hey there, sweetheart.” He sat right up, thus his shoulders’ tight lines burned with sanctity, by the rise’s supple decency.
He frowned his forehead with inclining uncertainty, distorting his face into a rigid grim, as if the lively coal of anger had ignited his heated impulses. At first, he reacted to the refractive, transmitted rays with a very strong squint, whereas his eyes were lost within the framework of archaism. Later, as the extended acclimatization stroke him, at the oculus’ depth, the remaining filth of his dying blindness surrendered. In this attached purity, parallel to the evenly reach, he could now study freely the child’s figure, who was helpless in dismay, according to the specified prospects and overall designation.
“What's going on, Roxanne? Is everything alright?”
“Well…you might say…” Her humble, moderate intimation gave away a revealing debut.
“What? What do you mean by this? Did something happen?”
“No…Not really.” Her intermittent hesitation was covered by the concerning stave, with such impressive ambiguity as if she had been truly overwhelmed by the restrained, prompting denial.
“Are you sure?” The commanding tone wished to steer her to the neighboring interest. “Doesn't seem like it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.” His smile, donated out of trust, was entrusted to break the systematic stillness.
“Yes, I’m sure…There's nothing going on…”
The father, regardless of the unexplored, complicated difficulties, refused to underestimate the situation and its bearing density. He was unable to interpret a definite statement sorely based on this, but since this was all about the sake of his daughter, the demand for a palpable solution immediately resounded within him.
“You don’t wanna tell me because you believe I got mad at you?”
The little girl’s directive, in this steadfast moderation, crashed alongside her assumptions. Not only was her father destined to discover the truth by any means over intentional awareness, but at the same time, she was able to hand out such an extensively convincing performance.
“No, I…” At first, she looked at him with a straight aspect, but when she bowed her head in uneasiness, she casted out an impactful notion of shame. In the end, it overturned every initiation, which was originally intended to destroy the well-solidified suspicions.
Her father, instead of varying the disturbances further, leaned over to her in a private ratio, aligned his large palm to the closest shoulder to give away his loving, gratifying touches in segments with a full orientation of care, reassuring her that neither before nor after, has anything to be ashamed of.
“Listen! You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. You didn't do anything wrong by waking me up, okay? I'm your father and it's my job to listen to you or help you out in any way I can. It may seem insignificant to you, but for me, it’s everything that matters. Since it’s all about you. So, please don’t hold back. Tell me everything you can because I wanna know what’s going on…Besides, the sooner you get things off your chest, the better. That's what Mom always says, right?”
“Well, the thing is…” She calmed down shortly, as a wave of anxiety provoked her.
“It's okay. Go on.” He tried to reassure her, as if it was enough to prevent the silence detaching from the unfolding assertion. “I know there are times when opening up is not the easiest thing to do, no matter how obvious the implication might be at first glance…. But, if you assume you can't do this right now, then I’ll accept it without a doubt. Just stay with us and we'll bring up the subject matter when you're indeed ready.” He was about to leave his position when the daughter, shaken by sheer panic, hasted to prevent his departure, using all her fragile strength that was available to her.
“No, no, please stay!” The father, rattled by the surprising tactic, decided to await the rest of the remaining development in petrified anticipation.
When he saw for a brief moment what she had been holding in her tiny hands, right in front of him, in such a secluded exposition, all his arranged doubts and concerns abandoned him at once. For the redeeming discovery, he was undoubtably satisfied, while his mood was pervaded through the reserved liberation of pride. After all, he wanted to play the self-consciously endowed, fatherly role until the step-by-step experience granted a valid development for a fairly exciting participation, thus transporting their dialogue onward the artificially composed union of status and imagination. He instantly requested her to settle on his lap, so they could easily continue their discourse, as an intimate analogy that was pressed by reasonable murmur. The leading questions, the incidental astonishments, the series of inquiries and the speculative advancements outright supported the already established arrangement. Spiders, cockroaches, termites, rats, or ghosts may have resigned in her room ever since she left, or before, who knows, during suspicious circumstances, which in additions had to be postulated by occasional chills. Having a chat about this dissatisfying phenomenon, overburdened by excess, was tolerably enough to file a theoretical complaint towards the UAC’s Housing Commission. Meanwhile the debate’s formally posing seriousness provided them with more than sufficient entertainment.
“What? No way! If this was the case, I would have started with that. Like, immediately!” Her charm-filled kindness brightened.
The daughter's bohemian receptivity broke out in a pleasant laugher more than once at her father's ridiculously fleeing logic and absurdly distorted ideas. Her predominant chuckle loudly flew over the suppressed tension, as her grandfather paid his alleged respect to her place, at least once, or on multiple occasions, from the starting point of extraordinary hints that implied the opposite due to non-existent indications. The latest arisen in such a lively shrill, that upon realization, she slapped her hand in front of her mouth with a frightened manner, maybe to propagate the disturbance’s punitive neutralization within the inner zone of her mother's slumber.
“Just try to be careful, okay? Neither of us want her to get up for nothing.” He assigned his finger to his mouth in a styled correction. “You know how difficult her week has been. We should let her rest, right? I don’t even intend to wake her up at least until eleven. She needs this more than anything right now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” She timbred as she dived into a range of barely perceptible frequency. “I'll try to speak like this from now on…”
“That’s more like it.” He blunted his own through the inserted permission. “At least we won’t be able to bother her from now on…So, apparently, no one came to pay you a visit and your room fortunately didn’t get infested. I’m beyond thrilled…Then, what exactly brought you here?”
“Well, the thing is…I brought you something. And I really, really hope you'll like it…”
“To me? For what…? I don't remember doing anything that made me earn it.”
She confidentially opened her tiny fist, which ever since had been faithfully and resolutely squeezed together, guarding the inordinate summit of surprise, permeated by the soft palm’s warmth that had been flaring in excitement. It was a longed-for, generous manifestation, where all her heated love and devotion were united, like an offer to his remarkable personality. The pointy arrowheads, alternating from exquisite orange and shaded bone black, were interlocking in endless patterns, stiffening the mutual sharpness, in a style of an encircled, thin-stringed, cotton bracelet.
“Wait a sec…! Did you do actually make this? Really?”
An exceedingly indescribable satisfaction walked around his soul. Over the brilliance of the hand-crafted, child-made treasure, which was created with complete sincerity and dedication, amidst the devoted, sole purpose to honor him.
“Yes, it was me.” At the profound height of her nod, her hair fell over the shoulders’ polished barricade. “It might be a little hard to believe, but…”
“It's not the fact that's hard to believe. Instead, it’s the end result itself. Because this is so unbelievably impressive…it’s also sophisticated, unique. Like a work of an upcoming industrial artist.” After leaving the tangential whispering behind, his tone prevailed with a directly arranged ascent, as a targeted clarification of noble support and straight appreciation.
“Oh, Dad, you're just saying this…”
For him, any form of deviation was considered to be an incalculable extract. It did not diminish his fidelity, enthusiasm or assurance at all. Despite the inaccuracies in the pattern, like the elongated knots, the sparse holes, the untimely protrusions threads or the internally despised accidents inside the entanglement, he was able to classify it as perfect, in the same aspect how it was intentionally meant to be made.
“It doesn't matter if it's objectively perfect or not. But rather that this was made by you, by your own hands. And this is what makes it the more valuable over everything else in the world.”
“So…do you like it?”
“Yes, absolutely. You definitely put yourself out there. It's almost undeniable how much of a perfectionist you are. Just like Mom.” He winked at her with a supportive impact, whereupon the daughter's giggle slipped away with a palatable delight. “By the way, since you are the one who made it, how about tying it together as well? What do you say?”
“Oh, that's a truly flattering request!” She bowed towards him, then twisted the two loops together through the arc, until it concluded in a finalized joint of a knot.
On his wide wrist, the rousing attention led the sluggish rotation into a following propensity. The new acquisition was at the right length and did not migrate considerably away from the wearing zone of comfort. He realized it was an excellent match with his watch, in favor of negotiating with the compulsory, corporate appearance. At the same time, due to contemplating disbelief, he was unable to get enough of this unrepeatable masterpiece, which born out of peremptory attachment.
“This work is one of the best I have ever seen, there is no doubt about that. That's why I believe you have some kind of innate affinity for this. You also chose the colors flawlessly. They harmonize so beautifully together. I assume orange meant to symbolize Mars…”
“Yes, and black is supposed to symbolize you, since you’ve got black hair. Ooor, it could have been me or Mom since we have the same hair color… I wanted to use green instead of orange before, but I didn’t like that version too much.”
“Black and green? Doesn’t sound too bad. How about doing something similar in the future? My birthday is not that far away, so I would surely appreciate a gift similar to this. Or was this your intention all along? You just couldn't resist the urge?
“Nooo.” Her demur was immediate. “I did it for a completely different reason. But if you want, I can make another one. It's not as difficult as it looks.”
“Alright, then it’s settled…However, one thing still remains unclear to me. I don't know what’s the reason behind this whole offering session…or what occasion this was supposed to be made for.” He sent his groping notion to the reflective stage of trust. “I don't know what the driving motivation was or where the idea came from. I'm more than excited to hear your explanation.
“Well…I made it because you saved us…and…I wanted something to protect you from all kinds of evil and bad things…and to bring you good luck as long as you wear it!” Mysticism had bent her words. “It’ll watch over you. Even if we are not around…and even if you go back to Mars…” The final adjustment was restrained by the grueling lead that was laid in reality.
This kind hopefulness could not be received in any other way but with consternation. He never imagined before that his own child would cherish and carry the fate of his mission with such solidary symmetry. Or how the extended emotions would initiate her into the pact of consequences, next to the converge that defined her enacting, present objectives. Her pearlescent, modest smile that had been accompanying their spontaneous meeting, ever since the beginning, was an irrefutable revival too, taken out of a destined homage. An expanded, gracious admiration and a clearly delivered offering with confidential purpose, as a revealed, uncoined desire for a faithful perseverance, that was always meant to be by his side.
“I literally had no idea that my absence, the things that happened to me on Mars, would have such an impact on you. It’s also incredible how perfectly you recognized what I actually needed…without me realizing. This level of sensitivity and empathy is exceptional without question. And yet, regardless of what the circumstances are, you still want to care about me, pay attention to my needs, display all your kindness, while spending time and energy on these tasks without any amount of regret. You openly admit that I matter to you, the same as ever before. That’s the reason why this whole gesture is so meaningful to me. It’s the most precious and sweetest thing I have ever received from you. And after all of this, I wouldn't wish for anything else.” As he leaned over, the daughter’s blooming forehead was awarded with a loving, fatherly kiss, led by his intact, grateful, patronaging devotion. “And for this very reason…” He raised his palms to the blazing, rosy cheeks, while being immersed in a blissful, transparent reflection. “I can promise you that no matter what happens, what the deeds are, I will never take this off. I don't care about the regulations, the protocols, the threats, whatever they throw at me in the name of retaliation. You represent the most to me in the whole wide world, and that’s why no one will have a say in this matter. Not even the Company, for a single second.”
“Do you…really mean it?” She looked at him with a hopeful, seeking reverence.
“Yes, I do. Every last word of it. And that…” He pointed at it with unwavering conviction. “…is now as much of a part of me as you or Mom is. Do you believe me, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Totally!” As a contribution to her bright grin, an emotional amplitude radiated in her voice.
In the motion of stored, recounting sensations, all presently prevailed repulsions and imitated tensions rebelled within him. The exposure to terror, agitated by the surrounding, intermediary impulses, was inserted in echoes, originating out of stress-induced amalgamations. He had no choice but to spend five days in trembling, unimaginable horror, which later on became persistently vitalized, long-lasting, imprinted montages. Mars City’s invasion occurred on November 15, 2145, just before 7 a.m. at Martian time. Within the first critical hours, the invading forces showed no end to their increasing rage, deep rooted in absolute degression, never once approving the opportunity for a conductible, controlled evacuation. The incomprehensible carnage, which was leveled in outbursts, had been weighing heavily on his experiences ever since, just like their calculated norms, the transitory, stabilized, inhumane destruction or the traceable acoustics that were lost in immediate silence. The precisely defined slaughter was practiced in the scaled, unfathomable cruelty and in the forms of torn pieces. The massacres or the final, generously wasted, unconsumed corpses on their own were powerful enough to resemble the most ruthless aspects of war zones. With Hell unleashed, he had to be consistently combat ready from the first till the last moment, always being prepared for the worst possible scenario. He often had to fight inch by inch to earn his renowned right for survival, over and over again, equipped with nothing but a security armor, the available rations of unused ammunition and a trusted shotgun. He had to walk the desolate base in solitude, through the floors that were cramped in darkness, steadily relying on his skills, the expertise in weaponry, his quick wit, proficient adaption and cunning attribute, without the affluence to care about the pain or the resulting, excruciating consequences. Every lone undead, grotesque figure, deformed entity craved only for his blood in their violent deeds. For this very reason, the possibility was there at every given moment that the slightest amounts of opposition or unyielding fragments of determination will be punished with an unscrupulous, agonizing death. As for the human side, only Dr. Malcolm Betruger was deliberately linked to the invasion and its orchestration. He was more than willing to cause him enough frustration and suffering, with perfected competence during the intended setbacks, indulging freely in his innate cruelty, like an undisguised talent, emerging out of his unexplored bloodlust. He displayed these credible fractions on his body, throughout the throbbing pain that required treatment and the remnants of the reddish scars that to that day were in the process of healing. Ultimately, if the UAC had cared to listen to the ongoing investigations, the resulting rumors, the drops of warnings that were left behind at the time, while leave behind the full profit-orientation approach, without allowing the doctor to fully rise to power during the teleportation experiments, where a whole new dimension was discovered, then this whole onslaught never would have happened. Or if it did, not in the same form it was afterward subsequently known for. Even though the enormities, the lurking dangers never left him alone, he still accomplished his mission, as he repeatedly threw himself into the heat of the strife with full willingness and unwavering courage, ultimately leading to the temporary salvation of humanity. The need for a heroic sacrifice, over his actions and virtues, was not done for the sake of his own redemption, but rather this entire family, who had carried the greatest, outright unquestionable importance in his life. He wanted to fulfil his undertaking responsibilities as a father and husband, without proposal to back down and to do whatever is necessary to ensure their safety and survival, based on the sacred, inviolable consensus that was flowing within him, until the last drop of blood was drawn…
He was dissuaded far away from his trailing thoughts, when an incentive transition came below the covers, from the wife's section, in the forms of refined, crumbling movements and immensely motivated stretches. The mellow motion pleaded in expanse, as the segmented sequences inside the dynamic enchantment interpreted the enervation.
“Looks like Mom is about to get up.” The daughter, in response to the converting speech, relocated to the centered, opposite edge, choosing to sit cross-legged with trusting gratification. Meanwhile the father changed position with a convenient turn.
Soon, the mother began to distort the rigid posture out of her body, while occupied the left side of the bed in favor of her family. Her skin reacted with a frightened hurry to the uninvited, partial revelation. In a pious bent, her eyes, behind the ceded, velvety locks, emerged out of the crumbling remnants of her dreamlike state.
“Good morning.” Her greeting rived the reticence’s appreciative attitude through a light, drowsy covering.
“Morning.” He gazed at his beloved with admiring amazement. “How are you doing? Did you manage to get some sleep?”
“Yes. I’d put it that way. In fact, it turned out much better than I expected.” Her left arm in a tender desire, enframed her head within the perimeter, like a constructed, curved altar, sanctifying all her charm and its mesmerizing risk in one single ideal.
“I had a strong feeling that you wouldn't get up at least until noon. After all, you were so exhausted that this was the only thing I could genuinely count on. I would have preferred though if you had left on your own terms, rather than me constantly pleading for it.”
“I know. But it is what it is, darling. I had to keep up with the reports, the cases analyses, otherwise the next week would have completely overwhelmed me. At least, for now, we have a slightly more productive weekend ahead of us…” She held her hand out for her husband, with an introduced intent to be moved up. Upon this as a form of designated help, he pulled her up immediately, right next to himself.
“I would really appreciate if this stopped once and for all. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you at all. But I find it actually outrageous that out of all the people, you are the one who has to stay up all night, working. And God knows how many times this has happened at this point. You're a psychiatrist, an important specialist in your field, and the wife of a high-ranking military advisor. The last thing you deserve is to be treated like this. I’ll file a complaint as soon as I can get to it.”
“Can’t promise you a thing at this moment, my love…However, to be fair, no one could foresee this kind of outcome. After all, the Martian hysteria affected those as well who left the planet, long before the disaster occurred. Or, if they remained, they weren’t employed there long enough to demonstrate any acute symptoms. Many of them, especially civilians, display such manifestations that are usually observed in chronic cases. Some of them also have no previous physiological indication. My ongoing theory is that Mars City’s destruction induced this type of disruption, somewhere on a subconscious level. While the currently unexplainable phantom symptoms are apparent elevations of these on a higher level…But you are more than aware at this point. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with this again. I don’t know what gave me the expression…
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not bored of it and most likely never will be. You know it well that I always listen. Because I care a lot about you. And yes, even if it means I have to listen to same exact thing for the hundredth time.” He then took the wife’s hand, lifted it up in a gentle demeanor, so he could honor her in the emerging tone with a granted kiss. “I hope we didn't disturb you too much with our presence. Sometimes, our debate got a little bit out of hand.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t notice a thing. It only caught me by surprise, when I woke up.”
“Well, if you have a demand for more rest…” His palm subtended her fragile hip, as an affecting, hopeful crave.
“Marcus, honey, that’s not necessary at all. I’m perfectly fine. Instead, it should get on with the chores, since there's already plenty to take care of. Of course, if you're lazy, you'll never get anything done. Am I right, sweet pea?” She looked at her daughter with overwhelming kindness, whereupon the thrilled gracefulness outlined her growing, joyful triumph.
“Sure, mom!” Her dignity out of the subsisting reputation crackled in exclamation.
“How was your sleep, by the way?” With enough regard, she waved the confusing locks of hair away from the daughter’s self-determining eyes. “Was there any problem?”
“No, nothing at all. Everything was fine.”
“Alright, that’s good to hear. Although I found it kind of suspicious that you climbed out of the bed this early on. At first glance, I could only assume something bad happened and this drove you to pay us a visit.”
“Not a chance.” The husband joined in, reserving her in a unified embrace. “Coming together was spontaneous.”
“Oh, that’s so thoughtful. I could definitely get used to this.” She leaned on her husband's broad shoulders with tender appreciation, while their sights were raking each other’s flutter. “How long have you been up?”
“Around fifteen, twenty minutes. I don’t exactly know, I haven’t checked the time…”
“If that’s the case then I can imagine how hungry you guys are. I think I’d be better if I left for the kitchen so both of you can have something to munch on…” She was in the middle of the processed secession when her husband, with close perseverance, held her back, without any explicit, applied roughness, yet, with enough measured tenacity so the initiative questions in her mind can receive an instant alarm.
“Wait a sec, Christa! Please, don't leave us just yet. There's something you should know about.”
“Like what? What is it about?” Inside the serious tone, a sense of surprise factorized, alongside with a conscious, sudden, pursuing intention.
“About something extraordinary that never happened before, especially in this shape or form. I was lucky enough to experience it myself this morning and if I’m being honest, it changed a whole lot to me.” His back sheerly straightened, as his previously advocate, secluded arm surfaced right in front of the intuitive fondness.
“Oh my God…” As the unparalleled accession faded in, she was astounded, even falling silent with a staggering disbelief. “This is…so…blazingly beautiful!” With delicate proficiency, she paced her fingers on the edge of the creation, as she was attempted to understand the performance and its’ bewildering settle.
“This was made by her. From first to the last knot.”
“This is so spectacular that…I can barely describe it. It’s not only decorative in the best possible way but also striking aesthetic. It's incredible how well it fits you…And how accurately it expresses the special bond that is between the two of you. Still, the tremendous amount of dedication that got integrated into this tiny work is nothing short of staggering. Naturally, you would expect something similar from a grown adult, not a little girl who just only begun studying the knotting techniques and all its’ secrets” In the embracing gaze, they acclimated to each other and their arising attraction, over an emotional, collective decency. “Now I feel almost as touched as if this was meant to be made for me…”
“I told her the exact same thing. It is simply undeniable that the creative side, the diligence, and rational mindset were inherited from you.” The irrevocable authority in his statement sparked a vigor, thus treating each contradiction with sheer intolerance, on the point of a universal synapse that was founded in gratitude. “Meanwhile, the precision, the organization skills, and the competence allegedly came from my bloodline. Since we didn’t notice a thing about the whole ordeal.”
“That’s true…” For a short stretch, as a negotiation with the present, a randomly scheduled exploration wavered right in front of her. “…or, at least, there weren’t any clear signs that could have allowed us to piece everything together.”
The memories regulated along the way, as it promptly included a joint trip, taking place at a nearby shopping mall, almost two weeks earlier. A lengthy duration was suspended within the aspect of the framework, as they were searching for the most evident, optimal thread thickness, selecting the colors according to the paired harmony. She handed out some of her advice, necessary suggestions, solved speculative problems, so later she could be caught up in a demonstration, where she had to teach a few simple, but more promising tricks. Despite all this, she didn’t attach any great importance to the event. It was disguised as a temporary school project and for this very reason, the theoretical emphasis could only be concluded here. With one notable exception, she rarely saw her being busy with it. In fact, she didn’t allow any conditional access to the masterpiece, not even after the fully finished state was achieved. However, in reality, she couldn’t entirely pay attention to the phenomenon, as the multiplied quarry of tasks, with all those patients and cases, exploited all her capacity. This was assigned by the Company in a prescribed quota, during a period which was originally meant to be her actual, spare time.
As part of the authentic exploration, the discussion dwelled on the inspiration and its origin. The school workshop was brought up, where the first prototype was created in similar fashion, on behalf of a heavily instructed form. She found the entire activity essentially enjoyable, which then provoked several valid, feasible possibilities for the future. Not long after, an important conversation took place, over the phone, between her mother and grandma, who was still living in Oklahoma City. During this, the mother asserted all the details, like how she intended to surprise the love of her life by coming home safely. As she recognized the offer of coincidence, she finally became enlightened, donating every proper reasoning to be fulfilled with a particular delight. After deciding on what the specialty of the gift should be, numerous steps followed the task forward. It included the congregation of information, the endlessly tedious exercises, the reconsiderations, the indirect involvement of her mother and, in the end, the era of production that was timed in isolation.
“By the way, I only managed to make this for the fourth time. I found the pattern in one of Mom’s books, when we were unpacking our stuff. Apparently, this was invented by the Native Americans. I liked it a lot because it resembled me and mom. And I chose the arrow pattern specifically because dad serves as a marine. And because, I thought it suited him the most. Last night I did a huge chunk of it. Aaand then I got up early, so it could be finished. I could have done it sooner, but I was way too tired to concentrate.”
“Then that’s the reason the clock went missing…” He gave his response to the quoted absence which haunted him since the evening. “So, you decided to dedicate days, weeks in the making, in complete secrecy, without blowing your cover, just to honor me and my return back home?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She waggled her head with a definite qualification, inside the sphere of affirmation. “I made it because I love you…and because I missed you so, so much!”