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“...I worry about you.”
It says this to you once you lay down in a bed that is not your bed, in a bedroom without a roof. Chalk-drawn stars glow on the walls. They make you think of your brother, and not for the first time tonight, you manage not to cry.
“I’m sorry today wasn’t very good,” it says, “is there anything that I can do to make it better?”
You stare at the window and the darkness outside. It glows with shades of obsidian and pulsating rainbow. Your childhood television is upstairs instead of downstairs, now. Part of the plan, as you’ve promised to see through to the end, was that he needed to die. He didn’t, thanks to Susie.
Are you happy about this? You should be.
You never feel things the way you should.
Your mother is drunk and dancing with the annoying guy from the convenience store back home. Everything is different now. Everything has changed. Those late nights spent gathered around the television are gone. Just like her.
Maybe you wish that Susie wasn’t so kind.
You had fun, though. It sucked. He sucks. You had fun on the show.
“...I wish that I could tell what you’re thinking. I think that I can, sometimes, but never enough to know what you want, or how to help you.”
Your Aunt Carol said that your role was to carry the soul to world’s edge. Your role is to be the cage, with human soul and parts. What you Aunt Carol did not tell you was that the soul was a thing from a place beyond your means, with will and thought that did not align with your own.
She did not tell you that it would be this chatty, either.
It makes your stomach churn how much it reminds you of your mother when it says things like, “I’m just trying to understand you, Kris. I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t talk to me.”
You hate this thing. Your arms are leaden upon the bed. Your legs are stiff. You are a hollow thing of stagnant air and empty void, and you are so tired. It’s waiting, so you’re stuck waiting, too. Something is going to happen, and soon. You sense a foreign anticipation from this red weight that sits inside your chest. Its light is a hot, boiling crimson. You’ve this dim memory of something softer and cooler. Something in a shade of blue that you never gave much thought…but then, on an average day, does a person think much of their bones? Their skin? Their organs?
Their hands?
You suppose people with bodies and parts that weren’t working how they ought to would think about them rather often. Look at you, the venerable monarch of finding ways to make yourself feel guilty.
The mattress rises. You fall inwards, eyes barren and glazed.
It sighs a sigh you feel more than you hear, “...you’re such a cool kid, you know that? No wonder your family loves you so much. Susie and Ralsei, Noelle, Berdly…they’re all so lucky to have you as a friend.”
You want to scream.
Your mouth is dry and thin.
Your fingers are numb. Your skin tingles with a dull, uncomfortable warmth. The air in your bedroom here is cool, yet your sweat, beads soaking the nape of your neck as your hair clings to your forehead and gathers in a damp clump over your itchy, half-lidded eyes.
It is held in place by veined roots. It is the seed that must be planted in the destined spot, so that the new, unchanging world can spring forth. Then…she will finally be able to come back home. Then everyone will be happy. Your parents won’t hate each other anymore. Your brother won’t leave in an angry, grieving daze every night. Noelle will come over to play like she used to, and everyone will gather to laugh, eat, and watch TV. It will be just like it all used to be.
…without you, of course.
A seed needs to be fed so that it can grow. You are the cage. You are the fertilizer. Your aunt thinks that you don’t know, but the truth is, you wouldn’t have agreed to this if you didn’t understand how this was going to end.
It was an honor. You are carrying out the will of the divine.
…it was also your big lucky break. Now, you have a way to die and relieve your family and friends of this burden of loving this thing that everyone calls 'you' that takes and takes and costs so much to keep alive when all you do is sit and sleep and mope and snap and grumble, and you could do it without making them all sad.
They won’t be sad. They’ll be happy that she’s finally home.
They’ll understand. It’s a trade. An exchange. One life for another.
It’s only fair. It’s your fault she’s gone. You aren’t a hero. This isn’t heroic. You are simply righting a wrong, and fixing what you broke that night you and her snuck out to the shelter.
It’s all your fault. Her, your family, and hers. It all fell apart when she went away. When you said you’d be brave, when you said you’d be good, when you promised to hold her hand, and didn’t, and you left her behind.
You were such a whiny little crybaby back then.
You used to laugh too loud at all the wrong things.
Now, you have an empty face, and now you’re a big kid who can see this promise through. Maybe she’ll be sad for a while, but she was so strong and so brave, so you know she’ll be okay. Everyone will be fine.
It is rooted inside of you. You are a flowerbed. The beautiful blooms will split your skin and emerge soaked in your blood. Cyan skin will rot and slough as dark, lush vines break through and healthy roots burrow into sacred soil. You wonder what color the flowers will be. Yellow, of course, like the ones your mother keeps around the house. And maybe pink, tender and soft and sweet, all the things you once were and can never be again. It’s ultimately a great kindness for you to relieve everyone of the burden of loving you.
You also hope that some of the flowers are blue. Blue roses, specifically. Sharp thorns tearing and ripping through rotten flesh. Velvety blue, sapphire petals that will smell so delicate as she opens her eyes, at last free from the deepest dark, and is welcomed home with open arms.
All the love that’s wasted on you will go to someone who deserves it.
A happy ending.
None of this matters when you know how it has to end. The games were fun. You’ve enjoyed all your Dark World adventures. Susie and Ralsei are the best friends someone like you could hope for. Susie is so cool, and so brave, and so kind, even if she still was a bit mean sometimes.
She’ll be okay. She’s tough. She’s going to hate me anyway by the time we reach the end, so it’s fine.
So why are you crying?
“Kris?”
Stop crying, baby. Grow up already.
“Kris, what’s wrong?”
This is how you grow up.
“Is it something that I said, Kris?”
You asked for this. You promised. You said ‘yes’, so shut up and quit whining already. Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you excited?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want this either, you know. I don’t want to do this to you. I wish there was some other way, but I’m just as stuck as you are. Maybe if you could talk to me and tell me what to do, I could at least make it a bit…nicer? Kris? Oh, Kris…”
You will see your last sunset alongside your friends, and then it’ll be over. You will give your brother one last hug to welcome him home from college, and then it’ll be over. You will tell your mother that you love her, and return your father’s hug. You will go to the festival with Berdly while Susie and Noelle have fun, and you will wish that Ralsei could be there, too. You will have one last adventure before it is time for you to be put into the ground where you belong.
As a strained cry leaves your throat and falls into the pillow, you wonder what kind of flowers they’ll have at your funeral. You hope there are some roses. Some pretty, lovely blue roses.
Not much longer now. Not much longer at all.
It’s waiting for you, that fated end.
You are so, so terrified. You can’t wait. You wish it would just go ahead and happen already. Get it over with. It’s all led up to this. Once you made that promise, there was no going back. You made your choice. This grave you’ve dug will be a flowerbed before long. And the sun will keep shining along with the stars. Winter will bring snow and holidays, and summer fun days at the beach.
The world will go on without you, and everyone you love will be happy.
You’re going to be free.