I Close My Eyes

Participants:

ff_glory_icon.gif

Scene Title I Close My Eyes
Synopsis Nothing is as it seems.
Date June 13, 2021

There's close to fifty stickers encrusting the ovoid Sony boombox sitting in the corner of a child's bedroom. Most of them are sun bleached, little more than off-white blotches on yellowed plastic with faint hints of color. Some are less faded, barely recognizable as iconic comic book characters from 9th Wonders. Little fingers load a CD into the top tray, then press the lid shut with a soft click. Those fingers trace along the outline of faded heroes, then depress the "Play" button.

I close my eyes

Only for a moment…

and the moment's gone

Music crackles over old speakers, and the dark-haired little girl reclines away from her radio to sit cross-legged on her sleeping mat unrolled on the floor of her bedroom. There are posters on the wall held up with tape, they too are sun-bleached and old, but they are album covers, prints of cityscapes and skylines. She lays on her back, looking up at the ceiling where glow-in-the dark stickers shine a faint green. She reaches to her side, twisting a tiny metal key to lower the flame on the lantern that burns on the floor beside her bed. The room is dark, save for the light of the CD player's faceplate and the stars overhead.

All my dreams

Pass before my eyes

a curiosity

The soft rap of knuckles on a metal door draws the girl's attention to a growing sliver of light from the hall. Her mother is silhouette in the doorway, leaning against the door and smiling even if her daughter can't see it clearly. She can hear it in her voice. "One song, then it's bedtime kiddo."

Dust in the wind

All they are is dust in the wind

The little girl sits up, looking at her mother's silhouette in the doorway. "Okay, kōkā." The little girl replies with a bright smile, laying back down on her mat. The stars overhead shift their position, grow dim, and disappear leaving little more than bare concrete behind wit a few dead, gray stars lingering near the corners of the room.

Same old song

Just a drop of water in an endless sea

She still stares at the ceiling, even if years have gone by. A bushy little head of hair is now tied back behind her head, puffy little chipmunk cheeks have been worn down by a lifetime of reasons to frown. Sit sits up, elbow to knee. She lays back down, breathe. She sits up, elbow to knee. She lays back down, breathe. Sweat glistens on her brow and shoulders.

All we do

Crumbles to the ground

though we refuse to see

The light of the lantern grows in the dark, dancing flames cast frightening shadows on the walls where faded posters once hung. Now pegboards holds a rifle, a handgun, and a knife. Sit sits up, elbow to knee. She lays back down, breathe. She sits up, elbow to knee. She lays back down, breathe.

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

The firelight grows and she tries to ignore it, even if the crackling has grown to a roar. She can feel the heat on her bare shoulders, on her face, against her hair. The brighter the light gets and the longer the shadows reach, the harder it becomes for her to ignore it. She turns to look into the roaring furnace to see the silhouette of her mother disappearing into the flames. Her heart lurches in her chest and she sits up, screaming. Fingers curl into her hair, her eyes wrench shut, and she feels her father's hand heavy on her shoulder.

Oh

Now, don't hang on

Nothin' lasts forever but the earth and sky

She remembers how she found him, sitting in his favorite chair, eyes open and unfocused. She was screaming then, too. He looked unreal, like a wax figure made in her father's image. Because all the light was gone from his eyes, but so too was the pain. He would never hurt again. He was so thin. Maybe that's what made death look so unreal, because it had stolen away everything life had imprinted on memory. Of a man with broad shoulders and an even broader smile. He would not smile again.

It slips away

And all your money won't another minute buy

Draw. Sight. Breathe. Squeeze. A bullet travels down the lane, punches into an aluminum sheet marked with concentric yellow rings. Draw. Sight. Breathe. Squeeze. A bullet travels down the lane, punches into an aluminum sheet marked with concentric yellow rings. Draw. Sight. Breathe. Squeeze. A bullet travels down the lane, punches into an aluminum sheet marked with concentric yellow rings. Three holes in a triangular cluster, slightly off-center.

Dust in the wind

All we are is dust in the wind

(All we are is dust in the wind)

A skeleton bleaches in a desert of shifting sands, entombed in the armor it wore in life. The sun burns bright and angry through the scuffed bubble visor that reveals empty eye sockets and bare teeth, a mouthful of sand filling a battered helmet marked with a name on a plate across the forehead.

Dust in the wind

(Everything is dust in the wind)

Metal hands reach down and pick up the helmet, lifting it off of the skull. Sand pours from within, blowing in the turbulent wind.

Everything is dust in the wind

The skull stares back, unblinking.

The wind

She feels no more pain.


The Pelago

June 13th
2021

5:08 am


Sucking in a sharp breath, Glory bolts up on her cot, nearly striking her head against the underside of the bunk above her. She stifles a scream by sucking back a lungful of air, then throws her legs over the side of the cot and cradles her head in her hands. Her eyes are forced wide open, fingers tremble, her heart races in her chest and sweat rolls in thick beads down her forehead and neck, dripping off her chin where they mix with tears. Dim light illuminates the common bunks where dozens sleep under the pale blue light of a stormy dawn. The sound of wind and rain drowns out all noise, even Glory's soft, breathless sobs.

Glory wipes one hand down her face, scrubbing at her eyes before she slides off the bottom cot and drops to her knees on the floor. She reaches under her bed, dragging out her duffel bag and unzips it with trembling hands, pushing layers of threadbare shirts and sweaters aside, crinkling plastic packages of dried noodles, until she can get her fingers around something metallic at the bottom of the bag. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Glory pulls a battered helmet out of the bag, brushing her fingers over the scuffed glass of the faceplate. Her jaw flexes, brown eyes track from side to side.

She swipes her thumb across the nameplate on the helmet's forehead.

L A N G


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