All In Your Mind
Samantha
Things in Sunnyroad seemed to be going to Hell.
I sat in my room listening to the screech of ambulance sirens get closer and closer outside. My eyes were focused totally on the book page in front of me but I wasn't taking in a single piece of information. It just looked like blurry squiggles on a grey background. Fawkes had popped his head around the door to tell me that Natalie had tried to kill herself.
I didn't cry, just sat staring numbly at the book. I could hear the flurry of footsteps as the nurses and orderlies helped carry Nat out to the ambulance parked right outside my window. The blue lights were flickering outside and cast haunting shadows on my wall. I imagined all the people tucked up in bed who would see the same shadows on their own walls. I envisioned them tutting and complaining as children were roused by the alerted wail. I could see them so clearly, inconvenienced by this bright, obnoxiously loud interruption. While a girl struggled for their lives, people would think bitter thoughts as they struggled to get back to sleep. Drivers would curse as they had to pull in because they already hated driving in the dark. Drunken pedestrians stumbling out of clubs would laugh and fall back from the edge of the pavement, glad that it wasn't them lying in the back- though it so easily could.
We lived in a world where blame came so easily. No matter what happened, the blame could be pinned on somebody else. If a kid shot up his school, it couldn't be that he was just fucked up in the head, oh no. It had to be his parents or the fact he was being bullied or somebody else who'd tipped him over the edge. And if you tripped down the stairs or didn't look where you were going at work, then you could be damn sure you could milk money out the company for them not throwing themselves into 'mind the step' signs.
Maybe it was just my cynical thinking, or maybe I thought clearer than anybody else. I couldn't be sure. My chest heaved a huge sigh as I realized there was nothing I could be sure of these days. I'd been 78 hours with only a power nap and plenty of energy drinks to fuel me and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.
I didn't jump when a soft tap came on my door; I didn't even bother to look up. Fawkes sidled into my room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. We spent a few moments in silence, me staring at my page and Fawkes staring at me in turn. I remembered how just a few nights ago I'd snuck into his room after that god-awful nightmare we'd both had. True to my word, I hadn't slept much since then and judging by the dark shadows under his eyes, Fawkes hadn't either. But with everything piling up, one thing on top of another, I was in no mood to try and figure out why our subconscious' were suddenly in sync.
"Sam, can we talk?"
"I'm reading."
"No. You're not."
This actually caused me to look up, closing over my book without folding down the page, thus ending the pretence that Fawkes had seen right through.
"How did you know?"
"Well any other time I've seen you read, your forehead is all scrunched up and you frown as if you're confused but you're just obviously just so caught up in the story. But when I walked in your face was just... empty. Like a blank canvas. And you wouldn't read something if it made you feel nothing."
I stared at him, suddenly conscious of the fact he could probably read any emotion that flickered across my face. I fought to keep my face blank and failed, so I settled on glowering at him instead. He stared back, his own face calm.
"Look, whatever you want, can it just wait? I can't be fucked dealing with some crazy shit. Okay, we had some dreams about each other. Most normal people would just fuck and get over it. Not fucking think there's some conspiracy."
"I'd be quite happy with the first option too, you know," Fawkes quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching and betraying his suppressed smirk. I glared at him with renewed vigour, feeling the start of a blush creep along my cheeks. He'd made me out to sound like some idiot- not that I needed much help.
"Look, just get out, okay!" I snarled at him, resisting the temptation to hurl my book at his head.
"I just thought you'd want to know," Fawkes shrugged, turning and starting to leave. "Natalie's claiming that she didn't do it to herself, that she was asleep when it happened and the dream made her do it."
He parted with this last shot over his shoulder then closed the door, again with a quiet click. Somehow that echoed louder in my mind than it would have if he'd slammed it.
I sat in my room listening to the screech of ambulance sirens get closer and closer outside. My eyes were focused totally on the book page in front of me but I wasn't taking in a single piece of information. It just looked like blurry squiggles on a grey background. Fawkes had popped his head around the door to tell me that Natalie had tried to kill herself.
I didn't cry, just sat staring numbly at the book. I could hear the flurry of footsteps as the nurses and orderlies helped carry Nat out to the ambulance parked right outside my window. The blue lights were flickering outside and cast haunting shadows on my wall. I imagined all the people tucked up in bed who would see the same shadows on their own walls. I envisioned them tutting and complaining as children were roused by the alerted wail. I could see them so clearly, inconvenienced by this bright, obnoxiously loud interruption. While a girl struggled for their lives, people would think bitter thoughts as they struggled to get back to sleep. Drivers would curse as they had to pull in because they already hated driving in the dark. Drunken pedestrians stumbling out of clubs would laugh and fall back from the edge of the pavement, glad that it wasn't them lying in the back- though it so easily could.
We lived in a world where blame came so easily. No matter what happened, the blame could be pinned on somebody else. If a kid shot up his school, it couldn't be that he was just fucked up in the head, oh no. It had to be his parents or the fact he was being bullied or somebody else who'd tipped him over the edge. And if you tripped down the stairs or didn't look where you were going at work, then you could be damn sure you could milk money out the company for them not throwing themselves into 'mind the step' signs.
Maybe it was just my cynical thinking, or maybe I thought clearer than anybody else. I couldn't be sure. My chest heaved a huge sigh as I realized there was nothing I could be sure of these days. I'd been 78 hours with only a power nap and plenty of energy drinks to fuel me and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.
I didn't jump when a soft tap came on my door; I didn't even bother to look up. Fawkes sidled into my room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. We spent a few moments in silence, me staring at my page and Fawkes staring at me in turn. I remembered how just a few nights ago I'd snuck into his room after that god-awful nightmare we'd both had. True to my word, I hadn't slept much since then and judging by the dark shadows under his eyes, Fawkes hadn't either. But with everything piling up, one thing on top of another, I was in no mood to try and figure out why our subconscious' were suddenly in sync.
"Sam, can we talk?"
"I'm reading."
"No. You're not."
This actually caused me to look up, closing over my book without folding down the page, thus ending the pretence that Fawkes had seen right through.
"How did you know?"
"Well any other time I've seen you read, your forehead is all scrunched up and you frown as if you're confused but you're just obviously just so caught up in the story. But when I walked in your face was just... empty. Like a blank canvas. And you wouldn't read something if it made you feel nothing."
I stared at him, suddenly conscious of the fact he could probably read any emotion that flickered across my face. I fought to keep my face blank and failed, so I settled on glowering at him instead. He stared back, his own face calm.
"Look, whatever you want, can it just wait? I can't be fucked dealing with some crazy shit. Okay, we had some dreams about each other. Most normal people would just fuck and get over it. Not fucking think there's some conspiracy."
"I'd be quite happy with the first option too, you know," Fawkes quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching and betraying his suppressed smirk. I glared at him with renewed vigour, feeling the start of a blush creep along my cheeks. He'd made me out to sound like some idiot- not that I needed much help.
"Look, just get out, okay!" I snarled at him, resisting the temptation to hurl my book at his head.
"I just thought you'd want to know," Fawkes shrugged, turning and starting to leave. "Natalie's claiming that she didn't do it to herself, that she was asleep when it happened and the dream made her do it."
He parted with this last shot over his shoulder then closed the door, again with a quiet click. Somehow that echoed louder in my mind than it would have if he'd slammed it.