ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜰɪᴠᴇ: ʙᴀɪꜱᴇᴍᴀɪɴ

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act iii. broken clocks】

 broken clocks】

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(n.) a kiss on the hand.

♡♡♡

This must be what sleep paralysis feels like. All the feelings, none of the movement. I can feel the bullet wound in my shoulder seeping blood as I lay limp on the hard ground. I hear frantic yelling and cheering. I feel my stilts being removed, then I'm lifted onto the warm back of someone tall. The man. Safety. I can't force myself to say something, or even open my eyes.

Content with where I was, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point, hands were all over me, gripping my hands, touching my forehead. I heard people talking. I couldn't make out what they were saying. The man embraced someone who was crying. I could feel someone's arms on my back as both of them shook with sobs.

There was more running, more yelling, and more hands for what I assumed were the next few hours, maybe days. The ground shook underneath me. Curses slipped from tired lips.

My wounds ached when they were eventually cleaned and bandaged, but I couldn't feel my body thrash or struggle. My face and hands were wiped with a damp cloth. I was just so tired.

My world really went dark when I was set in a soft bed. Not a bunk, but on a thick mattress with soft sheets. My body finally relaxed, and I found myself slipping into dreamland.


‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊


"Isa..."

"Hm?" Isabella looks up at me.

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" I ask. She sits back, wrapping her hands around her knees. We're folding clothes in the laundry room. It's raining outside. Cool, blue light illuminates Isa's pale face. The soft racket of the shaking washing machine occupies the room of our exchange.

"I want to travel the world." She decides with a grin. I urge her to keep talking.

"I want to hold monkeys and parrots like the ones we see in the books. I'll swim, skydive, shop...I'll get lots of fancy clothes and jewelry." I can imagine her already.

"Where are you going to get all the money to do that?"

"Don't worry. I'll be rich." She waves away my doubt. I scoff.

"What about you? What do you want to do in the future?" She asks.

"I want to be with you." I don't miss a beat.

"That's too broad! What else?" She giggles. I think harder. Just earlier today, Isabella was twirling around, swinging her skirt with her arms, humming the tune of some song mother had played on her radio. I had watched from my spot under our tree. Leslie was lax next to me, trying to replicate the chords with his instrument.

ꜱʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ┃ɪꜱᴀʙᴇʟʟᴀWhere stories live. Discover now