shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o13

vance

I make a note of how she avoids the word imperfection. I make a note of the way she addresses the citizens- like friends, although they know better; rulers are not the friends of the people they rule over. However, in the great state that is Tetrahmon, the people are equal. 

All-in-all, I make good, solid notes- and I jot down the reasons as to why Malcolm has done certain things in her speech. I will need them later, to prove my loyalty and my capability as a member of the inner council. Once again, she has reminded me- she has reminded us- that the glory of Tetrahmon is immortal.

A pang of unwelcome sadness hits me as she mentions the murders, but I'm glad that she avoids their names- the memory of Parrish is still too raw, and if he's pointed out too often, I fear that I may not be able to cover the loss of a friend- of an acquaintance- all too well.

The five of us sitting in this room do not join Jonathan and the public in their praise for the President, but we think it. We must all pledge our service to the President of Tetrahmon. It is, of course, of great importance that we do so. 

Long live President Malcolm. Long live Tetrahmon. Long live the President. 

I can't think of it as a victory cheer anymore- instead, it feels monotonous in my head, as though I've practiced repeating the pledge every single morning to my double-reflection in the glass windows of my apartment.

After shutting my screen off, I place the chip into a careful corner of my briefcase and watch as the Square empties itself, a wave of grey dissipating before my very eyes. Only once the people have left do we too, stand, and then depart.

My hands shake as I pick up my briefcase.

I bid Adamík goodbye and begin to make my way home as soon as possible. I take the wrong turn twice on the way there. I don't know what's the matter with me- just moments before leaving, I was doing just fine. It terrifies me, I think as I tap my thumb nervously on the steering wheel. Two wrong turns- impossible. I should not- I am not supposed to make mistakes. Not like that, not like anything. It feels as through something black- some monster- is crawling its way into me, into my mind, and the accusatory, ghost-like fingers of my past are replaced with the knives of reality- of what I am, now. I'm not supposed to be like this. I don't understand it.

I detest it.

My thoughts wander back to Parrish. Is this grief? I wonder. Impossible, another voice tells me. I have felt it before. I have felt it all before, I remember. God, I should go to the Medical Bureau- but I don't trust the doctors as much as they'd like me to. I do not trust them as much as I should.

***

Relief is the only thing I feel as I step into my apartment. Hurriedly, I go to the bathroom, shedding my coat on the way, I wash my face- there. Better. I struggle to take in deep breaths as I try to calm down- I wish I could see my eyes, right now, see the emotion in those usually tranquil blue irises. Perhaps they would serve be a purpose other than simply seeing- allow me to determine what it is, exactly, that I'm feeling right now. My hands curve over the edges of the sink as I grip it, the cold seeping into my fingers, spreading over my palms. Something tells me that I do not grieve enough for- that I do not miss Parrish enough, that I'm not doing him justice by just standing here, trying to deal with the void that threatens me in a loss of everything, that I'm not sparing him enough time because I'm too busy dealing with my own, ridiculous, emotional problems. I'm not giving him what he deserves.

It feels as though I've betrayed him - but who am I to care? He was just a soldier. Their soldier.

Then again, so am I.

Work. I need work. In my state of panic, I need a distraction, something more important to do, and work is what will bring me solace. Brushing my hair back from my forehead with my fingers, I take a few more calming breaths and straighten up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, I think aggressively to the monster in my head.

My fault. My fault. Except it isn't, and I should know that. But he'd been close- but they'd been close, and that had been my fault. 

Julie... and Keira, oh Keira, and how she used to call me Andy...

 I vaguely remember the taste of alcohol, but I can barely remember that cloud of high accompanying the blissful state of the drunkard when nothing in the wold mattered to me more than downing the next pint of Guinness. I don't know how I remember this- it's disastrous. Alcohol is corruption- that is why it no longer holds a place in this world.

It caused too much catastrophe in the ancient world.

I should sleep, I think, wash all this from my mind - I would content myself with a machine that could rid me from my stress, my grief, my anger- rid me of all my emotions so I wouldn't have to deal with this all, turn me into a pristine, logical human being.

I run a hand through my hair and let out a long sigh. "You ought to go to the Medical Bureau, Vance," I mutter to myself. "Before you start developing more serious things." As if saying it out loud would make me go there. Talking to myself helps relieve some of the confusion in my mind - it makes me feel as though I weren't alone. "More serious things," I continue, "such as dreams." The word tumbles from my mouth in a mechanical whisper.

Dreams.

They are the epitome of what can never be, these twisted fantasies, tricks, of the mind. They distract the individual and disrupt their sleeping schedule. I am terrified of seeing colours in my sleep - because if I do, then I know I'm in critical condition; I'd temporarily lose my job, my home whilst I was taken care of in the sickly-smelling Medical Bureau, where they'd send me to a healing facility to make me recover.

I'm quite sure the old me who lived with a nice family in a nice apartment wouldn't have been quite so afraid of dreams. But that was the ancient me, the old me, that had been part of an ancient, savage culture. He hadn't been educated by the state.

I emerged from my diplomatic, Tetrahmonic education a fresh and better man, educated in the ideals of the state - as to what is right and wrong, what is good and bad. The unknown beyond the Wall is an evil so great that only our true soldiers dare venture there. We are safe inside the Wall. This city is the Safe Haven.Tonight I shall go to bed and think about how much I owe the state.

Long live President Malcolm. 

Long live Tetrahmon. 

 Long live perfection. 

a/n: hello, my lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed the chapter~ don't forget to post your thoughts in the comments below, and please vote if you liked it!

Also, tell me what you think of the graphic I made for Vance up there!

p.s: if any of you need a cover, etc., I have a graphics thread whose link can be found on my profile.

See you next week with another chapter, and thanks again for the support!

Sarah xx