When the Earth Tilts

XIX

I woke up with adrenaline pumping through my veins. I jumped up, dusting myself off. I had the same nightmare I always had. The one with the alternate me, who probably wasn't alternate any more.

The words 'Wake up' were still ringing in the shells of my ears by the time I woke up, leaping and holding back all my hollers.

I spun around blindly, examining my foreign surroundings. Where the hell was I?

Green was blanketing my irises, I could see nothing more, besides the odd splotches of brown riddled into the scenery.

I closed my eyes, rubbing them. I needed to remember what happened.

The boy from the other dream still bounces behind my eyes,  shaking with unspoken future. I remember running, fear and energy battling in my gut, tripping over roots and throwing rocks at... Candace.

I was trying to kill my twin sister, but it wasn't my twin sister. It was my twin sister, I remembered the taste of a memory, before her green irises faded to that sickening amber, forever haunting.

I remembered the zombie running back, just as dead, but with liveness sparking, into the wilderness.

She's still out there.

I wanted to wail, I wanted to drop to my knees. I wanted to spin around and collapse.

I wanted to give up.

Candace is not dead. Candace is not alive. Candace is stuck in a sick purgatory in which I wasn't ballsy enough to free her from.

Candace is being tortured in her undead shell because I was a coward.

The yearning to give up twisted in my stomach, thickening.

No.

I pushed the thoughts of collapsing away, down, down, down.

Down into the pits of the heels of my feet, away.

Down out into the air, away.

Into the stratosphere, away.

I would not give up. I would fight until my muscles turned into dust, floating in te wind without a purpose, but with the memories of being used up to extent.

I will beat this. I will find my parents, I will find dream-boy. I will have answers. I will find that distant thing that's forever at the end of the tunnel, that thing that you can smell when you're near a bakery, but you never come close enough to see it's silhouette, it's portrait. You'll never be able to see it, until you see it. And when you see it, everything is solved. Nothing hurts.

It's happiness.

I'm going to find it, if it's the last thing I do.

____

A warm Woof! startles me out of my thoughts.

I whip my head around, meeting the sapphire optics of an Australian border collie.

I take a step back, raising my hands. I wasn't sure if it was mean, or if it had rabies. Not that I couldn't take a dog, but I was still cautious.

I tested the dog with a few steps forward, but the dog didn't lunge or growl. It just cocked it's head, as if waiting for me to throw a stick or something.

I lean back, mirroring the dog's cocked head.

The dog huffs impatiently, nodding towards a blue and white tied rope near my foot.

I almost smile at the dog. Almost.

I lean down, scooping up the toy, and limply toss it behind me. The dog races away, giving me time to inspect this temporary haven.

I skirt a few trees, not finding anything useful besides scattered roots and a rotting apple core.

I sigh, putting my hands on my hips, glaring at the place in general.

I'm obviously in a backyard of sorts, the grassy area I'm in trails a one-story navy blue house. Pretty sufficient-looking, especially considering that we've been been through a blender cycle three or four times.

Wait-- how many tilts have there been? Have I already lost count? Are the tilts regular now?

This shouldn't come as a surprise to me. I have said repeatedly that the tilts are my life, but I guess it never really sunk in.

I sighed, fighting down any sort of emotion. This isn't a bad thing, I can't be a fish out of water. I have to face the facts. I'm not living that simple life any more. I can't focus on thriving. I have to focus on surviving and I have to focus on setting goals to go back to thriving.

The life I once lived can't be any more than dreams or goals now. That is my life.

I shake my head, I shouldn't be throwing a pity party for myself right now. I can't throw any more pity parties. Whining isn't going to coax my old life back to me. I have to act, I can't ponder about my actions of the past.

I have to start this now.

I look at the house, I know since there is a dog in the backyard that this house is occupied.

Unless the owner was eaten-- but in that case so would the dog.

I could't waste my life thinking about the owner's fate, for I knew that I wouldn't be taking any chances either way.

My eyes caught a glint behind the navy blue corner of the home. My arms went slack; I went over to get a closer look.

I was careful to run behind trees when I passed the glass doors, just in case the owner happened to take a sneak peek and wasn't too pleased with seeing a trespasser.

I carefully snuck around the house, finding a vast axe, gleaming in the sunlight.

My jaw dropped, I had never seen something so beautiful in my life.

I sighed, casting my hand along the huge silver blade. It was styled different than a normal axe, more like one you'd see on a medieval television show.

I picked it up, testing its weight. It was designed perfectly to my fitting. It weighed just the right amount that my muscles could carry it and swing it perfectly, causing some serious damage. I tested flexing with it, testing my biceps and seeing the ways that they would flow smoothly, like a river current.

It was perfect.

It was surreal.

It was almost impossible that an axe could fit so perfectly to my every wish, unless I had it custom made, but this was my first time laying eyes on it.

It was perfection. Too perfect.

A migraine began to ebb through my eyes. I blinked, studying the axe, it was ghastly familiar.

It was from my nightmare.

The nightmare I had every night, the one I practically had memorized.

It was the same shape, it had the same blend of colors. "Bow Tie" Was even engraved on the side.

This was impossible. This was something out of fiction.

I traced the letters, the hooks on the B.

I fight off another urge to collapse, this is too strange. Everything has spiraled everywhere.

I bit it all back down, into the cavernous pit of my unwanted feelings. Things are strange, it is finally sinking in.

Everything's strange.

A sick, twisted part of me, is loving every second of it.