" E u p h o r i a " - A TribeTwelve Fanfiction

𝓜𝓻. 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓶𝓪𝓷

"So, you're actually going to get this guy to come over? That's, absolutely insane. Sarah, you barely know the guy! Not to mention he's apparently been stalked for around a year now! No— Sarah! Listen to me, I know I sound like I'm going on another one of my tangents, but. Holy shit. Sarah, I'm concerned about your safety, honest to God. I know you've been, super open to people like 'backpackers' in the past.— Sarah, listen, please. — Alright. If you're not going to take any advice I have, I'm going to come by while he's over. There's safety in numbers. I'm sorry if I kind've slaughtered the whole vibe you had going. You're just one of my good friends. I know it sounds horrendously cliché, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew I could've prevented something from happening. I'll see you later. Oh, and yeah, chips are fine. Hit me with that funky stuff!"

A gentle spurt of laughter was released through the receiver.

"I'll see you later, Sarah. Sleep well, alright?"

With that notion, a satisfying darkness consumed Kat's feminine figure. Flip phone about to 'meet its maker' at four percent battery, she lazily pressed it across her nearby nightstand. It was a ramshackle old thing, something she had picked up from her neighbor's garage sale. Had just enough life in it to support a sleek and enchanting bronze table lamp. One of the newer things in her household. It really added to her room's overall charisma. Who wouldn't like a room with brassieres strewn embarrassingly around the shaker bureaus? Curtains of cocoa eyelashes closed lightly. She really had to fix up the place. Knick-knacks were scattered around, idle on the four rows of shelving that flanked her on each side. There were a few things she'd like to keep, such as a tidy little oil painting on a palm-sized canvas. It was of one of those redwood trees from California. The perspective of it was screwy, but she still honored it as something she proudly made. Sheepishly she bit her lip. Kat was kidding herself. Not even for a singular moment could she disguise the fact that she was miserably plagued by the thought of her artistic statements. It was a strong suit she wished to have, but with her clumsiness and lack of hand-and-eye coordination a trait she could never hope to achieve in the near future. Rubbing at her eyes and squaring her features up to her bedside companion, a digital alarm clock, she noted the time in its pulsating scarlet form.

'1:14 A.M'

Kat released a hushed hiss of a sigh, her toes curling as she stretched herself outwards. Fumbling around in the covers of her mattress, she eventually lost the idea of using them all together. Swiping the blanketing off herself haphazardly, she shimmied horizontally to a cooler section of the bed, only to readjust her pillow when necessary. Getting all hyped up on technology probably wasn't the best of ideas, especially this late at night. The young woman mentally scorned herself, curled hair being crumpled against her pillow as she once again changed positioning. Limbs sprawled across the plump comfort of the cushioning, she eagerly grabbed at her phone, hoping that the remaining four percent was enough to get her to dreamland. Soon that 'four percent' turned into one hundred once again as she bothered to grab her charger. The digital game of 'Leap Frog' filled her night, eyes fixated upon the screen. At one point, she simply just went on a purposeful repetition of death out of spite. Obviously, such an outburst got her nowhere in the means of progressing through the endless stages. Purposefully avoiding eyeing the clock's current display, she shifted gears, now looking up utterly random facts to slam onto Sarah the next day. Eventually, giving into temptation, her lithe, oceanic blue irises met with the alarm. Kat couldn't hold a yawn back no longer. An escapade that she was happy to be freed from. Smacking the bulky oval contraption back upon the table, her thoughts gradually began to be sifted through. Deciphered by her own tired mind as she checked in for the day. Her body fell limp across the piece of furniture, the creaking noise produced from her aged house forming an accompaniment with the hastened sound of bat feet skittering above her. Kat never sought out to rid of them. They never bothered her, and therefore she never bothered them. As long as they didn't manage to worm their way into the main structure meant for living, there were no health concerns presenting themselves. Another melancholic groan resonated from the frame of her lonesome windowsill. The porcelain glint of moonlight against flesh became present as her body quaked. Going back against her previous idealism, she snuggled up close to the soothing 'consolation' produced from the linens. The key pinnacle of her current warmth was granted by a wholesome crocheted blanket. It still had an odor of lavender. Something of her grandmother's, specifically. It was always a piece of sentiment that she held dear to herself. Kat didn't hold a reliable relationship with her paternal guides. Perhaps it was the constant production of sibling rivalry that drove her away through the years. Since a child she always presumed the role of the 'runt', though her terminology was loathsomely barbaric. Kat had been quite plain as a youth, having no defining physical or personable features. To this day she believed that pessimistic mentality held some of her current reasoning to stand. Dressing up in outfits that were a bit more 'quirky' than the latest styles and trends. Spiting all the girls in later grade school, she never wore an ounce of concealer or lip gloss, not even a dollop of mascara to bring out some of her 'key features'. Instead she had fallen for the tomboyish charms of the 'newsboy' caps of old, along with several other vintage oddities. From jackets littered in bottle tops, to boots made with a few 'spikes' here and there, she was definitely an indecisive being. Kat's diversity was something she prided herself with. Though she was a grown adult, at times she chose to act like a tyrant of a child. Sticking out her tongue was a habit she had yet to rid herself of. The vast majority of the time she was simply pulling a chum's leg, so either way she assumed it didn't matter too greatly. More and more of these daily thoughts and worries were sifted away faster than a miner moving dirt. Soon enough, it all seemed to disappear. A mind embarking on a more subconscious journey was present. Subtly the sounds of her satisfied slumber resonated placidly across the
atmosphere.

It was peaceful.

The sounds of innocence in repetition was enticing. Nonetheless, the cycle was not to be tampered with. A cycle was precisely represented by a circle. Untainted, and unchanged throughout eternity. Overlooked by those within it, yet noticed by the outsiders coming into contact. A predator lingered in the darkness, confiding within the patterned appearance of shadows. Concealment was in low demand, the possibilities of its origin bountiful. The lips of a vessel peeled backwards, a lowly growl brought forth in a philosophical mind. Death had become an inevitable point of plot in the tale. As the eyes of an eldritch deviant landed across the slumbering silhouette, thoughts crossed its mind. How many times has the single pawn been noted taken, yet one been seen as irrelevant? Unbeknownst every damned time this process continued, as though it was a simplistic casualty having to been made. It all played together in the end. The lack of one's piece caused a hand to be forced. The figure forced itself to lose interest, deeming its time and energy being wasted. Every second gone by decreased the likelihood of the spoils of this endless transgression being considered 'useful'. Each time she felt like another snag in the process. A snag he was gradually spending more and more time on ignoring than solving. It was becoming apparent that Kat was indeed a variable of importance. Her very existence made her seem as though she was an entity outside of the repetition. Something that should be taken away from the equation as it was running, to be moved. Not removed, but, moved. That was the only way to 'solve' this procedure. Every time her personality changed. It was hard to pick up on. Something about her was different. Perhaps the lack of her involvement in their 'system' was what made her the least predictable. Unlike the rest, her 'predecessors' never were able to learn from making mistakes, for there were no true 'mistakes' to be learnt from. She was always seem as a lamb to be soon slaughtered as a 'sacrifice' to moving things onwards. The unspoken 'protocol' always required it. A set of rules they were not taught, but expected to follow. Years of recycling through the same thing, yet always ejecting from this abyssal plain with the same corresponding information. They were being bested by a mortal and a demigod. The odds were for them in every space. Changes would have to be made.

Tomorrow the lamb would have to be well-rested.