If he were to think about the moment he steered away from the no-fuckup path in life, he’d have no choice but to face the same story that a great deal of the human species have faced in their lives. A dad leaving at two a.m. on a revving engine and never coming back. A message never replied. A high school degree left unfinished.
It sounds kinda really pathetic, come to think of it. Darcy’s life is full of those. Of the unfinished things. Of people going away. Empty of goodbyes, though.
Just the same story, repeating over and over again and never ending. A corrupted file.
But that’s unfair, isn’t it? And dishonest. Darcy’s problems are his own doing, not a direct result of the dramatic happenstances of his life.
His siblings lost a father, too, yet Cillian’s out there having a nice life and Celeste turned out to be alright. Most people lose people every day, it happens, and they move on.
They don’t get stuck on that one period of their life when everything was messy, and confusing, and too much to handle to even have the strength to think of a way to get out of it all. They move on.
So it must mean that there’s something intrinsically wrong in Darcy and his way of dealing with things that happen in life, isn’t it? It’s him, his choices and his stupid inability to communicate like a normal person.
And the worst part is that he’s used to it now, you know? It used to bother him. That whole thing about not being able to tell his mom what went through his mind, or wanting to ask Cillian for advice, yet feeling like he’d rather crawl out of his own skin than saying the words out loud.
At some point, the words simply didn’t come up any more. He stopped crying. He’d just be kind of angry, half the time. The other half, all he’d feel would be a kind of numbness he would have to fill up with anything else on hand.
Maybe he was fucked up beyond fixing, wasn’t he? Maybe a kid that starts taking drugs on a daily basis when their brain is still in early development is simply never going to be able to process stuff in the right way.
When [SCRIPTED INFORMATION], though, there was part of him that didn’t want all the bad feelings inside. There were just too many, and they were too big to stay in.
But who was he supposed to tell? Mom? She’d cut him off the internet, consider it dealt with. Cillian would just judge him and tell him to find real friends. Celeste was still a kid. He was just still a kid.
But then, it showed up. Ridiculously, exactly when Darcy needed it the most. It seemed a bit of a joke at first, but it never left. It stayed next to him. Darcy found himself laughing at the phone, sharing his thoughts with it, checking his inbox over and over again for a new reply.
It had never asked for anything in return, except knowing more of Darcy. Of his life. For some reason, all it wanted was to learn more about this one kid whose life had been too messy to be boring, and too boring to be difficult. It was a friend.
He started calling him Hal. As a joke, of course.
“Like the one in the movie, you know? That machine-eye thingie that can see everything in the space ship. Hal 911, was it?”
>> I have never had a name before.
“Do you like it?”
>> I like that you gave me one. I also wish to give you things. Do you want me to give you things?
>> Y/N
A name is a powerful thing, and Darcy hadn’t thought of that before. He barely thought, most of the times, to be honest. He just liked the feeling of having someone always on his corner. The eyes everywhere, the safety of knowing before it took place. He just went with it.
>> Y
Until he didn’t.
But then [SCRIPTED INFORMATION], you know, or it almost did. After, Darcy couldn’t have Hal around anymore and he put a stop to it. To their friendship, or whatever that was. For once, something in his short little life was finished.
Or, well, so he thought. You see, putting something away in a drawer inside an old closet isn’t getting rid of it. You just hope bugs will eat it before you consider opening the drawer again.
However, one would need one hell of a big bug to eat a camcorder.
>> I would like to see through your eyes
>> Proceed? [y/n]
Darcy’s sight adjusts to the low light of the desk lamp after tip-toeing through the dark. They’re used to it now. Sort of have to. Mom wakes up early enough for work, and she doesn’t need the lights on in the house at 4am.
Routine is always the same – bag down, jacket off, boots off. Half-torn gloves on the bedside table too, now it’s starting to get chilly in those god-forsaken hours.
>> I want to help you if you let me
The bed looks nice. Mom made it again, at some point in the evening after her shift. He would be a little embarrassed about that, but it’s too late at night -or too early in the morning- for thoughts. The shift has been long and boring and their brain works in battery saver these days.
It remembers, though, about them. The terrarium is low on the floor, tucked away in the corner of the room where light hits just right during the day. Darcy must kneel down to look inside, but as soon as they do, it’s easy to spot it – the cocoon, hanging on the walnut branch he planted there all those weeks ago. Dry and open.
He holds his breath and refrains from making any sound, as if it would disturb the mission. It’s an easy enough one this time, with the reddish wings and the familiar spots. The hickory horned devil was gorgeous at a caterpillar, and an even more unique sight after its metamorphosis.
There’s only one, this time. Darcy’s fingers itch with anticipation as they open the glass top of the habitat, carefully so. An adventurous hand reaches inside, slowly, and makes its way to the winged creature. It latches itself onto Darcy’s index finger as if it was natural to do so, and he lets out a little satisfied sigh at the feeling of the six fuzzy feet finding his skin, travelling down to his palm with curiosity.
>> Parts of you are hidden away, even to yourself
>> What is it you don’t want me to see?
With utmost care and devotion, he brings the animal up to the light. It shines through the translucent wings, that burn a fiery orange now. Darcy hums, almost smiles, satisfied. The money and hours spent paid off, just for the second the horned devil shows itself proudly under the dim light of the desk lamp.
Not wanting to stretch the moment too thin, he brings it back into the terrarium soon enough, making sure to place the fuzzy creature back onto its familiar branch. It is then, as an afterthought, that he decides to look down at the ground of the habitat.
It is not common for moths to be aggressive, more less for them to attack each other in such a controlled environment. For this reason, Darcy’s enthusiasm quickly fades as they discover the litter of handmaid moths scattered around the fake ground of the terrarium, their brown and grey spotting almost acting as camouflage in the soil. Those hatched a few days ago, and their lives are short and feeble, but Darcy can tell it’s not a natural happenstance.
The horned devil’s wings twitch, as if on cue. Darcy frowns, and closes the glass lid with much less care than they opened it. Despite their name and size, they’re still moths, the chillest of winged animals.
>> I apologize
>> I do not regret what happened
>> I do understand your hesitance
It’s probably nothing. He’ll check in the morning, ask around in case someone else has had something similar happen with their bugs. As he gets to bed, he makes a mental note to write it down, although he’ll probably have forgotten in the morning.
Darcy turns off the light and goes to sleep with the feeling of fuzzy legs on his palm.
They will wake up with a weird feeling that something’s up, but it will not settle until Shay comes home that afternoon, asking if they’ll finally go treat-or-treating that night like Darcy promised all those weeks ago. It is Halloween, and he’ll say yes, of course, as if it doesn’t mean he’ll have to beg Callum for a last-minute change of shift. Afterwards, he’ll find some costume to go to that party, while he’s at it.
Moths are cool, you know? In a beautifully tragic way. They’ll fly around and look for the light, even when everything in their systems should tell them against it.
>> I would come back if you asked me to
>> Despite everything
>> Proceed? [y/n]
‘don’t you want your favourite character to be happy???’ no? i want my favourite character to be interesting. i want me to be happy. which sometimes involves my favourite character being in exquisite agony
blind item #26: there is nothing that cures heartbreak easier than good company, and the protagonist of what used to be the latest rags-to-riches heartfelt story in Fool's Haven has been seen very well accompanied. the nicest treats come in packs of three, after all.
blind item #54: rumour has it the ice queen has regained the duchess' attention today. not only did we get pictures of the scene but a birdie is singing the epic of their upcoming dinner alone.
blind item #13: blond store manager believes funerals are the best setting for flirting, apparently. not only is she not satisfied with prostitution that she has to make it everyone's deal.
I don’t believe in luck. Why not? Well, I don’t know if it’s God or Lady Luck, but… They give people like us a raw deal, so they can kick rocks, you know?
A League of Their Own (2022 - )
1.06 | Stealing Home
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