it's only a vision. one that lays in the puddles of water lined memories. he sits under the padded shelter of silence. radio in hand. ( HAS IT BEEN TURNED OFF SINCE YOUR DEPARTURE ? ) fingers play delicately — station meant for emergencies only. dustin sits in the back of mind, what the hell was he doing anyways ? “ its day 353. el, i miss you. i - ” static was a careless fool. tears begin to prick, emotion stings on the cheeks of a boy. head shakes, antenna jammed down quicker than expected. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID ! f
IT DOES NOT ARRIVE AS A SOUND , for that would be merciful. it arrives as pressure, a bruise blooming flat behind the eyes, low & wet gravity tugging at the hinge of her skull where hopper's rules have been nailed and labeled STAY. something within tilts .. NO. NO, NO, NO. head shakes before language is permitted, before her thoughts are sanctioned, a reflexive motion of a small animal refusing a trap it'd already smelt was closing.
she sits with her back against the side of the bed, fingers clawing the edge of the quilt, the thin cotton giving like skin. jane's eyes squeeze shut-ward and the dark ignites. PHOSPHENES, CONSTELLATIONS, AFTERIMAGES : ⁽ ... ⁾ and behind all of them, him. mike reaches for her. day 353 .. the shelter, the hunched architecture of a boy making himself smaller than his grief, the antenna slammed with metal biting metal, a sharp and ugly sound that ricochets through her sternum like a snapped bone. AND THEN ANOTHER .. mike is crying. the wet hitch, the aborted inhale, threads through like barbed wire pulled backward. her mouth opens, the static hisses. hopper isn't here. he is working. maybe she could just .. “ ... m ” does not make it past the teeth, it dies within the throat, BECAUSE IT IS FORBIDDEN FRUIT. but the static notices. eyes flick wild behind the lids, left and right and left ! searching for purpose in the static-dark, hunting the thin filament, her hands twitch, fingers curl and uncurl, rehearsing a reach. AND SHE PRESSES: if even a little, hopper's voice layered into the grain of the wall. it is no longer a metaphorical void, this static holds a corporeal form she could almost touch, this place where the world thins to tissue. the bedroom lights of the cabin flicker daintily overhead, once and twice, the air smells briefly of metal. her heart slams so violently against her chest, she is sure it will give her away, where she is curled tight against herself here on the floorboard. a trail of blood tips from her nostril. AND IN THE DARK , where the rules go blind and the world cannot see what it is she keeps close to her heart, eleven presses her forehead to the floorboard and speaks far into the static, speaks to him. “ ... mike. ”