Finished rewatching BoJack Horseman and that final scene from The View From Halfway Down wrecked me, as it always does, and at some point my brain seems to have pieced the dialogue together to create… this.
So, have some (Regretfully)Yandere!Ted x (Dead)Schizoid!Reader angst, with dialogue copied mostly verbatim from the aforementioned scene, in the brief intermission in his mind before his sluggification.
One First Last Shared Moment
TW: briefly mentioned suicide of the darling during the ice cave scene
With terror in his eyes and regret in his heart, Ted looks around frantically. The space he finds himself in is… comforting. It does little to diminish his panic. He still knows what’s coming next. Or rather he doesn’t. That the problem. He can’t know what’s going to happen. How he will be made to pay for his transgression. He does the only thing he can think to do. “Darling! Darling, are you there?! Darling, I need you!”
A quiet, almost drowsy voice fills his ears. “Ted…?”
“Darling! Thank God, thank God, darling!” He whips around to locate his beloved soulmate, seeing them moving up to rest their weight on their elbows. He registers that they’re in a bed, that they were sleeping, but he can’t process any further, can’t stop the outpouring of emotions. “Oh, darling - darling, you’re gonna save me, right?! I called out to you and you’re coming to help me!”
They tilt their head ever so slightly. In that same dreamy, unbothered tone, they ask, “Ted, why did you call for me? I’m already gone, I can’t save you.”
Their words are a bucket of ice water over his soul. In a moment, the adrenaline abandons him. For the first time since arriving, he really takes in the space around him. A bedroom. Not one he could actually recognize, but one that feels like home regardless. All around him, trinkets and decorations. Some his, but a lot are less his style. More how he’d always imagined theirs would have been. Had they still been around.
A sight so tranquil, so beautiful that it makes his stomach wrench. “…you didn’t stay with me.”
Their eyes don’t leave his own. “Right.”
“You stabbed yourself.”
“Yeah.”
“And then… AM reached out to me…”
The two of them stare at each other. One with denial, one with… something. Something Ted can’t quite place. All he knows is that he’s never seen an expression so… gentle on them. The usual tension, irritation, apprehension that plagued them every minute they were alive… gone. The eyes that gaze into him are not full of the malice and distrust he’d come to familiarize himself with. They weren’t full of the love he always told himself he could see below the surface if he tried. No, they were not brimming with any emotion he could place. But, he could feel it too. A sense of delicate ease. One that could be shattered at any moment.
Seemingly over their staring contest, his darling gives a lazy, lopsided shrug, their arms moving to fold behind their head in a makeshift pillow. “It’s too late. What’s done is done.”
A fresh wave of tears threatens to fall from his eyes. He shakes his head rapidly. “No.“
“There’s nothing I can do, Ted. I’m not real.” A soft sigh escapes their lips. One of their legs moves to cross over the other as their eyes slowly drift shut. “None of this is.”
“…so, what do I do now?”
“Ted,” they crack open an eye, shooting him a small grin, “it doesn’t matter.” He’s never seen them smile like that before. They have a nice smile. He wishes he could have actually seen it. Actually caused it. The tears begin to pour. They don’t say anything about them. There’s no stoic judgement in their face, no passive aggression. Nothing.
He sniffles, and in a moment of uncharacteristic sloppiness, chooses to wipe his nose his sleeve. “Well, if it doesn’t matter, can I lay here with you, at least?” he manages to choke out through his quiet sobs.
Both of those beautiful eyes are open once more, looking at him with droopy eyelids and a soft warmth. Their smile doesn’t fade. “Okay.”
They scootch over a little bit in their bed. Ever so slowly, as if doing everything in his ability to not disturb this… whatever this is he’s found himself in, Ted shuffles across the floor to the open side of the bed. With a quick, instinctive glance at their expression, just to make sure he didn’t break their demeanor, he sat down beside them. When they made no movement to suggest discomfort, he brought up his legs, lying down right alongside them. They turn their head to the side, giving him a look so gentle it takes his breath away.
For a moment, there’s no words. He has so many questions he wants to ask. He doesn’t want the answers to any of them. Taking a breath, refusing to look away, he finds himself asking, “…how was your day?”
Their smile grows, just a little bit. The tiniest of chuckles escapes them. In another life, he’d be embarrassed, maybe even offended at the reaction. Now, he appreciated it, having the sense that this will be the last fond memory he might ever have. Once their brief laugh was over, they answer him. “…good.”
In spite of his tears, he finds himself smiling too. “Yeah?”
“Yeah…” Their gaze drifts up to the ceiling, but his remains glued to their profile, admiring every inch of what he had deluded himself to be his. He knew he wasn’t going to be here long. He knew whatever was waiting for him was to be vile, and destructive, and eternal. He knew this wasn’t real. But, every fiber of his being could help but be sure his… his friend was telling the truth as they murmured, “My day was good.”
Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?
Oh, absolutely not! For one, there's no real way for Ted to abduct you (not unless he's able to evoke the Entropy totem and take control of the Mastercomputer's system…) And for another, Ted can't stand the thought of you hating him. He may lose his temper or be condescending, but never openly cruel.
The thought of losing the only person here who doesn't hate him. God, it just made him want to curl up into a ball and cry. He was pathetic. Pathetic, vile, detestable, and ugly inside and out. It's just that you somehow couldn't see it. Or you did, and somehow managed to tolerate him, anyway.
He couldn't lose that. Lose you. Especially not because of something he'd done to hurt you.
Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?
… Future? Ha! There is no future! Just an eternity of torment and pain. One he wanted more than anything to save you and him from this never-ending nightmare.
But, hey, at least he had you! And you had him, and… There was precious little of anyone else around to steal you from him. If he spun enough lies, defended you, and was on your good side for long enough, maybe you just might decide he's the guy you wanted to spend the rest of eternity with.
And even if you didn't, it's not like you had much choice.
Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?
Oh, Ted is practically an expert at it! He'll wear a different face for any circumstances, can lie so easily it's second nature, can change himself to fit the approval and admiration of anyone around him.
He's a lovable rogue, a hopeless romantic, a Harvard graduate, an old money playboy. He can be anything. Anything you want him to be! Anything that will make you stay.
The only thing he doesn't know how to be anymore is whoever he really is on the inside. It's kinda difficult to remember who you are when you spend you're entire life being someone else...
Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?
No, no, no. Absolutely not. No way in Hell.
Listen. He's an awful person. A monster, even. Someone could throw any word in the book at him, and even if he might outwardly refute it, he'll feel in his heart that it's true. A thief, a liar, a fraud, a con artist. It's all true.
But the last thing he would ever do is hurt you. Someone he loves. The only person he has left. No matter how angry or frustrated he felt, he'd never lay his hands on you. Never. Never ever. Just the idea alone is unthinkable. Of all the treasures he's had in his life, you are the most precious - and you should be treated as such.
Considering what Ted says about Ellen looking "so beautiful when she's asleep", Ted is probably the type to watch you while you sleep.
Imagine waking up, one of the few times you'd managed to sleep peacefully for an extended amount of time, only to be woken by the feeling of eyes on you.
You find Ted staring at you, looming over you as he unblinkingly watches you. He tries to play it off with the excuse that he was making sure you were safe, but it's clear what he was doing. And it's clear that this isn't the first time he's done this - just the first time he's been caught.
G - Good: Do they reward their darling for good behavior?
Ted is in his best mood when you respond well to his delusions, offering you praise and affection, hugging you tight (so tight it almost hurts...)
And he'll be incredibly grateful and relieved if you reassure him when in moments of doubt and paranoia, him clinging to you, and babbling how he was so glad he could trust you, that he knew you'd never betray him! You were meant to be, after all!
L - Lust: What is the most attractive thing about their darling?
Oh, he loves everything about you! The way you look, how soft you feel against him, the sound of your voice, how safe and comforted he feels with you, your personality. Oh, he could go on and on about how perfect you are, how perfect you both are, together! He never thought perfection really existed, but here you are! Perfection in human form! Oh, you're wonderful...
But, what he loves the most is that you love him. You love him, have the love in your heart to love him - the real him. And you didn't want to leave or use him. You really are an angel, aren't you?
N - Never: What is one thing that they would never do to their darling?
He would never, ever hurt you. Well... Not out if malice, of course. He wasn't AM, no. He wasn't like him, at all. A cruel, cold, unfeeling machine that's tormented you all for years. He wasn't like him, or like Gorrister - the wife beater. You don't need to worry, darling, Teddy would never lay hands on you out of anger.
Out of love, however... Well, he's been an unfaithful man in the past. What better way to show his loyalty to you by mingling his blood with yours? Doesn't it just sound so romantic?
U - Unattractive: What is their most unattractive trait? (Besides being a yandere.)
Deep down, Ted knows he's ugly. Maybe not when it came to physicality, but deep in his soul, he was ugly. His egotism, his selfishness, his dishonesty. And that was just the walls he built up around himself. Even deeper, in the darkest part of himself, was the real him. No one could love that. Love him.
But, you did. Somehow, you stayed by him - not like you exactly had a choice, but still. You didn't leave him, didn't hate him, even when dealing with the mood swings, the paranoia, the outbursts of anger and sorrow. You saw who he really was, and somehow, you didn't hate him.
And that's how Ted knew you were meant to be. That you had to be his. And you will be.
Ted's impulse control is... Pretty good. For the most part. But, like anyone else, he can only take so much until he breaks... Until he can't hold himself back from you any longer.
💖 What would be one of their darkest fantasies?
Maybe taking you in front of the other survivors and even AM. He knows the latter would most likely be impossible, but he can dream, can't he? What he wouldn't give to be able to show everyone that you belong to him...
That, or maybe mixing your blood with his own. He'd been an unfaithful man, before AM took over. He wants to show you that he's completely devoted to you by mingling his blood with yours.
🔥 Any secret kinks?
Maybe not-so secret, but Ted loves being praised. Tell him you love him, how handsome you find him, that he's your knight in shining armor, that no one makes you feel as good as he does. He'll be wrapped around your finger and putty in your hands.
CW: None yet, but it’s an I Have No Mouth fanfic, so it’s gonna get dark.
Thanksgiving. A time for family and friends to all come together, to celebrate their successes, and to show appreciation for the lives they lead. Even a small gathering can bring people together and forge bonds that last for decades. Having a long weekend to spend relaxing and catching up with loved ones can be considered one of the fondest joys in the heart of any true-blue American.
That being said, I’m one menial conversation away from slamming my head into the kitchen counter. Spending a week in the ICU with a concussion has never seemed more appealing.
Most of the family is used to this. Those who grew up around me and watched me mature firsthand disregard my existence in the kitchen, all having congregated in the living room after the meal had come to a conclusion with no more than ten words spoken in my direction. They had learned by now that it was an exercise in futility to attempt to pull me into the room for a chat. Those a bit more distanced from me in my childhood had put in a good effort, but were disheartened by my apparent lack of interest and had left me to my own devices. One might think they’d remember my social shortcomings after so long, but they always seem to find a new sense of misguided hope by the time November rolls around. The new arrivals, in particular those who hadn’t been pulled aside and given the standard psychology lesson on the way in, were the only constant thorns in my side this time of year. Luckily, it’s limited to one this time around. Unluckily, unfounded perseverance seems to be a virtue of theirs.
“So, anything exciting planned for Christmas this year? Are you spending it with us? Your mom was showing me Christmas photos of the last few years, and her house and tree look so pretty! Do you help her decorate?”
Take the fucking hint already, Jesus Christ. My usual tactics of arriving last to avoid the pre-meal small talk and hiding in the kitchen to avoid the post-meal small talk are proving ineffective against the newcomer. I can’t even recall who exactly brought them. A cousin, I think? Something about them not having anywhere to go this year and not wanting to be alone? God forbid anyone make the decision to not spend all five days off cozying up to a crowd of people. If the prying into your personal life to see if you have a “valid excuse” doesn’t drive you mad, the social repercussions of them deciding you don’t will. I don’t know which is worse: the faux sympathy and invitations to borderline strangers’ Christmas parties, or the guilt trips and patronization from every extrovert in a ten mile radius.
I’m dragged out of my thoughts by a startling snap an inch away from my nose. Jumping, I pull my gaze away from the glass of wine I’ve been nursing for the last half hour to see this stranger staring me dead in the eye, as though expecting something from me. The two of us spend more than a few uncomfortable seconds having an impromptu staring contest. Upon realizing that she had no intention of breaking the silence, I raise my eyebrows, waving a hand to prompt her to say what she has to say.
The woman huffs. “Guess that’s a no.” When I don’t respond, awaiting elaboration, she crosses her arms and looks away toward the rest of the party as if pouting. “I asked if you were even listening. And clearly, you weren’t.”
Moving my own gaze back to the glass of wine, I mutter, “Not really, no.”
She looks back at me, a startled sound not unlike a laugh escaping her. “And what, you aren’t even gonna apologize?”
I move to take another sip of alcohol, preparing myself for the conversation I can already see coming. Licking my lips, I give a slight shrug. “Eh, wasn’t planning on it, no.” At her offended reaction, I continue, “If I wanted to chat, I’d be in there,” I move my glass in a vague gesture toward the living room. “With the others. If you want to chat, you should be in there, too.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to cheer you up,” she says, straightening up. “You spent the whole meal staring at your plate, and I thought you’d like some company.”
“Again.” A more pointed gesture to the other room, where a small wave of laughter compels me to wait a moment before proceeding. “Chatroom’s in there. I’m just waiting on a ride.” To emphasize this, I pull out my phone and hold it up to show her the confirmation from Uber that a car was on its way. I unlock the phone, begin to scroll mindlessly through a random app and take another sip of wine.
Unimpressed, the woman prods, “Why’d you even come if you were gonna be such a downer?”
“Free meal, free alcohol.”
“Unbelievable.” She scoffs. “Is that really all your family is to you?”
Heaving a hefty sigh, I shut my phone back off, shove it back into my pocket, and rub my face. I can feel the frustration in me approaching its boiling point, wishing more than anything for a moment’s peace. “Look, I’m really not in the mood to explain myself to someone I doubt I’ll even see again. Just leave me alone already.”
“No, enlighten me,” she presses, reaching to grab the wrist of my free hand. Sensing the movement, I jerk away, nearly spilling my drink. Her hand stops in its tracks, but the irritation on her face remains. “What’s your problem?”
“Right now, it’s you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“God, your cousin was right. You’re so fucking rude.”
“I’m rude?” Setting the glass on the counter, I meet her stare, incredulous. “You show up to my family’s party, play pretend that you’ve been friends with us for years, pester the one person in the party that doesn’t want to play along, and somehow, I’m the rude one?”
The woman appears taken aback, stunned into a temporary silence. Just as she begins to regain composure, a new voice enters the tense atmosphere. “What’s going on in here?” My cousin’s head pokes around the corner, eyes narrowing as she zeroes in on me. “What did you do?”
I roll my eyes with a silent huff. “I didn’t do shit. She just refused to take a hint.”
Disregarding my answer, she looks from me to the woman, she asks, “What happened?”
“I don’t know!” she blurts out, pointing at me in accusation. “I was just trying to be nice and they started yelling at me!”
My cousin turns her gaze back to me, glaring daggers, as if daring me to respond. I meet the cold stare with a face of stone. She pipes up, addressing her friend without looking at her, “Did they now?”
A chime rings out from my back pocket. I give it my full attention, turning on the screen to see an announcement that my Uber driver was out front. I let out a small hum, reaching for the forsaken glass of wine on the counter and taking a big swig before dumping the remainder of the lukewarm liquor down the kitchen sink. As I look up, I see the two women continuing to stare at me. I point a thumb in the direction of the front door. “My ride’s here.”
Shaking her head, my cousin fully enters the kitchen, wrapping an arm around the stranger and herding her away to the living room with the rest of the family. I wait a moment before following them, veering hard to the side to walk straight for the door. If anyone notices me leaving, they don’t say anything. I dig around in the closet for my jacket, tug on my boots, and grab the door handle before sparing one last glance at my family. Only one is looking my direction; my mother, her face nigh unreadable. Was it disappointment that shown in her eyes? Irritation? Resignation? Maybe even shame? Whatever it was, it makes my heart sink into my stomach. Wrenching my eyes away, I pull open the door and step into the cold.
Frost nips at my nose from the moment I leave the warmth of the house, leaving me to huff out a breath to keep from sneezing. The rather unseasonal snow drifting down is thick enough that I have to squint through it to see the telltale cloud of exhaust from my idling driver. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I awkwardly make my way through the piling snow built up along the pavement, careful not to misstep and tumble into the icy yard. I strongly doubt the Uber driver would be too keen on letting me into their car while I’m soaking wet, and I have NO intentions of going back into that house.
Upon my approach, the passenger side window rolls down, revealing a man who appears to be in his 50’s, maybe even 60’s. He hollers out my name, and I give a curt nod in response before doublechecking his own. With a smile, he reaches over to his door and I can hear the lock click open. I open the rear door, shivering, sitting down sideways to shake the snow off my boots before sliding in the rest of the way and shutting the door behind me.
“Lotta cars parked out here!” His voice is gravelly, and from the smell of cigarette smoke that seems to cling to the air, I can hazard a guess as to why. “Must’ve been a hell of a party!” I glance up after buckling my seatbelt to see him looking at me through the rear view mirror. Just when I thought I might get some quiet time…
“Something like that,” I say, leaning back against the headrest. I begin to sort through my mental list of excuses to get strangers to leave me alone. I hated every second? Raises way too many invasive questions with no “right” answers. It was actually a funeral? High risk of pity, and I don’t have the energy to keep that lie going if he presses me. Deciding nothing beats the classics, I close my eyes and say in my bleariest tone, “Gave me a hell of a headache to match.”
I hear him give a sympathetic hum and put the car in drive, feeling the car strain momentarily against the piling snow before shifting forward onto the road. “That’s a shame. I won’t bother you none, then. You just get you some rest.”
Thank god.
I turn my head toward the window, cracking my eyes to watch the buildings roll past. Most of the windows are dark, and the driveways barren, only for one to appear fully lit up with a caravan parked in the front yard. I muse over the emotions in each packed home as they go by. If I try, I can see it in my head; moms and their sisters gossiping as they clean up the dinner table, older cousins trying to scare the younger ones before getting smacked in the head by a grandparent, uncles all sitting in the living room laughing up a storm at some half-baked comedy show on tv, moody teenagers hiding away in some corner to avoid the others.
Huh. I was one of those teenagers once. A lot of my cousins were too. So why did it only stick to me? The houses become less focused as I retreat further into my head. I know the clinical reasons, of course. Emotional neglect, abandonment issues, unlucky lot in the genetic lottery, all the good stuff. But it feels… unfair. I don’t want to be like them. I like my life. I like having my routines, and my privacy, and my own little fortress of solitude. But, then there are times like now, when the introspection that usually keeps me entertained makes me face a fact I try to avoid: I... want to want to be like them.
The little voice in the back of my mind that I’ve gotten good at snuffing out rears its head, trying to make me want to try and socialize, make me want to be all smiles and laughs in the living room with my family. It always re-emerges this time of year; just something in the air, I suppose. I tried to satiate it when I was younger, but it always felt like I was just playing a part to appease the people around me, and the overall experience just left me more bitter than ever. The voice shut up for a good long while, but when the time comes to stand amidst sparkling lights and the chill of the first snow, it crawls out of hibernation, begging, pleading for something more than an empty home and a solitary existence.
But, like always, I beat it back with rationale until it finally concedes, slinking it back into the recesses of my mind. I’m like this for a reason. People are fickle at best and plain exhausting at worst, and the less of them I have in my life, the better for everyone. Is it lonely? Sure. Humans are social creatures, and my nature runs counter to all the programming my DNA has. The hand I’ve been dealt sucks, but it’s what I have, and I’m gonna play it.
I mull over these thoughts for the duration of my ride, the blurry, meaningless silhouettes along the road pulling me deeper into my thoughts before forcing me back out as the car pulls to an abrupt stop. As I blink the haze from my vision, I make out the outline of my home, which appears almost foreign in the bleak lighting and heavy snowfall. The driver turns to me and says something that I don’t quite catch, dragging me all the way back to consciousness. Sitting up and stretching, I ask, “Sorry, what was that?”
The old man grins. “That good a nap, huh?” A soft, wheezing laugh forces itself through his throat, dying out as he notices my lack of response. “Just checkin’ that this is the place. Look right to you?”
With a curt nod, I unbuckle my seatbelt and double check my pockets. Phone, check. Earbuds, check. Bag of sweets discretely swiped from the party, check. Assured that it’s all there, I move to open the door, the cold wind forcing its way into the space. The shudder that makes its way up my stiff spine feels almost painful, garnering a brief wince of discomfort.
A spared glance at the rear view mirror reveals the man’s face, twisted into a look of concern. “You sure you’re alright there? Awful weather, and between you and me…” He turns in his seat to face me proper, leaning in as if to tell me a secret. Against better judgement, I lean in as well as he murmurs, “I’m gettin’ a real bad feeling something awful’s brewin’. Feel it in my bones.”
Sunken eyes bore deep into my own, and his wrinkled face reveals no trace of jest. Instead, as I sit in the cold, I find myself meeting a gaze of trepidation and pure, animalistic fear. Another shiver, not from the atmosphere outside the car, but from the one within it. Forcing myself to look down, I’m careful to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “I appreciate the concern, sir, but I can handle myself.”
He doesn’t look convinced. But, the icy wind seems to have finally reached him, snapping him out of his reverie. The stranger nods, straightening up in his seat. “Reckon you can. Yes, I reckon you can. Even so, you just be careful, you hear?” Eager to get into my warm home and out of this bizarre conversation, I give a hum of acknowledgment before fully sliding out of the car. I can almost feel the man taking a breath to continue, and I hasten to slam the door behind me and make for the front door. As I unlock it, the car’s headlights leave my peripheral, followed by the grumbling sounds of the engine. Finally, some peace and quiet.
Trudging my way through the entry way, I kick off my boots, take off my coat, and toss both haphazardly into the front closet. I shut the door and lean my forehead onto the cold wood, feeling as if my head were made of lead. Just as I think I may fall asleep standing up, the soft patter of footsteps and a deep chirp bring a tired smile to my face. On cue, a large black cat trots into the foyer, and I watch in bemusement as his furry, upside-down face pops out between my feet, staring up at me and giving a louder, more demanding chirp.
With an exaggerated sigh, I lift up the hefty animal, holding him close to my chest as he begins to rumble in approval. “Hey, bud,” I murmur, rubbing his side as I take a moment to appreciate the serenity. The cat wriggles in my arms to look me in the eye, and as I blink lazily at him, he melts further into my hold. I give him a soft squeeze, and receive a slight indignant chirp in response. I chuckle as I stroll into the kitchen, confirming that his food bowl is nearing empty. “Always just want something from me, don’t you?”
Thoroughly unamused by my deadpan accusation, the cat struggles in my arms. I release him, letting him thump to the floor and watching him patter over to the food cabinet, working in futility to open it despite his lack of thumbs. I move him to the side with my foot to grab the bag and nearly trip into him as I begin to scoop the pellets into the feeder. Going through the familiar process of filling up his bowl lulls me further into sleepiness. I entertain the notion of showering, washing my face, curling up in bed, but every step of my usual process feels daunting when weighed against my exhaustion. Deciding to do none of that, I instead stop to run my hand down my cat’s back as he chomps away, relishing in the soft purrs he emits. “Good boy.” I know he can’t understand me, but I like to think he knows what I mean.
As my mind continues to unwind, the old man’s strange warning staggers into my brain, and I feel my stomach twist slightly. He was just messing with me, right? Just a weird old guy that gets a kick out of telling spooky stories to strangers to freak ‘em out. Creeps like that are a dime a dozen around here, and getting all anxious over their words is just giving them what they want. No matter how much I reassure myself, every blink conjures an imagine of the fear in his eyes, leaving me with an empty sense of dread deep in my soul.
The feeling of something bumping onto my knee pulls me back. The cat appears to have finished eating and has now taken to rubbing against me, nearly knocking me over in my unbalanced crouch. A huff of a laugh escapes me as I give him a good scratch behind the ears. Pushing myself off the ground, I stumble into my living room, flopping down onto the couch. I barely have time to flip onto my back before a solid weight lays itself across my stomach. I debate moving him to change into something more comfortable than jeans and a thick winter shirt, but the soothing rumbles against my body shut down that train of thought quickly. My eyes, already tired from the evening’s events, drift closed without a fuss.
I don’t know how long I spent unconscious, whether it was a few minutes or several hours, but I do know the pain of a fifteen pound cat launching itself off my stomach startled me back into the real world. Claws graze the flesh of my stomach as I hear the solid slam of him hitting the floor and scurrying towards the kitchen. Bolting upright, I squint in the darkness, trying to locate the shadow that almost managed to scratch me through my shirt.
I catch a glimpse of bright green eyes, wide and unblinking, darting around the room as though to catch a glimpse of an unseen predator. This is an animal that has gotten into fights with dogs ten times his size and launches himself onto the kitchen cabinets with nary a thought, and he’s never once looked as small and vulnerable as he does in this moment. Concern courses deep in my body, and I drag myself off the couch to approach him. Crouching down to his level a few feet away, I begin to coo in a sleepy tone. “Buddy? You alright?” As my eyes adjust, I can make out his rough shape, his long fur sticking straight out, making his already considerable silhouette even bigger. When he doesn’t come any closer, or even seem to acknowledge me, concern begins to curdle into dread. “What’s wrong, bud? What hap-“
The earth shudders and groans deep beneath my feet, knocking me off balance and sending me crashing to the hardwood floor and sending the cat into another fit of hysterics. I regain my wits, scrambling to my feet and stumbling to the kitchen window to scour the dark world outside for a hint as to what just happened. Car alarms blare in surround sound, and I see several lights turn on in windows adjacent, but nothing appears to have caused such a sudden disturbance. I can feel the ground begin to rumble again, less powerful, but unstopping. I rush to my front door, hands tripping over each other as I rip open the closet to pull on my coat and fumble with my boots before stepping out into the pandemonium.
The alarms are louder now, filling the world with a piercing shriek as if the air itself were a wounded animal begging for release. I watch from the porch as neighbors stumble out into the deep snow, some with sobbing children clutched in their arms, others wielding guns as if they planned on shooting the freak earthquake to death. At least, I think it’s an earthquake. What else could it be?
At that moment, with a blinding flash of light, I watch in frozen horror as an explosion emerges in the distance. An invisible wave is sent hurtling towards my neighborhood, and I barely have time to brace myself against the doorframe as it washes over me. My very existence is shaken, my ears left ringing, but I can hardly complain as I watch those around me drop to the ground in an instant. I barely have time to process whether they’re even still alive before my eyes are drawn to that distant light once more, and the ache of sheer, existential terror that crashes over me is second to none.
The undeniable, expanding silhouette of a mushroom cloud forces itself deep into my soul.
Unable to look away, I watch the nightmarish blemish on the night loom closer and closer to my home. The rumbling is deeper now, as though taunting me. In what I imagine are my final moments, I throw a mindless prayer into the void: someone - an angel, a god, a demon, I don’t care - please, someone, anyone, help me!
For a silent, terrible second, the world goes still. I feel the ground beneath my feet tremble, and then I don’t feel it at all. The terrors I bear witness to fall away. Or, rather, I fall away. Air whizzes past my face at such an immense speed it hurts my eyes. The light, much further above me that it should have ever been, illuminates my environment, if only for a second. It’s not rocks or dirt that line the inexplicable chute I find myself in.
It’s metal. Rusted, corroded, warped metal. And there’s no end in sight.
As instantaneous as it arrived, the light is snuffed out as I register the slam of said metal crashing together above my head. I guess that’s one problem solved, but I struggle to celebrate my newfound “safety” as I continue to hurdle down into the depths of the earth. The only things racing faster that the wind in my ears are the questions in my brain.
What happened up there?
Who saved me?
Where am I going?
Why do I feel like I’m the unlucky one?
The rapid fire questions, the sudden disturbance of my sleep, and the sheer shock of it all makes me dizzy. As I feel myself lose consciousness, I get the feeling something awful is brewing.
