she says "see if it's still raining i'm not dressed for it,and if you love me"
“You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and-
Just tired.
So am I.”
― E.E. Cummings
Mackenzie, she talks in her sleep. Alex does too, but she sleeptalks the way you would expect, in mumbles and the unclear, nonsense phrases of someone lost in their dreams. With Kenzie, you can hear complete, precise sentiments, like she’s telling you a bedtime story. Only, it’s like no bedtime story you ever wanted to hear. Maybe it’s the unknown future, maybe it’s her own past, but either way she always seems terrified; the night creeps on and you lay there, terrified with her, hoping for both your sakes that now’s the moment she wakes up.
After the third time it happened, the third time she talked of Henry Solomon, I woke her up by crawling into bed with her. She startled like the devil had gotten into her, but by that time I had her already in my arms, pinioning her in place. “He’s not coming too, is he?” I asked because I had to, because Kiev was already on our trail and I wouldn’t be surprised, practically expected the appearance of another ghost; Kenzie was the center of everything.
She didn’t answer. She only shrugged, and left me to wondering.
She wasn’t talking much at all these days. Certainly not to Shannon. But then, it’s hard to have a conversation with someone who, without much subtlety, pretends you don’t exist. It’s even harder to watch him work his way through every girl who wasn’t Kenzie, and act like it wasn’t a punishment.
I’ve known Shannon for most of my life. We grew up together as brothers, and if you’d asked me a couple of years ago, I would have told you that I knew him. I’d stabbed him in the back, but I knew him better for it, because I knew what made him tick, knew enough to keep it a secret. As a boy he was bullheaded, gung-ho, not afraid of anything, and I would have thought he’d be the same as an adult. But I was wrong, or something went wrong, something formative in the years that I missed; because this girl, this tiny little thing at the center- out of all that we were up against, Mackenzie scared him the most.
He watches her. Out of the corner of his eye, when he thinks it’s safe, he looks and stares and tries to see what he saw before. Instead he just looks scared, and tosses a careless smile over his shoulder when Jayma comes into the room like he can cast it off and away for good.
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and-
Just tired.
So am I.”
― E.E. Cummings
Mackenzie, she talks in her sleep. Alex does too, but she sleeptalks the way you would expect, in mumbles and the unclear, nonsense phrases of someone lost in their dreams. With Kenzie, you can hear complete, precise sentiments, like she’s telling you a bedtime story. Only, it’s like no bedtime story you ever wanted to hear. Maybe it’s the unknown future, maybe it’s her own past, but either way she always seems terrified; the night creeps on and you lay there, terrified with her, hoping for both your sakes that now’s the moment she wakes up.
After the third time it happened, the third time she talked of Henry Solomon, I woke her up by crawling into bed with her. She startled like the devil had gotten into her, but by that time I had her already in my arms, pinioning her in place. “He’s not coming too, is he?” I asked because I had to, because Kiev was already on our trail and I wouldn’t be surprised, practically expected the appearance of another ghost; Kenzie was the center of everything.
She didn’t answer. She only shrugged, and left me to wondering.
She wasn’t talking much at all these days. Certainly not to Shannon. But then, it’s hard to have a conversation with someone who, without much subtlety, pretends you don’t exist. It’s even harder to watch him work his way through every girl who wasn’t Kenzie, and act like it wasn’t a punishment.
I’ve known Shannon for most of my life. We grew up together as brothers, and if you’d asked me a couple of years ago, I would have told you that I knew him. I’d stabbed him in the back, but I knew him better for it, because I knew what made him tick, knew enough to keep it a secret. As a boy he was bullheaded, gung-ho, not afraid of anything, and I would have thought he’d be the same as an adult. But I was wrong, or something went wrong, something formative in the years that I missed; because this girl, this tiny little thing at the center- out of all that we were up against, Mackenzie scared him the most.
He watches her. Out of the corner of his eye, when he thinks it’s safe, he looks and stares and tries to see what he saw before. Instead he just looks scared, and tosses a careless smile over his shoulder when Jayma comes into the room like he can cast it off and away for good.