Nano 3.0
Shaye is snicks_chan's. I can only hope I've done her some semblance of justice.
III.
In the beginning, her mother had really tried. At least, Aniah could remember her trying. She worked from home, most of them time, which meant that she was always around. When Aniah was very little, her mother had always hoped she would display some magic. She had broken things and set miniature fires in the back yard and pushed Aniah at them like an expectant puppy.
Aniah had been unable to fix them, but she had tried to glue the smashed shot glass back together before her mother found it shattered on the kitchen floor.
Though a disappointing toddler, Aniah was as even more disappointing young girl. She took interest in very little that little girls should enjoy. Instead, she played soccer with herself and climbed trees (and they were in upstate New York, so there were many trees). Her mother, still trying very hard to be good at this, would do her best to climb with her or kick the ball around. But she was not made for sports and adventure; she was like broke royalty, elegant and refined. They failed to connect at even the basest of levels, except that mother cooked meals for daughter and tucked her into bed at night. She taught Aniah to read, as well, and Aniah did love reading. She just failed to love it quite as much as she loved climbing trees.
Aniah had no father, nor had she ever known one. There were just the two of them, and occasionally a stray cat or dog, and once a very old rat terrier who lived in the house for six years before dying mysteriously when Aniah was nine.
As Aniah grew older, however, and her mother’s attempts at motherhood slackened, there were dates, and men and women who would wander into their little dual-person situation. Aniah, like a good daughter, hated everyone her single mother chose to date (when they were around, her mother was often drinking). Aniah stopped crawling into her mother’s bed at night hen she had bad dreams, because there were often men sleeping in her mother’s bed. It was usually a different man from week to week, but they all smelled the same, and they still made the same noises in her mother’s bedroom. Even then, at six or seven or eight, Aniah understood that they were having sex, making more children who count be shoved into rooms and forgotten.
When Aniah started school at the local elementary - became one of hundreds instead of one of two - her mother missed her. For all of her maternal efforts and all of her late night soul seeking behind closed doors, Aniah’s mother was terrible lonely. She had her borrowed body and her borrowed mind, a pilfered house and tens of drinking buddies and fuckbuddies and whatever other sorts of people she might have found in the seedy nightlife of suburbia, but she no longer had her daughter. Aniah going to school was the worst thing that could have happened.
It was her child, after all: her disappointing, useless child who played too much soccer and liked preservative-laden macaroni and cheese far too much.
For Aniah, however, elementary school was a blessing. Once past kindergarten - an unproductive atmosphere where the teacher disapproved of her already knowing how to read and write, which elevated her to a level above her classmates - Aniah found that school was a place to flourish.
For the first time, she had friends. They were not very good friends; they never asked her to sleepover parties or for play dates on the weekends, but every day at recess they would play soccer with her, and in the lunchroom when she was forced to buy some pre-made chicken patty with boxed mashed potatoes on the side, they would sometimes share their pudding.
It is a wonderful delight for a child to be able to interact with other children. Aniah was pleased with her schooling, even though she felt older than her classmates and could just as easily hold conversations with her teachers as with them. Being raised in an adult environment will do that to a child.
When she came home, her mother never asked her how school had gone, but sometimes she would have plans and would ask Aniah along. Would Aniah like to come to the store with her after dinner? Would she care to go for a walk this weekend? There were some nights reserved entirely for them to do things together. Eventually, these nights grew scarce, and scarcer still. Aniah had movies to watch, sometimes with her mother, sometimes with one of her mother’s friends.
Sometimes, she was the only person in the house.
They coexisted.
“’Lo, Shaye.” Aniah was startled by how raspy her voice sounded.
“Aniah? Why don’t I have video over here?” Shaye’s voice was a welcome crackle to her ears. She would be disappointed that Aniah had left Izzy at home. Isabelle was her modification, her technological magic, metal-bending skills, all culminating in one motorcycle.
“Because I’m on my cell, Shaye. This is just a quick call to catch up, now.” Shaye said nothing. “So, I’m in Ohio.”
“Already?” Shaye sounded surprised. “Aniah, are you pushing my baby harder than she can handle?” It figured, that she would ask about the bike.
“No.” Aniah avoided and dodged. She was getting good at it. She scraped her blunt nails down the glass on the balcony doors and fumbled her cigarette between her fingers.
She could hear Shaye breathing over heavy clanking in the background. “Have you been sleeping well?”
“I slept too much last night,” she said with a sigh. “So maybe too well, then. I think I lost her.”
“How long did you sleep?”
“Like, fifteen hours.” She tapped the cigarette against its pack thoughtfully.
“Aniah! If you’re sleeping for that long, then you probably have a whole lot of sleep debt backed up. You’ve been going full nights again, haven’t you? That’s so reckless. I know you want to find your mom, but what happens if you don’t take of yourself? There are other people out there who probably want exactly what you’re after.” Shay had poor volume control when she was frustrated. Aniah sometimes found it hard to get a word in edgewise. Aniah raised her voice to match.
“That’s exactly the problem, Shaye! I can’t just have these other agencies tracking her down! What would they do with her? Try to rehabilitate her? Banish her? Kill her?” She hadn’t meant to sound nearly so angry.
“I don’t know, Aniah,” Shay said back, her tone suddenly snappy, obviously irritated by her volume and her curtness. “Maybe your mother needs to die! Look at all of the people she’s killed! Look at the way she treated you!” She let out an exasperated noise that created feedback over the line. “You can’t just follow her around like a hunting dog for the rest of your life. It’s not your job! Maybe it’s time for you to rest, go to school, let the real professionals take care of her - ”
Aniah was suddenly and irrevocably furious. “Professionals? They’re professionals? How much do they know about my mother? Were they there with her for eighteen years? Did she raise them, feed them, leave her boyfriends’ bodies on their kitchen tables? None of those professionals know anything about what they would be dealing with, Shaye. She’s my mother and I’m the only one who understands her!”
Her mother, the demon, the evil thing, baring bloodstained teeth over a metal and glass table. Her mother, who had once held her hand when they crossed the street. This person, this creature; Aniah was the only one who had experienced it first hand. Even Shaye, whose parents, Aniah had always guessed, were extraordinarily powerful in their own right (and more so than she ever knew), could never understand.
Shaye was suddenly and fiercely silent, speaking volumes more with her speechlessness than with any angry tirade.
They were both quiet and sparking for a minute. Aniah lit a Marlboro and the electricity slowly died.
“Sorry, Shaye,” she said finally, taking a very large drag and expelling in through her nostrils.
“Yeah,” Shaye replied. After a moment, she said, “Are you smoking again?”
“Yeah.”
“. . . Have you checked your tires lately? Ohio’s a ways.”
Leaning over the railing on the balcony, Aniah stared down into the parking lot. A squirrel passing by stopped, briefly, to look up at her. She smiled at him, around the filter of her cigarette, and then scanned the lot for her rental car (it took a few moments to try and not look for Izzy).
“I checked them yesterday morning. They should still be okay.”
“If anything goes wrong, you’ll come back immediately, right?”
If something went wrong with the vehicle, Shaye meant. If something went wrong with Aniah, Aniah would be dead. She’d come home in a bag - if at all. It was rather unlikely that, providing something happened - her mother found her before she found her mother, she was attacked - Aniah, or any part of her, would be coming home at all.
“Of course I will. I think I’m gonna go check the town out now.” She paused again, then backed through the open glass door, stuffing her cigarette into the crystalline ashtray on her way out. “Don’t worry about me, Shaye. I’m taking care of myself. I’ll talk to you later.”
After they hung up, she left her cell phone in the hotel room, just in case.
III.
In the beginning, her mother had really tried. At least, Aniah could remember her trying. She worked from home, most of them time, which meant that she was always around. When Aniah was very little, her mother had always hoped she would display some magic. She had broken things and set miniature fires in the back yard and pushed Aniah at them like an expectant puppy.
Aniah had been unable to fix them, but she had tried to glue the smashed shot glass back together before her mother found it shattered on the kitchen floor.
Though a disappointing toddler, Aniah was as even more disappointing young girl. She took interest in very little that little girls should enjoy. Instead, she played soccer with herself and climbed trees (and they were in upstate New York, so there were many trees). Her mother, still trying very hard to be good at this, would do her best to climb with her or kick the ball around. But she was not made for sports and adventure; she was like broke royalty, elegant and refined. They failed to connect at even the basest of levels, except that mother cooked meals for daughter and tucked her into bed at night. She taught Aniah to read, as well, and Aniah did love reading. She just failed to love it quite as much as she loved climbing trees.
Aniah had no father, nor had she ever known one. There were just the two of them, and occasionally a stray cat or dog, and once a very old rat terrier who lived in the house for six years before dying mysteriously when Aniah was nine.
As Aniah grew older, however, and her mother’s attempts at motherhood slackened, there were dates, and men and women who would wander into their little dual-person situation. Aniah, like a good daughter, hated everyone her single mother chose to date (when they were around, her mother was often drinking). Aniah stopped crawling into her mother’s bed at night hen she had bad dreams, because there were often men sleeping in her mother’s bed. It was usually a different man from week to week, but they all smelled the same, and they still made the same noises in her mother’s bedroom. Even then, at six or seven or eight, Aniah understood that they were having sex, making more children who count be shoved into rooms and forgotten.
When Aniah started school at the local elementary - became one of hundreds instead of one of two - her mother missed her. For all of her maternal efforts and all of her late night soul seeking behind closed doors, Aniah’s mother was terrible lonely. She had her borrowed body and her borrowed mind, a pilfered house and tens of drinking buddies and fuckbuddies and whatever other sorts of people she might have found in the seedy nightlife of suburbia, but she no longer had her daughter. Aniah going to school was the worst thing that could have happened.
It was her child, after all: her disappointing, useless child who played too much soccer and liked preservative-laden macaroni and cheese far too much.
For Aniah, however, elementary school was a blessing. Once past kindergarten - an unproductive atmosphere where the teacher disapproved of her already knowing how to read and write, which elevated her to a level above her classmates - Aniah found that school was a place to flourish.
For the first time, she had friends. They were not very good friends; they never asked her to sleepover parties or for play dates on the weekends, but every day at recess they would play soccer with her, and in the lunchroom when she was forced to buy some pre-made chicken patty with boxed mashed potatoes on the side, they would sometimes share their pudding.
It is a wonderful delight for a child to be able to interact with other children. Aniah was pleased with her schooling, even though she felt older than her classmates and could just as easily hold conversations with her teachers as with them. Being raised in an adult environment will do that to a child.
When she came home, her mother never asked her how school had gone, but sometimes she would have plans and would ask Aniah along. Would Aniah like to come to the store with her after dinner? Would she care to go for a walk this weekend? There were some nights reserved entirely for them to do things together. Eventually, these nights grew scarce, and scarcer still. Aniah had movies to watch, sometimes with her mother, sometimes with one of her mother’s friends.
Sometimes, she was the only person in the house.
They coexisted.
“’Lo, Shaye.” Aniah was startled by how raspy her voice sounded.
“Aniah? Why don’t I have video over here?” Shaye’s voice was a welcome crackle to her ears. She would be disappointed that Aniah had left Izzy at home. Isabelle was her modification, her technological magic, metal-bending skills, all culminating in one motorcycle.
“Because I’m on my cell, Shaye. This is just a quick call to catch up, now.” Shaye said nothing. “So, I’m in Ohio.”
“Already?” Shaye sounded surprised. “Aniah, are you pushing my baby harder than she can handle?” It figured, that she would ask about the bike.
“No.” Aniah avoided and dodged. She was getting good at it. She scraped her blunt nails down the glass on the balcony doors and fumbled her cigarette between her fingers.
She could hear Shaye breathing over heavy clanking in the background. “Have you been sleeping well?”
“I slept too much last night,” she said with a sigh. “So maybe too well, then. I think I lost her.”
“How long did you sleep?”
“Like, fifteen hours.” She tapped the cigarette against its pack thoughtfully.
“Aniah! If you’re sleeping for that long, then you probably have a whole lot of sleep debt backed up. You’ve been going full nights again, haven’t you? That’s so reckless. I know you want to find your mom, but what happens if you don’t take of yourself? There are other people out there who probably want exactly what you’re after.” Shay had poor volume control when she was frustrated. Aniah sometimes found it hard to get a word in edgewise. Aniah raised her voice to match.
“That’s exactly the problem, Shaye! I can’t just have these other agencies tracking her down! What would they do with her? Try to rehabilitate her? Banish her? Kill her?” She hadn’t meant to sound nearly so angry.
“I don’t know, Aniah,” Shay said back, her tone suddenly snappy, obviously irritated by her volume and her curtness. “Maybe your mother needs to die! Look at all of the people she’s killed! Look at the way she treated you!” She let out an exasperated noise that created feedback over the line. “You can’t just follow her around like a hunting dog for the rest of your life. It’s not your job! Maybe it’s time for you to rest, go to school, let the real professionals take care of her - ”
Aniah was suddenly and irrevocably furious. “Professionals? They’re professionals? How much do they know about my mother? Were they there with her for eighteen years? Did she raise them, feed them, leave her boyfriends’ bodies on their kitchen tables? None of those professionals know anything about what they would be dealing with, Shaye. She’s my mother and I’m the only one who understands her!”
Her mother, the demon, the evil thing, baring bloodstained teeth over a metal and glass table. Her mother, who had once held her hand when they crossed the street. This person, this creature; Aniah was the only one who had experienced it first hand. Even Shaye, whose parents, Aniah had always guessed, were extraordinarily powerful in their own right (and more so than she ever knew), could never understand.
Shaye was suddenly and fiercely silent, speaking volumes more with her speechlessness than with any angry tirade.
They were both quiet and sparking for a minute. Aniah lit a Marlboro and the electricity slowly died.
“Sorry, Shaye,” she said finally, taking a very large drag and expelling in through her nostrils.
“Yeah,” Shaye replied. After a moment, she said, “Are you smoking again?”
“Yeah.”
“. . . Have you checked your tires lately? Ohio’s a ways.”
Leaning over the railing on the balcony, Aniah stared down into the parking lot. A squirrel passing by stopped, briefly, to look up at her. She smiled at him, around the filter of her cigarette, and then scanned the lot for her rental car (it took a few moments to try and not look for Izzy).
“I checked them yesterday morning. They should still be okay.”
“If anything goes wrong, you’ll come back immediately, right?”
If something went wrong with the vehicle, Shaye meant. If something went wrong with Aniah, Aniah would be dead. She’d come home in a bag - if at all. It was rather unlikely that, providing something happened - her mother found her before she found her mother, she was attacked - Aniah, or any part of her, would be coming home at all.
“Of course I will. I think I’m gonna go check the town out now.” She paused again, then backed through the open glass door, stuffing her cigarette into the crystalline ashtray on her way out. “Don’t worry about me, Shaye. I’m taking care of myself. I’ll talk to you later.”
After they hung up, she left her cell phone in the hotel room, just in case.