and I recall the push more than the fall

[bloodycrescents]

I've been on the island for more than a month now and I don't understand much of anything anymore. The days bleed into each other, and some mornings I wake up staring at a wooden roof and panic because I don't know where I am. Some nights I crawl under the thin sheets and can't remember what it felt like to watch the dim glow of a bare lightbulb

Comments

[madeuptoerase]

There's probably something a bit morbid about it, wandering back out to the spot where she showed up - not where she died, technically, but where she opened her eyes afterwards, or where she came back to life, some might argue. Carla Jean doesn't mind that much. As far as she's concerned, she gets to be morbid, and anyway, it isn't like it depresses her or anything. After all she's been through, it would take a hell of a lot to accomplish that. It just makes her thoughtful, no longer wondering at the sight as much as she once might have. Besides, it isn't like she has anywhere else to be

[bloodycrescents]

I feel more than see her, aware someone's coming toward me, sitting next to me. It still spooks me when she sits, my head turning to her a second too late, breath catching. My head's pounding as I nod, realizing a moment later that's not an answer.

"Fine," I tell her. At worst, she'll probably just think I'm half-asleep. I hope she will anyway. "Yeah. What are you doing out here?" Same as anyone probably. Some people around here have things to do, but most of us are wandering aimless. I figure I have an excuse, being new. I kind of wish I were one of the people with things to do, though. My body isn't used to all the extra time, my head's not used to an empty house, and Misty's still on my mind. I'm on edge, but it's almost a relief to have her here, forcing me to actually think.

[madeuptoerase]

It's an odd question for such a public place, when there are people out here sunbathing or whatever the hell pointless things they do all the time, but Carla Jean doesn't mind that too much. If anything seems off at all, in fact, it isn't her place to mention it. He'll talk if he wants to, and if he doesn't, it's no loss to her. Lord knows she keeps enough to herself; she's never been one for secrets, never seen the point of it, but she doesn't go making her business everyone else's, either. Especially these days, it seems more important than ever not to publicize anything unnecessarily. There's no telling who'll show up.

"Nothin' much," she answers, shrugging. There's rarely anything to do at all, a fact which she finds relieving and grating in turns. It's nice to have a break, but she's too used to having a home to run, a job to go to, a husband to look after and cook for to really appreciate its merits. Looking at him over her shoulder, she adds, "Could ask you the same, you know."

[bloodycrescents]

I shrug for an answer, and it's not a cop out. I don't know what I'm doing. I could tell her I've been thinking or I could say not thinking, and they'd both be true. It's like one of Callie's paintings in my head, splashes of color and shadow, vague blurs of girls I know, words floating past. It's more the feeling than the fact. I don't know if I'm freer here or just buried deeper in my own head.

"I was heading to the Compound to eat. Then I stopped." I don't know why I stopped. I just did. I guess around here it doesn't even matter why, since there's nowhere I need to be, so there's no one to give me shit for it when I don't get there. The ocean looks beautiful, still kind of grey-blue as it rolls in, and I guess that's a good enough reason, too, even if it isn't the right one. "Not like there's any rush."