My fingertips were pretty much healed. I’m pretty sure in real life, it would have taken longer. That’s a bit of another indication I’m not living where I used to, the rules are a little different here. That’s also why the blood splotches on the paper are completely impossible.
When I planted them on the paper, I didn’t move them around at all. I held them flat, trying to apply steady pressure to close up the cuts. That would make it impossible for the splatters to take the shapes they did: strokes, curves, and with surprising detail. There was no doubt about it, these were some kind of words. They looked just like my mindless calligraphy. But it wasn’t in any of my previous styles—not my “pre-history” scribbling, nor my “baroque-era” flair. This was wholly new.
I don’t know the language my blood was written in. I don’t even know what language I write in. But I could sense some kind of meaning inside of it. The characters—if I can call them that—brought to mind Chinese characters, but they weren’t nearly so organized. Chinese characters fit into little boxes, where each one is discrete and has its own section of the paper belonging to it. These characters, though the strokes and radicals seemed reminiscent; they flowed freely across the page, onto and over one another, looping back with incredible topology. It was a masterpiece, honestly.
My magnum opus, written in red ink.
I heard my phone buzzing, over and over again. The battery must be getting very low, and when it dies, it dies. But that’s okay. I can let that part of me die. That connection I had to the world is meaningful, but it was just a moment in time. A tiny fragment of the ten-thousand year life I will live here. Maybe, somewhere in those thousands of years, I’ll regret my decision.
I better not leave anything on the table. If I’m going to say something, I have to say it now. I’ll never have another chance.
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When I opened my texts with Rose yet again, there were endless walls of words. They were nonsensical, four-letter words, arranged in all caps.
“FIRM CASE DIVE PALM HALT LANE SHOP TEST DEAL DUCK GOLD PELE…”
You get the picture. We’re both pretty used to this by now. That’s all my past life seemed to be, anyways; four-letter words with no purpose. But I needed to say something. If not for Rose, then for me.
“I don’t really know what to tell you, other than I want to stay here. I know it’s technically hell, but it’s being very kind to me. It’s accepting me. That’s something I’ve never felt before, a world that wants me to be in it. I don’t want to live struggling anymore. I’m going to miss you. Truly, I will. Despite everything, you’re my friend. Tell Bunny, too. Give her a big hug for me. Please take care of Leo, too. You three can share my house and whatever’s inside of it; I won’t be needing it anymore.”
Just as my message abruptly interrupted the endless wall of four-letter words, Rose responded with something equally jarring—a message I understood.
“Are you serious? Is this really it? All this time… I was trying to save you from this. Bunny and I both. Do you know how much we risked to save your life? And this is how it ends, with you throwing it away? What’s the point? What was the point of anything we did for you?”
“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t any point. There never was. It was always meaningless. I’ve always been meaningless. I know you tried. You really, really tried. You wanted me to find a place in the world. You were willing to risk your own life to keep me safe there. It makes my heart warm. But this is always what was going to happen. We couldn’t fight back forever. And even if we could… I don’t want to live fighting forever. I’ve fought enough. Now I want to rest.”
I sat staring glassy-eyed at my phone screen. Rose was an absurdly fast texter. If she wasn’t responding, that means she didn’t want to. Or maybe, she couldn’t think of anything to say. It might be the very first time that’s happened to her.
I couldn’t help but feel like she was now the one bleeding.
