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Entry tags:
>>random access memories
[ some random snippets of Artemis' life. Warnings for implied child abuse, infidelity, substance abuse and implied suicidal ideation. ]
--
You're impossibly small. The ornamental grass nearly swallows you and the benches scattered across the private park are too tall to easily climb on your own no matter how much you want to. It would be frightening if you were alone.
You're not alone.
The man beside you is too tall for you to comfortably hold his hand, so you cling to the leg of his pants instead as the two of you walk along. His gentle voice rolls over you and you love it so you listen though you understand few of the words. He's describing the park: the ceiling full of suns high above, the transparent path below that looks down over the bustling of CITIE's top floor, the animatronic animals that walk up to meet you as you pass, and most of all the flowers. The man knows all of the flowers and he names them one by one: oleander, foxglove, daffodils and belladonna. You want to pick them but he won't allow you too close to any of them.
Instead he leads you to a clearing where there's a pond filled with lifelike fish and surrounded by grass that you're allowed to sit down in.
"Ah, look," says the man, as he sits down beside you and plucks something from the dirt. He holds it up where you can see. "A four leaf clover. These are lucky, Tem. Keep it, you'll be lucky too."
You're older now. Too old to spend endless days following your father around on what he calls 'little adventures,' though you want to. The other kids at school don't want to hang out with their parents anymore but you think that's just because they're not as good as yours. You get the best of everything, after all, including fathers.
He's picking you up after lunch today, to go somewhere - another adventure, he said, just the two of you.
He's late.
So late that you begin to think that he isn't coming after all, but then they call you to the office half an hour before you're let out for the day. He's waiting there, smiling at you the way he always does, but something in it makes you feel sick.
I want to go home, you tell him, and his face falls but you only see it for a moment before he's bending down to scoop you up in his arms like you're still too little to walk. You don't complain, though he holds too tight. He doesn't put you down in the car, even to put on your seatbelt, and you think he's crying even though you can't see where your head is pressed against his shoulder.
The car turns sharply and he takes a deep breath like he's about to yell - you've never heard him yell - but he doesn't. He just kisses your hair and rocks you softly. As the car winds through the familiar path toward home he starts to sing a lullaby you haven't heard since you were a baby.
Thought I'd find you up here.
You're in what used to be the garden. There's awful things ringing in your ears, a sting across your cheek where you'd been slapped, and you came up here looking for clover. There isn't any, of course; the park had been cleared out years ago so it's just a lot of dusty junk stored up here. The floor's still clear, though, so you're curled up in a corner watching the cars fly by below.
Ciaran doesn't understand the idea of leaving Artemis alone, so now it's the two of you up here hiding from the world. He drops down beside you and without asking at all pulls you close enough to smell his cologne.
Won't be like this forever, Art. Promise.
You don't answer, because you've had this conversation before and anyway your throat is burning. Ciaran doesn't need you to. He taps on the glass beside your shoe.
One day our shitty old men will kick it and CITIE will be ours. The words are familiar as your own name, recited a hundred times since Ciaran went from being a bratty kid you had to play with because your fathers worked together to something a lot more interesting than that. Familiar is just another word for comforting. You settle in closer and lean your head on his shoulder so the words can wrap around you. He kisses the top of your head. We'll be gods. Together.
--
Four Leaves
You're impossibly small. The ornamental grass nearly swallows you and the benches scattered across the private park are too tall to easily climb on your own no matter how much you want to. It would be frightening if you were alone.
You're not alone.
The man beside you is too tall for you to comfortably hold his hand, so you cling to the leg of his pants instead as the two of you walk along. His gentle voice rolls over you and you love it so you listen though you understand few of the words. He's describing the park: the ceiling full of suns high above, the transparent path below that looks down over the bustling of CITIE's top floor, the animatronic animals that walk up to meet you as you pass, and most of all the flowers. The man knows all of the flowers and he names them one by one: oleander, foxglove, daffodils and belladonna. You want to pick them but he won't allow you too close to any of them.
Instead he leads you to a clearing where there's a pond filled with lifelike fish and surrounded by grass that you're allowed to sit down in.
"Ah, look," says the man, as he sits down beside you and plucks something from the dirt. He holds it up where you can see. "A four leaf clover. These are lucky, Tem. Keep it, you'll be lucky too."
The Stag
You're older now. Too old to spend endless days following your father around on what he calls 'little adventures,' though you want to. The other kids at school don't want to hang out with their parents anymore but you think that's just because they're not as good as yours. You get the best of everything, after all, including fathers.
He's picking you up after lunch today, to go somewhere - another adventure, he said, just the two of you.
He's late.
So late that you begin to think that he isn't coming after all, but then they call you to the office half an hour before you're let out for the day. He's waiting there, smiling at you the way he always does, but something in it makes you feel sick.
I want to go home, you tell him, and his face falls but you only see it for a moment before he's bending down to scoop you up in his arms like you're still too little to walk. You don't complain, though he holds too tight. He doesn't put you down in the car, even to put on your seatbelt, and you think he's crying even though you can't see where your head is pressed against his shoulder.
The car turns sharply and he takes a deep breath like he's about to yell - you've never heard him yell - but he doesn't. He just kisses your hair and rocks you softly. As the car winds through the familiar path toward home he starts to sing a lullaby you haven't heard since you were a baby.
Roots
Blossoms
Thought I'd find you up here.
You're in what used to be the garden. There's awful things ringing in your ears, a sting across your cheek where you'd been slapped, and you came up here looking for clover. There isn't any, of course; the park had been cleared out years ago so it's just a lot of dusty junk stored up here. The floor's still clear, though, so you're curled up in a corner watching the cars fly by below.
Ciaran doesn't understand the idea of leaving Artemis alone, so now it's the two of you up here hiding from the world. He drops down beside you and without asking at all pulls you close enough to smell his cologne.
Won't be like this forever, Art. Promise.
You don't answer, because you've had this conversation before and anyway your throat is burning. Ciaran doesn't need you to. He taps on the glass beside your shoe.
One day our shitty old men will kick it and CITIE will be ours. The words are familiar as your own name, recited a hundred times since Ciaran went from being a bratty kid you had to play with because your fathers worked together to something a lot more interesting than that. Familiar is just another word for comforting. You settle in closer and lean your head on his shoulder so the words can wrap around you. He kisses the top of your head. We'll be gods. Together.