The following is a work of Fan Fiction based upon the game Life is Strange, created by Dontnod Entertainment and published by Square Enix. No claim of ownership on my part is implied, nor is one expected to be honored. I own nothing: not the characters, setting, music, or anything; I don't even own the laptop I wrote this fic on. (I'm paying it off in installments.)
The song featured is Scott Mackenzie's San Francisco (Be sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair). I really recommend listening to it.
Arcadia Bay, 2008
'I've got some bad news.'
'Jesus, you're not pregnant, are you Max? I can't take anything like that. I really wanted to finish High School.'
'Chloe, this is serious. My mom… She says we're moving away. Today.'
I stare out into the bay, unsure how to respond. The sun bathes the sea below in gentle, warm orange light – summer's last gift. But, I feel cold. Entropic. This is me, Max, at the end of the universe, and I can't imagine that I'll ever see Arcadia Bay like this again. It just won't be the same. The sun: bright and inviting; the sea: tranquil; waves gently sipping at the cliff side below; and the sounds of the world are reassuring, not scary. This is Arcadia Bay, Arcadia is this… But without you, it just won't be anymore. Jesus Christ, Max, I just want this whole situation to end… Why… Why couldn't you have told me… Why didn't they tell you earlier? I just want to go back to how it was a month ago, Max. I just want to go back to how it was this morning. Please, help me. Give me something. Anything!
"…who died, rose again, and lives for evermore. Amen…"
I looked down at my hands and at the hem of my skirt and wondered whether it was long enough. Next to me, mom had buried her head in her hands and the sounds of her crying filled the church, almost drowning out the sounds of the Pastor's speech.
"By the wishes of the deceased," the old man says, we have been asked to replace the traditional hymnal with a pop song. Would you please stand?"
Everyone stood up at once, like a troupe of soldier ants on parade. Mom's crying turned into a gentle sob and the church was suddenly quiet but for the sounds of the pastor's stumbling towards the sound system. My throat was sore, raw, even though I hadn't spoken for three days. I felt a tear escape and trickle down my face. I can feel everyone's eyes on me and their judging my admittance of weakness.
Fuck you, Chloe. Think like a man. Show no weakness.
"Poor girl," they said as we made our way into the church. "Your Dad was a great guy."
No shit, fuckwitz.
More tears. I clenched my fist as old vinyl record began spinning on the record player and the recorded guitarist began to strum. Even Dad's favourite song sounded depressing.
How is a song about San Francisco so depressing?
"If you're going to San Francisco… be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. If you're going to San Francisco, you're gonna meet some gentle people there..."
My attention wandered from my dress to the photograph standing on the altar, the picture of us: you, mom and me (in utero) in San Francisco. It hurt too much to look at it. I turned and looked down at my feet.
Why did you have to die, Daddy?
I sigh and look away from the sun, past it, towards the stars looking down on us. For a moment, I wonder if my Dad is too. Then I realize I'm being an idiot and a prick.
How many times have we been in these woods before, Max? How many lazy summer days and blood-thinning winter evenings playing pirates, avoiding homework or trying to script She's a Killer and Power Girls have there been? You know what's funny? I don't know anything about these woods or Arcadia Bay, really.
I guess you never know that you don't know something until you realize that you don't know it. Jesus, I used to be eloquent.
'Who do you think these woods belong to?' I said.
'I think the area belongs to the Prescott Family,' you reply from your side of the bench. 'I'm not sure they have a house in the town though, so I think we're alright to go through them.'
You flash a quick smirk as if it makes up for any of this. Thanks for taking it back, though. It's good to know that you're not cold enough to ignore me.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out one of my Dad's cigarettes. You look surprised. Good. I don't want you to think that, even though we've been friends for most of our lives, you know me.
'I didn't know you smoked.'
'You don't know a lot of things about me, Max.'
At least, you don't know as much about me as much as I thought. You can't. You can't know someone, love someone, as much as I thought you did and do this to them. If you did, you'd be a monster, an inhumanly cruel… thing. And out of the options of me being friends with an inhuman monster since we were six or you being a bad friend, I'd rather you be a bad friend. At this moment, that's believable.
'I know that you're cross...'
I take another drag and throw the cigarette to the floor. 'Just say pissed, Max, or furious. Stop talking like a fucking child. If you talk like that in Seattle, they'll eat you alive or rape you or something. Or are you just going to sit in your room again, playing with that stupid bear and not talking to anyone, like you did before I met you?'
I don't know where these words are coming from. They slip out like vipers scurrying out from under rocks. I want to apologize, but I can't; I can't show weakness. Never again. After I finish, I feel as if I had just shouted at God.
I can tell on your face that what I said hurt. Good. You stand up and walk towards the cliff side. You look down towards the bay. Go ahead, jump. No one would miss you. No one will miss you when you've gone from Arcadia Bay and it'll just be me. I'll be fine as fuck.
'My parents will be here to collect me soon,' you say, your voice croaking under the weight of what those words mean.
'Do you want to take a picture of this special moment?'
'No,' you say. 'Because in a few weeks, when you and your mom are visiting me in Seattle and we both realize that me moving to the rainy city doesn't mean shit, we'll both realize that this is nothing more than a bad memory.'
'She swears! Finally, the Pirate Queen has sworn!' I shout. You're going to forget about me, Max. You'll forget about me and leave me here to rot.'
'Chloe…'
'I think you should just leave, Max.'
'No.'
There are no words for that. I look up and see you stare at me from the cliff side, your pirate braid flapping about in the wind like a yardarm caught in the wind. I'll give it to you Max, you know how to look half-badass when you want to.
'I'm not going to you alone Chloe, I swear. We'll talk every day, on Bebo, or Myspace, or MSN, or by phone or text message. I'll make my parents bring me down whenever I can and you and your mom can visit whenever you want. I'll make sure of it, Chloe.'
'Fuck, Max. That's damned well inspirational. Do you want a round of applause? An academy award?'
'No, I…'
'Cause I'm done with caring. All I want a cigarette.'
You sigh. 'No one's stopping you from smoking dude, smoke away. You got any weed?'
'Yeah,' I chuckle, 'like you'd smoke weed.'
'I could smoke weed, Chloe.'
'You can't even admit that you're a photographer or get rid of the captain, dear. You're just a child. You'll smoke weed the same day you learn to travel in time.'
You stay composed. The words sting me more than they do you.
'I drank for the first time the same day that you did,' you say.
I can't help but chuckle as I look up from the cigarette bud on the floor, its small fire still blazing even after being discarded. Lucky bastard.
'Yeah,' I said, 'but you did spill the bottle.'
You come back to the bench and sit down next to me. The air is quiet, quiet enough that I can hear the ocean waves sipping against the rocks far below and the sound of seagulls in the distance.
'Don't blame me,' you say and smile. 'You're the one who got me hammered.'
'Hammered? You had one, miniscule sip.'
'It was a gulp.'
'Max, tee-totalling former-alcoholic nuns from 17th Century France who have taken vows to avoid alcohol for lent have taken bigger sips of wine than you did.'
'Well, I guess I'm a light weight then.'
'All the best artists are,' I say and look down at my feet. 'Listen… I know that you're not leaving Bigfootville just to ditch me…'
'I did ask to be left here.'
'Please let me finish.'
'Sorry.'
'Don't apologize… I know that you're not leaving because you want to, even though you're probably excited like hell. It's just… You're going to be somewhere, and I'm not.'
'You could go there.'
I look towards you. 'Can I, still?'
'Of course you can, dude. Seattle is going to suck without you.'
I can feel a tear on my cheek and I wipe it away. This isn't weakness though. It's happiness. Damned you, Max; I don't want to be happy, not yet.
I nod. 'Seattle would suck without me.' Without thinking, I smile, stand up and start pacing around the bench. 'Okay, so it'll be a change, but the power girls are going to survive Max being shanghaied to the city in the north.'
'Totes.'
'But we're going to have to make a memento of the moment.'
'Why?'
'Because,' I reply as I make my way to the tree on the side of the cliff, 'the times they are a changing, and we need to mark that passage of time the way that teenagers have been marking things for centuries.'
You don't understand, but that's fine; I'm feeling cryptic. I pull my dad's old hunting knife out from my jacket pocket and stab it into the tree. 'We're gonna mark our territory.'
'Isn't that illegal?'
'Only in owned land,' I said, busy carving Max into the wood. This is hard work. I wish I had practiced.
'Doesn't the Prescott family own this area?'
'Fuck the Prescotts,' I say, finish and pull back, revealing my creation to you. 'It's a little rough, I admit, but every great artist knows that you should do it with your eyes and not with a ruler. And it's a first draft, and first drafts always suck. What do you think?'
You inspect the wood closely, running your hand over the chipped wood and smile.
'Very cool,' you say.
It was always too easy to impress you, Max. But then again, I wasn't very impressive, was I? That's why we work so well together.
'I wish I could do something that cool.'
'Nah,' I reply. 'Doing the cool shit with the weapons is my job. Your job is to photograph me doing cool shit. Do you have your camera with you?'
You look down at your feet. 'My mom made me pack it this morning.'
'The bitch.'
You chuckle and look up, towards me, the way you used to look at me when I'd do something awesome and the only thing you could do was look in.
'I know,' you say. 'No ifs, no buts. Just "No".
'Did she say why?'
'She said that she didn't want me to leave it here.'
'Why?' I say, but I already know the answer. Your mom doesn't want you to have a reason to come back.
Thanks, Mrs. Caulfield. I'll make sure to send you a big basket of fuck you for Christmas.
I cross my arms and walk away from the tree stump, towards the bench and the sea. You follow close behind.
'She just doesn't want to come back so soon. She wants me to get settled. Fuck my mom, Chloe. I'll come back down whenever I want. I'll stay down here...'
In the distance, I can hear a car pulling up. Without looking, I already know who it is. Damned.
'Don't say that, Max. You're mom's a bitch, yeah, but she doesn't mean you any harm… What did your Dad say?'
'He wants to go see the old Sub Pop building, where Nirvana played their first show,' you say.
As if on cue, your phone rings, and the forest is filled with the sounds of Spirit Dreams Inside. I'll never get tired of that song.
'It's my dad,' you say and answer it. 'Hi… Yeah… We're still at the lighthouse… I'll… I'll be there soon, Dad. I'll be there soon. Just…'
Without thinking, I march towards you, pull the phone out of your hand and put it to my ear. 'Hey, Mr. Caulfield,' I say.
'Chloe?' Your Dad is startled. I can't blame him, I would be too.
'Hey, Mr. Caulfield. Max will be down shortly.'
'Oh… Thank you, Chloe,' he says. 'I'm sorry that we've had to spring this on you so suddenly.'
'Don't worry about it, sir.'
'Lose the sir, Chloe. I don't feel like I deserve the sir… Umm… We'll bring Max back down as soon as possible…'
'Sure.'
'…And I'm sure you guys will be able to keep in touch on your computers. It's not like it was in my day now, is it?'
'Nope. We're in the Digital Age now. It's a brave new world.'
'Yeah,' your dad says. I gotta admit, the poor guy does sound like his ass is in a sling. I kinda feel sorry for him. 'And, you know, you can always visit. You're welcome anytime. I've already ordered a fold out couch for Max's room and your mom can sleep in the spare bedroom.'
'Thanks Mr. Caulfield. I'm sure she'll look forward to that.'
'Make sure you arrange it with Max.'
'I will, Mr. Caulfield. Do you need to speak to Max?'
'No. Just tell her that me and her mom are in the parking lot when she's done,' he says and hangs up.
I sigh, smile and had you back your phone. 'They're in the parking lot.'
'Yeah,' you say. 'I heard their car.'
'Your car,' I correct you.
You join me on the edge of the sea. 'I wish it wasn't. I wish I never… How does my dad sound?'
'Like he's trying to apologize for shooting my dog.'
For a millisecond, you chuckle, but it's too brief. 'I wish I could stay, Chloe. I think he wishes it, too.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah… I wish that… I'd like to go down and tell them both to go fuck themselves. I'll stay here and we'll live at your house or in the lighthouse until it comes to high school, then we'll both go to Blackwell.'
'Seniors.'
'What?'
'Only seniors go to Blackwell, Max. We wouldn't go the same year.'
'I'll get moved up a year.'
I laugh, 'or I'll fail a year.'
'You fail something?'
'It's a brave new world, Max, and stranger things have happened.'
The wind's getting up and the sun is starting to set. Soon it won't be safe here. I can hear your text alert sound. Your mom, probably; you only have four contacts and I've heard three of their sounds.
'You better go soon,' I say as a tear falls down my cheek.
No more, I think to myself. Can't show weakness. Never again. I take a deep breath and wipe away the tear. Have you noticed?
You ignore the text. 'Not for a while.'
No… Good.
I reach out and lay my hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the touch but don't panic. 'You really should go, dude. Don't want to piss your mom off.'
'No.' You look down at your shoes. 'Don't want to do that. Not until we've got there, that is, and I've claimed the big room as my own. Then I'll tell her I forgot my camera and we'll have to come back.'
'And I'll be right here, waiting for you, ready to shout, "Oh no, she didn't!'
'Ha,' you say, fighting through your own tears. 'Thank you. Should I bring dinner?'
'Nah, we'll go to Two Whales.'
You look towards me and smile. 'It's a date.'
The sea below is calm. The sound of the waves, like a slow metronome, relaxing.
'Well…'
'Yeah,' I reply.
Without saying anything else, we both know it's time. As one, we turn and walk away from the cliff side and the golden sun, down the dirt path towards the parking lot, where we see your parent's car in the distance on the edge of the concrete field. I stop.
'What…?'
'This is it,' I say.
'You're not coming to say goodbye to my parents?'
"Goodbye." It's a terrible word – one of the worst, actually. The only word worse is "death," and I've already heard that too much lately.
'No. I think I almost made your dad cry, and I'm considering challenging your mom to Battle Royale.'
'What's Battle Royale?'
'It's a movie, Max. You really should watch it.'
'I will.'
I can feel your parents looking at us, even at this distance, and imagine what they're talking about. Are they arguing? Do they want to stay? Do they both want to leave?
'Good,' I say. 'It's a classic. There's hella-blood. You'll love it.'
The house was filled with my mom and dad's friends and the relatives that we don't see often enough. Mom is sitting on the couch, crying. Next to her sat your mom, trying to keep her together with backup from my grandmothers. No one noticed me. No one tried to comfort me. No one but you.
I hold out my arms. 'Now, give me a hug and get going, you fucking hippie.'
'Hippie?' you say and fall into the hug. 'Why am I hippie?'
It feels right like this. Why can't it last forever? I guess nothing does.
'I like San Francisco. Hippies live in San Francisco. I like you. You are a person. Ergo, you are a hippie,' I say and smile when I hear you laughter.
Your arms relax and we pull away from one another. You're smiling but crying too: a few tiny drops fall down your face.
'Thanks, Chloe, but I'm still going to miss being a pirate.'
'Yeah,' I say. 'I will too.'
Silence. You take a step backward, towards your parents' car.
'So you're going?'
'I think so,' you say, obviously desperate to hide the tears.
'It's fine, Max.'
'I'd stay if I could.'
'I know. You're going to call me?'
'As soon as possible. You gonna come visit me?'
'Oh, please… You're gonna get so sick of me. Your mom and dad will say, "Maxine Caulfield, you weed smoking hippie, go to Chloe's room!"'
You manage another chuckle from under the weight of tears. 'Yeah…'
The smile falls away from your face. You turn away from me and continue walking towards your parents' car.
'Max,' I say, loud enough to be heard but with not enough confidence to be shout.
You stop and turn to look at me. 'Yeah?'
'I… I'm going to miss you.'
'I'll see you soon, right?'
'Right,' I say.
'Call me?'
'Every day. Come visit?'
'As soon as I can.'
I smile, as do you. Then your smile fades and you continue on towards your parents' car. I don't come any closer, I don't follow you. I just stand and watch as you get in and cover your face and collapse in the backseat. The car turns on and I think I can see your dad turning around to you, comforting you, but I'm not sure. I hope he is. Do one thing for me: don't be alone, Max.
I watch in silence as your car drives away, leaving me with our lighthouse and the Prescott's forest – sorry – our forest. I think about going home, but I can't. Not yet. Not until after Mom's fallen asleep. I imagine her now, at home, still crying on the couch as she was when I left this morning, staring at that photograph of us in San Francisco. With nowhere else to go, I make my way back to the bench, sit down and wait. I can hear the sound of wings of birds making their way out towards the sea.
A gentle breeze blows over the cliff side, carrying the smell of salt water in the air. Below, the waves savagely crash against the cliff's stone face, and above, the sky has turned a shade of red. The stars have disappeared, covered by red and black clouds. In the distance, I can hear the sunlight thunder. I've never seen the town like this, so hellish, so alien.
After a few moments, as the black clouds cover the town, the air gets colder, and that sound of thunder gets ever closer, I consider going home.
No, I think as I stare out into the bay. I'll stay. I'll wait just for Max a little bit longer.
Notes
For the purposes of William Price's funeral, I decided to make Chloe's of a Baptist denomination. I decided to place them there for two reasons: Firstly, David Marsden's Dog Tags say that he's a Baptist and I imagine that he met Joyce in Church. Secondly, Joyce's voice actress has a vague South Carolina accent (I think) and the one thing I know about South Carolina for sure (other than the fact that Frank Underwood is from there and Edward Thatch/Blackbeard the Pirate died there) is that South Carolina is home to the First Baptist Church in Columbia, where South Carolina decided to succeeded and thus begin the American Civil War. I'd imagine that Chloe personally is an atheist/misotheist by the time of Chrysalis, though.
I haven't written many LGBT relationships in the past and if I'm going to be honest I'm curious about what people thought of my way of writing Max and Chloe's relationship. Because of how young they are in the fic, and because of the circumstances of the story, I decided that it would be better to write it conservatively from Chloe's POV; I think she's probably aware that she has feelings for Max, but with her father dying, Max being about to leave, and just generally being a 14 year old girl (which is a difficult time for anyone in any situation) on top of that, she's apprehensive about being open about it, partly because she and Max were such great friends that she's afraid that it might get awkward and partly because she's new to any kind of 'serious' (meaning somewhere between having crushes and being in an adult relationship with someone) romantic attachment; Chloe's may present the image of a kick-ass punk rocker, but I have my suspicions that she's not good with engaging her feelings, which is why I think she gets high when listening to Rachel Amber's Mix-disc - she even calls it 'medicating' the way that psychologists describe people who take narcotics to stave off depression. The sad part of all this is that (at least from my interpretation) Max would at least be fine with it and supportive if not actively reciprocate her feelings. Time will tell what the Dontnod team plan to do with Max and Chloe's relationship, but I for one really hope they get to have the happy ending that they both deserve.
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this piece. I hope you've enjoyed it.
