Look at the pretty cracks in the ceiling.
Full of dust.
It's so quiet. Has the rain stopped? She didn't know. She didn't know...
Someone was talking to her.
But she didn't want to hear.
Look at the pretty cracks in the ceiling. Do they make a pattern? No. Of course not.
Cracks in the ceiling don't mean anything. Not anything at all.
She likes them so much.
…
…
Get a fucking hold of yourself.
The voice was harsh and unforgiving.
"Please Blossom..."
The other voice was gruffly plaintive...strangely familiar...
Begging for her not to leave...don't leave like they all did. Your strong, please your so strong, if you give up what are we going to do? I can't...I can't lose anymore please.
She heard him leave the room, rough, thumping footsteps...heard him kicking the walls furiously, swearing, then sitting down and just becoming so deadly quiet.
Get a hold of yourself, goddammit, pull yourself together.
But it hurt too bad, you don't understand.
It hurts too bad.
Please...
Just let me rot here.
Rot?
Crumble away?
Like Bubbles?
You couldn't save her.
But what about Buttercup?
Can you save her, Blossom?
You just going to leave her, Blossom?
Leave her to be eaten away like Bubbles?
Well are you?
Bubbles had been so beautiful...
And that's when she opened her eyes.
A worn blanket was strewn over her knees and wrapped around her shoulders. She slowly hugged it closer. She appeared to be sitting down...on a wooden crate, yes. The rain had stopped. Dust and stray cobwebs was trickling down from the wooden ceilings. She heard footsteps sounding around her.
Butch?
Of course.
Her eyes were painfully gummed over with sleep. She exhaled harshly, watching a tuft of red hair blow up from the force of it. What was she doing? What was she doing here?
The door suddenly swung open, but the girl barely acknowledged it. Someone walked over and crouched down beside her. She stared at him with squinted eyes and felt him flinch with surprise. He coughed nervously.
"So...awake then?"
She just gazed at him narrowly as he scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. She slowly noticed the bowl of soup he had placed on the floor while bending down. Somehow, this made the knot in her chest gradually begin to unwind and the lump in her throat grow stronger.
"Look.."
The young man plunged his hand into his pocket and rummaged around for a few seconds, before pulling something out. It was a tattered, folded up photo which Butch quickly unfolded and smoothed out. He showed it to her and her eyes swam, struggling to focus.
"I...I found this in wunna of the garbage bags in yer room...does...does he look...familiar or anyfink?"
Three young boys, who looked around eight or nine, were floating around a tall, broad-shouldered African-American man with a shiny bald head. They all seemed incredibly happy...happier then she'd ever seen any of them. She was suddenly reminded of the photo that had been shown on the news, with her old family cuddled together with glee...
"Blossom?"
She just stared blankly. She saw him swallow roughly and fold the photo back up again, putting it back into his pocket.
"Was his name Guillaume?"
His voice was soft and faraway. She felt her head nod up and down of its own accord and a pained crease appeared between his eyes.
"He...he was one of our foster parents...the best one."
He was silent for a few minutes, staring cloudy-eyed, down at the floor.
"But 'e died..."
He shook his head furiously, face twisted up with pain.
"How the fuck was 'e here? I don't...what the hell is goin' on?"
There was a clatter and a curse and she watched as the soup spread in a silent puddle across the floor.
"Fuck!"
He stood, picking up the upturned bowl from the ground. He stormed out of the room, leaving her alone once more. She heard him slamming various drawers around in the kitchen...and she felt herself slowly drifting away again, not wanting to take the pain, not wanting to listen anymore. She felt her eyes fall slowly half-shut and her breath whistle soggily through her parched lips.
Through the long stretches of hazy grey, under her wet, quivering eyelashes...she saw him cleaning up the mess...looking over her with a clenched jaw and damp eyes...tucking the blankets under her chin.
Gill?
How was he dead?
It didn't make sense. It just...
Had it been a ghost?
Then...then why had the room been all rotten and falling apart when it hadn't been like that before? Was she losing her mind? Was she even here at all? Maybe she died that night in the alley-way, lost in the rain and all of this was some kind've personal hell...?
No. No. That couldn't be. She was letting her imagination run away with her.
The honey-lighted room with the gentle jazz and the polished floors...a haven of calm in the cracked, graffiti sprayed streets surrounding it...an illusion.
An illusion.
No.
Had it been...?
Do you remember the dream world he made with a whisper of pink smoke, do you remember the broken, screaming future he made to try and break your spirit, do you remember where Bubbles said he brought her, the black canvas with the lovely singing animals, the magic chalk...do you remember, do you remember...
Smoke and mirrors.
But he was weak.
So weak.
And now he could only twist and distort one lonely old abandoned pub in one lonely old abandoned street.
But why? Why?
She thought he was trying to find her? Trying to drag her away?
But he'd found her.
He'd known all along.
And he hadn't done anything...
"Blossom? What're yer doin'?"
The voice was like a knife ripping through her daydreams. She blinked confusedly, the world rushing back to her, like she'd broken through the surface of the ocean. Slowly, she realized she was standing, pressed up against the wall with her palms and her ear pushed up flat against the wood...as if she was trying to hear something. Trying to listen...
Butch was staring at her as she hurriedly stepped back from the wall. She felt herself waver slightly on the spot, before she regained her balance. She blinked her bleary eyes at him, struggling to suck in air.
"It was...it was..."
Breathe in. Breathe out. Rinse and repeat.
"It was Him. Him...was upstairs. He was upstairs all along..."
The tears were bubbling silently down her cheeks and the walls seemed to be looming down on her. No longer safe...they had never been safe...never been safe...the walls were closing in...closing in...closing in...
And she felt hands at her shoulders, pressing her back down to the floor again. There was spit at her chin and grimy tear tracks down her cheeks. Green eyes bored into hers...eyes so much like Buttercup's...but so much wearier and old...
"Breathe Blossom."
She felt the air rattling weakly around her lungs. She wheezed it back in, trying to fight the growing hysteria threatening to explode out of her, leaving only an empty, bleeding husk behind. She couldn't stand this anymore. She couldn't take this anymore. This was too much. She couldn't handle it, she couldn't.
"You don't...understand..." she croaked, voice hollow and dead. "How do I know...if any of it was the truth?"
Had it all been lies? The story he fed her with the blueberry pie and cream? And why had he been so...angry? When they took Butch away? Wasn't that what he wanted?
"...play with us...?...play with his food...before he ate it?"
They had ruined his fun and now he had gone to punish them. Or to finally tell them where they were?
Butch's face had gone as white as paper. She saw him look around, as if he expected someone folded up in the shadows or hanging from the ceiling, smiling and hungry and ready to strike. They were in his web...they'd fallen into it blindly and he'd been sitting there all along, waiting for the right time to feast...
"It's gonna be okay," he whispered hoarsely and she felt his arms wrap around her. He tucked her head under his chin and she felt how hard his heart was beating, how scared he was. His safe haven had been violated...everything he had once known was falling apart.
"It's gonna be okay..." the words were hissed maniacally, almost if he was trying desperately to convince himself it was true and she dug her fists weakly into the fabric of his shirt, trying not to crumble, trying not to fall away into dust at his feet.
"We's gonna get out of 'ere...okay? We're geddin' out of 'ere..."
He stood, dragging her up with him. He glanced over his shoulder and then let go of her shoulders. She wobbled slightly on her feet again, her eyes blank and unfocused, all of the shadows suddenly seeming deeper, darker...
"C'mon," he said, slapping her slightly on the forearm. "Go get yer things...we gotta go."
The girl gulped roughly as he led her towards the door, her feet dragging slightly as she went. He ran a hand through his hair, panicking as she leant against the door-jamb.
"Um...I'll go get...I'll go get Boomer...I'll meet you up stairs."
"Okay."
She had to get a hold of herself...she had to pull herself together. She was acting so weak and helpless.
"Quickly!"
Run. Run down the hallway, that's a good girl. Don't fall over, cause if you do you'll never get up again. There's eyes watching you in the shadows, following you, there's hands at your feet, sharp grabbing claws...if you slow down, they're gonna get you. They're gonna get you Blossom. You gotta run Blossom, you gotta run...
The corridors seemed so long now...the shadows darker...was there breath at her neck, or was she imagining it? Was she imagining...imagining? She didn't know...she just didn't know.
Down the stairs.
Butch was going to get the cat and she was going to grab her stuff and they were going to run and it was going to be okay. Everything would be okay.
Where were they going to go?
They had to save Buttercup.
Were they lost in this strange, vast world?
Had they lost? Had they already lost the fight?
She felt his hot breath, his hungry dripping teeth...he was closing in. Sweeping in to the mice huddled in the corner.
She slammed through the last green lighted corridor, the lights and the walls spinning madly and she burst through her bedroom door. She sighed in relief. The hallways seemed so threatening now, but somehow, the old room still gave her peace. She collapsed to her knees on the splintery floor. She was nearly there. She had nearly made it. It was going to be okay.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Close your eyes. Relax. You're in your room, its going to be alright.
She stayed there, motionless for a few moments, even though it felt like a lifetime was passing. She was safe here. It was her bedroom. Just open your eyes Blossom, open your eyes and grab your things. The room would give her strength to brace the hungry corridors again.
The girl's breath was evening and her eyes fluttered open. Somehow, she'd managed to calm herself down, or at least a little bit.
Maybe she was overreacting?
Maybe they weren't as trapped as they thought?
The lights shone dimly down at her and the dust was thick and still. She smoothed her hair back and moved to her bed, where a pile of clothes and books she had taken from the library sat. Quickly, the red-headed teen shoved them into her backpack, which was sitting nearby. No need to panic. Everything was going to be fine. Just work ahead, work quickly and efficiently and you'll be okay. She took the toy alligator from beside her pillow and shoved it in as well. What else did she need?
The card?
Probably.
She turned around and reached to grab it...
And her arm flopped bonelessly back down.
Her insides turned to jelly and her whole body went numb.
Her tongue was growing heavy and swollen in her dry, scratchy mouth.
No.
A red, soft glow was radiating solemnly from the stationary slip of paper on the floor. Soft and steady.
What was happening?
Don't panic. No need to panic.
She watched with wet eyes, frozen to the spot. No need to panic? Everything would be fine?
What was that? What was that sound? A creaking, cracking echoing noise, like an old, ancient door swinging slowly open, after centuries of remaining closed.
The almost depthless horror was gripping her whole. She was drowning in the endless fear.
Move, you have to move, oh god please move...
What was that? Something thin and ragged and white, like cracked bones. Clawing up...clawing outwards. Scabby, broken skin pushed out of the tiny slip of paper, unnaturally large for something so small. It almost looked like it was clambering out of the floor. The hand scratched around the floorboards, grotesquely long, painted nails clicker-clacking and Blossom wasn't going to scream...why wasn't she running? Why was she just sitting here? She had to run, she had to run...
Another hand...long, unnaturally bony arms stretching outwards, arms with huge chunks of flesh ripped out, the raw muscle glistening in the light. This was a nightmare, this couldn't be real, it couldn't be, it couldn't be. Somehow, she found her feet and somehow she was stumbling for the door, tripping, almost sobbing...
That face couldn't belong to anything human. A walking corpse, with thick dripping make-up slathered over the deep, slimy black-red holes in its face. She saw the gleam of its exposed gums, the few strings of hair remaining on its peeling scalp, the wide unblinking bulging eyes and...
"You should always lock the door behind you, dear," hissed the creature, deadened rasp ripping from its broken vocal cords. It lunged.
Blossom slammed the door in its face but its eaten away arm got caught at the last second, pushing around the front of it. Snapped nails scraped at the wood, leaving deep gouges and the heaving, painful breaths slobbered and rattled from its clawed and bleeding throat.
Crush it...hear the squelch of its arm...
And she was running, racing, sprinting for cover. She tried to gather enough energy to fly for safety, but she couldn't, the terror was gripping her body, paralyzing her mind, she was going to die, it was going to kill her...
As she bounded up the first few steps, her back-pack slamming against her legs, she screamed as the deafening explosion screeched in her ears, forcing her to cover them as she was pushed upwards by the blast. Looking behind her, she saw the entire bottom floor filling up with grey smoke and licking orange flames. A shape was flying through the collapsing corridor, ash and wood and palings falling in mountains to the quickly disappearing floor.
Out-stretched claws, faded orange hair, red-painted lips, smug red eyes...
The adrenaline pulsed through her like poison.
"BUTCH! BUTCH!"
Her legs left the ground in an instant and she was whipping down the quickly disintegrating hallway, black billowing smoke filling her nose and lungs. A buzzing, droning noise sounded in her ears and she threw herself to the side instinctively. The blast of orange power whizzed past her and she desperately tried to avoid being crushed by the crumpling roof. The fire blazed and the blood poured down her cheek and the whole world was suffocating ash and flying debris and she heard someone screaming far, far above her...
Scarlet eyes shone through the blackness.
"Why are you crying, sweetie?" he taunted. "I'm just having some fun."
The yells were getting fainter, fainter and the roars of the fire and the caving in building was all she could hear and he was growing closer and his hands were aiming, squeezing...
Roll away...
The blast tore a hole in the floor and she felt herself falling with it. She was tumbling down, down to the ground, smashed palings, broken glass crashing after her, burying her, covering her up, choking, choking...blood clogged up her mouth, pain screamed in her ears, her whole body was howling. She was sinking, sinking, drowning, drowning. The weight on her body was growing heavier by the second and she felt the last anguished breaths sob out of her throat, filling so quickly with ash and splinters and hot, sticky blood. The pain was like no other, agony so bad her body was going numb, as she felt her flesh rip and tear and squash, her internal organs pressing together.
What a way to die.
Crushed under a house.
But she didn't even care anymore. She had already lost. She had lost the minute she had come here, walked into Gill's welcoming arms, trusted his caring eyes, fallen for his trap. She'd been dying all along and she just hadn't known it.
The girl curled up pathetically, letting the endless outpour of rubble bury her alive, the wreckage raining down on her ripped and broken body. Just give up. What was the point of trying to fight?
She felt her eyes fall closed.
She felt the darkness loom in.
…
…
Voices calling ...
Voices calling...
Her name. They were calling for her...
Everything glowed white under her eyelids...wind whipped at her hair...was she flying? She felt totally weightless, like she was rushing through the clouds.
The pain was like she had been eaten alive, spat out and shredded to bits...every bone, every limb, every inch of skin howled, peeling and bubbling and bursting at the seams. She felt like her insides had been reduced to pulp and when she coughed, mouthfuls of choking wetness rolled from her lips...
What were they?
Those red-black, flopping things beneath her? Were they her legs? There was something banging against her knees. What was that? Red glowing orbs, like the devil's himself, racing upwards, shining teeth, growing closer...
Her body was flung to the side, as rays of burning heat missed her by an inch. She felt the ends of her hair scorch and sizzle.
Someone was shooting blast after blast of glowing green power at the red eyed demon, screaming something at the top of their lungs. What was it?
"Don't look down, it's gunna be okay, for Christ's sake don't yer dare fuckin' die, don't you fuckin' dare..."
They tore upwards and she clung to his arm, kicking her feet to try and gain momentum. She flung her hand and the crackling ball of electric pink shot down and Mr Ginger's eyes widened in shock, before it hit him full in the face, sending him hurtling downwards again, down to the broken hell of charred black rubble below.
The trap door was hanging from its hinges and they burst through it, Blossom's legs dangling uselessly behind her. All of the energy had left her, having been completely drained from the efforts of forming the attack just moments before. She felt the vomit surging in her throat like acid, her head pounding mercilessly...
The floor of the pub was rapidly falling away and Butch scrambled up it, dragging the girl behind him, nearly wrenching her arm out of its socket. Looking at him, she saw the blood pouring from his face, slicking his hair back, the singed ends of his shirt, the slashes and scratches up his arms...he must've gotten half of those digging her out of the ruins far, far below them.
The late afternoon sky shone through the holes ripped in the ceiling and the sounds of sirens filled her ears. They were going to make it. They weren't going to die.
Butch threw them both out onto the cracked pavement as the building slowly, finally broke down entirely behind them, the massive clouds of ash and smoke staining the golden-streaked sky. The moaning, groaning sounds filled the air and made the urge to be sick even stronger.
The man stood, clutching his side, entire half of his face blackened, the other half gashed open and oozing blood. The screech of tires and burnt rubber were echoing through the streets and ringing in their minds and suddenly...Butch pointed.
"Look!"
And she did.
Half-way down the litter-choked, pot-holed road was a narrow alleyway and she made out the faint shape of a screeching cat sprinting down it. She blinked at it wearily, dragging herself slowly across the scratching pavement, dull recognition thrumming through her.
Follow the cat.
Police cars were racing around the corner on the other end of the street, followed by howling fire-engines and they were roaring towards them...they were getting so close now...come closer...
Follow the cat.
She was on her feet and she saw the car door of the first police car slamming open. Others were following suit and uniformed men were racing towards her, snarling and spitting something her mind couldn't compute, pointing guns and screaming an indistinguishable mess of words and...
Everything seemed so slow...like she was running underwater in a dark, endless blue world...
"Butch!" she turned around as they struggled to run...struggled to launch herself into mid-air...
Someone was rising from the destroyed remains of the building behind them. Rising into the air like a monster from the ocean's depths. It's eyes bulged and its mouth flopped grotesquely open and its wrists crossed, pushing forward. Blossom screamed Butch's name...but it was too late...too late. The glowing white spear of energy shot out and Butch jolted as it hit him square in the back, his arms flying out wildly as he fell to his knees.
Bubbles sunk away into the darkness, eyes glowing malevolently as the police and the fire fighters finally reached them. Blossom was at Butch's side in an instant and the rain of bullets fired down at them. There was screaming in her ears and it took her a moment to realize they were her own. She batted the bullets away easily and looked up, eyes glowing dark pink as she shot her red laser beams at the screaming men.
He couldn't be dead.
And she picked him up, ignoring the broken tearing of her own skin and the adrenaline hit her again, the fury at the monster that called itself her sister spurning her on.
The world was put into fast-forward once more, her vision flashing white-hot, the pain like millions of needle pricks all over her body...
Her fists slammed into flabby, useless flesh, smashing bones, breaking teeth and her fury had no ends. Kicking, ripping, tearing.
He couldn't be dead
The crowd began to part and she tore back down the street, eyes blinded with blood and tears, not even feeling the weight of the boy on her shoulders. Follow the cat, follow the...
What was it doing?
Was it waiting for her?
It was. With it's glowing yellow eyes. Perched on a garbage can lid and when it saw her, it began to race down the endless, narrow alley-way, black tail perched high above its head as it ran.
Follow the cat.
Follow it through what seemed like thousands of thousands of dark, dank streets, spiraling down an endless labyrinth of crawling lanes...
She didn't remember the bad side of town being as expansive as this.
Was Butch stirring at her shoulder, or was she imagining it? Please don't let her be imagining it.
Please be alive, oh please...
Follow the cat. Follow its tail. Follow the pitter-pat of its feet.
How long would she be running for? Would she be running for the rest of her life?
As if reading her mind. The scraggly feline came to a stop, jumping atop the rusty, black railings of a set of stairs in the darkest, narrowest, filthiest of all the alley-ways she had ever seen. There was a door at the top of the stone steps.
No. Oh God no.
She wasn't going back into a house, where lies and cobwebs were spun and hung from every corner. She wasn't. Butch's weight was suddenly unbearable on her shoulder and the urge to cry had never been stronger. Was it just his weight, or the weight of the whole world bearing down at her? Crushing her into a pulp?
She couldn't take it...she wasn't strong. She was weak and pathetic...she couldn't do it. Please, no more.
The cat meowed softly as Blossom fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around Butch's neck and burying her face into his bloody hair. Hair as black as Buttercup's...hair just like Buttercup's...just like home.
She just wanted to go home.
The door at the top of the grey stairs creaked open an inch. A pair of eyes peered down at her with suspicion.
"Why'd you bring thisss here?"
The cat licked its paws and flicked its tail. Another set of eyes blinked down from the slither of open door.
"They don't look too good..."
"Well of coursssse...did yousse hear that fucking explossssion?"
Their words rung dully in her mind...
Professor...
Buttercup...
Bubbles...oh god, Bubbles...
Home. Please take me home.
Please.
Have mercy please.
"Oh have a heart..."
"We'sss full enough asss it issss..."
"They'll die out here..."
She wasn't going up there. They'd have to fucking drag her...
Oh God. Oh God please.
But Butch? What about Butch? He can't die, he can't die, please don't die. Why was everyone being torn from her? They couldn't tear someone else from her. They couldn't.
"Blossom? Honey? No-one's going to hurt you anymore...we're gonna look after you..."
She looked up with soaking eyes, mouth half-opening in pain. The voice was so soft and so familiar...some gentle force from so long ago. Something beautiful, reaching to her falling apart body with love and tenderness, something to heal her broken heart...
But no.
Gill sounded good. Gill seemed good.
It could be lies. Everything was lies. Everything was false, nothing was good, everything was evil. She didn't want to face the pain anymore. Let her die in this stinking hellhole, just leave her here to rot away.
Yes.
Rot away like Buttercup will be starting to do...
Unless you help her, Blossom.
And the last shattered cry dribbled from her torn lips and the tears came pouring down from between her clenched eyelids. Everything was unravelling, unfurling around her, falling apart. Yes. They talk about when a person finally hits rock bottom. Yes...she had reached the end of her fall. There was no-where else to go.
A sandpapery tongue swiped gently at her hand and her eyes opened a smidgeon. She felt the gaze of the people upstairs still on her, waiting for her to do something. She saw the glittering yellow eyes of the confused animal looking up at her. Why was she sad? it seemed to be asking.
She stared up at the endless blue sky darkening above her, felt the cold, icy air sting her cheeks, dry the old blood that coated her skin.
Once you've fallen all the way down...?
Where else can you go?
Where else can you go but up?
The world was old and ruthless around her. She'd die out here, she'd die out here all alone.
She couldn't die just yet.
She still had so much to do.
Buttercup.
Buttercup...
The only direction was up.
And those were the words that made her rise to her feet, pulling Butch up with her. Those were the words that made her walk slowly up the stone stairs, pressing her hand into the wall for support, a trail of blood staining the brick behind her. Those were the words that made her put all of the last dregs of her energy into dragging herself inside, the door closing neatly behind her.