It's Hard to Explain

by Sarah the What

Jack is a boy suffering from memory loss who would be willing to do anything to remember his past. Hiccup is his new friend who would be willing to do anything to forget his. During their many adventures involving dangerous bikes, cute girls, and protective parents, both boys learn through each other that they can't continue living their lives in the past.

16. Who Said This Was a Game?

Phew. Finally got this sucker done.

I had planned on finishing this chapter yesterday, but then HTTYD2 became a thing and all my feels made it impossible for me to sit down and write. I got it done though, so whatever! And HTTYD2 was absolutely magnificent, if you're wondering. I'm actually about to leave to go see it again with the boyfriend.

Slight warning because of panic attacks near the end in Jack's narration. It isn't anything horrible, but yeah. Just a friendly warning.

And that's all I got for you guys today! I'm not gonna be able to update next week, let alone write, since I'll be at a college orientation for half the week, then a summer camp for the other half. Updates still may be a little far apart after that too, considering I'm going to England with a friend for a month and finding time to write may be hard, but I'll try my best to work on this whenever I get the change.

Thanks for the reviews and follows and whatever! You guys are splendid beings!

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"So, we were at Ms Gothi's place this morning, right? And you know how she has, like, twenty cats that she just has wandering around her property?"

"Yeah, she hired me to look after them once when she was on vacation," Astrid says, messing carelessly with the pen of her ordering notepad. "I don't remember most of them, but I do remember that the orange one was named Killer."

Fish lets out an amused laugh. "What an appropriate name."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"Well, Hiccup was mowing and I was cutting the shrubs - y'know, the usual thing - when I guess Killer somehow managed to escape from the house."

"Oh gods," Astrid murmurs under her breath.

"Next thing I know, the stupid cat's charging me and I'm running around the yard screaming bloody murder with Hiccup right behind, trying to catch the cat. He was a fast one though, and he somehow managed to get a hold of my leg, and, Astrid, look at what that little monster did to me." Fish puts his half-finished hamburger down on its laid out wrappings and bends over to show Astrid his battle scars from earlier that morning. There's four of them, each evenly spread apart as they curve down his calve, finishing right above his sweat-stained socks.

Right as she sees the red scratches, Astrid lets out a sharp hiss. "Man. And this is exactly why I don't want to have a cat as a pet. They're beasts, only acting on instinct." She turns her head in my direction, opposite of Fish, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Except Toothless. He's a good cat, so no offence to either of you."

I just shrug, having barely been paying attention to their conversation in the first place to take any offense.

Astrid, to her own credit, notices this right away. "Normally you're full of sarcastic remarks, yet today you've been oddly quiet. I mean, I'm not complaining," - she lets out a half smirk, and I notice Fish beside her trying to hold back a laugh - "but it's very unlike you. Is something up?"

I shrug again, which I know is a bad idea; she's acting so natural with me today, and I know that not verbally replying is going to get me a one-way ticket to her bad side.

And I'm right. Her joking tone has completely washed away as she says, "A shrug isn't an answer, Haddock," her eyebrows now furrowed behind her bangs.

Before she can really start getting on my case though, Fish comes in and saves the day, sensing the sudden hostility in the air. "He's just tired, Astrid. Ms Gothi had really let her place go this past month, so he had to mow over her yard twice to get the grass to look decent. He just needs some rest."

Astrid, who hasn't taken her baby blue eyes off me, doesn't seem convinced, but she doesn't question me further. Instead, she says she needs to get back to work, and then leaves us, blading away off towards the ordering station.

"Thanks," I say to Fish once she's out of hearing distance. "Not really in the mood for an interrogation today."

"Yeah, I can tell," he goes, wrapping his fingers around his plastic cup of water and taking a sip out of it. "Are you still upset about Jack?"

"Not upset. Just… worried, I guess."

"I'm sure he's fine, Hic."

"Yeah, but do you know that?"

He opens his mouth, as if he actually knows the state of Jack, then stops himself and shrugs his wide shoulders. I let out a sigh.

It's been three days and no one's heard a thing from Jack. Shortly after his most recent episode at the stream, Astrid had run off to get his parents for help, Tooth and I staying with him to make sure he didn't relapse. Cami had been acting like such an adult, keeping the littler kids quiet and calm, something I thanked her for later in the form of a milkshake.

When Astrid arrived with Mister and Mrs Overland at her side, it was like taking Jack home after his race with Lout; I could see the very blood being drained from their faces as they saw their only son lying there, pale and weak, and me at his side.

I was ready for them to scold me - to tell me that there was no way in hell that they'd ever even consider allowing Jack to be friends with me now - but it never came. It was all happened so quickly, so precisely, like it had all been rehearsed; Mister Overland scooping up his son's limp body and carrying it away through the trees, Mrs Overland trying to hold back her tears while not making it too obvious that she was avoiding my eye contact. They didn't speak a word to us, didn't ask us what had happened; they probably already knew, now that I think about it.

I wish that I knew. I wish I had been watching him the moment before he collapsed, to see what had caused it. What had been going through his head as his body violently convulsed among the rocks, somehow allowing him to "remember everything". What did he remember? How did he even remember it? It seemed that, as I watched Mister Overland carry Jack away, I was also watching a lot of answers being carried away as well.

"You should go get some rest," Fish tells me gently, breaking my train of thought. "You actually do look really exhausted."

"Yeah, and I feel it," I admit, reaching up and hiding my face in my hands. My sweat doused hair touches my fingertips and I'm suddenly aware of how gross I feel. "A nice shower and nap sounds pretty great right about now."

"I'll get the tab. You go home."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, of course. You barely ate anything anyways. It's all good."

"Thanks, Fish. You're most definitely the best."

"Oh, stop it, you," he teases, batting his hand my way as I get up from my chair. I laugh, shaking my head despite the fact that I'm happy he was able to get me to smile. Before I can fully get away though, he speaks up again.

"Don't worry about him, Hic," he tells me simply. "I'm sure he's fine. Worry about yourself, alright? You need to, with that race of yours just 'round the corner."

Oh yeah. The race. The race that's only three days away.

I give him a thumbs up, trying to put on a face that'll convince him not to worry about me - I'll be fine. Even if I'm not that successful at it, he lets me slide by returning my thumbs up and smile, which I silently thank him for.

I had thought I had been ready to race Lout, but after these last couple of days, I can't be too sure anymore. Not knowing Jack's mental and physical state is making me feel incredibly uneasy, but the idea of not having him at my race all together? That was never even an option; I can't even imagine a race without him on the sidelines.

I suppose these turn of events does even us out though, considering I hadn't been able to make it to his race. I just hope the outcome to mine is different from his.

As I walk home, I try to clear my mind of everything that's been bugging me lately. No thoughts of the million times I've pissing off Astrid, no stupid race with Lout, no Jack, no nothing. I concentrate on my surroundings instead, noticing the complete lack of clouds in the sky and the dryness of the grass. I try to remember the last time it had rained and I'm completely unable to recollect.

By the time I arrived home, feeling five times more exhausted than before, but more at peace, a shower seems like the only thing I can afford to do without completely passing out. My dad, on the other hand, has other plans.

"Hiccup," he goes, startling me as I lock the front door behind me. I hadn't even noticed him sitting in his usual arm chair, an emotionless expression on his hard face that makes me feel anxious. I'd much rather he looked upset than like this, because at least then I could somewhat tell what's on his mind and in store for me.

"Oh, uh… hey, Dad," I greet him back nervously. I find myself hoping to see Toothless come bounding down the stairs to greet me, but he never does, much to my disappointment. "I had a long day at work today, so I was just gonna-"

"Come sit with me," he interrupts, his expression not shifting an inch. "We need to talk."

I hesitate, staring at the seat on the couch next to him. "Am… am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble. We just need to talk."

"And what type of talk are we talking about here?" I ask, slowly inching towards where he's seated, yet still keeping my distance, just in case of a needed escape.

It's at this comment that makes a sign of emotion appear on his face, and I quickly wish I could take it back. He tells me again to come sit again, the now rigid look in his eyes telling me I don't have a choice.

After taking my seat on the adjacent couch, my dad leans forward, resting his elbows on his thick knees. By the way he's looking at the hardwood floor between his feet, I can tell he's thinking over his words very carefully, like he's practiced them a thousand times before. Knowing him though, who's to say he hasn't.

"If I do recall correctly, summer's almost over," he finally says to me, that infamous business-like tone that I hate so much coating his words. "Is this right?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, trying my best to keep my brewing annoyance contained. "Like, a little less than a month to go." Hearing myself say this brings the weight upon me; summer ending means school starting, which means seven and a half hours of classes, homework, and a ton of hormonal teenagers that hate me for one reason or another every day. All of sudden, I wish it was the beginning of June again, not the beginning of August.

"Well, because of that," my dad goes on, not appearing to notice my discomfort with the date, "the plan to have you intern at my office isn't going to work."

I have to fight to let out a sigh of relief.

"Because of this however, I've decided that, during this upcoming school year, you'll be interning with me every day after school."

I'm suddenly not as tired as before. "What? Dad, no."

"Okay, okay. How about every other day?"

"No, Dad, that's now what- I don't want to intern for you, I..."

Though I suppose I should've seen it coming, my dad's face turns as solid as a rock as I trail off, additional redness growing in his cheeks and forehead. I know I've hit the sensitive spot and that there's officially no going back now, but this is something I've got to do. Whether or not I meant to waltz myself into this conversation, I've got to show him, rather than just tell.

"Hiccup, if you're not going to intern for me, than what in Odin's name are you going to do?" he asks, a hint of hopelessness that surprises me in his voice. "You spend all your time on those useless bikes and… and doing only the gods know what with your friends. Are you even thinking about your future?"

"I… I dunno," I admit. "But-"

"I'm trying to help you out here, son, but it won't work if you don't let me."

"I know, I know. I just-"

"It's a harsh world out there, Hiccup. Having the family business already under your belt after you graduate could prove to be very helpful to you; a privilege even."

"Dad, I-"

"I just don't understand why you won't just-"

"Dad! Just… for once in your life, will you please just listen to me? Just hear me out? Even for just a second."

My dad stares back at me with wide eyes, caught off guard at my blatant outburst to get him to stop talking. I'm also a little taken aback by it too - where did that courage even come from anyways? - but I can't afford to let this opportunity slip by, not when I finally have his full, undivided attention.

"No, I admit, I don't really know what I want to do with my life," I tell him, trying to keep my voice even, "but I'm fifteen, Dad. Most kids my age don't know what they want to do. I still have three years of high school, then whatever amount of years of college to figure it out. And who knows. Maybe taking over the family business is what I'll end up doing, but as of right now… well, it's not what I want to do, y'know? I just… I wanna do things I wanna do, and I know that's selfish, but I… I just…"

I trail off, not entirely sure where I'm going with this anymore. I've gotten what I wanted to say out, and my dad's studying me with those watery gray eyes of his, like he's trying to see if I'm being sincere or not.

"And they're not useless," I go on, suddenly remembering his comment about the bikes and feeling defensive. "I happen to really like biking, and, to be honest, it… it hurts to hear your put it down like that. I mean, I've put a lot of time into building that bike and-"

"Wait, wait, wait. You built that bike?" he suddenly speaks up. "All… all on your own?"

"Well, yeah. It's been kinda a pain, but yeah."

"Can I see it?"

Now it's my turn to get caught off guard. My dad stands up abruptly from his seat after I absentmindedly nod back in response, all of which makes me realize that he's being completely serious in his request. I follow him as he heads to the garage and through the doorframe, still in somewhat of a trance at the situation. After I carefully take my bike down from its rack, my dad kneels down on to one knee and actually seems to be inspecting it, like he knows something about bikes and how they work.

"You built this?" he asks again, brushing his fingers across the top tube of the frame, where I've recently added in a royal red spray paint the words Night Fury.

"Uh, yeah. Well, kinda. I changed a lot of the old parts to newer, better ones, so it'll go faster and take tighter turns. Lout's bike is a lot heavier than mine too, so I've worked on making it-"

"Wait, Lout's bike? Your cousin?"

"Yeah. Uh… we're racing this weekend. I mean, he challenged me and stuff. But we're racing."

"So that's what you kids all do with these bikes," he says in a near whisper, sounding like this piece of information is making everything come together. "You race them."

"Well, sometimes. Most people just have bikes to have bikes, but some people like to race them. You know. Like me."

"Oh yeah?" He stands up straight again, placing his meaty hands on his hips. I allow my tensed shoulders to relax a bit when I notice the small smile that's formed between his beard and mustache. "You any good at it then? The racing?"

I shrug. "It's all I am good at."

He stares at me again - the same look as before on - like he's trying to comprehend what I'm telling him; I'll give him some credit for at least trying now. I feel kind of stupid for saying what I said, making it sound like I'm not good at anything other than racing, though that may actually be true. Sure I'm pretty decent at drawing and making things, but biking is the only real thing I'm one hundred percent confident at doing.

Eventually, my dad lets out a heavy sigh, taking a seat on a pile of boxes in the corner of the garage, the lot of them groaning under his immense weight. "I… I'm sorry, Hiccup. You know. For putting down biking and everything. I may not understand it, but… but I shouldn't dismiss it simply because I don't understand it."

I'm in shock, but I try to not let it show. "It's, uh… it's okay. And, well… I guess I'm sorry for being so stubborn about the whole intern thing. I know the family business really means a lot to you and I'm just kinda being a jerk about it. So yeah. Sorry."

He nods his head, and though I can tell he's trying to act like my apology is no big deal by simple saying, "It's alright, son," I can tell it means a lot more than just that. He turns back towards my bike and asks, "You really like… this?" gesturing towards it, still positioned between us.

I don't hesitate to confirm with a series of hard nods.

He looks back over at me, his hand running through the tip of his beard as he studies me for the millionth time in the last ten minutes. It makes me a little uncomfortable, I'll admit, but if him looking at me like this will make him see how much I love biking, than I'm all for it. I'll stand here for hours if it'll help make him understand.

All of the sudden, he claps his heavy hands together with a sound that puts thunder to shame, saying as he stands up, "Alright then. A compromise. We'll make a compromise."

I'm instantly confused. "Huh?"

"I'll stop bugging you about your biking and future and everything," he says, walking up to me, "if you promise that, next summer, you'll intern for me. I know you think you won't like it, but maybe you will. You never know until you at least try."

I look up at him, staring him full in the face, and I can see plainly on his features that he's not messing around. If I confirm this agreement between us, then he'll never talk down to me when it comes to biking again, never bring up what I'm going to do after I'm done with school. In other words, he'll finally leave me alone about all the topics that make me want to avoid him. I'll finally have my dad back - the one that used to tell me stories of Vikings and dragons before going to bed every night as a kid; the one that did all he could do to raise me properly despite having no mother around; the one that taught me how to ride a bike in the first place.

Though spending my next summer in an office with my dad and all his boring colleagues wasn't on the top of my to-do list, I guess this is a pretty fair bargain.

"Alright," I say, letting out a small sigh at having to give away my next summer's freedom, but also a smile at gaining my own new freedom. "You've got yourself a deal."

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I'm trapped inside my head and I don't know how long I'm stuck there, but I'm in battle the entire time. Instead of darkness being my surroundings, I'm in the woods again; that same haunting woods from my earlier nightmares, the narrow trees barring me in. The shadowy figure follows me as I walk, then run, then sprint, further and further into the copse, the aura slowly becoming more and more drear and eerie. Branches are bare and mangled, their fallen leaves coating the cold bottom of the forest's floor. I want to turn back, but I know I can't, for the figure follows my every step, tracking me.

She was better off without you.

They'll never see you as one of them.

It's all your fault.

You shouldn't even try.

I try to block it all out, try to find some way - any way - to get out of this horror. No matter how much I focus on the world outside my head though, I'm still trapped, the words, like venom, trickling into my ears.

"Leave me alone!" I scream out of frustration, whirling around, only to be met with a gust of wind. I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing the breeze to die down before reopening them. When I do, the shadowy figure has found its way in front of me, causing me to gasp and nearly fall backwards - only this time, its hood is down, revealing for the first time a face.

It's a man, his features long and slender, the skin wrapped around him a dull, dead gray. His bright yellow eyes stare into me, giving me the feeling of claws tearing into my chest. He sees my discomfort and smirks.

"What do you want from me?" I beg.

I know what you did.

"W-what?"

There's no way you can live it down, boy.

"Live… what are you talking about?"

I will never let you forget.

"I'm done with you, whoever - whatever you are," I say through gritted teeth. "Just… just leave me alone. I don't want to play this game anymore."

I turn quickly on my heel, ready to attempt yet another fruitless escape, but before I can take one step, I'm stopping by the sight of a body. It's of a small child, lying in a pile of discarded leaves, its limbs sprawled out in all directions as its lifeless eyes stare up into the darkened sky.

Though I know it's a mistake, I take a step forward and-

Emma.

Who said anything about this being a game?

There's a bright light, making it not only hard for me to see, but to breathe. Then I'm looking up at my white popcorn ceiling.

What in the world is happening to me?

I slowly move myself up to discover that I've been placed at some point on my bed, my covers draped over my sweating body. Looking around, I notice the light streaming through the opened window, signaling the time to only be about midday. I know that that was around the time I had been at the stream with Hiccup and Tooth and everyone else, but I wonder how many days later is it.

Wait.

The stream.

The vision.

My memory.

I feel my body begin to tremble as I retain everything I had seen that day; the towering trees and the flowing stream, little Emma collecting rocks, then falling, only to be cushioned by me. The blood stained water and her tears. It all comes back to me as I stare down at my quivering hands, barely being able to grasp what has happened.

"I remember," I say, mainly only to hear myself say it. "I… remember what happened. I… I saved her. I saved her."

I saved her.

My body can't seem to sit still now that these thoughts have materialized in my mind, so I pull myself hurriedly up and out of bed. There's a weak pain in my side and forehead, but I ignore it, too thrilled to notice or even care. I have to tell someone. I have to tell someone what I know before I forget it all again.

I make my way down the hallway and to the stairs, carefully descending down them as not to trip, but still fast enough to where I don't go crazy with impatience. A smile's on my face the entire time.

"Mom! Dad!" I yell through the house once I've reached the bottom floor. There's a rustle and the sound of movement coming from the living room, so I head that way, my smile growing with every step I take.

I nearly collide with my father as I enter the room. His expression is of worry, his eyes wide as he stares at me, both of us eye to eye. My mother, standing not so far behind him, bears the same demeanor.

"Jack! What… are you… are you okay?" my father asks me with diligence in his voice, reaching out and firmly grabbing my shoulders. His eyes seem to be searching for something, but I can't think of what.

"I'm fine," I assure both of them with a smile, lifting my father's hands off my shoulders. "I'm fine, really. I just… I remember."

Both of my parents send me baffled looks.

"I remember, you guys. I… I remember what happened the day I lost my memory. It just… it all came back to me."

Though they both look somewhat confused by what I'm telling them, that doesn't stop them from showing their euphoria. My father wraps me into a tight hug - something I don't believe he's ever done before - and my mother is smiling the most immense grin I've ever seen her wear, what look like tears coming to her eyes as well. They're congratulating me, telling me how happy they are that it's finally all come back to me, and I don't know what to do with myself other than to just smile back, my cheeks beginning to hurt, but not caring one bit.

"So, what happened then?" my father asks me once everything's calmed down. The three of us are now seated on the couch, both of them on either side of me.

"We were at a stream," I tell them, feeling such pride in being able to actually picture what I'm saying in my mind. "I don't know where it was, but we were collecting rocks."

"We?" my mother asks, looking falteringly at my father.

"Emma and me," I tell them. "We were out collecting rocks and… she fell. I was able to get to her before she hit the rocks though, so she was fine. But I hit my head, and… that explains my memory loss. I mean, hitting your head on something really hard can do that, right?"

Neither of them answers me; just continue to stare.

I decide to go on anyways, despite their looks. "I don't remember much after that, but I do remember her running off somewhere. Probably to look for help or something. And apparently she got it, because I woke up in the hospital!"

"Oh, Jack…" my father suddenly says, giving me a sad look. I look over towards my mother and her shaking hands have moved up to her mouth, no longer bearing a smile, tears forming on the rims of her eyes, this time not with happiness.

"Wha- why are you crying?" I ask her. Instead of answering, she leans forwards in her seat and plants her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she begins to cry. I quickly turn towards my father, my heart beat quickening inside my chest as I ask, "What did I say? What's wrong?"

"You… you really don't remember," he says, staring at my blankly.

"Of course he doesn't remember, Will," I hear my mother speak up, her face still hidden in her hands and her words unexpectedly harsh. "He had passed out. Hit his head on a rock. There's no way he could've known…"

"Known what?" I ask.

Neither of them answer. Neither of them seem to be able to look at me, when only a moment ago, I was all they could look at. A wave of exasperation rising inside of me at this; we were doing so well, all so happy; I have to know what took that all away.

"Known what?" I ask again, only this time I try to sound firm, to show I'm not fooling around.

"Emma… she… she didn't find help," my father tells me slowly, still refusing to lock eyes with me. "Some hikers found you and they called for help. Not Emma."

"Oh," I let out under my breath. "Well… okay. That's alright too. I mean… I got help, right? That's all that matters, right?" I send an encouraging smile their ways, but it doesn't end up working in the way I had intended it to - my mother starts to cry harder, which causes my father to let out a heavy sigh.

"It's… it's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid."

"How?"

My father turns to look over at my mother - maybe to seek some encouragement - but she's now gotten up and left the room entirely, though I can still hear her softly weeping in the kitchen. An impulse comes over me to go in to comfort her, but when my father finally looks back at me, a look in his eyes that tells me he's about to start explaining, it stops me from moving.

"How is it more complicated?" I ask again.

"Jack… I'm… I'm sorry, but… I don't know any other way to put this."

"To put… what?"

"Emma…" He sighs, closing his eyes as he finishes. "Emma's dead."

Everything stops. The birds outside chirping, my mother's weeping, the fan overhead's propellers, they all just stop. I can't feel anything. My hands, which had been shaking from suspense beside me, could be detached from my body and I wouldn't be able to tell. My throat is dry and my eyes can't focus and my mind is running a thousand miles per hour as I play his words over and over again in my head, trying to make sense of them.

"She's… she's what?"

"I'm so sorry," I hear him say again, his voice cracking as he finally gives into the tears, one now streaming down his face. "We… we thought maybe you knew. That you remembered. I'm so, so sorry."

My heart is pounding hysterically in my chest, trying to escape from inside of me so it doesn't have to feel this aching confusion. I think No. It's not possible. I spent the first month of the summer with her, playing with her, reading with her, learning with her. How can she be…? She was here, sitting where I'm sitting now. She was here. She was right here.

"No," I breathe out, shaking my head. "You've… you're wrong. She's just… she's at camp. She'll be back next week. She told me."

My father's brow furrows when he hears this. "She what? Jack… what are you-"

"She was here!" I yell. "I-I played with her! We played together!" My eyes are beginning to burn and I don't want to have to make my father watch me as I cry over something that's not even true. Instead, I turn away from him and start hastily making my way towards the stairs, itching for some proof that they're both wrong and knowing exactly where I can find it. "She's just away at camp," I continue to tell myself. "She'll be back next week. She's fine."

"Jack!" I hear the voice of my mother call after me as I bound up the stairs, skipping every other step. I see out of the corner of my eye as I stride down the hallway both her and my father making their ways up the stairs, an aghast feel in their movements and voices as they call after me. I don't stop for them though, don't slow down. They're wrong, they're both wrong. Emma's not dead. My little Emma is not dead. She's fine. She's got to be.

I get to her bedroom door, which is closed and has been closed since the day she left for camp, no one having any reason to intrude. I wait until my parents are visible down the hallway, both still moving towards me with alarm and hast, and then I swing open the door, taking a step inside as I say, "See! Her room! It's all here! She moved in with us and it's all here!"

Then I look around and my breath catches in my throat.

Her bed and desk are gone, along with her pile of stuffed animals and crayon drawings hanging from the walls. Instead, there are piles and piles of boxes, stacked on top of one another. The walls aren't painted the pastel purple I recall them being, and the blinds are closed shut, keeping every ray of sunlight out of the room.

This isn't the room I remember. The more I stare at it, the more I actually can't remember what her room looked like.

"Jack," I hear a voice say behind me, but I don't turn. All I can keep my eyes on are the boxes, the boxes that weren't here before, but now are. The boxes that are trying to trick me into believing the cruel lie of Emma no longer being here.

This has to be a dream.

This has to be a dream.

This has to be a dream.

I suddenly recall my most recent nightmare. I recall the shadowed figure. I recall Emma's lifeless body.

Who said anything about this being a game?

"Jack!" someone yells, but I can't tell who it is, because my body has hit the floor and everything's gone pitch black.