Antecedent 0.7
This is going to be quite the uneventful day today, isn't it?
I have the thought as I stare up at the house with a small arch in my brow. The roof looks as though it is falling apart, the once-white walls are dirty enough to seem painted brown, and half of the front door is not in the doorframe, having seemingly been ripped away. The dilapidation of this building is more than apparent; it looks too unlivable for even the most desperate squatter. Which is perfect for my intentions.
A slight wind brushes against my body, ruffling the hood of my new sweater. I am not on another nighttime walk, though it is still much earlier than when I would normally wake up. When I left my house, I believe the time was around four-fifty in the morning. The sun still hasn't even begun to peek over the horizon, allowing me the optimal time to look around for abandoned homes. Why?
You'll see.
I stride towards the house with a very relaxed demeanor; thanks to my insects, I know there's no one nearby for at least a half-mile. I step through the doorframe, the wooden floor indoors creaking under the sudden weight.
As I do a quick eye-level inspection of the whole place, little motes of satisfaction rise through my body. There are spiderwebs littered everywhere from ground to ceiling, hundreds of little holes in the walls, some diminished furniture including a coffee table, an ottoman, and, interestingly enough, a grandfather clock. The pendulum within moves side-to-side in a perfect swing. Seeing everything around me, a single thought comes to mind.
It's perfect. A perfect basket. Now, it was time to give it a new egg.
I stop in the middle of the living room and close my eyes, tensing my mind. My control sphere expands.
The rest proceeds as it did at every other house I've visited:
I find a surprising amount of ants in the nearby area, two hundred and thirty seven this time. I then move them into the house and into the walls, a task made easier by all the holes I found earlier. The inside of the walls is filled to the brim with all of the ants, so I start to speak.
Hello, everyone! I hope you're ready for your new job. A cavalcade of squeaky voices start to pipe up.
New job?
A new job means a new boss.
A new boss means new orders.
Orders mean order.
Order? I love order!
Me too! Order fuckin' rules!
Order is rules!
Order! Order! Order!
The cheering is cute for the first few seconds, but I shut them up before it becomes too annoying.
Order in the court, everyone. Or, uh, in the house, I guess. I will be your new boss, Taylor. Now, before I give you the orders, I must tell you some important things. First of all, I usually won't be here to supervise you all myself, so I need to trust that you can manage yourselves.
Oh, we'll do that, Ms. Taylor!
We'll use order!
Order? I love order!
Order! Order! Order!
I force all of them to hit their heads on the closest surface. The cheering quickly fades.
I know you're all excited, but we need to straighten out a few more things. Right now, I need to appoint leaders among all of you. They will be the bosses while I'm not here. You will do everything they say. Alright?
Yeah, that sounds fun!
More bosses? That's great!
Because more bosses mean more orders…
And more orders means or-
Shut the fuck up right now.
…Okay.
So, call out your name if you want to be one of these bosses.
Names start to rattle and explode around in my head like nuclear grenades, but I manage to catch a few.
Alright, alright. Stop!
…
Good. Thank you for your names. I'll appoint now.
I clear my throat telepathically.
iThe new bosses are Tony, Francisco, Edward, Velma, James, John, Charles, Rodney, Franklin, Wayne, Herman, Stephanie, Howard, Quincy, Ronald, Robert, Sylvester, Ray, Joshua, Stephen, Andrews, William, Amy, Roberto, Eric, Benjamin, Joanna, Cesar, Eugene, Polly, Herb, Rocky, Donald, Gacy, Martha, Allen, Ted, David, Monroe, Kenneth, Richard, Jake, Arthur, Lawrence, Tracy, Rudy, Oscar, Terry, Clifton, Dallen, Joseph, Larry, Lester, Sherry, Curtis, Debra, Jerry, Lyle, Judy, David, Thomas, Angelo, Nathaniel, Nathan, Nate, Ernest, Henry, and Jimmy. Sixty-eight of you should be enough, right?
Yessir!
Ahem.
Yes, ma'am!
Good. Now, I'm going to have a private conversation with just the bosses.i
I mentally remove every single ant from my mind other than the names I called out and focus solely on them.
Okay. Your first order is directing the horde to search the house. Explore every surface, nook, and cranny you can find. I want you to know this place inside-out. When I see you again, I expect you to tell me all about it. Understood?i
They mentally nod in unison.
Your second order is to keep them mating. The more exploring the house, the better. Understood?i
They all nodded again.
Finally, set aside a sizable group from the rest to get you food. I can't have you all starving on me. Understood?
They all nodded one more time. My mouth twitched in satisfaction.
Well, then. I won't keep you for much longer. I'll be seeing you all later. Good luck.
I open my eyes and cut myself off from all of them, letting me breathe. Despite being used to it by now, dealing with ants is quite draining. Easy, but draining nonetheless. I still loved them, though. They were perfect little beings to me.
I started to walk out the door frame, but I snatched a look behind me and saw the beginnings of their exploration. Hundreds of little beads crawling all over the walls and everywhere, another egg freshly laid in its basket. I expand my sphere for one last listen to what they're saying, and I leave the property with a smirk on my face as I hear a passionate chant.
ORDER! ORDER! ORDER!
I walk to the bus bench and sit down as my eyes flit up and check the clock. It is a minute to six now and the bus doesn't arrive for another half hour. Slightly annoyed, I sigh inwardly and make myself as comfortable as I can, seeing as I have to wait a full thirty minutes to get to school. The thought of walking to school crosses my mind, but laziness is unfortunately not an emotion, therefore the desire to take a break for no reason at all is still as strong as ever. I sit tight and wait for the bus.
Five minutes go by and I don't believe the bus is getting any closer at the moment. It's not as if I'm bored, but I do enjoy something stimulating once in a while, and counting the amount of cars that go by and sorting them by color in my mind is getting less entertaining as the count increases. The next five minutes are spent looking at the clouds and trying to approximate what they look like compared to other objects. I find out quickly after beginning that I am not the most creative, as the first thought to mind is always cloud. I also ran out of clouds. That distraction is replaced by another and another and another, until I am left with absolutely nothing.
As I lie on the bench, starting to feel the first sting of boredom arrive, I swivel my head slightly to see the clock: six twenty-three. Seven minutes left. A quiet groan escapes my throat as I lean my head back, letting it hang off of the edge. My eyes keep a stare up at the sky, to see if there are new clouds to approximate. As I confirm that the sky has, indeed, not moved an inch, I let my head relax back even more.
I start thinking about whether I should start calling in all of the insects in the area to see if I can do something else, but that plan goes out the window when I see someone approach. Someone familiar. I sit up in anticipation and wait for her to approach. A small breeze wafts by and ruffles her red hair slightly. I acknowledge her presence.
"Hello, Emma." She stops a foot away from me. I keep my gaze forward, seeing if the bus has arrived yet as I subtly send a fly to her shoulder; body language is hard to understand when you're focused on when a bus is close. "Do you have something you want to say to me?" I hear her sneer in response, though her shoulders tense up.
"Why would I want to talk to you? Don't you remember how unimportant you are to me? I didn't even notice you there." I turn my head to her, my face as stony as ever.
"You used to be a better liar." Her face, in the middle of a sneer, morphs into a frown. She takes a moment to respond.
"Okay, this is getting annoying. Stop it." I cock my head slightly.
"Stop what?"
"Stop with all your bullshit. You've been acting like someone completely different after…our prank." I feel a small pinch of annoyance at her assertion, but it fades in an instant.
"I've been different; I'll admit that." I turn my focus back on the clock; six twenty-five. "But I haven't been acting. At least, not around you." I feel her tense up again, though not as stiffly as before. She is curious. "You're the person I've always been truest around, even before all this." There is a long silence before either of us says anything. I can't see Emma, but I can tell she's thinking. About what, I could only wonder. "...I'm transferring to Arcadia in two weeks." Her back becomes as stiff as a wall. "I don't believe you deserve that information, but I thought you would want to know." I check the clock quickly, six twenty-six, before turning my head towards her again.
Her expression is complicated, a mix of confusion and anger with a very minor hint of sadness. She shakes it off as soon as she notices I'm looking and replaces it with a new sneer, this one more strained than the previous.
"Well, good. Winslow'll be better off without you. I bet Arcadia realizes what a waste of space you'll be before the first week is up." I blink twice at her comment and bring my gaze back to the clock, still six twenty-six. I open my mouth, but am interrupted by a loud engine noise close by. I turn my head to the noise and see a vehicle approach. It's the bus.
"Ah, it's early today." I immediately forget what I was doing just now and stand up. I am halfway to the door before I hear someone speak.
"Hey! Where are you going?" My short-term memory comes back as I look back at Emma. Her face is flushed in a new mix of emotions, those being embarrassment and frustration. I let out a sigh.
"I recommend you stay in modeling, Emma. Acting would be too…strenuous of a job for you." Without further elaboration, I enter the bus and walk to the back as I move the fly off of her. She was shaking.
As the bus goes on to school, the conversation is still fresh in my mind. The most perplexing thing about it to me was why we even had it. It was as if she was actually concerned about me. She tried to hide it, sure, but there was a certain twinge in her voice. It was almost as if, for a moment, I finally saw the real Emma again.
Class somehow feels too long. It was already long, but now I found it just unnecessarily lengthy. World Issues has regressed in quality lately, though I'm not entirely sure why; all we've been doing for the past few lessons is a singular worksheet for each class that even the most mentally challenged individual could get at least fifty percent on. Put simply, I finished it within the first ten minutes, while trying to go slow might I add, and I still found myself leaning on the table staring at the clock.
I attempt to distract myself with my thoughts as my hand picks up my pencil.
My hand draws a line.
The only thing that really comes to mind might be a bit obvious, but it is impossible to think of anything other than my conversation with Emma.
My hand draws a perpendicular line. Clearly, she had sought me out. What other reason would there be for her to talk to me?
My hand draws another perpendicular line. Maybe she was concerned?
Straight line. Maybe curious?
Straight line. Maybe she was just trying to garner information on what I was doing to make fun of me later.
Line, line. Why does that thought make my stomach feel weird?
Circle. I do not understand this new feeling.
Wavy line. My chest is tightening and I don't know why.
Wavy line. Is this anger?
Wavy line. Is this what anger feels like to me now?
Wavy line. Why do I have to feel it differently?
Wavy line. It scares me.
Wavy line. I press down on the pencil.
Slash.
I hear a snap.
My eyes flit to my hand. The pencil is broken and the graphite core has exploded. I blink blearily as if I just woke up.
I suddenly feel someone staring. Quickly surveilling the room reveals that that 'someone' is the entire class.
My mask comes on automatically and my character flashes an embarrassed smile before using her sleeve to rub away the graphite dust on the desk. As she does this, my mind is rushing with questions: what was that? Weren't my emotions normally muted? Why weren't they now? And why do I have no memory of drawing the stick figure I see in my book?
The rest of class passes without further incident. As I still have nothing to do, I focus on the stick figure. It's quite the puzzle to me; not who it represents, that much is obvious, but why I drew it in the first place. The memory bit is also important, but I shelve that for later. By the time the bell rings, I am no closer to understanding anything about it. I sigh inwardly and gather my things, then stop in place when I hear a voice.
"Oh, Taylor, can you stay behind? I'll take the blame for making you late to your next class; I just need you to stay for a moment." The voice belongs to Mr. Gladly, calling me from the front of the room. A few of my classmates snicker, but one look at them from my character
When everyone is gone, my character walks up to Mr. Gladly's desk with a new smile on her face. I sit down in front of him and she makes a gesture with my head.
"What did you want, Mr. G?" I know he likes his students to call him that, but my stomach roils simply saying it. He returns my character's smile, so it wasn't useless pain.
"Taylor. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. Do you know why I asked you to stay back with me?" My character raises my eyebrow.
"Would it have to do with my accident earlier? I'm sorry if I caused a stir. You see, I accidentally pushed the pencil too hard into my book while drawing and-"
"Taylor." He really likes to repeat my name a lot, doesn't he? "It isn't healthy to neglect responsibility. It's fine if you were doing it for attention, just be sure to be more honest in the future. Besides, I'm here now, answering your call." My character's smile freezes in place. My teeth grind together. "Taylor, are you okay? You know, after all…that?" All that. That's what the locker incident was to him, 'all that'. How absolutely brain-dead. I do not voice my opinions. It takes me a moment to think of an answer.
"...Actually, being brought down to my lowest helped me rise much higher than I ever did before." My character's smile becomes less strained and seemingly more genuine-looking . "As a matter of fact, I'd like to thank you for not getting involved." Mr. Gladly's expression changes from a grin to a mildly concerned frown with a hint of guilt.
"Taylor, I can imagine you may be frustrated with me, but-"
"No, no. I'm serious. You should try to do it more in the future. Or not try; that's what happened, wasn't it?" The guilt on his face grows. "Really, you shouldn't feel guilty. I'm sure you'll forget about it all tomorrow." I nod with confirmation and stand up from my seat. I don't want to talk with him anymore. I make it to the exit before he calls out to me again, stuttering slightly.
"I-I wasn't allowed to get involved." I stop. "Believe me, I would have wanted to try more, but Principal Blackwell told me not to get too direct. If you had asked me, I would have tried to show up when needed, but-"
"Mr Gladly." My character's smile becomes stiff as she turns back to him. "You're the only one blaming someone here." She turns back to the door. "It isn't healthy to neglect responsibility, you know." I leave the room satisfied with the conversation. I do not need, or want, to speak to him again.
I cross Mr. Gladly's name off my list. The bus ride here, like the rest of the day so far, did not have anything immediately stimulating, so I was forced to come up with something that was. The fact that I only have two more weeks at Winslow does not mean that there are already things for me to do while I wait. I have found something a bit productive at least.
I look at the rest of the names.
Madison
Sophia
Emma
Blackwell
My lip twitches. Time to say my goodbyes.