Annoying Intro by author: Have you ever heard the phrase, "I'm not a jerk, I just play one on TV"? Well, this is a disclaimer. I don't believe everything Ella believes. One day, I may mold her beliefs into mine, but I may just leave some of them be. In any case, you should follow this checklist:
Enjoy the show { }
Laugh at appropriate points { }
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Drink some coffee and warm up your icy heart, you cold, cold reader { }
The world burned. There was nothing I could do to stop it, so the flame consumed everything. It was my fault, and, as the world I had once cherished crumbled into dust and ashes, I grinned in triumph.
Then I woke up in the hospital and found that the world really was burning and I didn't feel nearly as accepting of it as I thought. There was incessant beeping and people were running and screaming everywhere. At first I thought I'd only been out for a couple minutes, but, judging from the fact that I was dressed in an unflattering hospital gown and had numerous stitches in my side, I had been out for at least a couple hours.
I would've asked one of the screaming people, but the chances of any of them having the slightest clue about me was practically nil, and the chances of me managing to get someone to calm down enough to formulate a half-intelligible reply were less than nil.
My knives were gone. I searched the room and found my clothes, but discovered that some dipwad hadn't left my knives with them. I hate dipwads with a passionate fury, and not just the ones that cut you off in traffic, either. Once, I was trying to negotiate with a dipwad and he told me I looked a bit young to be threatening him. Sure, I was fifteen then and he was about thirty-five, but I had a knife and he had a gun. He deflated pretty quickly when I traded weapons with him. As he lay on the floor, trying to breathe around the knife lodged in his throat, I asked him if he had any last requests. He pointed to my breasts. I shot him.
I did not get to keep that knife, sadly, since the police took it for evidence. It was a good knife too; made of carbon steel, and sharp enough to cut through body armor.
I felt weak after I got dressed. I considered that maybe I'd lost too much blood earlier and perhaps I should find a safe place to rest after I got out of the building. My apartment sounded nice, but getting there might be a problem since that dipwad had taken all my money, too.
What was Jeremy doing? Usually on Tuesdays he didn't get off work until five o'clock, and it wasn't even one yet. Once when I got home from an incredibly trying day, he was just getting home and said, "Oh, hello Ella. You look..." then he smiled and nodded and almost escaped into his apartment.
"I look what?" I asked, yawning and leaning up against my door. Someone had broken down the door several months prior and it had since been at just the right angle for me to lean against it comfortably. I used it as a back-scratcher while Jeremy tried desperately to figure out what he wanted to say.
"Well, um, you look...sort of...ah..." he looked very uncomfortable, and for a minute I wondered if I had left the stove on when I left that morning.
"You look good." He said finally, opening his door quickly, sliding into his sanctuary and slamming it shut.
The stove was off when I got in, thankfully, and I collapsed on the couch shortly after this was revealed. The next two hours or so were spent unconscious, but at some point I was roused by an insistent knocking. I got up, went to the door and looked through the peephole.
I saw brown, unkempt hair and a very familiar cowlick that could only belong to Jeremy. I opened the door.
"Hey, Ella, I made you some cookies, because you looked like you had a bad day."
I nodded, scratched my head and looked off into the apartment. "You woke me up, Jeremy."
"Oh." I looked back to see that his face was wracked with guilt. "Um, I didn't mean to, uh..."
I stretched, yawned and said, "It's fine, Jeremy. Your cookies will more than make up for it." I clasped my hands under my chin and said in a higher-pitched voice, "What kind are they?"
Come to think of it, where was Jeremy? I was a bit put out that he'd saved me from certain death and skipped off before I woke up again. I got up and moved through the now-deserted hospital halls.
It was quiet, save for the fire alarm. The elevators were out, so I took the stairs. Misjudging my physical capabilities, I stumbled at the last few steps and ended up grazing my knee. Limping slightly, I pushed open the door at the landing and stopped.
The sight greeting me was a fair difference from what I'd expected; There were no signs that anyone had madly stampeded out the doors. The lobby was pristine and neat, there was a receptionist at the desk and it looked for all the world like nothing was going on. Something was going on, though, wasn't it?
Confused, I walked to the doors and looked out. Outside it was a bright, sunshiny day. Cars were going by at a leisurely pace and pedestrians were strolling along obliviously. I turned back inside and found that the receptionist was standing right beside me. Her head was cocked to one side and her eyes had smile lines surrounding them. She smiled at me warmly and said, "Come on, honey, let's get you back to bed."
"But I need to get out." I said, turning back to the window. I felt hands taking my arms.
"Dear," said the receptionist, still with that pasty smile, "You have a fever. You need the rest. Look at you; you're trembling. Now what's you name?"
My name...she wants my name, "I don't know you."
"I need to know where your bed is, and I need your name so I can look it up."
"Oh." I wracked my brain to think of what my name was, but I was feeling woozy and all I could think of was Rodney's grotesque transformation. I put my hand to my forehead and sank to the floor.
The receptionist knelt by me. "What's your name? I need it. Tell me what it is."
I could tell her the floor number, "I'm on the fifth floor."
"I need your name."
"It's probably on the bed."
"I need you to tell me."
"I don't remember."
"You're lying. Tell me your name. All of it."
"I don't know, I don't remember." The room spun. I felt sick and may have vomited, but I couldn't feel anything or see clearly to tell.
"I want your name. You will tell me what it is."
In my stupor, I found that I could think of nothing but Marcy's wedding. I didn't actually spend very long with Marcy, since Morgan was late because his car broke down. I volunteered to get him, and after he got in my car he sat very stiffly. I asked him if his suit was uncomfortable and he laughed as though he hadn't actually heard what I said. "I'm getting married."
"Yes, yes you are." I said.
"I've never done this before. I'm kinda scared."
"What are you scared of?"
He thought for a minute, "You know, Marcy's a great girl."
"She's a bitch, Morgan."
"Pardon?"
"Don't delude yourself. She's a bitch and you'll probably end up fighting with her all the time."
He sat in silence for a minute. "Why are you two friends, then?"
"Because I got over it. It's the way she is. She tells you what she thinks of you and doesn't want to hear what you think about her if it's not good. I figured out one time that it's her defense mechanism. Most people will do that, but she's very insecure, so she's worse."
"How did you 'get over' that?"
"My mom. I'd gotten sent to the principal's office for fighting with Marcy and my mom came to pick me up. On the ride home she asked me why I was being such a bitch. I told her Marcy was being a bitch and she said I was being a bitch for allowing Marcy to be such a bitch. I thought about it for awhile and later asked Marcy why she was such a bitch. She hit me really hard and we both ended up in the principal's office again, but she talked to me while we were there. Eventually, we stopped being so bitchy to each other and now we're best friends. So how did you get over the bitchiness?"
Morgan opened and closed his mouth. I wasn't sure if he'd heard all I said, since I condensed it a fair bit and spoke quickly. "Wow. Um." His eyes drifted back and forth, scanning the road without actually comprehending the pavement. "I love her."
"Well, that's always a good start. Why do you love her?"
"I don't know; she just seems right, you know?"
I smiled as though I knew what he meant and shut up for the remainder of the drive.
My head felt like someone was using it as a surface to crack black walnuts. I didn't understand why I felt so terrible now. I'd felt fine when I woke up, so what had happened? I couldn't think through the pain. I saw blood on the floor, my vision blurred and I found that I was prostrate, staring up at the ceiling. I remembered lying like this before. Right after seeing the sky burn.
The world burned around me. Black smoke roiled about me in thick, impassible walls. I saw shapes in the swirling cloud. Rodney, Jeremy, Mom, Dad, Marcy, Morgan and the receptionist.
At some point I realized that the receptionist had been dead long before I got downstairs. The blood was hers, not mine. Her head was cocked to the side because something had cut through most of her neck, leaving just enough flesh to keep her head in a quasi-normal position.
"What is your name?" She said again. Her mouth moved out of sync and her eyes glared dully at the wall behind me. "I want your name. What is it? Tell me. Tell me what your name is!"
I looked to the outside and for a split second the illusory image of peace and tranquility faltered, revealing the burning buildings and people running in panicked terror.
Suddenly I felt very alone.
The receptionist snarled and stood. Her head lost connection with her body, but her body didn't appear to care about this petty inconvenience. Her hands curled and the flesh peeled back from the tips of her fingers, revealing sharp bones underneath.
I scrambled away, whimpering in terror. I grabbed a chair from the lobby, dragged it to the glass doors and flung it against them. They were unlocked anyway, however, so after I failed to smash the glass I just opened the doors and ran. The idyllic scene outside maintained itself briefly as I ran down the street, but gradually it started to flicker as I distanced myself from the monster formerly known as the receptionist.
I'm not sure how I managed to get away, since I stumbled numerous times. I had never been good at running, and running with a depleted supply of blood was worse than usual. I ran four blocks, then turned and ran another two before collapsing and crawling into a bush. My feet were bleeding from whatever I'd been running on besides the street and my lungs felt like they might be too small to adequately supply oxygen to the rest of my body. I thought briefly that I should live in the mountains for awhile to increase lung capacity.
Mom hadn't just been angry that I'd fought Marcy. She had been angry because I had trained and fought Marcy. I had tried to explain that Marcy had still managed to beat the shit out of me, but Mom had been adamant.
"Ella, you have an unfair advantage. You could've killed that girl."
"But I didn't, Mom! I held back!"
"Yeah? What about the day you get tired of it and break her neck? What then? I don't want my daughter killing innocent children just because they're annoying."
"But Mom, I can't just stand there! I'll get beat up."
"Why does this even happen, Ella?"
"Because Marcy's such a bitch, that's why."
"Watch your language, young lady. Tell me exactly what happened."
Something in her tone made me tell her exactly what happened. Admittedly, Mom wasn't the one who had become a warrioress -- that had been Aunt Jean -- but she had authority and I knew bad things would happen if I disobeyed her.
Marcy had been standing in line in front of me in the cafeteria. I was talking to one of my friends about some historical event and I got a fact wrong. Marcy turned around and said, "It was Lexington, Ella. Didn't you read the book?"
I returned with, "Do you stop reading long enough to have a social life?"
Then she hit me, hard, in the stomach. Doubled over, I saw little pinpricks of light dotting the floor. I noticed shortly after that I was on my knees. Marcy had turned back around, so I hit her in the backs of her knees. Once she was down, it became less of a fight and more a groping, rolling, awkward tumble in which we somehow managed to wreck half of the tables and spread food all over. We both came out covered in bruises and cuts. I got my head slammed into a table leg once, to which I retaliated by bringing a chair down on Marcy's leg. It broke and she wore a cast for the next several weeks.
My mom said, "You're a little bitch. Do you know that, Ella?"
The thought hadn't occurred to me in all of this time. "What? Mom, she attacked me!"
"You provoked her. You said she has no friends."
"Well she doesn't." At this point in the conversation, I realized that I was dead wrong in my reasoning. What followed was an extremely unpleasant lecture about treating others as you would like to be treated. The main problem was I knew Mom was right, but that made me wrong and it sucked.
The next week, when I saw Marcy next, I asked her why she was such a bitch. I hadn't exactly forgotten what Mom had said, but knowing something is wrong doesn't mean you don't do it.
So I knew I deserved it when Marcy kicked me in the face with her cast.
I lay in the bushes for awhile, caught my breath and cautiously crawled out. The street had been residential before the mass exodus. Houses were left with doors open and, in some cases, windows broken. I saw blood spattered all over the front of one house and I cringed. I was used to violence, but this wasn't my cup of tea. There was too much.
I found an abandoned car that had hit a tree. The keys were still in it, but when I started it up I saw that it was out of gas. I was about to set off for a gas station when I saw that someone had a car covered in tarp on their driveway. I removed the tarp and found that the car was on blocks. I found a jack, but the wheels were mysteriously missing.
Looking under the hood, I ascertained that if the car had wheels it might not be able to run without a few tweaks. I was too tired to work on it, though. I slumped on the sidewalk and tried to think of options.
Food was a priority, different clothes would be nice, and shelter before nightfall would definitely be good. I broke into a house and found all of those things. I felt very guilty about it and, though I tried to rationalize it, I didn't sleep well in someone else's bed.
The sun may have gone down and come up once again, but the sky never changed from its bloodred hue. The electricity was out in the house, so I had no idea what time it was when I decided it was morning.
I've never been good with mornings. Once I woke up, went out to get the paper and locked myself out. I had the wrong paper, too. Mr. Weaver from across the hall was very understanding when I tried to explain the situation to him. He told me it was three in the morning and I should go back to bed. I told him he was crazy and it was really six. We disputed the time until Andromeda, the middle neighbor, was awakened. Her stance was that it was two in the morning. Jeremy came out and, in contrast to everyone else's nearly civil voices, roared that it was, "Fricking two thirty! I was having a pleasant dream about a library and you all woke me up! Get back to bed or you will all die!" Sleep deprivation is a serious issue, so we all hurriedly darted back inside out respective apartments and left the bear to his library dream.
That was actually the only time I'd heard Jeremy raise his voice. Most other times he just mumbled and I had to listen really hard to catch whatever he was saying.
I wished I knew where Jeremy was. He could be calm and collected and perhaps even make me cookies.
After this wishful thinking, I concentrated on getting back to my apartment. There were no people around as I walked down the streets, and the silence would've been complete if not for the crumbling thunder from the burning sky. There was no wind and the air merely hung stagnant, moist and thick.
In the distance, there was a church spire. I knew vaguely that it was the First Episcopal Church of the Cesarean Section or something weird like that. From there, I knew I would be able to find my apartment.
Getting there didn't take long, though I was still a bit weak and stopped to rest frequently. The building was old, as churches with spires tend to be, and ivy had seeped all over, creating cracks and structural disintegration while providing onlookers with a lovely view of foliage that lent a sense of quaintness to the doomed structure.
I paused at the church and sat for a little while on the front steps. I'd never liked churches. Sure, most times the people are friendly and they have donuts, but I would never voluntarily sit on my ass for an hour and listen to someone gab about his personal interpretations of a book so full of holes it was missing a letter in the title which made it more descriptive.
Still, I wondered if there was anyone in the building, so I got up and tried the door. Surprisingly, it was open.
A creak sounded from the hinges as I hauled the door back. Inside the church I could see nothing but blackness. There were no windows, which I found odd, and consequently there was no light, since the electricity was out. I stared into the darkness for awhile, shivered and decided that if there were people here, I didn't want to meet them.
As I turned to go, however, I saw a woman standing in the road. She looked as shocked to see me as I was to see her. I started down the steps, but she hurriedly drew a pistol and leveled it at me.
"Don't come any closer? Who are you?"
"Calm down." I said, trying to follow my own advice. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just trying to find my apartment."
"Who are you?" Her voice quavered with fear and her arm shook with terror. I feared any second the gun would go off merely from the friction.
"My name is Ella; I'm just trying to..."
The woman suddenly composed herself and a slow smile crept across her face. "Ella?" Her voice was deeper than it had been and I felt something squirm inside me when she spoke. "Finally, after all that work you just tell me."
Her flesh crawled, her hair fell out and her fingers lengthened into grotesque, knobby claws. Her face twisted into a leering grimace and her eyes burned with a crimson flame. I could see my reflection in those eyes.
I was burning.
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