Young Writers Society

Second Always Comes Last

Head of Reality

(22)

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Sir’s eyes were black and hollow, but his new bones were so much more prominent. I could see his teeth through his lips, which stretched into an everlasting smile. The mannequins old head had been encompassed in a tight stretchy fabric which had seemed while against the Styrofoam. When we had removed it, it was still white, but much less opaque than we had expected. We fitted it snugly on top of the skull, and all of the bones were still clearly visible, but at the same time Sir’s features from Daniels drawing were just as clear. It was perfect. Sir’s face, Sir’s lips, New bones.

The radio reception down here was crackly, and Beauregard has set it to a channel that played some sort of major Romantic waltz’s. He had long since left, but no-one had bother to change it. It had just merged with the walls and the lights as I had been enthralling in staring at Sir. It was a tiny click that pulled me from my daze. The subtle sound of a pencil dropping.

‘N-Nazi... Since when were you down here?’

I stood up from my crouch below Sir. “I’ve been here the entire time, Hutcheon.” I replied, taking one big step toward him. He took a step backwards.

I picked up the construction pencil which was now at my feet and held it out to him. He made no move to recover it, and kept his distance.

“What are you yourself doing down here, Commander.” I continued, speaking slowly. My hand clasping the pencil twitched violently. The third time today, let I managed to maintain my grasp. Hutcheon however, jumped at this, and took a further three steps backward. His eyes flicked toward the back of Sir’s skull.

‘He’s been communicating with you more recently hadn’t he? It’s stronger. Sir’s spirit is strong in you.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Just don’t let him possess you too often.’

I tightened my lips, obscuring a smile. Hutcheon was still convinced there were supernatural forces behind my seizure, headaches and spasms. He was boss. No need to tell him otherwise. It’s not like he knew the truth anyway.

“Yes. Commander. I stated with a pause between each of the words. Hutcheons eyes were widening, his nose twitching. He blinked at the pencil in my fingers.

‘I’m... I am trying to draw our symbol on the wall but I am terrible at it. Go get Daniel for me.’ He decided, pointing toward the step ladder. I lowered my arm.

“As you wish.” I said, heading outwards. I balanced the pencil carefully on Sir’s shoulder as I left, making sure Hutcheon could see where I put it.

‘And if you see Darany tell him to come as well. I want to talk to him about something.’ He called after me.

I scrambled up the ladder to the back room where I had last seen Daniel. We had found a wig construction machine recently, and it was now Daniel’s job to construct the perfect wig. I came up behind his workstation, quietly.

“Is the construction going well, Swanson?” I asked. He pricked himself on something and mouthed a silent curse word before spinning toward me.

‘Yessir.’ He saluted once before continuing realistically, his vice almost sarcastic. ‘No, Nazza, not really.’ He tossed his fingers over the table ahead of him.

‘So much more hair is needed for a wig than a live person. I’ve run out and we only have half done. It would looks terrible with plastic substitute now that we have the real human brown hair. It’s not like a second Oskar is around to cause us trouble.’

I rubbed my chin, humming in a thoughtful agreement. “Maybe. Anyway, Hutcheon wants you to get down there and draw something for him.” Swanson moaned.

‘I’m already doing this, one thing after another. You know, Darany can draw. He draws all those comics and those manga things. Go send him to Hutcheon instead. I still have to finish off here.’

“Fine. He wanted to talk to Darany anyway. Where is he?”

Daniel thumbed behind him to the main room of the shop. I followed through.

Chen, Beauregard and Darany were standing inquisitively around the long freezer, which had been dragged from it’s place against the wall. Shane seemed stressed while Nathaneil seemed far more occupied with trying to balance a fork on his fingertip. That was the last fork left. The rest of them had been completely impaled in the foam heads on the walls. Darany was once again patient and silent, awaiting instruction.

“Dara, head down. Hutcheon wants to see you and wants some help with drawing something.” I commanded. Darany, clearly eager to escape the task, dropped down the step ladder quickly. Shane moaned.

‘Oh great. Now that’s even one less person to help move this mother- Nazza, help me out here.’

My eyes flicked from the freezer to Shane’s face. I rubbed my temples.

“I can’t. I have a migraine. Can barely think.”

Shane swore aloud, kicking the base of the freezer with his toe.

‘Well damn, I can’t move this thing alone.’ He gestured to Beauregard. ‘This kid here could barely lift a brick.’

I left Shane babbling. I wasn’t kidding about the headache. In the past minute it had suddenly increased, pushing against my skull and trying to squeeze it’s way out of my eye sockets and mouth. I stumbled out of the sanctuary. I would give my apologies for my early departure tomorrow.

I don’t know how I arrived home, but I eventually did. I had kept my eyes firmly closed most of the way home, groping in the darkness between blinking my surroundings into life. I heard my parent call, but I ignored, scurrying up to the bathroom. I felt sick. So sick. My head was pushing on my brain. I wretched toward the sink, but nothing came out.

I downed the pills quickly; simple painkillers, nothing more. I took double the recommended dose, four caplets. It was a one off, it wouldn’t hurt. I found myself in the shower, the water hot enough to try and take my focus off my throbbing head. But the migraine had pulled my away enough already; my thoughts were not on reality, and even the sharp pricks of hot water couldn’t draw me back. It wasn’t until two hours later, and my mother slamming on the door about wasting water, that I finally awoke. As I sat up from my sprawled position in the running puddle my head swung. Swimming across oceans, drowning, suffocating.

I shut off the water, but continued to sit, shivering against the tiles.

Help me. Help me.

The pain felt like death. I felt like dying. My mind was not part of this godforsaken body. Why should I be left for dead when so many other useless people were our there in paradise; achieving nothing, doing nothing. Or even causing trouble. Why don’t they die instead?