Daffodil looked down at the scrap of paper in her hand again. 913 Creekside Avenue, it read.
“Is this the place?” she asked, looking uncertainly at Aaron and Ciana.
“Seems so,” said Aaron.
A small, creaking house leaned in front of them. Light blue paint flaked off boards that circled a wooden deck and siding rippled over the walls. Rusted gutters rattled, clogged with layers of rotting leaves. Carved stone steps led up to a varnished wooden door. They walked on them carefully.
“Did anyone even live here?” said Ciana, voicing their thoughts.
Aaron and Daffodil shrugged.
“It was kind of like the house I came from,” said Aaron. “but that house was white, and looked older.”
Daffodil jiggled the handle, and the door creaked open. They stepped in.
The inside wasn’t much better than the outside, but it had signs of life, however awkward and detached they seemed. There was a cup of instant noodles, empty except for a few trailing out in limp strands, moist with the residue of carbohydrate-infused water. The walls and counters were sprinkled with colorful sticky notes. The pantry had some cans knocked over, and some empty except for leaking tomato sauce. She flashed back to what the Oracle had told them.
“Listen, I hear your case. I think going to where I was living may help you, even if it doesn’t matter to me now as an Oracle.”
The desk was a sleek mahogany, overflowing with layers of smooth white paper that fell off the sides in pale waterfalls. Pencils rolled through sheet curls and knocked against plastic cups of iced tea. Over all of it was layers of writing, of groggy, watery silver scrawls of graphite and ink. A lot of it was intelligible, and others were repeated over and over, as if she’d forgotten that she’d written them already.
Ciana had gotten bored quickly and left. Aaron was looking through the papers on the desk and Daffodil was sorting through the sticky notes. They read in many shades and colors with varying levels of crumpling, all bits and pieces of the puzzle
It started early this month
Local maybe? But not that local
Reached any other areas yet?
The notes flapped from the walls in the drafts.
Amnesia symptoms
Symptoms: amnesia
Symptoms: amnesia, slow movements
Symptoms: amnesia, slowed movements, lowered awareness
Symptoms: amnesia, slowed movements, lowered awareness
She kept reading.
Butterfly wings
The butterfly wings are growing out of my head
No everywhere they’re growing out of everywhere
Out of skin
They’re leaking water
She had to touch the paper to feel if it was real, and not a dream. Her head spun.
Local? Local? Local?
Amnesia?
Shadows
Shadows
Shadows
Help
I can’t see my reflection
They’re whispering
The handwriting cut across the crumpled paper notes, as the creases deepened and they seemed to crumble off the walls. The letters were hardly readable. But she read them.
I just want them to be quiet
I turned on my burner
With. matches
They’re quieter now
They don’t like the fire
Daffodil licked her lips and continued reading.
I need to braid my hair
Have I braided it today?
Why am I standing in water
Where did it come from
There were more on the cupboard, going up and down in pastel squares like tiles.
I’m the Oracle
What
I’m starving
I looked inside. the ravioli can
There’s ravioli in it but something else
Fireworks
Fireworks
Daffodil looked at the notes on the table. They were plastered on top of each other and close together.
I can see. a girl
Her eyes are glowing
She’ll save us
That’s where it cut off.
Daffodil turned.
“Aaron?”
“Yes?”
“Look at this.”
She showed him the sticky note. They looked at each other.
“We should go find Ciana,” she said.
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