Hot Summer Strife (Go get your knife) - Chapter 1

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The kid is looking at you. Abject fear in his eyes, your foot on his dominant arm, katana discarded a foot length across the roof. There is a dim feeling in your chest, in your throat, your eyes, your head. Cal whispers for you to focus on the training.

You lift your foot off and step back. Waiting for the kid to go and get in proper stance again. You notice he’s bleeding.

Then you blink and you’re on top of the kid again. Foot on his dominant arm but there’s no fear in his eyes. There’s nothing there. There’s red, red covering his mouth and cheeks and all the way down to his chest.

And his stomach. His stomach looked as if someone tore into it, someone ravenous, hungry, wild.

Your face is wet too, and so are your hands. You’re covered in the red. There’s a feeling rising in your chest, your throat, your eyes, your head. You wait for Cal to take it away.

…

The feeling is rising, bubbling, it's obstructing your vision and your breathing. Your head is pounding. Where the f*ck is Cal? You reach up to feel him on your shoulders, arms wrapped around your neck, but there’s nothing. Only the phantom feeling of what you know should be there.

You stumble away, but everytime you blink you’re there, on top of the kid. Dave. On top of Dave’s torn apart corpse and Cal is f*cking gone. The feeling is threatening to come to the surface, threatening your perfect stoic facade. Cal is supposed to make it better, so where the f*ck is he? Why can’t you get out of here? Cal would know what to do, where to go, how to do it.

Stumbling away from Dave’s body you try desperately not to blink, even though your vision is blurry, and your breathing is sloppy. You yell for Cal, turning wildly, hoping to glimpse him. There’s distant laughter in your skull. It'd be comfortable if you knew it was Cal laughing with you, but it isn’t. He’s laughing at you. Why? Why did he leave you alone here? The laughter rises in pitch, and then it’s yowling. Worse than anything, it’s grating, and the feeling won’t go away. Cal isn’t just gone. Cal is punishing you with this, with this feeling. What did you do to deserve this from him?

...

You wake slowly. The bed is wet. Your sweat stains the sheets. You get up and tear the sheets off the mattress, knowing you’ll have to wash them for the fourth time this week. Before leaving the room you captchalogue a pack of cigarettes and then down the last of a Lone Star. You opt to take the emergency stairs down to the laundry room.

You come back to the apartment and realize there are guests. sh*t is strewn about in the living room, in front of the TV, and near the futon. There’s almost-fresh food in the kitchen. You stay still and wait. Wait for something to happen now that this realization has been had. You listen to the sounds coming from the kid’s room. You wonder if he caved to sentimentalities and wants to live here.

Just when you’ve gotten tired of standing in the center of your apartment like a dumbass, the kid’s door opens.

“Hey.”

It’s the younger you. Another kid, one who’s supposedly genetically the same as you. A kid who played the game and won as well.

“Dave sent Hal and I to come get some stuff he left here.” The kid holds your stare. Like he’s waiting for something.

You nod and turn around to go to the roof. Gotta finish off this pack of cigarettes, and finish the dozen other drinks in your sylladex.

“Aren't you going to say something about the mess?”

“I don't care. Clean it before you leave.” You flashstep away to the stairs. Opening the door to the roof, you note that it's windy today. Dry air and Warm wind. Not very good to smoke in this weather, leads to a dry throat. Good thing you have drinks.

It's well into the evening once you're done. A pack of cigarettes and all the drinks in your sylladex gone. The cigs loitering around your feet, some crushed, some not. The cans are in a neat stack, pyramid shaped. Before you leave the roof you kick the cans. Stare at them, fall and roll around. Some finding their way off the edge of the roof. You stare at them and listen to hear them hit the ground below.

Back in the apartment, it seems genetically-the-same kid listened. Living room and kitchen spotless. You briefly wonder if you should look into the kid’s room and see what's left in there. You find yourself in the shower instead, run it hot and cold in cycles. Like you used to do after strifes.

You haven't strifed in a while. You get out of the shower and think about the last time you had a katana in your hand. Think about barking, heat, orange feathers.

“And you are.” You decide to get her name first instead of corrections, you'd rather know who you're dealing with.

Her jaw drops almost comically. Then she stutters and puts her hand on her forehead. She has a flair for the dramatics.

“I can't believe you'd even ask me that! Did the revival mess with your memories? We have been best friends since we were 9! Remember Di-Stri?” near the end she stops the act and is just looking at you. Searching for a reaction. You don't give her one because you still haven't gotten her name. Only that she seems to think you should know her. She thinks she knows you.

“You're Roxy I assume.”

She looks crestfallen when she responds “It's Roxanne. You used to tell me to kick Rox at the end of parties.”

You don't remember ever partying. You don't remember being 9 years old now that you think about it. You only remember Cal. There's a ringing in your ears, and you nod at her. Maybe you said nice to meet you, maybe you didn't. It isn't important because now you really need a f*cking drink.

You get to the kitchen and open the pantry to find nothing. No booze, just actual food. Strange. Even stranger that you thought there'd be only booze in the pantry instead of food. Where did you get the notion there'd be booze here anyways? You've never been here before. Except you had to have been here before. You knew how to get here without directions. Why didn't you ask for directions? How did you get here?

There's red everywhere and you can feel Cal’s arms around your neck but it isn't comforting. Not anymore. He's suffocating you. There's red everywhere. How did you get here? Are you dreaming? You don't remember falling asleep. This must be real then. This must be your afterlife. Blood, gore, hot summer strifes. Barking, Cal, laughing. He's always laughing at you now. Then he starts screaming, the screaming is piercing. It makes your body hurt. Everything hurts, and you see only red.

“If you don't let go im going to have to f*cking cut your arm off, man. and trust me I don't think anyone wants your severed arm on the floor.”

You blink at the noise and see the kid who looks just like you. Orange eyes. His glasses aren't on his face, he looks terrified. You're holding him down, one hand wrapped around his throat, your other hand holding yourself up.

You take note that it's older looking Dave who spoke. There's more than just him in the room. Almost everyone that you saw in the living room earlier that day is here. Only the younger Daves are missing.

Older Dave is standing close, sword ready to swing, perfect position to take your arm off. You let go, and the kid beneath you starts coughing.

“Gotta get up off him too.”

You rise up to your feet. Take a step away from the kid. He’s still coughing but shortly after he rises to his feet too. Rubbing his throat. The girl in the navy blue leads him out, Robot kid trailing behind. Older Dave is still in front of you. Sword in his hands, he hasn't relaxed his posture at all. Only move to match your movements. He’s smart. Your sword hand itches.

“We done here yet.”

“Hell no we're not done here. Why were you choking the sh*t out of Dirk? This is our third night here, and I know they told me you were f*cking insane, but this is monumental levels of insanity. Doing lines off of the club floor isn't even as insane as the sh*t you just did.”

“Why was the kid in my room?”

Older Dave’s jaw drops, and you can sense a similar disbelief from the others in the room. You're really f*cking tired of people being excessively surprised at sh*t you say.

“ Why was he in your room? Maybe because you were screaming bloody f*cking murder and he was the first one to get here! The rest of us get here just to find you on top of him, choking him out like you're Kratos trying to get another god kill under your belt!” His stance relaxes as he goes on, waving his hands expressively, but his feet are still positioned perfectly. If you struck at him he'd be able to dodge without issue.

… What the f*ck did he just say? You were screaming in your sleep? You don't remember sleeping. You don't remember going to bed in this room. He said it was the third night. That means you’ve slept in this room for two nights already. You try not to look as disturbed as you are while you parse through the information relative to your memories.

You're only supposed to be forgetting things that aren't relevant. That's what Cal told you you’d do. Forget the things that don't matter. Two nights in an unfamiliar place seems like it matters. Knowing how to get to this place seems like it matters. Someone who you've supposedly grown up alongside should matter, shouldn't it? It must be because Cal isn't here. You can't do it on your own, you're choosing the wrong things to remember and forget. You need Cal.

“Mr. Strider, have you been experiencing losses of Time?”

The shrink asks it. You don't remember how you know she's a shrink, but she's in a lab coat and doesn't do typical research. Her question is ironic, you think.

“It's the third day here, yeah?” You ask it as a question. You don't mean to. You don't ask questions. But this time you do because you don't know, and Cal isn't here to answer it before you can ask it.

“Yes it's been three days and this is the third night. Do you remember the previous two nights?”

You don't want to answer her no and show your weakness, so you don’t. You just stare at the bed covered in your sweat. The sheets had been washed that morning, all the sweat stains were fresh.

“I think we should talk in private, Mr. Strider.”

The shrink sets up a system of in house appointments. At her discretion she gets to pop in your apartment and prod at your brain. You despise this arrangement, but figure if she steps out of line you could strike her down with ease. No one's telling you to kill her before she makes you angry, so you don't. She just has to not make you angry.

The rest of the 'family gathering’ is spent with the older Dave sharing a room with you. You ignore him despite his banter and talking. You can tell he doesn't like you either. If you scream in your sleep again no one mentions it to you. You remember some of those final days. You tried to remember.

It's on the first appointment that the shrink, whose name is Rosie, Rose for short, brings Older Dave, Hollywood as you've taken to calling him, with her. She tells you it's a safety precaution. You won't admit that you're less confident about killing her if the odds are a 1v2.

It's in this same appointment she diagnoses you with Dissociative Amnesia. Tacking on night terrors as part of your symptoms list. As she's explaining what all of this means, the only thing you really hear is that you've been forgetting things that hurt. Which is what you already knew from Cal. You'd forget things that hurt, pain doesn’t matter. So why have you been forgetting so much since being revived?

On your fourth session you ask.

“I'd say it's because you're constantly experiencing pain at a higher threshold than what your brain can handle. You're forgetting even the mundane because it's too much on your psyche.”

It's a sound explanation but it makes you bristle. She's calling you too weak to even get through the average day. You don't talk for the rest of the session. Not wanting to risk letting your facade crack.

It's only two sessions after that that you bring up Cal. Mostly to see if she knows anything about where he might be. You give her the bare minimum. Cal is your best friend, he helped you raise the Knight of Time, and he used to do you favors by numbing your pain. Rose responds dryly.

“He sounds more like your handler than your best friend.”

Your katana is in your hands and you get mid flashstep before you're intercepted by Hollywood’s sword against yours. His face is stone cold and you push against his blade. He pushes back.

“I was not aware of the sensitivity of the topic at hand. Forgive my rudeness Mr. Strider.”

You almost don't hear the shrink. You're weighing your options. Risk the 1v2 strife or back down like a bitch, tail between your legs. You spare a glance away from your opponent to see that she’s unbothered. There is a slight furrow in her brow, but her posture is as relaxed as could be. She doesn't think you'd win.

Striders never back down.

You deliver some deep cuts on both of them. But still, you get your ass handed to you. Rose makes a new condition; empty your sylladex before sessions.

Life continues on. You see the kid sometimes, your kid, the Knight, Dave. Hollywood tries to be your friend (Something about his job being easier if we’re friends.) , and he's real f*cking paternal about the kid that looks just like you. Rose has been trying to work on that with you, humanizing children. She uses Hollywood as exposure therapy to the concept. You figured that out while he’s high off his ass on a binge, started rambling about her techniques. You still can't remember anything about Roxanne.

They try many times to wean you off alcohol and cigarettes. You don't let them. It’s the only two things that can compare to the blanket that Cal gave you. Sometimes when Hollywood is reckless and relapsing he tries to bring you pills. A friendship gift he calls them, says he knows you would like downers. You take them and hate them. They make you sleep and daydream. You want to do as little of that as possible.

You're beginning to understand that old habits die hard. It's a better phrase to say old habits never die. Hollywood’s drugs, Rose and Roxanne's drinking. You finish off the pack of cigarettes. Kick the cans and watch and listen for them falling off the roof. You remember hot summer strifes, and arms wrapped around your neck. Laughter chimes in your head.

You miss Cal.

Hot Summer Strife (Go get your knife) - Chapter 1 - AzarathDragon (2024)

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