Read Online To Be Free by Marie-Ange Langlois - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie-Ange Langlois
Tags: Fantasy, Dystopia, magic adventure, scifi adventure, Theocracy, nothing goes right, nothing is sacred
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expression is priceless.
"There's so much I can do with this - but I can only send someone
to a place they've already been to, and it takes a hell of a toll
on me. I see crooked for a week straight, sometimes less.
"As for how
to invoke these, the way I go about it is to imagine what I want,
and to see it
happen. I'm creative by nature, so imagining things isn't as
complex as you'd expect."
"Yet you were a science major,"
he sighs, shaking his head. I wave off the comment.
"Geology; can you tell me
exactly what you felt?" I question, looking at him fully. He
doesn't flinch when our eyes meet, making him one of the only
people to ever get accustomed to my uncanny gaze. "Maybe I can
figure out what makes yours tick."
Rolling his eyes at my
expression, he massages his calf slightly as he speaks, tearing his
eyes away. There's shame in his expression, clear as day.
"Anger,
hatred..." he begins softly, the wind picking up briefly at his
words as if reacting to his uneasiness. The rain, as a result,
worsens slightly, "...and so much fear. I was so afraid of dying,
so afraid and so ashamed of what I'd done, who I am, and I hoped
for the chance to see Meredith one last time. Your words kept
ringing in my head, a dangerous echo of I
hope you die pulling the memory of Kenny
from the depths of my mind. I'd forgotten about him, and I felt so
much shame at forgetting the one man who, for one night, made me
feel alive."
His monologue runs dry then,
spent, and his head falls into his hands, the picture of defeat as
he shakes his head, saying no more. He's mouthing words, however,
whispering only slightly:
I'm so, so sorry I forgot you.
So sorry I forgot you when I promised I never would.
I watch him a moment, mentally
destroying himself as I run through his words and latch onto every
last hidden meaning - and those underlying words, those thoughts
and emotions remind me too much of the fourteen year old boy who
was so scared to sleep at night and was so afraid of the one girl
he thought he knew, thought he loved... so much so that he almost
died.
I just want to die. I hate this
man I've become, stepping over the pains of those around me and
manipulating them. Being born the way I am and being unable to
change who I am - I would change if I could. Anyone would, when
born in this dystopian nightmare. The words you spoke to me were
the whispers of my own mind, reminding me that I'm as worthless as
I thought I was, and even more so. The scum of the earth, for
forgetting the one man who made me realize how you can be living a
dream one night and a nightmare the next. That the ghosts of the
past are all too real, and catching up with me fast.
So I reach
out to him, the same way I did that first night, and one of his
hands falls from his face as he registers how close I've gotten,
turning his head slightly and blinking at me. With a weary smile
speaking the words I can't say - I
understand Quinn I've been to hell and back and it's calling me
once more, nightmares and ghouls of my past dragging me by my feet
to the pits of despair - I wrap my arms
around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck in a manner quite
reminiscent of when we fell asleep.
He's immobile
a moment, and I hear him swallow thickly before he thaws out and
returns the gesture, arms stronger than mine and not the bare skin
and bones I've become - and the heat of the embrace is welcome, the
smell of rain, dirt, leaves and something distinctly Quinn back in my nose
and just as pleasant as the first time.
Maybe even
more so than last time, a smell I'm starting to associate
with safety and comfort .
Eleven presses his own face
into the crook of my neck, speaking no words as we both take
comfort in the gesture. His fingers are digging almost painfully
into my back, but I let it be and hold his head in place with one
of mine, head leaning against his as I close my eyes and relish the
warmth of another human body that hasn't died yet, hasn't had rigor
mortis set in.
"I
"There's so much I can do with this - but I can only send someone
to a place they've already been to, and it takes a hell of a toll
on me. I see crooked for a week straight, sometimes less.
"As for how
to invoke these, the way I go about it is to imagine what I want,
and to see it
happen. I'm creative by nature, so imagining things isn't as
complex as you'd expect."
"Yet you were a science major,"
he sighs, shaking his head. I wave off the comment.
"Geology; can you tell me
exactly what you felt?" I question, looking at him fully. He
doesn't flinch when our eyes meet, making him one of the only
people to ever get accustomed to my uncanny gaze. "Maybe I can
figure out what makes yours tick."
Rolling his eyes at my
expression, he massages his calf slightly as he speaks, tearing his
eyes away. There's shame in his expression, clear as day.
"Anger,
hatred..." he begins softly, the wind picking up briefly at his
words as if reacting to his uneasiness. The rain, as a result,
worsens slightly, "...and so much fear. I was so afraid of dying,
so afraid and so ashamed of what I'd done, who I am, and I hoped
for the chance to see Meredith one last time. Your words kept
ringing in my head, a dangerous echo of I
hope you die pulling the memory of Kenny
from the depths of my mind. I'd forgotten about him, and I felt so
much shame at forgetting the one man who, for one night, made me
feel alive."
His monologue runs dry then,
spent, and his head falls into his hands, the picture of defeat as
he shakes his head, saying no more. He's mouthing words, however,
whispering only slightly:
I'm so, so sorry I forgot you.
So sorry I forgot you when I promised I never would.
I watch him a moment, mentally
destroying himself as I run through his words and latch onto every
last hidden meaning - and those underlying words, those thoughts
and emotions remind me too much of the fourteen year old boy who
was so scared to sleep at night and was so afraid of the one girl
he thought he knew, thought he loved... so much so that he almost
died.
I just want to die. I hate this
man I've become, stepping over the pains of those around me and
manipulating them. Being born the way I am and being unable to
change who I am - I would change if I could. Anyone would, when
born in this dystopian nightmare. The words you spoke to me were
the whispers of my own mind, reminding me that I'm as worthless as
I thought I was, and even more so. The scum of the earth, for
forgetting the one man who made me realize how you can be living a
dream one night and a nightmare the next. That the ghosts of the
past are all too real, and catching up with me fast.
So I reach
out to him, the same way I did that first night, and one of his
hands falls from his face as he registers how close I've gotten,
turning his head slightly and blinking at me. With a weary smile
speaking the words I can't say - I
understand Quinn I've been to hell and back and it's calling me
once more, nightmares and ghouls of my past dragging me by my feet
to the pits of despair - I wrap my arms
around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck in a manner quite
reminiscent of when we fell asleep.
He's immobile
a moment, and I hear him swallow thickly before he thaws out and
returns the gesture, arms stronger than mine and not the bare skin
and bones I've become - and the heat of the embrace is welcome, the
smell of rain, dirt, leaves and something distinctly Quinn back in my nose
and just as pleasant as the first time.
Maybe even
more so than last time, a smell I'm starting to associate
with safety and comfort .
Eleven presses his own face
into the crook of my neck, speaking no words as we both take
comfort in the gesture. His fingers are digging almost painfully
into my back, but I let it be and hold his head in place with one
of mine, head leaning against his as I close my eyes and relish the
warmth of another human body that hasn't died yet, hasn't had rigor
mortis set in.
"I
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