Is that a good enough reason?

It’s morning. You can’t actually tell it’s morning, and you can’t actually tell which morning it is. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but time works differently here. The first time, weeks and weeks had passed when it only felt like a few hours. Sometimes months and months pass and it’s only a few days in “real time”. I’ve had to learn how to distinguish.

After a while, it all feels the same. And I’m scared I’m repeating the same day over and over again. There is no change, there is no variety. There is just responsibility.

The plate is taken away, as are the outside set of cutlery. I didn’t even realise they had put it in front of me. Too late now; not that I wanted it—I could tell you exactly what it was and how to make it. It’s the same every day.

I thought this would be magical, like a fantasy. I am trying really hard not to make puns; there is no other way to explain it in English. It’s supposed to be every girl’s dream. I wanted it, so badly. I have a year’s worth of blog posts to prove it. I wanted him, and to have him meant this, and this was appealing anyway. Magic, royalty, hidden lands; how could I refuse?

Two years in, I should have refused. If I could write a letter to myself three years ago, the first line would be “Go stay with Matt for the summer. Do not go home.”

I want to blame Jane. I should blame Jane. I can remember the conversation we had when she suggested I go back to Boundary. She was sitting at the bar, waiting to walk home after my long shift. Dawn was coming, the light was creeping in, and she was hyped up on coffee. She was almost an animated character. “I’m going to Europe!” It rushed out of her mouth so quickly that if I wasn’t as hyped on coffee, I might have missed it.

Over the next week, we made plans. And that included me going back to Boundary, where no one was expecting me.

If only I’d stayed in the city.

But I live here now, repeating day after day, because I love him.

Is that a good enough reason?

It's always "That Day"

It's always going to be That Day.  There's no other way to describe it.  I'm never going to remember what I said, or what I ate for breakfast, or what I did.  I will just remember how it felt on my skin, what I heard, and what I saw.  There are no words to describe what happened.

I still think about That Day, sometimes.  Less often than I used to.  It's like when you talk to people about September 11.  They always remember the day when they didn't remember what happened for a whole day.  Not that they didn't remember, but that they didn't think about it.

I don't remember when I stopped thinking about it.  It has defined my very existance.  It has made me become what I am.

I remember the screaming.  The god-awful, ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream.  I remember seeing her, curled up on the floor, unable to recognise me, unable to hear my voice.

As much as I try, I can't block out the next bit.  I don't know if I really want to forget, or if I just want to ignore it for a little while.  It doesn't really matter, because I never forget.  And I shouldn't; it reminds me of what they have done, and of what I had to give up to be here.

She went limp, in my arms.  I thought she had died.  I thought that was the end.  But then, the red was on my dress, it was splattered across my face.  I could see everyone else watching the multi-coloured rain float down around them.

They kept dancing, but I, I was going to be carrying Isabelle for a long time.

(Part of the Shattered universe.)