The server
Meenah fled through is a distant speck now. You look back, and
can’t even see it anymore. In fact, you’re not even sure you’re
looking in the right direction. You are utterly adrift, continuing
your lazy orbit around the black hole. The only thing you
are sure of is the fact that your Ring of Life is freshly
pilfered from your not-so-fresh-looking hoodie.
It doesn’t really bother you, though. It’s not like
you had any plans for it. Taking it from Aranea was, like, a bonus
as far as you were concerned. Extra life ring? Nice, maybe it’ll
come in handy someday. Scratch that now. The young Condesce has it,
and is probably hatching bold new plans as we speak. Not that those
plans will ever have anything to do with you.
Hours and hours slip by. Your eyes starts to hurt,
and the wound in your chest starts feeling numb. It’s a
disconcerting combination of sensations.
After a while you think about tending to your
wound. There must be something in your dad’s wallet that you could
use to bandage the gash. You eye the wallet and try to imagine what
could possibly be inside it that would be of any use on a medical
basis. A straight razor? You’d probably fuck yourself up even more
if you tried to perform surgery.
You notice you can’t seem to make yourself care
about healing yourself long enough to continue entertaining ways to
MacGyver your body back to health using nothing but the contents of
a wallet belonging to a middle-aged, shaving-obsessed pipe
enthusiast. You put the wallet back in your pocket.
A glint of red catches your eye, just ahead. Then
it’s gone. No... there it is again, another glint. It’s flickering
or sparkling in some way. What it that? You drift toward it without
urgency, worried that it’s exactly what you think it might be.
You get close enough to confirm. Two small red
slippers, coated in tiny gemstones.
Jade’s empty shoes are a depressing sight, but you
feel a sense of duty to retrieve them. Might as well. You secure
them in the wallet, along with whatever other junk is in there.
Your wound is starting to throb again. You can hear
your blood in your ears. The rush of your pulse is so loud that it
almost sounds like the engine of a rocket sputtering to a stop.
Wait. It sounds exactly like the engine of
a rocket sputtering to a stop.
It can’t be. It’s impossible, you think. But why
would it be impossible? Isn’t this what you were out here looking
for, even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself? What’s the point in
denying it now?
You turn around...
There she is, with her flaming-red rocket wings.
She hovers in place, looking not a whole lot different from when
you last saw her years ago. Her arms are crossed over her chest,
making knifelike angles where her elbows jut out. She is giving you
a look of absolute disregard. It’s an expression of exasperation so
performative and habitual, it sends bolts of aching nostalgia and
fondness through your heart.
Dumbly, you raise your hand and give her a dorky
little wave. It does not adequately communicate whatever it is
you’re feeling right now. But then, nothing else would, you
suppose.
She waves back. But hearing her voice is what makes
it real.