Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 5 [SEPT]

AUTHOR GAMES: FROM THE GRAVE - SEMIFINALS

She knew the days only by watching her husband - as he was still her husband, in her eyes - mark them off on the calendar pinned to the side of the fridge. She'd been watching him do it a lot this month, in fact; but the thing was, every time he went to go acknowledge the passing of September (in both ways), he would always avoid looking directly at the month's title at the top of the thing. He'd proceed with the daily routine with eyes downcast and lips tightly pressed.

And then, when he'd put the pen back down, he'd turn around, and the weight would visibly leave his shoulders and his chest would inflate with much needed air and he'd be smiling on his way to go change some stinky diaper or help another woman with the zipper on her dress.

September would watch them often. She'd watch them and think that this was the life she could've had, however simple and mundane it might've been. But she'd always loved the simple and mundane. She loved rain on window glass and chocolate powder rimming the edge of a mug and damn, did she love a good book.

But she did not love to watch the mundane when it didn't include her. So when Everett marked off the last day of September and relievedly flipped the page to show October's theme, she breathed relief right alongside him. Tonight, she thought, closing her eyes, I go back. The both of them had undoubtedly been waiting for the day with equal vigor.

Perhaps the night was a better substitute. As September wandered in the little kitchen space, she felt the night approaching. Orange crimson filtered in through the windows and painted her feet as they pattered along stickily, and it smeared across her hands and her arms and her already reddened lips. It was like death again - but much prettier. Death wasn't a pretty thing by any means, but her chest still pulsed with existence and so she found it quite beautiful even if it was a vain thing to find.

The light began to darkened quickly, and a sigh left as her arms dropped limply, miserably, to the side. There were still several hours to go, but she still felt it necessary that she leave. In complete honesty, the house was a hellhole, a place to hide while every spaceship and every planet orbited around for a full year, but now there was no need for it, no need to stay, no need to linger. And so she moved to leave, and even got a full hand out the door before she found herself retracting it in unprecedented hesitation.

She didn't want to leave. Or, at least, something tied her to it.

Feet backed away from the door. Ears perked at the sound of muffled voices. And she turned around, and she saw the bedroom door, and she waited, and she waited, and she went to it, went through it, went for closure.

The room was very different from the way it'd been when September was alive. The walls had been a pretty sea-green and the sheets had been an equally pretty green and they had these outdoor lights all strung up along the walls because that was simply what they liked back then. But Everett's tastes had changed along with the tastes of his new wife, who he spoke to now, head clutched in his hands, and legs left bare and astray in the blankets. Juniper had a hand to his back, and the expression in her round face was one not of concern, but a willingness to listen.

September's chest ached for the man, for the twisted and painful expression lathered across his features, and she ached a little for the woman, too, who showed an ache all of her own.

"I've been bottling it all up again," Ever said, sucking in a sharp breath, "and now it's all, it's all bursting 'round the cork and I just can't...I'm so sorry, June, I am. I shouldn't-"

"Just get it all out, sweetheart," Juniper said. She rubbed a rough circle into his back. "I won't say nothing. Just talk."

"I haven't even been treating you like I should. I've been retreating and, and I don't even ask you if you're doing fine and sure I help with the baby most of the time but I just- I'm running low on everything. I'm not eating, I'm not sleeping, really, I'm not..." Everett's fingers tightened their hold in his hair and he tugged at the brown of it, pushing his head deep against his chest. He stayed like that a good minute, and then he rose, and he breathed, eyes moist and red. "I'm falling to pieces again." His voice cracked. "And I don't know how to fix it."

As a sleeve swept under his nose, September rubbed her own forehead. He's all messed up and I can't do anything. Nothing.

"I keep thinking of that first night I spent alone," he began again, sniffling harshly. "I came home and I wasn't thinking of anything and I just sat up there on her favorite chair and I had her pup in my arms and I just...I screamed. I screamed and by the end I couldn't even speak anymore and now that dog's deaf and it didn't help me one bit. And I kept thinking of how I'd kill that driver. How I'd walk up to his doorstep and ring the bell and strangle him when he opened the door. I wouldn't ever-a done it, but I just... I was angry and sad and I'm not angry anymore but I just don't know what it is that keeps me thinking of all these things that happened and why I can't just focus on everything right...right now. And, June, I-"

He paused to spin his tongue around his mouth. Juniper urged him on.

"June, I love you. And I wanna say that I love you with everything in me but that's just not true because some of it's still stuck around the edges and I haven't ever been able to scrape it off. Some of it's just still...uh, with her, I'd say. Oh, God, this sounds horrible, I'm-"

"I get it," Juniper said. And it was sincere. "It's okay. I ain't mad. I get it. And I don't mind. Just get better, please. Okay? If we have to go talk to someone we-"

"I'm not gonna go talk to a goddamn therapist," he said wearily.

"I was gonna suggest someone like your mother, or your brother. Michael knows exactly what it is you've had to deal with and I don't see why you don't talk to him about it."

Everett laid back on the pillows and rubbed his eyes, Juniper soon to follow suit. "I don't know. We'll see. He's got enough on his plate trying to take care of Sammie on his own without me piling up more shit."

"You're his brother. If you don't call him, I will."

"Fine, fine. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow."

With the promise of tomorrow, Juniper turned to her side and fell into a quick slumber. Everett took longer to finally doze off, and September watched until he did, but soon those tired eyes fluttered to a close and a light snore emanated from between his parted lips.

September took a few steps closer to the bed, heat behind her eyes but those damn ducts just wouldn't work anymore! The heat, with nowhere to go, moved her, and she bent over his head, lips wavering as if afraid to make contact with anything other than herself. But she pushed this fear aside, and she pressed them to his forehead, and when he didn't wake to swat at her, she stepped back and bent her brows in that special look she'd always give him whenever she disagreed with something he was doing. She had to leave but now, having done this, she didn't want to. It struck her chest in waves, that ache, and it rose up her throat but nothing came out except,

"Goodbye."

And then she left that house. She left that house with no intention to ever go back and with the speed of someone who feared breaking their own intentions.