Music Prompt: Be Calm
Mar. 22nd, 2012 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kasihyaBe Calm - Fun.
You start the day off normally enough. You pick out clothing that passes for normal, and get on the bus, and stare out the window while the boy sitting next to you takes up more space than he has any right to, crushing you into the corner. The bus pulls into the school parking lot; you stand up to get off the bus and enter the high school. The world swims for a moment with the abrupt change in pressure.
When it clears, the colors are all wrong. Students with pale skin are bright orange, and students with dark skin are a deep, cherry red. Their features are slightly, there is no other word for it, melted: noses drip off of faces, mouths hang open in gap-toothed grins, and eyes … you shudder. You look out the window while you wait for the press of creatures to let you into line and off the bus. The sky is a sickly piss-yellow, and you can’t see the sun anymore. You look away, nauseated: a red-skinned person with blackened holes for eyes and a few straggly brown teeth gestures with a dripping hand to invite you into the press of bleeding, discolored students. You back into the seat in horror; you are not about to touch these people.
But how else are you to get off the bus? You shut your eyes and steel yourself and slide in, doing your damnedest not to touch anyone in front of or behind you. The person who let you in says something that emerges from their mouth as garbled nonsense, like a slowing record on a broken player. You press your lips together and say nothing, because this, too, shall pass. They shove you forwards, and you wince and wipe away the streaks of blood that their hands leave on your arm.
Outside, the world slides sideways; the grass turns to ash. An orange girl jogs past you to meet her friends. Your heart hammers and you flinch away so that she doesn’t touch you, but it does you no good; she brushes against someone else, and at the point of contact, her skin peels away. Blood pours out of the gap, unnatural gushing quantities that splatter you and leave withered-looking yellow flesh behind. You let out an involuntary shout of horror that causes other students to look at you strangely. More students bump into each other, shedding skin like snakes without seeming regard for the chaos that this creates. Slippery pools form on the pavement; a boy with half his face exposed punches his friend in the arm, and his hand goes straight through. You clutch your own arm in sympathy.
‘Vance!’
You recognize that voice. You can’t turn in that direction, can’t see what Electra has turned into. But then she’ll come over here, won’t she, so you shut your eyes, too. This leaves you unable to move through the sea of people getting off of the busses and milling about in front of the building, you realize too late. There is nothing you can do but stand, rooted to the spot, and hope that she will go away.
‘Vance!’ Hot, wet hands clasp your shoulders. You yelp, hands coming up to cover your face and shield you from the horrors that you will surely see if you let yourself go. You can’t imagine Electra without flesh on her hands. You don’t want to know what her touch has done to mutate your own body.
‘Vance, hello?’ she repeats.
You shake your whole body from side to side in an emphatic NO.
‘Hey. Hey, do you want to go somewhere private?’ Electra isn’t stupid, a fact for which you are grateful.
‘Red,’ you mumble. ‘I see red, and you’re all bleeding. You’ve got blood all over my shirt,’ you lament from behind close-pressed hands. ‘Orange.’
To her credit, Electra doesn’t shriek. The hot pressure of her hands vanishes. ‘Does it work by seeing?’
You uncover your face, but you keep your eyes squeezed shut. The dripping and plopping sounds of falling chunks of flesh amidst the more normal sounds of laughter and shuffling feet are bad enough. ‘I don’t want to see you when it’s like this.’
She grabs your hand. ‘I appreciate it. What if I lead you through, and we go to the nurse’s office?’
‘No!’ The nurse will want to know what’s wrong with your eyes; you will have to explain that there is nothing wrong with your eyes, and everything wrong with the rest of the world because how have they not noticed that they’re rotting as they stand? You can deal with this on your own. You just need to be calm. ‘No. I’ll open my eyes,’ you say.
She is even worse than you thought. She doesn’t even look human. One eyeball dangles over her cheek, still managing to blink and look around at odd intervals. You resist the urge to shut your eyes again immediately, because you can do this. ‘I’m fine now. It’s gone,’ you say. Her expression is even more difficult to read than normal, what with most of the facial muscles being gone, but you know her well enough that you can guide yourself by memory.
‘You’re sure?’ she asks.
Be calm. ‘Yep. You’re very pretty.’ The yellow sky starts to flicker. You wonder what the inside of the school will look like today. ‘Let’s go to homeroom.’
You start the day off normally enough. You pick out clothing that passes for normal, and get on the bus, and stare out the window while the boy sitting next to you takes up more space than he has any right to, crushing you into the corner. The bus pulls into the school parking lot; you stand up to get off the bus and enter the high school. The world swims for a moment with the abrupt change in pressure.
When it clears, the colors are all wrong. Students with pale skin are bright orange, and students with dark skin are a deep, cherry red. Their features are slightly, there is no other word for it, melted: noses drip off of faces, mouths hang open in gap-toothed grins, and eyes … you shudder. You look out the window while you wait for the press of creatures to let you into line and off the bus. The sky is a sickly piss-yellow, and you can’t see the sun anymore. You look away, nauseated: a red-skinned person with blackened holes for eyes and a few straggly brown teeth gestures with a dripping hand to invite you into the press of bleeding, discolored students. You back into the seat in horror; you are not about to touch these people.
But how else are you to get off the bus? You shut your eyes and steel yourself and slide in, doing your damnedest not to touch anyone in front of or behind you. The person who let you in says something that emerges from their mouth as garbled nonsense, like a slowing record on a broken player. You press your lips together and say nothing, because this, too, shall pass. They shove you forwards, and you wince and wipe away the streaks of blood that their hands leave on your arm.
Outside, the world slides sideways; the grass turns to ash. An orange girl jogs past you to meet her friends. Your heart hammers and you flinch away so that she doesn’t touch you, but it does you no good; she brushes against someone else, and at the point of contact, her skin peels away. Blood pours out of the gap, unnatural gushing quantities that splatter you and leave withered-looking yellow flesh behind. You let out an involuntary shout of horror that causes other students to look at you strangely. More students bump into each other, shedding skin like snakes without seeming regard for the chaos that this creates. Slippery pools form on the pavement; a boy with half his face exposed punches his friend in the arm, and his hand goes straight through. You clutch your own arm in sympathy.
‘Vance!’
You recognize that voice. You can’t turn in that direction, can’t see what Electra has turned into. But then she’ll come over here, won’t she, so you shut your eyes, too. This leaves you unable to move through the sea of people getting off of the busses and milling about in front of the building, you realize too late. There is nothing you can do but stand, rooted to the spot, and hope that she will go away.
‘Vance!’ Hot, wet hands clasp your shoulders. You yelp, hands coming up to cover your face and shield you from the horrors that you will surely see if you let yourself go. You can’t imagine Electra without flesh on her hands. You don’t want to know what her touch has done to mutate your own body.
‘Vance, hello?’ she repeats.
You shake your whole body from side to side in an emphatic NO.
‘Hey. Hey, do you want to go somewhere private?’ Electra isn’t stupid, a fact for which you are grateful.
‘Red,’ you mumble. ‘I see red, and you’re all bleeding. You’ve got blood all over my shirt,’ you lament from behind close-pressed hands. ‘Orange.’
To her credit, Electra doesn’t shriek. The hot pressure of her hands vanishes. ‘Does it work by seeing?’
You uncover your face, but you keep your eyes squeezed shut. The dripping and plopping sounds of falling chunks of flesh amidst the more normal sounds of laughter and shuffling feet are bad enough. ‘I don’t want to see you when it’s like this.’
She grabs your hand. ‘I appreciate it. What if I lead you through, and we go to the nurse’s office?’
‘No!’ The nurse will want to know what’s wrong with your eyes; you will have to explain that there is nothing wrong with your eyes, and everything wrong with the rest of the world because how have they not noticed that they’re rotting as they stand? You can deal with this on your own. You just need to be calm. ‘No. I’ll open my eyes,’ you say.
She is even worse than you thought. She doesn’t even look human. One eyeball dangles over her cheek, still managing to blink and look around at odd intervals. You resist the urge to shut your eyes again immediately, because you can do this. ‘I’m fine now. It’s gone,’ you say. Her expression is even more difficult to read than normal, what with most of the facial muscles being gone, but you know her well enough that you can guide yourself by memory.
‘You’re sure?’ she asks.
Be calm. ‘Yep. You’re very pretty.’ The yellow sky starts to flicker. You wonder what the inside of the school will look like today. ‘Let’s go to homeroom.’
