Quote:
Follows the american dream.
Kaðlín had slept very little since her trip to the hospital. She spent the majority of the time staring at the ceiling, or rolling onto her side to check the time. Doing anything more seemed overwhelming – even having the television on to break up the silence was somehow too much. White noise was too much. And letting in sounds from the outdoors felt somehow disrespectful to the place, as if a strong breeze would sweep in and do away with the inexplicable feel of Aileen in the apartment.
But time was at a crawl, and Kaðlín was as awake as she was weary. There was nothing to do for it; 3AM was an hour in which most businesses were closed, save for the 24-hour joints that provided necessities to a sprawling metropolis. Even if she knew what was open, Kaðlín wasn't familiar with the city; she wouldn't know which streets to take and which streets to avoid, or which of those establishments was worth visiting to give her mind a break. She may as well not go outside at all.
She didn't want to reconnect with the many bright and beautiful realms of Facebook and Twitter and TikTok and Instagram and SnapChat. She didn't want to stare down the gleaming, crisp Retina display of her iPhone. She didn't want to go outside. She didn't want the TV. She didn't want anything, but she didn't want nothing, either.
Finally, at 3:14, Kaðlín hauled herself up from where she lay. There were so many tasks she could be doing and so many requests she could fulfill in her position, she knew, but she didn't trust herself in this early hour to do something irreversible. She needed simple, nigh mindless. Something she could do now and undo in the morning after she had a coffee and an hour or two of sleep. All that came to mind was packing, however – putting away all the collected paraphernalia of a friend who so suddenly passed away.
It was an intimidating task, saved only by the fact that none of it was going to be donated or dealt with for some time yet. It would have been emotionally lighter if the apartment was set in such a way that Aileen knew she was leaving, but there were signs all over each room of life in its unfiltered, daily exuberance.
When Kaðlín went to the kitchen, she saw precisely those signs of life. As her blunted fingertips skittered across the formica countertop, they stumbled over the dry, hardened remains of spilled applesauce. The high chair was still there, tilted to the side as if she had just taken her baby from breakfast and intended to push in the chair later. There were unwashed dishes in the sink that smelled of molding chicken noodle soup that hadn't yet been rinsed out into the in-sink disposal. There were leftovers in the fridge, now rife with a whole ecosystem of fungus, and long past the sharpied date on their post-it notes.
These signs of life were all over the apartment. It was as if they pointed out that, despite planning ahead so meticulously, despite drawing up her will and naming successors and making these determinations for life after death, Aileen still hadn't anticipated her final day. They were each sordid reminders that no one could play clairvoyant – that life was ineffably delicate and easily lost, with no one the wiser for it.
But that's what perplexed Kaðlín – for all that Aileen planned, for all that she seemed to expect her own end at 26, she didn't know when it would actually happen. She waited at the cusp of the kitchen counter, fingers forgotten as they lingered over the old applesauce spill, as she wondered about the circumstances that would create such a situation. What would have to be happening to Aileen to result in something like this? While she wasn't entirely sure, the only answers she could come up with were ones like falling in love with someone who turned out to be a little out of control, or being stalked, or getting mixed up with organized crime and being unable to pay them back.
These situations all had human influence in common. They all had a perpetrator who Aileen might have been expecting, but there would be no way to predict the day that it happened. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that maybe it was organized crime, or some kind of serial killer. Why else would people be falling into comas more often in Destiny City alone?
But these were thoughts to reflect on in the morning hours, when the apartment wasn't so full of ghosts and conspiracies woven by her lack of sleep. Kaðlín pushed herself to move, to enter the kitchen in full and start setting up some of the collapsed boxes that had rested atop the refrigerator for years. She grabbed the medium-sized box from the top of the pile and blew the dust off the top, only to have the thick layer roll back on itself and drift into her face. She coughed, then sneezed, wincing for how some of it had gotten into her eyes. Groaning, she figured they must have been left by the last owner. No, the owner before that, for sure.
It took rifling through a handful of kitchen drawers before she found a roll of tape sitting atop a bed of haphazardly stored tools. After a moment, she had cut enough strips of tape with her teeth to tape and reinforce the bottom of the box. Then she stopped and looked around herself, spotting a small hummel collection on a floating shelf and a host of collaged photos pinned onto a corkboard. There were pots and pans hung from a rack over the island, spices on a magnetized shelf that was stuck to the fridge, and more mismatched utensils in more bamboo pots than she knew what to do with.
She felt overwhelmed already, and she hadn't even begun. She decided it was better not to start in the kitchen; she would likely be staying long enough that she would have to use it. It wouldn't do to pack everything away and then need to break it out again.
Taking the lip of the box, Kaðlín dragged it off the tile, onto the carpet, and over to the bedroom that was just off the small living room space. This was Aileen's sanctuary, where she had a multitude of photos from her various trips pasted all over her wall, white string lights hung from the ceiling DIY-style, and nets mounted to the corners to hold the many plushies she had collected over the years. All her furniture was built from a light and airy beechwood, occasionally painted a soft pink, and every inch of space atop them was taken up by figurines, pencils, stacks of mail, broken toys, half-finished projects, jewelry, and more.
Deciding it was easiest to start with the stuffed animals, Kaðlín abandoned her box on the floor and stood on her tiptoes to address the nets. They were easily removed – she needed only pull the net away from the nail, but the overflowing mountain of plushies shifted and began raining down on her immediately. She stammered out her surprise as they all came tumbling down on her, arms held over her head in case any nasty surprises were buried in the stack.
To her dismay, she felt something hard thunk into her arm and tumble down her shoulder. Once the netting had emptied all of its surprises, Kaðlín sighed and began grabbing handfuls of stuffed dragons, unicorns, fairies, and other mystical creatures and began stacking them up in the box. To add to her disappointment, there were still a few stuffed cats with wings that were left over from the cascade that would need a new box.
As she turned to make her way back to the kitchen, she kicked something hard. Looking down, she saw that it must have been the object from earlier that tried to brain her. She crouched to get a better look at it and found that it was some kind of wooden necklace? It didn't match her best friend's preferences at all; Aileen only wore delicate-looking chains with small silver or gold charms on them, and nearly all of them had some kind of space motif. She wouldn't own something so earthy; it was more Kaðlín's style. Was it a gift for her that Aileen had been saving?
Either way, it was Aileen's, and thus wasn't her choice what to do with it. She picked it up, and when she straightened, she felt cool fabric brush the backs of her legs and the tops of her feet. She was wearing shoes, and something heavy sat on her head. She heard what sounded like a sibilant whisper, which left her on edge as she scanned her surroundings. For a long minute, Kaðlín paused, waiting for a single sound of life. During that minute, her heart pounded in her ears.
Slowly, surely, the adrenalin began to ebb. Kaðlín let out a breath and allowed her shoulders to drop. Something soughed atop them, and she was reminded that everything about her felt strange. When she looked at her hands, she saw gloves made of leaves, and her shoulders sported great, floppy leaves as well. As she touched her hair, she felt around a hair tie that bore delicate antlers. Wooden necklaces and wooden bracelets adorned her, and her feet were tied into sandals that rose to her knees. In her grasp lay that broken necklace from earlier.
Her brows knitted. She looked up at the doorway to the living room. Then, she fainted.
Word Count: 1627
