In the present moment, she awaited the inevitable. She strayed from Oktavia even more so—to the point the human noticed her odd looks and disappointment; their hands had bumped into each other when trying to reach for the artificial sweetener jar—and Mischa flinched like a fish waiting to be gutted by their captor.
In retrospect, however–
“…I am not even flattering you, she probably just glanced at you and decided what she would feel, like clockwork,” he snapped his fingers. “You need to end this.”
“And how do you expect me to do that?” Mischa didn’t dare break away eye contact. Respect was the only thing she had left, if it wasn’t love.
“You do it carefully, Koch. Very carefully.”
His voice croaked. “If there is no escape, then there is no length of survival.”
“Then Artemis was right. We have to murder this whole regime.”
Hope this soundtrack could depict a bit of weirdness, a bit of surrealism, and a bit of fear in the midst of it all too–I pretty much am looking at it through Lauren’s perspective, how everything is fading in seconds before she believes it is her time.
I have recently composed an intro soundtrack to the Identify podcast project I’ve been working on. For those that do not know, Identify is an ongoing novel collaboration project that delves into a mysterious island that has different uses for people.
Dreamscape under his influence
even the earth Trembles and quakes.
“But, you’re neglecting to tell me everything. I know that, Mischa. What have you been hiding from me?”
She looked almost sad as she put their dishes in the sink. ‘Your memories, Oktavia. That’s what I’m hiding.’
“Mischa? Where are you going? Don’t walk away from me.”
Darcy knew better than to play with time—it wasn’t cheap after all.
How fucked is that? She mused in her dreamscape.
Oktavia noticed the discomfort and cupped Mischa’s chin. “It is dead, darling. What is there to fear?”
She looked again at Oktavia. “So many things.”
She could barely remember the former king, but she knew enough modern history that the colonies dispersed before killing each other in a series of small wars. It was knowledge that felt natural to her. She was in enough battles, recalling in distant psychological experience, to warrant the existential solipsistic dread that when she held the sword, she was the only one that mattered in anyone’s eyes.
Including her father’s.
“Mischa, have I done something to upset you?”
Oktavia’s terrifying presence made her flit for the knife, before dropping it back down on the cutting board. “What?”
“There is some… type of vomit on the vegetable cutting board.”
“What are you—No, no, I just chopped up the carrots—over and over again.”
At her feet, she found something joyful. The horizon cleared and she too sat on the ground. Her gaze locked with Mischa.
“I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
“Given what you do? It was likely,” Mischa was hoarse, hesitating to move from the ground. The glow suppressed Oktavia’s features, in which the illusion was consolable that she was safe. Her head rolled to the side, almost touching the robot’s knee.
My main character, Oktavia, had an arc of redemption but losing her pet dragon, Lincoln, was the original idea for me to have her descent into the pith and despair of madness (we all love a good anti-hero).
Anastasia was stirred to the sound of heavy breathing. “You are surely to die.”
“Then perhaps you will too.”
hiss in my ears, softly,
while I lay comatose under
bed-sheets, dejected again,
psychic pain of ancestors
at my blackened brain-stem
Amazing drawings by AuAu, including the chaotic siblings, Tom and Lauren, from my collaborative novel, Identify.
I might end up writing a scene for the art.
Lauren let out a grunt into the dark cave, legs locking onto Artemis’s; her strength collapsed into the mutant who inhabited her space closely, soon fallen to the death of tenebrous nightfall.
“Almost there!” said the facetiousness of the grinning face. “Let’s start over again…” almost as if spoken from the true puppet master, Merlin. “And Tom? You are owned. Don’t forget.”
“I know you saw something in the light, Tom. We all did. You can’t trust the words of a fucking maniac that tried to kill us—you have to trust what you saw.”
“Think, Lauren. Really think. Why would she tell me this otherwise?”
“To not remember!” Lauren inched closer to him, eyes blazing. He couldn’t look away from her if he tried. “If I remember Clarence at least, then she’s real to me.”