Living in the Last Sane City on Earth
By Jinglefairy
Warnings/Disclaimers/that sort of thing: This story contains violence, implied sex, implied sexuality of various varieties, references to child abuse, some crude language, horror, occult themes ... basically this story has stuff in it people might find offensive. I don't know which bits might be offensive because, really, I don't find any of it offensive. It's not a story I would show to my grandmother.
This story does not contain explicit sex scenes or extensive graphic violence. It is not intended to be purely titilating. Sorry.
Summary: Since the Cataclysm the world has been thrown into chaos. The laws of science and magic have fused, creating a new set of laws that are as yet unfixed. Even as humankind struggles to adapt, the world settles into its new groove. Of all the cities in the new world Kallai remains a beacon of sanity amidst the madness, and even she has her lunacies.
This is the story of four adolescents caught up in the flow and flux of the aftermath of the Cataclysm, and how they deal with the terrors of the world and each other.
ADDITIONAL: Beware of the Ginsberg.
MONDAY
We had an English lesson, comprehension. It was kinda fun, probably because Cadogan took it while Father Brannon made some house calls; the rounds, he called it.
Cadogan gave us all a short story to read, and then he asked us what we thought it meant. The story was 'The Last Leaf', and it wasn't like the sort of stories I usually read.
I said it was about how if you think something is true then it comes true, and Cadogan said that was good. Falcon said it was about how sometimes you put aside what you want for what you can get, and how things don't always turn out the way you think they will. Cadogan said that was good too. Falcon and I argued about whether or not the dying girl in the story was annoying - he seemed to think she didn't deserve to live because she was so pathetic, and I disagreed, though I couldn't say why.
Rowan didn't say much, she just doodled in the corner of her paper. Cadogan hushed Falcon and me up and tried to get her attention.
"So, Rowan, what do you think?" he asked, smiling as usual.
She looked up, and didn't say anything at first, just looked at him for what felt like a long time. Then she said, "It's about death."
Cadogan nodded. "That's true. What does it say about death?"
Rowan stabbed her pencil into the desk, snapping off the point. "Death is inevitable. We're all going to die some day. It's just a matter of time and place. And death doesn't care if you're young, or good, or deserve to live or not," she added. "You still die."
Falcon said, "That's depressing."
Rowan shrugged, sketching something with the broken end of her pencil. "Life is depressing."
"It can be," Cadogan said quietly. "But it can also be uplifting." He smiled. "I think you can choose to enjoy life or not. You can take pleasure in things, or you can nitpick and complain. It's a matter of 'is the glass half empty or half full?' "
Rowan laughed suddenly. "And what if you smash the glass?" she asked, her eyes bright. "Is it half empty or half full?"
Cadogan shook his head. "I don't think the glass can be smashed."
"Yeah? Where's the fun in that?" Rowan finished sketching and pushed away her paper. I picked it up when the others had gone down to lunch. She'd drawn a scaffold, with a rope hanging from it. This was nothing special, Rowan always drew things like that, but this time instead of being knotted into a noose the rope was severed halfway down, the end swaying in an invisible breeze.
After lunch Cadogan gave us a bunch of poetry anthologies to read. He asked us to find one we liked, and to think about what it meant.
I chose something at random; it was about daffodils, I don't really remember, it was pretty boring. I like poetry better when it's been translated from some other language, because then you don't get distracted by rhymes and things. Falcon shyly pulled out that book Julian leant him and read something sweet and sad about lost love. His voice quavered and caught on the phrase 'and you are not with me', so I thought he might cry. I think he likes poetry now. Strange, because he never used to.
As for Rowan ... Rowan flicked though the anthologies, halfheartedly scanning and turning pages, and didn't even pretend to have picked something. When Cadogan turned to her she just smiled.
"Delicate eyes that blinked blue Rockies, all ash," she recited smoothly. "Nipples, ribs I touched with my thumb, are ash. Mouth my tongue touched once or twice, all ash. Bony cheeks, soft on my belly are cinder, ash. Earlobes and eyelids, youthful cock tip, curly pubis, breast warmth, man palm, high school thigh, baseball bicept arm, arsehole annealed to silken skin ... all ashes, ashes again."
There was a silence into which Falcon dropped his book; it smacked the floor too hard and too loud. I didn't know what to think; I just sat there, hot-cheeked and uncomfortable.
Cadogan stared at Rowan and then cleared his throat. "And what do you think it means?" he asked, a little shaky.
Rowan smiled like a cat. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust? It's about flesh. I thought that was obvious. Flesh and death. It's what everything's really about, when you get down to it. You could say it's the human condition." She smirked. "Why? What did you think it was about?"
Cadogan blinked, flushed, and smiled. "I think that's enough poetry for today."
She's baiting him. It's not fair, Cadogan's a sweetheart and he doesn't deserve it. He embarrasses easily, not as bad as Falcon but still easy, and it makes me feel sorry for him.
There's something fragile about him. Falcon is the same, I guess, sort of delicate and brittle like glass, while Cadogan ... I don't know what it is, but something about him is precious and breakable. Like glass, again. I suppose that's what they are, both of them; they're crystal boys, not real boys. Cadogan is a perfectly cut crystal, but Falcon's flawed somewhere inside, and you can see it sometimes, the fractured light flashing through him in shades of anger, fear and melancholy.
I'm scared Rowan might break one of them, just for fun.
to be continued
The following texts were quoted from or alluded to in this chapter:
'The Last Leaf' O. Henry
'Daffodils' William Wordsworth
'Tonight I Can Write' Pablo Neruda
'On Neal's Ashes' Alan Ginsberg
(I shan't bother with full quotations because I don't imagine any of you actually care ~_^)