Aubrey Eden Davis
In reply to Audrey Eden Davis (msg # 14):
You see the truck coming at you, almost literally from nowhere. It's like everything goes very still. Brad is looking at you, saying something. But you can't hear him.
Then the truck broadsides you on the passenger side. Brad looks surprised. It's the only way to describe it. His eyes open wide. His mouth becomes a big O. And then he comes apart.
It really happens like that. You know you're getting thrown against the driver's side door as the truck smashes you across the intersection. And Brad comes apart. Not like bloody mist apart. He turns into bubbles.
Iridescent, silvery bubbles. The kind you used to make with some dish detergent and a pair of Mom's old glasses. The lenses had fallen out of them, and you would dip the frames into a bowl of sudsy water and blow bubbles. Just like these. The inside of the car is filled with bubbles.
The bubbles seem to eat up all the empty space in the car. They block out your sight of everything. The street sliding by. The truck which is crumpling up the passenger side of your car. Everything.
You feel something tearing. Than the bubbles are covering you.
Wow. I never knew it was like this. This feels...I dunno. It's like all the tension's gone. I don't have to worry about any of it anymore.
You tried to help, didn't you? I'm sorry it didn't work out too well. But I really do appreciate it. I think those Anodyne guys wouldn't have been nice to me. If they had gotten their hands on me.
So what I was telling you in the car. My Dad isn't my Dad. Flo's Dad was. At least that's what Flo's Dad told me. He and my Dad were working on something. I don't get the science behind it. But me an' Flo were supposed to be breeding stock for it. We couldn't grow up together so people wouldn't find out we were related. Our parents were always pushing us towards each other. Now I know why.
There's a folder. My Dad would bring home a folder from work. And when he did, he'd take my temperature and weigh me and stuff. The folder had a name on it. Project Clean. If there's anything to be found out, maybe it's there. I dunno.
What do me and a pimple have in common? We're both gonna pop.
Yeah. I didn't think that was funny either. But I've never been good at jokes an' stuff.
Will you tell Flo I'm sorry. And that I hope she ends up happy. And that I really do think she's great.
I don't know what else to say. I don't think there really is anything else to say.
You open your eyes. Rob is standing over you. Above him is a white ceiling. He's working on a beard. Doesn't look like he's shaved for five or so days.
Bree! Calm down! You're okay! Calm down. Can you hear me?
This must be a hospital. You feel a little weak. And the top and back of your head are itchy.