Hello again. Thank you for sticking with my story so far. Things really start heating up around now. I hope you like it! This chapter is dedicated to @JFHensely, our very own grandpappy. He is an amazing writer and his scope (friggin humor to dystopian) is just stunning. And he's a genuinely awesome person. Send him a message. Join his book club. Send some support towards his general direction. And most of all, read his books!

One more thing. Since Death makes a reappearance in this chapter, what better time than now to introduce this lovely drawing by my good friend Ligia. She goes by @Doctreez and writes some superb Chick-Lit and equally superb fantasy. This picture you see above you was done by her. In a day!

  Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

-Emily Dickinson  

I killed another cat.

It was then that it sunk slowly into me, like a knife wound, like something sharp and biting in the night. Like a slashed out eye.

I am not me.

I forfeit something at some point in the middle of this messed up little roller coaster ride and now I am not me. I think, and I do as I used to do. But not always.

That (really?) is what keeps us sane. That knowledge that our actions are dictated by our own terms. We do what we want when we want and why we want.

And I did not have that anymore.

I walked out of the hall, through the little door I entered through. I was tempted then, to go up the stairs and see Violet. To see something else that resembled me.

But I didn't even resemble me.

I was not me.

The door opened out into a blanket of snow that chilled me and soothed my blush-red face.

I scooped it up in my hand and I rubbed it all over my face. I revelled in it.

If I wasn't me then what was dignity?

I made snow angels.

I lay in the snow, my good eye shut, the other one stinging under the bandages.

I smiled.

I enjoyed doing it.

Being a girl again. In a strange land. With blood (sentient har har) on my hands and death behind me.

"What an apt thought."

Soft, mellifluous and vile.

Blood dripped on my nose. I opened my eyes.

Death hovered over me, her dress draped in a fur coat. She held her severed cat head out wide, like as if she was aiming for me head.

I got up and wiped the blood away from my eyes.

"Don't mind me, darling, I'm just here to, you know, remind you. Nudge you on."

"Nudge me on?"

"Well, you're doing great so far. Everything's going according to the schedule. But really. Snow angels?"

"What schedule?" I asked her.

"Hmm? I said schedule? I did, didn't I?"

I looked at the place where her real head should be.

"You know what's controlling me, don't you?"

Death smiled.

"Sweet thing, the only thing controlling you, is you."

I smiled back.

"So, what are you nudging me towards now?"

Death swung her cat's head around and an arc of blood splattered across my dress. Not that it made much difference.

"Come. Walk with me."

I walked with Death yet again. She had her umbrella, furled up and tapping the ground as she walked. She wielded it like an experienced blind person.

"Darling, we've come to that point in the story where the heroine falls in love."

"Really?" I asked her. "That comes after the part where she tries to kill herself, kills two cats and then makes snow angels?"

"Yes. And before the bit where she dies. Look, treasure, I can't tell you how the schedule works. It's just that you stick to it. A commitment you took."

"Nonsense."

She laughed. "Tentacle-head fed you some pseudo-science?"

I said nothing.

"He did, didn't he? Don't worry about it. It's mostly true."

"Then I'm not really bound to do anything."

"Now, when did I say that? I never said that. You're committed, sweetheart. Committed to follow the plot."

"Lousy structure, then. What kind of a first act was that?"

Death laughed long and hard and flecked my face with even more blood and rotting viscera. I wiped it off, resigned.

"Oh, treasure. Not all writers write in sequence..."

We walked for a bit more, watching the dusk fade into twilight.

The maze of streets kept weaving in and out, forming ridiculous, convoluted new byways and roads. We walked without purpose (says who?) and without direction.

"So, this love thing..."

"Yes, I was just about to get to that. What do you know about love?"

What did I know about love?

"End, mother-of-pearl, rage, red cheeks and sex."

"That about covers it. You seem prepared enough. Go ahead. Fall in love."

"Fall in love?"

"Yes. With the boy."

She disappeared. And there I was again. In the park. With the boy before me.

(a little anamnesis called red cheeks what caused this issue, this matter of life and death shouldn't you know? yes you should here is the story she eye was there in the middle, next to the jungle gyms, her thin arms exposed with her little half-sleeved cotton shirt her frame lithe but budding because she was only thirteen and the boy stood before her his hands outstretched a flower a daisy because she loved daisies his friend told him because his friend used to be 'in a line' with her friend and her friend used to be friends with her until it all happened but that is later and this is now and there she stands her eyes wide her cheeks red the flower before her under her nose and she sneezes adorably and he laughs and she giggles and takes it from him and her arm brushes against his hand accidentally and she giggles coyly again and he seems to agree and they take a walk together to the ice cream parlour and talk about movies and they rejoice in each other with the fervent passion only little boys and girls in love can bring with their hearts opening and expanding no not love yet like and they meet and they meet again and he takes her home and his father is there with his beardy face and his stained vest and his speckled psychedelic lungi and...)

I turn to run and I am chased. Chased by a daisy. With a beard and a vest and teeth coming to chomp me. Again. And he can't stop it, can he? He couldn't stop him then and can't stop him now. And my cheeks are red again.

(and his ready smile and they three sit together and eat Lays and Dairy Milk and he leaves the two of them on their own and they are laugh and like and like so hard it's almost love but they don't know what love is and she comes back again and again and then the beardy man...)

It is after me again. The streets are curling and twisting again. Into seesaws and jungle gyms. And he is after me.

(the beardy man chases after her and she gives chase still thinking it is a game and the boy bangs on the balcony shutters because he realizes earlier than her and he screams and cuts his hand but he is too weak and wiry to break down the glass and besides she doesn't care it's all still a game but why did his lungi come off and why is he wearing nothing underneath

no

no

no

no

no

eye she is violated)

The daisies, their scent cloying. They floated around me as I ran and it ran after me and I can hear it again, that slapping on the balcony pane. That desperation in his voice. It was then that he loved me, I think. When he saw his own father deflowering me.

(another small anamnesis from little old eye this one's called the bone necklace a necklace of bones around his neck as he stands in the land of the dead and the daisy wilts in his arm).

I am deflowered by a flower.

But I am loving again.

And I am slowly, surely dying inside. Not because of the curse this place has put upon me, but because my lover was weak and I could not love him back.

Because of the flower. 

That was intense to write. I hope it was as intense for you to read. Please let me know if I was too explicit. The aim was to disgust, not to bee needlessly gratuitous. If you guys think I need to tone it down, please be very vocal about it. 

And comment please!!!! Because! Comments! Are! The! Best!