TFS: Burnt Earth

Molly

The waiting is eternal. I’m not even allowed to take any side jobs, for fear I’ll be needed if/when the time comes. What do they expect us to do anyway? Sit on top the girl? Although we’ve left Brody behind, we’re stuck on standby.

Phelan’s already dumpy disposition gets worse with every passing second. He’s not in a good place. Me, I’m in my comfortably dark place, but Phelan in that dark place is scary. No clue what Cuntface will do. In that way, I see where the Tribunal is coming from with their curiosity of Sheyla. The lack of knowing sucks major balls. Each time I ask him if he’s okay, he just responds by telling me to ‘piss off’. I’m not ratting him out to Tyler. Tattling is weak. Meanwhile, he’s boarding the berserk bus, and I don’t trust him to lead us. Sure to fuck not letting him drag us on with him.

“This is bad,” I point out to Connor as we’re watching Phelan pound fuck our peers in the pit.

“Agreed.”

“How do you propose we handle it?”

He shrugs. “Nothing we can do but wait and see how it all plays out.”

“You expect me, queen of the faithless, to just sit here and have a little faith?”

“I have faith in Sheyla,” he admits.

“Then we’re all fucking doomed,” I complain.

“Think about it, Molly,” he persists. “What if she stops the transition? Think about what that could mean.”

“One less energy sucker in the universe.”

“A lot more than that,” he contends. “She’s important.”

“Yeah? Who the fuck is she important to?” I probe. “To us? What exactly is she doing for us? The Tribunal wants her so they can control her. She’s a powerful weapon, and we don’t even know the extent of that power.”

“You’re right. They won’t use her how she wants to be used.”

“Not our problem,” I inform him.

“It is our problem.”

“No, Connor, it isn’t. It’s her problem. It’s their problem. Us, we just follow orders. That’s for the best.”

“You hate following orders.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t understand the requirement for them,” I argue. “They just don’t always apply to me.”

“Seldom does anything apply to you.”

“Bullseye,” I confirm. “I’m special.”

“Says who?”

“Said my parents.”

He lifts a brow. It’s my turn to shrug. We don’t discuss my adoptive parents. He always gets weird when I broach the subject. He feels guilty for taking me from them. I feel guilty for not caring he did. It isn’t affecting me the way it should. I acknowledge that. I’m a completely different person, wrapped up in darkness with a heaping side of cynicism. I’m not the fleeting optimist who existed before Tyler converted me.

Past me was a caterpillar, wrapped in her cozy cocoon. She wanted to stay living in that cocoon but the Sentry forced her out. Did she emerge the expected butterfly? Hell. Fucking. No. That caterpillar emerged a glorious fucking moth. Why are they better? Well, for one thing, butterflies tend to rest with their wings closed. What do moths do? Rest spread open, baby. No fear. For another thing, butterflies have no frenulum. Moths do. Frenulums join the forewing to the hindwing. This allows wings to work in unison during flight. Also, while moths are shorter than butterflies, they have thicker hair and fatter bodies. Twigs are weak. Trunks are strong. One more and I’ll stop, swear to fuck. The full wing colour provides better camouflage. Butterflies have no place in the Sentry. They’re cutesy shitheads that’d look pretty fucked up covered in blood and guts. Team Moth for life. Fuck yeah.

“Do you miss them?” he sucks me back into the conversation.

“In a way,” I hedge.

“Do you think you’ll ever see them again?”

“I hope to fuck not.”

“Why would you hope that?”

“Worlds should never collide that way.”

“Our world did.”

“They’re happy,” I offer. “I’m sure they are. Jack probably found someone new, got married, had two children—a boy and a girl—and a dog he let them name something ridiculously trivial. They’ve likely repainted the fence countless times by now. Hell, they’re probably retired in Florida, hiding away from their grandbaby ankle biters.”

“You think he forgot you that easily?”

“Probably not as quick as I forgot him but quick enough his swimmers were still good.”

“Now you’re just being an ass.”

“Nah,” I counter. “I have faith those things happened for him, instead of focusing on the fact we’ve been at this for decades now, and logic dictates they’ve died.”

“Molly!” he chastises me. “Why do you always go so dark?”

“Because you’re always so light,” I reason. “Balance is important.”

“That’s what Sheyla will do,” Connor states emphatically. “She’ll balance us all out.”

“Your disillusion knows no bounds.” Shit on a stick, his most recent Love Sheyla campaign featured a faulty belief she repositioned him in the berserk bus line. I’ll admit he’s better, especially when you compare him to Phelan, but he’s always better after his hangry ass eats a sucker. This time’s no different. He’s crediting where credit isn’t due. You know who deserves credit? My fists, for shutting that shit down. Hard.

“Sure it does,” he deflects. “You are the boundary. You cut it off at every pass.”

“Excellent babysitter,” I deadpan.

“Speaking of babysitting, where’s Phelan?” he volleys.

Fuck, he absconded without us noticing. “Likely beating his head off Sheelin’s special places.”

“I’m worried about him.”

“I’m worried about us,” I correct the concern trajectory. “We’ll wind up orphans.”

“That worked out pretty well for you last time,” he reminds me.

“Always so full of faith,” I muse. “How about you faith Phelan out of his whirlpool before he drowns us all.”

“That’ll be tricky.”

“In the meantime, let’s just give him a wide berth, so he doesn’t pull us down with him.”

“Sounds good to me. I’d rather not open the box anyway.”

I’ll let Connor believe that’s a viable option, but I know no matter when we open the box, our Schrödinger’s cat is deader than dead. He’s losing control. He’s going berserk.