Page 53 of SummerTime Madness
I close my eyes, feeling the gentle night breeze skim through my hair as her body melts into my side, her head falling on my shoulder as her fingers curl around my hand. From the corner of my eyes–I see him.
Honey pools are blown wide–high off us.
I smile, inhale deep, and try to hold onto the stars before the night devours them.
I wasn’t proud of the things I did to keep my addiction under control.
To keep her from consuming me.
If only she knew the extent that I would go for her… for Chase… for us...
But she ripped that away. Strolling through her greenhouse, making sure not to walk near her cameras pointing directly at her ant farm, I spent hours in the lab–after breaking in of course–just sitting, and visiting her mind like a shrine. It didn’t take me long to see what she wasdoing–so focused on evolution, my little bloom. If only she could understand that the truth lies in connection.
That’s what helps… I take a deep breath in...
She thinks I didn’t notice her stealing the dirt from my garden, but little did she know that she inspired my thesis, the garden and everything in between. Looking at the ants, I notice the one she keeps hidden from view and I smile.
She’s actually attempting it… and by the looks of this particular ant, she’s succeeding. I shake my head and offer her a piece of me. A little help.
Just enough to see if my butterfly could break from her cocoon.
Carefully, I sprinkle soil composed of mycelial cells and spores from various stages. If she was hell bent on making herself the experiment, might as well make sure she blooms.
But that was then…
She didn’t fail.
She didn’t break.
She didn’t submit.
She became.
Cordelia squeezes my mind, snapping me back.
“Stop being in the past,” she whispers, her eyes glowing in the darkness. We ride the ferris wheel, high above the foam-drenched madness with her between us. Fingers laced in ours. Heart full.
The music swells. The world tilts.
Below us, I watch the world descend into slow madness. The foam crowd writhes–not just dancing anymore–but fucking, blooming, birthing something unnatural.
There’s no escape.
There’s no resistance.
There’s only giving.
The immune?
Front row.
Devoured alive. Incubators for the hive.
Everyone becomes part of her. One way or another.
To spread her wishes…
Her legacy.
