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It’s cold.
It’s something I’ve grown used to, even before becoming the way I am now. Being a ghost will do that to you, I guess. But this cold was different; a constant, bitter sting. I- no, we, live in constant discomfort.
I should be grateful. I’ve seen the way the ichor has affected my friends. Mindlessly chasing after those who still remain. There’s no method to their madness, they just… do. I don’t know why I’m so different. I don’t know what they feel to make them act this way. Rage? Confusion? Fear? Whatever it is, I have none of that.
I don’t really feel anything anymore. The cold is more than my body, the cold is my mind. The cold is all I am.
My mind is so clouded that I don’t even recognize that the toons I used to call friends are on the floor with me. They know by now that I don’t care enough to bite, and they walk right through me. I chuckle dryly to myself, except I don’t. Nothing comes out, and my expression remains the same blank slate it always does. Even if I can’t laugh, I can’t help but find it funny how things change. One minute, we’re characters in some campy kids cartoon about holding hands and getting along, teaching kids who come to Gardenview different morals and fun facts. The next minute, we’re scavenging the floors for food and resources just to get by. Left in the dust in the blink of an eye. Left to the ichor that threatens to consume all of us.
Today, something new happens. A familiar, gentle face approaches me. The ichor has made it hard for me to remember certain things, so I can’t remember her name or her significance to me, but seeing her face ignites just the faintest spark in me. Just a hint of warmth. My endless pacing comes to a halt for me to get a good look at her. In my brief moments of sobriety, I wish that the toons would just get out of here and leave me alone. “Passive”, is what I’ve heard them call twisteds like me. As true as that holds, I’m still capable of harm. I know it. I’m no good.
“Connie.” The familiar face speaks, her voice gentle. Soothing, almost. The face she puts on is a brave yet kind smile. Ichor might have corrupted how I normally think, but I can still recognize that as my name. No words come out of my mouth to her. I just stare. Visibly upset by how cold I am, her facade falters just a little. I recognize it, though. Every toon who comes down here tries to play brave. That was me, not too long ago. Or at least what I’d assume to be not that long ago, anyways. Time is but a concept anymore.
“Do you remember me?” She asks. Brainfog clouds most things I attempt to think about, or remember. Even the memories of Gardenview and my friends take up the most amount of energy. So, no, I don’t remember you. Not your name, at least. That’s what I wish I could say, but my words get caught in my throat and my mouth refuses to move. I say nothing, and I do nothing. I take in her appearance. Most toons don’t stick by me, either out of fear, grief, or guilt. Something along those lines. This is the closest I’ve gotten to anyone in a while. The toon was a pink lampshade, her bulb glowing brightly underneath. Heat radiated from her, and I couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. I wish I could just stay here forever, with this strangely familiar toon.
“Gee, I…” The girl paused, struggling to find the words she wanted to say. “I never thought I’d see the day you didn’t have anything snarky to say. You were a real piece of work, do you know that?” She sniffled, her eyes becoming glossy. Seeing me like this was breaking her.
The lampshade jumped at the sound of the elevator doors clanking open, causing the tears to break free and stain her face. Hesitantly, she reached her hand out to touch me. I didn’t move. It went right through me. The girl cringed at this.
“I should go. We’ll get you back, Connie, I promise.”
And that was all. Just like that, the hint of warmth I finally felt was torn from me. Maybe I’d never feel that again.
Maybe I didn’t deserve to.