THE OVERWOODS [[Midnight's Notebooks]]

--ovw--XLVIII--ovw--

Of course, I almost said "NO" with capital metaphorical letters, a small and maybe shy smile, and then a single flip with two twists in the opposite direction- except deep down I knew Carter had a good heart; he genuinely was trying to help me, and, like most people who went out of their way to make time for me, was not only kind- knew how to do the right thing.

MONDAY

8:59 AM

Northwest of Windcreek

They say Windcreek used to be ruled by a king who started out as a peasant in a farm; a pig farmer. A once-pig-farmer who used to- well, sometimes, at least- chop off the heads of white ducks. One who ate acorns, turkeys, slayed all of the cyclopes, summoned fire hotter than hell, slayed dragons. One who entered a dimension darker than the depths of the underworld; darker than the depths of Hades himself if Hades were in the form of an abyss.

A history teacher once told me that Windcreek itself was a portal to other planets- or so some people liked to believe.

Post U.S. recruitment, I learned that Windcreek here in the Overwoods wasn't the real Windcreek. They just called it that.

I read that from a library book, too. About a week later; in a book I can almost guarantee nobody else but me could read. While listening to a millennia-long-preserved audio disc of songs written by a girl who told stories of a woman named Juliet; a man they called Romeo.

These were the thoughts, the small memories, that swam slowly, and fluttered, like butterflies and like swans at the very back of my mind at that exact time.

I felt every single snowflake and drop of cold blood on the skin of my left hand.

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--ovw--

I pressed the middle fingers of both my hands to the tops of my ears. I just wished I had told him- Carter, that is- not to put hands around my neck, because he gave me nightmares for about... oh, I don't know. Maybe just ten weeks. I'm so glad it was Carter and not Wyatt- because, probably, Wyatt would have just laughed; me having level-9,000-intensity PTSD nightmares for 2.5 weeks, and then 7.5 with slightly less intensity, all because of a planned scrap in an airconditioned environment with a fellow agent. It probably would just be funny to him. Right?

I mentally ran through a list of suspects in my head.

I mean, probably- he did think stealing someone's lunch money was entertainment; was so comical, was such entertainment. Caleb took me home that day for dinner and then hacked into all of Wyatt's video game platforms. Caleb sold all of his... like, rare legendary items, or something. "That doesn't make anything right, you know," was what I had told him that night. It was 11 PM and I sat in front of their fireplace eating cereal. He told me that Kaylee would have done something even worse, and then wrapped his blanket around me.

I wiped a snowflake off my left hand. And then, I wiped off a tear, before it had a chance to really fall anywhere- and shut my eyes.

Then I opened them and thought of sunflowers.

: DDDD

Sunflower

Yay

"HELP ME RIGHT NOW FOR FUCK'S SAKE MIDNIGHT- "

I snapped out of it, not because he said "help," but mainly because I remembered being choked as a small child a lot and it was really, really not nice.

It was actually quite painful.

Kaylee always took the time, and took the effort, to remind me that we were the two Nightingale survivors- the only ones. We have the powers, and the minds and emotional intelligence that come only with being the strongest of the strongest survivors. At least for the most part- we certainly weren't perfect.

I stepped back with my left foot, calculated line and distance- and went all out.

This wasn't a workout. But if my body was going to do something nice for someone that day, then hey, let's flip.

--ovw--