open | prompt five | ENDINGS

[wrens]

prompt five | E N D I N G S dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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[thousands]

[ I am Todd Hewitt.

There is a blank place inside herself where Todd Hewitt should be. Not an emptiness, because no part of Amy is empty, but not a fullness either. When he opens himself up, her mind rushes forward, looking to be enveloped, looking to slip below the surface of that buzz and feel the thrum color the spaces where no Todd Hewitt exists. She breathes him, drinks him; she makes her lungs and her belly ache with him. For Todd is a soul, he's a life full of Noise, and Amy is Her, the girl the who is legion. The one with the souls inside her; the Passage.

She takes him in until he closes up again. But even with the tap so quickly shut there is a whisper — some of him now in her or was it her inside of him — not loud, just a murmur, like a lullaby sung in a distant room, something to fill the silences. (A shaft of light in the darkness, a tear.)

It's okay if he doesn't have words and why that is, Amy shows him. (An abandoned house, only not a house at all, rows shops lining every distant hall, their contents wrecked and raided, and at the very center—) She'd lived almost a hundred years beneath the carousel at the very heart of the mall, hiding when the stars hovered in every window, only coming out when the sun was hottest and her tummy grumbled (not hunger, just upsetness).

She tilts her head to one side, some of her dark hair falling across her eyes and her face. ]

You are Todd Hewitt, [ Amy says aloud. Her heart says differently.

I am Todd Hewitt. ]