She Hangs My Fingers Around Her Neck
rating: +16+x


⚠️ Content Warnings ⤴

Info

Content warnings:

  • Slight blood and gore
  • Loss of a loved one


If you see a young woman with her right digits sliced off, do not panic.
She carries the severed fingers of her lover around her neck.
Let her pass. She will not hurt you.

She is only searching for her love.


Maybe we were too good to be true.

How ridiculous was that—were we too happy?

Did the universe not allow so much joy to be held by only two people?

We were barely adults when Penny and I met, yet we spent the best years of our lives together. Even when we wound up in the Backrooms, we held our own, wandering and working together. What did we do wrong, if not be perfect for each other?

I remember how optimistic we were as we passed through campervans and RVs and caravans, as if choosing which one to settle in and call home. One with many windows, she preferred. We'd have plants and especially sunflowers, her favorite. We browsed through these mobile homes like through rooms at Ikea, pointing out our favorite carpets, the color of the kitchen, the size of the sofa.

For a carefree moment, I believed it. Despite this absurd reality, we really could have a normal future together.

But the vehicles move unpredictably.



One moment we're crossing the threshold, me in one room and her in the next, hands clasped between us.

Then in the blink of an eye she's gone.

The interior switches to a completely different vehicle, and she is whisked away into the previous car, along with half of my left hand. All that remains with me are the fingers of her hand that I was holding.

Blood sprays.

A scream rips out from my mouth.

PENELOPE!

Outside the window I saw the vehicles weave back and forth with each other, a herd of countless, mindless cars. One of them held the love of my life.

Shock spurred me into action and I leapt into the next vehicle.

Desperation possessed me, coursed through my veins like lighting and reverberated in my head like thunder.

I stormed through door after door, raced day and night, and left no stone unturned in my path; I wouldn't eat nor sleep, all rationale abandoned for the hope in my head repeating:

She's in the next vehicle.

She must have gone in that one.



For sure, she's in the next one.




The next one.




The next..








The next…











But such a hurricane would've ripped me apart too.


After passing ten, forty, maybe eighty empty cars, my unbridled tempest dimmed to a contained storm cloud.

I had reached a locked row. All the vehicles in each lane were currently driving in parallel, and there was no way to clip forwards. With no choice but to wait for a break in formation, I entered a luxury trailer and barricaded the exits. I devoured half the fridge before collapsing from exhaustion.


For two days, I slept.


In my dreams all I saw was the face of my love. It was too good to be true. I woke up clutching my severed hand. I cried and cried, until I felt as if my soul had entirely leaked out of my eyes.

Her absence hurt more than that of my fingers.

I try to sleep when I can. But not too much, lest I wish to never wake up again. A bolt of lightning crackles deep inside. That part of me is still screaming her name. Like our beloved sunflower, I won't rest until I see her, my sun. Only then will her rays melt my storm.

So endlessly, I search for her.

I systematically go through each vehicle, row per row, and advance forwards. I mark every car I visit. A large circle with a letter U in it, engraved on the ceiling with my swiss army knife. I used to also write the date of my arrival, but I've lost track of time.

Days and months blur into each other.

Landscapes transform outside the window. The pitch blue night reminds me of how much she hated navy blue, yet I loved wearing it.

I wonder if it's even real.

One day I came across an engraving of the letter "P" on the wall. Of course we'd both mark our presence in the same way, we've always been on the same wavelength.

One night I thought I saw her, standing on the roof of a vehicle in the distance, looking for me, even though it's impossible to exit.

I'm losing my mind.

It doesn't matter. This is the only reality I know.

Time doesn't matter.

The wanderers I encounter, from the ones who are scared to the ones who think they're not scared, don't matter. I may have lost everything, but I am not ruthless. Those who attack me are merely protecting their loved ones—

—and I understand now.

Because all that matters is her.

All I know is to search the car, enter the next one, search the car, enter the next one.

All I know is to call her name.

Penelope.



I know she is out there calling mine.


Ulisse.


I refuse to die without seeing her again.

If you see a young man with his left digits sliced off, do not panic.
I carry the severed fingers of my lover around my neck.
Let me pass. I will not hurt you.

I am only searching for my love.




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