Info
Part Two of the City of Rephaim
~ knafflad
Thank you for the critique centurys lute!
More City of Rephaim:
⤷ One ⋅ Two
Chapter 2:
Variety is the Splice of Life.
“You’re dreaming, Saffron.”
Leon and Jennifer were at the shopping mall, and Jennifer was pressing a bright pink polo up to Leon’s chest. He was smiling, which unsettled her. She never saw him smile anymore, not like this, where the corners of his eyes wrinkled up and his teeth showed. She furrowed her brow, confused. She wondered what store they were in.
“You’re dreaming. There is no way I could pull this off,” Leon said, grabbing the t-shirt and holding it up against himself. He laughed.
“What… did you just call me?”
“What, Saffron? You don’t like it?”
“I just don’t really get it,” Jennifer mumbled. “Normally, my nicknames are like Jenny, or that one kid who called me Juice. I hated that kid.”
Leon put the polo down on a rack, and it disintegrated into pink dust. Jennifer blinked. Then she remembered, of course, that they were in the disintegrating store. She crossed her arms and tucked her hands in. Leon continued on, fingering through the racks for something that complemented his style.
“Well, you are my spicy little flower, aren’t you? And you’re such a rare and precious little gift. I thought it was cute.”
“You’re being nice today, mister bigshot.”
“Okay, fine, it's not that fancy. Jennifer has one ‘f’, Saffron has an ‘f’, it's pretty much the same thing.”
“Saffron has two ‘f’s, you dingus.”
“You can show me what the other ‘f’ stands for later, then.”
“Leon!” She smacked his arm and looked around. There were other people in the store, but their faces were smudgy messes of blurry, fleshy colour. They didn’t seem to care about Leon and Jennifer. She made a mental note of it: possible zombies at the shopping mall. No need to panic, though. Leon was with her, and his face was normal. Jennifer reached up to her cheek and confirmed she also did, in fact, have a face. Leon gave a big sigh.
“This place is a wash. Let’s get lunch.”
The two sat at a small table in the food court, picking at Chinese food with chopsticks. Jennifer got black bean chicken and fried rice, even though she wasn’t really hungry. Around them buzzed a hustle of faceless patrons, smacking their fake lips on abstract shapes. Rain drummed on the skylight windows high above them, and she could smell the petrichor seeping through the building. Leon was laughing about something, but she couldn’t quite remember the beginning of his story.
“I was never any good with these. How do Asians do it? I just wanna eat my food.”
He put the chopsticks aside and grabbed a plastic fork instead. The fork appeared out of seemingly thin air. Jennifer blinked. She had been holding a piece of chicken in between her chopsticks for who knows how long, letting it get cold. She frowned at it, wishing it were battered and fried and put in a bowl with lettuce and dressing. Jennifer hated Chinese food, but wanted to compromise to keep Leon smiling like he did earlier with the polo shirt. He liked big meals with a lot of calories, flavour and protein. He was a big guy. Something had to nourish those muscles—a salad might frighten him.
“You gonna eat that?” He asked, and before she could reply, Leon reached over the table and plunged the fork right into her chest. With a flex, he yanked her heart out of her ribcage and looked at it. Her heart was about the size of an apple, slimy and red. It was attached to meaty tubes and veins, which dangled and dripped onto the table and all over her food. Jennifer blinked again.
“You can’t eat that, that’s my heart.”
“You’re not enjoying it, I can see that. It’s gonna go to waste.” He took a bite out of it, then scowled. “Oh, yeah, no good.”
He gently slid her heart off the fork onto her plate. It was grey, mottled, and dry. It was beating, but just hardly—like a sick person afraid to breathe in too deeply, scared they would start wheezing and coughing at the strain of it. She wondered how she could put it back in. If someone saw her heart like this, they could judge her, and Jennifer hated when people made assumptions about her. Leon shook his head.
“You shouldn’t let a thing like that go to waste, you know. Why did you compromise? If you don’t like it, don’t get it. This is always how it is with you.”
Jennifer looked up and felt her eyes widen. She quickly changed her face to a scowl.
“I thought you loved Chinese food.”
“No, it’s really unhealthy for you. Whatever. You’re spilling all over the place. Put that back in, you’re a mess. Lunch was a bad idea.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
Leon leaned back and looked around, disinterested. Jennifer picked up her heart with a napkin and held it against her chest. It wasn’t going back in. She tucked it under her jacket and held it there; she didn’t want to be that weird girl walking around carrying her heart for everyone to see. Instead, she could be the mysterious girl with a secret in her coat. That was a little more normal, right? Everyone had secrets. No one wanted to see her organs spilling out and making a mess, like Leon said.
She wondered what she could do to make him smile again. She thought she understood him, she thought she had him profiled, she thought he was an open book. She clutched her heart in her hand and wanted to squeeze the life out of it, right there and then. Just obliterate it, just feel the flesh squish and spill out between her fingers. It was a stupid little thing that did nothing for her, anyway. Leon laughed again, but this time it was different. It was that dismissive laugh that boys do that she never understood—like a laugh and a sigh and a swear all rolled into one. He locked his fingers behind his neck and rested his head, then gave Jennifer a smirk.
“Let's get out of here, yeah?”
The street was slick with rain, but the underground parking lot was mainly dry. There were hundreds of cars parked, and a hundred floors, each one marked with a colour and a letter. Green C, Yellow R, Blue Y. There were no cars at all, and thousands of empty stalls, and slick puddles where the rain was leaking through poorly maintained drainage pipes.
This place was a maze, but only because every floor and every stall looked vaguely the same. Orange C, Red R, Purple Y. There was only one car, the same car, parked in every stall. A grey Toyota sedan, over and over again, lining the entire parking lot, and each license plate said something in Chinese. Jennifer didn’t drive; she hated parking lots. They made her claustrophobic, like she was being buried alive in concrete.
Leon didn’t drive, either. He spun around a little bit, looking for something.
“Oh yeah!” He said. “I don’t have a car.”
They were on an empty subway train, gripping metal handles. A man was sleeping on one of the passenger benches, covered in newspapers. Jennifer assumed he also didn’t have a face. The overhead lights flickered, and the old trolley rattled like it was on its last leg of life. On one side of the train was half her kitchen. She walked over to her coffee maker and started the ritual of making a fresh brew. Leon raised an eyebrow.
“Think it’s going to be a long journey?” He asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know, I just… kinda do this every day,” she replied with a shrug.
“Every day is brand new, and you’re here doing the same old thing.”
“Yeah, I like coffee.”
“That’s fine. Know where you’re going?”
Saffron looked up. It was dark outside the train, leaving just her reflection in the black, cold windows. Leon was gone. The homeless man without a face had also dissipated, just like the pink polo shirt. Turned to dust. She didn’t know where this train was headed. She didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at her, either. Through the window, she saw a long hallway; it went on forever, and there were doors on either side all the way down, like a hotel corridor—eerily empty, like a full building at 3 AM when no one was awake but her.
She turned around, and through the window on the other side of the train was a writhing kaleidoscope of rooms, tangled together like an Escher print. Stairways led to strange balconies attached to impossible doors and frantically angled ceilings. She reached out to touch the glass, cautiously, slowly stepping across the train to the other side, and when her fingertip graced the surface of the window, it shattered—erupting violently outwards.
The train car unravelled, and she was sucked into the vortex. She was helplessly thrown towards the impossible rooms, where she started to free-fall, tumbling and screaming. A fast blur flew past her as she fell, and she was crying now, shedding tears into the hateful dark. The tears fell on skylight windows and trickled through underground parking lots.
She tumbled past empty office buildings, scarlet jungles, and cold, stone castles. She saw flashes of empty homes, howling deserts, oceans of blood, and a million other places.
The fall lasted forever, but was over in an instant. She slammed into the ground so hard it could have shattered a planet, and finally awoke—shaking, sobbing, and throwing up on the cold floor of the City.
—
Chapter 2:
Variety is the Splice of Life.
“You’re dreaming, Saffron.”
Leon and Jennifer were at the shopping mall, and Jennifer was pressing a bright pink polo up to Leon’s chest. He was smiling, which unsettled her. She never saw him smile anymore, not like this, where the corners of his eyes wrinkled up and his teeth showed. She furrowed her brow, confused. She wondered what store they were in.
“You’re dreaming. There is no way I could pull this off,” Leon said, grabbing the t-shirt and holding it up against himself. He laughed.
“What… did you just call me?”
“What, Saffron? You don’t like it?”
“I just don’t really get it,” Jennifer mumbled. “Normally, my nicknames are like Jenny, or that one kid who called me Juice. I hated that kid.”
Leon put the polo down on a rack, and it disintegrated into pink dust. Jennifer blinked. Then she remembered, of course, that they were in the disintegrating store. She crossed her arms and tucked her hands in. Leon continued on, fingering through the racks for something that complemented his style.
“Well, you are my spicy little flower, aren’t you? And you’re such a rare and precious little gift. I thought it was cute.”
“You’re being nice today, mister bigshot.”
“Okay, fine, it's not that fancy. Jennifer has one ‘f’, Saffron has an ‘f’, it's pretty much the same thing.”
“Saffron has two ‘f’s, you dingus.”
“You can show me what the other ‘f’ stands for later, then.”
“Leon!” She smacked his arm and looked around. There were other people in the store, but their faces were smudgy messes of blurry, fleshy colour. They didn’t seem to care about Leon and Jennifer. She made a mental note of it: possible zombies at the shopping mall. No need to panic, though. Leon was with her, and his face was normal. Jennifer reached up to her cheek and confirmed she also did, in fact, have a face. Leon gave a big sigh.
“This place is a wash. Let’s get lunch.”
The two sat at a small table in the food court, picking at Chinese food with chopsticks. Jennifer got black bean chicken and fried rice, even though she wasn’t really hungry. Around them buzzed a hustle of faceless patrons, smacking their fake lips on abstract shapes. Rain drummed on the skylight windows high above them, and she could smell the petrichor seeping through the building. Leon was laughing about something, but she couldn’t quite remember the beginning of his story.
“I was never any good with these. How do Asians do it? I just wanna eat my food.”
He put the chopsticks aside and grabbed a plastic fork instead. The fork appeared out of seemingly thin air. Jennifer blinked. She had been holding a piece of chicken in between her chopsticks for who knows how long, letting it get cold. She frowned at it, wishing it were battered and fried and put in a bowl with lettuce and dressing. Jennifer hated Chinese food, but wanted to compromise to keep Leon smiling like he did earlier with the polo shirt. He liked big meals with a lot of calories, flavour and protein. He was a big guy. Something had to nourish those muscles—a salad might frighten him.
“You gonna eat that?” He asked, and before she could reply, Leon reached over the table and plunged the fork right into her chest. With a flex, he yanked her heart out of her ribcage and looked at it. Her heart was about the size of an apple, slimy and red. It was attached to meaty tubes and veins, which dangled and dripped onto the table and all over her food. Jennifer blinked again.
“You can’t eat that, that’s my heart.”
“You’re not enjoying it, I can see that. It’s gonna go to waste.” He took a bite out of it, then scowled. “Oh, yeah, no good.”
He gently slid her heart off the fork onto her plate. It was grey, mottled, and dry. It was beating, but just hardly—like a sick person afraid to breathe in too deeply, scared they would start wheezing and coughing at the strain of it. She wondered how she could put it back in. If someone saw her heart like this, they could judge her, and Jennifer hated when people made assumptions about her. Leon shook his head.
“You shouldn’t let a thing like that go to waste, you know. Why did you compromise? If you don’t like it, don’t get it. This is always how it is with you.”
Jennifer looked up and felt her eyes widen. She quickly changed her face to a scowl.
“I thought you loved Chinese food.”
“No, it’s really unhealthy for you. Whatever. You’re spilling all over the place. Put that back in, you’re a mess. Lunch was a bad idea.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
Leon leaned back and looked around, disinterested. Jennifer picked up her heart with a napkin and held it against her chest. It wasn’t going back in. She tucked it under her jacket and held it there; she didn’t want to be that weird girl walking around carrying her heart for everyone to see. Instead, she could be the mysterious girl with a secret in her coat. That was a little more normal, right? Everyone had secrets. No one wanted to see her organs spilling out and making a mess, like Leon said.
She wondered what she could do to make him smile again. She thought she understood him, she thought she had him profiled, she thought he was an open book. She clutched her heart in her hand and wanted to squeeze the life out of it, right there and then. Just obliterate it, just feel the flesh squish and spill out between her fingers. It was a stupid little thing that did nothing for her, anyway. Leon laughed again, but this time it was different. It was that dismissive laugh that boys do that she never understood—like a laugh and a sigh and a swear all rolled into one. He locked his fingers behind his neck and rested his head, then gave Jennifer a smirk.
“Let's get out of here, yeah?”
The street was slick with rain, but the underground parking lot was mainly dry. There were hundreds of cars parked, and a hundred floors, each one marked with a colour and a letter. Green C, Yellow R, Blue Y. There were no cars at all, and thousands of empty stalls, and slick puddles where the rain was leaking through poorly maintained drainage pipes.
This place was a maze, but only because every floor and every stall looked vaguely the same. Orange C, Red R, Purple Y. There was only one car, the same car, parked in every stall. A grey Toyota sedan, over and over again, lining the entire parking lot, and each license plate said something in Chinese. Jennifer didn’t drive; she hated parking lots. They made her claustrophobic, like she was being buried alive in concrete.
Leon didn’t drive, either. He spun around a little bit, looking for something.
“Oh yeah!” He said. “I don’t have a car.”
They were on an empty subway train, gripping metal handles. A man was sleeping on one of the passenger benches, covered in newspapers. Jennifer assumed he also didn’t have a face. The overhead lights flickered, and the old trolley rattled like it was on its last leg of life. On one side of the train was half her kitchen. She walked over to her coffee maker and started the ritual of making a fresh brew. Leon raised an eyebrow.
“Think it’s going to be a long journey?” He asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know, I just… kinda do this every day,” she replied with a shrug.
“Every day is brand new, and you’re here doing the same old thing.”
“Yeah, I like coffee.”
“That’s fine. Know where you’re going?”
Saffron looked up. It was dark outside the train, leaving just her reflection in the black, cold windows. Leon was gone. The homeless man without a face had also dissipated, just like the pink polo shirt. Turned to dust. She didn’t know where this train was headed. She didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at her, either. Through the window, she saw a long hallway; it went on forever, and there were doors on either side all the way down, like a hotel corridor—eerily empty, like a full building at 3 AM when no one was awake but her.
She turned around, and through the window on the other side of the train was a writhing kaleidoscope of rooms, tangled together like an Escher print. Stairways led to strange balconies attached to impossible doors and frantically angled ceilings. She reached out to touch the glass, cautiously, slowly stepping across the train to the other side, and when her fingertip graced the surface of the window, it shattered—erupting violently outwards.
The train car unravelled, and she was sucked into the vortex. She was helplessly thrown towards the impossible rooms, where she started to free-fall, tumbling and screaming. A fast blur flew past her as she fell, and she was crying now, shedding tears into the hateful dark. The tears fell on skylight windows and trickled through underground parking lots.
She tumbled past empty office buildings, scarlet jungles, and cold, stone castles. She saw flashes of empty homes, howling deserts, oceans of blood, and a million other places.
The fall lasted forever, but was over in an instant. She slammed into the ground so hard it could have shattered a planet, and finally awoke—shaking, sobbing, and throwing up on the cold floor of the City.
—
More City of Rephaim:
⤷ One ⋅ Two