new moon
new moon
🅽🅴🆆 🅱🅴🅶🅸🅽🅽🅸🅽🅶🆂 🅰🅽🅳 🆂🅴🅲🅾🅽🅳 🅲🅷🅰🅽🅲🅴🆂
“Stupid hair. I should chop it all off, honestly.” She pushed it out of her face, trying to wrangle it into a proper ponytail, and failing miserably. She misses the days when it was all above her ears in obnoxiously fluffy curls.
Arms wrapped around her waist, squeezing hard and painfully tight. “You know you won’t- you promised!” A deep voice sang next to her ear. She groaned in a weird zombie-tongue in response, pushing her full weight onto the person behind her, trying to knock him down.
“Hey! None of that!” Warm air blew at the base of her neck and she jumped, squawking at the feeling.
“Stop! You know I’m ticklish there!” He gave her a mischievous smile, and she shuffled away, eyes narrowing.
“Ticklish you say? Are you ticklish...down here?” His fingers moved to her sides and she yelped. He began to tickle her and she tried to run away. The bastard! He knew she was ticklish everywhere!
“No…nooooo! Stooopp! That ticklllles!” Her breathless giggling filled the kitchen, and he showed her no mercy. She tried to elbow him and they darted around, her trying to keep out of his grasp and him trying to catch her. He grabbed her once again and she wheezed as he poked her under the ribs.
A burning smell reached her nose. Her eyes widened as she pulled out of his grip and darted to the stove.
“Shit! The fucking bhaji is burning!” She turned off the flames and tried to inspect the state of the gravy. She stirs it around a few times, finally coming to the conclusion that it would (probably) still be edible.
Drew leaned over her shoulder and looked at the red mixture, before shrugging.
“It should be fine. We’re college students, we don’t have tastebuds.” She snorted and banged the metal pot with her wooden spoon once before taking it off the stovetop.
“Speak for yourself, white boy. I have standards.” He raised a dark eyebrow, mouth curling up on one side.
“This coming from the woman who brewed her tea with Red Bull last week?” She sputtered before whacking him with the clean end of the spoon.
“It was exam week! You can’t judge me during that hellish time, okay? And it’s not like any of you were any better!” And Samirah knew that for a fact, considering this entire party was to celebrate the end of their semester exams. She’d seen Christine (with her own fucking eyes!) chug vodka before her art final, like that would somehow improve the outcome. She’d also seen Aasia throwing up her lunch in a campus trash can because of nerves. Exam week was subject to a different, dystopian sort of reality.
A stream of people tumbled into the apartment in various stages of inebriation, and she steeled herself to face the masses. People chattered away in the living room, dropping coats, handbags, and pillows (because Danny always ended up spending the night, anyway). Someone cracked open a soda can, and she could hear her dumbasses chanting for someone to chug it down.
They were all so stupid.
“God, I hope my landlord doesn’t kick me out.” Based on Drew’s unholy smirk and E’s propensity for being an excitable drunk, though, she doubted that the night would end in anything but tears.
Mostly with her in tears, anyway.
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“I just don’t see why all of y’all like to party at my place.” She scrubbed at the vomit surrounding the sink. Some people just can’t fucking aim. If you can’t throw up in the right fucking basin, then you shouldn’t drink!
“It’s because you mom them, you know?” She looked up at Aasia, wearing her befuddlement on her face. Aasia, the paragon of kindness and beauty, put her phone down and rolled her eyes.
“Come on, you’re not that oblivious are you?” Samirah shrugged and scrubbed harder. She had a bad feeling about this conversation.
Aasia exhaled loudly. “Fine, we’ll ask Maya, shall we?” She turned to the woman lying in the tub. “Maya, why does everyone like to hang around here? I don’t drink, so we’re getting an expert here.” Maya, already out of it, doesn’t seem to notice the subtle insult.
Samirah scrunched her nose at the wet pop Maya made pulling off the whiskey bottle. The girl tried to sit up, but gravity worked against her and she tilted back once more.
“...‘m mean….it’s just…niccce, yanno?”
She, in fact, did not know, but before she could verbalize this, Maya began talking again.
“You make shure we don’…we don’ drown and shit. Make us hydrate, feed us, make us breakfasht…god, your fucking pancakes…” she trails off, slumping down. Maya was precariously close to hitting her head.
“Whoopsie….” Maya laughed, “time to go night-night…” Samirah dropped the vomit-covered sponge and washed her hands. She leaned over tried to wrestle with her friend’s body. Maya just giggled and booped her on the nose.
“Good lord, how much has she had?” She turned to Aasia, who was casually recording the entire encounter. “A little help here?”
Aasia gave her a serene smile. “Tempting, except I really need blackmail on her. Give me a second.” Aasia slipped off the counter and walked over to Maya’s prone body, zooming in on her slack face.
She tried not to pinch her nose in exasperation. Mostly because it was taking both her arms and a good part of her back to keep Maya from knocking her head on the pipe.
Aasia ended the recording and put her phone away. “Okay, so where are we putting her?” Aasia, both taller and stronger than herself, picked up Maya with ease. Samirah, on the other hand, had to massage the kinks out of her arms and shoulders.
“The corner next to the sofa,” she said, after a moment’s worth of contemplation. “It’s close enough to resuscitate her if she ends up choking on her vomit, but dark enough that she could pass out without being interrupted too much.” Christ, it wasn’t like there was a whole of space in a two-bedroom apartment, was there? Aasia nodded and carried Maya out the door. Maya waved and blew a kiss as they left.
“What is my life even…?” She glared at the whiskey bottle sitting smugly on the side of the tub.
“And I’ve told them not to bring their fucking drinks here, what the hell?” Samirah dumped the rest of the liquid down the tub’s drain before throwing the glass bottle in the garbage bin, ignoring the sounds of shattering glass.
It’s all in the garbage, anyway, and that’s certainly tomorrow’s problem.
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She saw shadows on the balcony through the window, and she pushed open the door. Grace, eyes twitching angrily, was holding her cigarette and crossing her arms.
“-not a big deal, and it’s my body.” Grace took another long drag, and turned to her. “Hey, dollface.” She dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and stepped past her, slapping Samirah's ass in passing.
She huffed in brief protest before turning to the other person on the balcony.
“I just want her to stop smoking.” Aileen’s face screwed up in a grimace. “It’s a filthy habit and I hate how it tastes.” Aileen’s eyes were glossy, and she was biting her lip in an almost painful manner.
Samirah shifted, a bit uncomfortable to be privy to their private squabbles, and a little happy that Aileen felt close enough to confide in her. “Maybe start small, with nicotine patches or something? There’s gum, or so I’ve heard...” Aileen shrugged before nodding slightly. The streetlight made her features seem thinner than usual, making her look rather tired and worn out. Samirah decided that she disliked it greatly.
“Hey,” she said, after a moment, before falling quiet. She doesn’t want to promise that things would be alright because frankly, they very rarely were. “Hey,” she says again. “Talk to me about… about your garden. Any new plants?”
Aileen’s mouth quirked upwards, eyes telling her that her friend knew exactly what she was doing. Aileen inhaled, and her shoulders untensed.
“Okay, yeah. I got a new set of marigold seeds, this French-African Hybrid. It’s supposed to bloom really big, like each flower is supposed to be three to four inches, but seeing how it’s blooming now? I doubt it. It’s too cold for it. I’m thinking about trying again next year, but we’ll see.”
She nodded before giving in to her urges and wrapping Aileen in a hug. It was slightly awkward because Aileen was almost a foot taller, but the other girl hugged back.
After a moment, she pulled back. “It’s a bit cold out, wanna come in?” Aileen snorted softly and let her lead her back inside.
《•》《•》《•》《•》《•》《•》《•》《•》
Aasia and Drew faced each other. Aasia’s eyes were a hint colder than they usually were, while Drew’s mouth was screwed up.
“Shah.”
“Grimm.”
The air around them was tense, and she was entirely too tired for this. She walked up to them and pushed them apart. At this point, she was certain they weren’t even fighting for real, but doing it for the dramatics. Stupid bastards.
“Break it up, ladies. Have catfights on your own time. I wanna watch Moana.” This broke them out of their weird enmity based trance.
Aasia wrinkled her nose. “Really? Can’t we watch anything, I don’t know, moderately adult-like.” Aasia’s hair was coming out of her hijab, so she briefly leaned over to tuck them back in. Drew fell onto the sofa, long arms dragging her down next to him.
“Fuck off, Moana’s tradition.” She stopped, before smirking. “Unless you wanted to watch Frozen?” Drew’s face froze in horror, and Aasia gagged.
Christine, lying prone across Ethan and Danny’s lap, raised a lazy hand. “The Princess Bride then?” Samirah sighed and nodded as Aasia grabbed the remote and flicked through the selection. Samirah curled up around Aasia, and began to watch.
“Oh,” she began in an afterthought after she was certain everyone was comfortable. “Dinner’s on the table.” As everyone rushed to get some pizza and pav bhaji, she commandeered the sofa, mouthing along with Inigo Montoya’s iconic lines.
The host got the best seat, of course. She was just taking her due, and if they were dumb enough not to see her choking down three pizza slices in the kitchen, then that was on them.
(It was nice, though, having them all around, loud and lively. It was nice to have them curl up on her floor, in blankets and cushions. It made the world seem warmer, kinder, and she couldn’t help but smile, pleased.)
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It was late, and her arms hurt. She stepped over Christine and E’s prone bodies, hoping that no one would step on them in their drunken revelry. She needed to stop enabling all of them, really.
Exhausted, she stumbled into her room. Pulling off her hoodie, she found that there was already someone there in her bed, under the grey sheets.
“Shove over, you tall bastard.” Drew grumbled sleepily but scooted over. She slipped inside, turning off the lamp before snuggling against him. He threw an arm around her, and she nosed his collarbone.
The sound of the traffic outside kept them silent for a moment or two.
“…this is why people think we’re dating,” she said finally, and he snorted.
“No, really? I thought it was the way I basically live here.” Her face scrunched up and she kicked him in the shins.
“…was that supposed to hurt?” He mocked and she grumbled before squirming closer to his heat.
She closed her eyes, sighing softly.
Large hands patted her hair, and she saw large brown eyes watching her with worry.
“Hey…you doin’ okay?” She shrugged.
“…thinking of driving back home over the break. Check up on Dad while I’m at it, you know?”
“You want company?” She paused and shook her head.
“I wanna talk to Mom alone. Just…you know. She talked about me being in college a whole lot, so.” He nodded.
Silence.
She wet her mouth, and asked, “Do you think you would’ve let her adopt you back then?” It’s a question she’s thought about a lot over the years.
He bit his lip briefly. “I’m glad I got emancipated when I did, right? It was the best option in a shitty set of circumstances….” He paused, eyes screwing shut. “But…yeah. I would’ve liked that a lot.”
“Umma adored you.” He smiles into her hair, holding her close.
She closes her eyes, and drifts off.
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Her dreams are full of metal and blood, and she wakes up to her face wet with tears. Drew is on the other end, pressed against the wall, and she knows that she could wake him up, knows that he’d understand, but her mouth tastes like ashes and she just has to get up.
She slips out of bed and pads out of the bedroom, stepping on a used napkin outside her doorway. She grimaces, stepping away from it as she takes account at the state of her apartment. Her friends are in different states of unconsciousness, so she tries to stay quiet as she turns on the small pantry light.
The garbage can is overflowing, and she can make out black things moving in the dark. She gags at the hordes of cockroaches.
“Gross, gross, gross!” She glared at the sleeping masses in her living room before rubbing a tired hand over her face.
“Fucking hell,” she muttered as she stepped around the bugs and picked up whatever pieces of refuse she could find. She grimaced at the wet, soggy pieces of pizza on the carpet.
“They’re never going to give me back my deposit, are they?” She scrubbed at it uselessly before picking up her phone and checking the time. It was 4:45, almost sunrise.
She looked at the trashbags and then out the window. It wasn’t too dark outside, really, and it would only take five minutes or so. She shoved her phone into her back pocket, grabbed her keys, and picked up the trash bags.
Locking the door behind her, she walked down the stairs, looking both sides before crossing the street to the dumpster.
The alleyway, despite looking like a set for a horror movie, was actually quite well lit. She tossed the bags inside and was about to turn away when she heard whimpering from behind the dumpster at the other end.
She hesitated. It sounded like a wounded puppy or another animal, and she cursed her bleeding heart before carefully walking over. The veterinary clinic wasn’t too far away, and it was a twenty-four/seven deal.
(She doesn’t notice the sky flickering between starry nighttime and sunrise. She doesn’t notice how the lamps are turning on and off more and more rapidly. She hears the whimpering and she keeps going. Because she didn’t like how sick it sounded, how injured.)
(There’s something wrong, isn’t there? There’s something wrong here, and she’s going to figure it out.)
It’s dark here, so much darker, and her keys are between her fingers, sharp side ready to cut. A scared dog is a dangerous dog, and she doesn't want to get bitten.
(If it’s a person, well. She’s her mother’s daughter, and Yaseens are feral to the bone. She knows she’ll tear everyone apart.)
Dark brown hair against bitter green leaves and she steps over bitter berries and rich dirt and the smell of damp, dirty fur in the air, though the smog should overtake anything else. The city’s grime and the smell of exhaust should overpower the earthy, dark woods, except there are bushes and pale skin, fingers-
A person. And she tries to not scream.
The kid (the kid?) is curled up halfway under a bush, a dark bush with berries (in the fucking asphalt?) and her heart goes into her throat. She’s crawling down next to him in a heartbeat, concerned and frightened.
A kid, a kid, why-
(She doesn’t see the sky tearing in two, the way reality warps around both of them. Rainbow skeins of light wrap around them, clear spirals swirling in the air like frost and snow and sharp, jagged glass.)
The kid is making whimpering noises. But as far as she can tell, he isn’t hurt. Not physically at least, though he’s covered in dirt and muck. The rust-brown could be mud or blood, and she can’t tell which is which. He’s been running, been hiding. She once ran and hid the same way, and it unmade her.
(She doesn’t see the ground ripping itself apart, confused as to which world it was supposed to belong to. The city or the woods, dirt or concrete, one or the other, yet both were equal possibilities at that moment.)
“Hey. Hey, kiddo. Are you alright? Talk to me, please.” Dark brown eyes (and she sucks in a deep breath here) look up at her tearfully. She’s three seconds away from a panic attack and she’s not sure why.
(The moon- the full moon- shivers on one side, and the sun peaks out from behind the buildings. It’s an impossibility, they cannot coexist- unless dimensions crash into each other at 4:57 one dark morning.)
Her lungs feel a bit tight, but she doesn’t get up. Those eyes, brown that turned black or gold, depending on the lighting and her mental state (her eyes, the exact same, she sees them every day in the mirror, her father’s eyes) stare at her, unfocused, past her.
She isn’t sure why she feels wounded and scared, but her blood thrums with the feeling that something is coming, something bad.
“Please,” the child whispers. “He’s after me, and I don’t know why. ” She freezes, turning to ice. Someone’s hunting the kid, this little boy.
(The age of her cousin, of Drew’s niece, of her bastard of a neighbor’s daughter-)
(Hunting him, hunting her, hunting them, because they are prey. She does not like this feeling, this sticky sensation of horror.)
She telegraphs her movements, and the boy’s eyes widen further in the moonlight. She comes closer and closer until about to hold him in her arms. He flinches a little, shuddering as he cries, and suddenly there is 25 kilograms of body mass wrapped around her like a limpet. Something warm soaks into her shirt, and she can feel his staccato heartbeat pounding against her own, and she’s tired and sad and the boy is crying into her chest, and she’s scared for some reason and her phone-
There’s no signal- there's never a signal, is there?- and she has to call the cops, she has to call someone, except the fear, and it’s dark, the only thing present is the full moon (where’s the fucking sun?) and the boy’s skin was ashen and the air around her burned like sulfuric acid, began to warp as dark bricks gave way to a pitch-black sky, wavering and spinning into nebulas and galaxies and mundane stars-
“He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming-” The boy whimpered into her ear, and she was tempted to wail with him, except she was the adult (no) so she crawled with her jelly legs (she can’t walk, she can’t, why can’t she) and he holds onto her, nails biting into her forearms, and it hurts and stings-
The woods, they’re in the dark woods, with black twisted trees and twisted thicket and she wonders where her apartment went, wondering where she was and how she had crossed over, could she go back home or-
The gritty asphalt- the rough brambles and twigs bite into her knees as she tries to pull them both to the light, except he’s sobbing and her face is wet, and his shirt is warm and wet and sticky, and how did she- how did she not see the gaping wounds in his abdomen- is that his-
Is that is intestines- because- she’s not- she’s not a doctor, and his eyes- his eyes are closing, and there’s-
Hair stands up on her back, and she feels it coming, whatever it is-
And there’s blood dripping from her head, isn’t there- when did she…when- someone…who…her head, her head, she’s bleeding, how-
Her eyes cry blood, red and sticky and metallic onto the boy’s face, and she’s running, somehow, pulling them both away-
The ground feels hard under her feet, and each step (sprint?) feels like it knocks her kneecaps out of place, her lungs out of her chest, and she can feel the darkness encroaching, red eyes in the dark shadows, something large and predatory waiting to devour them both-
The boy, she has to, he’s just a little kid, so she has to-
And she, teary-eyed and exhausted, equipped with keys and on her knees, set him upright and
It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming.
She has to get him out of here, a choice, she makes a choice-
He looks at her, blood dripping from his mouth, expression scared yet serene with the expression of someone so far beyond terrified they’ve passed on into catatonia, and she says, “Run.” And he wails and sobs but he crawls away, knees and legs and drags himself as the world distorts and the buildings around them flicker, and she shoves the boy forward, hard, trying to get him to go,
and she watches as he drags himself forward, the very ground and sky fading and remaking itself, and he gets to the end of the alleyway (the woods? the alley? reality bends) and he snaps! out of existence and she barely has a moment to cry out in alarm-
she tasted bile on her tongue and she spits on the ground, chest heaving and she didn’t understand, not really, what was happening-
and reality glitched, and she was on the ground, under the moon, curled up under the bush, on the dirt, smaller and more fragile than before, and she- she’s got such small fingers, what-
the boy, the girl, the party, the-
the wolf
came out nowhere, she swears, and
The moon, a full moon (and wasn’t that strange, she was certain it was notright) shone ominously in the sky, and she was on the ground (but it wasn’t paved, the dirt scraping under her fingernails, coming back with blood and-) and the sense of wrongwrongwrong didn’t go away as the wolf (a wolf? In the city? What-) pounced and she
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it tore up her shoulder and her pale skin was drenched in blood as its huge maw stunk of meat and death and she gagged on her own tears-
it hurt, it hurt, hurtssobadpleasemakeitstop,makeitstop-
a person, she’s a person not food, not a dead body in the making, and she wants to live so badly, so badly, so badly
but is hurts so she wants to die, die die and she hates
and it’s eyes, the eyes were bottomless pits of darkness and she screamed as it howled at the moon, the evil, torturous moon that witnessed her death-
And she’s going to die here, and part of her would think she’s dreaming except for how viscerally painful everything is-
and she screams in agony, except her voice is different and hoarse and she hears her bones shatter and remake themselves a thousand times, and she hears footsteps and the wolf
something hits the something blue and fierce, and someone’s yelling and attacking the wolf, and strong arms begin to lift her up, slowly and so kindly that she blinks up, blearily
she briefly wonders who her saviors are, but there’s something sticky sliding down her skin, and the ripped cloth chafes everywhere, and everything hurts and her head feels fuzzy
and she can hear someone talking at her, to her, frantically, but her head hurts and breathing hurts and she wonders if they can fix everything
except everything’s confusing, broken, and Samirah closes her eyes so that everything will come to a close.