inertia [ little bill & jules blitz ]

[✨ zozo.]

JULES MONAGHAN.

My hands still shake at the thought of them. Every single time they cross my mind I remember what is happening, where I am, and what will become of me. And I tremble, forget how to breathe, lose a grip on myself. I should stop thinking about my family but I can't, it's impossible - I'm petrified I'll forget about them.

And there's no damn drink in this place which just makes it all so much worse, and I worry about the next time someone interrupts me and I snap. The next time I might turn into Jamie, all anger, a control-freak who's lost the authority on myself.

Noah was so good at keeping me calm. I had to. Not for my sake, but for hers. Perhaps it's why I'm losing it slightly - having to worry about nobody else but me for a change. Something so foreign, to be selfish. To put myself first. To fight for me. I think I tricked myself into thinking it'd be easy - but it's hard to be selfish when I've spent my life looking after the rest of them.

It's why I'm here, after all.

Shaking hands doesn't seem like a good idea at the first aid table, all needle and threads and precision. Painfully aware of all the eyes on me from above and below waiting to see me falter, catching every weakness and every slip-up, exploit it for their own benefit, I take a breath and approach the table slowly.

There's only one kid there. He's taller than Jamie, even taller than Eli - which I didn't think was possible. Maybe that's what happens when you don't have to eat the rest of the country's second-hand food, you grow properly. Skin and bone, not a slither of muscle on me, I send a small smile and gesture to join him.

"Do you mind?"

- LETHARGY GOT A HOLD OF ME .

[cameron]

little bill cubs

He sits at the table with shaky hands, a needle rattling against the hardwood surface, and wonders why he’s so scared. His free hand adjusts his eyepatch, then readjusts it. Little Bill swaps the needle to his other hand, nervous tapping not missing a beat, and reaches up with the newly free hand to readjust it once more.

He’s never had to think about himself like this.

He’s spent his days tending to his flock, catering to their needs and rustling their wooly heads, cleaving meat from bone for Ma to sell at the district square, listening to the unending rocking of Big Bill in his creaky old chair before he shot a nail through his own temple; now he’s only able to care for himself, and the idea drives him mad. Without realizing, Little Bill presses the end of the needle into his thumb, slow and deep, finally letting his breath escape his clenched chest. He sighs.

Seconds later he’s grabbed another needle, and the cycle repeats: rattle, readjust, and relax for as long as he can push the needle in, only able to breathe during the sweet relief of pain.

When he reaches for a third, someone interrupts with a voice as small as her smile, like she’s entirely unsure of how to navigate the waters of isolation. All he’s known are these lonesome seas, but as the blood bubbles to the tip of his thumb he can’t help but feel like he’s lost his compass somewhere in the waves. It’s different here. “Do you mind?” He tries to respond, to gesture for her to sit, but instead his lips curl inward, sucked between his teeth, and he stares blankly at this scared girl before him. He blinks (well, winks), and retrieves one of the needles from his thumb under the table. A quick exhale is followed by a grin smaller than her own.

“Yes.” Little Bill tries to make eye contact, but ends up looking just past her, “I mean, no.” He’s blinking (winking) furiously now, and retrieves the other needle. “I’m Little Bill,” he says, flushed cheeks angling down toward the table. Under it, two needles rattle against the hardwood surface, and he wonders why he’s so scared.

[✨ zozo.]

JULES MONAGHAN.

He reminds me of Noah.

It's not even a thought. Barely a feeling. It's a familiarity. Recognition. Like looking at someone I've only seen on a screen standing in front of me for the first time. Blinking back up a figure from my childhood. Everything, the stumbling words. His tone. His eyes. He's like Noah. At least, he reminds me of her.

"I'm Jules," take a step forward and smile - he's the first person in this place I've felt truly safe around. Never mind that he's taller than all of us here. There's a comfort in his familiarity that I needed right at this moment. "Juliet, either is fine."

And so I set to work quietly beside him, appreciating the lack of conversation. Appreciating his company. It's enough, and I want to tell him that, but perhaps my actions can speak louder than words. I've learnt from the best. Taking an instruction sheet on applying fresh bandages I set to work on my left arm and glance at his own shoulder sleeve.

"Eight," I muse aloud and nod. Needles and sewing - I shouldn't stereotype, but it feels like a sign. Eight siblings, eight souls around me, boy from Eight and his mannerisms just like Noah. If the universe is trying to give me a fucking sign it's right here, so I take heed of it and smile quietly to myself, hands trembling a little less with every minute that goes by.

             - LETHARGY GOT A HOLD OF ME .