[ Julie feels like she can't breathe. Wanda tries to reassure her, but she doesn't know, doesn't know that this can and will hurt again. The only difference is that, now, someone else has to see it happen too. She lets Wanda hold her hand but it's like she's checked out, fixated on her doppelganger.
The memory Julie, face somewhat clean, takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself for what she has to do next. She walks into the hall, enters a room just a few doors down, and the real Julie follows her, dreamlike. It's a bedroom, with wood paneled walls and dated furniture. The kind of bedroom belonging to people who haven't been able to afford anything new since they moved in twenty years ago. Though the blinds are closed, light still seeps into the room between them.
On the bed, there are two bodies, a man and a woman. Both of them clearly lived a hard life, but the most notable thing is that they're swollen almost past the point of recognition as people. Their necks are huge, filled with fluid, their faces pale with dark circles around the eyes. Luckily, Julie had cleaned all the foul mess off of them before she went outside, delicately washed their faces, wiped down their skin. There's a bowl with a cloth on a bedside table, the water inside murky and thick.
The real Julie, clad like a club-going pixie, watches herself, tears already running down her cheeks. Memory Julie takes something off the dresser, sits on the mattress next to the woman and lifts her head as gently as possible. ]
It's gonna be okay, Mama. [ It's whispered, thick with emotion. Julie gingerly puts red lipstick on her mother's distended mouth, softly brushes her hair into place. Placing her mother back down, she goes to the other side, fusses with the buttons on her father's shirt. She opens a drawer on the nightstand and takes out a folded knife, carved and ornate. Clearly meaningful. She slides it into his pocket, then kisses his forehead. Sniffling, she stands and swipes at her face. There's a sort of awkward pause, like she's trying to figure out what to do next, then she takes a sharp breath and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. ] Well, y'all always told me what Jesus said, right? "He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." So y'all are okay. I love you. I reckon that, the way things are goin', I'll probably see you pretty soon, but... well. C'mon.
[ It's here that she runs out of steam, wipes at her face with her palms again, then comes back to her mother. Bending, she loops her arms under the body's, tries to lift it off the bed, but can't. She only raises her mother's upper half a few inches, bends her slightly at an odd angle, then slips on the carpet and drops the body again. Both corpses are so full of fluid that they jiggle slightly, like gelatin.
Julie stands back a moment, jarred. She obviously had not planned for her inability to carry them. She breathes out a soft, "Umm...", then nods to herself, trying to restructure her plan. Moving to the foot of the bed, she grabs the bottom of the sheet, tries to pull them to the floor so she can drag them outside. The bedsheet moves a tiny bit, but then she slides again, falls on her backside, bumps her head on the wall. After a second of shock, she tries once more, falls again. Tries another time. She grunts and gasps with effort, doesn't succeed in more than pulling them almost to the foot of the bed. Her forehead is damp with perspiration. She lets go, leans back against the wall and bends over, her hands on her knees, then abruptly leaves the room.
The real Julie can remember what her thought process was at this moment. She thought she would grab some water, figure out a plan. There had to be something she could use as leverage, she just needed to go to the shed. She follows her other self's steps as if in a trance, back to the kitchen.
There is a brief beat where it seems like the memory Julie is trying to get her bearings. She puts her hands over her mouth, stares into space thoughtfully, and then it's like she loses whatever had been holding her together, keeping her upright. She can't make herself get to one of the chairs; she just sort of folds to the ground, sits with her legs criss-crossed and rests her elbows on her thighs.
For a long minute, everything is quiet. Distantly, outside, there's the sound of a single bird tweeting. Both Julies have been crying the whole time, but the memory Julie presses her face into her hands and begins to sob, having completely depleted the small reserves she's been drawing on. The sounds become more and more desperate, animal, raggedly pulled from the deepest part of her.
Real Julie, shaking uncontrollably, tries to run from the kitchen, out the back door, her own howls following her. But as she hits the back step, she's not at home anymore, not in the familiar setting Kansas sun. She's in Wanda's cabin, gulping for air, fingers clawing at the arm of the chair she's in. ]
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The memory Julie, face somewhat clean, takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself for what she has to do next. She walks into the hall, enters a room just a few doors down, and the real Julie follows her, dreamlike. It's a bedroom, with wood paneled walls and dated furniture. The kind of bedroom belonging to people who haven't been able to afford anything new since they moved in twenty years ago. Though the blinds are closed, light still seeps into the room between them.
On the bed, there are two bodies, a man and a woman. Both of them clearly lived a hard life, but the most notable thing is that they're swollen almost past the point of recognition as people. Their necks are huge, filled with fluid, their faces pale with dark circles around the eyes. Luckily, Julie had cleaned all the foul mess off of them before she went outside, delicately washed their faces, wiped down their skin. There's a bowl with a cloth on a bedside table, the water inside murky and thick.
The real Julie, clad like a club-going pixie, watches herself, tears already running down her cheeks. Memory Julie takes something off the dresser, sits on the mattress next to the woman and lifts her head as gently as possible. ]
It's gonna be okay, Mama. [ It's whispered, thick with emotion. Julie gingerly puts red lipstick on her mother's distended mouth, softly brushes her hair into place. Placing her mother back down, she goes to the other side, fusses with the buttons on her father's shirt. She opens a drawer on the nightstand and takes out a folded knife, carved and ornate. Clearly meaningful. She slides it into his pocket, then kisses his forehead. Sniffling, she stands and swipes at her face. There's a sort of awkward pause, like she's trying to figure out what to do next, then she takes a sharp breath and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. ] Well, y'all always told me what Jesus said, right? "He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." So y'all are okay. I love you. I reckon that, the way things are goin', I'll probably see you pretty soon, but... well. C'mon.
[ It's here that she runs out of steam, wipes at her face with her palms again, then comes back to her mother. Bending, she loops her arms under the body's, tries to lift it off the bed, but can't. She only raises her mother's upper half a few inches, bends her slightly at an odd angle, then slips on the carpet and drops the body again. Both corpses are so full of fluid that they jiggle slightly, like gelatin.
Julie stands back a moment, jarred. She obviously had not planned for her inability to carry them. She breathes out a soft, "Umm...", then nods to herself, trying to restructure her plan. Moving to the foot of the bed, she grabs the bottom of the sheet, tries to pull them to the floor so she can drag them outside. The bedsheet moves a tiny bit, but then she slides again, falls on her backside, bumps her head on the wall. After a second of shock, she tries once more, falls again. Tries another time. She grunts and gasps with effort, doesn't succeed in more than pulling them almost to the foot of the bed. Her forehead is damp with perspiration. She lets go, leans back against the wall and bends over, her hands on her knees, then abruptly leaves the room.
The real Julie can remember what her thought process was at this moment. She thought she would grab some water, figure out a plan. There had to be something she could use as leverage, she just needed to go to the shed. She follows her other self's steps as if in a trance, back to the kitchen.
There is a brief beat where it seems like the memory Julie is trying to get her bearings. She puts her hands over her mouth, stares into space thoughtfully, and then it's like she loses whatever had been holding her together, keeping her upright. She can't make herself get to one of the chairs; she just sort of folds to the ground, sits with her legs criss-crossed and rests her elbows on her thighs.
For a long minute, everything is quiet. Distantly, outside, there's the sound of a single bird tweeting. Both Julies have been crying the whole time, but the memory Julie presses her face into her hands and begins to sob, having completely depleted the small reserves she's been drawing on. The sounds become more and more desperate, animal, raggedly pulled from the deepest part of her.
Real Julie, shaking uncontrollably, tries to run from the kitchen, out the back door, her own howls following her. But as she hits the back step, she's not at home anymore, not in the familiar setting Kansas sun. She's in Wanda's cabin, gulping for air, fingers clawing at the arm of the chair she's in. ]