Quoted By:
>View hole
You're only human. You run.
Jerry isn't: out of the corner of your eye, you catch him moving toward the flames. On the other side of you, Casey is following. Fine. You're happy to let them take care of it. Behind you, your puddle sizzles— that's where you were standing. Ahead of you is the pit, and past it, the wall. The wall's all flammable. No luck there. Ellery's in the pit...
Ellery's in the pit. He might be dead, but he probably isn't. If you can get down there, not only will you escape the grass fire, but you can give Ellery a solid kick on the shin— which he deserves. (You bet he started the fire somehow.) Maybe you can talk him into going home, even, and then you'll be free and clear to bomb Headspace. Assuming you find Gil, of course, but of course you'll do that. Positive thinking!
Getting down there is harder than it sounds, of course. You lack a rope or a parachute or anything that'd break your fall. Then again, you're sure you can think of something. Dashing heroines always do. You've already made it there, to the edge— your forehead beading with sweat, your eyes stinging with smoke, crouching down and peering in. It's dark inside the pit, which is as deep as the wall is tall or deeper. You can't see whether it's deeper. You can't see Ellery at all, or hear anything from down there— only occasional exclamations from Casey or Jerry above. Maybe he already escaped? He'd do that. But you remember, and squeeze your eye shut, and see— faintly— a zigzag array of strings.
That's him. No use, then: you've jumped from higher places into less-certain futures. The fire is a useful motivator, too. By the time you tip yourself forward, there's heat on your back again. You can still feel it, even as you fall.
The sides of the pit are all grass. Maybe you could've climbed down, if you had time, but it's too late now. When you land, the mouth of the pit is the size of a coin.
You land in grass, and on Ellery, who crunches and disintegrates under you. He was all charcoal. You're not sure where you are, exactly— obviously the bottom of the pit, but the space is wider than the pit was, and velvety black. If this were real, landing like that would've broken your back, but as it is you feel nothing.
He can't be dead for real, right? He's Ellery. His whole stupid thing is not dying. You pick yourself up— damnit, now your back's all wet, too, from the grass, not to mention charcoal-y— and turn around, and turn some more. You saw his strings. Is he hiding?
One more turn, just to be sure. You can't hear Casey or Jerry from all the way down here. In a way it's peaceful. Gil would like all the grass, even if it's sort of dry and crunchy. If only he were here. You don't like being alone very much. Not that you're actually alone, since there's no way Ellery's—
(1/2)
