Downpour

The metallic scent of blood filled his nose. It was so thick and putrid that he wondered if he would be capable of smelling flowers, or fresh pastries, or rain on the sidewalk — anything besides that horrid blood — ever again.

The source of the stench could be seen from where the young boy peered out of the closet, spreading mercilessly across the oak floor beneath the bodies of his parents. He'd never heard them so quiet. It was a silence that laid over him like a thick blanket, stifling the wicked laughter and sounds of greedily stuffed bags beyond the closet door.

The hands of time remained as rigid as his own body was, for a span that ironically seemed to stretch into eternity…

“Can you remember anything…? Marion…

Marion!”

He suddenly felt himself gasping for air, so hard that it hurt his lungs. No longer a small boy petrified in a broom closet, he was instead a young man sitting on a very soft sofa in a disgustingly beige room. Across from him, on an identical sofa, sat a middle-aged woman with wavy red hair holding a clipboard. She was gazing at him with a mixture of concern and expectancy on her face.

“Uhm… It's Marnie…”

“I'm sorry?” The woman replied ignorantly.

“My name,” he spoke a bit more clearly as he readjusted to his real surroundings. “I've told you before to call me Marnie. I…like it a lot better. My parents always used to call me Marion.”

“Oh… Oh!” The concern on the woman's face morphed into panicked guilt. “Oh, right! I'm so sorry, Marnie, I'm such a scatterbrain sometimes. I'll remember it, I promise!”

“It's alright, Ms. June,” Marnie reassured his therapist, as if this wasn't the umpteenth time they'd had the very same conversation. “Sorry, I… I must have gotten lost in thought again. What were you asking me?”

The panic melted from Ms. June Berry’s face, replaced with a warm smile. Sometimes Marnie wondered if those kind smiles she wore were as fake as his own, although that usually led to the realization of how painfully two-dimensional she was.

“I was just asking if you could remember anything from…that day,” June answered. “Anything new, of course. You were trying to remember, but then you just went so quiet—”

“Right. No, sorry to disappoint,” Marnie had been used to repressing the disdain in his voice by now. “I know everyone’s been hoping I'd remember those burglars’ faces or something by now, but nothing new shows up, no matter how many times I try to remember. Can we talk about something else instead?”

June nodded, adjusting her position on the sofa by uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

“Sure, Marnie. Why don't you tell me how your new job is going? I know you worked really hard in university to get a position at that firm.”

“It's going well,” Marnie mused his answer as if it was rehearsed, devoid of any real emotion. “The senior accountants are treating me well, but it's mostly busy work.”

“And you're eating properly.”

“Mhm.”

“Exercising regularly?”

“Bought a gym membership.”

“Alright. What about hobbies, or friends?”

Marnie paused, twirling one of the curls of his strawberry blonde hair around his finger. He didn't know how to answer that question, no matter how many times June asked it.

“I've just… Well, I've been busy,” he awkwardly made up an excuse, trying to ignore the scratching of June's pen. “You know, with graduation… and then the new job…”

“I see,” June punctuated her written judgement with a piercing finality. “Well, we all get in ruts sometimes. I just hope you take the time to indulge in some fun every once in a while. You know, I've been worried about your…inability to open up. You really seem to struggle with expressing yourself and letting others in. When you get the chance to, please at least try to make a few friends.”

Marnie gave a half-hearted agreement, convincing enough that the ever-perky Ms. June closed their therapy session with a smile instead of a motherly lecture. Not wanting to linger in case that changed, he slipped into the lobby as quickly and casually as possible.

“...this flood of new arrests comes as lawmakers continue to debate the legalization of RabbitHole, weighing the potential risks to the public against mass reports of benefits for individuals struggling with mental illness and personality disorders.—”

The receptionist hastily shut off the newscast she was watching before Marnie approached. He didn't think much of it, signing his sign-out form with the same meaningless pleasantries he always did. In a matter of moments, he was floating out of the building and down the street, his thoughts drifting to the fact that the rest of his day was completely free.

Marnie couldn't help but feel like his therapy sessions were a waste of money. Not that he much cared about throwing money away, but if he had to do that he'd rather be throwing it at charities or the needy, instead of wasting it to keep up appearances. After all, that's what wealthy children who witnessed their parents’ murder do to become functional members of society.

What a disgusting concept… Marnie had always thought. What did it even mean to be a functional member of society? It felt like a senseless classification, only serving as an excuse to demean those who didn't fit its parameters. If Marnie shared anything more than freckles with his therapist, he'd surely be one of those misfits.

No matter how many sessions he had, or how many therapists he went through over the years, nothing changed. Marnie would always be a mediocre mannequin, faceless and blank, awaiting the costumes his peers designated for him.

With a life like that, how could he even be considered real…?

Drop!

A cold drop of rain landed squarely on Marnie's nose, scattering his thoughts as if they were minnows amidst the lake of his mind. Taking in his surroundings, he realized that he was in an unfamiliar part of the city. A darker, seedy-looking part that he must have wandered into while lost in thought.

“Crap, I must have done it again…” Marnie grumbled to himself. Daydreaming and listless contemplation were possibly the closest things to hobbies he had. “Where did I even end up this time?”

The troubled youth looked around, ignoring the dark clouds grouping overhead and the periodic raindrops pelting his arms and shoulders. Many of the buildings seemed like they couldn't decide between being safety hazards or apartment complexes, and the ones that were decisive had apparently landed on an existence as cluttered hole-in-the-walls. Passersby all kept to themselves or their small groups, and if any had caught sight of Marnie they grimaced at him with wariness and hostility.

Feeling remarkably out of place, he turned away from the streets to find himself before a particularly unusual shop. It looked weathered, yet somehow cozy, emitting all manner of earthy smells from its very cracks and crevices. The hand-painted sign hanging above the door read “The Badlands” in a whimsical font.

“What is this place? Some kind of smoke shop?”

Marnie wondered aloud. His shoulders were starting to get noticeably damp, so he couldn't help from wondering if smoke shops made for comfortable shelters from the weather.

“Actually, it's an apothecary.”

The sudden voice beside him made Marnie jump, no matter how friendly it sounded. He whipped around towards the voice only to be faced with a taller man and a kind smile.

“Ah, sorry. Did I frighten you?” The man continued. “I tend to get a little carried away about my line of work. Hearing it reduced to something as trivial as a smoke shop is a grave insult to my pride.”

“Oh… Sorry, I didn't mean it as an offense…” Marnie awkwardly tried to apologize. The man before him looked about as earthy as his business smelled, both eccentrically dressed and elegantly fair. Something about his messy mop of light brown hair — sporting pink highlights and partially tied with hair-sticks — felt so truly unique to Marnie that it was almost breathtaking. Especially when paired with his soft, mesmerizing green eyes.

Marnie had never met anyone who looked so free. So themself.

“Ah, none taken,” the man reassured him. “Were you looking to come inside? I was just getting back from lunch.”

“Oh! N-no, actually, I… Well, I didn't mean to be—”

Marnie's stammering words became drowned by a low rumbling and the torrential downpour that followed. As the sky emptied itself upon them, the apothecary owner didn't wait for an answer, instead hurrying to unlock the door and let them inside.

Against his better judgement, Marnie entered The Badlands.