(Transition (1/2))

“I am… Beyond—c-confident that… We can get through this. And once we do, we’ll flourish, and progress, and improve as we all deserved! Are all capable of… We are all Extant. And we’re all humans. Let’s get to work.”

Jackie Jackson knew that it takes more than confidence to minimal survive, let alone brave, whatever the unknown the Shift Noumena is.

She sat at her desk, facing towards the wall she destroyed—sandpapered up. Not really listening, but causally aware of the sounds that surrounded her, and simply acknowledged what they were. It was better than the pure white noise that she was listening to. Focusing on.

Her room, in the mists of being rebuilt, was bare. Only the essentials of bed, dressers, shelves, a mounted TV that wasn’t turned on since she’s come back, and the desk she’s turned away from. No more wallpaper, the white board, posters… Photos. She couldn’t bare to detail them, because of finer touches she either crafted or always adored when she bought them.

She couldn’t even have the satisfaction to stare at those things—and tell herself how much of a self-serving lie it all ended up being.

Davenport can boast all about confidence all he wants, she dwelled on. “We will instead of will not”—“Don’t stand down, break through”. When a body has done nothing but fall down, over and over, the concept of healing and recovery is trite, as the pain threshold is all they are now.

To heal is one thing. But to a person broken, realizing that upon all that—the fact that they’ll only get hurt later down the line until the end of their days? The hurt emotions will always win out, thus plunging everyone into their worse vices. Always, always, always.

“You don’t have to stand at the door,” Jackie didn’t budge or turn her head. “You have the right to come in anytime you wish. Mom. Dad.”

Jackie waited, but the multiple, stilted second pause didn’t make it any less bearable.

They came in. The giant of a man that is her father looked so meek, and his wife—her mother—he dwarfed who despite so always stood so tall, was also hunched over in worry.

Jackie forced herself, more siVis movement than her, to turn her head by using her neck to clutch at the back of the head and jerked it left towards them. She also made the effort to blink, as she forgone that for hours and needed to get back into the habit of it.

“…Please,” Jackie said breaking the continued silence, looking at them still. “You’ve come to tell me something, I was just waiting for you to say.”

But she knew it was built up. And with her sight, she saw their faces, respectively, crumble into sadness and tears.

Jack immediately put his index and thumb, pressing them against his tear-ducts versus the bridge of his nose. His wrinkles, which he shouldn’t have yet in his twilight years, created the all too powerful image of a strong man losing the strength to remain such a pillar. There was no noise from him, only his shoulders twitching on rhythm of his grief.

Dawn, simply took over her glasses and begun to cover her face with a hand entirely. She wasn’t the one to cry—never saw it as weakness per say, but she values the discipline—the reassurance that she can have herself and the scenarios she’s plunged into under control. Didn’t help that she breathed in heavy, short pants as she sobs.

Jackie took the sight of this in, as this burned her from the inside. But that’s all she can do, at this point.

“We’re—so sorry… For all of this happening to you…” Jack mustered out the words.

“I was the one who made all of that happen to myself, being fair,” Jackie moved her lips, used her vocal cords to create the sounds—but was so distant from this heart-to-heart.

“It—i-it cannot and should not be your penance…” Dawn winced at herself for stuttering, trying to clear her throat and keep her eyes from leaking from swift wipes of her hand against face. “It’s just too much. All of this.”

“It is, yeah. But what could be possibly done?” Jackie legitimately asked the question, making sure to create the lilt and tone to her voice come through. Her sounding disembodied doesn’t mean she can use that to never enounce again.

Jack Sr. looked at his wife, visibly mortified at what’s happening. Dawn quickly grabbed his hand tight, only letting her thumb be gentle, as it rubbed against his worn backhand. They faced each other.

“We could’ve done better! Better than this! If we only knew that this… This shit would be so fucking harrowing, maybe… Something…”

Jackie continued to stare, letting them explain.

“When you came into this world, 2000 was considered to be the ‘last year’, whatever that meant. Your father and I, we knew that things might be off or become harder than it was before… It’s why we instilled such a will and discipline. And the simple truth of doing good being a strength that makes you feel this way. We wanted you to be able to brave whatever this future was supposed to be. And now it’s hurt you so bad that we can’t…”

Dawn shook her head again, covering her face again as Jack leaned slightly onto her, being close and there for her.

“Point is, baby girl… We wish that things were better for you—a world that you were going to own and strut and even change for the better. You deserve so much more, you needed even better parents, and we’re sorry that reality dealt you with such a shit hand. We’re sorry. We’re sorry. We’re sorry.”

Jackie felt the tears pour down her cheeks before she could even register the flush of heat radiating from said orbs down to the sides of her face.

She looked down, at her own ruined hands, as they caught the tears. They rested on her open palms, as she continued to look at them.

Or past them.

She saw the much needed work, the pieces of her hand still holding together, piecing themselves back together in a way other than where they used to, because they simply couldn’t anymore. The lines weaved themselves throughout the pieces, pulsing them with flashes of energy.

The pieces started to unravel, break apart again, creating gaps in her hands where the tear drops fell into. She balled them, in an attempt to keep control.

“… Honestly,” Jackie begun her response. “You could’ve been less perfect. You were allowed to be shitty to me. And I think it would’ve benefitted me better. I’m a privileged overachiever that turned her nose up against any mentions of gray. And that fucked me. That fucked me up. It’s why I’m fucked up. My sweet, innocent worldview couldn’t take you hiding things from me. It couldn’t take the idea that things are beyond me and the world simply does just. Knock you on your ass and you’re supposed to be humbled. Take it. But instead, I filled my head with information I shouldn’t have known. Obsessed and yelled at people who are sticking their necks out on the line against something they don’t understand, and I yelled at them from being ineffective—yet I’m still alive. Now here I am, so stewed with despair, rage, sadness, restlessness, fear… And I’m so into this miasma, I can’t even properly connect with my grieving parents about my well fare. Your voices reaches out and they can’t reach me anymore. Your voices reaches out and I hear them—I can understand the words, the intent, the emotion… But I can’t listen. I try to reach out and I’m only reminded of how badly I do that. I was unprepared and this is my punishment. Now I’m going to pay it out.”

She looked at their shocked faces.

And next thing she knew, they bolted over and hugged her. Shaking.

“We’re here, baby,” Jack said in her ear. “Please. We know you are too.”

Jackie just went back at looking at nothing, underneath her skin, flesh and bone—was a sorrowful inferno inside.

“I am here. I just can’t reach you anymore.”

What were sobs of remorse turned into pure expressions of pain. They continued to hug her and Jackie took all of it.

It was all she could do now.