“Sort through these,” Ivy says, handing me a box.
“But —”
She cuts me off. “The sooner you start, the sooner you finish.”
The box is covered in dull-colored drawings. There’s one area that’s particularly chipped. I gently run my fingers over the wood.
Ivy leans over my shoulder. “Try not to get a splinter.”
I nod, fumbling clumsily with the latch. It’s harder to open than I expected. I glance at my thumb: there’s a thin line of pink with red spots of blood. When did that happen?
Finally, the latch comes loose. It’s full of Polaroids. A feeling itches in the back of my head. I shake my head to release it, setting the box on the table. The first picture is of Ivy. She’s grinning in a beautiful lavender dress. A tall woman drapes an arm over her shoulder.
I look up to ask Ivy about it, but she’s gone. My stomach twists painfully. “She’s probably getting a snack,” my voice echoes in the empty room. I didn’t see her leave through the single door. My stomach does somersaults again. “I’ll ask when she comes back,” I reassure the table.
I turn back to the box. The next photo is of me eating an apple, unaware that someone is taking my picture. Wait — Ivy never actually told me how I’m supposed to organize them. I shrug, putting the picture next to the one of Ivy and the tall woman. I’ll fix it if she says something about it.
The next one has me and a guy with curly hair making goofy faces at the camera. Garrett. That’s his name. In this photo we seem really close, but I don’t remember anything about him except his name. I bet I’m just brain farting. Or maybe it was one of those summer friendships that are great in the moment but that we don’t really remember. Whatever. I put the picture with the other two.
Every picture has at least one of the same four people: Ivy, Garrett, the tall woman, and me. Whenever I try to recall the tall woman’s name, my thoughts get foggy and my neck hurts. I avoid thinking of her as much as possible. I notice hints of red on one of the sides of the box. It’s probably excess paint from when the outside was decorated.
After a few minutes, I find a group of pictures tied together with a thin yellow string. The first picture is of me, gazing off a balcony at a sunset, its colors contrasting with the beautiful forest in the background. In the next picture I’m facing the camera. My hazel eyes are wide with quiet surprise. In the third one I’m a little closer, with my arm extended toward the corner of the image. I’m smiling timidly. A hint of a blush blends with my freckles. There’s a gleam in my eyes, full of quiet tenderness and adoration that I don’t remember ever feeling. I follow my arm with my eyes to the corner of the Polaroid. There's a hint of someone else’s fingers intertwined with mine. Tears unconsciously fill my eyes. I wipe them off, looking at the next picture.
It’s the same backdrop, but this time I’m not alone. It’s taken selfie-style, unlike most of these. Ivy and I have our heads pressed flush together. Her brown skin beautifully contrasts with my pale complexion. Her black curls are tied up. She looks beautiful. I smile. Her brown eyes gleam in the sunset. I turn to the last picture in this set. Ivy smiles as she kisses me. Ivy kissed me? What? We’ve never . . . right? She’s just a friend, I think. There goes my stomach again. What the heck?
There’s more red paint splattered on a photo. It has the four of us together. Me, Ivy, Garrett, and the tall woman. I turn it over, following the trail of red. Something is written on the back.
Run.
Everything comes back in a second.
I jump up and run to the door. I try to open it, but it won’t budge. I keep pushing against it, but it’s no use. I try jiggling the doorknob, and it still doesn’t — wait, it worked! I swing open the door and . . . it’s Ivy. Ivy with her big brown eyes. Eyes that gaze sadly at me. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but let her reach up to tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. Her fingers are warm. They linger on my face.
“I love you,” I whisper. Dampness gathers at the edge of her brown eyes, spilling out as she trails down my face with her hand, resting it on my neck.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy presses a finger deep into my skin. The last thing I hear is a “click” before everything goes black.
Their face crumbles as the injection in their throat knocks them out. I catch them before they fall. Garrett walks in and helps me carry them back to the chair. Vivvy enters, inspecting the table. She smiles when she finds a picture.
“Clever,” she says, holding up the Polaroid. In big letters etched in blood, one word is written. “Run.”
Vivvy pockets it, shaking her head. “They remembered. We’ll have to try again.” She looks at me, not an ounce of regret in her blue eyes. “Prep them for the reset. Nobody can know.”
“But —”
She cuts me off. “The sooner you start, the sooner you finish.”
The box is covered in dull-colored drawings. There’s one area that’s particularly chipped. I gently run my fingers over the wood.
Ivy leans over my shoulder. “Try not to get a splinter.”
I nod, fumbling clumsily with the latch. It’s harder to open than I expected. I glance at my thumb: there’s a thin line of pink with red spots of blood. When did that happen?
Finally, the latch comes loose. It’s full of Polaroids. A feeling itches in the back of my head. I shake my head to release it, setting the box on the table. The first picture is of Ivy. She’s grinning in a beautiful lavender dress. A tall woman drapes an arm over her shoulder.
I look up to ask Ivy about it, but she’s gone. My stomach twists painfully. “She’s probably getting a snack,” my voice echoes in the empty room. I didn’t see her leave through the single door. My stomach does somersaults again. “I’ll ask when she comes back,” I reassure the table.
I turn back to the box. The next photo is of me eating an apple, unaware that someone is taking my picture. Wait — Ivy never actually told me how I’m supposed to organize them. I shrug, putting the picture next to the one of Ivy and the tall woman. I’ll fix it if she says something about it.
The next one has me and a guy with curly hair making goofy faces at the camera. Garrett. That’s his name. In this photo we seem really close, but I don’t remember anything about him except his name. I bet I’m just brain farting. Or maybe it was one of those summer friendships that are great in the moment but that we don’t really remember. Whatever. I put the picture with the other two.
Every picture has at least one of the same four people: Ivy, Garrett, the tall woman, and me. Whenever I try to recall the tall woman’s name, my thoughts get foggy and my neck hurts. I avoid thinking of her as much as possible. I notice hints of red on one of the sides of the box. It’s probably excess paint from when the outside was decorated.
After a few minutes, I find a group of pictures tied together with a thin yellow string. The first picture is of me, gazing off a balcony at a sunset, its colors contrasting with the beautiful forest in the background. In the next picture I’m facing the camera. My hazel eyes are wide with quiet surprise. In the third one I’m a little closer, with my arm extended toward the corner of the image. I’m smiling timidly. A hint of a blush blends with my freckles. There’s a gleam in my eyes, full of quiet tenderness and adoration that I don’t remember ever feeling. I follow my arm with my eyes to the corner of the Polaroid. There's a hint of someone else’s fingers intertwined with mine. Tears unconsciously fill my eyes. I wipe them off, looking at the next picture.
It’s the same backdrop, but this time I’m not alone. It’s taken selfie-style, unlike most of these. Ivy and I have our heads pressed flush together. Her brown skin beautifully contrasts with my pale complexion. Her black curls are tied up. She looks beautiful. I smile. Her brown eyes gleam in the sunset. I turn to the last picture in this set. Ivy smiles as she kisses me. Ivy kissed me? What? We’ve never . . . right? She’s just a friend, I think. There goes my stomach again. What the heck?
There’s more red paint splattered on a photo. It has the four of us together. Me, Ivy, Garrett, and the tall woman. I turn it over, following the trail of red. Something is written on the back.
Run.
Everything comes back in a second.
I jump up and run to the door. I try to open it, but it won’t budge. I keep pushing against it, but it’s no use. I try jiggling the doorknob, and it still doesn’t — wait, it worked! I swing open the door and . . . it’s Ivy. Ivy with her big brown eyes. Eyes that gaze sadly at me. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but let her reach up to tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. Her fingers are warm. They linger on my face.
“I love you,” I whisper. Dampness gathers at the edge of her brown eyes, spilling out as she trails down my face with her hand, resting it on my neck.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy presses a finger deep into my skin. The last thing I hear is a “click” before everything goes black.
Their face crumbles as the injection in their throat knocks them out. I catch them before they fall. Garrett walks in and helps me carry them back to the chair. Vivvy enters, inspecting the table. She smiles when she finds a picture.
“Clever,” she says, holding up the Polaroid. In big letters etched in blood, one word is written. “Run.”
Vivvy pockets it, shaking her head. “They remembered. We’ll have to try again.” She looks at me, not an ounce of regret in her blue eyes. “Prep them for the reset. Nobody can know.”