XX: Am I in trouble?

《 ELIAN PHOENIX 》

I used a nail, one I had gouged out from the planking by the shore, to engrave the fourth vertical line on the railing of my carriage. It left red impressions in my palm, which I massaged while staring at the four lines. It had been four days without seeing another soul.

Frankly, by then, I was too spent to have another anxiety attack over it. So I just pulled my never-ending legs to my chest and sat on the floor of the carriage, eyeing my handiwork. Birdy still hadn't showed up, and there was yet no sign of Aspen. Instead of panicking about it, I fell into a stupor.

There wasn't much else to do, and so I buried my face on my knees and shut my eyes. With a defeated sigh, I wondered if it counted as depression when you lose all your hope in a situation that is actually hopeless. It was more like reacting accordingly from where I was looking.

If Aspen was hurt, or dead, there was no getting back to him or my friends. No way of ever getting back to my world. Not to mention that I would be the one who sent him to his dead, and if things were extremely fucked, Rain as well. Just so that Aspen could get some change of scenery and bond with Rain, perhaps feel like he's doing his bit. I had thought Aspen's magic made them invincible, but did it really?

On top of all that, if something had happened to Birdy, I would be stuck here alone till the end of my miserable existence. Aspen, Birdy, I and possibly even Rain would be gone, and I wouldn't be there to comfort Najwa and Rio. I was stuck here, useless, so how could I not be a little depressed?

Anyhow, once I was done with my every one hour situational crisis, I straightened my legs and picked up the notebook. I was entertaining little hopes for earning that make-out session or that there was much for me to do stuck in here, but I was going to lose it without distraction. So, it was either leafing through the notebook or staring at the markings on the wall.

I flipped open the leather cover and ran my thumb down the first page, then flipped its corner between the pad of my thumb and my forefinger. It used to bring me such joy, to open a book and get lost in a story. Now I merely hung on to it like it was my last life preserver. I sighed and it brought tears into my eyes, but after a moment of sentimentality, I blinked the tears away and got to work.

When I opened the page about rules, there was just one sentence, and I flipped the page without pausing to read it. It was just going to be the same old thing about magic and sacrifice, as it had been the previous hundred and one times I had bothered to check it. I skimmed through the following pages, not in the mood of reading, until I found the drawings of Birdy and me.

“This nonsense again..” I muttered and pushed back my hair with a huff of annoyance. My hair had grown to that obnoxious length that was long enough to constantly fall over my eyes, but too short to stay behind my ears. It didn't stop me from trying, of course, and I tortured myself by flicking the hair back time and again.

The drawings were still the same, and so were the titles underneath them. I was still standing in front of a sea of flames and Birdy was still holding her lighter in her outstretched hand. Why was everything about flames lately? I stifled a yawn, yet again pushing my hair behind my ear and huffing when it fell right back to my face.

“I'm too tired for any of this shit.” With that, I slammed the notebook shut. In the distance, wind howled. Perhaps I could get some sleep for a change, that would help me pass time. And yet, in the very instant I stopped reading, the every one hour situational crisis flooded back to my awareness.

I sighed and opened the notebook again, not wanting to sink into despair. The page of rules was still empty except for one sentence. This time something, let's call it a hunch, made me read it. Instead of magic and sacrifices, the sentence was: In order to rise from its own ashes, the Phoenix first must burn.

I blinked, stupefied. Then the thought of the drawing of myself sprang to my mind. The fire in the background was probably supposed to be a dead giveaway about The Phoenix symbolizing The Phoenix bird.

I felt kinship to the legendary bird and it was one of the reasons I wanted the name to stick, but it was still just a name. Perhaps I used one of my manic episodes researching everything there was to know about Phoenix birds: how they differentiated amongst cultures, and why was it that so many of them had their version of it.

But, like, seriously.

It was just a name my friends used for me, just because I didn't fancy being called Lian. For all I knew, my last name came from Phoenix, the capital city of Arizona. Which, to be fair, did get its name from The Phoenix bird, but, like, still. I mean, come on.

I'm not some mythological creature, that's just absurd. I'll bet 10 thousand dollars, which I admittedly don't have, that if I die, I'll die.

"So, if I'm the Phoenix..” I murmured to myself, deciding to humor the notebook, as I traced the text with my finger. “Do I have to set myself on fire if I want to get back to the real world?"

Didn’t someone once say that you can't die in your dreams, and that if you did, you were just going to wake up? Or did I just make that up? And yet, I couldn’t quite staunch the flare of hope in my chest. Because, fire or not, it was a first sign that there could be a way for me to get back.

I didn't expect an answer, it just helped to hear someone speaking. Even if it was just me, asking questions whose only answer was silence. So, you can imagine my surprise when I blinked and there were more words scribbled underneath the previous sentence.

Took you long enough.

"So, is that a yes..?” I hesitated, gnawing at my lower lip and frowning some more. I wasn't afraid of fire, per se, but the idea of turning myself into a human barbecue didn't sound like it was going to be a lot of fun. “How would I even do that?"

Use your brain, I can't do it all for you.

When those words appeared on the page, I let out a snort of laughter. But then I muttered: "Don't be mean to me, it hurts my feelings."

I am just a notebook.

I'm neither mean nor nice.

“Well, for the record, I think you're being mean." I told the notebook. It was just my luck that the first.. thing to keep me company was a wiseass.

At first, all it had to say was: If you say so. I eyed the page, wondering if I had blown it by asking all the wrong questions. Was it possible to hurt the feelings of a notebook?

Then, the next words appeared: Here's a clue: can you set yourself on fire?

"I mean.. in here or in general? I suppose anyone could, in theory, but I don't have a lighter. Birdy has one, so I guess.. Wait.” My eyes widened to saucers and I sat up straighter. “If she's The Arsonist, will she have to be the one to set me on fire? I doubt she'll be too happy about that. And besides, where is she? Is she in trouble?"

Are you in trouble?

I shivered, and it had little to do with the wind picking up or the swaying of my hair against my skin. The question sounded a bit too much like a threat for my liking, but I shoved my fear as deep as it could go. "You can't keep answering all my questions with questions. It's rude."

Again, I'm just a notebook.

“Ha ha.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Aren't you just hila..”

A gust of wind slammed the notebook shut, and my words trailed off, as I finally took notice of my surroundings. The purple sky, normally clear like one of a summer day, had grown dark and gloomy, the storm clouds hanging low. The wind made the ferris wheel groan and creak, the carriages sway from side to side, and rain pitter-pattered against the roofing of mine.

I once told Birdy, whom I kept forgetting at one point, that this place was just a place. And Birdy, whom I now remembered painfully well in her absence, told me that it was so much more than just a place. She warned me that I could hurt its feelings if I weren't careful with what I said.

Back then, it was easy to brush off. But now, when the wind howled like some vengeful god, not so much so. I just couldn't for the life of me tell what I could have said or done to anger it so much. Sure, I wanted to leave and I didn't exactly fancy living here, but I wouldn't expect it mattered to the place enough for it to throw a tantrum over it.. Besides, if it were sentient, did it mean it was alive?

The hair on my arms stood on end, as I thought to myself: am I in trouble?