Post by Linden on Oct 23, 2020 13:57:10 GMT -8
The sounds of dozens of joints cracking and popping; something buckles, hot sawdust and sparks—
The scent of woodsmoke was strong in Linden’s nostrils as they shuddered into wakefulness, legs swinging out of bed before their eyes fully opened. They paused as their soles met the floor, taking a moment to settle and center themself. They felt the urgency, but it wasn’t new. Even the adrenaline was familiar, the get-up-and-go banging away but without the edge it used to have. They had learned the long way just trying to go back to sleep wouldn’t work: they could lay awake for hours, stewing on the same thoughts even after the smell faded away. There was no remedy but checking. Scrubbing a rough hand down their face, they stood with a sigh and began the tour.
Nothing was on fire in their studio apartment. Everything in the kitchen was off, cold; no hot plastic smells from any of the outlets, no burnt bread lingering in the coils of the toaster. They pressed their hands to the ceiling, the walls adjoining other homes, even the floor. All cool. It was down to a procedural art, each abrupt awakening building on the last so they could get this over with as quickly and as thoroughly as possible. There hasn’t been a fire there yet, the building was almost new. But fire didn’t have to be a predictable disaster.
They inhaled deeply, scanning, but the smoky smell was already fainter. Or, they couldn’t help thinking, they had already gotten used to it. The Ogre stuck their head out into the cool breeze on their tiny balcony and inhaled again; just city smells, cold desert smells, neighborhood smells. Familiar, many unappealing, but not unwelcome. Back inside, Linden stuffed their feet into running shoes and belatedly pulled on sweatpants, just for dignity’s sake. Checking their own room wasn’t enough, they wouldn’t be able to sleep until they’d done a round. They had to smell and look and touch and make sure it was just old news cycling back through; frustrating, embarrassing if anyone knew, but manageable. Quiet but purposeful, they moved up and down the hallways of their building, breathing deeply. One floor, two floors, three.
It wasn’t like this when they were at work. People smoked all the time, they lit candles— the one time a fire started in the kitchen it had been easy to stay calm, grab an extinguisher, and do what needed to be done. Maybe it was the intoxicating wildness of the club, or maybe just that there were so many eyes. Hundreds of eyes, just waiting to see a chink in the armor. Linden knew that almost no one was watching them that closely, just as they knew the building was almost certainly not on fire, but that didn’t make it stop. Vulnerability wasn’t something they were about to telegraph. Or, maybe it was just easier to play it cool when someone else was more frightened.
Finally, they reached the end of their survey: there was no fire. They could begin the descent back to their own floor. It might have been nice if that still brought relief or satisfaction, but mostly Linden just wanted to be asleep. They’d done their diligence, the smoke entirely gone but for the knowledge that they had definitely smelled it. Years ago. Or maybe their strange twin was smelling it now, back in wildfire country, and Linden was getting echoes, some kind of sympathetic phonecall they couldn’t hang up. Just the idea was obnoxious.
Shoes slapping softly against the stairs, they sucked in a deep, clean breath. At least tonight they hadn’t run into any curious neighbors, or the handyman. Folks didn’t always love seeing the tall, scarred bouncer on floors they didn’t live on; it made them nosy and jumpy, and Linden couldn’t blame them. Slipping back through their own door, they put the shoes and sweatpants back where they had been, for next time. Sleep didn’t feel too far off anymore, thankfully, and they put themself back to bed with the same practiced precision they’d done everything else.
Drawing in another breath, Linden conjured a vivid memory of horizons: back where it was so flat the horizon was blue in all directions, like the rim of a teacup tipped over a bug. It had felt oppressive then, but that blue was distance, and it meant the world was big. They pictured that blue and breathed into it, that promise that there were still things to want in the world.
The scent of woodsmoke was strong in Linden’s nostrils as they shuddered into wakefulness, legs swinging out of bed before their eyes fully opened. They paused as their soles met the floor, taking a moment to settle and center themself. They felt the urgency, but it wasn’t new. Even the adrenaline was familiar, the get-up-and-go banging away but without the edge it used to have. They had learned the long way just trying to go back to sleep wouldn’t work: they could lay awake for hours, stewing on the same thoughts even after the smell faded away. There was no remedy but checking. Scrubbing a rough hand down their face, they stood with a sigh and began the tour.
Nothing was on fire in their studio apartment. Everything in the kitchen was off, cold; no hot plastic smells from any of the outlets, no burnt bread lingering in the coils of the toaster. They pressed their hands to the ceiling, the walls adjoining other homes, even the floor. All cool. It was down to a procedural art, each abrupt awakening building on the last so they could get this over with as quickly and as thoroughly as possible. There hasn’t been a fire there yet, the building was almost new. But fire didn’t have to be a predictable disaster.
They inhaled deeply, scanning, but the smoky smell was already fainter. Or, they couldn’t help thinking, they had already gotten used to it. The Ogre stuck their head out into the cool breeze on their tiny balcony and inhaled again; just city smells, cold desert smells, neighborhood smells. Familiar, many unappealing, but not unwelcome. Back inside, Linden stuffed their feet into running shoes and belatedly pulled on sweatpants, just for dignity’s sake. Checking their own room wasn’t enough, they wouldn’t be able to sleep until they’d done a round. They had to smell and look and touch and make sure it was just old news cycling back through; frustrating, embarrassing if anyone knew, but manageable. Quiet but purposeful, they moved up and down the hallways of their building, breathing deeply. One floor, two floors, three.
It wasn’t like this when they were at work. People smoked all the time, they lit candles— the one time a fire started in the kitchen it had been easy to stay calm, grab an extinguisher, and do what needed to be done. Maybe it was the intoxicating wildness of the club, or maybe just that there were so many eyes. Hundreds of eyes, just waiting to see a chink in the armor. Linden knew that almost no one was watching them that closely, just as they knew the building was almost certainly not on fire, but that didn’t make it stop. Vulnerability wasn’t something they were about to telegraph. Or, maybe it was just easier to play it cool when someone else was more frightened.
Finally, they reached the end of their survey: there was no fire. They could begin the descent back to their own floor. It might have been nice if that still brought relief or satisfaction, but mostly Linden just wanted to be asleep. They’d done their diligence, the smoke entirely gone but for the knowledge that they had definitely smelled it. Years ago. Or maybe their strange twin was smelling it now, back in wildfire country, and Linden was getting echoes, some kind of sympathetic phonecall they couldn’t hang up. Just the idea was obnoxious.
Shoes slapping softly against the stairs, they sucked in a deep, clean breath. At least tonight they hadn’t run into any curious neighbors, or the handyman. Folks didn’t always love seeing the tall, scarred bouncer on floors they didn’t live on; it made them nosy and jumpy, and Linden couldn’t blame them. Slipping back through their own door, they put the shoes and sweatpants back where they had been, for next time. Sleep didn’t feel too far off anymore, thankfully, and they put themself back to bed with the same practiced precision they’d done everything else.
Drawing in another breath, Linden conjured a vivid memory of horizons: back where it was so flat the horizon was blue in all directions, like the rim of a teacup tipped over a bug. It had felt oppressive then, but that blue was distance, and it meant the world was big. They pictured that blue and breathed into it, that promise that there were still things to want in the world.