Carpathia 05

--- 05.

>Work was shit.
>You work in a restaurant, as a cook.
>It's not glorious, but it pays the bills.
>Barely.
>You drive home in your piece of shit car.
>Right after work, you stopped at the corner store to pick up some stuff before going home.
>Some fresh cigarettes, beer (Pabst, because it's cheap) and another bottle of cough syrup.
>You feel sort of gutted about picking up smoking again.
>It's been over six months since you quit.
>And the Nyquil-
>Well, it seems you are going to have to start leaving the TV in your room on for Derby while you sleep.
>The Nyquil will help.
>Derby was on your mind all day.
>You pull into your apartment complex and park, flicking your spent cigarette out of the window before rolling it up.
>Before you can even turn your car off, your phone starts going off in your pocket.
>You cut the engine and dig your phone out.
>The screen reads 'MOM'.
"Damn..."
>You light another cigarette before you answer.
"Hello?"
>"Where are you?"
>Her voice is loud and you press the 'volume down' button a couple of times.
"I just got home from work."
>"Oh. I'm making dinner."
>That seems like a blunt anecdote, but you immediately understand the implication.
"I can't come over tonight. I'm too tired."
>You lean your seat back and blow a big cloud of smoke at the roof of your car.
>"You haven't been over in two months."
>Has it been that long?
>"Well, whatever."
>She's annoyed.
>"I have mail for you. Come get it whenever."
>It's annoying that your mail still sometimes shows up there.
"I'll come over this-"
>"It's a letter for debt collection. How much do you owe?"
>Your heart sinks.
"You opened my mail?"
>"It came to my house. Your father wanted me to throw it out. How much do you owe?"
>You close your eyes and let the cigarette burn between your lips.
"I don't want to talk about it. I'll come over this weekend to pick it up, okay?"
>"When are you going to get your shit together, Ano-"
>You hang up on her and throw your phone down on the passenger seat.
>For a while, you sit staring out of the windshield at the cardboard dumpster in front of your car.
>The cigarette in your mouth has burned out and a large portion of ash drops into your lap.
>You groan and get out of your car, grabbing the plastic bag from the corner store and slamming the door shut.
>Today was a shitty day.

-

>Derby is exactly where you left her.
>You enter your apartment and quickly close the door behind you.
>Derby is still on the couch, staring at the TV.
>The Titanic is still playing.
>She must have watched it at least two times already.
"I'm home, Derby."
>Her eyes never leave the TV.
>You walk over and pick up the remote, pointing it at the screen.
>When it goes black, Derby hops right off the couch and slinks over to you.
>She sits at your feet and smiles up at you, one eye drifting off.
>"Welcome home, Anonymous. Derby missed you."
>You set the plastic bag on your coffee table.
"I missed you too. How was your day?"
>Derby's wing suddenly reaches forward and brushes against your leg.
>You stand still as her wing pats your knee.
>"Derby doesn't remember."
>She smiles up at you as her wing continues to slide around your pant leg.
>Is she doing it on purpose?
"Well, it seems like you watched Titanic a few times."
>You pull your leg away from her and pull a beer from out of the bag.
"I'm gonna make something to eat and then we can plug you into the computer, okay?"
>She just watches you open your can of beer with her smile.
>As you take a drink, your eyes are drawn to the red '23' on her forehead.
>You lean down and brush your thumb across it.
>Some of her mane slides over the back of your hand.
>Her eyes cross, following your hand and her mouth opens silently.
>The painted numbers feel indented, like they were roughly stamped into her skull.
>"Anonymous, how was your day?"
>Her wing comes up again and starts doing its strange patting motion against your wrist.
>Now you are aware of what is happening.
>Just as you were curious about the numbers on her forehead, Derby must be curious about you.
>Her wing seems to be examining you.
>You straighten up again and take another drink.
"It was... Good."
>You grab the bag from the table and walk to the kitchen.
>Derby follows, her wing brushing the back of your legs.
>It feels sort of surreal-
>A robot trying to physically examine you.
>But you don't mind.
>You turn on the kitchen light.
>It's a small kitchen.
>A dingy kitchen.
>The yellowed light makes it seem like the place is always grimey, no matter how much you clean.
>You set your bag on your slightly tilted table and pull the cans of beer out.
>In the corner is your small fridge.
>You open it and place the beer inside.
>Aside from the beer now, your fridge is pathetically sparse.
>A carton of eggs.
>Some pickles.
>Some expired chicken breast.
>'When are you going to get your shit together?'
>You quickly close the fridge and sit at the kitchen table with your beer.
>The light flickers overhead.
>You sigh and stare at the scratched up table top.
>Without thinking, you reach into the bag again and pull out the Nyquil.
>Sleep is all you want right now.
>You open the medicine and take a large drink.
>It makes you shiver.
>A sudden noise draws your attention.
>Derby is pushing your other wooden chair toward where you sit.
>She slides it across the linolium until it bumps against your chair.
>With a smile, she crawls up on the chair beside you.
"Derby?"
>The ponybot takes a seat next to you and leans her head against your side.
>Her wing wraps around your back.
>She moves her head against your ribs, like she's nuzzling you.
>"How was your day, Anonymous?"
>That makes your chest tighten up.
>You take another drink of beer.
>With one arm, you reach around Derby and pull her small body against you.
>Your eyes wander over to the counter.
>Beside your microwave sits a stack of mail.
>All of the letters state the same thing.
>'How much do you owe?'
>"Did you have a good day, Anonymous?"
>You close your eyes and take another drink.
"It was bad. But I'm doing better now."
>Derby's wing pats your back.
>"Derby wants to be better too."
>You look down at the top of her head.
>The light flickers again and for a moment only the red glow of her eyes light the room.
"How are you feeling, Derby?"
>In the silence that follows, you fill yourself with more alcohol.
>The cough syrup feels heavy in your gut.
>"Derby was lonely."
>So she does remember.
>That hollow feeling returns.
>"But Derby learned."
>Your hand brushes over her side.
>Across the notch where her missing wing should be attached.
"Learned what?"
>Her wing moves up your back and the feathers slide across the bare skin of your neck.
>Goosebumps spread over your flesh and you shiver again.
>"Derby learned that if she is lonely, I can press play."
>Press play?
>Ah, she means the DVD.
>It's a good thing you actually had that.
>You nod and finish your beer.
"That's good. I don't want you to be lonely."
>Finally, your pathetic kitchen light gives out.
>You are left sitting in darkness.
>Save for Derby's glowing eyes.
>"Can we press play?"
>You stand up, Derby's wing sliding down your body.
>You open the fridge and grab a new beer, throwing your empty one into the trash.
"Alright. Let me smoke a cigarette and then we can watch Titanic together, okay?"
>Her eyes stare back at you in the dark.
>"Anonymous?"
>You open your beer.
>"Are we lonely?"
>The sounds of your neighbors arguing next door come through the thin wall.
>You reach into your pocket and take out your cigarettes.
>A dog starts barking outside as the sound of police sirens scream past on the street below.
"Let's press play, Derby."

https://youtu.be/H_lSX-f_tdY