Macy Jones (girlmidas) wrote in genome_project, @ 2011-02-16 17:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | february 2011, macy jones, seth enders |
Who: Macy and later, Seth
What: MURDER by gold
When: today (Feb 16)
Rated: High for murder, but it's not graphic or anything
Things had been…weird lately. Not necessarily bad, but definitely weird. Macy had never really thought her life was anything but normal. She never had a reason to. But with her father and brother gone, the chasm between her and her mother growing, and her ever present ‘ability’, she had started to question the definition of the word. She supposed her relationship with Noah was an example. After all, they, like all couples, had problems. He wasn’t as compassionate as she liked and she wasn’t, well, an outspoken bitch like it seemed he wanted her to be sometimes. She didn’t appreciate being played with, or sarcasm, or really anything that wasn’t helpful or friendly. They were about as different as black and white, but they still loved each other. That was normal, right?
They fought sometimes, sure. But Macy was always content to let things roll off her back. It took a lot to get her riled up; to make her upset. Lately, though, she felt like her emotions were getting out of check. It shouldn’t have been a problem, except that it was. Usually so calm in demeanor, poor Macy was tense. She likely had knots up one side of her back and down the other. She couldn’t ever remember being an angry person. She was under the assumption that it was easier to be happy than not and it had worked out for her, for the most part. Recently, however, she felt as if she was getting mad about things that, in the long run, really didn’t matter. Sometimes, she didn’t even have a reason for how she was feeling! The emotion would just swallow her whole and spit her back out an hour later feeling used and irrational.
So what? Most would say. Who cares? The happy girl has a bad day? Boo hoo, move on. Macy understood this. She understood it probably more than anyone knew. It was for this reason that she kept it hidden—kept it to herself. It was no one’s burden but her own and she felt guilty and ashamed dropping it on someone when there were far worse things in the world. Mood swings were…not crises. They were just that: mood swings. They came and went like the sun, and she wasn’t special for having them. She was special, however, with her special gift: turning things to gold, and all that jazz. Like the majority of the island inhabitants, she too was not sure how to control it. It tended to act up when it pleased, with no regard for what (or who) it was affecting. These episodes, from months of her careful observation, coincided with her inability to remain happy. There was a definite correlation, no doubt about it, but she couldn’t prove either way which was the stressor and which was the stressed.
Today was one of those days—the episodic days. St. Valentine’s Day had come and gone, and she’d had a wonderful time. As usual, there was no reason for her to feel particularly upset. But there she was, sitting on her sofa, stewing. An outsider might not have realized anything was wrong. Her face was blank (to anyone who knew her, this was probably the biggest indicator), the cat was sitting on her lap untouched, and surrounding her was an immense amount of gold products. They were quite assorted. Gold television remote. Gold ham sandwich. Gold pillow. She was polishing. It was the only thing she knew to do. She was too afraid to touch the cat, and—and she realized how dumb this sounded—she was kind of angry with him. He hadn’t touched his food all morning. So now, for both his safety and some abnormal punishment, she was ignoring him.
She was completely aware of how irrational she was being. But awareness was not the same as prevention. Of course, the roads were connected, but Macy kept missing the bus. Instead, she was forced to apply common sense. She couldn’t turn gold things into gold. Well, she supposed she could, but it wouldn’t make a difference. As long as gold was all she touched, she couldn’t ruin anything else. She would just keep polishing. If the rag was still a rag, then she—Damn. Macy frowned and looked down at the, now solid, dust cloth in her hand. “Really?” She said aloud, to whatever greater entity was listening (if there even was one). “Can I catch a break?” Was it mentioned just how negative Macy became when in these moods? It was extremely uncharacteristic. It was unfortunate.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. She just needed to calm down. Calm down. Maybe a walk. Some fresh air usually helped her when her nerves were acting up. It was cold enough outside that the shock might rip her from her downward spiral. It wasn’t the best logic, but it was an idea. She didn’t want to sit idle with nothing but her thoughts.
Poking Kitty with the rag, she scooted him from her lap without contact. The next few minutes, putting on coat, making sure there was nothing left out that the cat could get into, and locking the door, were a blur. Walking was much the same. Within a half hour, she found herself at the beach. Her mind was all over the place. There was really no one coherent thought in the bunch. Her emotions were much the same. She went from angry, to resentful, to upset, and back to angry again. She wasn’t sure what the cycle of negativity was about, but she was positive she didn’t like it.
It wasn’t long until she was in front of Town Hall. She gazed at the building and wondered what was going on in there. Of course, she wasn’t stupid. She knew that it was where the town council met, where the Mayor’s office was, and where the majority of her rallies/drives/charities began. She had a pretty good relationship with some of the councilmen. She was known for all her volunteer work, and her eagerness to aid the less fortunate. She had half a mind to pay them a visit, but she immediately decided against it. There was danger in that. A lot of hand shaking took place on a trip to the Town Hall. Everyone wanted to say hi. Normally she enjoyed it. But today…today it wouldn’t do.
She sighed and looked around. Where could she go now? She supposed she could try walking back home. It made the most sense. Nearly an hour had passed since she’d left. That was the general time frame for her loss of control. She figured by the time she got home, she’d be okay. The anger was definitely subsiding. It had reverted to a small nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Okay. She was going to go home. She turned on her heels and did a pivot.
Ice. She didn’t see it, but the second her shoe slid, she knew what was coming. The ground, that’s what. Hard and frozen, she was not looking forward to slamming into it. She closed her eyes and threw her arm back to brace herself for the collision, but it never came. “No. No no no.” Macy opened her eyes and screamed.
Someone had caught her arm and grabbed her hand. Someone…someone who was now glinting gold in the sunlight. Her face contorted. She was holding back tears. “No, please.” She struggled to pry her hand from the statue’s grip. It took a minute and some finesse, but it finally came free. “Who are you,” she whispered, using the now free hand to stroke the face of the man. Yes. It was definitely a man. And he was wearing a long coat, and a smile and—
“Oh my God.” The mayor. Macy grabbed his shoulders with both of her hands. “Change back. Please.” Tears were now steadily streaming down her face. “Oh. Oh God. I—I killed you.” Her voice was starting to break. “Please.” She closed her eyes and focused as best as she could on reversing her ability. Nothing. Mayor Enders was growing cold with the wind.
She pulled out her phone and immediately dropped it on the pavement. “Fuck!” She never cursed, but if there were ever a time for obscenities, now was it. She texted a frantic, broken text to Noah. “What do I do?” She looked down at her hands. What was she?