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The Curing Jars [1]
‘I always knew you’d find me,’ the note said in wobbling lines and drunken loops. ‘I just thought I’d still be here when you did.’
“Uh, Chelsea?” Jax called. “I think I found something.”
“You either found something or you didn’t, Jax,” the bubbly girl huffed as she bounded over to stand next to her friend and peer over his shoulder at the note. “Shit, you don’t think it’s actually left over from..?”
Jax merely lifted an eyebrow in response. He’d been right. The Curing Jars had been an actual practice.
Two sets of eyes returned to the yellowed page.
‘I am 28165. I don’t remember my outside name. I knew it once, but it is now locked behind a blurry wall in my mind. Maybe it’s for my own good. Maybe it’s not. Who knows? (Not me). I’ve trained my eyes to see in the dark so I can keep a record of my days here. I’m not entirely sure how long I was already in the jar before today… I lost track after 370 days. Anyway, I’m going to start each entry with that comment about finally finding this. Hope is the most precious thing we can cling to in the jars; Their efforts to beat or starve it out of us is a pretty good indicator.
Do I actually still believe it? Not really. But it’s a ‘fuck you’ to Them, so I’ll do it anyway. And, who knows, if this is ever found one day, it’ll be the only evidence left that I existed at all. That’s got to count for something.
- 28165’
“Shit…” Chelsea whispered again.
“I mean, I can’t take any joy about being right in this situation… We have proof of the Curing Jars, and that just makes me feel emptier inside…” Jax whispered in return.
“Shit!” Chelsea exclaimed as she fell into a shocked puddle on the floor.
“Do you know any other words, or is ‘shit’ now the extent of your vocabulary?” Jax teased.
“Shut up Jax. Dad always denied it so vehemently… I feel like a fool,” Chelsea held her head in her hands, allowing her hot pink strands to cover her face like a curtain. “I can’t ever trust him again.”
Sensing his friend’s deep distress, Jax made his way to the floor awkwardly, patting a stiff hand against Chelsea’s back.
“Maybe it wasn’t as bad as we think?” It was a weak argument, but Jax offered it hopefully. Chelsea just sent him a glare. Picking up the page, she re-read aloud:
“‘Hope is the most precious...
“Uh, Chelsea?” Jax called. “I think I found something.”
“You either found something or you didn’t, Jax,” the bubbly girl huffed as she bounded over to stand next to her friend and peer over his shoulder at the note. “Shit, you don’t think it’s actually left over from..?”
Jax merely lifted an eyebrow in response. He’d been right. The Curing Jars had been an actual practice.
Two sets of eyes returned to the yellowed page.
‘I am 28165. I don’t remember my outside name. I knew it once, but it is now locked behind a blurry wall in my mind. Maybe it’s for my own good. Maybe it’s not. Who knows? (Not me). I’ve trained my eyes to see in the dark so I can keep a record of my days here. I’m not entirely sure how long I was already in the jar before today… I lost track after 370 days. Anyway, I’m going to start each entry with that comment about finally finding this. Hope is the most precious thing we can cling to in the jars; Their efforts to beat or starve it out of us is a pretty good indicator.
Do I actually still believe it? Not really. But it’s a ‘fuck you’ to Them, so I’ll do it anyway. And, who knows, if this is ever found one day, it’ll be the only evidence left that I existed at all. That’s got to count for something.
- 28165’
“Shit…” Chelsea whispered again.
“I mean, I can’t take any joy about being right in this situation… We have proof of the Curing Jars, and that just makes me feel emptier inside…” Jax whispered in return.
“Shit!” Chelsea exclaimed as she fell into a shocked puddle on the floor.
“Do you know any other words, or is ‘shit’ now the extent of your vocabulary?” Jax teased.
“Shut up Jax. Dad always denied it so vehemently… I feel like a fool,” Chelsea held her head in her hands, allowing her hot pink strands to cover her face like a curtain. “I can’t ever trust him again.”
Sensing his friend’s deep distress, Jax made his way to the floor awkwardly, patting a stiff hand against Chelsea’s back.
“Maybe it wasn’t as bad as we think?” It was a weak argument, but Jax offered it hopefully. Chelsea just sent him a glare. Picking up the page, she re-read aloud:
“‘Hope is the most precious...
