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outsiderisin · 3 years

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Another Secret To Keep

Sorry I haven’t been active. I hope to be popping in and out more often now [Redeacted] Also warning for mild hints of body gore and survivor’s guilt

13 heard a knock on the bathroom door as she opened it without thinking. The mission had left her exhausted after having to chase the entity over 20 miles on hard terrain. The minor cuts and bruises covered her body as her legs throbbed a bit. It wasn't till she realized Agent Matthew was staring at her shoulder wide eyed that it clicked.

13 froze up as she felt her guts twist while her stomach dropped. Matthew then turned and bolted for his radio as 13 snapped out of it and just bended them to an empty room that was of her childhood home. Matthew stumbled into the walls as he slightly morphed more into his true form. He turned back to face 13 who was breathing quickly while she was crying with her hand out before her as to support the bend.

"Matthew, please just listen before you do anything. Please?" 13 choked out as she dropped the bend. Matthew blinked as the room returned to the shared hotel room. 13 stumbled into the bathroom more before the sound of puking echoed out of it. Matthew looked at the radio near his hand. He knew that he should call it in as he wondered if Henry knew.

Still 13 had just bent reality to ask him to give her time to explain herself. He knew she could have just killed him or done worse. Most reality benders would have, but deep down Matthew knew 13 wouldn't. She would be more likely to run. He sighed and went to the bathroom.

"So what did they say?" 13 asked as she was sitting against the wall. Her arms hugging her knees. Matthew just entered and closed the door behind him. He didn't lock it though.

"Nothing. I didn't call it because you wanted to explain your side. And I guess it was always sort of obvious." Matthew replied, "Just never put two and two together."

"Lots of people don't. Dr. Clef did, but he's a known liar. So the actual truth would have probably gotten deemed a lie." 13 replied with slight amusement to her voice. Matthew nodded slightly wishing she would look at him and not the wall ahead of her.

"How did you even escape?" Matthew asked as 13 flinched. He wondered if she bent reality to do so and potentially harmed an entire site. But no site was missing or had ever just disappeared outside of a nuke detonated to keep containment . All, except the neutralized scp-1730 or Site 13 from another reality. 13 then spoke haunting words which barely made sense at first.

"Site 13. I escaped from site 13 before it disappeared from this reality forever. I watched the place fall apart from the inside…. I don't know how or why I survived. I shouldn't even be here. I should be dead. " 13 started as she just broke down. She only briefed Director Henry on her past, but never gave much details.

"Don't say that." Matthew instantly said as he came closer and kneeled down. She was shaking so hard out of fear as she pulled herself tighter. Matthew just grabbed her up against him as 13 began to sob as she just rambled out the rest.

“It was just a fucken mistake that I stepped outside my hotel room. And then that fucken bus and I got grabbed up with those people and just…. I was so scared and I hate the foundation so much for not caring over a mistake like that. An amenstic would have cleared my mind of the event or should have, but they just kept me despite it. I never did anything to be there. To be given a fucken number and then….I hate you. I hate you.” 13 said as she shoved Matthew away from her before she burst into flames for a moment before calming. The lights flickering as 13 sobbed.

“I hate you for not making it. You were nice, kind to everyone. Some d-class would even get in the way of you and some scps. It was scp-999, but it was sweet. D-45523, or Gen. He was cool. He got impaled by something. Never found out what…. Is it bad that I miss some of the D-classes I got to know? I never knew how to feel about it honestly. Most guards were cruel and we only had each other really. Still I found you dead on one of my routes trying to just get out the maze, puzzle box site 13 had gotten itself into. I was one of the last d-classes left from before the takeover. Fuck that man, Emmerson, for what he caused” 13 chocked out as Matthew felt like she was baring her soul now before him. Showing him what made her become the woman he had gotten to know. She then looked at him while she pulled the plasters from her arm as she traced the wrist tattoo. Going over the last two digits twice as her name 13 began to make more sense than her cover story for it.

“I know I could bend this away, but I don’t want to forget what gave me this new life. Even if it was started by something horrible and made me do terrible things that will haunt me forever. But I got a sense of pride over it. It made me remember that I could bend reality, and that it can be used for good. I got to meet you again and actually get to know you. I got another chance at life and I don’t want it to be cut short. Is that selfish of me?” 13 asked as Matthew got up and just hugged her tightly. He didn’t know what to do or say other than to answer

“No. No, it’s not selfish.” He hissed as 13 now hugged him back tightly. Her sobs lightening as she then snorted a bit

“You feel like a mushed grape” She choked out as Matthew saw himself in the mirror as he was mostly now flesh in a start of his monster form now. He jerked back and returned to his human form as 13 stood there looking at the ground with her arms crossed. The shaking returned again.

“You can call now… I’ll wait. It's just you doing your job to keep the world.” 13 started as Matthew cut in

“Does Henry know that you were a d-class?” He asked

“Yeah. He is aware.” 13 replied as she then inquired “Why? Wait. No. Don't let this fall back on him! He was just… I don’t know. Just don’t drag him into this please.” Matthew could hear the desperation and sincerity of the plea. Her body and eyes showed it as he just buckled under the look. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Matthew made up his mind as he took a deep breath. He had lied about a lot in his life. He could do this for 13.

“Alright. I won’t tell about Henry knowing or about you either. I just… I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. My training just… you know.” Matthew tried to put nicely to ease some of the tension as 13 smiled in relief as she sorta laughed

“Second-nature. I understand…. I just…. Thank you Matthew. I wanted to tell you for so long but just didn’t know how to put it. Guess this fisico works.” 13 said as she inched towards him as Matthew nodded. He hugged her close once more.

“Wouldn’t change it for the universe. Now let’s wash up. We both look like murder scences” Matthew joked

“That’s because you transformed yourself to a more sarkic form” 13 stated as matthew fired back

“Only cause you bended me to a place I didn’t recognize” Matthew argued back playfully though wincing at his tone.

“A part of my childhood home…. I miss home” 13 the said as she whispered the last part.

“We’ll go there together one day. I would like to see your old town in this reality” Matthew said as 13 sadly smiled

“Might not be the same way I recall it” 13 returned

“Then you can point out the differences. Deal?” Matthew offered

“Deal” 13 confirmed as she then slide out of her underwear and flung it at Matthew who closed his eyes, but laughed as he felt the articles hit him. He then blindly exited the bathroom to sit outside the door as he thought over everything she had said. He sighed heavily as he made a note to talk to the ethics community over what to do if this occasion ever occurs if it hadn’t already.

“I know you don’t want my pity 13,” Matthew then whispered as he felt terrible over what happened to her. It explained so much of why 13 was defensive near foundation personal and rather friendly to D-class. Why she hated the GOC, but would do anything to defend people from harm. 13 had seen something worse than hell and lived to tell no one of it in full probably. The effects echoing her to this day as Matthew then finished.

“But I am so sorry. Forgive me for failing you.” 13’s wet arms then hugged him as she pulled him up right and dragged him into the bathroom once more. Her silence spoke as she had been crying more as Matthew slowly stripped and joined her in the shower. Them slowly bathing the other as 13 made him softly weep as she washed his hair. It was a sign of trust and forgiveness as 13 kissed his nose tenderly before resting her forehead against his forehead while guiding his head under the stream of water. Nothing had to be said, not even as they dried off, got dressed, cleaned up the mess in the bathroom or laid down next to each other in the single bed. Matthew carefully grabbed up 13’s hand to hold as she latched onto it.

“Good night” Matthew whispered as he felt his eyes losing the battle to stay awake.

“Sleep well” 13 whispered back as she just let herself pass out. Matthew pulled her closer before following suit. By morning light, both had slept through their alarms. 13 having stabbed her phone as Matthew found his crushed. Both snickering as they just laid there looking at each other for a moment before 13 fixed their phones as they both sent out ‘We are fine’ texts to their respective teams. From there, they returned to laying while holding the other’s hand till Matthew got up to use the restroom.

He returned with a box of plasters which 13 let him stick them over her tattoos. His soft smile made her grin. Soon they parted ways as they both knew the next couple hours would be 200 questions as their teammates hoped they finally got together once again. Both still trying to deny the truth as they glanced back at the other and nodded in silent agreement over yet another secret between them.

#scp #scp foundation #scp uiu #scp mtf #13 aka agent reality #Agent Matthew #matthew has too many fucks to give #13 is a mess #survivor's guilt #Unusual Incidents Unit #just date already #scp sarkicism #matthew is a sarkic

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swinterwriting-blog · 7 years

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Final Blog Post: Two Sides of a Coin

He touched me, and I shook my head no. He grabbed me and I pushed back. I said no. I screamed no. No was the only word I could muster up, but I poured my heart and soul into that word. This wasn’t what I wanted, I did not want this. No, No, No. He continued, he pulled my hair and mushed his grotesque face onto mine. He was taking this from me, this thing that should never be stolen, because once something like this is done, there is no repaying, no giving it back. How can you replace something like this? He advanced and I continued to struggle, but this struggle was of no use. He beat me. He raped me. The pervert dressed himself, let out an extraordinarily misplaced sigh of content, and walked out the door.

How can something be two things at once? It is all so clear and so blurry. I remember the details of the room, beautiful flower stencils on lilac walls, the way the sheets were already all fucked up just before I was all fucked up. I remember the sound of my voice, I can hear myself yelling. But I cannot remember his face, I cannot remember him at all. Even the way it made me feel then feels distant and blurry, and yet I feel that same way right now. This is my life, this precise moment. He gets up. This moment is my life, resigning myself to my newfound misery as the forgery of a man, as he walked out the door. I begin to mourn myself.

* * *

She woke up screaming. These screams, they are nothing new. The rape, and the scraps of it that return to her as she is unconscious, will never truly dissolve. Her husband sat up and touched her, and not fully awake, she pushed his touch away, as far away as she could. Coming into the here and now, she felt the nightmare begin to blend with her current reality. The flower designs on the walls of her past began to fade, and her familiar and plain bedroom now began to take its shape. Her husband once again reached out, and she took his hand.

They had a nightly ritual. Her recurring night terrors required it. They each got up, and walked quietly past the bedroom at the end of the hallway and down the stairs into their brightly colored kitchen, that only appeared as shadows until her husband flicked on the light. He made her chamomile tea, her favorite, and they sat there as she drank it. Sometimes he would lightly play music, but not tonight. She put her empty mug in the partially filled sink, and began the trek up the stairs, with her husband quietly following behind her; had anyone been watching they would have assumed him just a shadow.

Laying back down to sleep, her husband was quickly unconscious. She kept telling herself to sleep, tomorrow will be a big day, and you cannot sleep through your son’s graduation. As she laid on her side and lost herself in the dim light shining in through the shades, she closed her eyes and began her return to the dream world, she was swept away with her memories back to another part of her journey; the time after an assault when you can take control, or lose it. Immediately after falling asleep she was right where she wanted to be, waking up in her tent, reliving the last day before returning to society…

* * *

I love that feeling. The feeling of a cold morning, but the kind of cold morning when you can tell the earth is just waiting for the sun to slowly warm her surface, waiting for the sun to warm my surface. I hear the birds squawking, and decided I was hungry. I finish off the last of the cookies I brought with me 49 days ago, and went for some of the fish I had cooked just the night before. I love this place, and I love my isolation. There was no one to assault my body, I was in a place where no one had yet assaulted the land. I finish eating, and unzip my front door. I duck as I go outside, I don’t want to disturb the tarp I so carefully set up near my little home. I am free, I am liberated. I am sure people think I am insane, I did not cope with the rape in a way accepted by the majority. I did not want therapy, I did not want community. So I came out here, to an untouched piece of countryside and forest. Leaving was my way of coping, of seeing what happened to me, and the bigger picture. Tomorrow will be the 50th day of my camping trip, and the last day I will wander. I walk the land, which is neither simply beautiful, nor simply dangerous. How can something be two things at once? These words that we give so much meaning to, they define and separate us, they give things meaning, but can never truly convey that meaning. Meaning is absent and present. How can something be two things at once?

As much as I would like to stay forever, my time here is ending. As the sun begins to set, I start my nightly fire and grab my leather worn journal, and the pen barely holding on to ink. I am not healed. The savagery that was done to me, it is a wound that nothing can heal from. But I can function, and I am making the choice to do something about it, something productive. I begin reading through my entries, I begin to travel through my own journey once again. My journal begins on that very next day after the attack, after binging on next-day contraceptives, and purging myself of them that night; and after leaving the society that allows a lucky few of its members to crush flowers, and bruise faces, simply because they desire to. The fire pops and cracks. That is where this journey began. And it ends tomorrow. Tomorrow I will pack my things, take my final steps around this place, and conclude this chapter of my story. A small piece of wood crumbles into two, heated past what it can stand. What I will do with this story, I am not sure.

* * *

She wakes up, not in her make-shift tent, in a lonely part of the woods, but in her warm bed, with her husband in the shower. The light shining in the window almost makes her feel like she never left her dream, one of her favorite memories. She goes back down the same stairs, lit by the sunshine, and yells on her way down at her son in his bedroom to get up and start getting ready.

The graduates throw their caps, and she and her husband frantically try to get a picture of their son at the back of the group. He looks nothing like either of them, and he shouldn’t, he was adopted at the age of three. This is not new information, however in watching the parents and children taking pictures of their families forged through sex and blood, she is once again reminded of her inability to have children, of the harm she inflicted on herself, the large numbers of contraceptives that she could not keep down. She knows she is broken, she knows she is shattered. But she did not crumble. She instead shattered into shards of glass, and on this monumental day, she would use this to put a small slice into one of many underlying inequalities that caused her so much grief.

After the graduation, before the parties and the chicks, before the booze and the pictures, she called her son into the kitchen to give him a small piece of herself. This wasn’t something she had given her husband, nor her mother, nor anyone else. In adopting a son, she promised both him and herself, that she would not let him fall victim to the lies of a society run by men. She pulled out the pages ripped from her journal. Those she had written on the last day of her wandering. She was not a woman of many words. The words she carefully chose to say were, “My boy, I give you this wisdom to empower you. The world is not only yours for the taking. Live a life of grace and giving, do not worry about the words, and do not worry about their connotations.”

Day 50

The assault on women’s bodies is not separate from the assault on the Earth. Man feels like it is his right to own and dominate, however it is not his right at all. Similarly to the way victims of sexual abuse often shrivel or explode, Mother Nature will do the same, as she has been plundered and raped by man for hundreds of years.

Sex is a powerful thing. It is naturally nothing extraordinary, however we have created this word, and these feelings that are supposed to be inherently part of it. Things can only hold power if it is a harnessed power, we cannot use power if it floats freely. This is why our society traps us, especially women, in bubbles. We are supposed to avoid sexual desire at all costs, for sex is the driving force of society, and only when you harness and impose it, can it give you power.

It is no coincidence that females are seen as objects of sexual desire, and it is not coincidence that we consider the planet a mother. Men love to slice things up, create borders and difference, because this is what they are told they must do to be men. The social construction of manhood, of binary opposition between man and woman, is just that-a human made construction.

How can we be two completely different things at once? How can you see me as life, angelic and pure, and death with all of its dark curiosity; how can I be both of these things to you? How can our earth only be seen in the same light, as either the mother giving us life, or the vengeful and dangerous wrath of a mother? Why is sex, so often pushed onto women, seen as either a perfect or all-destroying energy to be harnessed? The female form, in all its glory, was not created to be dominated, divided, and abused by man. The female form was not created to abstain from, or give at any moment, sex. The earth is not simply here for our taking, and sex is not a tool for manipulation. I am a woman, and while you have taken something from me, I do not wish you harm. If harm comes to the top of our society, then it will trickle down to us all. But that is not to say that I do not wish harm upon that structure, the pollution within the minds of all of the people, which created my scars, which promotes this reign of terror.

I will have a son. I will cherish him, I will love him. And most importantly I will make sure that he is the kind of son who sees through all of the bullshit. My son will not rape the earth, he will not accept the “rights” given to him for his manhood, and he will not follow society’s unspoken rules. My son will grow into a man that changes the world by looking at it for what it is-a planet with no expectations, and the men on it with too many.

#ILS2215

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