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The Restoration Project

by Java

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THE RESTORATION PROJECT
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JAVANI BENITEZ
This is an allegorical story about the struggle of disconnecting from a toxic relationship, told from the perspective of a jaded character and his experience as he is followed through intimately written trial and triumph to a path of self-connection and healing. Through vivid and distressing imagery, this has been made possible. Please, read with caution.
I hope you enjoy.
To Erin Bartram, Victoria Nordlund, Katherine Kelly, and Prisca Afantchao. Thank you for helping us through this wonderful program at every step of the way.
To Erin Bartram, Victoria Nordlund, Katherine Kelly, and Prisca Afantchao. Thank you for helping us through this wonderful program at every step of the way.
Attic* Numeral Translations
* Attic: the numeral system used in ancient Greece
α': 1
β': 2
γ': 3
δ': 4
ε': 5
Ϛ': 6
ζ': 7
η': 8
θ': 9
ι': 10
κ': 20
λ': 30
μ': 40
ν': 50
ξ': 60
ο': 70
π': 80
ϙ': 90
Part αʹ
Damage
There are many more Attic numerals, however, they have not been provided for the sake of relevancy.
Part αʹ
Damage
April! The knife was in her chest, or so I thought, even if it was meant to be in mine. That knife isn’t even here anymore.
           I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but all I could do was look into her glassy eyes. And even after all of this time, I never wondered why that knife was gone. And I never noticed that it was my blood that poured out to her.
αʹ
False Accusation
I didn’t mean to kill her, I didn’t—I didn’t want to kill her!
           Sickly warm blood soaked through my pant legs, staining my skin as I sobbed. A knife I had thought to be thrust into my chest appeared in hers, limbs unmoving as I took her hand in mine. She was dead. I think I killed her. Or she was sleeping, and this was some sick prank. Whatever it was, I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to hurt her, I never wanted to hurt her!
           My chest ached as I lifted her body, still as warm as it was the day she had first taken to me. I could barely breathe, it felt as if my lungs had been sliced off by that very same knife I had sworn was shoved into my body. I couldn’t believe I had done this.
           Slowly, I carried her, running a gentle hand over her face that still seemed oh-so-alive. Where did all of the time go? Why did I have to do this to her? I was unfair, It should have been me.
           My body felt heavy as I set her down into bed. I felt hollow, limp, almost. Like life was slowly being sucked out of me through an injury of some kind. But I wasn’t injured, it was only her. I killed—I killed April. Even if the knife was gone now, even if her wounds were invisible, she lay unmoving on the bed.
           She was dead. I think I killed her. I think I killed her and I don’t know what to do. I cant—I can’t just get away with it, I need to help her, I need to protect her! She has to be alive, she just has to be! There’s no other way around it, April has to be alive. I can’t let her die. She’s going to wake up and be just fine tomorrow, right? And then—and then we can be together again! We have to be together again, I need to be with her. She’s going to hurt herself if I’m not. God, how could I ever forgive myself? I’ve already hurt
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