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

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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.

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αʹ
False Accusation

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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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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.

βʹ
Introduction

γʹ
Reminiscing

I could feel her claws digging into me, but for some reason, I could not let go of her.
           This is always the typical case for us. My lady, the month before May and the month after March, and I, the month before September and the month after July. April and August, we call ourselves. April and August. We are spring and summer, always on the cusp of a harsh winter or a dying autumn, yet straying far from the edge. This is what life was like for us. One always came after the other, August always wrapped up what April had left behind. But now, I must clean after my own mess, and I’m unsure if I know how. 
           I still hear her sometimes. I still hear her, calling for my name, weeping throughout the halls for someone, anyone, to fix the messes she left. It haunts me. She still haunts me, as the chest of her corpse rises and falls beside me in the bloodied bed we sink into. The daggers of her breath dig into me, but I can’t let go of her. I don’t think I’ll ever learn how. It scares me sometimes. She scares me sometimes. But, even then, I don’t think I could ever let go of her, not like this.
           Her fangs hurt, but I’ve numbed to the pain. The sensations of her sweet venom slowly and painfully eating away at my veins are enough to keep me grounded, enough to keep me going to see the sunlight of tomorrow. No matter how many times she has killed me, I cannot seem to die. I always seem to come back, and as the autumn, what am I alive, if not dead? What am I alive if I am not dead? 
I don’t like thinking about it.

My feet could not stop moving, but they never approached the door.
           My eyes have been forcefully blinded from the agonising burn of this room, colours all around of coral and rose suffocating me as the stinging burn of carnations burrowed themselves into my retinas. This room was painful, it hurt. But once before, it was not like this.
           I could not stop moving, even as my tired, thorned body spun in the silver mirror. She danced with me, tears of laughter streaming like waterfalls from the caring, oceanic crevices of her soft, reddened face. I feel fear here, but I once felt happiness, as she dragged my decaying body around in her neverending corpse dance. I hate it there. But I was happy there.
           I remember my decaying feet swinging along with her gentle yet malicious tune. I remember enjoying it, regret and pain bleaching itself out of my skin and staining pink carpets a bright, crimson red. I remember gasping for breath with glass lungs filled to the brim with mildew, the vines that strained to hold my bones together tightening themselves with every jerk and jolt my body could manage. No matter how rough she was, she was always so gentle with my fragile soul.
           When we would finish dancing, we would collapse together, laughing amongst ourselves as her gentle hands wrapped around wrists eaten away by maggots. I was broken, I was rotted, I was decaying, but with her gentle kiss, I could feel my lungs expand anew, my flesh mending and my muscles contracting in a painfully human way.
           Now, I stand alone in the room, my bones creaking as I move to mimic that solemn corpse dance from all those years ago.
           Where has the time gone?

γʹ
Reminiscing

My feet could not stop moving, but they never approached the door.
           My eyes have been forcefully blinded from the agonising burn of this room, colours all around of coral and rose suffocating me as the stinging burn of carnations burrowed themselves into my retinas. This room was painful, it hurt. But once before, it was not like this.
           I could not stop moving, even as my tired, thorned body spun in the silver mirror. She danced with me, tears of laughter streaming like waterfalls from the caring, oceanic crevices of her soft, reddened face. I feel fear here, but I once felt happiness, as she dragged my decaying body around in her neverending corpse dance. I hate it there. But I was happy there.
           I remember my decaying feet swinging along with her gentle yet malicious tune. I remember enjoying it, regret and pain bleaching itself out of my skin and staining pink carpets a bright, crimson red. I remember gasping for breath with glass lungs filled to the brim with mildew, the vines that strained to hold my bones together tightening themselves with every jerk and jolt my body could manage. No matter how rough she was, she was always so gentle with my fragile soul.
           When we would finish dancing, we would collapse together, laughing amongst ourselves as her gentle hands wrapped around wrists eaten away by maggots. I was broken, I was rotted, I was decaying, but with her gentle kiss, I could feel my lungs expand anew, my flesh mending and my muscles contracting in a painfully human way.
           Now, I stand alone in the room, my bones creaking as I move to mimic that solemn corpse dance from all those years ago.
           Where has the time gone?

δʹ
SIDS

εʹ
Uncomfortability

I could see her resting body sink into the dilapidated mattress as I moved to stand, my weight relieving itself from our damaged bed. As long as she slept soundly, I was happy.
           I kicked away maggots eating away at my feet, my healing soles pressing themselves step by step on the frigid concrete. I could hear them crying for me, their wails nearly shocking my body into a disturbing trance as hurried feet moved towards the nursery. It had to be in here somewhere. Ah, there it was.
           I could feel myself approaching the crib, my bony hands picking up something soft and warm. It was a baby, all alone in a crib. It was our baby. It was us.
           “How are you?” I remembered asking, the tension in my face melting away as the baby reached up to pull at my decaying ear. I forgot how much I loved her, her hand slowly rotting away as I rolled her fingers around in my hand. Maggots crawled out from under her skin while I watched her body fail, dry coughs and runny noses slowly suffocating her as I ran a bony finger against her nauseatingly hot forehead.
           I knew she was asleep by the time I kissed her forehead, setting her back down in the cradle, her ribcage exposed with multiple cracks spiralling across her sternum. She slept peacefully, her chest barely rising and falling as blood leaked from her body. How messy she was, as I found she had left some on my hands as well.
           I hope she wakes up soon.

I could feel my body convulse as I sucked in a sharp breath of air, every inch of it assaulted and stung with razor-like licks of air blowing over me. I sat up slowly, my eyes drifting to the woman that lay beside me. She’s been asleep for two days now. Our baby stopped crying, the flowers stopped blooming, the buzzing of the insects was no more as static from a lonely tv all but deafened the silence. She stopped speaking to me. Our bed was drenched in my sorrow, as her body refused to wake from the excrement she silently insisted she lay upon. It smelled disgusting, but in a way, she remained beautiful still. 
           I remember standing up, the concrete feeling like daggers slicing at now delicately soft feet as I shuffled through the cluttered room. I don’t think I ever remembered the house being this messy. I don’t ever remember these boxes, these cans, laying there over the floors. I don’t even remember eating during that time, my ribs pressed against my skin painfully as my stomach near pleaded for something, anything, to keep my dying body alive. I knew I could not ignore this pain any longer.
           I found myself inside of the nursery, staring down at the infantless crib. Where did we go?
           “August,” I heard a soft voice behind me, her figure in the doorway. Tears filled my eyes, emotions I once thought empty swelling to the surface of my flushed cheeks. It was her. There she was. She was going to hurt me.
           “April,” I spoke softly, my throat aching as the saliva in my mouth began to rejuvenate my sandpaper tongue. Oh, how happy I was to see her! But how afraid I was, of her punishment. “How did you sleep, my love?”
“August,” She approached, her sunken eyes narrowed as a greyed, clammy

εʹ
Uncomfortability

I could feel my body convulse as I sucked in a sharp breath of air, every inch of it assaulted and stung with razor-like licks of air blowing over me. I sat up slowly, my eyes drifting to the woman that lay beside me. She’s been asleep for two days now. Our baby stopped crying, the flowers stopped blooming, the buzzing of the insects was no more as static from a lonely tv all but deafened the silence. She stopped speaking to me. Our bed was drenched in my sorrow, as her body refused to wake from the excrement she silently insisted she lay upon. It smelled disgusting, but in a way, she remained beautiful still. 
           I remember standing up, the concrete feeling like daggers slicing at now delicately soft feet as I shuffled through the cluttered room. I don’t think I ever remembered the house being this messy. I don’t ever remember these boxes, these cans, laying there over the floors. I don’t even remember eating during that time, my ribs pressed against my skin painfully as my stomach near pleaded for something, anything, to keep my dying body alive. I knew I could not ignore this pain any longer.
           I found myself inside of the nursery, staring down at the infantless crib. Where did we go?
           “August,” I heard a soft voice behind me, her figure in the doorway. Tears filled my eyes, emotions I once thought empty swelling to the surface of my flushed cheeks. It was her. There she was. She was going to hurt me.
           “April,” I spoke softly, my throat aching as the saliva in my mouth began to rejuvenate my sandpaper tongue. Oh, how happy I was to see her! But how afraid I was, of her punishment. “How did you sleep, my love?”
“August,” She approached, her sunken eyes narrowed as a greyed, clammy

hand moved to cup my face. I tensed. “What are you doing here?”
           “I was just—” my lungs swelled, rigid hands slowly moving to wipe the bloody foam from her nose, “I was checking up on us, that’s all.”
           “Come back to bed,” She beckoned, suddenly back in the doorway. “Come rest with me.”
           My smile faded. I could feel my mouth going dry as I approached the door, her maggots crawling onto my body as she took my hand in hers. My skin grew mottled as she slowly guided me back to her bedroom, fingers numb and joints exposed. My stomach began to bloat with carbon and my mouth began to leak bile, tears of what I convinced myself to be happiness blinding me as I was painfully dragged. I stood alone in agony before, but she was finally making it better, just as she had done all those years ago. She promised she’d make me better, right? But for some reason, I longed for that warmth in my body once again.

ϛʹ
Amnesia

I’m trying to remember everything I forgot.
           I don’t know how I got here, believe me, I really don’t. But by god, please let me remember anything but her. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to ever hear her voice again. But I can still feel her arms around me, the nauseating odour of rotting flesh barely even hanging onto muscle and tendon leaving my body paralysed. How did we end up here?
           I remained before a large nursery before looming aloe leaves outstretched towards the sky. They were yellowed, void of the girth of healing they once used to provide. Blue roses flowered at the base, colours intertwining into vines of love, loss, and damnation. Blue roses. I have memories of loving the colour blue. I have memories watering these plants, digging up graves of growth and allowing seeds one last burial. I remember.
           The smell of life all but burned my lungs, my chest expanding as my mouth remained agape, desperately gulping for air. Everything was earthy. For a moment, I felt as if I was a part of it, as well. Looking down at my hands, I saw vines growing from nailbeds, my palms pink with arteries pumping red blood in a pulse so dizzying it almost felt real.
           My fingers twitched, my ribcage creaking as I pressed myself against the cold wall. I could feel my body jolt. I was alive.
           “August,” Her stern voice was behind me, “You should be in bed.”
           “I’m sorry, April,” My face grew numb, my shoulder aching as she rested a contorted hand on it. “You’re right, I should go back to bed.”
           I could feel her bloody lips on mine, palms forcing me against the wall as her teeth sunk into now rotting gums. Everything felt nauseatingly fuzzy.