Rollerskater: Endings


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The illustration for this instalment was drawn by Igzell Vázquez, © 2020. It is reproduced here by kind permission. All rights reserved.


and time was reborn

and space was reborn

and being was reborn

and life was reborn

and consciousness was reborn

and humanity was reborn in

another

time

another

place

*

The sun was rising.

A man groggily opened the curtains. He’d had a very restless sleep – dreams of demons and death. The old water-tower full of blood, the blood of men and women and children all mixed together and dark and black and evil. An awful nightmare.

He opened the windows to a sunny, late-spring day, the birds tweeting as they always did from the silver birch in his garden. The old water-tower was visible from his window, silent as anything. (Though he could have sworn it hadn’t had that big hole in the side last night. Wasn’t that thing supposed to be bloody Grade II listed? He had a mind to ring up the council.)

The funny thing was that the dream had been so frighteningly real, and yet here was a mundane scene: the owner of the local newsagent lowered the awning with a hook on a long pole, the milkman and the postman (they were, indeed, both men – it was a small village and rather traditional at that, thank you very much) were doing their rounds.

As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. The world kept turning.

He was quite unaware of just how lucky he was, and that, in itself, was fortunate.

*

The feeling of cold stone digging into his back. (Not an ideal mattress.)

Socks sat up, the tower now empty and derelict.

For a moment he tried to use his left arm to prop himself up, but realised that the arm was not numb because he had slept on it in a strange position, but because the arm was not there.

He got to his feet. He was still dressed in the strange clothes he had been given in the Notherethere. Sunlight was streaming in through a hole in the wall.

“You’re awake,” a voice said, across the room.

Socks turned and looked.

She stood statuesque, as though she had always been there, since the beginning of time (and, Socks thought, that was almost certainly because she had). Her change in appearance was permanent; gone now were the twin ponytails, bolero jacket and plaid skirt, each replaced in turn by a diagonal colour-block pink and blue vest-top and simple grey tube-skirt. The white skates were now gold.

“K-Os,” he said, quietly.

“Socks,” K-Os replied. She smiled slightly. “That’s still a stupid name.”

Socks hung his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was my fault.”

“You’re human,” K-Os said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since that Christmas party, it’s that I greatly underestimated humanity.”

“He killed you because I hesitated. Because I didn’t believe in you.”

“No,” K-Os said. “He killed me because I let myself believe I could do this on my own. I couldn’t have done this without you, Socks. Not in a million years.”

She skated over to the hole in the wall, and Socks followed.

The sun was rising over the countryside. A dawn chorus of birds sang on the cool spring air.

“What now?” Socks asked. “Are there other umbric users out there?”

“No,” K-Os replied. “Umbric no longer exists. When Chesterton died, he didn’t just die. He took Umbric with him.”

“So…all that stuff about umbric…”

“Gone,” K-Os replied, succinctly.

“What about the Product?” Socks said. “Chesterton destroyed it, didn’t he?”

Chesterton didn’t destroy it,” K-Os said, pointedly. “Umbric did.”

Socks didn’t understand.

She elected not to elaborate. “I no longer need the Product,” K-Os said, tilting her ankles to show off the golden skates. “I find that the Jerusalem Skates maintain my form quite nicely, don’t you?”

“But didn’t Chesterton put them on you to limit your power?”

Umbric did,” K-Os replied. “But I’ve come to rather like them. I wouldn’t take them off for the world.”

“They have become your signature,” Socks replied.

K-Os smiled.

“Thank you, Socks,” she said. “For everything.”

“Any time, any place, any universe,” Socks said.

The air was fresh and cool. All was well.

Socks surveyed the ground below and his eyes caught a glimpse of some movement.

“Oh my God,” he said. “K-Os, look!”

Laying on the grass below were three figures, stirring from their sleep.

*

They were a tangle of limbs and bodies, wrapped around each other in a small pile of three.

“Gerroff me,” said the bottom-most person in the pile, heaving the other two off of her. She stood up, dressed in riding leathers, her cream-coloured leather jacket soiled with grass stains, which she was unbothered by, since she could not see them.

“Wakey wakey!” the girl in the riding leathers said.

The other two rose. They got to their feet unsteadily, like newborn foals, and looked down at their hands.

“We…we’re alive,” said the girl in the yellow sundress, whose hem was patterned with liquorice-allsort decorations. She looked at her companion. “Oh my God…Daisy…your eyes!”

Dolly bent down and picked up a small compact mirror that had been dropped on the wet grass, wiping it off with her hand. Daisy took it from her, opened it and examined her reflection.

Her eyes shone pearlescent. She smiled widely.

“My powers…” she said. “Your powers…”

The other girl reached into her handbag and pulled out a sherbet fountain, pointing it at the sky. It went off like a firework in her hand, launching a flare high into the morning air.

She looked down at the empty container and laughed.

Chelsea reached out her arms for her bike. At her touch, it burst into life, and she felt its engine vibrating.

She bowed her head in relief and allowed a couple of tears to drop on to the bike, whispering: “Thank you.”

She spun around, sitting against the bike, and turned to the other two.

“Right,” she said, grinning. “How about that sushi?”

The girl in the yellow dress ran over and threw her arms around her.

“Never change, Chelsea,” she said.

Chelsea hesitantly reciprocated.

“Back at you, Dolores,” she said.

Dolly pulled away from her and looked at her.

“You never call me that,” she said.

Chelsea cleared her throat.

“Well, we just escaped the death of the universe. Just thought I’d make a formal reintroduction.”

There came the sound of wet footsteps on the dew-covered grass, running towards them, and a man’s voice, calling them:

“Dolly! Daisy! Chelsea!”

Dolly and Daisy turned to see who it was.

Socks, dressed quite differently to the last time they’d seen him, much to their confusion.

“God, am I glad to see you,” he said.

Daisy looked at his left arm in shock.

“What happ—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Socks said.

Daisy nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said. They were the first kind words she had said to Socks in a long time.

Dolly looked behind him to see K-Os gliding across the grass as though it were polished linoleum.

“Hello,” K-Os said.

Dolly avoided her gaze.

“You won, I see,” she said.

“I did,” K-Os said.

Daisy looked at her and then looked away.

Socks scratched the side of his head.

“Daisy,” he said. “I really am sorry you became part of all this.”

Daisy looked down at the ground, then up at him.

“I’m not ready to forgive you just yet,” she said. “But thanks for having our backs.”

“Where’s Chesterton?” Dolly said. “Did he—”

“Dead,” K-Os replied. “Dead.”

Dolly was stunned by the directness of the reply.

“But we thought he’d…there was this darkness, and…I can’t really remember anything after that…”

“Gone,” K-Os said. “Nothing left now. Not even atoms…”

“I see,” Dolly replied. “And the umbric users…”

“Umbric has ceased to exist.”

There was a pause.

What?” Dolly said, breathlessly.

“It never existed,” K-Os replied.

They could tell by the seriousness in her eyes that she was for real.

“Oh my God…” Dolly said, half jubilant, half terrified – as one would be in the presence of a being that  had recreated the entire universe in its image.

“Wait,” Daisy said, her eyes widening. “If umbric no longer exists, then does that mean…”

K-Os looked at her sadly.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “They’re still dead.”

“I see,” Daisy said, bowing her head.

“I’m sorry, Daisy,” K-Os said.

“One day I’ll forgive you,” Daisy replied. “But not today.”

Down the field by the gate, a council van pulled up and a large man in a hi-vis yellow jacket jumped out.

“Oi, you lot!” he shouted. “Did you damage the water-tower? That’s a Grade II listed building, you ‘ooligans!”

“Hold my hand,” K-Os said, to the others.

“What?” Dolly said.

“Just do it.”

Socks held K-Os’s hand, Daisy held Dolly’s, and Dolly held K-Os’s other hand.

There was a flash of golden light, and they disappeared, leaving the very confused council worker staring at a trail of dried grass that seemed to disappear off into the distance, which had not been there before.

*

The pub was empty.

A man stood behind the bar, idly cleaning it as he stared out of the window. It had chosen its locale this time to be a quiet neighbourhood up near Finchley. Not much in the way of customers. Not any more. He’d have to find a new clientele to cater to.

In the mid-morning light, he saw a wobbly, indistinct figure appear in the leaded windows, open the door and enter the pub. A young girl with black skin, wearing Doctor Martens shoes with white frilled socks, and a dress patterned like the Tube map.

She walked towards the bar.

“Don’t I know you?” the man asked, in an Irish accent. He was wearing thick-framed spectacles and a shirt printed with the cover of Black Sabbath’s album Paranoid.

“Harriet-Rebecca West,” the girl said. “But you can call me Harri-Bec. The Spirit of London Transport.” She rubbed her thumb and forefingers together on her right hand and manifested a small business card – something she had not been able to do last time – and handed it to him.

“I remember you,” the man said, with a yellowed grin. “We don’t get nearly’s many people as we used to. Not since…well, y’know. Ye’re the first person I’ve seen in ages.”

“I’m sorry,” Harri-Bec said. “It took me a while to find you after things settled down.”

“Ah, I’m used to’t. Got a pub to look after, so I do.”

Harri-Bec smiled.

“How much would a glass of rosé be?”

“Oh, it’s on the house. I could use the company.”

She sat on a stool by the bar and he poured her a glass.

“You’ve found yourself in quite an interesting place,” Harri-Bec said, resting her elbow on the bar, and her chin on her hand. “You’re not far from Dollis Brook Viaduct. It’s the highest point on the London Underground.”

“Really?” the barman chuckled. “That’s quite interesting.”

“Oh, I could tell you lots of things. Get me started and I’ll talk for hours.”

“Well, I have time.”

Harri-Bec blinked. “Really?” she said. “You won’t tell me to be quiet or change the subject?”

“I’m a good list’ner.”

Harri-Bec smiled softly. “Thank you, Padraig.”

He frowned facetiously. “I’ve told ye once, I’ve told ye a t’ousand times,” he said. “My name’s Paddy.”

There came a scratching at the front door and it came open.

“Oh,” Harri-Bec said. “By the way – this is my pet. His name is Timothy. You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?”

For once, someone did not react to Timothy with horror or disgust. Paddy let him sit and eat bar nuts (nobody else was eating them, after all).

And Harri-Bec talked for hours.

Outside, the spring sun shone all day over London, that immortal patchwork city, the city that had survived the destruction and resurrection of a universe, now returned to its rightful place.

All was right with the world.

*

The level ground of the Notherethere stretched away into eternity around him, a solitary pillar standing in place.

The cat was purring around his shoulders.

Magpie smiled, scratching under the cat’s chin.

“We did a good thing, didn’t we, Schrödinger?” he said.

The cat did not respond.

Magpie chuckled to himself, a private joke.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have much to say, would you?”

The cat yawned and stretched in that strange way cats do, that makes it appear that they are silently shouting.

“I hope she’ll be alright,” he said, ostensibly to the cat, but largely to himself. He looked out into the middle distance. “Him too.”

He took a step forward, and then another, and decided to wander until he no longer felt like it. And there was no telling how long that would be.

*

Arthur Fenwick woke up in bed, as he always had, next to his husband, Reggie. He didn’t feel very rested. He put his feet into his slippers, walking to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea, Earl Grey, sweetened with local honey. The sun outside was shining.

He had the grogginess of being well-invested in a vivid dream, the specific details and objectives of which become elusive on waking. Certain images and vague, abstract concepts came to him, but he could not remember what the dream had been about. He yawned, shuffling to the cupboard to get out some bread and make some toast.

There was an old copy of the Guardian sitting on the counter, open to the travel pages. He popped the bread into the toaster.

He went to take the newspaper to the recycling bin, when he noticed an article that had been circled by Reggie.

Things to do and see in Manhattan this summer

He smiled, struck by a strange sense of familiarity. He had always wanted to visit New York City. He had a sense that he had dreamed of a city like New York, but quite different. And he had met various characters there, characters whose names and exact likenesses he could not recall. In fact, he only remembered one person in any sort of detail – a young woman wearing golden rollerskates.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he removed the teabag from the tea and stirred in the honey. The toast popped up and he spread it with marmalade.

The sound of footsteps down the stairs signified Reggie had got up.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, as handsome now as he had been when they were younger.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Arthur said.

Reggie blinked a couple of times in surprise.

“Which language was that?” he said.

Arthur blinked as well, and realised that he had answered Reggie in…

“Er…Dutch, I think,” he said, awkwardly, in English this time.

“Have you been taking classes?” Reggie said. “Oh, I would love to see Amsterdam. Let’s go there soon.”

Arthur scratched at his beard. He couldn’t remember learning Dutch.

“I was thinking New York City,” Arthur said.

“Well, whatever suits you,” Reggie said, getting a bowl and pouring out around a cup and a half of porridge oats, before grabbing a saucepan and heating a cup of milk, just as he did most mornings, yet the action seemed strange to Arthur now, alien. He felt he had lived an entirely other life in that sleep from which he had awoken, as though he had but ten minutes ago come into existence.

Reggie stepped across the kitchen, not as nimbly as he once had – God, they were getting old – but with intentionality, and kissed Arthur the same way he always had, and life was good again.

“Do you have anything to do today?” Reggie asked.

“I have a few errands to run,” Arthur said, checking his watch for the time.

He stopped.

Strange.

He could have sworn that it was Sunday, May 19th, but the watch gave the day as Sunday, May 26th. He thought, perhaps, that he was mistaken, taking his toast into the dining room, switching on the radio as he did.

“…BBC News at eight-thirty, I’m Nadine Brewer. There’s been widespread confusion this morning, as clocks around the world all appear to have missed a week. Technology firms are baffled by the sudden change, which does not seem to have seriously affected most computer systems. It is being blamed on an as-yet undiscovered computer bug…”

Arthur nearly dropped his breakfast.

“Something the matter?” Reggie said.

“Did you hear that?” Arthur asked, holding up his watch. “My watch is wrong.”

Reggie looked at it, and then examined the date and time given on the radio’s clock.

“The clock is wrong on this as well. It’s not one of those radio watches, is it? I dare say there’s been a glitch somewhere, you know how computers are.”

“No, Reggie,” Arthur said, frustrated. “I have to manually set this watch.”

There was a long pause. They both looked at each other in disbelief.

What?” Reggie said, incredulously.

“Reggie,” Arthur said. “I think…”

Arthur paused. He could remember something…something…just out of reach…

“What, Arthur? What?”

“I think…” Arthur said, his eyes wide with shock as the words left his mouth. “…I think everyone on Earth just lost a week of their life…”

*

Did you really think that nobody would notice?

    The Westway collapsed.

It was all over the news.

Six people died.

And one day in May they woke up safe and sound in their beds. Like they never died.

    And that village in the southeast, where everyone reported the same nightmare, the same screams of terror and anguish as they were slaughtered like cattle for their lifeblood.

    And that little boy whose parents died, who woke up one morning to find that they were still alive.

    All taking place in the week immediately following the week that never was.

And then there were the two you couldn’t save.

The virtuoso and the harlequin.

The two who died in your name, Rollerskater.

    You thought that nobody would notice, Rollerskater?

    You thought that we couldn’t see you all this time?

    The drums are beating, Rollerskater.

Are you listening?

*

Daisy was already in the lecture theatre when Socks got there.

The rest of the summer had passed without much incident. His parents had not been shocked by his missing arm – after all, in this reborn universe, his arm had simply never existed. And he had quickly adapted to the missing arm. He now wore a prosthesis, which he kept diligently clean. He had someone to act as his note-taker in class, and a scribe to dictate his essays to, as typing was difficult for him.

The missing week had come to be known as the Episode. It had caused at least a month of panic, emergency meetings and the like, but as soon as the news cycle had found some new thing to panic about, the incident had been forgotten. Humanity was remarkably able to deceive itself about strangeness, Socks thought, which was just as well, for he had recently learned that the world was far stranger than he had ever imagined.

But, for the most part, life had returned to normal.

At least, as normal as it could be after meeting someone like K-Os.

It was autumn now, autumn in the longest and strangest year of Socks’s life. He was no longer the person he had been last year, when he had asked K-Os to go to Gina’s party. If he had been told at this time last year that K-Os would be one of his best friends, he wouldn’t have believed it for a moment. Yet here he was.

Daisy was sitting with two other people, and it took Socks a few seconds to recognise who they were.

He went up the stairs to greet them.

“Hello, Socks,” Daisy said. She had had her hair cut over the summer, and she now wore it in a short, curly blonde bob.

“Hi,” Socks replied.

The other two smiled.

“Nice to see you again, Socks,” Dolly said. She was dressed in a turquoise pinafore, though she kept the straw sunhat.

“Oi oi, Tilburys,” Chelsea said. She was wearing a new, red leather jacket with white stripes and a pair of black skinny jeans. On her chest was a white T-shirt, on which had been printed the words “UPPITY LITTLE TART” in bright red sans-serif letters.

Socks looked at them all for a few moments.

“Nobody’s going to…okay, why are you both here?”

Daisy smiled.

“Socks, meet my new flatmates.”

Socks blinked.

“Flatmates?!”

“Nice little place in the village,” Chelsea said.

“What about your old place?”

“It was cold,” Daisy said. “And damp. And there was also the small issue of having a magic guitar. So it made sense to end my lease.”

Socks looked at the other two. “But they don’t go here.”

“We’ll be heading out when class starts,” Chelsea said, grinning. “Keep yer socks on.”

“That was so funny that I forgot to laugh,” Socks replied.

“You seen K-Os lately?” Chelsea asked. Daisy visibly curled her lip at the name, tuning the conversation out as she returned to her laptop.

“We, er, took a break from each other,” Socks said. “That spring was a bit difficult.”

“Yeah, she’s been a bit radio-silent with everyone since May,” Chelsea said. “Reckon she’s trying to stay out of view, with all this Episode stuff going on.”

“Do you think she’s going to come back to uni?” Socks wondered aloud.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Dolly asked.

Socks turned. At the front of the room was K-Os, dressed exactly the same way as she had been the last time he saw her.

“K-Os!” he exclaimed.

K-Os looked up at him, and Socks ran down to meet her.

“How have you been?” Socks asked.

“I’m well,” K-Os replied. “I had a quiet and reflective summer. I stayed out of trouble. I hope you did the same.”

“Yeah,” Socks said. “I just relaxed and played video games.”

K-Os smiled. “Very human,” she said.

Socks looked away from her for a moment, then back at her.

He hadn’t seen her for months, and the reminder that she was indeed not human served as a warning. His life would never again be normal, and he could never return home. There was a Socks from before that Christmas party, and there was a Socks from after it, born in fire on the night of the shadows, and never again would the twain meet.

He cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something, K-Os?”

“What’s that?”

“Why are you still here?”

K-Os seemed surprised by the bluntness of the question.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were here because of the Grey Man, right? Now he’s dead, you have no reason to be here.”

K-Os looked down and smiled slightly.

“That was the plan,” she said. “Until I met you.”

Socks’s eyes widened.

“You’re my best friend,” K-Os said. “I’m not leaving my best friend.”

Socks smiled. “Thanks, K-Os.”

He turned and looked back up the stairway at the others, and K-Os followed his line of sight.

Without saying anything, Socks went up the stairs to meet them, and K-Os followed.

“‘Ello, K-Os,” Chelsea said, nonchalantly. She had been there at the end of time, been to another universe, brought together the Jerusalem Sword and resurrected K-Os, and yet she said it as though she were meeting an old friend in the pub.

“How did you know it was me?” K-Os asked.

“You make wheel sounds every time you take a step,” Chelsea replies. “Also, it helps that they’re fuck-off gold – I’d see you coming a mile off, and considering my visual range only extends about a metre, that’s saying something.”

“I have missed you, Chelsea.”

“That’s not like you,” Chelsea said, grinning.

“Don’t push your luck,” K-Os replied.

Both Daisy and Dolly avoided looking at her. K-Os made no attempt to converse with them.

“It’s strange,” Socks said, to break the silence. “A year ago, the only person here that I knew was Daisy.”

Daisy said nothing.

“You know,” Chelsea said, “I really hope things don’t get boring from now on.”

“What do you mean?” K-Os said.

“Well, now the Grey Man’s dead, the universe doesn’t need protecting any more. So there’s no-one left to fight, right?”

There was a long and awkward pause.

“Well—” Socks said.

There was a loud clatter from the front of the lecture hall, followed by a series of screams. The door had been kicked in, and through it was surging a series of heavily-armoured soldiers, all wearing helmets and holding personal defense weapons.

NOBODY MOVE!” roared one of the soldiers.

Students cowered, covering their heads and ducking behind seats as the soldiers scanned the room with their weapons, looking for their target.

The skylights above them were wrenched or smashed open and soldiers rapelled in from the ceiling, training their weapons on the five gathered in a group near the top of the staircase.

“You just had to say it, didn’t you?” Dolly said, to Chelsea, who simply smiled awkwardly.

ON YOUR FEET! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!” a woman barked, jabbing her gun at the five, all of whom quickly stood, putting their hands up.

A soldier who was not wearing a helmet but rather a mauve beret – evidently a senior officer – was among the last to rapel down, and he swiftly approached them. A patch was affixed to the chest of his black armoured jacket, which read, in plain, white, sans-serif lettering:

SAID-MI5

He cleared his throat and began to speak:

“Katherine Osborne, Stephen Oxford?” he asked. He was frighteningly soft-spoken, a marked contrast to the men and women around him barking orders and pointing guns at a room of terrified twenty-somethings.

K-Os looked at Socks, and he at her, and then back at the soldier.

“Are those your names?” the officer asked, softly but firmly.

“Yes,” K-Os said, after what seemed like some deliberation. “And who are you?”

The soldier ignored her question. “I am required by law to notify you that you and your immediate associates are, from now, subject to indefinite detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”

“Wait,” Daisy said. “Indefinite detention? You’re arresting us?”

“For the purposes of national security, we have been instructed, in accordance with the Anomalous Persons Directive, Section Five One Zero Alpha, to immediately detain any and all persons determined to be ‘anomalous’ as defined under the Anomalous Persons Directive, Section Two One Zero Four Delta.”

“Figures that we’d be taken in by bureaucrats, of all things,” Chelsea said, sneering.

The soldier continued. “As anomalous persons, you no longer have the right to counsel, nor do you have the right to trial by jury.”

The man was deathly serious, this Socks could see. His face was so strangely smooth that it was increasingly apparent that this was a man who had never once smiled his entire life – his face was creaseless and stoic, like a marble statue.

K-Os stepped forwards, holding her arms out.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll come quietly.”

“K-Os!” Dolly exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

Socks looked at her in disbelief. After all they had done, K-Os was, surely, surrendering.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the senior officer said.

“I’m not giving up that easily,” Chelsea said. “You’ll never take me al—”

“Chelsea,” K-Os said, sternly. She looked at the others. “And the rest of you. Do as they say.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Daisy shouted, as soldiers came closer, ready to cuff them all.

“Trust me,” K-Os said.

“What is she—” Dolly said.

Socks looked at her.

K-Os wasn’t the type who didn’t have a plan, and when she really didn’t have a plan, she had proven herself quite adept at improvising. She had killed a false god and restored balance to the universe, and he was damned if he was going to believe she didn’t have something planned now.

But then she looked at him, and there was something in that look that seemed to tell him that there was no plan. It terrified him.

Her hands were placed into plastic ties. She made no effort to escape.

“That was easier than expected,” said one of the soldiers, lowering her weapon.

A soldier walked up to Socks and, noticing his prosthesis, cuffed his working arm to his trousers by the belt-loop using a plastic tie.

Dolly and Daisy, after some momentary hesitation, similarly surrendered. Only Chelsea had to be physically restrained, kicking and screaming and biting.

“Let’s take them away,” the senior officer said, turning to the other students. “Thank you for your cooperation. Do not speak a word of what you’ve seen in here today.”

Students crawled from under seats and desks, trying to resume normality.

The senior officer nodded, and gave the signal to lead the five captives down the staircase and out of the lecture hall.

Socks felt sick and numb. They had achieved so much, they had done so much for these people, and their reward was this – false imprisonment.

He looked out at the lecture hall, at the faces of the normals, the students who knew nothing of K-Os’s strange world.

He had been expecting to see looks of pity or confusion. But what he saw, instead, were looks of nausea and disgust. This puzzled him for a few moments, until the air became thick with a revolting miasma.

It smelled like rotting flesh, like a carcass left baking in the sun for days. Immediately the soldier who had been leading him away turned away from the stench, retching violently.

“What the hell is that smell?!” one of the soldiers cried, covering her nose.

“Look!” shouted another.

In the middle of the lecture hall, seemingly from nowhere, a large flower had sprouted out of one of the chairs.

“Large,” in this case, was an understatement – it measured about a metre across. Students were recoiling away from it, near-stampeding towards the outer walls to get away from the foul smell.

It was bright red, the colour of bloody open flesh, with a large hole in its centre.

“Where the hell did that come from?” shouted the senior officer, coughing.

Socks saw a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned momentarily to see it.

A long, green, sword-shaped leaf was growing out of a grate in the floor.

In a swift motion, it whipped forwards, cutting K-Os free of her bonds.

“All of you,” she yelled. “Run!”

“Don’t let her get away!” ordered the senior officer, but it was too late – K-Os liquefied herself and vanished down one of the ventilation grates before the soldiers could get a single shot in.

“What the hell is going on?!” Daisy said.

“Quiet!” barked a soldier. “Quickly, get them out of here!”

The soldiers tried to lead them down the stairs more quickly, only for long, leafy vines to quickly sprout from grates and holes in the walls, which whipped the guns from their hands and bound the soldiers’ limbs. The sword-shaped leaves sprouted also, removing their own bonds and freeing them.

Socks looked at the others.

“Alright, you heard her,” he said. “Run for it!”

Socks went one way, Dolly and Chelsea went another, and Daisy went yet another.

This year, clearly, had no intentions of being easy.

Socks ran out into the main squares, which had been cleared of people by the mysterious taskforce. Only one person remained. A person that, he supposed, had not been there when the soldiers had emptied the place and cordoned it off.

She stood in front of him, her eyes scrunched tightly shut in concentration, murmuring what sounded like nonsense words to herself:

“Rafflesia Yucca Kudzu Kudzu Rafflesia Kudzu Kudzu Kudzu…”

She was quite small and fae-looking, with long, wavy blonde hair. She wore a very simple white dress and was barefoot. Behind her was a trail of grass and weeds that had grown out of cracks in the paving stones where her feet had fallen.

“Hey,” Socks called. “Who are you?”

She opened her eyes, revealing them to be a strange, hypnotising pale blue. Socks stopped walking towards her, arrested by her unnerving gaze.

The girl smiled a little shyly.

“My name is Liberty,” she said. “What’s yours?”

Another time, another place…


ROLLERSKATER
ARC II

ROSE GOLD
END


Creative Commons Licence
This work is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, except the illustration, which is copyrighted in perpetuity by Igzell Vázquez, and displayed here by kind permission.


With thanks to everyone that has supported Rollerskater in the last year. Here’s to many more.


ARC TWO: ROSE GOLD
I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII

Click here for ARC THREE: NEW CULTURE