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Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
This time he doesn’t reach the basement, even though the notes of Six’s music box rise faintly up the stairway. Mono’s throat closes up at the sound, his fists curling in on themselves naturally. The emotion choking him is foreign and Mono does not try to understand it.
He uses a box of spare parts and animal skins to reach the attic and finds the key. The fear The Hunter instills in him is stale by now, but he still runs through the tall grass and ducks down the embankment. Mono never trips anymore; he knows every pebble and root and blade of grass. His knees remain free of blood and grit. His coat isn’t as muddy this time.
He makes it to the broken down bridge before realizing his mistake. The Hunter shoots him in the back and, buckshot melting his skin with its heat and trajectory, Mono allows himself to squeeze out exactly one tear of frustration before he falls face first into the approaching darkness.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
He’s so tired. Fatigue sinks into his skin, erodes his bones, sucks away his marrow. He is nothing but a husk, a puppet to the static. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s died. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s grown into The Thin Man.
At least Six didn’t drop him this last time.
The need to rest chokes him as he enters The Hunter’s home. It trails after him, weighing down his feet, pushing against him like a strong wind. Mono just wants to sleep. It will do him no good.
He breaks into Six’s room. She looks up at him. Mono removes his mask. She stares, pauses, lunges.
Her hands are so small and so very strong around Mono’s throat. Her teeth glint in the low evening light. The music box stutters to a stop in time with Mono’s heart. He dies hoping this time he won’t open his eyes again.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
The betrayal isn’t as potent now, but Mono still refuses to give Six his hand this time. He doesn’t get close enough for her to push past him; instead he simply sidesteps her as she comes barrelling out of the basement where she’s (always, always) locked up. He knows they’ll meet again under the attic.
He’s not sure what he has to change to get out of here, but it’s obvious he’s missing something. (He’s always missing something. Mono is not the monster with eyes everywhere. He doesn’t know where to look.)
Six catches him when he jumps the bridge. Her strength is disproportionate to her body, but Mono lets it go (like always). This time, when The Hunter catches up to them, Six is the one to pull the trigger. It does nothing to ease the pit in Mono’s stomach. They find the shore. They cross the water. Above their heads, The Pale City bends towards Mono’s (wishful) final resting place.
He wonders if Six remembers anything. It closes his throat again. His limbs turn to stone, his heartbeat slow in his own ears. The paper of his bag is sometimes hard to breathe through.
Let’s go.
Mono wants to tell Six he can’t move. He’s grown roots, and they want to pull him down into the water, seeking to drown him.
She holds out her hand. Her eyes are bright pinpricks behind her shaggy hair. They are the last sight Mono ever sees (always).
Mono takes her hand.
He tries to lead them around the school this time; if Mono never lets anything happen to Six, if she’s never taken from his side, she won’t have a reason to doubt him, will she?
But the only way out is through. And even then, they don’t always survive.
Mono feels The Teacher’s jaws close around him, crushing his ribs, compacting his spine. Six’s head bounces sickeningly off of the wood floor as The Bullies surround her, laughing. Before his eyes pop out of his skull, they lock with Six’s; she bares her teeth and fights against grasping hands harder than before. Her fingers scratch and claw at the air, reaching for him. Weak and dying, Mono is helpless to do anything but reach back with broken bones and missing nails.
Static floods him again.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
He can’t keep her safe. The Doctor kills them. The Patients kill them. The Viewers kill them. She can’t keep him safe. He wonders if she really wants to. He knows he wouldn’t, if he were in her place.
Next time The Thin Man reaches for them and they run, Mono pushes her in front of himself. They turn the corner, hustle down the hallway, skid into the child’s bedroom. Her yellow coattails whip against her knees as she runs. The bag slips low over his eyes.
Mono shoves her under the bed; there’s no time to wince at the resounding thud of her body making contact with the bedframe, no time for apologies. The Thin Man (always) comes through the doorway, the air warping and shifting around him. Mono is out of time.
Six makes a muffled sound of protest as he turns and faces the monster. He’s already dying; the static is converging, the light blinding his eyes (so soon). It tells him there is no use to his actions, that the loops will continue and continue and continue. The paradox remains unbroken. It sets his teeth on edge.
Mono charges, fists swinging.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
He wonders from time to time if Six can remember anything from the other loops. Sometimes she looks at Mono strangely when she catches his hand after a long jump. This time, after he died to The Thin Man for the first loop in a very long time, after he sacrificed himself for her, Six acts very strange.
Strange for Six, anyway.
She doesn’t let Mono go first when they reach the school, or the hospital. She crawls after him through vents and windows instead of waiting for him to come back.
It gets worrying when they switch places when The Bullies come. Mono is overwhelmed, struggling and kicking much more ineffectually than Six ever does, before he is dragged away. Six shouts wordlessly from inside the locker, banging her fists against the metal; he sees her shift underneath, her bright gaze locking on him before his bag twists and he can’t see anything but paper. He doesn’t have the heart to scream.
She takes longer to find him than Mono usually does to find her; but then, her hands are bloodied and scraped when she does come to untie him from the trap The Bullies (always) set up. Mono doesn’t think she ever uses tools to kill.
They forge ever onwards.
The Patients, for however much larger they all are than Mono and Six, fall beneath her will like dominos. She snarls when The Doctor crawls into the furnace after Mono, holds her hand out and pulls him from the ashes when he clambers out. Six is the one to pull the switch. She doesn’t take the time to warm her hands on the fire. Her fingers are slick and wet and red when they entwine with his.
They huddle close at night like they always have, but now Six pushes her shoulder up against his instead of shying away from touch. Her coat and his are damp, but she radiates more heat than Mono usually does. The drone of distant televisions lulls them both to sleep, and, in the morning, she is the first to stand. She offers Mono her hand.
He’s not sure what has changed. Mono takes it.
He slips on loose roofing shingles hours later and breaks his neck in the fall. Six screams after him the entire way down.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
He does everything right this time. He shatters every television screen, fights every monster, flips every switch. Beside him, Six shifts on her feet as if she’s uncomfortable. Mono goes through The Pale City mechanically, clinically, silently. She takes his hand every time he’s still. His fingers are limp in hers now.
Stop. She tells him one night, holed up in a dirty old apartment. Mono’d had to run back and forth for hours, switching screens on and off, before The Viewer inside fell out the open kitchen window. His muscles scream but his mind has set to faint, animal whimpers. He feels like death, but then, death is an old friend. Six shakes his hand in hers, jerking his arm and shoulder until Mono looks at her. Her eyes are dark and bright at the same time, wide and unblinking. He thinks she may have blood smeared across her mouth, but it’s too dark in here to tell. Stop. Rest.
Mono shakes his head. He has tried to stop. Nothing changes. Six huffs and Mono almost smiles in response; her temper is always so close to the surface. Impatiently, Six pulls at his hands and pushes at his shoulders until she has situated Mono on the dilapidated old couch. She stands in front of him, arranging his legs on the cushions and his hands in his lap, and does not acknowledge the broken glass spread out under her feet. The television behind her is a dark, useless void. Six nods and flaps her hands at Mono when she’s finished. Stop, she tells him. Rest.
They get up early the next morning and continue on. Mono doesn’t think Six really needs to sleep. She is always awake before him in the morning and stays up much later into the night. She takes his hand as they claw their way slowly through The Pale City. She tests their footing every so often, and Mono wonders, wonders, wonders.
They find a rooftop garden this time. Six’s head jerks towards him as Mono gasps under his breath. She keeps her distance as he jumps into the plants, rooting through the dirt. The fronds and leaves are rough and discolored, but they almost pulse against Mono’s fingers, filled with life like nothing else in this place is. Again, he chokes on emotions he doesn’t want to examine. Six tilts her head curiously when Mono returns to her and holds up a small, dingy, old pot. The sprout nestled in the soil inside is very young, and very, very fragile.
I like plants. He tells her. Out of the corner of his eye, Six starts. He guesses it’s because she’s not used to him communicating with her. He forgets his words so much these days. It’s just easier to keep them bottled up inside. They won’t change anything anyway.
When he goes to set the potted plant down again, though, Six stops him. Carry it with us for a while. Just a little while.
He does. It almost helps.
The Thin Man comes for Six (always). He reaches through the screen, grasping at air and swiping across the dirty floorboards as she falls back in alarm. This time, though, Mono hurls himself towards her rather than running away. He can’t take this, can’t take her being tortured and warped and broken and him finding her and hurting them both even more and Six (always, always, always) dropping him in the end. The Thin Man’s hands crush the breath from his lungs, toppling Mono’s mask from his head as he pulls Mono back through the screen. Before the static fills him again, Mono sees two tiny fists slam against the glass, and smiles without quite knowing why.
~
Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Glass tinkles like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.
Mono sets off towards his fate.
Six is waiting for him when he bursts through her door this time. Her music box is silent. She steps up to him and holds out her hand. Mono takes it.
This time, I'll catch you, Six tells Mono. I’ll catch you.
And she does.