Wrong - Combined

(align:"=><=")+(box:"=XXX=")[Brought Back Wrong: An Interactive Fiction Anthology [[Play]] [[Credits]]]

The scene begins with Quinn making dinner for their partner Lily. Quinn is watching Lily as she begins to fumble in the garden. After Lily messes up, Quinn rushes over to check on her. Lily, delicate as the flower she was named after, stares at Quinn, confused and hurt. Is this the future they had planned for? [[Quinn]]

<a href="https://twitter.com/JujYFru1T"; target="_blank">JujYFru1T</a> (Quinn - anxious section) <a href="https://twitter.com/sarahbbearah"; target="_blank">Seepy/Sarah (Quinn - in-denial section)</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/azurec0ffin"; target="_blank">SJ</a> (Lily - fractured section) <a href="https://twitter.com/n0t_cameron"; target="_blank">Ren</a> (Lily - conflicted section) <a href="https://twitter.com/samloveskirby"; target="_blank">Sam (Editing and Copy Writing?)</a> (if: (visited:"End"))[[[Back->End]]]\ (else:)[[[Back->Start]]]

There's a stillness to evenings now that wasn't there before. A calm routine. Our routine. The sound of running water through the walls when you turn on the hose, the sizzling of garlic in oil as I prepare dinner. Tonight I'm making [[Stir Fry]] [[Chicken Noodle Soup]] [[Tacos]]

It's simple, reminds me of when we used to go to that Mongolian BBQ place on our lunch breaks. (set: $food to "Stir Fry")\ But it doesn't really matter what I cook, you've never been a picky eater. You definitely aren't now. I wash my hands in the sink and my gaze floats up to the window. [[I catch my reflection]] [[I look out to the backyard]]

A comfort food, full of good nutrients. Soothing. (set: $food to "Chicken Noodle Soup")\ But it doesn't really matter what I cook, you've never been a picky eater. You definitely aren't now. I wash my hands in the sink and my gaze floats up to the window. [[I catch my reflection]] [[I look out to the backyard]]

It's not Tuesday, but after a long shift sometimes it's nice to make something easy. (set: $food to "Tacos")\ But it doesn't really matter what I cook, you've never been a picky eater. You definitely aren't now. I wash my hands in the sink and my gaze floats up to the window. [[I catch my reflection]] [[I look out to the backyard]]

I catch my reflection in the window, my tired eyes looking back at me like they belong to someone else. My hair is cropped as short as I can get it, easier that way. It used to be long and I dyed it fun colors, you loved that. Maybe that was reason we started talking in the first place? "I love your hair" It sounds like something you would have said back then in the breakroom at work. But we've both changed so much. We've grown. I think about... [[My regrets]] [[The good things]]

The mist creates rainbows in the afternoon light as you water the cucumbers. I can't see your face, but you look so peaceful out there. The orange hued light reminds me of the day we first met. You were trying to help a customer find the plumbing aisle. I remember thinking the orange apron suited you. It was your color. Is it still? I think about... [[That first time you opened up to me]] [[How you used to laugh at me]]

You said that we should live more like plants and always point ourselves towards the sun. You told me death and life were just two sides of the same coin. You told me you wanted to be buried in a garden so that your body could be the spark for new life. [[I've always loved you]]

No...I should stay positive. I should try not to think about how it was all my fault. Focus on the good things. Point myself towards the sun, just like the plants you love so much. Things have been going smoothly, I feel hopeful. I have you to thank for that. [[I've always loved you]]

I'm actually quite proud of myself now. I think you would be too. I'm finally getting that "green thumb" you always bragged about. You never would have said so, but everything I touched had a tendency to die back then. Not like you, you have always been so good at taking care of things. But look at me now! Our garden is full of life. You're full of life. [[I've always loved you]]

Your laugh had this sweet patience to it, like a mother bird watching its hatchling awkwardly try to take flight. I've always been clumsy, forgetful, your little ugly duckling. I always watered the plants too much or too little. Dropped things, broke things. You were always there to set me straight. [[I've always loved you]]

Something about you drew me into your orbit and I've never been able to pull away. Even when it made you crash and burn. [[It could have been so easy]] [[Why did it have to be so hard?]]

How could I have possibly known that calling in sick one rainy Sunday could have changed everything? It could have happened to you any other time. You should have been driving slower. More careful. It's not my fault. I did what I could. What I ''had'' to do. [[Things are better this way]]

We shouldn't let regrets hang over us. We've both suffered enough. Now is our time to bloom! I know I'm close to getting it right, soon we'll have the life that should have been. We'll be happy. I just know it. [[It's what you would have wanted]]

I plate up the $food and I'm about to call out to you that dinner is ready, but I'm interrupted by your scream. (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[[AAH!]]

The sound of your scream chills my blood. The adrenaline makes my head spin. [[Whatever it is, I know I can fix it]] [[If you don't shut up the neighbors will hear]] [[STOP SCREAMING]]

Just two people who met while working at Home Depot. Maybe you could have said something like 'we should go to the movies this weekend'. I knew the way you looked at me, the way I looked at you. We both wanted that. I'm sure of it. That's not how our story turned out... [[But you don't blame me, right?]]

We could have started as work friends and slowly blossomed into something more. Maybe my hand could have brushed yours as we were arranging the petunias. We were just work friends, two random Home Depot employees who happened to share the same shift schedule. But it could have been more. It was almost more. [[But you don't blame me, right?]]

We've been through this before and we'll go through it again. I'll get it right next time, I promise. [[I drop what I'm doing and run to you]]

It's already been so difficult to keep our world hidden, there's smells and sounds and sights I don't think anyone else would understand. They can't possibly understand our love. You have to stay quiet. [[I drop what I'm doing and run to you]]

I race out into the backyard and see you crouched near the tomatoes, holding your hand to your chest and trembling. The still running hose wriggles in the grass like a dying snake, water pooling across the lawn. A shattered pot is evidence of what happened, soil spills from where it shattered on the ground and your cleanly dismemebered finger sits there perfectly as if attempting to return to the dirt from which it was grown. (link-goto:"...", "PartB")

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO NOT MAKE ANY NOISE (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[SHUT YOUR MOUTH SHUT YOUR MOUTH SHUT YOUR MOUTH SHUT YOUR MOUTH] [[I drop what I'm doing and run to you]]

I wake up late; almost noon, the bedside clock says. Your side of the bed is empty, making panic clog my throat. Quickly I get up and leave our bedroom, forcing myself not to call for you, a million thoughts racing through my mind. One thought escapes. [[It’s my fault again, all over again--]] [[You left me, you found out--]] [[After everything I accomplished you’re still… gone.]]

I was too brash, too blinded by my need for you, and now it’s come back to bite me. You’re hurt, or scared, and I need to find you and help but what if I can’t do anything? What if it’s all for nothing? What if now, somehow, you don’t love me anymore? [[Where are you, Lily?]]

Every panicked thought vanishes as if they'd never existed. You're in our garden, your favorite place; it's the weekend, so you've probably been up for hours while I slept away. You’re the real gardener out of the two of us. Sure, I like it, but you taught me so much and you know so much more than I do. You made me love it more, love *you* more. Even so… you’re like a plant wizard compared to me. I forget simple things sometimes, and I’m hopeless at retaining the depth of knowledge you hold. I just didn't think my real ignorance before would end up helping me *feign* ignorance after. (After what? You're still here, just different, everything will be okay--) Our garden is struggling... [[and I can never tell you why that is.]]

You *know* somehow, don't you? That you're different. *Why* you're different. And you couldn't take that. You ran away. Goddamn it, Lily, I did it for you, for us! Don't I matter to you? Don't *we* matter? How can you let fear win? I had been afraid. Terrified. But I pushed through it because I had no other choice. [[It can't end like this. It *won't.*]]

Icy dread fills every vein. What I did... it didn't work. Maybe you just collapsed. Or you went off on your own ~~just like the last time~~ and something went wrong and this time I can't fix you. Maybe something got *in*, like there are spaces in your mind I didn't account for, and you did something you can't take back, maybe you weren't even aware... No, nonono, that's not true, it can't be! [[You aren't-- you're not--]]

It's one of your prized possessions, and what stood out to me the most when I first visited your place. We'd laughed together; how obvious, a green-thumb prodigy working at Home Depot. Ironic that it was the first plant to start dying after I put things to rights. You're trying your best, and I do what I can, but eventually you might figure it out. Maybe someday I'll tell you. Maybe I'll ask you to forgive me, even though there's nothing that needs to be forgiven. [[You're crouched over the rosebush, still as stone.]]

Every time I look at that dogwood some part of me marvels: have we been together that long? I remember when it was a sapling, how you fretted over it like a parent over their child, joked about if you had to choose between me and the tree... Now it's the monarch of our garden, its shade and color the centerpiece. The more you work with it these days, though, the less vital it becomes. How can I protect it, protect you? For me, the choice between the one I love and this beautiful tree is obvious. Not even a little painful. But I think that choice, out of everything, is what you wouldn't forgive me for. [[You're reaching up to one of the dogwood's lower branches, pruning shears in hand.]]

I'm not sure what I was thinking with this one. Me, who could barely manage to keep succulants alive before you gave me tips, back before "you and I" became "us". I know a lot more now, though. And this felt right. New life, or a rebirth, or just something to enhance our meals. I wanted to add something. A celebration, even if I'm the only one who knows it. [[You're crouched over the potting bin, still as stone.]]

I'm outdoors and beside you in an instant, taking in the scene in fragments: your blank face, blood pooling on the ground, bloodstained shears in the dirt, your left hand clutching your right. "Let me see." I seperate your hands and stifle a gasp: so much blood still coming, four fingers instead of five. Yanking the towel I'd somehow thought to grab out of my pocket, I wrap it tightly around your hand, searching your face all the while. Your expression is blank, but your eyes hold unshed tears. They widen, a question behind them. Whatever that question is, (cycling-link: "I can't", "don't want to", "won't") answer, so I look away and study the ground. There: your severed finger, not far from the pruning shears and already covered in dirt, like it's trying to merge with the soil. I don't hear what I'm murmuring to you as I pick it up and slip it into my back pocket. [[It's going to be all right.]] [[What the hell is wrong with you?]] [[Just let me fix this.]]

The bathroom, the kitchen, the living room… You’re not here. I check that nook in the living room by the bookshelf you tuck yourself into when you get overstimulated, or after we’ve fought, or just to pop out and surprise me (you can be so quiet and mischievous, something else I love about you). I didn’t miss you. Except something snags in my peripheral vision, making me stop and look out the window. I nearly collapse in relief, clinging to the counter. [[Of course. You've been here all along... my little flower.]]

We can go to the hospital; there's a legitimate reason, a valid story. You were so involved in your work and maintaining the special connection you have with our garden, you just didn't pay attention. But god, there's so much blood. You must be in pain. It'll take too much time. I need to get the first aid kit. I help you up. (link-goto:"...", "PartB")

I know what to do. I had a feeling something like this might happen, and besides, this is nothing compared to what happened before. (seq-link: "What before? There's only now.", "Can't keep thinking about the past. I have to focus.", "What if I make it worse I can't make it worse I'll never recover--") I've got some tricks up my sleeve now that no hospital can perform. I help you up. (link-goto:"...", "PartB")

Sometimes, on my low days, guilt hits me: maybe I could have done something different, tweaked some variable so that it didn't have to be like this. And I know correlation doesn't equal causation. But still: it's been... a few weeks? Months? Time feels shifty now. At any rate, I've had enough time to observe you, to gather evidence. The reason why our garden is fading away is you. But we can figure it out. *I'll* figure it out. It's a small price to pay to keep living together, to keep loving each other. You express things differently now, but I know you still love me. (Don’t you?) Transfixed with relief, I watch you from the window. You're examining... [[the rosebush you brought from your place.]] [[the dogwood we planted when we moved in together.]] [[the herb garden I started cultivating just last week.]]

Or so it seems; I can't see your hands from this angle. I feel the wide smile on my lips as I'm brought back to my body with a deep sigh. I love you more than you'll ever understand... My smartwatch beeps. After noon. Lunchtime. Right. I'm pondering what to make (I feel like something special, something frivolous) when I hear a noise. It… it’s you. A moan, maybe, twisting quickly into a scream. I drop the plate in my hands, distantly hearing it shatter, and race out the back door. [[You haven’t moved.]]

From here the branch looks healthy enough, but I trust you unconditionally; you know what's best for our plant child. I feel the wide smile on my lips as I'm brought back to my body with a deep sigh. I love you more than you'll ever understand... My smartwatch beeps. After noon. Lunchtime. Right. I'm pondering what to make (I feel like something special, something frivolous) when I hear a noise. It… it’s you. A moan, maybe, twisting quickly into a scream. I drop the plate in my hands, distantly hearing it shatter, and race out the back door. [[You haven’t moved.]]

You always said it felt like destiny that we met. I never could agree with my words, but oh, you couldn't be more right. It's destiny that we stay together too. I lost you once. This time I know I can find you. I'll explain everything, and we'll be okay again. [[Where are you, Lily?]]

I'll find you. I'll find you, and you'll smile at me like you used to do and ask what I'm worrying myself silly over, and I'll just laugh because I really am silly. I'm paranoid. You'll say I love you too much. That's not true, either. I love you so much, and I don't love you nearly as much as you deserve. [[Where are you, Lily?]]

Lily, for fuck's sake! You can't be so careless. Not anymore. I don't know what I'll do if *you* fuck this up. I don't know if I can do it all over again another time. I help you up. (link-goto:"...", "PartB")

I'm in the garden, but it's wrong. The garden is (sequence-link: "a work in progress", "not looking good", "dying", "dead"). Only a few things have managed to grow back, but even they look pitiful. You told me it was (cycling-link: bind $bad, "disease", "pesticides", "a cold snap"), but something tells me [[you're lying.->pruning]]

{(enchant: ?Link, (t8n-arrive: "fade-up")) (enchant: ?Link, (t8n-depart: "instant"))}

Something's happened. Something you won't tell me, instead choosing to avoid the question. You tell me to focus on what the future gardan can be. What it will be. What we can make together. [[I want to belive you. -> Trust]] [[I can't trust your words.-> Distrust]] [[I don't know what to think. -> Neutral]]

I know you would never hurt me. I know that. I trust that. =|= =|= But you've changed. =|= |==| You shower me in love whenever I ask too many questions. What are you hiding? What did you do? [[Why am I different?]] (set:$feel to 1)

I can't shake the feeing that you did something to me. That you changed me. That you hurt me. =|= =|= You've changed. =|= |==| You avoid my eye whenever I ask questions. What are you hiding? What did you do? [[Why am I different?]] (set:$feel to -1)

I'm confused why you won't just tell me. What could be so horrible? What could you have done to make me change the way I feel about you? =|= =|= You've changed. =|= |==| You never answer my questions. What are you hiding? What did you do? [[Why am I different?]] (set:$feel to 0)

I don't understand what's wrong with me. I can't move my body the way I want to anymore. My fingers feel like thick stumps stuck to my hand. My legs are numb sticks that barely support me. All my movements feel delayed, like I'm moving through jelly. I can barely hold the pruning shears steady in my hand. [[I hate it.]]

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. [[Quinn, what did you do to me?]]

Frustrated, I drop the shears and look at you through the kitchen window. I can't hear, but can see you mouthing lyrics to the music playing while you cook. No emotion on your face, just quietly mouthing along. You move swiftly around the kitchen, able to use the dextarity my fingers used to have. Able to lift a pan in one hand with ease. Able to stand on two feet without falling over.  (if:$feel is 0)[\ (link-goto: "It makes my stomach swirl.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I don't know how to feel.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I try to wiggle my fingers.", "Start Pruning") ]\ \ (else-if:$feel is 1)[\ (link-goto: "It makes my chest tight.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I wish I could help you.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I try to read your lips.", "Start Pruning") ]\ \ (else-if:$feel is -1)[\ (link-goto: "It makes me sick.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I envy you in ways you'll never understand.", "Start Pruning") (link-goto: "I try to clench my fists.", "Start Pruning") ]\ \

The only things left are a limp rose bush and wilted basil plant. Weeds have taken over the rest. A once lush garden filled with vibrant colors and smells reduced to this. Something like $bad couldn't do all this. I know my garden. I know how $bad would have affected it. [[Why are you lying to me?]]

You catch my stare and offer me (if:$feel is 0)[a slight](else-if:$feel is 1)[a soft](else:)[an emotionless] smile, and wave. (if:$feel is 1)[I wave back before looking away, and back at the shears.](else:)[I quickly look away, and back at the shears.] (if:$feel is 1 or $feel is 0)[I want to trust you. So why is it everytime I look at you I can only feel (cycling-link: bind $feeling, "disgust", "agitation", "rage", "resentment")?](else:)[I can't trust you. Everytime you look at me I can only feel (cycling-link: bind $feeling, "disgust", "agitation", "rage", "resentment").] [[I awkwardly grab the pruning shears.]]

No use focusing on something I can't control. I turn my attention back to the sad rose bush in front to me. Using both hands, I carefully snip at the wrong parts. //Snip.// At the dead parts. //Snip.// At the discolored parts. //Snip.// [[At the diseased parts.]]

At some point I stop seeing the bush in front of me. //Snip.// I see something ugly and monstrous and //wrong.// //Snip.// I see all the parts I hate when I look in the mirror. //Snip.// [[I see what you made me.]]

I hate it. //Snip.// Or maybe? //Snip.// I just hate you. (link-goto: "//Crunch.//", "Snip")

[[I let out a scream.]] (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[There's so much blood.]

[[My vision is swimming.]] (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[I can't feel it.]

[[But it doesn't hurt.]] (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[I can't feel it?]

Why can't I feel it, Quinn? My head is spinning. I should feel pain. I should feel anguish. I should feel hurt. I should feel //something.// I can hear you shouting my name. I can hear you running over. Blood is pounding in my ears. My finger is in the dirt. My hands are shaking. I should feel (cycling-link: "grief", "tourment","distress", "agony") over my lost finger. But all I can feel is (cycling-link: "rage", "fury", "hostility"). Quinn. What did you do? (link-goto:"...", "End")

[[I drop the shears.]] (text-style: "blur", "shudder")[Has blood always been this dark?]

A primrose stands tall admist the [[ruined garden]]. That's what you told me its [[called at least.]]

I don't dare take another step forward lest I send it to an [[early grave.]]

You always seem crestfallen, whenever I touch flowers. [[I hear everything.]]

[[The birds chirping.]]

You tell me the flower signifies undying love, and you look at me as though [[I should already know it.]]

You present me with things and words - it sounds as though you're reciting words from a novel. You tell me [[this was my favorite food]]. You tell me [[this was my favority color]]. You tell me [[this was my favorite spot]]. You tell me [[this was my favorite flower]]. But, [[I feel nothing.]]

It all tastes the same. [[It all blurrs together.->I feel nothing.]]

It looks terribly garish. [[I feel nothing.]]

What is the appeal of something that is temporary? What is the appeal of something that is fleeting? What is the appeal of something that is so utterly fragile. Yet, my heart always falls when everything [[wilts yet again. ->I feel nothing.]]

I don't know why, but it's oddly comforting. Yet[[ is it me who feels this way->I feel nothing.]] or is it someone else?

You try to make me [[laugh]].

[[The rustling of the leaves.]]

The [[tears you shed]] late at night when you think [[no one hears]] you.

//A part of me years to wipe away your tears. My heart burns whenever I hear you cry. Yet, [[I feel nothing.]]// Are these feelings really mine?

You put on what you tell me is my "favorite show". Yet, all I hear is [[white noise and static.]]

You try to make me [[smile]].

Yet, I still can't bear to tell the truth of my [[hollowness]].

You still try to make me [[love you]].

You gift me [[bouquets of primroses]].

My eyes as though on instinct always [[yearn]] for the skies. Eying the birds and butterflies that fly freely.

My body yearns to [[wilt]], just like the verdancy I tend to corrupt.

I grasp the [[primose]] that stands tall admist the ruined garden. It's thorns piercing my skin. Strange I thought *primroses didn't have thorns.* *Perhaps it's another facsimile in this gardern of artificialness.*

I see the [[photos]] that decorate your home.

I know I am a [[facsimile.]]

I see the smile that once showed up on face - now an alien feeling. I see the way you used to smile. //[[My heart aches.]]//

//It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// Yet, [[I feel nothing.]]

Slowly, it begins to [[droop]].

Romantic pink slowly turns to a [[withering grey.]]

[[Ashes to Ashes.]]

[[Dust to Dust.]]

[[Nothing to Nothing.]]

A fate I wished they could [[gift me.]]

[[Unlike you. ]]

Bloodied hands that once knew warmth. Bloodied hands that once knew life. Bloodied hands that once could nurtured [[meaingless things. ]] Hands that once were complete. Hands that once knew how to hold a flower. Hands that once knew how to comfort you. Hands that don't belong to me.

//It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// //It// //Aches// Yet, I feel [[nothing for the primrose. ]]

Only envy. (link-goto:"...", "End")

At least the primrose is finally [[free.]]

*Young Love* *Blessing* *Safety* *Protection* *First Love* A proclamation [[forcefully ingrained]] into my skin just like the airy proclamations humans tend to ingrain into flowers.

Why can't you [[let me go?]] Why must we continue to play this dance of normalcy?

The scene begins with Lily, who's in the garden just outside. She is fumbling with gardening tools, but makes a mistake, injuring herself. Quinn rushes over to check on her. Lily, delicate as the flower she was named after, stares at Quinn, confused and hurt. Is this the future they had planned for? [[Lily]]

Maybe it'll be different next time... [[Credits]] [[Play Again->Quinn]]

You are Quinn. You are in love with your girlfriend Lily. You fixed her. You are (cycling-link: bind $quinn, "anxious", "in-denial") over it. (link-goto: "Start Game", "Quinn-Start")

You are Lily. You are dating Quinn. Something happened to you. You feel (cycling-link: bind $lily, "conflicted", "fractured") about it. (link-goto: "Start Game", "Lily-Start")

(if: $lily is 'conflicted')[(go-to:"Ren")](else:)[(go-to:"SJ")]

(if: $quinn is 'anxious')[(go-to:"Julia")](else:)[(go-to:"Seepy")]