After that, things were different; they began looking at each other a different way, like with a certain knowing. But without knowing anything at the same time, it’s funny how a few words can change everything. Memory suddenly became a lot warmer, but at the same time, remained cold. She’d still never say a word but would use her actions to express her kindness and care. Fox soon became well good friends with Frank, with how light hearted and funny they are. It astonished the guys how incredibly motherly Memory was when she was referring to Fox.
Over the past few days nothing had come up, nothing at all. The line was dry as a bone besides the odd broadcasts from Dr.D the only thing that was of entertainment was each other. Obviously that wasn’t an option for Memory, Memory had been frequently caught at her bed, looking in the mirror, polishing her gun or combing her hair with her hands. She was on a constant worry about her baby brother. Who was only a kid, who just stole mother’s credit card, hoped on a plain and dyed his hair. It just seems to Memory to be the most out of this world stupid thing to do, what she did was pretty outrageous considering the area, but what fox had done was totally and completely idiotic. No legit reason came to Memory’s mind on why he would do this; the danger scared her the most. She found herself slipping a few tears out at the thought of him in danger. He needed to find a way to defend himself and quick.
“Fox!” Memory shouted, everyone instantly responded because hearing Memory shout? Speak? Make a sound? Was a big deal, all the laughing and the chatter stopped instantly? Then came Fox running in quickly, running his hands quickly through his blond and blue hair, “Yeah?” all the guys had stopped talking to listen in on what she had to say to Fox, but fox was no stranger into hearing her speak. Memory pulled out a white ray gun, a black bandanna, “You need these if you are planning to stay. Batteries are with Dr.D” he took them and Memory almost felt a pang of sadness as the weapon looked gigantic in his small baby hands, how the bandanna looked like a 5 year old wearing eye liner. To Memory it looked totally wrong and out of place, however it was necessary.
He pushed the gun into his back pocket and tied the bandanna around his neck, his big eyes held a serious look as he stared back at his sister, “Now,” Began Memory, she placed a hand on her hip “You need to defend yourself, you may call yourself Fox, but you are still young. Each of us will take an hour a day to teach you and train you into being able to look after yourself, we do not need you to be a liability but we also are not going to leave you. So this is the only option, I never really wanted to say this ever Jack, but, your going to have to grow up really fucking fast now” he nodded his head as he clenched his jaw as she called him a liability and young. His eyes remained serious, he then turned without a single word to go get batteries for his new toy, everyone stayed silent for a few minutes as Fox got on with his instructions and the boys almost waited for her to say something else. She didn't, she pointed at Gerard and Gerard new that she wanted him to teach him first. Upon hearing her orders, the guys usually followed them considering how rare it was.
That is exactly what they did, each day for an hour they took it in turns to teach Fox something new, something to help him get by. Each day Fox got better, and each day it felt to Memory as if she were building up to something, but not entirely sure what. But something big was going to happen.
The one with the beautiful eyes had been looking in Memory's direction more lately, out of pure fascination he understood her to a certain extent. Memory had put her hair into plaits, because of how greasy they were, they stayed in position without a hair clasp. Her hair without the affect of running water was becoming almost disgusting. She wanted nothing more than to sink into a hot steamy bath, shampoo in her hair and to scrub her skin of the constant dust the desert layered over her skin.
But that's only a fantasy that had to remain in her head, save it for when this is all over. She couldn't think of anything to do, so she wandered down to the basement where the supplies were kept cool, where the food and canned goods were kept. As she walked down the creaky stairs, the dusty walls created a strange atmosphere to the room, the shelves looked almost ancient. Filled with canned meat and veg, she poked around what she never normally looked at. She found flat tires and empty boxes, rather boring but then she opened the cupboard, she had never looked in this cupboard before because last time she had thought about it there was a gigantic cob web and she didn't like the idea of ruining a spiders house. This time the cobwebs weren't there so nothing stopped her, there were little indulgences in this cupboard, a few bars of dark chocolate, there were bars of soap, 4 toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste but most of all, that delighted Memory to no end was to find endless packets of cigarettes and endless packets of tobacco.
Memory had ran out of smokes the first two weeks of being here, the withdrawal drove Memory absolutely mental, with no distraction or coping techniques. Finding this piece of treasure now was like heaven. Instantly she reached for the tobacco, tips and papers, she opened the pouch and smelled the freshly concealed vinegary smell. It burned her nostrils and her lungs cried out to feel the smoke and to indulge in the nicotine, Memory was so glad to find this because she hurried upstairs to the back. It was midday and the sun was at its hottest, it was advised to stay out of the sun at these times because its dangerous to the skin and hydration. Memory leaned herself facing the back door with her back up against an almost destroyed wall that provided enough shade, she then began to relaxing process of rolling up her tobacco. Paper, tip, tobacco, spread tobacco, roll, tuck, roll, lick and finish. This process was ingrained into Memory's mind, memories of being a teenager in England rebelling with her friends by smoking and drinking and sneaking out. It gave Memory goosebumps as she remembered the best times of her life, the matches that she picked up from the cupboard worked very poorly but after the 3rd try it worked and the cancer-filled disease-ridden smoke filled her lungs and she then blew out every single worry. She blew out her fears and her doubts and the relief that washed over her was overwhelming that she let her limbs go limp and her eyes closed into a serene state of bliss.
Memory stayed like that for so long she couldn't remember sitting down, but her serene state got interrupted by Frank, using Memory's matches to light his own cigarette, “Didn't know you smoked” Memory opened her eyes slowly and waited until she could see everything clearly again until she answered “Didn't know I could out here” Frank laughed, “You can smoke anywhere you like Memory!” Memory rolled her head to face Frank “There isn't exactly a petrol station where I can pick some up” Frank made a noise that sounded confused “Gas station, same thing” he laughed again, Memory was already bored by his easy humour. Everything was funny and Memory just didn't see it that way, “Why don't you talk much” Frank asked, This question startled Memory because nobody asked her questions besides Gerard. That was only because Gerard was … well, Gerard. But the silence Memory put forward made a shield, it meant nobody would question anything because of the inevitable no answer. It was as if she gained a respect for it because then whenever Memory did say something, it would be listened to and it would be remembered. Frank little jokes won't be remembered next week, but Memory's words would be remembered all week because there would be at least one hundred words a week probably even less, this question was a hard one to answer. In all honesty Memory didn't want to speak because there was no point, words here don't mean as much as actions because you cannot reason with a Drac or a Scarecrow. If you take away actions words can't get you shit, but you take away words and keep the actions and suddenly your still alive. However Memory had justified this so many times, when the question arose she suddenly couldn't think of anything to tell him “I'm not the singer that you wanted, I'm a dancer” was the best way she could had described it, Frank didn't laugh at this and she was glad. He only nodded his head and smoked another with Memory in silence until it was time to go to bed, Memory was glad he didn't laugh it felt like she had spoken to Frank, not Frank the jester. She felt like she had gained some respect for him and vice versa, despite the events of the day. The thought still stuck in her mind, something is going to happen soon, she could feel it in her gut