date the beast that runs along side your car as you go on long road trips. it is huge and magnificent, crossing miles with its six strong legs. it watches over you with its many eyes. it wants you to be safe. it hopes you can look out and watch it too.
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haven’t posted in a while! school has been pretty hectic. here’s some class notes on respiratory disorders & a pic of the cartier store in chicago i took last summer (knowing that i could never afford anything from here)
i chose my junior schedule this week! i chose h precalc/trig, h german III, ap stats, ap lit, ap ush, and ap bio. i am NOT looking forward to ap bio since i cheated my way through regular bio in the 8th grade lmao … but it was my only choice other than regular physics. we’ll see how it goes.
Your stories make me incredibly happy, and I see your thingum (header?) is Chicago. Can you maybe tell a story at some point about the Magnificent Mile and/or the Tribune Tower?
I actually just moved here a few months ago, so I’m not supremely familiar with either beyond wikipedia and an architectural tour! I’ll sure give it a try anyway, thanks for the prompt!
The Tribune Tower is a magical hodge podge nightmare place that Steven sort of wishes would just be transported to another dimension already. As the tower’s watcher, he’s not allowed to wish that, but his boss can’t mind read so.
The tower can fuck right off.
Objectively, it’s quite pretty. Gothic design hoisted high into the air, buttresses, stone, the whole nine-yards. His parents had said things like “scenic” and “honor” and “historic” when he’d first been assigned. Back then, he’d even agreed with them.
Now he knows better.
“Get. Your. Hand. Off. The. Stone,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s not angry; he’s cold. It’s snowing lightly, muffling the world around them. Oh, sorry, the snow’s not muffling the world. That’d be the distraction charm, a charm designed to turn the non-magical eye away, cast by the man crouched at the base of the tower.
The man turns and Steven is suddenly angry and cold.
“Raul,” Steven says, taking his hands out of his pockets. “Now.” The chill races from his hands as he calls fire to them.
“Guardian,” Raoul greets far too cheerfully for someone who’s been caught red-handed. Again. “I was just touching, no need to get all snippy.”
Raoul backs away from the tower, hands raised as if to say no harm, no foul. Steven isn’t about to believe the older man, so he stalks forward, keeping a wary eye on him.
This is what Steven is supposed to be watching. There are stones from all over the world embedded in the tower. The Taj Mahal, the White House, the Alamo. Dozens of historic places have lost parts of themselves to this Chicagoan landmark and, for whatever reason, many of them are at ground level. Where idiot sorcerers like Raoul can just walk right up and touch them.
If you live in Wrigleyville, you can hear the organs from the field from your apartment. But not the kind you’re thinking of.
Due to construction on the tracks, the brown line will be routed underground. Due to construction on the tracks, the orange line will be routed underground. All trains will be underground. Thank you for riding the CTA.
Before you can stop them, your friend from out of town asks for ketchup at the counter of the hot dog stand. Before they have even finished asking, their question turns into a low, mechanical scream. The cashier opens their mouth to scream, too. You plug your ears and chew.
Don’t look at what the snow leaves behind as it melts. Yes, the cigarettes and dog shit lay in strange runes, as if arranged. Just walk past.
“We’ll be stopped at Belmont,” the conductor says. “There is a sick passenger on the train.” You look around. Your car is empty. Through the windows on the emergency passageways, you can see the other cars are empty, too. “There is a sick passenger on the train,” the conductor says again.
Keep your eyes forward on the Magnificent Mile. The blank-faced tourists will pass in hunks and will jostle your backpack, but that will be it, if you keep forward.
If you don’t live in Wrigleyville, you will wake up one day and hear the organs from Wrigley Field, and they will be louder than you can bear.