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Prada ruffled her feathers, unbothered on the edge of the bed that sat in the corner of the red tent.

A casual squawk emerged from her throat. She stared at the chaffing walls of the tent, examining the sunlight as it lazily dappled through the torn slices in the material. There were so many tears and holes in the red tent; it was only a matter of time before the entire structure collapsed in on itself. 

Prada could picture it now: Booboo coming home after a long day of painting house pods...kicking more bullet hole cans by the door into his growing pile...calling out guess who's home? only to receive the squawked response, Prada, where's my weed? and then discovering the location of his prized weed collection...lighting up a joint, smoking it thoroughly...sitting on the crusty, dilapidated couch cushions that he strung together when he first moved to Avalon's Yard...questioning his life but too high to care about the texture of each question and what it truly meant for his future...crying about V, screaming about V, kicking about V, snotting about V...then crawling over to his bed, passing out on the limp pillow, sleeping a troubled sleep...the tent collapsing on him as a nasty storm tore through Avalon's, blowing the entire foundation of Booboo's Residence off the ground...Jimin getting tangled in the material, clawing at the material, suffocating in the material...Jimin yelling Prada! Prada, where are you? Prada-

"PRADA! PRADA! I NEED YOU!"

Outside of her troubled daydream, Prada heard the lilting alarm in her owner's voice. Jimin was running like a bat out of hell...and panting heavily. Something was definitely awry. The bird hopped quickly to the entrance flap of the tent and opened her beak to screech.

"She's in your tent, Booboo!" Pan's voice followed close by, and his tone was frantically caked with tears. Another bad sign.

Something was clearly wrong with the two, given their strained vocal chords and rapid steps. Something bad had happened. They were desperate, crying and sprinting.

Prada knew she had to help.

The tent flap flung open. 

Launching himself indoors, Jimin stumbled over to the couch on unsteady feet, swinging around a limp female body over his shoulder. His splotched face was red with exhaustion and white with fear at the same time, creating a disturbing pallor that Prada had never seen on Jimin before. Pan clung to Jimin's hip, his eyes stuck to the unmoving face under a swath of flowing red hair.

"PRADA! WE NEED YOU!" Jimin shrieked, his knees buckling by the couch. "Prada please. Psyche was poisoned."

Prada hopped forward. 

"Psyche was poisoned." The bird repeated.

As carefully as possible, Jimin set Psyche on the rough furniture surface. Her muscled body sunk into the material, head lolling off to one side. Wheezing from the rough journey to the tent, Jimin cupped his hands around her face delicately, super attentively. His hands contoured to her face as if his palms were magnetized to her cheeks. His eyes were teary, reddening by the second. Even his shoulders shook with unreleased sobs. 

Prada had never seen her owner like this. So shaken up...and sincerely so. No drugs in his system to make him out of control...only pure worry affecting his mental state.

Pan plopped on his knees harshly next to the couch. His purple hands wrung each other occasionally, fingertips jittery. 

Both boys looked ill, as if they were about to throw up but were holding the urge down. How could they let themselves vomit? They had to focus on Psyche's wellbeing. Vomit was counterintuitive, albeit a nice release.

"Prada, here, here!" Jimin waved the bird over vehemently. His eyes were desperate, glossy. "Come here, Prada! O-okay, remember that t-time when V tried to infect my drinking w-water supply with sodium hydroxide? And h-how you did that weird thing w-with your beak after I drank some?"

"Weird thing." Prada swayed her beak to the side. She knew exactly what Jimin was referring to. Despite her short term memory being on the weaker side, her long-term memory was at its prime. It was nearly photographic. It was so thoroughly developed that she could name off all of the articles on Jimin's shopping receipts from seven months ago. Extracting the poison from this woman would be easy for her to do. She remembered the procedure, had it down pat. "Weird thing! Weird thing!"

Before Jimin's eyes, the bird leapt onto the couch. Her feathers were slightly muddy, disheveled acutely, and a few fluffs were ready to slip off her body, but her mind was spotless. In her beady irises, a wealth of acupressure knowledge reflected off the weak sunlight pouring in through the tent. 

She knew her method, and she was confident it would work. Seeing the bird's breast feathers puffed up and fully assured, Jimin allowed his shoulders to relax.

"Oh...Psyche...my precious, lovely Psyche..." Jimin caressed the woman's face. Pan did likewise, his purple thumbs resting gently on the warrior's neck. "You'll make it Psyche. Just trust the bird. I wonder if you can hear me...can you hear me? Oh fuck, Psyche. Fuck! Why did I risk bringing you out to a restaurant so soon after V tried to kill you? How...how did V find us there? How did he know...ugh, Psyche. I'm so sorry...please wake up...I won't bother you ever again...I won't be mean to you...I won't go by you anymore...I don't want you to die because of me, Psyche...Oh GOD! I HATE YOU, V! I'LL KILL...I'll kill...I'll..."

Tears streamed down Jimin's face. He was unable to finish the sentence.

Pan silently wept next to him, but the greenish bird dipping her head down to attend to her patient was as far away from sad as she could be. Her beak tilted upwards with supreme control. Her talons were precise, and the air around her feathered body blanketed itself in stoicism. 

The brutal storm rotating around her was destructive, malevolent, and attempting to steal the life from Jimin's friend. Waves of death crashed all around her, swirling like a maniacal hurricane, but the stillness, the absolute concentration and focus holding Prada in place was the inner eye of the storm. This was the ground zero of the shameful event, the horrible circumstance of a lethal poisoning attempt...but Prada was hardly affected. In fact, she was empowered. She knew exactly how to remedy this poison issue, and the ability stemmed from her familial roots as a mutilated bird.

In other words, her beak knew the way.

Trained in acupressure, her beak was adept at picking out areas of the body that were capable of warding off poison. In essence, her beak was a vessel of change, tapping at blocked areas of the body where the poison would attack the healthy tissue. If she pushed the tissues with the right amount of pressure at the right angle in the right order, the body's defense mechanism would be activated. Medically, this purge involved the liver and kidneys, not to mention the powerful aeration system of the skin's pores. 

If she could pull this mission off, then Psyche's central nervous system would eject the poison as easily as a runner would release their heated waste product: through the pores. Through heavy sweat.

"Psyche, please...please..." Jimin whimpered, clinging to the woman's face. "Please pull through, for me. Please."

Prada began the first round of treatment.

Violently, her beak tapped like a blunt drill to the outer edges of Psyche's face. The precision of her movements was as careful as a veteran surgeon. Specific taps along the eyebrow, cheekbones, and chin line were so specific that they couldn't possibly be associated with guesswork. Prada knew exactly which lines to tap and which ones to avoid, like a mechanic attempting to diffuse a live, ticking time bomb by cutting certain wires. 

Jimin stared, his cheeks wet and his eyes wide. 

Pan gaped at the bird's pecking actions, leaning into Jimin's side as Prada moved onto the collarbones. Pecks were launched at the areas of skin along the throat, the lymph nodes, and the heart area. Soon, Prada's legs brought her to Psyche's stomach region, where the most work had to be done. Taps were aggressively administered to Psyche's liver, pancreas, and intestinal track through her black warrior outfit. 

Any onlooking citizen would study the unfolding practice and gape, convinced that the bird was trying to gut the poor woman to eat her. The odd process was very strange for the eye, but immensely comforting for the mind. What appeared as a mutilated bird pecking at a limp body was in fact a comprehensive resuscitative procedure meant to redeliver health to the patient. It was miraculous in scope.

"Psyche." Prada spoke, nodding her head between pecks. "Psyche. Booboo. Psyche."

"What?" Jimin sat up on his knees, blinking at Prada through the mist of his tears. "W-what did you say, Prada? Will she be okay? Please tell me she'll be okay. Please. If you can save her, Prada, I'll give you anything you want. Anything."

Prada ignored her owner, too focused on the area around Psyche's outer waist and legs. Her pecks sped up, rotating in specific circles around Psyche's thighs, kneecaps, and ankles. Jimin sniffled loudly. Pan dropped his head into his hands, lips shaking and breathing unsteady.

"Please, Prada. Anything."

"Jimin. Please." Prada squawked, tilting her head in such a way that suggested that she wanted Psyche turned around. 

The sniffling man quickly nodded his understanding, dipping his hands underneath the limp body that his pet bird was working to save. Already, a perspiration process was going underway—a light sheen of sweat was present on Psyche's pale forehead. Jimin briefly pressed his lips to the side of Psyche's head before he flipped her onto her stomach, adjusting her head in a semi-comfortable position.

Prada nodded her thanks.

After another set of determined pecks to the woman's skull base, spinal cord, and back, Psyche's face began to drip onto the couch. With a nearby cloth, Jimin softly wiped at the flecks of water, careful not to get any sweat on himself. He didn't want to absorb any excess sweat and risk poisoning himself.

"Oh...my lovely Psyche." Jimin tossed the rag to the side when it was nearly soaked through with sweat. "I promise with every single last cell in my body that V will die for this. He'll pay for this. No mercy for V, no mercy for putting you through this mess..."

Clicks of Prada's beak tapping at the warrior's spinal cord echoed throughout the tent. It sounded as if someone was knocking on a wooden door using their bony knuckles. The noise was atrocious, similar to the intonation of someone crunching on raw carrots. Jimin winced every time the bird's beak dove in for another set of taps, biting down on his lip.

Then it happened.

A throaty cough burst from Psyche's body, so forceful that her body exploded upward, curling in on itself. Jimin shrieked. His hands groped around the floor for a blanket he could wrap her in so that he wouldn't be touched by the poisonous sweat dripping off her body.

"Psyche! PSYCHE!" Jimin yelled, swaddling the warrior in a blue blanket he'd found inside of an old refrigerator of Avalon's. "Psyche! You're alive! Oh thank the fucking yard waste gods! You're ALIVE!"

Psyche responded with more cough-chokes, struggling to focus her eyes on the two boys who were beaming at her. Her pale complexion, rheumy eyes, and matted red hair was far from her best style, but to Jimin she was the most beautiful girl in the room. 

Life looked good on her.

"Thank you, Prada!" Pan cheered for the bird, who gladly received the applause that the purple boy bestowed upon her. "Thank you for saving her!"

"Psyche alive." Prada mumbled with a head bob. "Psyche alive."

"Yes! Psyche alive!" Jimin pressed kisses into the blanket that covered the woman's disoriented body. "Yes! Psyche alive!"

"Hmm? Ji...min?" Psyche leaned towards the man holding her. Her mouth moved slowly, as if she were having trouble shaping each vowel before it left her voice box. "Jimin? Are you...what am I...doing here?"

"What aren't you doing here! Psyche, you're living! You are alive! Rejoice! REJOICE!"

"Ow...ow..." Psyche winced, a few sweat droplets streaming into her eyes. "Can you...speak a little...quieter?"

Pan waved exuberantly at Psyche, smiling a gentle smile at the warrior. His voice was little louder than a hush. "Hi, Psyche. You were poisoned by the pineapple at the pizzeria. Remember? V did something bad to you. We had to carry you here, to Jimin's house. We were both crying. Then we got help from Prada, and now you're alive!"

Something flickered across Psyche's eyes. She tilted her head at Jimin, her cheeks picking up color gradually. "I...how did Prada save me? How did she..."

"Her beak. She pecked you!" Jimin stated matter-of-factly. "She pecked you back from your poisoned unconsciousness. You're now sweating profusely so the poison can leave your body. That's why I can't touch you without this blanket covering you."

Psyche's attention moved to the blanket, then to the drooping red tent, then to Jimin's hopeful face.

"I heard you talking to me, Jimin. When I wasn't awake. When I was unconscious."

"Hmm?" The blanket was readjusted so Jimin could sit down while holding Psyche close to his body at the same time.

"I heard you saying you wouldn't bother me ever again."

Jimin deflated, his shoulders nearly touching the ground with how sullen they became. "Oh...oh. I said that...I wouldn't bother you...if you survived. Right."

"And you said you wouldn't be mean to me ever again. You said you wouldn't go by me anymore."

Jimin sighed deeply, his head lowly shaking. "Is...is this goodbye, then?"

"What?" Psyche laughed reflexively. "What are you saying?"

"What are you saying?" Jimin suspiciously licked his lips, looking between her eyes. "You were poisoned because of me. V is after you because of me. And...and you almost died because of me! Psyche, if that's not a good reason for us to distance ourselves, then I don't know what is-"

"You also said Prada would get anything she wanted if she saved me." Psyche ignored Jimin's desperation, turning behind her to face the bird. Secretively she winked at the bird, unobserved by the other two boys. "What would you like Prada?"

The bird leaped into the air. "Move! Move! Move! Move! No tent!"

"You heard her." Psyche faced Jimin, biting her lip. "Prada wants to move."

Now frowning, sullen, and dejected, Jimin blinked at the blanket's weaving blue pattern. "Oh...okay. Prada can leave me too...I guess. And that leaves Pan, but Pan will choose living with you over me...so...I guess I'll live alone." He lifted his chin ever so slightly. "But it's o-okay, since you're alive, Psyche. Whatever makes everyone happy. I'll help you get home, and if you want, we'll never see each other again. I c-can do that."

Once he was finished speaking, the words hung in the air like a sour omen. Psyche stared at him deeply, and Pan nervously grabbed at the collar of his shirt, glancing between the two adults.

Finally, Psyche spoke.

"You're silly, Booboo."

Jimin raised his gaze, startled by the giggles that poured from Psyche.

"I'm...silly? What kind of word is that?"

"Fine. You're insane. Why for fuck's sake would you convince yourself that I don't want to be by you?"

Jimin remained silent.

"Why would you think I would want to distance myself from you? Just from a stupid poison attempt? I'm alive, and that's all that matters. Right? I don't blame you at all. How could I blame the very person who saved my life? No, I have a different purpose for you in my life, if you'll take it?"

Jimin blinked. Then he blinked again.

"Jimin, what I'm trying to ask is-"

"You're asking me to be your personal servant? You mean, like, in other words, like, a sex slave? Oh my gosh, I've always wanted to be the sex slave of a goddess! Fuck yeah, I'll say yes to that any day!" Jimin hopped up, jostling around the girl in his arms. "I'll forever serve you my one and only Psyche-"

"Can you let me finish."

"Oh." Jimin cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry. I got carried away."

"You always get carried away. Especially when it comes to sex." Psyche snorted.

"Prada, I haven't had sex in eons!" Prada's nasally voice traveled throughout the tent. "I need a good bang right now, a good fuck, a nice blow job...ANYTHING! Fuck, why am I so horny and why am I so unlucky...the world is fucking cruel, Prada."

Jimin gasped, pointing aggressively at his bird. "You shut it, Prada! There are kids in here! You stupid...I mean, you lovely bird! You saved Psyche's life!"

The bird bowed at a nervously laughing Jimin.

Psyche briefly shut her eyes, fed up with the man who she had (by some strange way of fate) gotten involved with.  "Jimin, no. I don't want a sex slave."

"You don't?" A frown appeared on the ring leader's face. "Why not?"

"Because. One, human rights. Two, I'm not like that. Three, I don't want you for your body, Jimin. You know that. Buuuut...I am looking for a new tenant in my house."

"Yeah. Pan. Your new resident. Woopdee doo, tell me something new."

Psyche's eyebrows went up at Jimin's response. Here she was expecting him to cheer and shout and say yes, yes, of course I'll move in with you! but of course he misunderstood her.

"No, dummy. I mean, other than Pan. I'm looking for another-nother resident in my house."

Jimin turned to his pet bird, his voice emotionless. "Yeah. Prada. Almost forgot. She's moving out to isolate me purposely, just to move into your beautiful mansion. Have fun, Prada..."

Psyche's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Jimin. Another-nother-nother resident. Hint, it's someone who's really dumb."

An odd look passed over Jimin's face. Then, something sparked in his complexion.

"What! I didn't know you were into taxidermy! Cool, but when you kill V and stuff his body as a permanent mantel decoration, at least send me a pic of it. That's a pretty dope third resident. Wait. Can you send me one of his stuffed arms so that I can have a nice decoration for my place too? Wherever I live, that is. I don't think this tent will last more than a few days. The next time the incinerators are on, I think this tent will blow away or collapse under the weight of the smog..."

Jimin paused to cough before he continued.

"...but I think it's nice that you'll have extra tenants in your mansion. That sure beats the loneliness bug when it comes around. Won't see you running a loneliness fever, Psyche! No loneliness cough! Heh...heh...heh...so, uh, what were you going to say before? About the, the um...about my new distanced purpose in your life? Do you need me to garden in your house or something? Cuz I can do that if you want me to, except I kill most of the things I touch. Hence your near demise about ten minutes ago...oh, now eleven minutes ago. Wow, have I been talking for that long? Goodness Maria with ten buckets on top. Sheesh. Yowza...yikes."

"Jimin. You know. I've changed my mind."

"You have?" Jimin pursed his lips. "About what? You never told me, the uh, the topic. About what, again?"

"About you moving into my house. Living with me."

"WHAT!" Jimin shook his head, swinging his arms around wildly. "WHAT? WHY ARE YOU CHANGING YOUR MIND, WHAT? PSYCHE? DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?"

A tiny grin swept across Psyche's lips. "No, but you just said 'that.'"

"Yeah, I know I said 'that.' What did you just say?"

Psyche was close to punching her crush in between his dreamy, but plainly stupid, eyes.

"I just said, 'no but you just said that.'"

"You did?"

"Yes." Psyche nodded. "I did."

"Wait, what day is it today?"

"The day you move in with me." Psyche pressed herself against Jimin's body, careful not to touch her body against any of his open skin. "The day you leave Avalon's Yard and join me in Mither's rich neighborhood. The day you say goodbye to this place. The day you get a nice, comfy bed to sleep on, and a warm breakfast every morning, and a healthy backyard with a tree line instead of an incinerator line."

Jimin was speechless. 

Outside the tent, a wind gust blew so intensely that the upper half of the reddish cloth that was previously patched tore straight open, revealing storm clouds in the sky above Jimin's exposed dwelling. Before they could comprehend the ripped fabric, a few raindrops sprinkled on their upturned faces.

"What do you say, love?" Psyche stared at Jimin's tattoo. "Move in with me?"

"L-love?" Jimin faltered for words, so confused and overwhelmed by everything that had happened. The term of endearment that his ex used to constantly call him was like a nail in the coffin. He started to feel woozy. "Did you j-just call me...love?"

"Your tattoo." Psyche reached up, tracing the letters in the air since she couldn't touch his skin. "It's so pretty..."

"You think so?" Jimin's voice came out all garbled.

"Will you move in with me or not?" Psyche countered.

"I have to pee." Pan finished, and the storm brewing above them in the bruised sky finally unleased its godless flood onto the waste yard below.

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izzizz thoughts

hello!

i hope you're doing alright, truly!

for that last few days i've been driving through life riding a tractor missing its wheels through a field of layered nails, but underneath the steering wheel there is a nice pink sticky note that says keep going! this field will not last forever! that keeps me going! and although the gas tank on the tractor is almost empty and there are 50 nail goblins chasing after the back of the exposed rider on top of the tractor sitting through a chunky, oil torrent thunderstorm, at least the rider understands that all destinies are shaped by mindset! the ride won't last forever! the ride won't last forever!

alas, that is a mindset of hope!

i love you! i love you! 

you can do it! you can do it!

please do it!

izzy.