Love Wouldn't Melt

Evan averts his eyes upwards as he meanders through Queen Victoria square tightly grasping Chloe's hand. It looks like 20-25 fresh melts in the square that day, dotted sporadically from corner to corner, each illuminated by the moonlight. The thick Yorkshire clouds had cleared at approximately 2:15 pm against forecast, and those misled had met their end.

"Don't look sweetheart" he says. "Come quickly". Unable to hold his averted gaze, it strays back to the melts and he and is stung with a familiar guilt. His late father's voice pierces him: "My lips are sealed, Evan".

Commemorative flowers mark most of the melts, but others still unaddressed, or noticed, are visible only by the fatty fleshy puddles drying slowly into the concrete. "God she was a big girl", Chloe says, honesty replacing tact, as she points to a larger bloody blob shared between a bench end and the floor beneath. Evan turns to meet Chloe's eyes that are poking narrowly through an armored rubber mask and anxiously thinks of his father's words again: "My lips are sealed, my boy. I caused this as much as you"

The Maritime museum towering in the far corner is aligned by three red metallic benches, each with melts dripping from them, two from a single one. Queen Victoria Statue stands central in the square, domineering as ever, but the horror beneath renders her mournful expression more poignant. Victoria’s family’s once celebrated dominance is now compromised by the collective human despair of her reigning descendants’ subjects. Circling the statue, stairs lead to underground public bathrooms, with the melts still slowly dripping from the upper steps like grotesque red, white and yellow slinkies.

"I hate this place", Evans says. Walking more quickly, his focus returns to the stars as Chloe's switches from one gooey casualty to the next, a gasp and wince alternate from one to the next, each with the magnitude of the first. He turns sharply down a narrow nearby alley and breathes a sigh of sickened relief.

Seven years ago it had begun: July 24th, 2015, women spontaneously melting to a thick liquid in the sun at unexpected moments. Where seconds ago, stood a healthy upright female, a stomach-churning blob had formed. Sometimes a companion or onlooker would witness this transformation but look away for a second and there would be no chance for goodbyes. The first wave was Earth-shattering: 1.2 billion women of all ages melting to their deaths in one moment of global horror. It had initially been attributed to the emergence of a novel chemical bomb or widely dispersed aggressive poison. However, all laboratory analyses offered only concrete evidence of human anatomy and more tragically, a genetically accurate fingerprint of the suspected victim. As the months passed, more women fell, seemingly at random, until deep demographic analysis disturbingly revealed a greater incidence of melt concentrated among those aged between 35 and 45. Despite this bias, all known scientific methods presented no causal agent. So this was a mystery, but without the randomness of a Thanos finger-snap.

Evan walks quickly down and out of the alley, before darting down another. His choices of route from any A to any B were never the shortest, but the less occupied the road, the fewer victims there were to ignore…or try to ignore. As he reaches his front door, Chloe now trailing 6 feet behind, he inserts his key into the lock, and stops to catch his breath before turning it. "Noone can ever know Dad" he recollects. "If they knew what this was, they would have to exterminate me"

"You can trust me son" his Dad had replied. "My lips are sealed."

That fateful summer day in 2015 had been Evan's birthday. One cruel joke and an irreverent wish. His father had taken him to Amsterdam. Two nights, a prostitute for both each night.

"Thanks so much for this Dad. Daisy was as bendy as you said she would be", Evan said later. "But what are you playing at? I kind of feel sorry for mum”.

"Ahhh don't worry about that lad" his dad replied nonchalantly. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Well my lips are sealed" Evans replied, fully aware of how she would react to his own Amsterdam escapades.

"I raised you well lad. Oh, I have a surprise for you…"

Evan and Chloe walk into their kitchen and he removes her mask. Her face is perfect; unblemished as it had been when they met as 12-year-olds. Now, eleven years later, he cherished that perfection more than ever. He cherished everything about her. "I think the melts were less this week," he says.

"I don't even count anymore. I know I stare, but I don't count. Those poor poor women. And their poor families, having to contemplate that mess. I see why some of them never even visit the site. I couldn't imagine having to see someone I loved as that grotesque splat"

Evan didn't answer. These conversations, these contemplative exchanges had been had by everyone over and over. Maybe people felt compassionate, but mostly they felt fear and disgust.

"Surprise? What's this Dad? I didn't know you were capable of sentimental bilge like that"

"It's just a cake lad. I tried to get creative, but it turns out if you try to buy a cake in Amsterdam on short notice, it has to come with a fucking windmill on it"

"You're shitting me!?" Evan said laughing.

His father removes a tall white cardboard box from their AirBnB's orange designer Smeg refrigerator and places it on the table in front of him. As Evan lifts the lid, a turf green frosted cake is revealed decorated with an upright plastic windmill, comprising white propellors and a light brown tower.

"I shit you not Evan," his father says, flicking the propellor to a spin. "Even moves 'n' all."

Evan stared at the cake. "This has been awesome Dad. Amsterdam, hookers, and a proper cake".

His dad laughed. "Well I had to get something to sweeten you up again before I take you back to your mother"

As his father begins to light the sixteen candles. Evan ponders the day giddily. "You know what Dad? I don't know if it's big-city-syndrome or what, but it just feels like the girls are so much hotter here. I mean the general population. When we were hanging by that lake in Vondelpark this afternoon, I just felt like I was surrounded by fucking angels."

His dad laughs: "Big city syndrome and summer always brings the sexier girls out of the woodwork"

Evan laughs and his dad continues: "And you know what they say? All the ugly girls melt in the sun. Everyone knows that!". They both laugh.

"That's sick Dad," Evan says… "but it would be something." Evan's dad proudly clenches his left shoulder and flicks the propellor again with his remaining hand. Evan makes the wish and the damage is done.

"I'm thinking of abandoning this mask," Chloe says. "This isn't living. Besides, barely anyone is around anymore now. When is the last time someone got injured? You would have to be dead careless. I don’t want to lock myself away in fear like your mum"

"Just wear it," Evan said. "It's not like anyone cares about looking good anymore anyway."

“Are you joking?! That’s all we care about!”.

After the first waves of melt, the patterns were barely comprehensible. Aging women mainly, and often women who were gravely sick. But a hybrid of terror and intrigue took over, once it was observed that any significant injury to the face would trigger a melt. Dramatic disfigurement of the body also, but a simple broken nose or visible scar to the face was the most common death sentence.

Evan continued to assess Chloe's face. "Always beautiful Chloe. Please wear the mask as much as possible"

It had been speculated by some that many fresh melts were correlated with superficial damage. If a woman lost her looks, due to physical damage, the melt would trigger. Once this theory spread, it was difficult to ignore how this could be aligned with a possible decrease in beauty associated with aging. Shortly after, most women began to wear facial protection. More months later, most women refused to leave the house on sunny days.

"Let me make you something to eat," Evan says. Just sit at the table. Chloe watched as Evan slowly maneuvered around the kitchen. No sharp movements meant no possible accidents.

"I think I know what this is Dad. Do you remember that day in Amsterdam? Before all of this started? With the cake and the windmill?

"No Evan I don't" his dad snapped. "I don't remember Amsterdam being swamped with blood and bone. I don't remember being stuck there terrified for your mum and Chloe. I don't remember traveling back and seeing girls melting left, right, and center on the ferry deck."

"…Well you made that joke about ugly girls melting in the sun! I made a wish with the candles"

This theory seemed utterly absurd, but what could be more absurd than the melts themselves? His dad remained silent for minutes but was easily drawn in. In the following few days, they spent time studying what data they had on the victims. Incidence with overweight girls had been high. This had initially been attributed to ill-health, but both Evan and his father saw the obvious link.

"You are the most beautiful girl in the world Chloe. You know what people say now. Sun and health is not the driving factor. If you are beautiful, you're safe. Wear the mask, but you would have to get pretty beat up to be ugly"

"What is beautiful Evan? And in who's eyes?"

This was a question Evan and his father discussed for a long time. If his wish was causing this, who was the judge? Was there an objective measure? Was it Evan's measure? Then one day they were watching old videotapes. New products were hard to find, but people had to keep busy. Evan and his father were watching 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon'.

"I tell you what lad. Them China girls are something right?" his dad sneered.

"I don't think that's the preferred nomenclature Dad", but inside, the point resonated. Those Asian girls did have a certain charm to them. The repercussions of this were felt immediately by the world, but understood fully by only Evan and his father. The following twenty-four hours saw a rise in melts of white European girls. The impact on Asian women was less obvious; a reduction in melts with women above average-to-beautiful, but an increase in the average and below. Whatever the deeper patterns , Evan was convinced his taste in women was complexly and brutally linked to who was affected. He didn’t even need to know them.

Evan laid the second slice of bread, completing the sandwich he had been preparing. He turned to the table where Chloe was sitting.

“You look a wreck” Chloe says. “You have been since you dad passed”.

Evan's dad had died 2 years earlier. Initially a mild form of cancer, it had been let to run wild by a now dysfunctional health system. Along with his mum, Evan had tended to him, bedside for months.

"You might be to blame Dad, but you're out of this. You're not a threat. It's my brain and my thoughts, whatever, my magic, that is doing this. I'm dangerous"

"Just keep silent Evan. The world isn't gonna change by telling anyone. The only thing they can change is your existence. If you wanna live, you shut the fuck up. Just see this thing through. You know farming has kept in order. One area I am glad men dominate. Still sad to lose all those hairdressers though eh? ”

“you never stop do you dad?!”

 ‘Just don't worry about me. Just keep quiet. I have a few days left and until then, my lips are sealed." He died the following day.

“I spoke to Mum this morning. I need to see her. She is going crazy in her padded cell”.

Evan’s mum had remained intact, emotionally and structurally. As a 67 year old this was initially confusing, but Evan eventually attributed her safety to their desexualized maternal bond.

 “The morning your father died. He told me everything” his mother said down the phone.

“What!?!?” shouts Evan. “How can you be at peace with this? With the misery I caused?”

“Misery? Your father had done stuff like that before. Your lack of loyalty bugs me, but I understand how close you two were. I was a bit shocked about you, you dirty bugger, but not him. He had done stuff like that before and believe me, I had had my moments. I don’t know what is going on in the world right now, it’s dreadful, and I fear for myself and for grandma, and for Chloe, but the small part of me that still has hope is the part that knows you are safe. One day those clever scientists will figure this out and maybe some of us won’t have seen it through, but knowing you definitely will is just enough”

“I love you Mum”

“I love you too Evan. And don’t worry about Chloe finding out about the prostitute. My lips are sealed”.

Evan stood melancholy holding Chloe’s sandwich in his hand. As he stepped forward, not noticing a nob of butter had fallen to the floor, his right foot slipped forward, kicking Chloe's chair from beneath her. For a split second, their eyes locked as she was thrust forward jaw first into the table corner. Both fell silent for a moment before Evan regained focus and leaned to pick her up. His stomach turned as he saw the open gash down the left side of her face.

Evan frantically scrambled for some paper, for anything. He emptied the roll by the kitchen sink and scrunched it in his hand. He returned to Chloe, who was streaming doomed tears of resignation on the floor. He wiped away the blood, revealing a canyon in the flesh of her face’s left side.

“How bad is it?” she sobbed.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, you’re still here aren’t you?” he offered with false reassurance. The wound was bad and women had melted with much less.

He runs his finger down and through the gaping wound, eyebrow to jaw. “You’ll always be beautiful to me, whatever happens, Chloe, I love you” he promises. He tugs at her arms; he squeezes her waist. He pinches her tight and cups her kneecaps simultaneously with his palms. She is solid still. He pulls her to his chest as her blood coats the right side of his face and soaks the shoulder of his shirt deep red, diluting his own flowing tears. He squeezes her, breathing and drinking her in, before holding her at a foot’s distance to examine her visually. She is still whole; still solid.

“I love you, Chloe. Every inch of your body could be scarred, and you would always be beautiful to me”

Chloe remains frozen by shock, but intact “What do you mean? What are you talking about?!”

“Nothing sweetheart, we are going to get through this.”

“I know we are.”

Evan's breathing slows. He sinks his forehead into her chest and, as his lips remain sealed, he continues to weep for all the women out there he didn’t love.