3/23/09

Note: I wrote this awhile ago, and post it hesitantly, but do keep in mind this is fiction and all parts resembling reality are merely inspiration.

She spent the weekend on ice, not in the bad way though. She was not slipping and falling at every turn. Rather, she was gracefully drifting through each situation which presented itself to her.
Friday went the fastest. With work ending four or five hours early (who's counting?),a cigarette on the ride home and a forbidden call wading through the receiver on her phone. She slept her version of sleeping and wept her version of crying. Lying awake and watching the clock flick by in numerical responses, the greatest killer she knew. Even living was a form of suicide if you let time kill you.
Awaking from nothing and jumping into the same thing, an uneventful day. A stage presence amplified and a mic too loud. These things are her life. These things make her happy. A smile on her face was a mere mirror image, the horizontally placed mirrors showing the merge of grace, resulting in a faulty frown. She was displeased with herself for longing for the affection she had long displaced to escape from. His silence was deserved, and desolate.No type of liquid passion, even the thin vapors of his delusive acceptance, could not fill the insides of her bones. Her plastered marrow was preserved, but loosely knit. Every shift of weight and every step would shake the demode dust in her .
"My bones cry out aching, dry and breaking." She said it aloud. No one so much as twitched in response. Dry as a desert, she deserted contemporary means.
The drive home was long. The sky was perfected in tones that even she could appreciate. Each star a melodic pluck on the lines of the harp set in the sky, reverberating against the shade of the sky, an open space between strings.

The next day the rolling of the tires beneath her felt routine, and so soon. Another day, another place, another song, ten more faces to remember and names to forget.
Seeing the broken down one room school filled her heart with pings of hope.


Her downfall was inevitable. It is quite the wonder how it was all documented, though none took noticed. An excerpt from her journal is all it would have taken to open the blindest eyes to light.
"If all sin shall be repent and washed away, save for blasphemy and the sins I have encompassed myself in, then why try to wash clean the dirt from my face? If I am the damned, then who is foolish enough to repent a lost cause? If I am lost, why should i search for a map that God's rage has burned in the Hell He created? All men are apt to sin and the sin I'm in, Oh the sin I'm in. Shall I not try to wade my way past clouds to Heaven's gates with sin around my knees as thick as murkish moss water? Why, God, would You encourage the lost to stay lost? Why woudl You, God, dispel mistakes to a permanent board. Why, God, are you keeping score when we believe our sins to be erased? Why have You damned me?"


The one room school house was boarded up for the most part. A broken window was visible and vines crept up each side, surpassing perfect opportunities to break in. One step left the way into the door, though completely unnecessary. The field around was plowed and forgotten. The high school is still directly across the road, oddly placed in the surrounding champaign. The very first time she ever passed the original school house, ideas pervaded through her body. A rope, and god willing a rafter to hang it from. She was never a boy scout, so the knots may be a trick; but a noose did not have to be perfect. The boards would remain up. The body would appear as a trick of the eyes to the cars which passed, a vine misplaced, an old board falling to the ground.
She grew giddy over discussing the hunt for her body with herself. Would they think she had run away? Would they think she was kidnapped?
Perhaps a pair of wide eyed lovers would make their way into the room, looking for fulfilling love and finding a hollowed out neck. How long would her body swing? Who would notice her absence first? How the world would shake at the news and the hypocrisy.

A smile spread across her face, revealing teeth crooked with compassion for the imperfect.
These things are her life. These things make her happy.

There are two ways this story ends. She pleads for the first. The thoughts consuming her until she makes her way to the one room school house, and attaches herself to the building where her thoughts were left.

The other is the reality of it all.
Who would be the first to notice her absence? She knew.

She was glad. She loved you.

You kept her sane.

Don't you dare leave.