When I see the phone number on the display I have no need to answer it. Angrily my fingers twitch at my side but I know what this is about, what they're going to say. No one would phone at such an ungodly hour for nothing. As the display fades the echoes of the voices downstairs reach me. From the sobs and the pity going out to the other end I know that I was right. It had happened. There was no questioning it. Despair slams into me like a wrecking ball and to balance my feet I plunk down on my bed. There is nothing that I can do or say to make it better. In fact I would probably make things worse. Would I? As I stare into nothing She comes back. The little girl on the swing. She turns her head to stare at me, look me in the eyes with her own watery ones. Then her brow furrows as I don't understand her and she warps my thinking. Taking my thoughts and my beliefs and melding them together, to what she supposes it should be. Everyone else believes in this. Should I? My friends believe in it, although they don't practice it? Do I? No I don't. I know that when I think this way I am never myself. But as my friends put on the front that they are not dealing with the same confusion I feel lost. She takes my thoughts and once again starts to fold the edges, making things the way that I don't think they should be. I am not myself when I am around her. As I fight back she grows in fury making me feel as if all she knows is right. Do I believe her and what she thinks? Should I? Angrily I throw my arms into the air and with a cry of frustration weep. Only time will tell me who I am and what I should think. My character will come back to me, I remind myself. Or will it? Will I always think this way, trapped in a sense that I am wrong, an outsider or that I know nothing about myself at all? That takes too long, I remind myself. Don't let time do the job, get rid of the girl now.
Death is becoming, some say. Maybe the dear old poet got it wrong. That man who claimed such a thing probably was some loner anyways. Death. Death. Death. The word is a reverberation amongst the minds of the people. As they go along with their daily businesses there is nothing more to life than their fleeting thoughts. Days come and go when the word doesn't come to mind, with the exception of the obsessed. But otherwise there are times when it haunts you, lingering over your shoulder hollering. Wouldn't you like to know? Wouldn't you like to feel it, taste it? To the lonely girl who sits on her own in a tree the taunt causes her to shiver. The tremor ripples through her shoulders down to her toes forcing her skin to erupt into tiny volcanoes. Her hairs rise on end as she remembers her friend. Word reached her today that he had left. Gone forever, never again. Continuously she heard his laughter in her head or maybe his voice telling her that it was wrong to cry. He wouldn't want, she noted, but still it hurt so much. The pain seemed to gouge down into her chest tugging at her diaphragm, forcing the muscles in her throat to choke and swell. Her tongue was covered in phlegm and it did not matter how many times she swallowed. It always came back. As did the tears.
Her skirt was drenched partly from wiping her face, otherwise it was wet from crossing the stream. For you see, the very tree she had climbed was the one that he had brought her to. It seemed very becoming of such a young lad to take an even smaller child under his wing. For the while that her father was out to sea and her mother at the market he had watched her, guarding her from certain perils but exposing her to others. Adventure seemed to be what he exuded, a sense that he was doing what he was doing only for her. Kindness seemed to be in his every grasp. Bad things always seemed to happen to good people.
Now he was gone. After years of suffering with no peace he had departed. Lonely girl had not even been by his side through it all. Disease riddled and not himself; she'd only seen him like that once. Shocked and horror stricken at what it had done to him she had found it awkward to be around him. For during that one time there was no hope about him. After a year of changes and hardships he had given up on his fight. There was no peace within him. Only dreariness as he walked towards the light.
Guilt seemed to pool inside her because of it, because of her reaction and thoughts when she had seen him. When she was home her mother had told her not to remember him that way, to remember him the way he was. There was no optimism in her Mama's voice, only a mild despair that grew in strength as the months dragged on. Finally it had come, word in the middle of the night that he had gone. The passing was not tragic but the Lonely girl could not understand him anymore. Why had he given up on such a battle? Why? Why? Why! He had been so hopeful, but then again that was years ago. As time passes people change. But that much? Maybe it was the disease, riddling his mind and what he truly believed. Or the treatments, perhaps. They had been painful things. Even though she had never seen them she had heard all about them. The Lonely girl knew more than enough about it to understand that what he had undergone was a horrendous way to spend your final years.
Along with his death came that confusion. He had never lived his life, never found his significant other. At least not to the extent that some would wish. Was it better to go on that way? What was love? What did it feel or taste like? Is it a terrifying emotion best left locked away? What if it was misinterpreted? What if the Lonely girl didn't understand it? As this came to mind her heart thundered in her chest thrashing about in her ribcage and causing her body to mildly sweat. There was nothing pleasant about this for she feared it. She feared love, feared death. Was that any different than anyone else? They surely put on a front that they didn't think that way. The Lonely girl's mouth seemed to twitch. It seemed to hard, this life. So confusing. What if she admired people? What if she wanted to be just like someone else? Was that so wrong? Other people were sure to misinterpret that, say something disturbing and so wrong that it seemed right. How unfair was that, so unjust. Because, should someone say that sort of thing, surely her mind would warp the words and believe them too. But if she was really herself, all of the time, then maybe...just maybe her mind would cast the words out. But it was too risky! The Lonely girl leaned her head against the trunk of the tree swinging her legs as she sighed, her chest catching the breath and strangling it. As her lungs convulsed she finally let out the locked away sob. Soon her whole body began to heave with anger and confusion. There was so much that she didn't know and didn't understand. So much to fear with too many risks. What if her mind wants her to be something that she's not? Was she sick then? Was she sick like her lost friend? Or was it something else, something incorrigible that would lead the rest of her life through a plight of despair? The Lonely girl's hands trembled and her body seemed to shake as the rivers poured down her cheeks. With nimble fingers she grabbed up a fistful of her skirt and wiped her face. There was a need to find some sort of confidence. And soon or this just might kill her-these feelings that is.
Death is becoming, some say. Maybe the dear old poet got it wrong. That man who claimed such a thing probably was some loner anyways. Death. Death. Death. The word is a reverberation amongst the minds of the people. As they go along with their daily businesses there is nothing more to life than their fleeting thoughts. Days come and go when the word doesn't come to mind, with the exception of the obsessed. But otherwise there are times when it haunts you, lingering over your shoulder hollering. Wouldn't you like to know? Wouldn't you like to feel it, taste it? To the lonely girl who sits on her own in a tree the taunt causes her to shiver. The tremor ripples through her shoulders down to her toes forcing her skin to erupt into tiny volcanoes. Her hairs rise on end as she remembers her friend. Word reached her today that he had left. Gone forever, never again. Continuously she heard his laughter in her head or maybe his voice telling her that it was wrong to cry. He wouldn't want, she noted, but still it hurt so much. The pain seemed to gouge down into her chest tugging at her diaphragm, forcing the muscles in her throat to choke and swell. Her tongue was covered in phlegm and it did not matter how many times she swallowed. It always came back. As did the tears.
Her skirt was drenched partly from wiping her face, otherwise it was wet from crossing the stream. For you see, the very tree she had climbed was the one that he had brought her to. It seemed very becoming of such a young lad to take an even smaller child under his wing. For the while that her father was out to sea and her mother at the market he had watched her, guarding her from certain perils but exposing her to others. Adventure seemed to be what he exuded, a sense that he was doing what he was doing only for her. Kindness seemed to be in his every grasp. Bad things always seemed to happen to good people.
Now he was gone. After years of suffering with no peace he had departed. Lonely girl had not even been by his side through it all. Disease riddled and not himself; she'd only seen him like that once. Shocked and horror stricken at what it had done to him she had found it awkward to be around him. For during that one time there was no hope about him. After a year of changes and hardships he had given up on his fight. There was no peace within him. Only dreariness as he walked towards the light.
Guilt seemed to pool inside her because of it, because of her reaction and thoughts when she had seen him. When she was home her mother had told her not to remember him that way, to remember him the way he was. There was no optimism in her Mama's voice, only a mild despair that grew in strength as the months dragged on. Finally it had come, word in the middle of the night that he had gone. The passing was not tragic but the Lonely girl could not understand him anymore. Why had he given up on such a battle? Why? Why? Why! He had been so hopeful, but then again that was years ago. As time passes people change. But that much? Maybe it was the disease, riddling his mind and what he truly believed. Or the treatments, perhaps. They had been painful things. Even though she had never seen them she had heard all about them. The Lonely girl knew more than enough about it to understand that what he had undergone was a horrendous way to spend your final years.
Along with his death came that confusion. He had never lived his life, never found his significant other. At least not to the extent that some would wish. Was it better to go on that way? What was love? What did it feel or taste like? Is it a terrifying emotion best left locked away? What if it was misinterpreted? What if the Lonely girl didn't understand it? As this came to mind her heart thundered in her chest thrashing about in her ribcage and causing her body to mildly sweat. There was nothing pleasant about this for she feared it. She feared love, feared death. Was that any different than anyone else? They surely put on a front that they didn't think that way. The Lonely girl's mouth seemed to twitch. It seemed to hard, this life. So confusing. What if she admired people? What if she wanted to be just like someone else? Was that so wrong? Other people were sure to misinterpret that, say something disturbing and so wrong that it seemed right. How unfair was that, so unjust. Because, should someone say that sort of thing, surely her mind would warp the words and believe them too. But if she was really herself, all of the time, then maybe...just maybe her mind would cast the words out. But it was too risky! The Lonely girl leaned her head against the trunk of the tree swinging her legs as she sighed, her chest catching the breath and strangling it. As her lungs convulsed she finally let out the locked away sob. Soon her whole body began to heave with anger and confusion. There was so much that she didn't know and didn't understand. So much to fear with too many risks. What if her mind wants her to be something that she's not? Was she sick then? Was she sick like her lost friend? Or was it something else, something incorrigible that would lead the rest of her life through a plight of despair? The Lonely girl's hands trembled and her body seemed to shake as the rivers poured down her cheeks. With nimble fingers she grabbed up a fistful of her skirt and wiped her face. There was a need to find some sort of confidence. And soon or this just might kill her-these feelings that is.