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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1346335-Her-Last-Day
Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Melodrama · #1346335
A story detailing the last day of a girl suffering from ghosts that haunt her past..
Today I saw the sun disappear from the sky, I tried to cleanse my soul, and that’s when the rain decided to pour. I walked through the blazing downpour and everything disappeared into insignificance. I sat on a bench miles from anything, soaked and defeated staring at what looked like the most beautiful view of nature I have ever seen. I took in the sights; a deep breath led me to discard of my umbrella. I looked around at the damp earth, sighing at the end of my life seemed almost like a cliché but the satisfaction was unexpectedly sensual. The first tear, that from the morning was at a peak fell down my left cheek, I almost didn’t notice it because my face was covered in the cold piercing rain, however my tears were so warm and diluted that the sensation of it rushed through my body and a tidal wave of pain suddenly hit me . I fell to the ground, landing on the softwet grass, tears rushed down my face as I begun crying out to some unknown god:
‘Are you there? You know why I’m here; if you’re there you will come down and this damned pain away….'
the second the final words were choked out of me the rain seemed to take on a life of its own and fell even harder than before, I smiled at the irony of that insult, and looked down at my clothes which now stuck to my skin like a wet magnet. I got up as though I had got the answer I had been seeking and begun my journey back home. I walked through the endless alleyways and perfect suburbia hedges which felt like they didn’t exist until now. I heard sirens whenever I accidentally stepped on a snail. Crunch and a siren went off. I became more careful and aware and skipped over the third and fourth snails, regretting the demise of the first two. So this is how it was, the choice between giving life and taking it away, so simple, so easy. Whether you’re taking your own life or the life of another (regardless of how insignificant) it was a decision between taking the plunge without looking, or taking a larger step to avoid an accident. The similarities between these snails and I are becoming quite clear, they must really hate humans, every time it rains they get out of their holes and make their way to another destination. They are so aware of dangers surrounding them but are unable to avoid them. Always stepped on by people who didn’t see them or people who did see them but chose to crash them anyway. I wonder if they live in fear as I do, with such pathetic fragile shells that anything could easily penetrate through them. I wish I was made of thisker skin, I’m sure they do too, those insignificant fucking snails.

Let me take you back to the beginning, when all my hopes and dreams were aligned in a singular vessel. I used to be so different and full of life, life gave me mistakes and I gave it suggestions. I used to be able to lay down and swing my legs in the air but the enjoyment from that was taken from its innocence and everything including breathing became a chore. I was never tired or sad, somehow I managed to smile through the gaping holes of a bleeding nation. I lived on false hope, I lived a false ending. Many years past by with Saturday morning cartoons commanding me to jump up and down and many nights past on my father’s knee singing hymns and choruses of may. Then soon after, many days slowly and painfully past whilst I was chased by the perpetrator of the week and the nights became nightmares I couldn’t escape. Feverish hands that didn’t know their place violated me out of normality and brutalised my heart, my soul surprisingly still intact. I stopped singing and my feet crushed from the sky to the floor with painful ease. The silence that followed the next few years was the beginning of my never ending solitude. I embraced all that gave me what I sought, especially all that gave me that happy attention because I never wanted them to stop looking. I lied through the closeness, I cheated and manipulated so they would never go away. But I was wrong, the hand that fed me took me away once again, this time to the rightful views that until today I have not explored as well as I should have. The crying begun shortly after, at first they were dry quiet sobs, locked in a room filled with new hopes that didn’t even belong to me. Then shattered screams is what they progressed into blocking my mind away from reality whenever it peaked. Lashing out at inanimate objects became a fond hobby, building towers of self-loathing in my bitter abode. It was called stealth darling, the machine that blocked all my memories except what I wanted. I became a child of the earth, I worshipped things that were there before the fictitious gods had arrived to punish the sinners. I had arrived, confident in my secret and pregnant in words that flowed unpremeditated through a chance current. I thanked the four corners, fire, earth, water and air. I smiled at the dying plant and it soon blossomed. The life I wanted to lead became a clear vision and the earth accepted me with all my flaws. Sooner hated than feared, I abandoned my niche for a quiet life filled with pleasures found in chemicals. Chemistry. I inhaled joints and drank from a straw, all the while struggling for obvious rehabilitation. It felt good to smile when I was like this, intoxicating my liver until be started beating to the music. I felt I owed gratitude to the D.J! the earth stopped following in my tracks not recognising the alien that popped its way through tight leggings and pearl necklaces. I sang the night away once more but only when I had a chemical, a potion in my hand. Swearing to return all vengeance on myself, fury flooded me and I killed my arteries, then killed my heart, and slowly begun killing my soul. My kisses floated through public toilets in clubs, from the bottom of my chemical reaction to the end on my straw. I was incomplete. I had managed an unforgivable task and sold myself to the highest bidder, sometimes the only bidder. I never had any satisfaction apart from once on my own, in a dark room away from prying eyes, when I cut myself bleeding. Oscar De Lorenze, who is he and what does he do for fun? Oscar Levant, how can I know him when I don’t know my own heart? Heart beatings persuaded by the cutting form of punishment led me to appreciate the idea that life was too fucking short. That we only lived once to the sounds that contained us in immaculate infinitesimal bubbles. Bring back the heat from my dying youth, I wish I could find that heat encompassed in a trail that isn’t full of self loathing and pondered thoughts. Lets do the 1.2 step to the beating of my irregular heart, summer cries aren’t all they are talked about, I’m not even listening right now. Tick tock. Don’t bother. She’s hiding behind a dollar.

And so I bring you back to where I am now, crying in the rain, chasing a current that leads only to the fiery hell, a million times protested by my well spoken mother. I pray to the Jehovah’s, Buddha’s and skies that it will come, smoothly. I also pray to the sun that when im under the ground, may it always shine on my exposed bones and bring back the heat of my new youth. I said goodbye twice today, to the people I thought mattered. I wanted to give myself away as a treasure to be stored under layers of solitude. I fail to see the light even as I stall now at the end with these empty words. I know that must come because I fail to see the significance of the word love in this world today. My plot point was lost in the mail, now I’m stuck with broken sentences that lack effect. Cradle these words if you must, for they do nothing for me, especially the overwhelming guilt that punctures my mind. If you knew me well from the middle of my youth, you would understand and empathise with my decision to keep this to myself until now. I hope that I always loved you, and not just myself and I give you my hand and my word now from wherever it hails. May the light always shine where you stand and make sure there is never a sad tear to wipe.

© Copyright 2007 jeanbean (fontaine at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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