caitlin6776
All she wants is to breathe. Fresh air, not the disinfected pumped oxygen that they called air here. Even in the "garden" the air was the same stale, near death air. She wanted to climb all the way into the stratosphere and breathe every bit of air on the way down. She could imagine it.
No parachute, just complete free fall. Everything blowing about her. She would breathe better that she had in years, and be free. Falling and breathing until that final stopping point caused all air to cease within her body. A thing of beauty.
Maybe that was why she was in a room with white walls, generic furniture, and a lumpy bed. Maybe that was why her parents had finally given up and sent her to this blaring white place.
She clout the hard dirt with the heavy rake. She had been at it all day and barely had a half acre finished. She wanted to sob, knowing that at this rate she would never have a crop planted in time. But she pushed on, working even harder. Her hands blistered and dirty, her legs weary as she returned to the house well after dark.
She placed the wafer in her mouth, sucking on the dry cracker. Body of the Christ. Jesus Christ... She steps into the booth, kneeling as she hears the small door slide open. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Sinned, and sinned again. Her life was a sin. One man after the other. My the Virgin Mary forgive her for not following suit, following her lead. But she was not meant to be that way. "It has been 3 months since my last confession." 3 months and 12 men. That was how she measured life now, by the men who she couldn't even look at.
If I were to do a casting call on my life. I could place nearly all. That girl would be her, and he would be the guy from work. I might, with a little difficulty be able to cast myself. But how could I ever find some one to play you? Who could look, talk, and act like you? Who could have that laugh or that smile? Who could make my heart beat just the way you do?
Peas. Green and gooey crushed peas. All over him as he catapults them across the room at his father. His father, a beautiful mess. Disheveled hair, grey t shirt with bits of peas on them, and boxers. They both smile the same mischievous smile as I walk in on the scene. How could I be mad when all I can see is a perfect family.
Flowers falling slowly with the lazy wind. Blossoms float in the open window past the sheer white curtains. A lullaby is being hummed quietly. All a hazy memory as he looks around the scorched room. So much destruction and death. The war has taken so much from so many, but he feels as though he has lost the most. He can hear his mother calling down the hall to wake him for school, his father in the lounge watching tv, his little sister playing with her dolls. All of them gone now and forever. He sunk into the ashes and wept. Wishing that he could become ashes just as they had.
He signed it. She met him. He shook her hand. Wow... She clutches the book to her chest turning in circles. To meet the man who writes the men of her dreams. And he smiled at her when she blushed and stumbled over her own names.
"With love, Lyndon James."
The music is deafening, but amazing. It seems to speak to them. They dance and sing, loving just how the summer feels around them.
Long choppy dark hair, flying about in that particular way. The perfect rocker. The man of her dreams. A guitar in hand and a song on his lips. Just a few feet away, she can almost feel him. She screams as his eyes actually lock on hers. A moment, she swears it is a moment. A feeling, more than it really could be.
A shoulder is what she needs, something to lean on and something to hold. Something to cry on and something to scream into. Something that she simply cant have but all the more to want it right?
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