faeriefanatic
I stood by the mailbox smoking what I'd given up months ago... Any second a man was to come with a thick packet asking me what kind of person I was that I wanted their apartment. Let me tell you, inquirers... I'm the kind of person to want to sit by the fireplace with Matt and cuddle until he has to go to the hospital and I have to go to school. I want a tapestry of Ganesh on the wall and some mary jane on the balcony. I want a chameleon and a yellow canary. I want to ponder my new life on the patio and kiss my husband on a cold winter's night. And when I'm praying to your porcelain god while he holds my hair back I will have long since forgotten this pile of paper but at the moment with my cigarette in hand... It's the only thing on my mind.
I shuffled through the doors of a gymnasium. A *gymnasium*, of all things... I was hoping I'd see her, standing there on the stage laughing her ass off. "I'm not dead, you bunch of fools!" It's something she'd do. Rat bastard. But there was no one on the stage. Only a box. A box of decaying flesh but no one was in there. Only something that kind of looks like what she used to. But nothing about her is held in that box. That's why I know I'll never visit her unruly grave, her dusty headstone, her little patch of nowhere. I can say all I want but she'll never hear my goodbye.
She clutched her oversized, bear-shaped cotton candy and watched with giant emerald eyes as her big brother wowed the Galveston crowd, twirling and spinning and stretching the colorful sugar just like she'd seen the pizza men a few shops down.
But that little girl doesn't have a big brother anymore. She sits in her sonless mother's house and clicks away her tiny memories. One day she'll click away at a detailed report of whatever the hell happened to him.
I remember walking up to her door but I couldn't bring myself to knock. I just stared at her year-round wreath, nondescript with bits of plastic left from wherever they sell these twine circles with a blue ribbon elegantly cascading down past the knocker. I left the minimalistic package, marked with not but a half-hearted "Merry Christmas" on her step and walked home. I never was one for goodbyes.
Never understood what I saw that day. I try not to think about it, never thinking too hard nor trying to explain. Anymore. Misunderstood, I saw the world watching me and my expanding thoughts. A "C personality", according to studies. Not alone, but alienated nonetheless. They just bore, my insights. So where is my mind to escape? I hide.
Bloody in my closet, it lay. A brother before, I prayed, not mine. A mother unknowing my crime-did I lay a hand upon my attacker? Did I end the unstoppable torment? But torment or not, a brother before me. I had no right, and he no death to die.
Some unruly part of me wants the world to forget jealousy. Why unruly? Well, I don't see myself as a jealous person, and I feel as though that keeps me on better terms with people.