missindustrious
They gathered around her, forming a circle and repeated the incantations in hushed tones. The slight woman shut her eyes tightly and attempted to stifle her sobbing by biting down on the handkerchief in her rouged mouth. The blood had drained from her face and her breathing slowed and became shallow. The members of the council looked down at her, then to each other, and nodded in agreement.
'She's going to make a full recover, Anna,' Dr. Henson stated. She exhaled slowly and paced back and forth. The doctor walked down the hall, scratching down notes. She could hear a familiar grumblings emerging from behind the sterile white door and an eruption of questions and accusations. 'Why am I here? What the fuck are all these wires? Did you put them on me? You put these on me! Jesus H. Christ! I'm not dead!' Anna deduced from this one-sided interaction that she ought to intervene.
A white picket fence. A small, wooden white picket fence. That's all I have ever wanted. I knew that my desire was cliched and that it was a simple desire. I just felt that there was some stability in that image. A little barrier that served no practical purpose but for me symbolised happiness and a calm center in this constant turmoil we call life.
I can feel her words slicing into my heart. The corrosive effects of her venomous words on my brain. Slowly eating away at it. How could she be so cruel after all this time we have spent together? I just wanted her to feel the same pain that I felt. Perhaps then, she would be more careful with the acidic speech she spits in my face.
This morning my sister got engaged. Engagements are normally momentous, exciting events, but this one was different. There was a sadness in her voice when she told me over the phone. Not because she wasn't excited, but because she knew what she would have to reveal. I knew that my sister had loved Lorna for years. Their bond was secretive by necessity. My parents would never condone their relationship.
"What a devastatingly attractive man," she whispered. Her eyes shifted to the doorway. His frame took up the majority of the doorway, but his presence filled the room. He had this sense of confidence and vitality about him that was magnetic. Yet--she felt completely repulsed. Something about his smile was too perfect. His hair coiffed too neatly. Who is this man?
Health is not a right, but a luxury. Anything beyond good health is asking for too much, apparently. It seems like all we have time for is work and suffering. But what about play? What about physical activity as an enjoyable form of exercise? It's our responsibility to maintain our good health, but we're discouraged from taking time for ourselves. What is this madness?
We walked along the train tracks. I couldn't help but be reminded of when we were kids. We used to do the same thing together. I fumbled around in my pocket for a coin, so I could pay homage to those days. All the times that we lined up coins along the tracks, prepared for pressing.
Her voice hit a high pitch that resonated through the auditorium. Once she stopped singing the aria, she smiled with sweet satisfaction. There was only one person sitting in the audience--her coach--but he too, knew what this meant. It was her breakthrough moment. The perfect note.
The sting of the nettle on my hands left a strong memory of my excursion this morning. I didn't intend for it to last for so long. I had wandered along the river in order to clear my mind. My curious hands grasped the nettle even though my rational mind was acutely aware of the pain it would cause. I needed to gather the leaves for tea tonight. Why must the things that are good for us need to be so painful?
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writing since 2011 · 31 entries · 29 days shown up
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doorwhitealongcoursedifferentfacetracksgoohotbehindeyesroomhandsslowlywhisperedvoice