Names are left vague for the anonymity of the uninvolved person(s).
(Play "I Hate Everything About You" by Three Days Grace)
The anger has built, stemming from a broken relationship and reaching the tipping point. Her behavior is a ticket to hell on earth if she continues down this path. I remember the people from my childhood. Addicts who lost their children, trapped in poverty, begged for money and food, sold their bodies, resorted to extremes to feel any sort of human compassion and release. If only to grab her and shake her until the demon within her spills out of her ears into a steaming pile on the floor, would give me more satisfaction than completing her destructive process myself. I want the sun to burn through her veins and clear the muck that has clogged them, hindered her heart from feeling all that she longs for. Self- sabotage; her mastery. Open the gates of hell so her skin boils, force her to endure the true horror that awaits her. She will only fall farther, vainly covering her ears from the space whipping past, not realizing that her pitiful effort to shield her mind from the inevitable only pulls torment further in. What insignificant relief it offers. Do not cover your ears, reach out to grab something, scream for help, fight gravity for your soul. Who will hear you whispering if you keep turning your head away when others lean in to listen. She is nothing more than the hollow essence of what once was.
A final farewell to my empty friend. I will leave you a present. One last warning. On your doorstep you will find it, no bow nor ribbons, no note, simply leaning against your door as if returning to its rightful owner. An object you will go farther with, to speed up the process. A tool perfected by generations before you and used for no better purpose. There it will rest until you set your eyes upon the one thing that will speak more clearer to you than any human being ever could. Embrace your new best friend.
A shovel.
No comments:
Post a Comment