A Little Note
My Dear Reader,
I will never be able to express verbally what it is I need, what it is I feel, the way I do in the written form. It wasn’t the way I was raised, it wasn’t the way I was taught to be. And yes, as time walked on I got better and better at reaching out, at trying to help myself step out of the darkness, but…
How much longer? How much longer can I keep trying, keep fighting this overwhelming need to self-destruct in order to rid the world of my tainted presence? How much longer do I have to fight back my instinct to leave, to run and never look back because as much as I want to fall and break down, immerse myself in family and love and light, a part of me halts, rips back the hand I always try to reach out with—
That part of me, that was making the attempt to reconcile with Hope, that for so long tried to protect me from being hurt, has been consumed by rage, by grief. Because in the three months that I have been away, a part of me broke. My wraith like protector refuses to acknowledge the possibility of being home now, with all my loved ones. She refuses to think that after so long, we’re safe now, we can settle down with family around us, blood and of spirit, that we can make our own way in the world, at our own pace, in peace, the way we want to, not the way others have prescribed for us.
She refuses to believe that the ones who have been at our side for so long, are here still, will wait for us, will guide us and help us stand back up after we fall. She believes that we must not break apart when surrounded by warmth and love, but in private, hiding like an animal while licking its wounds.
She believes that in the end, the fragile existence we left, with bridges being built, the fire sparked, is gone, vanished forever, banished to only memories. She believes that the people beside us now, do not exist, and if they do, will leave soon enough…just give them time.
She believes, she knows that one day, consumed by darkness and fear and panic and hate, we will walk back to that bridge, and will jump off of it.
She is me. She is the broken part of me that I buried alive in order to continue day after day away from home in order to conform to the norm, to what was expected, despite the rising realization that I was causing more damage than progress. And now, now that we are home, she is clawing her way out of the burial mound, is shrieking, is weeping, at finding she is back where it all started…in that white room shrouded in darkness, in that white room alone and scared, reliving, sinking into the unspoken and unwept.
And like always, writing is our savior, along with coffee and the gods. And like always, we will put words to the screen, ink to paper and relive our darkness to try and move on, and if we fail at that…
Well. Then at the least people will have no reason to doubt as to why we died.
Mas En Caso
“So.” The war room’s long table was mostly empty, with the exception of the two girls, one hunched over her white laptop, the other pacing behind her, and as usual, interrupting K.
“So?” K echoed, and waited, pausing in her typing.
“You finally decided to do what you should have done the moment you got into town, no, scratch that, what you should have been doing this entire time.”
“Yeah,” K nodded, unfazed by the flat tone. “Pretty much.”
“I like how you’re acting, I don’t know. Sane.” Rain scowled, and halted right behind the writer, yellow eyes glowing with rage. “So much better than the past couple of weeks where it’s been one loony tune after another! So much better than seeing you curled up on the floor of the fucking bathroom in the damn shop, having a goddamn episode and then doing the exact opposite of what you should do and thinking about leaving…forever!”
“Oh, and let’s not forget your little walk to the bridge—”
“That was a test!” K snapped, and spun around on her wheelie chair to face the older girl. “Dioses, Rain! You were right there with me.”
“I was right there with you, when you were deciding whether you wanted to kill yourself or not.” Rain told her. “And if you had chosen to do so?”
“You wouldn’t have let me,” K reasoned. “Besides, we both know—”
“That you were feeling numb.”
“You were numb. There were no cars passing by. There was no one who could have stopped you if you tried, if you had actually went for it.” Rain’s voice was quiet, but each word was louder than the mental screams of the shadow kid.
After a very long moment of tense silence, Kula finally nodded. “Yeah.” she agreed. “No one could have stopped me. And I came back, that’s what matters.”
“And how long until you decide to take another walk? How long before you forget that that little stunt was your last chance to off yourself?” Rain asked. “You feel better now because you’re out but once you’re back in that room…”
K leaned back in her chair, her eyes trained on the dark ceiling above, and the poster of Nikki Sixx with the words ‘life is beautiful’ scrawled across in red paint.
“Yeah,” K sighed. “I know, Rain. I know.” She glanced at the far corner of the war room where seconds before the shadow kid had appeared, curled up, huddling to the wall with the pile of jackets making her more of a laundry basket than human being.
“I see her too.” K gave the shadow kid a sad smile and the younger girl burrowed further into the jacket pile in response until she was hidden completely from view, save for the trembling.
“I do have some plans in case that should happen,” K added, after a moment. “And if all goes well with this writing project, maybe by the end, she’ll understand that it’s okay.”
“That would be awesome possum,” Rain sighed, and glanced outside of their head to the darkening cloudy sky. “Mass is gonna start soon kid, and we’re freezing.”
K nodded and began to power down her laptop. “We’ll keep an eye on her,” she told the older girl, receiving a nod in response. “Hey, shadow kid, ready for mass?”
“Father…who art thou…who is in…in…”
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” and relief flashed across both girls’ faces. If the shadow kid could still pray, if she still believed the gods existed and would hear them, there really was hope, and it was the biggest indication of improvement in two weeks.
As K began her trip outside, Rain drifted towards the jacket pile and bent down.
“Heaven and hell, love,” Rain murmured. “Our father is in heaven and in hell, but we usually stick to hell, since it’s funnier that way.”
“Yup,” Rain straightened up and patted where the shadow kid’s head would be, buried under the sleeve of a blue jacket. “Hell.”
And then Rain thought, why the hell not, and began, “Our Father who is in hell, hallowed be thy name. Thy will be done, thy kingdom come, in hell as it has on earth. Give us this day our daily dose of coffee and forgive us our trespasses, as we have tried to forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from decaf, and the idiots that surround us, amen.”
The older girl chuckled and followed after K, but she still managed to catch the answering amen from the jacket pile.