Broken Wings

They say it was the past that drove her crazy.

Those carefree days when she had still been ruthless drunk on all fours, crawling across the calacatta-marble counter table, howling into the night. When inky black shadows that used to lurk only in the corners seemed to somehow materialize, an acrid tangibility that tried to rip apart her soul. When the blackbirds sang a daunting tune as if somewhat beckoning him. The eerie silence whispering in his ear, threatening to inch their way across his veins. She was left with nothing but regret.

Listen to many, speak to a few.

It was almost deserted, a minuscule patch of green that was sanctioned as a ‘park’. But it was midnight, and when California enlivened, sunshine haired mothers would be bouncing their children across their laps, gossiping and unpacking roasted-ham sandwiches from layers of clingfilm. She almost laughed at the thought, knowing she would never experience their happiness, never laugh truly again. The woman trudged wearily towards the water fountain, retaining a gasp as the icy water splattered onto her face. Then a siren, resonating across the dark, leaving her shuddering. She pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, for once, afraid.

It is dark, here. But there are lights inside the windows.

Every exit is an entry somewhere else.

Stretched below her in shapes she could not understand, was the sea. And below the sea... Nothingness. Or something he had never seen before. Somewhere he had never gone, and never wished to be. The scene still replayed in his head, ever since that day. Millions and millions of regrets, the screams echoing day after day, promising to never leave him in peace. She was young back then, but she could never forgive himself. Her name called out...

That one may smile and smile and be a villain.

There is a fake smile plastered onto the man's face. She wonders if there may be a moon or many moons that will resemble the pearls hidden behind his lips if clouds will part those lips and reveal the moon behind that smile. Or if corruption will drift out, showing the devil that stalked behind. She wonders many things but draws to no conclusion. 

“Miss, it’s time” he informed.

She stares at him with a perplexed look on her face, clutching the leather duffle bag, and flashes back a polite simper, and ambles over to the receptionist.

Broken crayons still color.

Yesterday’s her was no longer there. She felt as though it was only a day ago when she was there as a 5-year-old with both of his parents. yet he was no longer perched at the cliff of Nagano, staring at his village below him, the sun glaring at him from a distance. Although the sun part was still true, this was different. His feet buried in mounds of golden sand, deep water before him, so close. He could feel it tingling in his body, the water racing through his veins. She knew it was only her own imagination. But it just felt.. so close. She gazed half-heartedly for a moment before his eyes rested over the sapphire water. ‘This is different, her heart screamed, ‘This… is different."

If she was to fall asleep and never wake up, it wouldn't matter.

She often wondered what would happen if somebody were to write a story about her. It would be a tragedy. There was nothing they would find interest in, misfortunes, one after another. If she were to write a story about herself, she may have rather never written again. Or maybe just written patches of it, and clumped them together, into something that made no sense. She didn't know and she didn't want to know.

She knew yet she didn't.

She didn't yet she did.

Nothing made sense in this world anymore.

The moon takes over the sun at night for a reason.

Now, she notices things she never noticed before. Like that splatter of rain on the window, or the street art filling the walls. Some people call it graffiti, but it adds just a touch of color to the colorless world. It keeps the blood still in her veins, it keeps them from spilling out. She doesn't understand why the government painted over it, making her city just like the others again. She knows that they will come again, and make it magical, yet she still feels a wave of disappointment when it's gone. Daylight and colors give her hope. But when night falls, the demon will possess her again. When darkness hits and wipes away the sun.

Powerless.

Yes, that was the word.

Powerless.

It tasted bittersweet.

It tasted like a memory that never happened.

It tasted like blood, tears, and sweat.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

She used to be so many things. She used to be the prepossessing girl in the sapphire blue kimono, the girl who sung with her heart and danced with her soul, a shine of anticipation the most un-illuminated of nights. She used to dream, even be fearless.

Once.

But since that once, she had been nothing. They said she was alive. That her heart was still pumping and blood still filled her veins. But they were wrong. She had not been alive for a long time. Not since that once.

Now the days are daunting, and she longs to never wake up.

But she does, and when she does, her hair is matted with grease, her eyelids still fluttering. She no longer feels like a butterfly, she no longer has wings.

Thank you for reading this, I wanted to get out some emotions that I've been feeling. This story was the progress of many months, and I'm sorry that this was all I'm able to produce. I can't believe the last time I submitted a story was last year. So much has changed, and so much hasn't. I guess this is just a story, but to be honest, I don't really know.