No More Time!

Oct 18, 2020, 03:30 AM

The End

The mist has descended. My love has come for me. I will tell you the story, but only if you promise not to pay attention to the details. And you mustn’t get too excited, I know that it is today, and that this knowing will be agonizing for you to hold in your hands without screaming bloody murder; but I must stress your composure. Raising your voice will do you no good here. Not anymore. We’ve tuned each other’s cries out completely. This will not compel her to move. You must be silent. You must listen. You must pay attention. It began in a bar on fifth. I met her in a classroom. While we were away, the classroom disintegrated. We had to meet elsewhere. We were forced to stop learning the definition of intelligence. This is how we came to know everything. I was uncertain. I was fidgeting like a schoolboy on the barstool. I wasn’t sure if she would show. I knew she was coming. I waited patiently. I began writing a story that I’d swear myself was true. I convinced myself to memorize it. I promised to perform it before her when she arrived. She didn’t walk in. She stumbled. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. I looked as quickly as I could. I was staring. My lips were parted. I was saying something, but only small sounds were escaping; like crying. I waved. I summoned. I prayed. I turned around and held my breath. The Gods knew her way. She came. She stood beside me and yelled “Hi!” I didn’t stir. I was expecting the exultation. “Ha! Sorry. Why am I yelling? Why am I apologizing! It must be this damn British accent; I always seem to be excusing my nature without intention. Sage! I couldn’t control myself. I wrote that I found you twice. I only remembered the once. I was terrified. I thought it was destiny that I let you go. I couldn’t imagine being without you, so I disobeyed. The Gods were furious. They tried to force a performance on me. They insisted that this story had already been written in exquisite detail by their best men, that it was a matter of acting. They told me I couldn’t write of you again. They told me you were a brat and that all you knew how to do was run away! That’s when I decided to get drunk. I was sitting in a sunken mattress with a purple elephant in my lap. I picked up a pen. I wrote that I would be courageous enough to come to your front door. There was an elephant in bars. I had the inclination to free him and run away. But I knew I had been created for your escape. I could not out run your freedom. I could not stop loving you. I tried! I threw the pen across the room and screamed. I drank a bottle of wine. I picked up the pen again. It said to squeeze my gorgeous thighs into my favorite pants and walk my drunken ass all the way to you. So needless to say, I’m already wasted! We were supposed to write and drink, I know. But I may just have to listen. Do you have anything prepared?” I open my lips to speak, only to realize they’re already open. I’m drooling. I wipe it quickly and try with all my might to remember what looking cool and collected feels like. I’m stupefied. I’m mesmerized. She fills the silence with an air of authority; she reigns here, it all belongs to her. I know she will remember. “Waiter! A glass of wine, something red, other than that, I don’t care. I’m drunk!” She leans her chin on her palms and stares up at me, “what’s a girl gotta do to get a little attention around here? Start a war! Set the earth on fire! Let the species I adore eat each other alive! Tell me what you see boy. I’ve come for your story of me.” 
“I see red. Everything is covered in blood and everyone is splashing in it. They call it rain. They call it the sun. They call it well behaved, a sidewalk, a staircase. A bridge disappears in the middle of the night; they call it act of faith. What do you believe in? Is this trust in the words you say honestly coming from your nature? Have your own hands painted the next scene? Or are you so entangled in the story that you’ve given me control of your next movements? Will you blame me if I take this as an opportunity to possess you? Will my manipulative tendencies be glorified as an artistic expression? Or will they displayed as a declaration of truth instead? If I have enough power, what will the penalty for your disobedience be, perjury or death? You seem like a merciless entity. If I had to guess before you kiss me, I would say that you intend to kill. Have you ever known hunger? Have you ever held a means of defense between your fingers? Have you ever used your voice as this weapon? Have you ever taken up arms against your own body? Have you ever forced yourself not to eat? You knew there was nothing left that your stomach could digest but my tiny tummy and fragile rib cage. My pale wrists were begging you to bite through skin. You could’ve held me down. I was so tiny back then. I wouldn’t have put up a fight. But you chose starvation instead. Maybe you are Queen of mercy after all, sweet girl. But I can’t stop thinking of your descent last night. I left this dimension in Palm canyon. The enemy of light took my sight and gifted me vision: speech. This is not what I had originally written. It’s only a memory and your eyes are piercing me! I dreamt the darkness manifested itself inside of you, and that you learned to set it beside my light without hesitation. There was no fear. Skin was my only thought. Revolution was yours. One word began folding multiple dimensions into each other until only one sound remained, freedom. You sat by my side. I strapped a whip to my hip. You reached behind your neck for an arrow and arched your spine. I told you, if only you sat your drunken butt by my side, I would write all that was stolen. This is the dream I will continue to lie in. This is the way out my love. This is the end.” 
“Ha! I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just been a very long time since I’ve come across a story bold enough to come to an end. Ha! Are you sure you’re not dreaming now? Because I am certainly not apologizing for my behavior, not seriously!” She tries to sit on the stool beside me, and falls. Quickly regaining her dignity, she instantly sobers her body and picks herself off of the sticky floor. She walks behind me and covers my eyes with her hands. “I’m clumsy, sure. Silly at times, certainly. But this isn’t a game anymore Sage. Tell me what you see.”
“I see you crying. I see you standing outside my door. I see you dying to tell me the story. I see the end P. And you are beside me.”