The soul of the artist, part 2...
Note: the following is a work of fiction.
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"I'm leaving tonight, I hate this place"
"Then why did you take me here?"
"I don't know, but you need to be here"
"Just forget it"
The autumn night grows colder, the breeze picks up and she begins to shiver. Her heart longs for him to hold her again, but he's grown too cold to sense that anymore. The cold is becoming too much for her to bear, as her mind races back to the feelings of warmth that she enjoyed a short few months ago.
"Angel", she reads as she looks into the scars on her arm. Another cold chill shoots down her spine as she remembers the blade, sitting in the top drawer in the bathroom, underneath some cloth to hide it from her parents. They'd never understand her, why she has to do this to herself.
And on the other arm, "Love". This one, in the black ink of a sharpie, written by her only friend. She glances at it and cringes. Love is so hard for her to grasp right now, but it is the one thing that will save her.
"Josh?"
"What?!?" he snaps back at her. He almost forgot about her behind him as he stared into the starry sky. He sits there, feeling in his pockets for a cigarette.
"Why...why did ... you take me here?"
He stops for a moment, looks into the trees ahead of him, a cold stare shining through the moonlight night.
"Because you need to know me..."
She looks away and sighs.
"Seven months ago, you made a promise to me...you remember that?"
"...Yeah", she hesitantly replies.
"I keep mine. I will love you till the end."
"bullshit", she thinks to herself, recalling that night a few weeks ago. Some lover you were then. She glances back at her forearm, the small black letters seem to glisten in the dark. "Thanks...". She knows her insincerity shows, and doesn't care.
"I regret everything...I regret knowing you, I regret...loving you". He begins to stammer, his hand starts to sweat.
"Just lie to me again why don't you?". Her response is as cold as the air she's breathing.
"One day, one day... you'll understand all of this...".
She sits back...."Forget it, I'm going home"
"I'm not taking you home tonight". His response caught her offguard.
"Josh, take me home, please..."
"Wait..."
"For what?" Her patience wears thinner with each passing minute.
He turns back around, facing the darkness, and lights up his last cigarette.
"You told me you'd stop that..." she tells him.
"Why bother...". He barely turns his head.
"For the baby, you promised you'd stop".
"It won't matter..."
"Josh, look at me please" her voice starts to crack as she begs.
He slowly turns his body around, hand in his right pocket, cigarette at his side in his left. "This is it..."
"Josh...Josh...what the hell are you talking about?"
"I love you to the end..."
"To the end?"
"To the end."
"Life's short, you know that"
"Isn't it?" Her mind wanders back to her father. It's been two years since then, but it still seems like yesterday. She feels like she's moved on as much as she could, but the tears begin to flow every time she thinks about mortality.
"I'm sorry". His response is hardly sympathetic. He doesn't notice her tears, as he stares into the sky.
His hand clenches, as he tries to grip the cold metal with his sweating palms.
"Don't love me". His eyes look up to the starry night, as he pulls his hand up, clenching tightly to his friend.
"Josh, what the hell are you doing? Don't! Stop it! It's not worth it!" Her breath runs short as she screams out to him.
"To the end." He calmly reminds her.
She looks at her arms. The red stains mix with the black. She sits there, stunned.
"What the hell..."
She looks at his limp body, his shirt raised slightly on the side as he's curled over.
The scar, the scar of demons on his side. It bleeds out slowly from the wound, with no explanation. It's been scarred over for years, but never went away. She quickly looks away, feeling as though the demons were after her.
She sits in the car, and looks into the mirror.
"Why am I not crying?" she asks herself. Her thoughts race, to him, to her unborn child, everything just flies through her mind.
The glimmer of sunlight appears, as she finds herself still sitting in the passenger's seat of his car.
She looks out the window, hoping it was all a dream. His pale body, a lifeless reminder that it wasn't, still sits slumped over.
She begins to feel hungry, and opens the glovebox. He always kept a bag of jerky there, and her mouth began to water when she thought of it. As she opens the box, the bag is there, as always. She hastily begins to eat, the hunger of the last twelve hours since dinner begin to catch up with her.
The bag is quickly empty. "Now what?" she asks herself. She dares not call his parents, they never were too fond of her. She never knew why.
She looks down at her arms, still stained.
My phone rings.
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Based on a true story.
From the Journal of Demos, Bailo 3. February 2008.
----------------
"I'm leaving tonight, I hate this place"
"Then why did you take me here?"
"I don't know, but you need to be here"
"Just forget it"
The autumn night grows colder, the breeze picks up and she begins to shiver. Her heart longs for him to hold her again, but he's grown too cold to sense that anymore. The cold is becoming too much for her to bear, as her mind races back to the feelings of warmth that she enjoyed a short few months ago.
"Angel", she reads as she looks into the scars on her arm. Another cold chill shoots down her spine as she remembers the blade, sitting in the top drawer in the bathroom, underneath some cloth to hide it from her parents. They'd never understand her, why she has to do this to herself.
And on the other arm, "Love". This one, in the black ink of a sharpie, written by her only friend. She glances at it and cringes. Love is so hard for her to grasp right now, but it is the one thing that will save her.
"Josh?"
"What?!?" he snaps back at her. He almost forgot about her behind him as he stared into the starry sky. He sits there, feeling in his pockets for a cigarette.
"Why...why did ... you take me here?"
He stops for a moment, looks into the trees ahead of him, a cold stare shining through the moonlight night.
"Because you need to know me..."
She looks away and sighs.
"Seven months ago, you made a promise to me...you remember that?"
"...Yeah", she hesitantly replies.
"I keep mine. I will love you till the end."
"bullshit", she thinks to herself, recalling that night a few weeks ago. Some lover you were then. She glances back at her forearm, the small black letters seem to glisten in the dark. "Thanks...". She knows her insincerity shows, and doesn't care.
"I regret everything...I regret knowing you, I regret...loving you". He begins to stammer, his hand starts to sweat.
"Just lie to me again why don't you?". Her response is as cold as the air she's breathing.
"One day, one day... you'll understand all of this...".
She sits back...."Forget it, I'm going home"
"I'm not taking you home tonight". His response caught her offguard.
"Josh, take me home, please..."
"Wait..."
"For what?" Her patience wears thinner with each passing minute.
He turns back around, facing the darkness, and lights up his last cigarette.
"You told me you'd stop that..." she tells him.
"Why bother...". He barely turns his head.
"For the baby, you promised you'd stop".
"It won't matter..."
"Josh, look at me please" her voice starts to crack as she begs.
He slowly turns his body around, hand in his right pocket, cigarette at his side in his left. "This is it..."
"Josh...Josh...what the hell are you talking about?"
"I love you to the end..."
"To the end?"
"To the end."
"Life's short, you know that"
"Isn't it?" Her mind wanders back to her father. It's been two years since then, but it still seems like yesterday. She feels like she's moved on as much as she could, but the tears begin to flow every time she thinks about mortality.
"I'm sorry". His response is hardly sympathetic. He doesn't notice her tears, as he stares into the sky.
His hand clenches, as he tries to grip the cold metal with his sweating palms.
"Don't love me". His eyes look up to the starry night, as he pulls his hand up, clenching tightly to his friend.
"Josh, what the hell are you doing? Don't! Stop it! It's not worth it!" Her breath runs short as she screams out to him.
"To the end." He calmly reminds her.
She looks at her arms. The red stains mix with the black. She sits there, stunned.
"What the hell..."
She looks at his limp body, his shirt raised slightly on the side as he's curled over.
The scar, the scar of demons on his side. It bleeds out slowly from the wound, with no explanation. It's been scarred over for years, but never went away. She quickly looks away, feeling as though the demons were after her.
She sits in the car, and looks into the mirror.
"Why am I not crying?" she asks herself. Her thoughts race, to him, to her unborn child, everything just flies through her mind.
The glimmer of sunlight appears, as she finds herself still sitting in the passenger's seat of his car.
She looks out the window, hoping it was all a dream. His pale body, a lifeless reminder that it wasn't, still sits slumped over.
She begins to feel hungry, and opens the glovebox. He always kept a bag of jerky there, and her mouth began to water when she thought of it. As she opens the box, the bag is there, as always. She hastily begins to eat, the hunger of the last twelve hours since dinner begin to catch up with her.
The bag is quickly empty. "Now what?" she asks herself. She dares not call his parents, they never were too fond of her. She never knew why.
She looks down at her arms, still stained.
My phone rings.
---------------------------------------
Based on a true story.
From the Journal of Demos, Bailo 3. February 2008.