Her Story

Sometime between midnight and twilight she finds herself by her drum kit or the battered old guitar. It is an improvement from the nights when she would be tickling the ivory keys, you just know that was when things were so low. So here we are. If you accept that time is relative and genres a myth, this is her story.

Emotion 98.6.
It always starts with this. Just to set the scene. She was somewhere far, a lot of green and it is day. And nothing bad happens during the day. She doesn’t need the words cause each time she fills them in herself. Most of the time she closes her eyes and savour her freedom and worships in her own temple. She allows herself to feel but always with her arms outstretch. This is a good time to hold her. Simply because she won’t fight you back.

Leave out all the rest.
If you weren’t a believer you would believe that this is a dark place. You would mistake the lack of sunlight as an invitation to sinister beings. But purgatory is the first step to redemption. So she leans her head against the metal. Wholeheartedly giving her all. It’s only when you have nothing that you begin to appreciate every little thing. It’s her funeral and you walk in to see a circle around her. She seems asleep. Not all killings are to end. There are times it’s to allow for new beginnings. She has her own reasons and if she chooses not to share who are you to question it?

Spotlight.
She had enough of hiding. It is time to greet her public. Friends and foes alike. Is there really a difference in the face you wear. No. Only in your speech. She smiles and she knows it looks genuine, cause she believes it herself. Silently she knew she should have taken an extra dose as it effects are starting to wear off and there are still a lot of weirdos to get through. And she remembers the good advice:

"Because everyone would rather watch you fallJust take a fallYou're one of usThe spotlight is on"

Everything else has abandoned her but she knew that all she had to do is get through the night. She tells herself, ‘break a leg’.

Love Drunk
She knows this feeling. She has survived on no sleep for so long, what is another night? Eventually she will crash and fall in a deep slumber and for many nights lay in that coma but not tonight. Tonight she had company. They come one by one, telling her things she already know. She has forgotten some of them and tried to ignore their neediness to rekindle but it is hard when they bring pictures to prove that it wasn’t a one night stand. And she hates it. It seemed like report card day all over again and the only A she got was for effort. She starts sweating. But not in fear but suddenly it is too hot. The room is like a furnace and she is already down to her vest. She sings her anthem and like some sort of chant, it makes her feel better.

Your heart is black as night.
Finally. This is where she needed to get to. She is locked outside in her balcony. She lets the smoke pool around her ashtray, content that it should accompany rather than intrude in her smile. She loves the view she has of the painting she had coveted for so long. There is little that money can do to please her nowadays but this is one exception. She would have paid a lot more but that would be vulgar and she is too concerned about always appearing proper. So after posturing for the sake of appearance, she told him that she would ruin his life but he wouldn’t have a clue she’d done it. In fact, he would enjoy it too much on his way down. They parted sensibly because at the back of his mind he knew she was only half joking. Ironic that it should come to this when there was such promise. She muse a little longer to finish the wine and went in to greet her new addition. Maybe she should have felt a tiny bit of remorse but there is just no room for anything else.