What Readers Feel

*All scientific data has been provided by NASA and their false research departments in real data.

This really happened.

This really happened.

When a Girl Dreams, You Listen

When a Girl Dreams, You Listen

The soapy film makes a thin, ripple free membrane floating on top of the water. She stretches underneath. Her toes can't reach the end of the bathtub, which is plain and ordinary, and her hair floats on the surface like golden algae, softly sweeping across her shoulders and freckled chest. She’s gotten into a habit of taking baths in winter, the hot water hugging her bones and easing her muscles. The company of water helps her relax when all alone. It has been several weeks since the incident and she still doesn't know how to help herself out of it all, her mind is soft and letting the small moments slowly burn her insides with the flame of loss and misunderstanding.

The absolute being of herself weakens her physical state. A moment of clarity is often perceived, but that clarity is the surface of a bottomless sea, the shadowed moments of herself dying, then, floating to the surface of a twisted observation of recognition. The control of courage wouldn't offer the variable of instances beyond her grasp, she is the martyr of her own existence, accepting every moment with the sin of past mistakes, resulting in the future consequences. Her struggling meek mind is aggressively eating away at itself, while the past becomes present with no conclusion of remorse or awakening; the purgatory of her thoughts could bury her existence if not ratified with a conclusive effort of appropriate professional reflection. Her own strengths in physical form are a weakness to herself, beauty a burden.

The heat of the water is raising her temperature, discomforting her body which discomforts her mind. She extends her toes against the front wall of the bath which is stained an off white from the city water, and with her toes she pushes her body up, letting her shoulders breath above the water. The air cools her shoulders, red with heat, and she sweeps her hair to one side in a heavy tangled clump. Her long fingers straighten and comb through her hair scratching at her scalp and tearing apart any tangles. Long hairs stick to her fingers and the back of her hand while she picks them off and wipes them on the rim of the bathtub. She places her hands back down into the water and under her knees, squeezing them and rotating her hand to the top while pushing them down. With her toes pointed straight she stretches the muscles in her legs and watches her toes spread apart before releasing. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath through her mouth and out of her nose until she can feel a separation in the back of her throat from the rest of her body. She hunches, stretching the skin, exposing the shallow outline of her ribs, one neatly stacked on top of the other and then tenses her entire body breathing all the breath out, holding nothing in her for several seconds before she can feel the black pulse behind her eyes. The swell of her pulse is pounding, and swirls of her imaginations lost in strands of color appear and she takes a long slow breath of air and opened her unfocused, unbalanced eyes which correct themselves while she blinks it away.

A perpetual blend of memories that have been buried under aging parts of her mind are sharpening in focus, while the current memories are trying to make sense of themselves, slowly laying down in the crevices of her mind that are so brutally torn and played with as a young child until now. She sinks into the water that is still hot, and these scattered memories of time appear racing her heart into a slow dissolve of anxiety and panic, it’s as if she was remembering a bad dream with delayed hurt in perspective. She moves her ankles under the water slowing rolling them in circles while her fingers tap the top of the water making small popping noises every time a finger strikes, she thinks of her at this very moment and her fists ball and sink slowly down into the water while her jaw clenches, and her eyes begin to cry. The portion of memories that are surfacing of her as a child being touched, her being loved, her escaping her reality, love from her mother, weariness from her father, escaped love, escaped memories, and a reality of control of drugs and alcohol, anything to self-medicate an escape she thought necessary. She tucks her chin down in the water and begins to cry and her fingers tremble, a slaughter of these memories are self-inflicted, healing her while tearing at the wounds for recovery.

“Eventually it always catches up,” she thinks in a crying panic of self-doubt.

She stands up out of the bathtub and water is running down her thin legs and she reaches for a hazelnut colored towel that is thick and wraps her frail body with it. She is delicate to the touch and to the gaze, a beautiful mess of escapism and self. She steps out of the bathtub while a stream of water, caught under her foot, follows it onto the shaded white bathroom mat, thin and now damp. The freckles on her chest are covered in tiny raised goosebumps that make their way down her arms and legs, each like a memory trying to open from the pores in her fair skin.

An intense amount of mental poison is releasing into her body, this makes her unsteady and tired and is breaking her down. She focuses on the good in her life, the moon she loves when full and white in the sky and memories of friends. This helps her dry off and becomes warm enough to step slowly and make it into her bed undressed, in the next room. The towel drops around her chest, down her waist, and to the floor. She kicks it away. She leaves for her bed and with her long fingers she grabs at her comforter and pulls at the corner while falling into it, and wrapping it around her while tucking her knees close to her body, curled up and exhausted. The pillow on her head is damp from her wet hair and the warm wet heat gets trapped inside while she covers her head with the comforter. A dull lamp sits near the corner of her bed, illuminating the comforter, and she opens her eyes, seeing dim golden light and the tag from her pillow poking out. Nearly every light is on in her apartment and the draining water from the ordinary bathtub is swirling down the drain making an even sucking noise. The sound quietly lasts while she falls asleep, alone and in peace, knowing she can only hurt herself and no one else.

Just An Endless Mating Season

Just An Endless Mating Season

Pink Band-Aids and Microwave Pizza

Pink Band-Aids and Microwave Pizza