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Previously on Listening For That Sweet Tune:
Desperation. I've never felt so strongly about this word until now. I
can’t recall if I have ever dreamt of anything that could compare to what could
be possibly going through my head. This seemed to be just some insignificant
tick in the whole schematic of the universe yet, it was everything. I've wanted
to kill myself over words that didn't even mean anything as much as this but
now, they don't even have a single thought in my head.
There is this, thing, has been apart of me for so long. It tore
me up and left my remains and that is me now. But there is nothing I really can
do; it’s something I can’t resist. It eats up my insides, and it makes me cry,
it makes myself see what I really am. Torment tears apart your will to stand
for everything you believe but you look at it slowly, examine everything with a
concentrated steadiness and you finally realize that its like everyone is
dying. That everyone’s issue is that they want to be miserable because
they know this depressing fact and they don't know why but it has always been
written in their genes.
The days move forward and it only gets more complicated with every
step. Nothing can be as simple as that second you were born. People talk about
complications and stress yet for that little child, it will be the simplest
step in their life. Every second that continues into the future will only hurt
more than the one before. From the very second we are born, we start to
die. It will happen eventually but the anticipation is when. So we live in
reaction to the knowledge of our dying bodies and wait for something to happen
in our lives and we wait for death. Its like we are all dying slowly because we
are.
Then death comes, as swift as a knife to the back it whispers into
your ear and a sense of self becomes perfect, you don't regret anything and
life ends. This is only speculation, its only ever speculation because we don't
know what happens, the only people who do have ended their journey and we will
never know for sure till that journey actually ends. Your loved ones look at
you and they say you lived a happy life and you are in a better place—whatever
that is—and they look at you as if you were just born, as if birth and death
are exactly the same thing and maybe they are.
You come in not knowing what will happen they same way you leave,
still waiting for that anticipation, as if we never really die and all I can
say now is when I die I don't want a funeral I don't want an obituary or even a
will because I’m still alive. It could be in your hearts, it could be in your
mind, maybe there is an afterlife and when I do leave, I'll see you there. But
no one really dies; they stay in the thoughts of men. I would set
off into the darkness with no place to rest my weary head while everyone
else waits as if they were all dying slowly.
When the door closed I could swear that I slept for centuries.
Everything was quiet inside—nothing could go wrong—but an eerie feeling echoed
through the walls and down the hall. The scenery was different than before;
white illuminated walls, white tile floor, bright white ceiling. The things
around me glowed and I couldn't imagine of any kind of darkness that could
penetrate these walls. Planters and soil beds lined adjacent to every wall
approaching a three-foot height—the outside being a glowing white also. Big
plants, big leaves and everything in-between cluttered the top of every inch of
the planters that I could see. Several of which had lush green vines growing up
the walls and the ceiling releasing buds and vibrant flowers all over.
The rose still settled within my hand and under my skin—it felt normal
now. As I lied on the ground I began to pick at it to see if I could get it
out; it took a little struggle but I pushed everything out and on the ground. I
forgot that what I originally picked was a white rose; it was now so red that I
thought it was bleeding on its own. I looked at it intensely and it seemed that
the rose was alive, well it was but something like an insect. Everything that
was apart of the rose swirled around in its perspective place. I thought of
still water, yes it is still but you can still distinguish that it was a
liquid.
I sat up and placed the rose in one of the flowerbeds that I was next
to. I guess I didn't have an explanation to why I brought it in the first place
as if other thoughts settled within my head that I was nowhere even aware of. I
smelt damp blood again—I guess it never really left in the first place. The
blood trail continued to my right around the corner and then to the left when
the hallway ended. Two sets of bloody footprints were the trail now. I could see
shadows moving around the corners as if the couple was still dancing, I was
tired still, I closed me eyes and my heart felt like it fell to the floor.
Up next in Listening For That Sweet Tune:
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