I listened to the screams of silence, smelled the stench of soaked vomit and watched the woman hang herself to death.
It sparked a question in my mind and awoken an urge that hasn't been felt in a long time. There she was, swinging back and forth, legs slightly jerking and fingers twitching as the last bit of regret is choked from her. Then when all is silent, I pushed her so that she will swing some more.
It has been a long night. I sat on the couch with a tired brain and a tired body. I imagined you sitting here with me, watching the woman's last moments, rhetorically commenting on ‘How can I watch this?’ The light in the room ran off with the scene of the crime. I smiled weakly at my mind's feeble wishes for company besides the sad echoes of reflection.
There it began again.
The migraines cramped up as I buried myself in the cushions, there's no harm in pretending to not be alone... It only works if you are truly alone because if someone (flesh and blood) happens to walk in and find you talking to a empty seat… well then you would just be another crack case.
Let me emphasize. I'm not. Not. Crazy. It is just that for some reason, you catch me in my weirdest moments.
Then I caught the mirror staring at me. Ghastly. I stared back at the restless sunken eyes of a man that had not a wink of a sleep in days. I thought of changing my physical appearance. No harm in changing one's appearances especially if it gets boring looking at the same old reflection... Always green, always pale... Always wearing that tired expression giving away that I've been up with my bad dreams again.
If you were here... If only. I think you could understand and even make things better like a warm cloth on a winter's day. I can half imagine you offering to be my stylist. Maybe dye my hair, change my wardrobe, start me on cologne and make me wear new glasses.
You should have called awhile ago... I should have called you a long time ago.
Then there is that empty seat next to me... most people, they just don't care anymore, don't give a shit. And that's the worse... When your the only one trying to fit the pieces of fragments together and there's millions of little pieces scattered every where. It used to be easier when you were there to make sense of it all.
This is a cruel world. Herbert Spencer once said dominance amongst commercial organizations was down to the ‘survival of the fittest’. He said you could extend this principle to the human population. It was his contention that poorly adapting entities would be forced out by better-adapting ones: effectively they would be "killed" by the competition.
I did what I did to survive. I did not seek forgiveness nor acceptance. You understand. You always did. You would never judge, always listening unconditionally. You were and always will be my only friend.
Peering up the wall and towards the window... the lazy morning beginning to form and I wonder what a vampire feels like at dawn. Exhaustion, regret and relief? I would make a rather good vampire with my thirst for blood though my efficiency would be limited to the nights. Still, it would be enough time for me to work.
As strands of light break through the half-transparent blinds, I laid back further into the couch watching the hanging shadow rest. She and I, we had some fun. Her pretend silence says it all. For the first time, I saw the room brightened.
On the coffee table, there were piled up magazines, books, a worn out Mui-Mui handbag and an empty ashtray. Did she quit smoking? Her fingers had that light mark from holding nicotine cigarettes. I hate smokers. No photo frames or pictures around and it did not look like she just moved in. She must be a loner, no family, no friends. I remembered she didn’t even have an extra pair of slippers I could use. Not very friendly indeed. She and I, we were very much alike.
What do women carry around all these time? I have always wondered. As I emptied the contains of the handbag onto the table, it was our first introduction. A dark rose red lipstick that complemented those mesmerizing eyes. I hate it when she stared. A pink lighter without cigarettes, maybe she is just used to carrying one around just in case. An address book. A colorful wallet with a Smurf keychain - one Royal Bank Credit Card, Twenty Five Dollars Cash, a video store membership and a photograph of her with a girl with strong resemblance. Probably a sister?
The picture looks recent and well-kept. I recognized the background as the Dogwood neighbourhood some 30 minutes drive from here. As much as I could remember, there was nothing around there except for a small anthological museum and a Starbucks. The sister was wearing what seemed like a uniform with the nametag - Violet.
I picked up the address book and flipped through. A… B…. V. There we go. Ran down the list. Vance… Veronica… Victor… Violet.
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