A crack in the wall. An empty heart shattered on the floor. A voice on the end of the phone. A scream in the distance that follows after twelve consecutive gunshots. A murder. A face in the window that sees it all. Voices, voices... whispering... "They made me do it." Don't try to fix me--I'm not broken. Dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead... dead. Dead, dead. DEAD. Movement in the shadows. The echo of laughter. Dead, dead, dead, dead.. dead... BRIANA! HELP ME! I see you... My God, my tourniquet. Tourniquet... dead, dead, dead. Stop making all that GOD DAMN NOISE! Silence. Scratch... scratch... the piano introduction to Sullen Girl by Fiona Apple playing at my funeral that no one showed up to. Except for one face, standing in the corner, too afraid to approach the coffin. Briana. Briana, Briana, Briana. Always, only Briana. "I'm running---" another whisper. SHUT UP! Go away... go away.... No movement, save for my hand pressing this pen to paper in frequent motions. Chirp chirp chirp. SCREAM. Someone calls me. SAMANTHA! An asylum of assaulted victims trapped in their minds. A central fear the entire world revolves around in silence--the end. BEAUTY IS THE END, BOB. Do you feel the cold air blowing gently onto your face? That's death. My house is dead. This city is dead. This world is dead. Our lives are not our lives, but deaths--life doesn't begin until after death, which is where the beauty lies. God damn pen runs out of ink--what do you think that is? That's death too--it bled out of ink until it died. The pen's coronary report-- "Bled to death from misuse." I know no time. Time doesn't exist here. I am unable to discern distance or speed. I could be driving down the road at 80 miles an hour and think I was going 10 under the speed limit. The sign could read "Hell--10 miles," and within 2 seconds I could have passed it because I know no distance or time, which relate to eachother don't they? Really. GET that smiling doll AWAY from me you insane nazi bastard! Don't you know I'm terrified of dolls? And even moreso afraid of HAPPINESS! I know I'm sick, you don't have to tell me. And I don't think you have to read this to know I'm sick either. It's inevitable, the sickness follows, flows through my veins, gets captured in the oxygen I take in but doesn't come out when I exhale. CARBON DIOXIDE--such a strange word, really. Like normal--so vague a word, used altogether way too loosely if you ask me--the way love is tossed around like a basketball, no one cares, they just let the words I LOVE YOU roll off their tongues like gumballs. "Today I fell and felt better--just knowing this matters, I just feel stronger and SHARPER...." Dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead. DEAD DEAD. You don't see me. Why won't you leave? Just fucking DIE already! Silence.
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