Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Wonderful Idea That Was

Running down the hall, I see the elevator and sprint towards it. I breathlessly reach the doors and press the down button over and over and over and over until it finally opens. Quickly entering, I find the "close door" button and jam it several times as well, then press first floor. The ride seems like it's taking years, and it seems like now's a good time to calm down, and of course I don't and start fidgeting uncontrollably. I can't understand it. My brain hurts trying to figure out how this happened, where I screwed up. How did she find Collingwood? Better yet, how did she find my apartment??

I think back to when I walked into my small home tonight. I saw a silhouette of a person sitting on my mattress. Under different circumstances I would've recognized her immediately. But coming home after a long day of looking for a job, and seeing everyone in town freaking out about completely different things -- I just couldn't wait to get out of the chaos. Who knew such a small town could have so much drama. I thought I was lucky to escape the bad luck that seems to be circulating. Then this. I should've known. She turned, stood up slowly, and with a sigh, she spoke with that arrogant voice of hers. "Now Brilynn," she said, "I thought I'd told you not to go scurrying off again." As soon as I saw her face and heard that, I turned right around and -- what's the saying? Hauled ass? out of there.

Christ sake this longest elevator trip I've been on. I was only on the 3rd floor, it should've taken no more than 30 seconds max to reach ground level... Then I look at the floor indicator. And see the number on the screen going up. 8... 9... 10... 11... 12... 14..... It stopped there. The doors didn't open for a second, and I frantically pressed the first floor button again. It didn't light up. I tried the second, it didn't light up either. Neither did the third, or fourth, or fifth, or six or any of them. Not even the close door button. That wasn't even the worst part. The whole floor was pitch back, and the elevator lights were starting to flicker. Curling into a ball I tried not to panic. Breathe, breathe, breathe..

Suddenly I had a pleasant thought. I'm hallucinating. Or dreaming. I mean think about it. Seeing her here and now this? It's surreal. So I decided it was not, in fact, happening. This made me feel much better, and gave me enough courage to exit the elevator. Whether or not this is real, there's has to be stairs somewhere right? Slowly making my way out of the elevator, I timidly tip away from the only light I can pick up at all. I hear the doors close behind me, and turn to see the light disappear. If this is real, there goes my only chance of quick escape. On the other hand, she most likely would've thought I'd go to ground level and try to escape out the front of the building, it'll take a while for her to realize I'm still in here. Turning back around, I start my endeavor.

Sometime later I make contact with something hard, like wood. I give it a once-over with my hands and find a knob. Opening it and reaching inside, I feel two objects. One, hallelujah, is a box of matches. Striking one, I see the second object. It's the head of a doll. It looks familiar, like part of something I might've own as a child, if my mother ever let me have one. Then a picture flashes in my mind and I stifle a scream. One day when I decided out of the blue to get a newspaper, it had an article headed, "Curse of the Six!" It was about a little girl who had died, and found later in a lake. They showed a photo of a six year old girl. She was holding a doll.

That is when I really started to flip my shit.
Stumbling backwards, I fall down what seem to be stairs, and tumble down about a flight until I reach a door. My momentum  causes me to slam into it. I roll out of the dark and into the blinding light, shielding my eyes I get up with my body aching in all the wrong places. Blinded, I scrambled to get out of there. I smack into a person and don't bother to apologize as I hear them say, "Dude what the hell?"

What the hell indeed.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

The Pursuit of Unlonely

     There’s too much sadness here and I feel like either my brain is going to spontaneously combust or dissolve into a puddle of tears and heartbreak. I decided to get out of my dull apartment and buy some furniture, maybe even visit the dog festival (even though I prefer cats). That's when the sky suddenly looked like it was about to have a mental breakdown right above Collingwood. I hate my name and what it represents. I hate rain. Sadness literally falling from the sky. I need to get out of here. Escape the lonely.

     Just as I’m about to leave, I see another person through the fog and humidity, sitting in a bus stop safe from the soon-to-come hurricane. Wow. A person. So rare. But for some reason I felt a pull towards them, maybe they hated rain as much as I did, maybe they were just as lonely -- or maybe I'm delusional.
History suggests to the latter.

     But strangely I find myself following my inner sarcasm that said ”hey you know what's a good idea?”, and walked over to the stranger like the creeper loneliness made me to be. But then I slowed down, realizing the irritated look plastered on the girl's face. (And here I thought I escaped all angst after high school).


     However, for some weird reason I ignored the small sliver of common sense I had in me, and walked straight to her. I needed her. And if it sounds crazy that's because it is. I haven't had human interaction since I bought travel-size shampoo from Shawn at El Cheapo my first night here -- and no offense, he kinda (really) creeps me out. (WAY too happy).

     Keeping my eyes on her, ignoring every socially awkward nerve in my body (a.k.a. ALL OF THEM), I sat down in the tiny space that wasn't occupied by her or her book-bag. It was only then I noticed a funny looking man sitting in the adjacent bus bench. He must be a clown or something, probably headed to the festival to make balloon animals for small children who will end up losing or popping them anyways. His name-tag read "Bill".

    Looking back to the girl I see her gather her things and get up to leave -- I hadn't even said anything yet-- and before I can stop myself or the words I'm standing up and yelling in her direction, "Wait!"
     I've been left so many times I guess I couldn't handle even this buggered situation. It meant nothing, I didn't even know who she was. But when she looked back at me with those eyes programed to irritation, I realized three things:
1) The irrelevance of ones feelings or intentions in another's perspective is insanely large,
2) Americans are bloody complicated,
3) My search for Unlonely had left me so beyond help.

     Sitting down once again, I notice "Bill" looking at me like I'm a lunatic, and I shot him my best impression of the girls bitch face. His shocked expression told me I nailed it, and I turned just in time to watch Mistress Angst disappear into the foggy air.


Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The day started with...

Me realizing I planned everything perfectly... up until now.
It was all so simple. I needed to get away. Not far away, just far enough. I had the money; I had the means. But instead of doing the simple thing and moving far enough, I moved far, far, far away with a dash of distance.
I was born in The Holy Land of Great Britain, and had a terrible experience with this thing called life. Not much else to say but that I made the executive and impulsive decision my sophomore year to move to The Big US and finish my high school diploma there. I had so many ideas and I was bursting with inspiration to start my very own "American Dream"!
But no. Of course you can't ever have it your way in this world. Once you got life all figured out someone swoops in and flips over the desk of the future you created for yourself, puts it in a blender and turns it on high. I just had to fall in love my senior year. I just had to meet the only person in my life who understood. I just had to find the one guy in America who didn't hit on me for my accent.
But of course all perfect men have their faults. Leaving the seat up, never washing dishes, always does that one annoying habit you cannot stand. Of course he had his faults. Well, just one actually. He left. He always planned to. And I was naïve to think I could make him stay. Care too much and you get pushed away. Or shoved.
In a tight situation most people tend to choose fight or flight. As you can probably tell I have a favoritism for the latter. So what did little ol' me do? I flew. I moved to a town you won't find on a national map and flew in a close as I could, then hitchhiked the rest of the way. Where no one knew my past and hopefully didn't care enough to find out.
Present day, lying here in my new twin-sized bed-one of two pieces of furniture I blessed apartment 14E with. Instead of greeting my now-neighbors or touring my surrounding habitat, I peel myself off the small mattress and sit on furniture number two-a cushioned stool-and I sat next to the only window my tiny fresh start seemed to have. Staring outside my mind floated, and I couldn't help but think about the so-called renovations happening on the top floor. it seemed to be a taboo to talk about them, apparently they're always happening, never ending with some new-found problem that needs fixing before its opened. I suppose similar to men, everything has faults. My spaced out eyes drifted to a park that I could probably see better from my balcony. A fountain and a few benches decorated the area, along with a statue of a broad, important-looking man, with- what seemed to be a piece of... lingerie..? Even though my inner curiosity was calling away, part of me thought I was delusional and seeing only what I wanted to see: something interesting to perk up this odd town. I reached up to close the blinds when I realized I didn't have any.
And somehow it all was just to much. Suddenly everything felt like it was too far gone and there is nothing for me, here or anywhere. Having enough with this world, this town, this building, this apartment and myself, I slammed down on my bed, put the pillow over my mouth, and screamed. Frustration, anger, sadness, and a little bit of, "WHY DID I DO THIS" came pouring out. After who-knows-how-long I got up only to fall back down on my bed with exhaustion nearly pouring out of my ears.
As I slowing fell asleep I couldn't help thinking, "This is just another place for me to run away from." Collingwood Heights. Lets see how long I last.